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.”
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.
I really do love the film of Doctor Zhivago.
I just rag on it every time I mention it because I worship the book, and the film is just a very different thing. It would be better if I could just get past comparing them, or even of thinking of them as the same thing.
Good news, in case you haven’t heard yet.
As of February 1, 2006, the Brattle Film Foundation has signed a one-year extension on our current lease at the Brattle Theatre!
Terri and I are going to see next Monday’s double-feature of the The Awful Truth and Holiday. Holiday has Carey Grant marrying into a rich eccentric family (the older sister in which is Katherine Hepburn), and The Awful Truth features him and Irene Dunne as an almost-divorced couple who do a lot of witty verbal sparring but can’t quite sever the knot. Join us if you’re interested!
Went to see The Passenger at the Brattle tonight. The only other Anotnioni film I’ve seen was Blow Up; The Passenger made me feel much the same way: it’s a great film, masterfully made, it will stick with me, but I don’t really share an obsession with the issues he’s dealing with. It’s all about identity, and seeing, and reality, and truth, and escape. Oh, and sports cars. I think I prefer The Passenger. All the heady intellectual stuff came more organically from the plot and characters; Blow Up puts it backwards, and everything feels staged to get some ideas across. It was nice to see so much of Barcelona in 1973. One scene between Jack Nicholson and Maria Schneider takes place on the roof of La Pedreira, apparently before it was museummified, because there were clothes hanging on a line and people living in one of the apartments. Can’t imagine that happening now. And, hey, Jack Nicholson was good back in the 70’s before he became “Jack Nicholson”, wasn’t he?
Currently? I am sitting on the couch with Suki on my lap (purring and occasionally sinking a claw into my chest out of happiness) with Storefront Hitchcock on in the background, just to hear “You and Oblivion”, with a nightcap of Maker’s Mark.
The Brattle email-only newsletter notes the following:
More big thanks go out to The Volcano Suns and Yo La Tengo who are contributing portions of ticket sales from concerts held last week to the Brattle’s campaign!
Unfortunately, their email newsletter is not reproduced online, so no linkery for you. I signed up for it last week, after I learned that despite my desire to help the Brattle, I somehow missed that there was a Twin Peaks watch-a-thon in early december that I could have signed up for!
Anyway, the Yo La Tengo schedule confirms it, and apparently, another beneficiary of that Hanukkah show was the Pittsburgh Filmmakers, where I took a one-friday-a-month internship during my senior year in high school. I had no real interest in being a filmmaker, but it was free, it was fun, I got to hang out in Oakland one Friday a month instead of going to school, and I had the occasionally wacky adventure. I don’t think I even bothered to pick up my last 8mm film from the processing lab.
“How is the Brattle doing, anyway?”, you ask. There was a Globe story last week with the update. Not as bad as the worst case, not as good as the best case. Maybe I’ll try to have some birthday festivities there next month.
Her Turniptude gives you the Garbo update so I don’t have to. But I will point out that John Gilbert’s character, the Spanish Ambassador, articulates what is sort of the RealFake credo when he meets the incognito Queen of Sweden in a tavern: “Well, that’s civilization. To disguise the elemental with the glamorous.”
As Terri points out, we are going to see Queen Christina at the Brattle tomorrow night. If you read this, you are officially invited!
In light of this, perhaps you should tear yourself away from your couch and actually get out to the Brattle more often. It’s got a long and storied history, and I’d hate to see it close its doors. Maybe I’ll give out memberships for Christmas, in time for our annual ritual screening of It’s A Wonderful Life.