I feel like I’m runnning 3 to 8 weeks behind on the blogging. I owe about 7 Book Reports as well as a bunch of stuff that I have saved as drafts but haven’t quite gotten around to hitting the ol’ publish button on, including reports of the Jonathan Richman tribute show a couple of weeks ago, a recommendation for a local pastry shop, and some other stuff.
After we went to see Capote a couple of months ago, I was curious to pick up In Cold Blood. Up until then, I had little inclination to read it. The film focused on Truman Capote’s process in writing it, and his actual involvement in the outcome of the events he was writing about (e.g. going so far as to get the killers legal help). So I expected at least a little mention of himself in the book. Not so. There is one mention of “a journalist” who I suspect was actually Capote, and one other mention of “a woman journalist” who I suspect was Harper Lee. And that was it.
So I think the film did do some service in bringing his actual implication to light. But by the same token, I think the film also falls into much the same trap. It portrays everything in it as a simple fact. Not only does it provide no insight into the research it took to make it, it simply treats its own varnished surface as if it was reality, not a reenactment at all. (Because of this, I now sort of want to read Capote, the book upon which the film was based, though I think I may be all caput on Capote for the moment.)
Anyway, such varnish is the substance of In Cold Blood. True, it is clearly the product of painstaking research, done with a great deal of sympathy. In my favorite moments, Capote completely throws himself into minor or passing characters. They’re ordinary people who don’t usually get interviewed or researched, and turn out to be fascinating on examination. But, you never get that they were interviewed or researched. You just get the finished product, perfectly staged so that you never see back into the wings.
I know that’s part of the point; he did call it a non-fiction novel. But it somehow doesn’t sit quite so well with me. I’ve thought about it since, and I haven’t been able to pinpoint why. On one hand, I have to admit that I can’t imagine it being so compelling if it was straight non-fiction. I’ve tried to read Studs Terkel before, because I was intrigued with the idea of someone just interviewing everyday people and getting their stories down in what feels like their own language. But somehow I never manage to get very far; part of me finds the concept interesting and the execution pretty faultless, yet the finished product fails to hold my interest. On the other hand, I’ve long thought that simple fabrication doesn’t make for compelling fiction. So I’m on board with the idea of making a novel out of real people and real events. But somehow it feels wrong that there is no warning label with that omniscient voice.
Nonetheless, it was a terrific and horrible story, and it’s definitely worth the read. And it’s another case of Truman Capote spurring me on to think heavily about the mystery of the real and the fake.
So, it was about 12:45 last night, Terri had already turned in, and I was just heading upstairs, when I heard this terrible crashing outside the house. I ran downstairs and looked out through the front door, and saw a plain white Suburban revving and going forward and backward trying to get out of the across-the-street neighbors’ front yard (this is Somerville: nobody’s front yard is that big). He managed to get out and pealed up the street (the wrong way). A woman came out of the house and looked over and said “Oh, my God, my car!” so I figured I should go out and let her know that I at least saw the car, even if I was at a bad angle to get the license.
When I got outside, I could see that not only had this guy crashed into the car in our neighbor’s driveway, he had taken also taken out a traffic light pole, two USPS mailboxes, all their hedges, part of their porch railing, and had pushed their parked car through the other neighbor’s
fence.
Two police cruisers were on the scene in about a minute, and barely stopped to get what we saw. I guess they figured they didn’t need to stay for all the details, since if they acted fast, they could probably catch up to the guy. After meeting some of the neighbors who had come out of their houses, and learning that some other people got a much better view of what happened than I did, I went back in and told everyone to let me know if they needed me for the police report. It was cold, and I figured Terri was wondering what the heck was going on.
An officer buzzed in a few minutes, and I told him what I saw, so I went back out to see if there was any news, and indeed, the guy had been caught on College Ave, though the police declined to tell us any more.
Big excitement for a Saturday night! Usually the best we get is just drunk Tufts students whooping it up or using our hedges as a cupholder.
The snapshots are from this morning, and the mailboxes were cleared away.
Ok, so initially, I was worried that Marco would be irked that I kept posting about him, but he keeps feeding me more bloggy gold, so I suspect the leaks are intentional.
So, I did know that he worked as a production assistant on a Yo La Tengo video when he was an intern in NYC during our Junior year in college, but I did not realize that it was the one for “Tom Courtenay” that I mentioned, totally coincidentally, yesterday. Nor did I realize he’s actually in it. Check it out. He plays “dude with radio” in one very brief bit.
Also, it was his birthday yesterday, and I forgot. So happy Noyola Day (observed).
Marco wrote me to set me straight on his role in Zorg and Andy. He was mainly the production designer and only had a small part. Also, he sends this additional article, which has a bit more detail.
Also, he pointed out that while he was responsible for the Stephanie/Carrie Newcomer theory, he contends that it was only 10% creepy, and “The rest was all teacakes and sunshiny sweetness.”
It’s Friday afternoon, I need some cheerin’ up, and Ed’s post about dream reunions reminded me of the Yo La Tengo video for “Tom Courtenay”, ca. 1995, in which our heroes are invited to open for the Beatles.
The whole thing is so darn clever, but the part that always slays me is the reference to the press conference in “A Hard Day’s Night” where someone asks Ringo if he’s a Mod or a Rocker, and he says “I’m a mocker”.
Went to see The Misfits at the Brattle tonight, with an introductory conversation with Robert Brustein and Tony Kushner. The connection being that The Misfits was written by Arthur Miller (and features Marilyn Monroe), and Tony Kushner edited the recently published Library of America collection of his plays.
Kushner frustrates me; I agree with 95% of what he says, but he is so scattered and then there are these bizarre things, like introducing a movie he hadn’t seen (!), and then not sticking around to see it because he decided to go to dinner (!!) even though he just finished editing a collection which includes a novelization of the movie he was introducing and didn’t bother to see (!!!).
He is quite articulate, though. I was doing a small compare and contrast with the previous night’s activity, and was imagining a debate between Shane MacGowan and Tony Kushner.
“Mwahasdfjai. adkfm aiefnb!”
“Really, Shane, that’s extraordinarily perceptive of you, but I beg to disagree with your contention that…”
It’s funny, but then again, it’s not. A huge gulf exists between the two audiences, too, and it’s another indication of how segregated Boston is, even for white people. Last night, one of the opening acts were the Street Dogs, a local punk outfit of Irish-American kids from Dorchester. They sang songs about unions and had the mostly blue collar Boston Irish audience pumping their fists. I was wondering at tonight’s little event what would happen if one of the Street Dogs got up to ask a question during the Q&A. The entire audience would just freeze in their chairs even hearing the accent. Everybody in both camps is probably very far left of center; why do they seem so far apart? As Terri pointed out, this probably seems especially weird to us, being swing state babies.
We ran into Amanda, our former Cambridge landlady, there, and caught up with her. She’s opening an art gallery in Gloucester. She asked me, “Isn’t this nice? It’s all so… Cambridge-y!” I was thinking, but didn’t say, “yeah, kinda depressingly so.”
Oh, and there was a movie, too. Often, I love the Brattle and hate Brattle audiences. Tonight, that was the case. There was a stunning amount of that patented inappropriate Brattle laughter. Yeah, some of the performances are not so good, especially Marilyn Monroe, when she’s trying to hard to be a Serious Actor. Yeah, some of the dialogue is a little stilted, especially when Arthur Miller is trying too hard. So people laugh when these things happen, to tell us how sophistocated they are, to tell us you know that what you’re seeing is a little bit schlocky. Or worse, the laughter crops up when presented with something that a somewhat complicated emotion, something that’s beyond the pale of the viewer’s experience. Like when Clark Gable’s character, an aging cowboy whose gotten a little drunk bangs on the roof of a car and screams for his kids, and falls off into the dirt. Not funny. At all.
Kids, we go to movies to go beyond ourselves. Deal.
So it’s difficult to sort out what I really thought from all the nosie. But I know there was a lot of annoying stuff in it, including a lot of, “hey, check it out, that’s Marilyn Monroe, isn’t she H-O-T!? She’s my wife!” Montgomery Clift does a terrific job of playing a punch drunk young rodeo cowboy who’s taken one too many falls off a bull. Thelma Ritter, a great character actor, was great as always. Clark Gable really looked the part of the old cowboy, who is trying to live in a world that has changed in ways he doesn’t quite understand.
I can’t resist pointing out that his character’s name was “Gay”, so we have another precedent for a gay cowboy movie.
Well, Shane made it through the whole show and two encores. When he was singing, it could have been 15 or 20 years ago. When he wasn’t, he staggered around in circles on the stage or swung his microphone around and tried to catch it (and only knocked the mic stand over once). Early in the show, I got the distinct idea that he’d be dead within a year.
The thing is, on the three or four songs that they did with one of the other guys singing, the band sounded great. Almost better. I definitely understand why they tried to make a go of it without him numerous times. But when he was on, and you weren’t distracted by the “is he going to be able to keep standing” thing, it really was magic, as advertised.
But by the end, I was pretty sure I was wrong, and Shane will be around for longer than a year. I suspect people have been saying he’d be dead within a year for a decade or two.
Terri has a good write-up, too. Not listed there are “The Broad Majestic Shannon”, “A Pair of Brown Eyes”, “Boys from the County Hell”, “The Old Main Drag”, and a few more that I didn’t know.
Update: Two other things I forgot. I heard a rumor that their original bassist Cait O’Riordan was touring with them. This turned out not to be true. Also, presumeably as a tribute to the late Joe Strummer, the pre-and post-show music was “Straight to Hell” and “Should I Stay or Should I Go” respectively.
We’re off to see the Pogues in a few minutes. Every time I mention to anyone that we’re going to this show, they invariably say, “Do you think Shane’s going to show up?” I had heard tell of the legend, but I didn’t think it was a real issue.
Based on this picture from this morning’s Boston Metro, I can see why. God, he looks terrible.
Ok, no surprise that the Dominican Republic whooped Italy in the World Baseball Classic. What surprised me was Italy’s roster. Mike Piazza? Frank Catalanatto? Lenny DiNardo? What did they do, look up every MLB player that had an Italian-sounding name? Pretty much.
A rare post about my day job. I occasionally get bounce-backs from some email systems that go out through my employer’s web site. Most of it’s garbage: automated systems telling me no one at that address exists and the like. Today I got this out-of-office note:
From 03/03/06 to 03/08/06 I will be in the Bahamas, where I will be free of the bonds of email, phone, or carrier pigeon.
Do you think the Globe, particularly with their extremely cozy relationship with the Sox, would normally ever, ever advertise Derek Jeter jerseys under this article?
How about advertising cheats for online Texas Hold’em after an article about gambling addictions among teens who play Texas Hold’em online?
Here’s one of the pitfalls of those highly-relevant ads that has made Google a bazillion dollar company.
There are some good Brian Eno albums and a lot of bad ones. My least favorite from among the ones I own is Before and After Science. “Spider and I” just came on iTunes shuffle, and, man, that could be an Enya track. In fact, I think the theme song from “Far and Away” is a direct ripoff (I’m just remembering it from the previews; never actually saw it). And “Energy Fools the Magician”? Just the title. Gah! Must move to trash.