Weekly Mishmash: December 28-January 3
The Bullfighter Checks Her Makeup: My Encounters with Extraordinary People by Susan Orlean. As far as magazine journalists go, I’m a big fan of the witty and hyper-aware Susan Orlean. Her 1999 piece on famously awful girl group The Shaggs is one of my all time faves, a beautifully observed look at misplaced hopes and dreams. That and several other quirky profiles (most of which were originally published in The New Yorker throughout the ’90s) are assembled in Bullfighter. For the most part, the articles are fun and interesting and not too terribly dated. I could see all of them working perfectly as magazine pieces (well, maybe not so much the surprisingly boring one about the African king who moonlights as a taxi driver), but reading them all together makes Orlean’s self-awareness annoyingly apparent. Still, there are a few precious gems here. I remember reading the book’s sharp and offbeat profile of ’80s teen queen Tiffany in Rolling Stone way back when, and her description of Tiffany’s face alone has stayed with me for some odd reason — 20 years later! I also enjoyed her profiles of a young woman who works as the sole reporter at a small town newspaper, another woman who runs a store that only sells buttons, and Hollywood superagent Sue Mengers. And don’t forget that Shaggs piece — all of which make this book worth tracking down a cheap used copy for.
Force of Evil (1948). Every New Years Eve that we’ve been together, Christopher and I have a tradition of watching an old (preferably B&W) movie that neither of us has seen before. This year’s choice was the overlooked John Garfield noir Force of Evil. This one was independently produced and filmed on the streets of New York City, giving the tale of underground numbers rackets a gritty immediacy. In many respects, this film is perfectly adequate — even a bit dull at times. It is, however, bolstered by some fine performances. Garfield is as good as I’ve ever seen him, and portly Thomas Gomez oozes sympathy as Garfield’s conflicted racketeer brother. On the feminine side, we have the delicious Marie Windsor doing what she did best (was there ever a more quintessential femme fatale than she?) and the obscure actress Beatrice Pearson has an unusually smart and self-aware presence in the ingénue role.
The Maltese Falcon (1941). Re-watched this in the past week. Still great, although at times I had a hard time following the convoluted plot. John Huston’s script is a wonder. I think what struck me the most this time was how even the smallest of characters have a depth that’s usually missing from films of this period (or ever, really). And even the smallest of those roles are perfectly cast. Take Lee Patrick (pictured above) as Effie Perine, shrewd secretary to Humphrey Bogart’s Sam Spade. She’s fantastic, and the role is actually quite typical — but I could watch an entire movie that revolved around Effie alone. The chemistry between the two actors is mildly flirtatious (if I remember correctly, the pre-Code 1931 Falcon made it clearer that Effie and Sam had a thing going) and a joy to behold. Just one intriguing slice of a film that has many of ‘em.
Milk (2008). This was one of the few new films I wanted to see before it leaves theaters, and I wasn’t disappointed at all. Although in many ways it is a typical bio-pic, I loved the way Gus Van Sant weaves actual documentary footage of Harvey Milk’s campaigning to be the first openly gay city official with dramatically re-created scenes. To be honest, the thought of city politics sounds boring as hell on paper, but this story is so unique it can’t help but be super compelling. Sean Penn literally disappears into this role — there were honestly times that I forgot I was watching an actor play a role. He makes Milk human, compassionate, flawed, and identifiably gay without seeming stereotypical or actor-y. The most obvious sign of this film’s success is that it stays compelling even though you know where the story will end up. Tough to pull off, but here it works.
Wanda (1970). Barbara Loden is unique in film history in that she still ranks as one of the few women who produced, directed and starred in her own film. Although ragged and low budget to the extreme, Wanda is still an interesting experience. Loden plays an aimless young woman living in an ugly-ass steel town. Escaping dull married life, she eventually takes up with a placid-looking but mentally unhinged criminal (played by Michael Higgins, probably the only other professional actor in the cast) as he prepares for one last bank heist. Loden punctuates her character’s fatalism by lingering on bland, ’60s mid-American landscapes — many of which reminded me footage in the documentary Salesman from the same time period. At times she lingers a bit too long, sure, but the film is never boring. I found it uniquely fascinating, and as an actor Loden is so low-key that it’s almost subliminal. It’s a shame that she didn’t live long enough to do much else, but I’m happy that we have this to remember her by.
Two Bunnies and a Duck, the Book
Now that the new year has begun, I can reveal a project that occupied a good chunk of my time last month — Two Bunnies & A Duck: The Book. This was my special Christmas gift for Christopher (who loved it). The book collects the first 22 Two Bunnies & A Duck comics, along with a few extra goodies. With Lulu.com and my trusty copy of Adobe InDesign, the production went as seamlessly as you can get. Honestly, I don’t expect anyone else to buy the $25.95 hardback edition, but there is a considerably cheaper download version at my Lulu storefront.
Disneyland Dream
The Library of Congress just named their 2008 inductees of culturally important films to be included in the National Film Registry. These are always interesting, because among the expected Hollywood classics they also include art films, animated shorts, forgotten silent footage and other stuff which might be considered ephemeral. One of this year’s choices, for example, is some totally charming silent home movie footage documenting the results of a happy ’50s suburban family’s winning sweepstakes entry — a trip to Disneyland! From the Library of Congress site:
The Barstow family films a memorable home movie of their trip to Disneyland. Robbins and Meg Barstow, along with their children Mary, David and Daniel were among 25 families who won a free trip to the newly opened Disneyland in Anaheim, Calif., as part of a “Scotch Brand Cellophane Tape” contest sponsored by 3M. Through vivid color and droll narration (”The landscape was very different from back home in Connecticut”), we see a fantastic historical snapshot of Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Catalina Island, Knott’s Berry Farm, Universal Studios and Disneyland in mid-1956. Home movies have assumed a rapidly increasing importance in American cultural studies as they provide a priceless and authentic record of time and place.
The entire film is available for downloading/viewing here (thanks to loyal Mark Evanier reader Christopher for the heads-up). It is a fascinating little document of the park, looking sparse and ultra-clean only a year after it first opened.
Ben, Ben, Go Away
The L.A. Times reports on the online backlash against Ben “I Am Legend is one of the greatest movies ever made” Lyons. I stopped watching At the Movies when they retooled the once intelligent show into glossy tripe with a bunch of gold comets flying everywhere. I think the telegenic Ben epitomizes where the media wants film criticism to go — replace smart discourse with smarmy celebrity ass-kissing. Don’t dare touch foreign films or anything with complex themes. Smile often. Name-drop your actor friends if possible. Even though At The Movies‘ ratings have dropped since Lyons’ addition and most people hate his guts, his bosses apparently want to keep him on. Consult the blog Stop Ben Lyons for more evidence of why this guy needs to be ghettoized into the after hours slot on the E! network.
Weekly Mishmash: December 21-27
The Cheaters (1945). We gave this a cursory viewing when it showed up on Turner Classic Movies — twice — on Christmas night. From Robert Osborne’s glowing introduction, you’d think we were in for an undiscovered Yuletide cinematic gem. Instead, what we got was a dismal screwball comedy that tried way too hard to please. The plot revolved around a rich, dimwitted family who adopt a down-on-his-luck actor (shades of My Man Godfrey), all the while attempting to thwart a family inhertance. In the process, they learn What Life Is Really About and the viewer tries to suppress an upchuck. True, Billie Burke and Eugene Pallette are their usual, delightfully stereotypical selves as the parents, but this one only proved that Republic Pictures was better off sticking to Westerns.
I’ll See You in My Dreams (1951). This musical biopic was very competently directed by that powerhouse of Warner Bros., Michael Curtiz. Danny Thomas was an odd choice to star as lyricist Gus Kahn, but he’s surprisingly good and Doris Day is her usual perky self as Kahn’s supportive wife, Grace. This is the usual sort of malarkey in which songs seemingly spring up out of thin air, but (aside from being too long) it was fun and sweet without being too sickeningly sentimental.
Mamma Mia! (2008) and ABBA — Voulez-Vous. What to say about the film version of Mamma Mia!? I’m a true blue ABBA fan, but I’ve never seen the stage version before — something about it (the estrogen-heavy cast?) just seems so unappealing to me. The film version confirms those suspicions. First off, this exists as a plea to Hollywood to please stop casting non-singing actors in musicals. Meryl Streep has a thin but decent singing voice (even turning in a lovely performance with “Slipping Through My Fingers”), but these tunes are way out of her range. To compensate for what she lacks in voice, she overplays everything else to an embarrassing degree. This applies to the rest of the cast as well. The music is fun (if unimaginatively arranged) and having it filmed on a real, picturesque Greek island was an excellent idea — but those are about the only positives going for this lousily directed thing. Having sat through the movie, I downloaded ABBA’s 1979 LP Voulez Vous and now it is my second favorite album of theirs (after The Visitors). Fans call this one their “disco album,” but in actuality its the usual ABBA brilliance adapted to the disco sound, impeccably arranged and sung with an almost creepy perfection. Except for the drippy ballad “I Have A Dream” (that and “Thank You For The Music” are the only two ABBA tunes that I really can’t stomach), it’s a perfect album. “Does Your Mother Know” and “Kisses Of Fire” elicit strong deja vu feelings, since my dad actually bought that single for me when it first came out nearly thirty years ago. Why bother dealing with Mamma Mia! when the real thing is so easily available?
Model Shop (1969). This intriguing but ultimately disappointing film served as the only American venture from famed French director Jacques Demy. It follows an aimless young man as he deals with the possibility of being drafted and breaking up with his wannabe actress girlfriend in sun baked late ’60s L.A. Eventually he meets a mysterious French woman who works in a place where pervy guys can rent cameras and take photos of models in private rooms. Demy has a unique visual flair and I enjoyed his views of tacky California streetscapes (in that respect, this is of a piece with Point Blank and Targets), but the script is endlessly dull and they couldn’t have had a more charisma-free leading actor than Gary Lockwood. Anouk Aimée is fetching as the object of Lockwood’s fascination, but even she is wasted. There’s a fine line between conveying moods of cool detachment and utter boredom — this movie crossed that line too many times to count.
Mildred Pierce (1945). Shortly after we met, Christopher and I bonded over our mutual love of Joan Crawford and everything else about this particular film. Yeah, it is pretty much the apex of studio film making in its Golden Age — but how does it hold up when shown to friends who only have a casual interest in old movies? We had some company over yesterday and decided to show them this DVD as denouement to a savory ham meal at our place. Although they generally enjoyed it, they also found the film overlong and filled with too many unlikable characters. Can ya believe that? We might need to find some new friends.
Not Even a Mouse
When it comes to yuletide cartoons, honestly, how can you pick just one? The 1941 Tom & Jerry cartoon short The Night Before Christmas was C’s pick for some holiday-themed viewing last night. Sweet sentiment, wonderful background paintings, and classic animation are in abundance on this one. It’s available commercially on the Tom & Jerry Spotlight Collection, Vol. 2 DVD set. Happy holidays, everyone!
Fish Pedicure?
The New York Times compiles the Buzzwords of 2008. From a designer’s standpoint, they did a great job with the type treatment (by Jessica Hische).
Also (sorta) via the NYT: method lust, a weblog devoted to Method cleaning products.
Weekly Mishmash: December 14-20
Time for another mishmash, and all I want to do is try and figure out why the shooting victim in Trauma Center: New Blood keeps dying on me. Oh well…
The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes (1969). Another live action Disney discovery courtesy of TCM. This was the first of three films starring Kurt Russel as happy-go-lucky college student Dexter Reilly. This outing finds an electrical accident giving Dexter the knowledge of a computer, in a plot that appears to be Tron in reverse. Silly hijinks of the type found in a typical I Dream of Jeannie episode ensue. Overall, I preferred the third Dexter Reilly movie (The Strongest Man In The World) to this one, but like Ivan I found this a pleasantly brainless experience. Hands down my favorite part of the movie was the opening credits sequence, featuring vintage computer-y visuals and a title theme with some of the weirdest tongue-twisting lyrics ever. “Never met a groovier dude, an electric kind of guy” — yeah, baby!
Oh, and everyone needs to check out TCM’s beautifully done documentary The Age of Believing: The Disney Live Action Classics. It repeats on December 28th. Don’t be fooled by the toothache-inducing subject matter; it’s excellent.
4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days (2007). Heard a lot of good things about this when it turned up on several critics’ “Best of” lists last year. This grim Romanian drama follows two college co-eds as they attempt to arrange an illegal abortion. Although the film is a period piece set in the ’80s, it reaffirms the fact that Romania is one of the few places on earth doing original, thought-provoking films. Not an uplifting piece, for sure, but I loved the aching, lovingly detailed milieu Cristian Mungiu sets forth with a small cast of fascinating characters. The film is deliberately paced but never boring, and beautifully photographed with many long unedited takes. One scene in particular, with actress Anamaria Marinca dutifully attending her boyfriend’s family dinner party while her mind is obviously elsewhere, is an understated marvel.
Sprecher Cherry Cola. I’ve been falling behind on my soda reviews, but just wanted to mention this super-sweet delight from a bottler in Wisconsin. Ever have a Coke with a shot of cherry at Sonic? This concoction is like one of those with ten shots of cherry. It’s cherrilicious to the point that the cherry taste bludgeons the cola taste to death. Just thinking about it again makes my mouth water.
10,000 Maniacs — In My Tribe and The Ramones — Ramones. A couple of classic albums to fill out my iTunes library. Amazon had the digital edition of In My Tribe, an album whose grimy cassette I wore out during my college years, for just $1.99 this week. Revisiting confirms that it has not a single dud track, although Natalie Merchant’s earnest preachiness grates more easily now than it did in ‘87. This particular download lacked the band’s cover of Cat Stevens’ “Peace Train,” but I did manage to find it elsewhere (sure, it seems like a label-induced sales gambit, but the album doesn’t feel complete without it). I always wanted to hear the Ramones’ debut. Although the album cuts don’t measure up to iconic tracks like “Blitzkrieg Bop,” the album is as raw and goofy and fun as everyone has said. I liked the extras on the CD edition, too — strangely enough, the early version of “I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend” might be the only example of a song where the demo is more polished sounding than the final product!
Pee Wee Snowball
There are Christmas specials, and then there’s Pee Wee Herman’s 1988 Christmas Special. Here’s the intro to that star-studded opus, along with a very special performance of “The Little Drummer Boy” performed by Grace Jones in a form-fitting plastic bustier. Love those dancing Marines!
Discover a Lovelier You
Here’s another swellorama thrift store find to share on flickr. The Nancy Taylor Course was a 1960 four volume self help manual on how to be a fashion model, or at least look like one. Each volume is printed on pale pink paper for maximum femininity, packed with advice on how to attain perfect posture (balance a book on your head!), social etiquette, hair and makeup, diet, even what kind of dainty toiletries to pack in one’s handbag. You know, in case you have one of those “not so fresh” days.
What really grabbed me about these are the illustrations, image after image of Barbie-esque ladies looking all elegant and chi-chi — and there’s a lot of them. The drawings appear to be by several artists, and they’re all so good that I’ve scanned several and placed them in their own flickr set. It contains 50 photos as of now, and that’s only covering the first volume. Some highlights below. Note the carefully positioned feet on the first woman:
Weekly Mishmash: December 7-13
The Black Cauldron (1985). This Disney animated effort has a small cult of fans, although after watching it I don’t really know why. The characters and story are unmemorable, and the animation lacks the usual Disney polish (apparently this was the first film after Disney’s old guard was let go and they needed to train new animators). Although I never saw it in theaters, I do remember Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert’s review in which they go on about the fortune telling pig character. Maybe those fans were impressionable kids when they first viewed this, but overall the movie was just kinda “blah” to me. Which is definitely not what Disney animation ought to do.
Man on Wire (2008). Solidly enthralling documentary about Philippe Petit, who made headlines in 1974 by orchestrating a covert wire walk across the two World Trade Center towers. Given the rapturous critical reception this film has gotten, it never really bowled me over. It’s certainly a fascinating story, and the 60ish Petit has a puckish energy lacking in men even half his age. The film, however, doesn’t gather steam until Petit gets to the wirewalking itself — well into the proceedings. One thing that works in the filmmaker’s favor is the fact that Petit and his cronies shot a lot of home movie footage of themselves, which is skillfully integrated into new interviews with the participants (see also The Devil and Daniel Johnston from last week).
Old Yeller (1957). I expected corniness aplenty with this Disney feature, but the film resonates a lot more than I ever expected. Despite poor Yeller’s ultimate fate, this is well-crafted and non-sentimental entertainment with an uplifting message — one that gives the phrase “family film” a good meaning for once. I loved the warm performances by Tommy Kirk and Dorothy McGuire, which somewhat makes up for that shrill little hellion Kevin Corchoran (why was that kid in so many Disney flicks, anyhow?). By the way, surely I cannot be the only person on earth who is excited about Turner Classic Movies’ month-long live action Disney film fest, right? Well?
Princess Raccoon (2005). Put this on my Netflix queue because I’ve enjoyed the wacky ’60s films of Japanese director Seijun Suzuki and was curious about what the guy was capable of in his ’80s. Well, this is one bizarre movie — and not in a good way, either. An indecipherable tale of a prince and princess from warring families finding love, interspersed with incongruous musical sequences (characters even rap at one point). Ziyi Zhang is a complete waste in the title role. Although we normally love weird Asian movies, we couldn’t make it through the whole thing this time. Sorry, Seijun.
The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (1974). I never even heard of this movie until recently, but now I believe it’s one of the best thrillers of its time. A serious Walter Matthau is excellent as a New York City port authority supervisor trying to stop a hijacked subway car. This one really gives a good sense of gritty NYC in the ’70s, the acting is uniformly good, and the plot has an irresistible momentum. I could definitely imagine audiences watching this in ‘74 and being utterly swept away by the action. My only complaint lies with the weak ending, but overall this was an unexpectedly fantastic film.
Treasure Island (1950). Walt Disney’s first all live action film is so quaintly British that it actually plays more like an airy Technicolor Powell and Pressburger bauble than anything else. Chipmunk-cheeked Bobby Driscoll is the only indication of Disneyness on display here. Though I was somewhat disappointed in the poky pacing — truly, this movie does have a lot of dull, talky stretches — this would be a fun way to kill an afternoon, I imagine. Robert Newton as Long John Silver has that quintessential “arr matey” pirate voice down pat.
Magnificent Marble Machine Mania
Time for our weekly video clip. If the thought of Florence Henderson and Roddy MacDowall playing on a game show with a super cool-looking but ultimately disappointing gigantic pinball machine floats yer boat — have I got a clip for you! Hosted by Art James, The Magnificent Marble Machine ran for a single season on NBC in 1975-76. It’s an engaging show, very of its time with the requisite shag carpeting, lovely parting gifts and bloopy sound effects. According to The Encyclopedia of TV Game Shows, the centerpiece pinball field contained 250 pounds of nails, four miles of wiring, 38 gallons of glue, 23 coiled springs, and 25 two-pound balls slathered with 14 gallons of gold paint. A clumsy behemoth for sure — and the show’s use of a static overhead camera during pinball play doesn’t help matters much, either.
A game show lovin’ fool has uploaded the entirety of this particular episode. To get the full effect, watch parts one, two, three, four and five in order (in a cosmic coincidence, the blog Classic Television Showbiz posted these clips yesterday). The ’70s pinball action gets hot in parts three and four.
Books, Wished After and Not
Right now I’m going through the yearly conundrum of what to put on our holiday cards. This piece on the favorite book covers of 2008 is good for some visual inspiration. So is a complete set of scans from the 1980 Sears Christmas catalog, albeit in a completely different way. Looky here:
David Klein’s Amazing Animals
A couple of weeks back, I blogged about vintage illustrator David Klein. An auction was recently held in New York City of artwork from Klein’s estate. Christopher bid on a few items, winning a charming set of pencil drawings and cut acetate studies that Klein did for a 1969 bank campaign. On his website, he’s set up a nifty little page illustrating one Klein artwork from sketch to study to final piece. Very interesting look at Klein’s working method.
Seeing this man’s work in person is a real treat. The über ’60s snail below is another good example from the bank campaign:
Weekly Mishmash: November 30 - December 6
The Devil and Daniel Johnston (2005). Exceptional documentary on the cult musician Daniel Johnston. Johnston’s art is a love-it-or-hate-it thing, but the beauty of this film is that it’s still compelling despite the divisive nature of its subject. The film doesn’t shy away from Johnston’s mental illness and the fact that people might be exploiting him. The way it slickly weaves interviews with audio tapes and home movies from its obsessively self-chronicling subject reminds me a lot of the great 2003 doc Capturing the Friedmans. The Johnston who emerges here comes across like a complex man, equally childlike and playful, ambitious, self-centered and intensely creepy. But, in the end, you end up loving the guy.
Koko: A Talking Gorilla (1978). Another enthralling documentary, although Criterion’s DVD leaves a lot to be desired. It’s funny that we saw this in the same week as the Johnston doc, since there are a lot of similar things going on here. I remember reading about Koko back in the ’70s. Her interactions with scientist Penny Patterson are a wonder to behold, but under the surface one has to wonder how much of the sign language is truly learned as opposed to being merely trained by repetition. There’s a slight subplot here about the San Francisco zookeepers who want to return the borrowed Koko to her less intelligent gorilla habitat mates, but most of the film is made up of surprisingly non-boring footage of Koko and Patterson “talking.”
Lace (1984). “Which one of you bitches is my mother?” Yep, I actually sat through all four hours of this once-steamy miniseries when it popped up recently on the Lifetime Movie Network (they really need to play more of this cheesy older crap — one can only take so much Jennie Garth in trouble, after all). This plays a bit like an ultra-luxe, ultra-long episode of Dynasty. Phoebe Cates is spectacularly awful as a famous actress trying to figure out which of three women birthed her years earlier. I think she’s supposed to be French, but her accent is so weird she might as well be a Martian! I could blame this on Miss Cates’ youth and inexperience, but lo and behold Angela Lansbury appears speaking in another unplaceable tongue. The three lead actresses (Brooke Adams, Arielle Dombasle, Bess Armstrong) are competent enough, but mostly I watched to gawk at their impeccable Euro-chic wardrobes. Oh, and the identity of said bitch mother was of no surprise at all to this discerning viewer.
Possessed (1947). a.k.a. The one where Joan Crawford goes crazy. This was a good palate cleanser after the dreadful Daisy Kenyon from last week. It’s been a few years since I last saw this pulpy, guilty pleasure. Joan is still good, delivering an Oscar nom-worthy performance even if the viewer is left wondering why her character went gaga over the charmless and average looking Van Heflin. This movie is held hostage by an absolutely soapy and unbelievable at times plotline — but the movie is so seamlessly made, with an expert cast giving 100%, that you can’t help but get sucked in by it. C. and myself both noticed how much the young actress (Geraldine Brooks) who played Crawford’s stepdaughter resembles Natalie Portman.
Reservoir Dogs (1992) and Vengeance Is Mine (1979). I actually first saw Reservoir Dogs shortly after it came out, and a recent re-viewing tells me how time changes one’s perceptions. Back then it was an amazingly visceral and different experience. Now the violence and language seems a bit softer, but you can’t argue with that dynamite cast and Quentin Tarantino’s still dazzling direction (his f-bomb laden script, not so much anymore). Previously, for instance, the cop torture scene was an agonizingly long (but weirdly enjoyable) segment. Now, it’s not so bad — have I become numbed to violent movies? Speaking of which, the equally barbaric Japanese flick Vengeance Is Mine must have been a huge influence on Tarantino. Director Shohei Imamura’s chronicle of a notorious serial killer (coolly played by Ken Ogata) boasts a lot of bracing scenes that are uncompromising in their ugliness. One segment in particular, in which Ogata attempts to knock off a truck driver, reminds me of similar scenes in Torn Curtain and Heavenly Creatures that memorably demonstrate how difficult and messy committing murder can be. Especially when the victim will. Not. Die. Besides that and a few other good scenes, however, this film gets bogged down into an overlong talkfest.
Storyline: Recollections of a Hollywood Screenwriter by Lenore Coffee. A breezy yet frustrating read, I borrowed this out of print 1973 bio from Christopher. The prolific Ms. Coffee counts as one of Classic Hollywood’s more overlooked screenwriters, and this bio offers scant bits of insight into her working methods — in between breathless accounts of the many self-absorbed personalities she encountered while the film industry was in its infancy, that is. Coffee was in her early seventies when she wrote this, but the book’s many aimless passages and Pollyanna-ish recollections make it read more like a schoolgirl’s diary. Overall it serves as a solid document of the silent era, becoming sketchy for the early sound era and winding up with no coverage at all for the latter half of her career (maybe she was aiming for a sequel?). Hollywood history buffs should seek this out.
