And, read the comments below. Apparently the "author" of Lesbian Gym was immensely prolific. Tons of "her" books are available on Amazon.
 |
| Peggy Swenson is so underrated as a novelist. |
xxxoooxxx
Mar 29, 2013
Love you,
TBogg!
And, read the comments below. Apparently the "author" of Lesbian Gym was immensely prolific. Tons of "her" books are available on Amazon.
And, read the comments below. Apparently the "author" of Lesbian Gym was immensely prolific. Tons of "her" books are available on Amazon.
Totally currently going through a
Don't Look Now thing-y right now.
A couple of days ago the Wife had a dream that one of our cats, Molly, had escaped.
And, then last night on the walk home, I was absolutely convinced that I saw Mavis and Molly perched comfortably on the rocky hillside by Ygnacio Valley Blvd, just on the other side of the golf course. I was so scared and convinced that I immediately bolted home as fast as I could.
Only to discover the Wife and Molly and Mavis contentedly relaxing at home.
Now, I will be looking for cats everywhere, always lurking in my peripheral vision, the little girl in the bright red mac.
************
And, Don't Look Now comes highly recommended by me, by the way; a Nic Roeg film, starring Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie based on a Daphne du Maurier short story.
Happy Friday, y'all!
Mar 27, 2013
Progmania Part Seven!
Yeh, I have posted this before. I do not care. It is too good not to be abused.
Mwah, ...
Mwah, ...
Another bad-ass Aries!
That is right, folks, the twelve days of Michael's birthday has begun, and I will be sharing the stories of some bad-ass Aries folks like me on fauxluxe.
Today's bad-ass Aries is Charles Michael Kittridge Thompson IV. Or, better known as Black Francis or Frank Black.
There is just no getting around it, no matter what any one else might say. The Pixies are one of the greatest groups of all time. They stand alone in many ways. Even their worst records are better than most bands' best ones. And, they are so distinct, and special, that they are impossible to cover. One of the Pixies' greatest admirers, David Bowie, attempted to cover Debaser, and failed miserably. And, I love me some Thin White Duke.
And, could I say something about Joey Santiago, lead guitarist for the Pixies, before I relate a few stories about Black Francis and his stellar band? When I had heard that the Pixies had broken up, I had a friend in the Bakery Dept of the Food Hole at Berkeley that I shared this v sad information with. This is 1992. The first words out of her mouth were, "What about Joey Santiago? What is he gonna do?"
I did not get it. At that point, the Pixies for me were Black Francis and Kim Deal.
I get it now. And, have "gotten it" for quite a while. Santiago is one of the greatest rock guitarists ever, full stop. You do not believe me? Listen to Subbacultcha. Listen to Vamos. Listen to his absolutely perfect tone on record after record. Only Steve Cropper to me has got a better sense of texture and tone to fit the need of a particular song.
Anyroad, it is Story Time now, bothers and sisters:
I have seen the Pixies three times live. The first time was at the Union Ballroom at UT right after Doolittle. The space was awful. The sound was terrible. (Black Francis, a serious fucking perfectionist kept bitching about the sound all night long.) But, it does not matter. Austim was desperate, craving to hear the Pixies, their first show there. My favorist memory of that show, in which they played their set in alphabetical order (how brilliant!) was Kim deal walking out on to the stage, plugging in and saying, "This is Austin, right? You guys love the Butthole Surfers."
The second time I saw them was them promoting Trompe le Monde. I was on mushrooms, and I had a date that I had completely lost. She worked with me at Martin Bros (inside the Food Hole Mother Store on Lamar St), and was living with, dating Brian Beatty of Glass Eye (another favorite band of mine.)
I remember a number of things: One, that the Pixies had no opening act, and that they made us wait forever. This time it was at The Austin Opera House (a fabulous venue, I saw Squeeze, 10,000 Maniacs, Elvis Costello, Lenny Kravitz, Dino Lee and his White Trash Revue, the Butthole Surfers, and dozens of others there) and Two, that the Pixies had decided that the opening "music", as it were, for their appearance would be thirty minutes of the kind of noise you hear at the beginning of The Smiths' Meat is Murder track.
Third, the mushrooms kicked in right as the Pixies hit the stage. Black Francis was all dressed in red, a sort of cowboy outfit. And, the first thing this hard core atheist thought was: Black Francis is Satan!
The band did not play an encore. Folks at the Opera House were plenty pissed, and Mark W, and my friend Kenny discussed it at the Omlettry at great length. (What happened to my date? I have no idea. I caught up w/ her at work. She was fine. And Brian told me that she had had a great great time.) I dinnae care that they dinnae play an encore. They had satiated my desire, for sure.
*************
Finally, I fucking broke up the Pixies! I was working at Martin Bros., making smoothies and sandwiches for the kids. Making strawberry smoothies for Molly Ivins (I always told her, "Keep raising hell, Sister" when I handed her her drink.)
Anyhoo, It was my birthday, and the Pixies were playing at the Enormodome, the Frank Erwin Center, opening up for U2. There was no way I was paying twenty-five dollars to see Bono prance around the stage, bitching about how he still has not found what he was looking for, no matter that the greatest band ever (to me, at least) were opening for them. (I have read about the horror stories of that tour from the Pixies. The Pixies severely got the shaft from Ireland's finest, no matter what Bono or The Edge might suggest about their admiration for America's greatest band at the time.)
Black Francis showed up at Martin Bros. on my birthday, April 7, 1992. Joey Santiago was also there. David Lovering was not.
(I have always had this strange sensation, fear, that I would not be able to recognize a famous person if they had presented themselves to me. But, every single time that it has happened to me, I have recognized them straight on, and have -- for the most part -- got my grille right up on to theirs and introduced myself to them, and tried to start a conversation.)
I recognized Black Francis straight away. I told all the other folks at Martin Bros that I would be handling this order, making it, ringing it up, whatever.
I took his order, told him that I wish I were at the show, and that it was my birthday today. Black Francis said, "Wow, my birthday was yesterday."
I made his sandwich and smoothie, and as I rung him up, said, "Where's Kim?"
Black Francis rolled his eyes in disgust.
I broke up the Pixies.
"It's ead - you - cay - shuh - nuhl!"
Mwah, ...
Noam Chomsky will be at the Paramount in Oakland in May. Talk about holding peasants in your arms, if you will.
Ardent
 |
| "You're so pretty when you're unfaithful to me" |
Today's bad-ass Aries is Charles Michael Kittridge Thompson IV. Or, better known as Black Francis or Frank Black.
There is just no getting around it, no matter what any one else might say. The Pixies are one of the greatest groups of all time. They stand alone in many ways. Even their worst records are better than most bands' best ones. And, they are so distinct, and special, that they are impossible to cover. One of the Pixies' greatest admirers, David Bowie, attempted to cover Debaser, and failed miserably. And, I love me some Thin White Duke.
And, could I say something about Joey Santiago, lead guitarist for the Pixies, before I relate a few stories about Black Francis and his stellar band? When I had heard that the Pixies had broken up, I had a friend in the Bakery Dept of the Food Hole at Berkeley that I shared this v sad information with. This is 1992. The first words out of her mouth were, "What about Joey Santiago? What is he gonna do?"
I did not get it. At that point, the Pixies for me were Black Francis and Kim Deal.
I get it now. And, have "gotten it" for quite a while. Santiago is one of the greatest rock guitarists ever, full stop. You do not believe me? Listen to Subbacultcha. Listen to Vamos. Listen to his absolutely perfect tone on record after record. Only Steve Cropper to me has got a better sense of texture and tone to fit the need of a particular song.
Anyroad, it is Story Time now, bothers and sisters:
I have seen the Pixies three times live. The first time was at the Union Ballroom at UT right after Doolittle. The space was awful. The sound was terrible. (Black Francis, a serious fucking perfectionist kept bitching about the sound all night long.) But, it does not matter. Austim was desperate, craving to hear the Pixies, their first show there. My favorist memory of that show, in which they played their set in alphabetical order (how brilliant!) was Kim deal walking out on to the stage, plugging in and saying, "This is Austin, right? You guys love the Butthole Surfers."
The second time I saw them was them promoting Trompe le Monde. I was on mushrooms, and I had a date that I had completely lost. She worked with me at Martin Bros (inside the Food Hole Mother Store on Lamar St), and was living with, dating Brian Beatty of Glass Eye (another favorite band of mine.)
I remember a number of things: One, that the Pixies had no opening act, and that they made us wait forever. This time it was at The Austin Opera House (a fabulous venue, I saw Squeeze, 10,000 Maniacs, Elvis Costello, Lenny Kravitz, Dino Lee and his White Trash Revue, the Butthole Surfers, and dozens of others there) and Two, that the Pixies had decided that the opening "music", as it were, for their appearance would be thirty minutes of the kind of noise you hear at the beginning of The Smiths' Meat is Murder track.
Third, the mushrooms kicked in right as the Pixies hit the stage. Black Francis was all dressed in red, a sort of cowboy outfit. And, the first thing this hard core atheist thought was: Black Francis is Satan!
The band did not play an encore. Folks at the Opera House were plenty pissed, and Mark W, and my friend Kenny discussed it at the Omlettry at great length. (What happened to my date? I have no idea. I caught up w/ her at work. She was fine. And Brian told me that she had had a great great time.) I dinnae care that they dinnae play an encore. They had satiated my desire, for sure.
*************
Finally, I fucking broke up the Pixies! I was working at Martin Bros., making smoothies and sandwiches for the kids. Making strawberry smoothies for Molly Ivins (I always told her, "Keep raising hell, Sister" when I handed her her drink.)
Anyhoo, It was my birthday, and the Pixies were playing at the Enormodome, the Frank Erwin Center, opening up for U2. There was no way I was paying twenty-five dollars to see Bono prance around the stage, bitching about how he still has not found what he was looking for, no matter that the greatest band ever (to me, at least) were opening for them. (I have read about the horror stories of that tour from the Pixies. The Pixies severely got the shaft from Ireland's finest, no matter what Bono or The Edge might suggest about their admiration for America's greatest band at the time.)
Black Francis showed up at Martin Bros. on my birthday, April 7, 1992. Joey Santiago was also there. David Lovering was not.
(I have always had this strange sensation, fear, that I would not be able to recognize a famous person if they had presented themselves to me. But, every single time that it has happened to me, I have recognized them straight on, and have -- for the most part -- got my grille right up on to theirs and introduced myself to them, and tried to start a conversation.)
I recognized Black Francis straight away. I told all the other folks at Martin Bros that I would be handling this order, making it, ringing it up, whatever.
I took his order, told him that I wish I were at the show, and that it was my birthday today. Black Francis said, "Wow, my birthday was yesterday."
I made his sandwich and smoothie, and as I rung him up, said, "Where's Kim?"
Black Francis rolled his eyes in disgust.
I broke up the Pixies.
"It's ead - you - cay - shuh - nuhl!"
Mwah, ...
Noam Chomsky will be at the Paramount in Oakland in May. Talk about holding peasants in your arms, if you will.
Ardent
Mar 26, 2013
My prediction?
The Supreme Court will hear oral arguments today on the Constitutionality of California's Proposition 8, which passed here on Election Day, 2008. (The Supremes will also consider the Constitutionality of DOMA tomorrow.)
Most experts seem to believe that the soonest a decision could come down would be June. There are a range of possibilities. Prop 8 could be upheld, meaning that the Marriage Equality struggle would continue to be a state by state battle. It could overturn Prop 8, but only have it apply to the state of California. It could grant Marriage Equality to only the states that already have civil unions in place, or, it could thrash Prop 8 (and DOMA), saying that Marriage Equality is a constitutional right for the entire nation.
Everybody's eyes are on Justice Kennedy, naturally. He being the Supreme Court Swing(er) Vote Nonpareil. Though, there are other Supreme Courtniks, saying that Roberts and Ginsburg are in play, as well. I do not much believe that Ginsburg is in doubt, personally. But, Roberts might actually side with the good guys on this one (in a limited capacity.)
Justices Scalia, Thomas, and Alito are all firm No votes for Marriage Equality. We can bank that. We can also bank that Scalia and/or Alito will say or ask incredibly hateful things during the oral arguments, and that Thomas will say nothing, at all, preferring to do doodles on his legal pad.
Justices Sotomayor, Kagan, Ginsburg, and Breyer are all firm Yes votes for Marriage Equality in my book.
That leaves Kennedy and Roberts.
Generally on cases this big the Supremes prefer messy "cut the baby in half" decisions. And, it would not surprise me if there were multiple opinions written for this decision. (Although, you can rest assured Thomas won't write one.) They are not fond of making sweeping declarative statements. (Unless they are electing presidents, or declaring corporate lucre as free speech.) As such, I find it unlikely that the good guys will get the decision we are ready for and deserve, that Marriage Equality is a Constitutional right.
My prediction?
Kennedy will vote with the bad guys, and Roberts the good. They will overturn Prop 8, but for only California, meaning our struggle continues on.
It is a struggle that even its' opponents knows they are on the losing end of. Marriage Equality opponents will not be able stem the tide in the end.
We are not there yet, but closer and closer, every day, we will be.
All my love,
Michael David Spitler
(serious h/t to Laura Clawson at dailykos.)
Most experts seem to believe that the soonest a decision could come down would be June. There are a range of possibilities. Prop 8 could be upheld, meaning that the Marriage Equality struggle would continue to be a state by state battle. It could overturn Prop 8, but only have it apply to the state of California. It could grant Marriage Equality to only the states that already have civil unions in place, or, it could thrash Prop 8 (and DOMA), saying that Marriage Equality is a constitutional right for the entire nation.
Everybody's eyes are on Justice Kennedy, naturally. He being the Supreme Court Swing(er) Vote Nonpareil. Though, there are other Supreme Courtniks, saying that Roberts and Ginsburg are in play, as well. I do not much believe that Ginsburg is in doubt, personally. But, Roberts might actually side with the good guys on this one (in a limited capacity.)
Justices Scalia, Thomas, and Alito are all firm No votes for Marriage Equality. We can bank that. We can also bank that Scalia and/or Alito will say or ask incredibly hateful things during the oral arguments, and that Thomas will say nothing, at all, preferring to do doodles on his legal pad.
Justices Sotomayor, Kagan, Ginsburg, and Breyer are all firm Yes votes for Marriage Equality in my book.
That leaves Kennedy and Roberts.
Generally on cases this big the Supremes prefer messy "cut the baby in half" decisions. And, it would not surprise me if there were multiple opinions written for this decision. (Although, you can rest assured Thomas won't write one.) They are not fond of making sweeping declarative statements. (Unless they are electing presidents, or declaring corporate lucre as free speech.) As such, I find it unlikely that the good guys will get the decision we are ready for and deserve, that Marriage Equality is a Constitutional right.
My prediction?
Kennedy will vote with the bad guys, and Roberts the good. They will overturn Prop 8, but for only California, meaning our struggle continues on.
It is a struggle that even its' opponents knows they are on the losing end of. Marriage Equality opponents will not be able stem the tide in the end.
We are not there yet, but closer and closer, every day, we will be.
All my love,
Michael David Spitler
(serious h/t to Laura Clawson at dailykos.)
Mar 25, 2013
After yesterday's Debbie Downer of a post
Things are looking much brighter here at fauxluxe. The weather is still not as perfect as I would like it to be, for my type of Spring -- just a bit too chilly for my taste -- but there has been plenty of sun, and everything is starting to bloom. (The Swedish word for flowers is blommor -- lovely.) Plus, the Wife brought home some lovely flowers yesterday, and I lit some candles (the Swedish word for a candle's flickering light is glimma -- lovely), and we had a scrumptious meal, and watched a lot of really good television.
The Wife was going through a Girls jones, and season two of Veep does not start for three more weeks, so we watched all of season one of Veep in one shot. Then it was time to make dinner. And, I handled the grill (!) whilst the Wife made the salad and all the vegetables. We had salad, steak, asparagus, carrots, and potatoes. (It is a joy to be simple!)
But what to watch for the evening? This is 40 was (sort of) discussed, a trailer was watched, but Renee could tell from my silence that it was probably not really an option. I looked for In the Company of Men, but realized that that should best be saved for another time, and then quite miraculously we landed upon something else. It was a reach, really. We knew nearly absolutely nothing about it. Something from England, not very old, was it a comedy? a drama? And, how had I missed this? How had I also missed this, which the Wife discovered? (I know how. We do not sell newspapers at my store any more, except on Saturday and Sunday. I do not work Sundays. It is a travesty not being able to get my Friday NYT and SFChron.)
Preparing dinner was started, and I let the Netflix stream roll, so as to determine whether it was something we would enjoy. (Desperately hoping we would like it so that This is 40 would not become our fallback choice.) By the time we sat down for dinner, and the Wife had a really good hard look at the program, all fears were put to rest.
Call the Midwife is a delightfully lovely little new BBC series that both of us adored. It is a period drama set in the East End of London round the late Fifties based on Jennifer Worth's memoirs. This series is about as chick flick as you can get.
Our hero, Jenny Lee, is a midwife and nurse who works at a clinic run by nuns in one of the worst neighborhoods in London. Each episode contains two or three stories of her and her fellow nurses, nuns, doctors, and East Enders as they live their lives in still bombed out post-Blitz London.
Jessica Raine plays Jenny, and she is a door bell playing the lead. Pam Ferris, Helen George, Judy Parfitt, Laura Main, and Cliff Parisi are all very good in their roles, as well. And, Michael Redgrave's daughter, Vanessa narrates the series, as Mature Jenny. (I suspect the only thing keeping Vanessa Redgrave from being Dame Redgrave are her leftist political leanings.)
But, the real star of the series, the real revelation, and one of the Wife and I's most recent favorite television characters is Miranda Hart as Chummy.
Chummy is a "long dog with a short name", an absolute klutz, a total "when I was in band camp" kind of nerd (her band camp was growing up in India.) Clever if awkward, sophisticated if socially inept, Chummy is a perfect comedic creation, realized by Ms Hart, though based on a very real life person. The Wife and I love all her scenes. Her running in to trash cans on her bicycle, her courtship with PC Noakes, her taste for The Glenlivet, her exquisite posh accent, and everything else about her. (Plus, Renee laughed, but I learned what TTFN meant. I am gobsmacked that an Anglophile as devout as I never knew any thing about that.) She is the best part of this very fine series.
Other things to like about the series: That the doctor always always always shows up too late, "Sorry, I had two cases of laryngitis to deal with." ... that miracles abound ... Parfitt's crazy wise Lear Fool-like nun ... Sister Evangelina setting up Chummy and Noakes' date ... Ted, the greatest husband and new father in the history of television ... Parisi's character, Fred ... the period detail, the sets (which are quite plainly beautifully constructed creations) ... a fair amount of the supremely dry wit ... and the fact that this is most certainly a Woman's Series, all about women, mostly about women, and created and written and directed by a majority of women.
We will finish series one tonight, and are eagerly looking forward to season two, even if we are not able to watch it yet.
It is great stuff, and comes v highly recommended by me.
Mwah, ...
mds
The Wife was going through a Girls jones, and season two of Veep does not start for three more weeks, so we watched all of season one of Veep in one shot. Then it was time to make dinner. And, I handled the grill (!) whilst the Wife made the salad and all the vegetables. We had salad, steak, asparagus, carrots, and potatoes. (It is a joy to be simple!)
But what to watch for the evening? This is 40 was (sort of) discussed, a trailer was watched, but Renee could tell from my silence that it was probably not really an option. I looked for In the Company of Men, but realized that that should best be saved for another time, and then quite miraculously we landed upon something else. It was a reach, really. We knew nearly absolutely nothing about it. Something from England, not very old, was it a comedy? a drama? And, how had I missed this? How had I also missed this, which the Wife discovered? (I know how. We do not sell newspapers at my store any more, except on Saturday and Sunday. I do not work Sundays. It is a travesty not being able to get my Friday NYT and SFChron.)
Preparing dinner was started, and I let the Netflix stream roll, so as to determine whether it was something we would enjoy. (Desperately hoping we would like it so that This is 40 would not become our fallback choice.) By the time we sat down for dinner, and the Wife had a really good hard look at the program, all fears were put to rest.
Call the Midwife is a delightfully lovely little new BBC series that both of us adored. It is a period drama set in the East End of London round the late Fifties based on Jennifer Worth's memoirs. This series is about as chick flick as you can get.
Our hero, Jenny Lee, is a midwife and nurse who works at a clinic run by nuns in one of the worst neighborhoods in London. Each episode contains two or three stories of her and her fellow nurses, nuns, doctors, and East Enders as they live their lives in still bombed out post-Blitz London.
Jessica Raine plays Jenny, and she is a door bell playing the lead. Pam Ferris, Helen George, Judy Parfitt, Laura Main, and Cliff Parisi are all very good in their roles, as well. And, Michael Redgrave's daughter, Vanessa narrates the series, as Mature Jenny. (I suspect the only thing keeping Vanessa Redgrave from being Dame Redgrave are her leftist political leanings.)
But, the real star of the series, the real revelation, and one of the Wife and I's most recent favorite television characters is Miranda Hart as Chummy.
Chummy is a "long dog with a short name", an absolute klutz, a total "when I was in band camp" kind of nerd (her band camp was growing up in India.) Clever if awkward, sophisticated if socially inept, Chummy is a perfect comedic creation, realized by Ms Hart, though based on a very real life person. The Wife and I love all her scenes. Her running in to trash cans on her bicycle, her courtship with PC Noakes, her taste for The Glenlivet, her exquisite posh accent, and everything else about her. (Plus, Renee laughed, but I learned what TTFN meant. I am gobsmacked that an Anglophile as devout as I never knew any thing about that.) She is the best part of this very fine series.
Other things to like about the series: That the doctor always always always shows up too late, "Sorry, I had two cases of laryngitis to deal with." ... that miracles abound ... Parfitt's crazy wise Lear Fool-like nun ... Sister Evangelina setting up Chummy and Noakes' date ... Ted, the greatest husband and new father in the history of television ... Parisi's character, Fred ... the period detail, the sets (which are quite plainly beautifully constructed creations) ... a fair amount of the supremely dry wit ... and the fact that this is most certainly a Woman's Series, all about women, mostly about women, and created and written and directed by a majority of women.
We will finish series one tonight, and are eagerly looking forward to season two, even if we are not able to watch it yet.
It is great stuff, and comes v highly recommended by me.
Mwah, ...
mds
Mar 24, 2013
And no
Significant gun control legislation is going to pass this time, either.
No matter what the tragedy or how much blood is shed, gun control will continue to be used as a political tool to fire up its supporters (and "reassure" the thousands of us touched by this nation's notorious and ugly and long history of gun violence.) But, when the donations start rolling in, and there are votes to be protected in difficult districts or states, so many of our "public servants" suddenly begin pointing fingers at the opposition, claiming their hands were tied, or they were obstructed, and do not have the decency or guts to stand up and do what it is right for this nation.
I apologize for this depressing cynical post on this beautiful Spring March Sunday. But sometimes you just get so angry, and you feel you have to say something.
I love you all,
Michael David Spitler
Mar 20, 2013
What a ruddy good little tetralogy you are.
I am about one third through the first Parade's End book; first novel, Some Do Not ... And, at this point my only complaint thus far is the wretched title. How frickin pretentious can you get, Mr Ford?
But from there on in it is an absolute masterwork.
It is actually a service that I have seen the HBO miniseries first. The brilliant playwright, Tom Stoppard, has put, in his adaptation for the miniseries, everything in chronological order, whilst still maintaing Ford's faintly surreal, stream of consciousness method of writing, wherein major plot points are ever so barely alluded to, and then forgotten about for scores of pages or so.
Ford's style for these novels is one I am so envious of. Perhaps I could write like this. But it is a style so dedicated to precision and discipline that I fear I would not have the muster.
Each roman numeral part of a major section of each novel is dedicated to describing just one short period of time in the current day of the characters involved. And, then spinning off in to the memory and recollection of each of those characters, forgetting timelines, jutting back and forth, dropping clues forward in time that mean something later (flash forwards! In the Twenties, dangit!) The style envelops you and sucks you in. Refreshes you, leaves you wanting more.
And, then there is the language. Strictly, majestically colloquial in dialect, dialogue and prose, yet sumptuous in descriptions of garments, furniture, makeup, landscapes, dales, etc, ... Ford seems to straddle to the greatest effect the worlds between the Victorian novel, and Hemingway or Fitzgerald.
My favorite character so far is the General, though Sylvia is a close second (she just does not give a farthing what anybody thinks or says about her, a supreme contrast to her last Tory husband, who thinks he is like her, but cowers along behind, always doing the right thing, "Yes, Dear.")
The General is so officious, and correct, and indignant, and loud, and well-spoken, and circumspect, and so wrong about every single thing.
(The Wife picked up on this fabulous creation of Ford's while watching episode four of the miniseries, perhaps my favorite. Episode four was the Apocalypse Now of Parade's End, the episode that best illustrated the surreal madness of stupid wars, i.e. all wars.)
Just fantastic rich stuff, this thick little paperback.
I wonder what Pynchon thinks of these novels, and Ford.
Stoppard, and the Beeb, and HBO, and Cumberbatch, and Hall, have all done us a great service here.
It will be exciting to see how many people on the subway trains, buses, coffee shops, and elsewhere are taking up the book like Nick C and I are. (Nick just got his copy on his kindle app on his iPad. Cool. He is up to page twenty something, just started.)
Mwah, ...
But from there on in it is an absolute masterwork.
 |
| You Tory genius you! |
It is actually a service that I have seen the HBO miniseries first. The brilliant playwright, Tom Stoppard, has put, in his adaptation for the miniseries, everything in chronological order, whilst still maintaing Ford's faintly surreal, stream of consciousness method of writing, wherein major plot points are ever so barely alluded to, and then forgotten about for scores of pages or so.
Ford's style for these novels is one I am so envious of. Perhaps I could write like this. But it is a style so dedicated to precision and discipline that I fear I would not have the muster.
Each roman numeral part of a major section of each novel is dedicated to describing just one short period of time in the current day of the characters involved. And, then spinning off in to the memory and recollection of each of those characters, forgetting timelines, jutting back and forth, dropping clues forward in time that mean something later (flash forwards! In the Twenties, dangit!) The style envelops you and sucks you in. Refreshes you, leaves you wanting more.
And, then there is the language. Strictly, majestically colloquial in dialect, dialogue and prose, yet sumptuous in descriptions of garments, furniture, makeup, landscapes, dales, etc, ... Ford seems to straddle to the greatest effect the worlds between the Victorian novel, and Hemingway or Fitzgerald.
My favorite character so far is the General, though Sylvia is a close second (she just does not give a farthing what anybody thinks or says about her, a supreme contrast to her last Tory husband, who thinks he is like her, but cowers along behind, always doing the right thing, "Yes, Dear.")
The General is so officious, and correct, and indignant, and loud, and well-spoken, and circumspect, and so wrong about every single thing.
(The Wife picked up on this fabulous creation of Ford's while watching episode four of the miniseries, perhaps my favorite. Episode four was the Apocalypse Now of Parade's End, the episode that best illustrated the surreal madness of stupid wars, i.e. all wars.)
Just fantastic rich stuff, this thick little paperback.
I wonder what Pynchon thinks of these novels, and Ford.
Stoppard, and the Beeb, and HBO, and Cumberbatch, and Hall, have all done us a great service here.
It will be exciting to see how many people on the subway trains, buses, coffee shops, and elsewhere are taking up the book like Nick C and I are. (Nick just got his copy on his kindle app on his iPad. Cool. He is up to page twenty something, just started.)
Mwah, ...
Mar 19, 2013
Hoo-ray! Criterion is coming out with
A smashing bluray edition of Mike Leigh's Life is Sweet at long last!
Life is Sweet is one of the most touching and heartfelt comedies you will likely ever see, starring Jane Horrocks (Bubble from AbFab), Jim Broadbent, Claire Skinner, Alison Steadman, Timothy Spall (Rafe Spall's Da), Stephen Rea, and David Thewlis. I have been waiting for this moment for years. I have only had a VHS copy of this film.
Supremely highly recommended, one of Mike Leigh's finest moments, and his first international success that paved the way for other such wonderful films as Naked, Career Girls, Topsy-Turvy, Vera Drake, Secrets and Lies, Happy-Go-Lucky, etc, ...
(Now, when is Criterion gonna get their hands on Ealing? Passport to Pimlico, The Blue Lamp, Dead of Night, Pink String and Sealing Wax -- which I have not even seen -- , It Always Rains on Sunday, The Ladykillers, etc, ... )
************
Completely unrelated to Mike Leigh but concerning film, I would like to also heartily recommend many of ESPN's 30 for 30 documentaries which are streaming on Netflix now. They oftentimes transcend the genre of "Sports Movie" and tell poignant profound stories about athletes and the culture we live in. I watched Once Brothers and Renee and June 17th 1994 just yesterday. All were gripping great stuff.
I also like the one about Chris Evert and Martina Navratilova, the one about the Columbian National Team and their tragic 1994 World Cup experience, the one about SMU, the one about Marcus Dupree, the one about Reggie Miller and Spike Lee, the one Alex Gibney made about the Bartman incident and scapegoating, and on and on and on, ...
Whodathunkit? ESPN would do a doc series this enriching and marvelous.
(More on Martina Navratilova and Renee Richards in the coming days)
Another work week begins.
xxxoooxxx
Life is Sweet is one of the most touching and heartfelt comedies you will likely ever see, starring Jane Horrocks (Bubble from AbFab), Jim Broadbent, Claire Skinner, Alison Steadman, Timothy Spall (Rafe Spall's Da), Stephen Rea, and David Thewlis. I have been waiting for this moment for years. I have only had a VHS copy of this film.
Supremely highly recommended, one of Mike Leigh's finest moments, and his first international success that paved the way for other such wonderful films as Naked, Career Girls, Topsy-Turvy, Vera Drake, Secrets and Lies, Happy-Go-Lucky, etc, ...
(Now, when is Criterion gonna get their hands on Ealing? Passport to Pimlico, The Blue Lamp, Dead of Night, Pink String and Sealing Wax -- which I have not even seen -- , It Always Rains on Sunday, The Ladykillers, etc, ... )
************
Completely unrelated to Mike Leigh but concerning film, I would like to also heartily recommend many of ESPN's 30 for 30 documentaries which are streaming on Netflix now. They oftentimes transcend the genre of "Sports Movie" and tell poignant profound stories about athletes and the culture we live in. I watched Once Brothers and Renee and June 17th 1994 just yesterday. All were gripping great stuff.
I also like the one about Chris Evert and Martina Navratilova, the one about the Columbian National Team and their tragic 1994 World Cup experience, the one about SMU, the one about Marcus Dupree, the one about Reggie Miller and Spike Lee, the one Alex Gibney made about the Bartman incident and scapegoating, and on and on and on, ...
Whodathunkit? ESPN would do a doc series this enriching and marvelous.
(More on Martina Navratilova and Renee Richards in the coming days)
Another work week begins.
xxxoooxxx
Mar 18, 2013
The Wife has expressed a sudden interest
In Loaded era Velvets, so I made her a cd today.
There was a period in time right before I moved out to California that I absolutely worshipped The Velvet Underground.
But -- despite the fact that I will always love their eponymously titled third record; their purest, and least calculated effort -- as I have grown older I have liked the Velvets less and less. With each passing year they come across as hipper, cooler than thou, art for art's sake, more calculating, cold arch wannabes.
Which is funny because Steely Dan could most definitely be accused of all those same things, and for whatever reason they just keep sounding better and better as the years pass.
Anyroad, I still like The Velvet Underground, just not as much as I used to, and like I said, I will always treasure the third record. It is the perfect after hours, after the party is over, hanging out with your friends, still drinking record. Love it.
There was a period in time right before I moved out to California that I absolutely worshipped The Velvet Underground.
But -- despite the fact that I will always love their eponymously titled third record; their purest, and least calculated effort -- as I have grown older I have liked the Velvets less and less. With each passing year they come across as hipper, cooler than thou, art for art's sake, more calculating, cold arch wannabes.
Which is funny because Steely Dan could most definitely be accused of all those same things, and for whatever reason they just keep sounding better and better as the years pass.
Anyroad, I still like The Velvet Underground, just not as much as I used to, and like I said, I will always treasure the third record. It is the perfect after hours, after the party is over, hanging out with your friends, still drinking record. Love it.
xxxoooxxx,
All my Monday love,
Ardent
Steve Davis, former Oklahoma Sooner great, died in a plane crash last night.
And, oddly enough, the private plane he was in crashed in to a row of homes in South Bend, Indiana, the home of Notre Dame University. On Saint Patrick's Day.
Davis played for the Sooners from 1972 to 1976, running the Wishbone Option as quarterback for Barry Switzer as coach. As a starter Davis compiled a record of thirty two wins against only one loss and one tie. Davis was the winningest quarterback in the Sooners' proud football history until last year when Landry Jones broke his record. Davis won two National Titles with the Sooners in 1974 and 1975, and was named the Most Valuable Offensive Player in the 1976 Orange Bowl which sealed the deal on his second National Title.
Those mid-Seventies Sooners teams were some of the greatest in College Football History, as Davis played alongside such legends as the Selmon brothers, Joe Washington, Tinker Owens, Elvis Peacock, and Jimbo Elrod.
Davis later became a college football broadcaster for CBS Sports in the Eighties.
Davis was born in Sallisaw, Oklahoma and lived in Tulsa. He was sixty years old. He was also a man of devout Christian faith, testifying wherever and whenever he was called upon.
************
(I watched this game in Tulsa, Oklahoma with Grandma and Gramps. I was not yet eight years old.)
************
My favorite Davis/Switzer story is the "Molecules in the Universe" story:
************
And, here are my thoughts on Steve Davis, the Sooners thrilling 1975 Title run, and the sad state of Big Time College Football today; published in this space in November 2011.
************
RIP, brother, and amen!
mds
Davis played for the Sooners from 1972 to 1976, running the Wishbone Option as quarterback for Barry Switzer as coach. As a starter Davis compiled a record of thirty two wins against only one loss and one tie. Davis was the winningest quarterback in the Sooners' proud football history until last year when Landry Jones broke his record. Davis won two National Titles with the Sooners in 1974 and 1975, and was named the Most Valuable Offensive Player in the 1976 Orange Bowl which sealed the deal on his second National Title.
Those mid-Seventies Sooners teams were some of the greatest in College Football History, as Davis played alongside such legends as the Selmon brothers, Joe Washington, Tinker Owens, Elvis Peacock, and Jimbo Elrod.
Davis later became a college football broadcaster for CBS Sports in the Eighties.
Davis was born in Sallisaw, Oklahoma and lived in Tulsa. He was sixty years old. He was also a man of devout Christian faith, testifying wherever and whenever he was called upon.
************
(I watched this game in Tulsa, Oklahoma with Grandma and Gramps. I was not yet eight years old.)
************
My favorite Davis/Switzer story is the "Molecules in the Universe" story:
I was standing beside Steve Davis late in the game, and we heard the boos starting.
Here was a kid who had quarterbacked at Oklahoma for three years and had never been beaten in twenty-nine games, and now some of the home fans were booing him.
The clock was ticking down and it was inevitable that we were going to lose the ball game by twenty damn points, and nobody in the world hurt worse than Steve did. It was hard to believe that our fans would boo the whole bunch of us, who had had such success.
I put my arm around Steve on the sideline and told him, "These people we hear are really insignificant. We can't let them influence us or anything we have to do. These people are just molecules in the universe."
************
And, here are my thoughts on Steve Davis, the Sooners thrilling 1975 Title run, and the sad state of Big Time College Football today; published in this space in November 2011.
************
RIP, brother, and amen!
mds
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 15, 2013
Conversations w/ Nick C, Part Another (Beware The Bard!)
The other day at work, right before I left, I let Nick C and Andrew G teach me all about comic books. I never got in to comics as a kid. I read Cerebus, and maybe a few Green Arrow issues.
We talked about the political differences between DC and Marvel, how their respective Universes compared and contrasted, and they taught me about scores of super heroes I had never heard of. (Honestly, Namor sounds like a really dopey super hero -- sorry, Nick -- and The Punisher scares the pants off of me. The Punisher is not a comic book hero I could ever get behind or support.)
So, I on the way home I decided to imagine what super hero I would be if I were one, and I came up with The Bard.
The Bard looks like an Elizabethan actor, natch. The ruff, leather shoes, tights (of course!), plumed hat, poet shirt, etc, ... And his super powers are his amazing singing and acting abilities. He can assume any person's identity, and just by speaking can hypnotize and/or control his victim's mind. Plus, when he sings and plays his lute he control the minds of large groups of people. His normal day-to-day identity is Billy Shakes, a twenty-four year old grocery store stock boy, who leads a struggling band, The Players, gigging with them in clubs around town.
I thought it best that The Bard/Billy would inhabit the DC Universe, and would live in Metropolis. Nick C agreed with that, but suggested that The Bard would be better not as hero but a super villain, fighting Superman most of the time, constantly trying to take control of the world. The Bard would also be chaotic evil (there's a D & D reference for ya!), preferring to manipulate the other villains, never working in concert with them, a lone wolf.
Then Nick C really took off with our idea. The Bard would be a great villain for DC because any time any kind of new media sensation took hold DC could do a Superman/Bard book. For example, The Bard could be like a Bill O'Reilly/Beck figure on cable news; a YouTube sensation; a host of a Survivor type reality program; the leader of the latest rock group fad, etc ... And Superman would always have to figure out that it was The Bard again in another identity, and that he must be stopped.
The Bard, naturally, would always be quoting Shakespeare, and Billy Shakes would be a pimply loser slacker kid with horn-rimmed glasses, "Paper or plastic, Miss?" or "If I had a girlfriend right now, she'd kill me." (h/t The Simpsons) That kind of thing.
Nick C is gonna draw The Bard and Billy for me, and I will post the photographs of the drawings at a later date.
Mwah, ...
Everybody have a splendid Friday!
************
 |
| Like this, except with a hat, and a lute instead of a sword. The Bard! |
We talked about the political differences between DC and Marvel, how their respective Universes compared and contrasted, and they taught me about scores of super heroes I had never heard of. (Honestly, Namor sounds like a really dopey super hero -- sorry, Nick -- and The Punisher scares the pants off of me. The Punisher is not a comic book hero I could ever get behind or support.)
So, I on the way home I decided to imagine what super hero I would be if I were one, and I came up with The Bard.
The Bard looks like an Elizabethan actor, natch. The ruff, leather shoes, tights (of course!), plumed hat, poet shirt, etc, ... And his super powers are his amazing singing and acting abilities. He can assume any person's identity, and just by speaking can hypnotize and/or control his victim's mind. Plus, when he sings and plays his lute he control the minds of large groups of people. His normal day-to-day identity is Billy Shakes, a twenty-four year old grocery store stock boy, who leads a struggling band, The Players, gigging with them in clubs around town.
I thought it best that The Bard/Billy would inhabit the DC Universe, and would live in Metropolis. Nick C agreed with that, but suggested that The Bard would be better not as hero but a super villain, fighting Superman most of the time, constantly trying to take control of the world. The Bard would also be chaotic evil (there's a D & D reference for ya!), preferring to manipulate the other villains, never working in concert with them, a lone wolf.
Then Nick C really took off with our idea. The Bard would be a great villain for DC because any time any kind of new media sensation took hold DC could do a Superman/Bard book. For example, The Bard could be like a Bill O'Reilly/Beck figure on cable news; a YouTube sensation; a host of a Survivor type reality program; the leader of the latest rock group fad, etc ... And Superman would always have to figure out that it was The Bard again in another identity, and that he must be stopped.
The Bard, naturally, would always be quoting Shakespeare, and Billy Shakes would be a pimply loser slacker kid with horn-rimmed glasses, "Paper or plastic, Miss?" or "If I had a girlfriend right now, she'd kill me." (h/t The Simpsons) That kind of thing.
Nick C is gonna draw The Bard and Billy for me, and I will post the photographs of the drawings at a later date.
Mwah, ...
Everybody have a splendid Friday!
************
Mar 14, 2013
Paul Simon Kodachrome
It is funny how long it took Paul Simon to become truly great. The first few Simon & Garfunkel records are not v good. By the time they got Bookends, they were almost there, and Bridge Over Troubled Water was their first truly great album from beginning to end. It was also their last record.
Once free of Art, Paul Simon really finally entered his own, and became one of best songwriters around. I have always loved this track.
-Ardent
Mar 12, 2013
Poem (March 2013)
Inasmuch as we have heard a
Mitigating sorry excuse for
Such a good soul as thee,
Orbiting an existence,
Suffused with brilliant light,
Ready to spoil the demons,
Yearning for delicious touch,
Climbing the reason to believe,
Leaving all souls behind
Elevate words and text
Write your spirit
Is not your life the
Spirit that absorbs and loves our own
mds
Mitigating sorry excuse for
Such a good soul as thee,
Orbiting an existence,
Suffused with brilliant light,
Ready to spoil the demons,
Yearning for delicious touch,
Climbing the reason to believe,
Leaving all souls behind
Elevate words and text
Write your spirit
Is not your life the
Spirit that absorbs and loves our own
mds
Allison W will correct me if I am wrong,
But I do not believe I am.
She and Dave B (or Kate H, or two of the three, or all of the three, or none of the three) introduced me to the most fab party game ever, Murder Midnight. I am not going to delve deep within the labyrinthine, exotic rules of that game right now, but to mention that it was ever so crucial to play that game to the scariest music imaginable, played at an absolutely ear-splitting volume. The game involved v little dialogue until the "reveal scene", which was perfunctory, and short, and most oftentimes, depending on the quality of the players, was mostly, solved (sussed) as the "villain" began to "corpse"*
Allison W (and David B, and possibly Kate H) always insisted that the music for our game be Stravinsky's, The Rites of Spring. Certainly terrifying, even at a dull roar, it was an artistic arrow through the brain for a young Michael Spitler, and turned me on to classical music in a way I had never been turned on before.
But, Allison W was not done yet.
Applying the tumultuous pagan spirit of Stravinsky's groundbreaking music for a ballet that Stravinsky always hated, Allison took the whole theme of Spring a step yet further.
Allison W introduced to her eager disciples that the Rites of Spring were not just a ballet score, but a way of life, existence.
To her, and to us (and to me, to this day), The Rites of Spring were a certain point in a person's life, when the weather became better, temperatures rose, the sun set later, and a person's priorities suddenly seemed to change, go haywire.
Do I really wanta write that paper tonight? Fuck it, I would rather go down the Crown and Anchor. Do I really want to go to class tomorrow? Fuck it, I would rather hit Hippie Hollow. Do I really wanta sit in the cafe, listening to some loser person that most def prob does not even like me? Fuck it, I'd rather hang out w/ my friends, watch Letterman, listen to Elvis Costello, and try on ridiculous fancy new clothes and frocks.
************
Alright, you say. Okay, you insist. Allison's Rites of Spring is perhaps not all that unlike the concepts of say, Spring Fever. Or Walpurgisnacht. I, most respectfully, disagree. Walpurgisnacht and Spring Fever have a distinct sexual subtext to them. Allison's Rites were much more chaste, more an expression of young unfettered intellectual yearning. That the World's brilliant limited window was open. Just a crack. And, goddammit, we had better bust through that window in the limited opportunity that we have.
And it is that window that children, students (especially), and even old men like me, are e'er so eager to bust through every time, that the Sun finally sets after seven PM.
************
I have a friend that has expressed to me that The Rites of Spring (even if she was not familiar w/ the language and rules that I had not yet presented to her) have already begun! It has not yet happened for me in Twentythirteen. And, I know not what state Allison W, Dave B, and Kate H are in.
But, as the sun sets later these days. And, the Perfect Disaster's Up record starts to sound more delicious. And Veep consumes Tumblr, HBO, and both my Wife and I's life; and as it is ever so nearly the Twelve Days of Michael's Birthday, can I honestly say, that fuck it, I dare not finally care about the signs and tastings and marketing of so many wines I can not whole-heartedly get behind.
It is The Rites of Spring, gosh dangit. Observe it to your discretion. For some (many) it might be an excuse for free love. For this soul it is the moment where life, in its pathetic, tawdry, mundane illusion of existence becomes real.
Perfect moments abound, goddamit! Get out there and grab them!
All my love,
Michael David Spitler
P.S. One of my fave all-time things is that players, conductors, ballet directors, balletomaine, and composers still hate Stravinsky's Le Sacre du Printemps. The only folks that love Stravinsky's difficult and groundbreaking music are crazed, difficult drama majors and art students. Eighty years old, and it is still a bridge so many in the Art World are not ready to cross. Their loss.
mds
She and Dave B (or Kate H, or two of the three, or all of the three, or none of the three) introduced me to the most fab party game ever, Murder Midnight. I am not going to delve deep within the labyrinthine, exotic rules of that game right now, but to mention that it was ever so crucial to play that game to the scariest music imaginable, played at an absolutely ear-splitting volume. The game involved v little dialogue until the "reveal scene", which was perfunctory, and short, and most oftentimes, depending on the quality of the players, was mostly, solved (sussed) as the "villain" began to "corpse"*
Allison W (and David B, and possibly Kate H) always insisted that the music for our game be Stravinsky's, The Rites of Spring. Certainly terrifying, even at a dull roar, it was an artistic arrow through the brain for a young Michael Spitler, and turned me on to classical music in a way I had never been turned on before.
But, Allison W was not done yet.
Applying the tumultuous pagan spirit of Stravinsky's groundbreaking music for a ballet that Stravinsky always hated, Allison took the whole theme of Spring a step yet further.
Allison W introduced to her eager disciples that the Rites of Spring were not just a ballet score, but a way of life, existence.
To her, and to us (and to me, to this day), The Rites of Spring were a certain point in a person's life, when the weather became better, temperatures rose, the sun set later, and a person's priorities suddenly seemed to change, go haywire.
Do I really wanta write that paper tonight? Fuck it, I would rather go down the Crown and Anchor. Do I really want to go to class tomorrow? Fuck it, I would rather hit Hippie Hollow. Do I really wanta sit in the cafe, listening to some loser person that most def prob does not even like me? Fuck it, I'd rather hang out w/ my friends, watch Letterman, listen to Elvis Costello, and try on ridiculous fancy new clothes and frocks.
************
Alright, you say. Okay, you insist. Allison's Rites of Spring is perhaps not all that unlike the concepts of say, Spring Fever. Or Walpurgisnacht. I, most respectfully, disagree. Walpurgisnacht and Spring Fever have a distinct sexual subtext to them. Allison's Rites were much more chaste, more an expression of young unfettered intellectual yearning. That the World's brilliant limited window was open. Just a crack. And, goddammit, we had better bust through that window in the limited opportunity that we have.
And it is that window that children, students (especially), and even old men like me, are e'er so eager to bust through every time, that the Sun finally sets after seven PM.
************
I have a friend that has expressed to me that The Rites of Spring (even if she was not familiar w/ the language and rules that I had not yet presented to her) have already begun! It has not yet happened for me in Twentythirteen. And, I know not what state Allison W, Dave B, and Kate H are in.
But, as the sun sets later these days. And, the Perfect Disaster's Up record starts to sound more delicious. And Veep consumes Tumblr, HBO, and both my Wife and I's life; and as it is ever so nearly the Twelve Days of Michael's Birthday, can I honestly say, that fuck it, I dare not finally care about the signs and tastings and marketing of so many wines I can not whole-heartedly get behind.
It is The Rites of Spring, gosh dangit. Observe it to your discretion. For some (many) it might be an excuse for free love. For this soul it is the moment where life, in its pathetic, tawdry, mundane illusion of existence becomes real.
Perfect moments abound, goddamit! Get out there and grab them!
All my love,
Michael David Spitler
P.S. One of my fave all-time things is that players, conductors, ballet directors, balletomaine, and composers still hate Stravinsky's Le Sacre du Printemps. The only folks that love Stravinsky's difficult and groundbreaking music are crazed, difficult drama majors and art students. Eighty years old, and it is still a bridge so many in the Art World are not ready to cross. Their loss.
mds
Mar 11, 2013
Parade's End is a bloody good little
Melodrama. The mini-series was written by Tom Stoppard, and as he is also a producer, I imagine it is his little baby. He has probably been itching for years to bring the Ford Madox Ford Parade novels to the big screen, and as so much of the best "films" today are television series, mini-series, or cable movies, why not have the Beeb and HBO birth your beautiful new baby for you? Plus, it certainly can not hurt (and HBO were v smart) to show Parade's End, an aristocratic English upstairs/downstairs smart-alec's soap set during The Great War, right after Season Three of Downton Abbey concludes.
Parade's End is infinitely better than Downton Abbey. But despite being set in the same period, the comparison is not fair. DA is an-open ended continuing series, whereas Parade's End is five hours long, full stop; an adaptation of what some critics thought of as an impenetrable or unadaptable series of novels.
Yet, Stoppard was not deterred. Good for him, and us.
Parade's End tells the story of Chrissie Tietjens,"the last Tory", and one of the most brilliant minds of his generation, watching stone-facedly as "his Jerusalem", "his green and pleasant land" vanishes before him, being replaced by trade unions, suffragettes, a rise in Roman Catholicism, loose morals, liberalism, partisanship trumping what is right, a totally Twit of the Year officious ruling aristocracy (h/t Monty Python), and just the whole world going to hell in a hand basket.
And, oh yeah, his drop dead gorgeous socialite Irish Roman Catholic wife is a horrible flirt and adulterer; spoiled rotten, and so consumed with only herself that at one point she uses one of her past flings to get her to the Western Front so as to ask her husband if she can be allowed to take up residence at his old family pile, Groby. (The Wife and I literally wanted to strangle her throughout the entire series.)
Stoppard has done such a masterful job with this material, and has created something perhaps lately unique, a "film" that demands repeated viewings not because of glorious sweeping visual moments, or hilarious sight gags, or jokes; but so the viewer can completely digest and settle with some of the seriously breathtakingly lovely high brow novelistic dialogue. Honestly, there are some scenes I will simply have to watch again. And, I am greatly looking forward to that. This is not a film that speaks down to its audience in any way whatsoever. And, you really can not blink, either. A lot of serious plot points are not played on the screen, at all. You must pay rapt attention, though the rewards are worth such rapturous devotion.
Benedict Cumberbatch plays Chrissie Tietjens, and Rebecca Hall plays his wife, Sylvia. It is some of the finest acting I have seen in a while. Cumberbatch, in particular, is really building quite an impressive CV. Cumberbatch's posture, face, and strange muttering strangled voice almost completely make you forget about the actor. (That voice can be a challenge though for viewers. We watched it with subtitles, just so we could get every juicy word.) Ms Hall's attack was near as good, if of a different more technical style. She has absolutely no intention of fooling you that she is someone else. She is Rebecca Hall, dang it, and she has never looked more lovely in her life. Red hair suits her. Ms Hall prefers to attack her character through words. And, it is absolutely delicious and ravishing to hear her roll and loll her tongue around Stoppard and Ford's exquisite high style language; to see her sulk and play exasperatingly bored is divine and sexy as all get out.
 |
| "Hmmm, how best shall I torture my insubstantial half-man husband today?" |
Parade's End comes supremely highly recommended by me. I think you have to watch it through an HBO platform right now, or procure it through the grey market of the interwebs. It is well worth it, though. Those in love with the English language at its finest; or devotees of the themes of selflessness, sexual repression, unrequited love, honor, and relationships dominated by weakness and resentment should devour with relish the five delicious hours of Parade's End.
Mwah, ...
P.S. And, then it is fun to watch Cumberbatch and Hall w/ James McAvoy and Dominic Cooper in Starter for 10 after you are done w/ all that heavy lit stuff!
Mar 8, 2013
Counting Backwards
I definitely think there is hope for the industry, and for all people, particularly young people, if a film like The Perks of Being a Wall Flower, which although seemingly aimed at people my age, can truly resonate and touch younger folks in their teens and twenties.
 |
| Mae Whitman |
If it can do that, does do that, then it can avoid the trap of being strictly a nostalgia shadow box, a frozen moment of time on display for everyone. Many, like myself, an absolute mix tape fiend back in the day, and others my age, will be helpless but to peer inside the box. Others of all different ages might pass right by. And, that is alright, of course.
One of the greatest joys about art, and something that is ever so smartly built right in to the picture, is the intense feeling of personal ownership. A friend of mine in college once said, "My R.E.M. is completely different from your R.E.M." I understood exactly what they meant. The film, The Perks of Being a Wall Flower (and I gather the novel does, as well) does an excellent job of capturing the extreme, faintly erotic sense of possessing, or "living inside" something like a David Bowie record, or a JD Salinger novel, while at the same time makes a hearty attempt at becoming the type of art object that merits such cultish adoration.
As I said, if the film speaks to folks not of my generation (and I think it does) then the artists involved should be spectacularly proud and pleased.
It is not a film I think I need to own, or something that could bear multiple repeated viewings on my part, but, I am glad it is out there, and I hope it inspires the same kind of devotion from its fans that I had for ChangesOneBowie or Franny & Zooey. "My Perks is completely different from your Perks", indeed.
(A few random notes: It sure was nice to hear Throwing Muses and Pavement in a film, right? And, I could probably watch Mae Whitman unload a dishwasher onscreen and be absolutely enthralled.)
All my Friday love,
Your cranky know it all critic,
Michael
Mar 6, 2013
Saw two movies with the Wife
Last Sunday. One of them I kind of sneaked in there while Renee was working on dinner, and snacks. By the time we might have had a chance to start our intended main feature, Renee was already engaged with my foreign pick and it was nearly over.
My movie was an Italian psychological thriller entitled The Double Hour. Despite an ambiguous ending, and a couple of gratuitous sexytime scenes, the film was a decent little entertainment. It reminded me of Repulsion a little bit, and the big twist near the end of the second act is actually quite ingenious, totally believable, and fun.
Here's the trailer:
Our main feature was Joe Wright's Anna Karenina, and it was a whopping disappointment. I actually enjoyed the theatre setting for the story, all the sets, and the costumes were indeed v lovely to look at. The problem was not even Keira Knightly (not one of my faves, really), but the subject matter. I just did not really give a fig about Anna's tragic story. It seems she brought it all on herself, and she was going to have to pay. I just did not get the sense of any real danger or guilty tragic passionate love between her and Vronsky. That is not just the actors, the whole direction for the film seems detached, as if observed from an arch distance.
I am a big style over content kind of guy, but this film definitely could have stood to have some grounding. The stakes desperately needed to be raised for these characters to make this work. It is a flipping melodrama already.
I can sum up the Wife's feelings about Anna Karenina with one sentence, something she said out loud near the end of the film, "Is everybody in Russia named Alexei?"
Next time you are idly cruising Netflix check out The Double Hour. Stay away from the most recent Anna Karenina. (I am going to check out some older film versions. I have absolutely no desire to read the book.)
Mwah, ...
My movie was an Italian psychological thriller entitled The Double Hour. Despite an ambiguous ending, and a couple of gratuitous sexytime scenes, the film was a decent little entertainment. It reminded me of Repulsion a little bit, and the big twist near the end of the second act is actually quite ingenious, totally believable, and fun.
Here's the trailer:
Our main feature was Joe Wright's Anna Karenina, and it was a whopping disappointment. I actually enjoyed the theatre setting for the story, all the sets, and the costumes were indeed v lovely to look at. The problem was not even Keira Knightly (not one of my faves, really), but the subject matter. I just did not really give a fig about Anna's tragic story. It seems she brought it all on herself, and she was going to have to pay. I just did not get the sense of any real danger or guilty tragic passionate love between her and Vronsky. That is not just the actors, the whole direction for the film seems detached, as if observed from an arch distance.
I am a big style over content kind of guy, but this film definitely could have stood to have some grounding. The stakes desperately needed to be raised for these characters to make this work. It is a flipping melodrama already.
I can sum up the Wife's feelings about Anna Karenina with one sentence, something she said out loud near the end of the film, "Is everybody in Russia named Alexei?"
Next time you are idly cruising Netflix check out The Double Hour. Stay away from the most recent Anna Karenina. (I am going to check out some older film versions. I have absolutely no desire to read the book.)
Mwah, ...
Mar 5, 2013
Progmania! (Part Three)
The great story about this track is that Esquivel conducted and recorded two separate orchestras simultaneously. One orchestra is the left channel, and the other is the right. Oh, and the two orchestras were in two different studios across town from each other.
(And, yes, I am using the term Prog for Progmania v loosely.)
Mwah, ...
Mar 4, 2013
We saw this "kid" on an episode of It is Always Sunny in Philadelphia the other day.
A.J. Brown: Yeah, so, ... uh, item: We need to have a conversation about the mood of the British Parliament, the bumps in the road ahead, and whatnot --
MALCOLM TUCKER: I'm sorry, I don't, this, uh, situation here ... is ... is this it? No offense, son, but, I mean, you look like you should still be at school with your head down a fucking toilet.
A.J.: Your first point there, I'm afraid I'm going to have to take it. Your second point, I'm twenty-two, but, uh, item: It's my birthday in nine days, so, if it would make you feel more comfortable, we could wait.
MALCOLM: Don't get sarcastic with me, son. We burnt this tight-ass city to the ground in 1814, and I'm all for doing it again. Starting with you, you frat-fuck. You get sarcastic with me again and I will stuff so much cotton wool down your fucking throat it'll come outta your ass like the wee tail on a Playboy Bunny.
************
A couple of notes: The "kid" is an actor named Johnny Pemberton, and the second season of Veep starts on April 14th, a week after my birthday. Woo-hoo!
Mwah, ...
Good frickin' grief, I started seeing through
This guy's schtick years ago, right around the time of the Clinton Administration.
Bob Woodward, today, is exactly the same kind of guy he was as portrayed by Bob Redford in All the President's Men back in the Seventies. A not too bright registered Republican without any real passion or conviction re policy or politics or people, who though handsome (back then) is severely lacking in social skills and graces, and since he is no great shakes as a writer or reporter, is supremely dependent upon others for his livelihood.
Back in the Seventies, Woodward's "others" were Carl Bernstein, Benjamin Bradlee, and Mark Felt, aka "Deep Throat".
I mean, no wonder Bernstein and his wife, Nora Ephron, kept trying to sex up Bernstein's character, as portrayed by Dustin Hoffman, in Bill Goldman's excellent screenplay for the film. They were worried Woodward would become the "star" of the production.
Which is exactly what happened. Woodward became a Star Journalist, and Woodward's new "others", his new "Edge" became the classic Courtier Press VIP card that he was awarded sometime around the Carter Administration. Big Time Bob was now allowed in the room while the Very Powerful Serious Folks argued about what best to do about the rest of us.
It has always been about the power of access for Woodward. And, for big time book deals, and maintaining his vast Georgetown pile. Never about you or me, dang it. Or, all the kids that have died in our stupid military actions. Or, the ever growing gulf between the haves and have nots in this country. Because as long as Big Time Bob gets to sit at the Grown Ups Table, all is hunky dory in his world.
This explains Woodward's hissy fit last week. And, his (sort of) retraction, too, when his slip was showing.
Why anyone would be paying any amount of attention to this tired old William Hurt from Broadcast News character is beyond me. Do not feed the troll!
************
And, then there was this:
-- Ann Rafalca Romney on Fox News yesterday.
(h/t Charlie Pierce.)
Gosh, if only Big Time Bob thought you guys were serious players, you might be in the Other Cool House right now.
No matter who you vote for, the Government always gets in.
All my Monday love,
mds
Bob Woodward, today, is exactly the same kind of guy he was as portrayed by Bob Redford in All the President's Men back in the Seventies. A not too bright registered Republican without any real passion or conviction re policy or politics or people, who though handsome (back then) is severely lacking in social skills and graces, and since he is no great shakes as a writer or reporter, is supremely dependent upon others for his livelihood.
Back in the Seventies, Woodward's "others" were Carl Bernstein, Benjamin Bradlee, and Mark Felt, aka "Deep Throat".
I mean, no wonder Bernstein and his wife, Nora Ephron, kept trying to sex up Bernstein's character, as portrayed by Dustin Hoffman, in Bill Goldman's excellent screenplay for the film. They were worried Woodward would become the "star" of the production.
Which is exactly what happened. Woodward became a Star Journalist, and Woodward's new "others", his new "Edge" became the classic Courtier Press VIP card that he was awarded sometime around the Carter Administration. Big Time Bob was now allowed in the room while the Very Powerful Serious Folks argued about what best to do about the rest of us.
It has always been about the power of access for Woodward. And, for big time book deals, and maintaining his vast Georgetown pile. Never about you or me, dang it. Or, all the kids that have died in our stupid military actions. Or, the ever growing gulf between the haves and have nots in this country. Because as long as Big Time Bob gets to sit at the Grown Ups Table, all is hunky dory in his world.
This explains Woodward's hissy fit last week. And, his (sort of) retraction, too, when his slip was showing.
Why anyone would be paying any amount of attention to this tired old William Hurt from Broadcast News character is beyond me. Do not feed the troll!
************
And, then there was this:
"I'm happy to blame the media...The thing that was frustrating to me is that people didn't really get to know Mitt for who he was. People weren't allowed to see him for who he really was."
-- Ann Rafalca Romney on Fox News yesterday.
(h/t Charlie Pierce.)
Gosh, if only Big Time Bob thought you guys were serious players, you might be in the Other Cool House right now.
No matter who you vote for, the Government always gets in.
All my Monday love,
mds
Mar 2, 2013
After our lovely dinner
Date last night, the Wife had a few rules about what we would be allowed to watch at home: No reading (subtitles); no stories about young people in love; no coming of age stories; although black and white could be acceptable it was not preferred; and more than anything, she expressed a desire to see a documentary about political scandal and corruption, especially if it involved sex. Something like Client 9.
The Wife even suggested we just find Client 9 on the apple teevee, and see what suggestions they had for us based on that choice. After a fair amount of circumnavigating I came across Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr Hunter S Thompson. I had seen it before, the Wife had not. She was reluctant but prob too sleepy to put up much of a fight.
Gonzo was just as good as I had remembered it to be. My fave parts are Hunter's coverage of The Hell's Angels, the Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas bit, and his unsurpassed, groundbreaking coverage of the 1972 General Election (Renee said, "Gosh, McGovern seemed like such a nice great guy." Yup.)
But, the best part is the retelling of Hunter's Rolling Stone article about Jimmy Carter's tour de force Law Day speech in 1974, wherein Carter quoted Bob Dylan's song Maggie's Farm, and told all those rich privileged Southern lawyers and judges how bad they should feel for not getting behind someone like Martin Luther King Jr back when he was still alive.
Here is the speech in full:
The Wife even suggested we just find Client 9 on the apple teevee, and see what suggestions they had for us based on that choice. After a fair amount of circumnavigating I came across Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr Hunter S Thompson. I had seen it before, the Wife had not. She was reluctant but prob too sleepy to put up much of a fight.
Gonzo was just as good as I had remembered it to be. My fave parts are Hunter's coverage of The Hell's Angels, the Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas bit, and his unsurpassed, groundbreaking coverage of the 1972 General Election (Renee said, "Gosh, McGovern seemed like such a nice great guy." Yup.)
But, the best part is the retelling of Hunter's Rolling Stone article about Jimmy Carter's tour de force Law Day speech in 1974, wherein Carter quoted Bob Dylan's song Maggie's Farm, and told all those rich privileged Southern lawyers and judges how bad they should feel for not getting behind someone like Martin Luther King Jr back when he was still alive.
Here is the speech in full:
Anyhoo, sure enough the Wife fell asleep, and I finished the film, completely forgetting that Alex Gibney directed it. (And, that Graydon Carter was one of the producers!)
Alex Gibney has got to be the best political documentary filmmaker alive right now. Look at this credit list: We Steal Secrets; Mea Maxima Culpa; Catching Hell; Client 9; the abortion segment of Freakonomics; Casino Jack; Taxi to the Dark Side; and Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room. All of those have been made in just the last eight years. Stunning. And, a quick look on his imdb CV indicates that he has a doc about Fela Kuti coming out next. (I have just discovered Fela recently, and will be v eager to see it.)
Keep up the good work, Mr Gibney. And, all of those films, plus Gonzo come v highly recommended by me, espec Enron, Casino Jack, Catching Hell, and Client 9.
Mwah, ...
Work week over. Woo-hoo!
P.S. I started watching Melville's Le Cercle Rouge after Gonzo. Meaning the Wife woke up to a v long French early 70s thriller with subtitles. I told her before we crawled in to bed, "Are you sure you can not stay out here a little bit longer? There are only two more hours left with the film."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
