Thursday, February 18, 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
Z and Pumpkin Eater (Two films from the Sixties)
Z
The Loft cinema screened this foreign film (Greece, 69) as part of their Essentials program. It only took me 49 years to realize that this is a first-rate example of inspired cinema. I love it -- I mean lllooooovvvvvveeee it when I 'discover' a 'new' film. And to think there was a time in my life when Porkies existed in my universe.
It felt great to see some old troglidytes (they were cock-of-the-walk back in 69): Yves Montand, Irene Pappas. But what aided in my enjoyment of the film was not knowing the actors, and thereby not biasing their performaces with any baggage I might bring to the table. Not being known personalities, their performances, so grand, liberated me to the point I believed the actors were the characters. [Montand dies early on; Pappas is relegated to Monica Vitti-esque pouts and looks of uncertainty.]
But, over-analytical to my (and others) detriment, I was compelled mostly by two elements: the movement of the camera, the movement created through editing. Yep, it was movement -- sort of amazing for an art form that involves pictures in motion. I mentione this, with tongue in cheek, merely because it stuns me to see so much ridiculous camera movement, or worse, no movement at all.
You know it's good cinematography instinctively. Don't need a degree in photographyto recognice the brilliance of a film photographed by the likes of Gregg Toland, Gabriel Figueroa, et. al.[And while I'm rambling, I love a cinematographer who works a lot today, Roger Deakins. Look him up on IMDB, check his filmmography, and you'll agree with me.
But lest anyone reading this think I would forget Haskel Wexler, well, think otherwise. As far as I'm concerned, Haskell's ... not going to say genius, like so many people do. He's just extraordinary, and that should place him in the top rank.
The Loft cinema screened this foreign film (Greece, 69) as part of their Essentials program. It only took me 49 years to realize that this is a first-rate example of inspired cinema. I love it -- I mean lllooooovvvvvveeee it when I 'discover' a 'new' film. And to think there was a time in my life when Porkies existed in my universe.
It felt great to see some old troglidytes (they were cock-of-the-walk back in 69): Yves Montand, Irene Pappas. But what aided in my enjoyment of the film was not knowing the actors, and thereby not biasing their performaces with any baggage I might bring to the table. Not being known personalities, their performances, so grand, liberated me to the point I believed the actors were the characters. [Montand dies early on; Pappas is relegated to Monica Vitti-esque pouts and looks of uncertainty.]
But, over-analytical to my (and others) detriment, I was compelled mostly by two elements: the movement of the camera, the movement created through editing. Yep, it was movement -- sort of amazing for an art form that involves pictures in motion. I mentione this, with tongue in cheek, merely because it stuns me to see so much ridiculous camera movement, or worse, no movement at all.
You know it's good cinematography instinctively. Don't need a degree in photographyto recognice the brilliance of a film photographed by the likes of Gregg Toland, Gabriel Figueroa, et. al.[And while I'm rambling, I love a cinematographer who works a lot today, Roger Deakins. Look him up on IMDB, check his filmmography, and you'll agree with me.
But lest anyone reading this think I would forget Haskel Wexler, well, think otherwise. As far as I'm concerned, Haskell's ... not going to say genius, like so many people do. He's just extraordinary, and that should place him in the top rank.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
SOOKIE
Even the rednecks stayed away from Sookie.
It's the rare occasion when someone in small-town America becomes persona non grata. ["We protect our fuckups ... they're our'n."] But as much as people tried to ignore her, Sookie persevered, outliving them all and snookering navie people -- including my mother -- to stay one or two steps ahead of serious trouble.
She was Frances Irene Mattinson, daughter to Milo and Elizabeth Ann, baby sister to Milo Dianne and Barry Clyde, and youngest grandchild of Mercil and Mrs Bankston (whose first name I never learned).
The Bankstons were good people: he ran Bankston's Real Estate and Insurance, she was lib'arian at Hamburg High School and active in the Eastern Star. He was at the same time both kindly and stern-ooking, exceedingly proud of his pond (in spite of the scandal that emerged after Jimmy Bob Wilkerson and a young Negro boy drowned while smoking week, skinny dipping , and who knows what else one eerie summer morning.), and a sucker many times over for his three rapscaliaon grandchildren.
She was eccentric in all the best ways, talking to fruits and vegetables at Foote's Grocery. Thinking that saying Hell was a sin, she usually just mutterd 'lo' to them; once though, I watched her from the cookie aisle having a concerned conversation with an overripe eggplant. I half expected the eggplant to slap her into next week. Also, when locals saw Miss Bankston's car coming up Highway 8, everyone just hugged the shoulder trying not to run into the ditch. You have to remember this was a time when people respected the elderly, and also before road rage.
Elizabeth Ann and Milo were goofy, two people who seemed to have lost control of their lives, and their kids, a long time ago. As a traveling salesman, Milo sold golf carts (part Willy Loman, part Barney Rubble, with a noteworthy dash of Grumpy), and I believe once he was a golf pro. Elizabeth Ann worked for the State Mental Health department, which, as I think about it, pretty much defines irony. .
The last time I saw Elizabeth Ann alive, she was sittiing at Mrs. Bankston's breakfast table -- the same table where Mrs. Bankston worked the Daily Cryptoquote. I plopped down to chitchat with Elizabeth Ann but she was post-chitchat; her tongue darted in and out of her mouth, from side to side, like a snake. Was it dry mouth? was it involuntary? was she aware of it? These were the questions snaking through my mind.
And then she died -- choking on a snickerdoodle at the October meeting of the Green Thumb Garden Club. Rumor hasit that she'd spiked the grape Kool-Aid with Granny Goose vodka, too much Granny Goose, apparently. .
Dianne stuttered and played the piano. Barry Clyde did the best kid version of the Tarzan yell I've ever heard. It was all at once robust, lean and mean, and unique. He played piano as well, only whereas Dianne was a piano snob, playing mostly classical works, Barry played a honky tonk piano, the kind of piano played by someone who didn't relish the idea of always hitting the right notes. Often sacrificing precision in favor of emotion, Barry's piano left one tapping the foot, singing along, or motivated to throw in one's own version of "Ain't She Sweet" or "Jada."
And then there was Sookie. If you've ever seen Martha Wainwright with a pixie cut, you'd have an idea of what Sookie's face looked like. She was dangerously precocious -- in a street smarts way. Impulsive. Undisciplined. Incontrollable. Sometimes she'd squeak out an ounce of decency.
MORE TO COME
It's the rare occasion when someone in small-town America becomes persona non grata. ["We protect our fuckups ... they're our'n."] But as much as people tried to ignore her, Sookie persevered, outliving them all and snookering navie people -- including my mother -- to stay one or two steps ahead of serious trouble.
She was Frances Irene Mattinson, daughter to Milo and Elizabeth Ann, baby sister to Milo Dianne and Barry Clyde, and youngest grandchild of Mercil and Mrs Bankston (whose first name I never learned).
The Bankstons were good people: he ran Bankston's Real Estate and Insurance, she was lib'arian at Hamburg High School and active in the Eastern Star. He was at the same time both kindly and stern-ooking, exceedingly proud of his pond (in spite of the scandal that emerged after Jimmy Bob Wilkerson and a young Negro boy drowned while smoking week, skinny dipping , and who knows what else one eerie summer morning.), and a sucker many times over for his three rapscaliaon grandchildren.
She was eccentric in all the best ways, talking to fruits and vegetables at Foote's Grocery. Thinking that saying Hell was a sin, she usually just mutterd 'lo' to them; once though, I watched her from the cookie aisle having a concerned conversation with an overripe eggplant. I half expected the eggplant to slap her into next week. Also, when locals saw Miss Bankston's car coming up Highway 8, everyone just hugged the shoulder trying not to run into the ditch. You have to remember this was a time when people respected the elderly, and also before road rage.
Elizabeth Ann and Milo were goofy, two people who seemed to have lost control of their lives, and their kids, a long time ago. As a traveling salesman, Milo sold golf carts (part Willy Loman, part Barney Rubble, with a noteworthy dash of Grumpy), and I believe once he was a golf pro. Elizabeth Ann worked for the State Mental Health department, which, as I think about it, pretty much defines irony. .
The last time I saw Elizabeth Ann alive, she was sittiing at Mrs. Bankston's breakfast table -- the same table where Mrs. Bankston worked the Daily Cryptoquote. I plopped down to chitchat with Elizabeth Ann but she was post-chitchat; her tongue darted in and out of her mouth, from side to side, like a snake. Was it dry mouth? was it involuntary? was she aware of it? These were the questions snaking through my mind.
And then she died -- choking on a snickerdoodle at the October meeting of the Green Thumb Garden Club. Rumor hasit that she'd spiked the grape Kool-Aid with Granny Goose vodka, too much Granny Goose, apparently. .
Dianne stuttered and played the piano. Barry Clyde did the best kid version of the Tarzan yell I've ever heard. It was all at once robust, lean and mean, and unique. He played piano as well, only whereas Dianne was a piano snob, playing mostly classical works, Barry played a honky tonk piano, the kind of piano played by someone who didn't relish the idea of always hitting the right notes. Often sacrificing precision in favor of emotion, Barry's piano left one tapping the foot, singing along, or motivated to throw in one's own version of "Ain't She Sweet" or "Jada."
And then there was Sookie. If you've ever seen Martha Wainwright with a pixie cut, you'd have an idea of what Sookie's face looked like. She was dangerously precocious -- in a street smarts way. Impulsive. Undisciplined. Incontrollable. Sometimes she'd squeak out an ounce of decency.
MORE TO COME
Sunday, February 07, 2010
Teaching Bunuel
Yesterday, I met a friend (former student) and his girlfriend for pizza in Tucson. We caught up on each others' lives, and discussed cinema.
Inevitably, all roads lead to Spanish filmmaker Luis Bunuel whenever I am discussing film. Other than Un chien andalou my friend had not seen any other films from Bunuel's filmmography. So, I mentioned that I would suggest which films to see, and in the order I felt he should see them.
There are several ways to approach the study of Bunuel's films: chronologically and thematically (anti-bourgeois; anti-clerical) are two. I'm just going to move forward without forethought.
Early Bunuel (Un chien andalou; L'age d'or; Las hurdes)
He started out as an iconoclast with no boundaries (Andalou; L'age); he became a journeyman filmmaker (the Mexican period); he evolved into a world-class filmmaker.
Right up there with Sidney Lumet's Making Movies is Bunuel's autobiography (dictated by Bunuel, written by Jean Claude Carriere, a frequent collaborator of Don Luis) -- My Last Sigh. It's priceless.
Inevitably, all roads lead to Spanish filmmaker Luis Bunuel whenever I am discussing film. Other than Un chien andalou my friend had not seen any other films from Bunuel's filmmography. So, I mentioned that I would suggest which films to see, and in the order I felt he should see them.
There are several ways to approach the study of Bunuel's films: chronologically and thematically (anti-bourgeois; anti-clerical) are two. I'm just going to move forward without forethought.
Early Bunuel (Un chien andalou; L'age d'or; Las hurdes)
- The first two films are essential viewing for all cinemaphiles; Andalou, co-directed with Dali, is one of a handful of definitvie surrealistic films.
- I've come to appreciate the documentary Las Hurdes more and more as I've become a disciple of Bunuel. You will never forget the images projected in this documentary. They will haunt you for the rest of your life.
- Los olvidados was the film that returned Bunuel to the public eye (after about a fifteen year absence). Notable is its photography, lensed by the world-class Mexican cinematographer Gabriel Figueroa.
- Nazarin and Viridiana fit under the anti-clerical theme. I could watch (and have) both films over and over, but to be sure, I think Viridiana is one of the best cinematic experiences I've ever had. I won't reveal it, but there is a famous/infamous sequence near the end of this film that will send you into fits of laughter (unless you are a die-hard Catholic, in which case you would never have made it that far in the film).
- The Exterminating Angel is the film that gave birth to the next period in Bunuel's career. This is the most recent Bunuel film released by Criterion.
- Simon of the Desert
- Diary of a Chambermaid gave Bunuel the opportunity to work with Jeanne Moreau and to fixate on her legs (Bunuel without doubt has a festish for women's legs.).
- Belle de Jour is probably the most well-known and easily accessible Bunuel film. It features Catherine Deneuve in a masochistic turn that would make the Marquis de Sade quiver. If you try to view this film rationally you're asking for disappointment. Be your mind-altering best ...
- Tristana give us more Deneuve, more legs, and the opportunity to hang around Toledo (Spain, not that other place.) -- Bunuel's favorite city.
- The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie/The Phantom of Liberty/That Obscure Object of Desire comprise a trilogy of anti-bourgeois-themed films, and next to Belle de Jour are his most well known and liked films. Discreet Charm is much like an extension of Exterminating Angel. My favorite line from any film is in Phantom ("I hate symmetry."). I confess to never really 'getting' Bunuel's last film, That Oscure Object of Desire My feelings are similar to the one I had for Kubrick's last, Eyes Wide Shut
He started out as an iconoclast with no boundaries (Andalou; L'age); he became a journeyman filmmaker (the Mexican period); he evolved into a world-class filmmaker.
Right up there with Sidney Lumet's Making Movies is Bunuel's autobiography (dictated by Bunuel, written by Jean Claude Carriere, a frequent collaborator of Don Luis) -- My Last Sigh. It's priceless.
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Data/Data/Data
I'm a word lover -- now what's the word for a word lover? I just have this fascination with knowing the precise word, learning its etymology, and -- the hardest part -- retaining it for the occasional use.
It took me years to internalize obsequious (A reviewer once described my acting as such!), egregious, fecund, etc. That I lack an education in Latin is a huge drawback. Still, I plod forward with my interest in words ... including pronunciation.
For years I pronounced ad infinitum as "ad in fi NEE tum", only to have a fellow academic skewer me for it, while smirking all the time. I want people to know that my interest in words and grammar doesn't come from an elitist point of view. I'm just genuinely curious.
This brings me to the word "data". How to pronounce? I say "DAY tuh", but while back in Georgia recently I heard two other pronunciations: " DAh tuh" and "DAI tuh" (with a soft a).
So, since there's little else of interest in the world today, I'd like to know what you say? I assume all are correct, but I'm curious.
It took me years to internalize obsequious (A reviewer once described my acting as such!), egregious, fecund, etc. That I lack an education in Latin is a huge drawback. Still, I plod forward with my interest in words ... including pronunciation.
For years I pronounced ad infinitum as "ad in fi NEE tum", only to have a fellow academic skewer me for it, while smirking all the time. I want people to know that my interest in words and grammar doesn't come from an elitist point of view. I'm just genuinely curious.
This brings me to the word "data". How to pronounce? I say "DAY tuh", but while back in Georgia recently I heard two other pronunciations: " DAh tuh" and "DAI tuh" (with a soft a).
So, since there's little else of interest in the world today, I'd like to know what you say? I assume all are correct, but I'm curious.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Murder at the Gallop
Another Saturday night and ...
I've been learning an ambulatory EMR application (PrimeSuites) for a company called Greenway Medical Technology. They are to the small physician practice what Epic is to the 100+ physician practice/hospital. Consequently, I've spent many hours working on their LMS system, with more to learn.
So, I was ripe for a good movie last night. I started out watching Wuthering Heights but my mood wasn't set for gothic drama. But after WH, I watched one of the Agatha Christie films featuring the actress Margaret Rutherford as Miss Jane Marple. A British film, it follows that the supportring actors were all on the mark, notably Robert Morley.
One way to identiy a 'good' film is when you are not interested in the subject yet you are compelled to watch anyway. Fascinating acting, inspired cinematography, effective editing or application of mise en scene techniques. Also, these days, one sign of a 'good' movie is it's in black and white (I'll defend that statement in a future post.)
In Murder, though, it was the acting that drew me in, and none so much as that of Rutherford. She was elderly, unattractive (in an Aunt Charlotte way), dowdy, butch, and witty as all get out. It's not a stretch to say "she was made to play Miss Marple."
There are other movies in the series, so I'll be lookng out for them. I hate this word -- wholesome -- but you will not find a more entertaining way to spend a couple of hours without feeling nasty and demeaned afterwards. I'm not passing a moral judgment, but rather stating that it is most pleasant to watch a murder mystery movie and feel uplifted, as opposed to feeling tainted by the murder, mayhem, and (help me, I need another M word).
I've been learning an ambulatory EMR application (PrimeSuites) for a company called Greenway Medical Technology. They are to the small physician practice what Epic is to the 100+ physician practice/hospital. Consequently, I've spent many hours working on their LMS system, with more to learn.
So, I was ripe for a good movie last night. I started out watching Wuthering Heights but my mood wasn't set for gothic drama. But after WH, I watched one of the Agatha Christie films featuring the actress Margaret Rutherford as Miss Jane Marple. A British film, it follows that the supportring actors were all on the mark, notably Robert Morley.
One way to identiy a 'good' film is when you are not interested in the subject yet you are compelled to watch anyway. Fascinating acting, inspired cinematography, effective editing or application of mise en scene techniques. Also, these days, one sign of a 'good' movie is it's in black and white (I'll defend that statement in a future post.)
In Murder, though, it was the acting that drew me in, and none so much as that of Rutherford. She was elderly, unattractive (in an Aunt Charlotte way), dowdy, butch, and witty as all get out. It's not a stretch to say "she was made to play Miss Marple."
There are other movies in the series, so I'll be lookng out for them. I hate this word -- wholesome -- but you will not find a more entertaining way to spend a couple of hours without feeling nasty and demeaned afterwards. I'm not passing a moral judgment, but rather stating that it is most pleasant to watch a murder mystery movie and feel uplifted, as opposed to feeling tainted by the murder, mayhem, and (help me, I need another M word).
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Griff's Back ...
I'm going to try to blog again. I was a dismal failure the last time.
I'll be writing about my travels, talking about work, giving lessons in correct spelling/grammar, and doing some creative writing.
Feel free to talk back to me. As one of my friends knows well, I love a good argument.
Lookinig forward to hearing from and talking to everyone (or anyone, for that matter).
GG
I'll be writing about my travels, talking about work, giving lessons in correct spelling/grammar, and doing some creative writing.
Feel free to talk back to me. As one of my friends knows well, I love a good argument.
Lookinig forward to hearing from and talking to everyone (or anyone, for that matter).
GG
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