Tuesday, January 13, 2004

Movin' on...

In the interest of keeping things manageable, I’ve decided to archive/retire this blog site, and am moving my musings to a new home, at http://www.madhat.blogspot.com

Please feel free to make yourself a nice cup of tea, and join me in my new living room…

Friday, January 02, 2004

Pitch Time

With Pilot season almost upon us, I suddenly thought of a new reality show:

"Butch Pals for the Straight Gals"

A group of 4 Lesbian women, known as the "Comfortable Quartet", would surprise one straight woman each week, redesign her house, liberate her from the shackles of makeup and hairstyling, and introduce to the pleasures of corduroy trousers, lumberjack shirts, and comfortable shoes...whaddaya think? It could be shown on the Oxygen Network, or perhaps Lifetime...

I'm finding myself sick of the actual content of reality shows by now, but strangely fascinated by a new type of entertainment: watching the various networks (themed and otherwise) come up with new and increasingly warped takes on the reality genre itself. The shows themselves have finally coalesced into a brown sludge of boredom, but the concepts can be hilariously entertaining. TV Guide might become the next Harry Potter breakout novel...

Tuesday, December 30, 2003

Getty or Bust

Since its completion and opening in 1997, the Getty Center has restricted access to those who walked to its hilltop campus, or demonstrated the foresight to make parking reservations. Now, reservations are as much a requirement for entry, as talent is a prerequisite for success in Hollywood...

The Getty has not only done away with this process, but it has also instituted a new program of daily tours and talks, offered free of charge to visitors. I visited the Center a few days and was both beneficiary and victim of these "improvements".

Now that the reservation process is no longer in place, access to the limited parking spaces is strictly on a "first come, first served" basis. The problem is that everyone seems to come at the same time. On the day I went, the line of cars stretched out of the Center Drive, North more than a mile, and South past Wilshire Boulevard. After creeping forward for an hour, we finally passed the $5 tollbooth, and found ourselves a parking spot. We then walked up to the tram station, only to find a line of visitors snaking left and right through 9 twists and turns. As this line crawled forward, I wondered whether the Center's new policies might not have led the masses into a bottleneck canyon, justifying the need for elitist institutions simply by example.

However, we eventually found ourselves walking into Richard Meier's modernist complex, and I immediately headed for the information desk, to learn more about the tours on offer. Those wishing to make their own way around the museum would be well served renting the “Audioguides” for only $3. These self-guided audio tours highlight over 300 works in the collection. Offered in English and Spanish, the service features commentary and interviews by curators, conservators, art historians, and educators as well as special stops for families. You hang the player over one shoulder, put on the headphones, and head wherever your desires wish. As you walk into a room, look up on the wall. If you see a letter and number code, this corresponds to the code you can enter into the player, to hear an immediate introduction to this room, and overview of the works therein. Stop before a similarly coded specific work of art, enter the corresponding code, and you will hear expert commentaries and detailed explorations of this particular work.

First-time visitors, and those who shun the notion of spending another $3, might be better served taking advantage of a tour such as the one I went on. My tour lasted about an hour, and introduced me to each of the seven curatorial departments of the museum:

Decorative Arts
Furniture
Drawings
Manuscripts
Paintings
Photographs
Sculpture

The guide, one of the center's teachers, was not overly skilled in her presentations, but she was amiable, and shared enough information so as to make the tour enlightening. We saw
the 1888 Van Gogh ink and chalk portrait of his postman neighbor, Joseph Roulin. We studied Paul Gauguin’s charcoal drawing of a Tahitian Woman. We saw the 17th Century cabinet celebrating Louis XIV and the Treaty of Nijmegen, but only after viewing the enormous and well-known Hyacinthe Rigaud portrait of Louis XIV himself (the original hangs in the Louvre, this being one of several copies painted in Rigaud’s workshop). We saw many other fine works of art, before the tour was over, and then we wandered up to the temporary exhibit of Jean-Antoine Houdon, “Sculptor of the Enlightenment”, renowned most for his busts of famous figures of the Enlightenment, including Denis Diderot, Voltaire, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Louis XVI, Benjamin Franklin, George Washington, and Napoleon.

Wednesday, December 24, 2003

Let's play Master & Servant

Peter Weir's latest, "Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World" is, as its title, attempting to squeeze too much into the space allotted. The film attempts to span the spectrum of MPAA suitability by including moments of R gore and horror, interspersed with plotlines and dialogue worthy of the Disney Channel. This is without question a great film, in terms of its production values. The scenes are majestically, even heroically crafted. The verisimilitude is inspiring. The problem is that I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be attending an overly lengthy Napoleonic sea-battle sequence from "Gladiator 2: Flooding the Arena", or the screen adaptation of every issue published of "Boy's Life" magazine. In the end, despite several gripping moments, I realized that the film was victim of the classic page-to-screen malady. What sucks the reader in with its complexities, minutiae, and historical accuracy - only serves to leave the film viewer languishing in the treacherously becalmed waters of his own Sargasso Sea - no matter how many cannons you fire at us.

Ultimately, no matter how slavishly it worked, "Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World" didn't serve me well, nor did it command my attention. Not a complete waste, but soggy nevertheless.

Tuesday, December 23, 2003

Here comes the Chopper to chop off your head

The beleagured NEA is swimming in relatively luxurious support, compared to the California Arts Council, whose budget for 2004 was cut by 94 percent this year, from $17.5 million to 1 million dollars. According to Art critic Edward Goldman, California was 40th in the nation for art spending, PRIOR to the cut. We are now dead last. "While the national average for state arts spending is $1.10 per capita, California will spend less than 3 cents per capita for the next fiscal year. Quite a development for a state that likes to think of itself as being on the cutting edge. Seems more like California is on the chopping block". ..Let's not even BEGIN to compare European nations, not one of which funds at less than $5 per capita ($5.00, compared to our $0.03...)

Wednesday, December 17, 2003

The Gubernatorial Arse

I saw the Governor's buttocks this evening, and I sincerely hope that his administration is as firm and smooth as those cheeks looked. Then again, I'm sure that they were made to look just right - with powders, and lotions, and lighting, and whatnot. If it takes a little Hollywood special effects to fix our state's budget and get things back on track, perhaps it would be worth it.

End of fleshy analogy.

I'm referring - of course - to "Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines", starring Arnold Schwarzenegger. It was better than 2, but not as impressive as the original Terminator feature.

Also starring a reliable Clare Danes, somewhat anemic Nick Stahl, and delectable Kristanna Loken.

It's hokey, relentlessly loud and explosive, but a fun popcorn film that pays as much homage to its inspiration ("B" action movies), as Tarantino's "Kill Bill" pays to its various ancestors (Spaghetti Westerns, Anime, Chop Suey, etc). Arnold is not as impactful a presence in this flick, but the feature nevertheless manages to introduce some new ideas to an otherwise flimsy premise run nearly dry.

Thursday, December 11, 2003

Baiting the hook with dead worms

It's pitifully amazing that, when an auteur chooses to explore new realms of creativity, critics are swifter to lambaste him for betraying his "style" than they are to study and comment on the relative value of his new discoveries, made manifest.

Such is the case with Tim Burton's latest, "Big Fish". I went to see it last night, and was thoroughly charmed by a wonderfully written, tremendously acted ensemble piece, filled to the gills (pun intended) with humor, pathos, sentimentality, quirky stylistics, and more. "Big Fish" is The legend of Sleepy Hollow as told by Uncle Remus, truth and fantasy blended for new flavor, and the taste is like a well-made Apple pie: warm, comforting, and ever-so-slightly spicy.

This is not "Lord of the Rings" - no stunning impact moments, although the cinematography is beautiful, the costumes exquisite, and the story entrancing, even in its disjointed moments. This is a gentle fable, told well. Hats off to original author Daniel Wallace, as well as to the gang that brought it to the screen.

Wednesday, December 10, 2003

ART TALK

Edward Goldman, the host of NPR's "Art Talk" kindly let me post the following excerpt from his last commentary. I thought it worth distributing, for those of you looking for things to do this week!:


December 9, 2003

THREE GIFTS ACCORDING TO EDWARD

There are quite a number of interesting exhibitions around town, but there are only three that I went to see more than once. In case you want to impress visiting friends and relatives, here are my suggestions.

First, take them to the Getty, walk through the gardens, enjoy the views, and thenÉ see the exhibition of French sculptor, Jean-Antoine Houdon. At the end of the 18th and beginning of the 19th century, practically anyone rich or famous was sculpted by him, or at least hoped to be, making him the Robert Mapplethorpe of the Enlightenment era. In the first room of the exhibition there is a collection of portraits of great American leaders including Jefferson, Washington and Franklin, which are among the best portraits done by Houdon, and which combine an important sense of occasion with a surprising degree of intimacy. The longer you look at their faces, the more you become aware of the sensation of being in their presence, as if your time and theirs has collapsed into one.

The beautifully printed and generously illustrated catalog of this exhibition would be a great gift for any smart guest or friend of yours. I hope you have smart friends, do youÉ? If not, then buy it for yourself. It's wonderfully written and full of intriguing information about the celebrities of the era.

The second show to drag your friends to is the groundbreaking exhibition of the famously reclusive Lee Bontecou at the UCLA Hammer Museum. Unless you mind getting a bit overwhelmed, or even a little scared by the aggressive energy of her art as I was on the first of my several visits there. After her much-admired shows in the 60's, the artist withdrew from public life for almost 30 years. The Hammer retrospective came about after much persuasion and cajoling, as she was reluctant to show her art to the public again. Luckily for us, Lee Bontecou overcame her fears. I suggest that you take a look at the excellent catalog of this exhibition - a great gift for friends who are not faint of heart.

The third and last of my suggestions would be to take your friends downtown to dazzle them with the shining, billowy exuberance of the Disney Concert Hall. And then dash across the street to the Museum of Contemporary Art to see the Frank Gehry exhibition, which attempts to recreate the atmosphere and the look of an architectural office. More than a hundred large and small models of his recent projects are spread out on makeshift tables and crowd tall industrial utility shelves. Such a matter-of-fact presentation seems totally appropriate, considering Frank Gehry's famously informal style, both personal and professional. I found the exhibition absorbing and intriguing though, for my taste, a bit confusing on occasion: too much visual information, not enough explanation.

The same goes for the utterly fascinating and playful exhibition catalog, in which the artist clearly pokes fun at himself. How often do you see the backside of an artist's head on the cover of their catalog? How many internationally celebrated architects would dare to choose the color pink as a background for such a portrait? To see the Maestro's face, you need to turn to the back cover of the catalog and flip it upside down. Not only is the portrait purposely placed this way, but on his forehead, dead-center, is a barcode. What can I say? Some people can't get any respect.

Jean-Antoine Houdon
November 4, 2003 - January 25, 2004
The Getty Museum
1200 Getty Center Drive
Los Angeles, CA 90049-1679
(310) 440-7300

Lee Bontecou
October 5, 2003 - January 11, 2004
UCLA Hammer Museum
10899 Wilshire Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90024
(310) 443-7000

Frank O. Gehry: Work in Progress
September 7, 2003 - January 26, 2004
MOCA at California Plaza
250 South Grand Avenue
Los Angeles, CA 90012
(213) 626-6222

Thursday, December 04, 2003

Ice is Nice

Warmed in the company of “The Cooler” last night. William H. Macy plays Bernie Lootz, “the unluckiest guy in Vegas”. As the website for the movie claims, “from a failed marriage to an estranged son to a lost cat, everything Bernie touches turns bad”.

Alec Baldwin, playing Bernie’s “friend”, Shelly Kaplow, gives one of his best performances to date, and delivers lines worthy of Mamet, but written deftly by Frank Hannah and Wayne Kramer, who also directs the film.

This feature has royal indie blood running through it, and – with its heart on its torn sleeve – shows us all every corpuscular detail. Three great acting turns (Macy, Baldwin and Maria Bello, as Bernie’s girlfriend, Natalie), a great script, and sensitive direction of a very intimate little story leave us with a perversely charming film experience.

The story is neither complex nor brilliant as Scorcese’s “Casino”, nor is it clear why things happen as they do. Pay attention, though, and the littlest monologues represent the largest denouements.

Tuesday, December 02, 2003

Painting by numbers

Just saw “Girl with a Pearl Earring”, starring that luminescent woman whose lips belong on a whore or an angel…but more of that later.

Peter Webber (Director) has put together a team that truly commits itself to the greater cause, rather than seeking to showcase their individual skills. Cinematographer Eduardo Serra demonstrates his own artistry in service to the story, rather than his own ego. Just as we admire the girl in Vermeer’s painting, and yearn to know her better, rather than the painter (at least at the moment of viewing) - so do Serra’s astonishing landscapes evoke our longing for the world that he captures, rather than any distracting admiration for the creator of these images. Serra is not the only artist at work, however and, by the time you are done watching this feature you will understand the true nature of fine ensemble work.

Scarlett Johansson is astonishing in her tightly reined-in performance as Griet, dispelling any doubts that this young actress is truly gifted.
Colin Firth positively squeezes out repressed sexuality and the agony of the creative spirit in chains, as the painter Johannes Vermeer, enslaved to his need of patronage for survival.
Tom Wilkinson, along with the young Alakina Mann (Cornelia), portrays one of only two characters that one need feel no complex emotion for. They are the baddies in this story where every other character is so conflicted, that we cannot consign any other person to the usual neat confines of “good” or “bad”. Wilkinson’s Van Ruijven is a Machiavellian old sod, infuriated by his impotence in the face of the bond between Griet and Vermeer. It is an impotence felt by others, too. Judy Parfitt, playing Mother-in-Law Maria Thins, accepts the power of this bond as the acceptable high price for her and her family’s survival. But it is a bitter pill to swallow. Essie Davis, playing Vermeer’s wife, Catharina, is not so accepting, and rails against the young maid who seems to have reached a place within Vermeer that she, the mother of his ever-growing brood of children, can never hope to reach.

This feature, based on the book by Tracy Chevalier, is one that will swiftly become required viewing for every art student and rising DP. As for those aforementioned lips, well…that’s a scene that merits viewing, again, “…and again…and again”…

Monday, December 01, 2003

Those of us who work in the entertainment industry have known for a while already that the Disney that is...is not the Disney that was. Corporate governance has overwhelmed creative pursuits of excellence in family entertainment, and stocks have replaced sincerity as the trading currency.

Witness the latest sad truth: Roy E. Disney, a warm and passionate advocate of his late father's goals, has been forced out of the Board at Disney. Why? The party line is that he's too old. The actual fact is that he's too honest, and actually has a backbone - a relatively unacceptable anatomical element in the modern "business of show". Roy Disney has lately been rather vocal in his opposition to certain moves made by Michael Eisner, the company's executive leader, and this outspokenness has not been deemed suitable for a member of the Disney Board who, by unwritten convention, is apparently supposed to be a simpering rubber stamp, and little else. To give the Disney CEO his fair due, Eisner probably wouldn't get much done at Disney if he *did* behave as anything less than an oligarch. Nowadays, executives are not permitted to be democratic, even-handed, and generous...it makes the stock weak...but I digress.

Comments made by a well-placed analyst strike the cruelest blow, however, in demonstrating just how callous and inhuman society has become. Why, because the comments are true:

"While Roy's complaints are, I'm sure, heartfelt and he's serious about it, he just doesn't carry as much weight as he used to in the company," said Harold Vogel of Vogel Capital Management in New York, "...as long as the company's stock price stays up, as long as the trends are on the mend, there's no reason to believe there would be anything different."

As long as the financials are secure, the spirit is damned. "Good Governance" no longer means leadership governed by the conscience, but rather a slavering pack mentality, driven by a seemingly unquenchable lust for more dollars. It would be naive and ignorant of me to presume that this is news to anyone, but it bears repeating - as we approach a season all about charity, humility, love, and goodness - that we as a community no longer seem to care to exercise any of these characteristics.

Hello,
Is there anybody in there
Just nod if you can hear me
Is there anyone at home
Come on now
I hear you're feeling down
I can ease your pain
And get you on your feet again
Relax
I'll need some information first
Just the basic facts
Can you show me where it hurts

There is no pain, you are receding
A distant ship smoke on the horizon
You are coming through in waves
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying
When I was a child I had a fever
My hands felt just like two balloons
Now I've got that feeling once again
I can't explain, you would not understand
This is not how I am
I have become comfortably numb

O.K.
Just a little pin prick
There'll be no more aaaaaaaah!
But you may feel a little sick
Can you stand up?
I do believe it's working, good
That'll keep you going through the show
Come on it's time to go.

There is no pain you are receding
A distant ship smoke on the horizon
You are only coming through in waves
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying
When I was a child
I caught a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye
I turned to look but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now
The child is grown
The dream is gone
And I have become
Comfortably numb.

Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd

Thursday, November 20, 2003

Well, if the Times says so...

The November 9 issue of the Los Angeles Times magazine cover story is all about "The Role of the Guest". With primers on RSVPing, and other social manners, it delves into a subject close to the hearts of me and my best friend, Emily Post...

For the record, I don't agree with everything the author writes, but that's because I'm more of a Debrett's disciple. However, it's still well worth the read.

Monday, November 10, 2003

Hyper Hyper

For weeks now I’ve been hearing little else but the laudates surrounding Sofia Coppola’s latest, “Lost in Translation”. This evening I finally had the opportunity to see what the fuss is all about, and I must admit to being a smidgen underwhelmed.

Such is the sharper flip side of hype.

There is no denying that a talented filmmaker was at work in the making of this feature, nor can it be denied that the two leads (Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson) have crafted subtly powerfully characterizations. The shame is that when the film seems to be aiming for “languid tension”, it falls short, into the tepid waters of vague and often tonelessly quiet notes, never making up a sure melody.

Proponents of the film will suggest that it is purposefully less about story than it is about “atmosphere and observation” (Boston Globe), to which I would answer, “then take a photo”. So why is everyone raving about this cute and occasionally clever amuse-bouche of a film? Perhaps because it doesn’t purport to be anything more. The delicacy and tenderness with which D.P. Lance Acord frames the quiet moments that shout the loudest is truly impressive (see, for example, the final moment in the lobby as Charlotte walks into the elevator. The story on Bob’s face is ten thousand times more compelling and complex than the whole screenplay’s thruline).

Ultimately though, I found that I simply didn’t care. When somebody offers to tell me a story, I want to care about something or someone. Otherwise, why bother?

Saturday, November 08, 2003

"Bear with a moustache"

I've never been a great Salvador Dali fan, although I do appreciate his value as an artist. However, I saw something very compelling today that - while not altering my impression of his paintings - has changed my mind as to his work. I was privileged to attend a presentation by Roy Disney, introducing a short animated feature film, begun in 1946 as a collaboration between Messrs. Dali and Walt Disney. The collaboration never bore fruit until a few months ago, when the completed piece, 57 years in the making, was presented at select Film Festivals (just recently winning best animated Short at the Melbourne International Film Festival). It was shown tonight to members of the Producers Guild, who had been invited to attend a screening of Disney’s new Feature, Brother Bear (but more on that later).

The Dali/Disney Short was presented twice, with some comments in between by Mr. Disney. I’m glad for the second viewing, as I was able to really explore some of the more obscure “morphing” sections of the piece.

Fragments of the original unfinished film "Destino" along with story boards, sketches and an original score were painstakingly put together by a team assembled by Disney's nephew Roy Disney after they were discovered in the studio's vaults. The result was beautiful.

For more info, click on any of the following links:

This one...

...or this one...

...and this one even has video clips!


As to the “Main Event”, namely “Brother Bear”, it was another Disney home run. A beautifully told story, with lovingly textured traditional animation, and content that will be sure to make a parent proud to take their kid to the movies. It’s a story filled with ancient lore, Spirits, Shamans, Totem, animals that talk, and even a healthy tribute to Strange Brew, that cult fave Canadian export. I wonder if all that non-Christian content will get as roundly criticized as the Harry Potter books…

cREativity?

If anybody needed a final sign that the Entertainment industry is less about entertainment, and much more about industry, look no further than the ongoing trend of remakes and sequels. It seems that studio bosses are so intent on the bottom-line these days, that they will only greenlight projects with a high number suffix, or crassly warmed over hits of yesteryear. Here's a list of a few recent and upcoming examples:

Sequel Sell Anemia:

Jungle Book 2
X2: X-Men United
Matrix Reloaded
Matrix Revolutions
2 Fast 2 Furious
Dumb and Dumberer
Rugrats Go Wild
Charlie's Angels : Full Throttle
Legally Blonde 2
Terminator 3
Bad Boys II
Tomb Raider 2
Spy Kids 3-D
American Wedding
Freddy vs. Jason
Jeepers Creepers 2
Scary Movie 3
LOTR : Pt. 3
Young Black Stallion
Dirty Dancing : Havana Nights
Kill Bill Vol.2
Scooby Doo 2
The Whole Ten Yards

Rabid Redux:

The Italian Job
Bullitt
Freaky Friday
Texas Chainsaw Massacre
Peter Pan
Starsky & Hutch


Some will make the argument that a contemporary retelling of a hit movie will invite a new generation of filmgoers to examine the original. That argument would - by extension - recommend that a 1986 Mouton Rothschild would benefit from being left open for a few years, then mixed with some Mad Dog 20/20, and served up in a hip and trendy squeeze bottle. Surely this would encourage young prospective wine enthusiasts to develop a refined palate for only the best viticulture?...B******t. All that would happen would be that you'd wind up with a few more alcoholics, drinking cheap Gallo in paper bags, seeking to get as drunk as possible, as quickly as possible. Not a bad analogy, when you look at the crap that is being poured into the minds and creative souls of many moviegoers today. Thank God for the indies (Who are meanwhile being squeezed by the MPAA and Academy...). Oh well, plus ca change...

Monday, November 03, 2003

Saw "Whale Rider" last night. Fine performances from the whole ensemble, but fantastic performance from Keisha Castle-Hughes, playing the lead (and weighing in at merely 13 years of age). It must rate as the fastest rise to stardom, to go from unknown schoolgirl, to lead in an unknown small indie feature, that becomes the sleeper hit of the year, propelling her to a major role in the next Star Wars feature - all in such a short time! Here's hoping that she has a strong family to keep her sane and healthy, in this industry that tends to mutate the character of its child actors.

Sunday, November 02, 2003

Fire Update

Thursday, October 30, 2003

Mashhad meets Mexico City, all on a moonlit night....

What a way to end the year! The food was a palate-thrilling mélange of Middle Eastern and South American dishes, deliciously accompanied by mouth-watering salads, an impressive cheese tray, and topped off with a homemade Persimmon cake (a la mode!), that had yours truly going back for seconds with a very ungracious sense of urgency!

The evening was dedicated to the upcoming All-Hallow’s Eve, and we began with a reading of "The Cremation of Sam McGee", by Robert W. Service.

This was followed by a fun group reading (stanza by stanza) of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven”.

Then, we heard W.W. Jacobs' “The Monkey’s Paw”, which was followed by a few excerpts from Edgar Lee Masters' "Spoon River Anthology".

Everyone now broke away to focus on the ‘other” activity for this month: pumpkin carving! Each had brought his/her own carving, and we provided the carving tools. For the next hour or so, we each bent to the task of gouging our gourds, with great focus! The pastime was greatly enhanced by the accompaniment of some more readings from various authors, all chilling or otherwise appropriate to the “spooky” theme!

At last, as winter approaches, the spirit of our Salon slides into its own sepulchural slumbers...I'll still be posting occasional commentaries (movie reviews, book reviews, thoughts and ruminations), but the Salon is in hibernation until 2004.

The fires in SoCal

It seems odd that I should live where I live and not acknowledge the horrible disasters raging both to the East and West of me. The Simi Valley and San Bernardino fires are mere miles away from us, and my heart goes out to those many families who have lost their homes. At last count it was over 2,500 homes destroyed, and nearly 700,000 acres burned...

For updates, go to the California wildfire info net., run by the San Bernardino agencies.

For a very up-close and personal take on matters, visit Joseph Urbaszewski's Weblog, which is updated often, and has all sorts of info and links.

Pray for our neighbours, our forests, and our firefighters, in whatever form makes you comfortable.

If you are able to donate to the disaster relief funds, three good resources are:

Southern California Wildfire Relief Fund
Red Cross
Salvation Army

Thursday, October 23, 2003

"A Quiet Giant"

Some movies let you escape reality.
Some help you cope with reality.
Some encourage you to accept it and all its highs and lows.

Jim Sheridan's newest oeuvre is an intimate, and powerful, example of this last category.
Written and directed by the man behind "My Left Foot" and "In The Name of The Father", "in America" is a semi-autobiographical examination of an Irish family experiencing New York for the very first-time.

“With their two young daughters in tow, Johnny and Sarah emigrate from Ireland to New York City in pursuit of a dream. The family uses ingenuity and sheer strength of will to make the most of their new life. Ultimately it is their kindness to a stranger and that stranger' s response in return that builds their new home.”

"In America" is the type of film that sits at the opposite end of the spectrum from those mega blockbuster summertime super hits that assault our senses annually. It is an experience driven not by awe-inspiring visual effects, knee-weakening glamorous leading ladies, heart-thumpingly handsome male protagonists, and ball-crushing fiscal budgets -- but by the passionate vision of the creative family that lived much of this story, and here take the screenwriting credits. It is infused with the sometimes grim and sometimes sweet knowledge born of the director's own experience. It is lifted up, and borne aloft, by the exquisite hand of each and every actor upon the screen. Most notable for very subtly wide ranging characterisations are the three adults, Samantha Morton, Paddy Considine, and Djimon Hounsou. Equally impressive, however, for the simple yet overwhelming honesty of their performances, are the two sisters Sarah and Emma Bolger.

I'll say no more, except to encourage you to include this fine delice in your filmgoing menu of this season.

“In America”

Director:
Jim Sheridan

Written by:
Jim Sheridan & Naomi Sheridan
& Kirsten Sheridan

Producers:
Jim Sheridan, Arthur Lappin

Co-Producer:
Paul Myler

Wednesday, October 22, 2003

With thanks to Regan Kibbee, here is a list of some upcoming events in the LA area (with a couple of exceptions). I have chosen to include all events forwarded to me in this list, without comment or censorship, so be aware that the following is not an expression of my sudden conversion to Moon-worshipping, macabre, perverse, leftist, ecstasy-popping, transvestite sensibilities…well, not necessarily…:

Wed, Oct 22 8pm Free
7 DUDLEY CINEMA ~ SCREENING
Activist/Director Craig Baldwin's "SPECTRES OF THE SPECTRUM" (1999, 91 mins)
sci-fantasy allegory mocks America's military-industrial horror show.
Limited seating -- arrive early!
Sponto Gallery, 7 Dudley Ave, Venice
http://www.81x.com/7dudley/cinema

* * * * *
Weds, Oct 22 9pm-2am $7
DJ TEJ GILL + ALIEN CHATTER
Tej spins House, Trance & sounds of the Asian Underground. Rodney Lee on
piano and Satnam Ramgotra on Tabla create jazzy Electronic grooves.
Zanzibar, 1301 5th St, Santa Monica
http://alienchatter.com

* * * * *
Wed-Sat, Oct 22-25 8pm $16.50-50
"RAMAYANA 2K3" ~ A FABULOUS MONSTERS PRODUCTION
This electronica dance drama based on the ancient Hindu myth returns for
four shows before traveling to New York City.
Order tix ASAP - they will sell out.
El Portal Theater, 5269 Lankershim Blvd, NoHo
http://www.fabulousmonsters.org

* * * * *
Sat, Oct 25 4-11pm Free
DAY OF THE DEAD CELEBRATION
@ HOLLYWOOD FOREVER CEMETERY
Featuring live performances (including singer LILA DOWNS from Oaxaca at
8:30pm), local artisans, food vendors, and traditional altars honoring the
deceased.
6000 Santa Monica Blvd, Hollywood
http://www.ladayofthedead.com/englishHOME.htm

* * * * *
Sat, Oct 25 9pm-? $40-55
ANNEMARIE'S ANNUAL HALLOWEEN COSTUME PARTY
Annemarie P. Currey's house party that outgrew the house. Price includes
all liquor, drinks, snacks at midnight, DJ's, live performances, stages,
loft area, and theme rooms.
At a 15,000 sq ft studio in the Hayden Tract, Culver City
http://www.fivedaysent.com/events.htm

* * * * *
Sat, Oct 25 9:30pm-2am $7/ $5
CANNIBAL FLOWER ~ ART SHOW & MASQUERADE BALL
Presented by ILL:OGICAL TECHNOLOGIES
Featuring group show, Anna Reyes (Mixed Media), Brain Garden (Electronica),
DJ's and more.
Hanger 1018 Santa Fe Avenue, just past Downtown L.A.
http://www.cannibalflower.com

* * * * *
Thu, Oct 30 9pm $10
HAMSA LILA ~ CONCERT
This world trance groove ensemble melds Morocco's Gnawa music with a
trance-y chants, brass, woodwind instruments and percussion.
http://www.hamsalila.com
Little Pedro's Blue Bongo
901 E 1st St @ Vignes, Downtown LA
http://bluebongocafe.com

* * * * *
Fri, Oct 31 6pm-1am Free
CARNIVAL IN WEST HOLLYWOOD
(What will be the percentage of lookie-loos to those in costume this year at
L.A.'s largest street festival...?)
Santa Monica Blvd between La Cienega & Doheny Dr, WeHo
http://www.visitwesthollywood.com

* * * * *
Sat-Sun, Nov 1-2, 8-9 12noon-4:30pm Free
"GET TO THE HEART OF ART" SCREENINGS
13 award winning films about art, beginning with "Glenn Gould: The Russian
Journey" which features the 24-year-old pianist's 1957 concerts behind the
Iron Curtain.
Bing Theater at LACMA
Free, but tix required (323 857–6010)
http://www.focala.org/calendar.html

* * * * *
Sat, Nov 1 1-10pm Free
DAY OF THE DEAD
@ SELF HELP GRAPHICS & ART
The 30th Anniversary Dia de los Muertos exhibition and celebration at the
premiere Chicano/a printmaking studio. Festivities include art workshops,
vendors, food, music and theater performances, a candle-lit procession and
more.
3802 Cesar E. Chavez Ave, East L.A. (It's closer than you think!)
http://www.selfhelpgraphics.org/shgdod.html

* * * * *
Sun, Nov 2 7-10pm, $5/ $2 youth, seniors
"RHYTHMS" ~ ART/MUSIC/POETRY JAM
Inside Out Community Arts hosts the Chautauqua Coffee House Sunday Series, a
monthly open-mike showcase for artists of all ages.
Venice Center for Peace with Justice & the Arts
2210 Lincoln Blvd (@ Victoria)
InsideOutCA@InsideOutCA.org

* * * * *
Sat, Nov 8
HARMONIC CONCORDANCE
Tonight, an eclipse of the full moon (although it's at 5:06-5:30pm
PST--probably too early for CA viewers) takes place as a geometrically
perfect six sided (Star of David) configuration linking the Sun, Jupiter,
Mars, Saturn, Chiron and the Moon appears in the night sky.
http://www.penwing.com/nov8.html

* * * * *
Fri-Sun, Nov 14-16 $75
COMMUNITY OF ARTISTS (CofA) VEGAS CONFERENCE
Featuring MacArthur grant recipient and author Dave Hickey, architectural
tour of resort casino, visits to Liberace Museum, Mirage Dolphin Habitat,
Secret Garden of Siegfried and Roy, a major Vegas production and Hoover Dam.
Circus Circus Hotel/Casino, Las Vegas, Nevada
http://modmod.blogspot.com

* * * * *
Sat, Nov 15 9:30am-2:30pm Free
"ENVISION VENICE" ~ PLANNING WORKSHOP
Venice residents and businesses join community planners and architects to
discuss development along Lincoln Boulevard.
Reserve a space: 310-285-8001 or envisionvenice@yahoo.com
United Methodist Church
1020 Victoria (at Lincoln Blvd), Venice
http://www.envisionvenice.org

* * * * *
Tue, Nov 18 6:30pm $12/ $10 members/ $5 seniors, students
ARCHITECT TADAO ANDO ~ LECTURE
The Pritzer Prize-winning architect is acclaimed for his minimalistic
concrete, glass and steel frame buildings which both serve and inspire.
Organized by the American Institute of Architects/L.A. Chapter.
LACMA’s Bing Theater, 5905 Wilshire Blvd, Los Angeles
http://www.lacma.org/art/exhibition/cob/AAEveEdLecsP5.htm

* * * * *
Fri, Nov 28
BUY NOTHING DAY
http://adbusters.org

Monday, October 13, 2003

Veronica goes to War

At the end of this week “Veronica Guerin” will be opening in a theatre near you. I had the opportunity to see it a couple of nights ago, and to speak with the producer, Jerry Bruckheimer. Before you assume that this feature is a marked departure for the man who brought us “Bad Boys II”, “Pirates of the Caribbean”, “Armageddon”, and “Kangaroo Jack”, recall also that he was also responsible for “Dangerous Minds”, “Remember the Titans”, and “CSI”. Jerry Bruckheimer is undoubtedly a populist filmmaker, but he has a knack for recognizing intelligent choices in others. When one of his executives brought him a blurb about Irish reporter Veronica Guerin, suggesting that this topic might make for a good screenplay, he encouraged this possibility, and eventually teamed up with Irish writer Carol Doyle, who – after much research – penned a powerful screenplay, albeit one that dabbled a little with the truth of matters.

This is a heavy movie, to say the least, and a bit glamorous in its depiction of the protagonist. It is, however, a strong movie, and well worth the viewing – both as a story well told, and as an insight into Ireland’s social history. The film is not so much a tea-jerker as a gritty face-slapping docudrama.

“Veronica Guerin” is the story of a passionate reporter, working in the 80’s and 90’s, who became obsessed with revealing the sources of Dublin’s escalating drug problem. It is largely a true story (a minimal degree of artistic license was taken with the story, but not enough to take it so far from the truth, as to warrant the label of “fictional”. The notion that the Irish changed their Constitution within weeks of Guerin's death is quite unrealistic, for starters: it takes at least 18 months for such a change, which is done by referendum. What did happen was that a piece of legislation was introduced in Dail Eireann (the parliament), allowing for the seizure of drug-related assets. Another inconsistency is the portrayal of Tony Gregory as a government “suit”. Gregory, a fiercely independent socialist in real life, is not a tie-wearing sort of chap…I would be surprised if he owned one).

In this film, Guerin pursued her leads with unyielding – and ultimately costly – zeal. Cate Blanchett immerses herself in the lead role, portraying Guerin with such apparent verisimilitude that the character’s family, who came to a screening of the film, remarked at the astonishing similarities. This is a subtly powerful performance, which might seem less complex – at first viewing – than it really is. It is a performance worthy of awards nomination. So too is the impressively evil performance of Irish actor, Gerard McSorley.

Friday, October 03, 2003

A couple of roars and a whimper

Saw "Secondhand Lions" a couple of days ago, and found it to be - overall - a charming and quite original film. Not surprising, considering the director is the same chap who wrote the undeniably brilliant animated feature "Iron Giant".

Set in 1960s Texas, "Secondhand Lions" is the story of a timid teenager, Walter (Haley Joel Osment), forced to spend the summer by his irresponsible mother (Kyra Sedgwick) with his eccentric great-uncles (Michael Caine and Robert Duvall) on their farm, as he learns more about their mysterious and dangerous pasts, which we see as flashbacks.

What might have been "Grumpier Older Men", is instead a smart and touching tale, celebrating the glory of life lived fully. Caine and Duvall give performances almost on a par with Murray's career reviver in "Lost In Translation". These three men demonstrate in these two movies what it means to truly commit to character. This last comment being accompanied with the warning that Caine's Southern drawl seems to have got stuck on the pebbles of Portsmouth Harbour...

Although the critics have almost unanimously been hailing his performance as a successful transition from boy to near-man, Haley Joel Osment seemed consistently wooden in this feature. Then again, it would be tough to appear otherwise, perhaps, when sharing the screen with two characters with such zest as Hub and Garth have.

The plot is unabashedly hammy, and unapologetic in its sentimentality, but this schmalz is liberally mixed with humour and unpredictable soft notes. The end result is an enjoyable feel-good that also inspires. It must be stressed that these two are usually quite separate in movies these days. Either we are inspired to feelings of bloodlusting glory by explosions and visual glitter, or lulled into comfortable numbness (with apologies to Pink Floyd) by predictable and ultimately unproductive sap.

"Secondhand Lions" is definitely worth a video rental, or matinee viewing. It falls just short , however, of a full 9 dollar value, unless you live somewhere particularly rainy, and the library is closed. Then again, "Seabiscuit" and "Lost in Translation" are really the only two current releases for which I would pay full price...

...ramble done.

Tuesday, September 30, 2003

Dig it!

I have to tip my hat to a great bunch of people.

Our summer Salons take place on the back patio, looking onto my garden. Small as it may be, much of its success is due to what I have learned from a fun-loving group of ladies and gentlemen in a discussion forum called "The Gardeners Forum", on the website thegardenhelper.com. I recommend this madcap collective highly!

Monday, September 29, 2003

Something out of nothing

This month’s salon began with the usual culinary delights: grilled pork tenderloins, pesto walnut pasta, New Englander salad (assorted exotic greens and blueberries as a garnish), fresh cheeses and baguettes, great wines and juices, and a wonderfully sinful dessert of freshly baked brownies topped with ice cream and chocolate sauce.

This excess of good food was swiftly counteracted with the realization that we had nobody present with a literary offering – for the first time ever!

Lucky for us, a temporary lack of source material could not prevent us from launching into discussions. We began the evening with some agenda notes from myself, including information on the next, and last, Salon of the year. I also introduced a new “suggestion”, whereby all presenters of content needed to conclude their presentation with a question. This is designed to keep the group “on topic”, instead of chatting amiably about random things. While the latter is not necessarily a bad way to spend an evening, I want to make sure that the bulk of the salons engender discussion of a more focused and specific nature. As such, as soon as I had completed announcing upcoming events in the LA area, I asked my question: “Why aren’t we attending more live events in LA?”. As soon as the usual answers - “traffic”, “time”, “cost”, et al – had been ploughed through, the group began collaborating on ways to encourage ourselves, each other, and soon enough the whole LA community to more actively pursue the live events in our area. For those who want to know what is upcoming:

Skirball Center:

October 4
Frank Salerno (Jazz Pianist and Vocalist)
Jazz and pop vocalist Frank Salerno is a singer/songwriter whose inspirations are Billy Joel, Jim Croce, and Bill Withers. A classically trained pianist, jazz composer, musical director, and vocal and dance accompanist, Salerno presents an energetic mix of original material.

October 18
Dos Vientos (Flamenco)
Dos Vientos, a guitar duo featuring Gabriel Lautaro Osuna and Jacobo Carranza, both of whom have performed extensively in the famous “gypsy caves” of Granada, Spain. Jacobo Carranza has also taught and performed at the “International Festival Flamenco,” the largest Flamenco festival in the U.S. while Gabriel Lautaro Osuna has performed internationally in Germany and France. Adding a percussionist to their show for this special Skirball performance, Dos Vientos makes music that has to be experienced live to be believed, the ideal blend of technical virtuosity and passion.
Followed by the film Tango Bar at 2:30 p.m.

October 25
Marta Santamaria and Viajem (Spanish/Brazilian Music)
A dynamic performer, Marta Santamaria is a dancer, singer, and choreographer whose training began in her hometown of Seville, Spain, at the Conservatory of Ballet and Classical Spanish Dance. She extended her training in flamenco and Afro-Caribbean Dance in Puerto Rico and Los Angeles. Marta now teaches Latin dance classes and Creative Movement classes for Everybody Dance! In addition to her talents as a dancer, Marta sings in both Spanish and Portuguese the songs of her native Seville as well as Brazil.
Also performing September 6.


LACMA

Times Mirror Central Court: Friday Sept 26 5:30 to 8:30 pm.
Danny Pucillo Jazz Quartet

CALIFORNIA PLAZA, WATERCOURT
RICARDO LEMVO and MAKINA LOCA with JOAQUIN DIAZ
Friday, October 3rd 12:00PM
350 SOUTH GRAND AVENUE
One of the most popular salsa and soukous bands in Los Angeles returns to Grand Performances to spread its brand of infectious music. Ricardo Lemvo and his band Makina Loca blend the seductive melodies and driving rhythms of Cuba and central Africa into an intoxicating brew. On stage with Lemvo will be a special guest artist, Joaquin Diaz – one of the Dominican Republic’s premiere merengue accordionists. It is a performance that will have you up and dancing!

-------------

The last person to arrive - we were happy to discover - had actually brought something to read: the beginning draft of an original novel or short story (the work is still in its embryonic stages). After reading extracts of her piece, the reader asked, “Should I continue writing this?” What ensued was a mix of enthusiastic cheerleading, and cannibalistic shredding…Nobody held back, and the reader was treated to some very constructive criticism, some of it good, some of it useful in other ways. Regardless, the discussion illustrated the best of the Salon experience: honest, unadorned, straight-from-the-hip reactions to original and classic works of creativity. I’m a strong proponent of the belief that when people feel comfortable enough to speak before they think, they will soon find themselves thinking more freely, and thus more creatively. Granted some garbage comes out along with the treasure, but if we don’t allow ourselves to censor our words until AFTER they are uttered, we will inevitably become more adept at censoring and refining our words as we utter them. The result: better orators, and more eloquent ad-lib dialogues.

A new aspect was briefly introduced, as a small bronze sculpture by New England sculptor Andrew DeVries, was shown around, and the conversation turned to the value of sculpture as an art form, the reasons we go to art shows and museums nowadays, if we do go, and soon the conversation turned once more toward ways in which the group might influence a new system of creative cross-pollination among the artists in LA.

Whether the ideas conceptualized at this evening’s gathering will ever metamorphose into actual manifest action, will remain to be seen: the spirit is there, but we are all busy people, who have perhaps lived too long in a culture that has lost a sense of community…

Tuesday, August 26, 2003

Summertime at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party

Chicken Pot Pies, Cucumber and Dill Salad, Rice, Kung Pao Chicken, Tofu Spice Salad, Ice Cream Sundaes, Banana Splits…and, of course, tea!

They came, we ate, we chatted…and boy, did we chat!

This month’s Salon was perhaps the most intimate get-together we’ve had since we started: our first contribution was read by its author. The piece was a furiously composed poem written in the midst of confusion, grief, and loss. A friend had committed suicide by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge, and the author was trying to codify all the questions in her mind.

The poem began by directly addressing the individual who had taken his life. Questions abounded as the writer sought to understand the moments leading up to the act. The poet seemed to almost be trying to enter the mind of the man jumping to his end. Suddenly the language of the poem changed, the listener entered an almost silent mist of tranquil fluidity. The poet had entered the mind of the man, and instead of direct address questionnaire, the language had altered to 3rd person narrative. Minutiae were observed, e.g.: the colour and feel of paint flakes as his hands touched the bridge railings…

The reading ended in midstream, as the poet - too close to her subject, and too soon after composition – was unable to continue. We discussed the content - a little tentatively at first, given the reader’s fragile state, but she swiftly recovered her composure, and invited deeper critique. Many opinions came forth, much rumination, and much conjecture: all good elements in this environment. The discussion could easily have continued throughout the evening, but it fell to the whip –wielder to invite movement onto another topic, as variety is as much a condition as intensity in this gathering.

The next reading was an excerpt from the Sunday, August 10, 2003 issue of The Wall Street Journal. Since the author didn’t believe that I’d be able to print the article in totum, I’m out to prove him wrong:

A Child Is Robbed: Readers Weigh In
By Jeff D. Opdyke
Staff Reporter of THE WALL STREET JOURNAL

If you're looking to find a consensus about child rearing, here's my advice: Don't even try.
I recently wrote about how my six-year-old son's favorite trading cards were swiped by older boys at summer camp. I noted that Amy and I decided not to step in and try to remedy the problem, either by contacting parents or the camp, or by replacing the stolen cards.
Well, readers had pretty strong opinions about our approach. Many agreed with us, saying children need to learn that mom and dad can't protect against everything. Just as many said that's hogwash, calling us spineless for not standing up for our kid. Some said we should replace the cards to assuage his hurt. Others all but advocated a lawsuit. A professional counselor and a psychotherapist offered opposing views.
First, let me say that I should have been clearer in the original column. This incident was the latest example of our son's stubbornness when it comes to disregarding our advice on taking his cards away from home.
But should we have let him learn the hard way this time? Here's what readers had to say.
* * *
Mel Standart, a father, grandfather and great-grandfather in Rancho Murieta, Calif., says that while learning the world's harsh realities is necessary, "by ignoring the perpetrators of the card theft and their parents, you are also teaching him that crime pays, pays well, and has few if any unpleasant consequences."
Mr. Standart says our son "ought to have been able to trust his parents to come to his defense when he deserved defending."
That's a message Tamar Joseph says she wishes she had received decades ago. Back during World War II, at the age of six or seven, Ms. Joseph, a reader in Jerusalem, recalls taking to school a wooden doll that had been passed down through the years. "Suddenly," she says, "it was missing from my bag, and I saw a little boy playing with it. He refused to give it back."
Ms. Joseph pointed out to the teacher telltale markings that only the owner would know, but the bandit's mom showed up and claimed the doll did belong to her son.
Ms. Joseph says, "I wanted my mother to come to school and argue on my behalf, but she refused, saying it was my fault that I had taken the doll to school in the first place. It is now 60 years later, and the shame of being thought a liar and a thief still rankles. Yes, it did teach me to rely on myself and fight my own battles, but it also made me feel very abandoned and lowered my mother in my estimation."
Terri Arnold, a psychotherapist in Las Vegas, agrees. She says at his age, my son "needs to know that his parents are there for him and will stand up to bigger kids who take advantage of him." Ms. Arnold says her grown daughter "always called me a 'mother tiger' because I always stood up for her when needed. This is called providing 'security' for your kids."
Carl, a reader in St. Louis, disagreed with my approach, but for a different reason. He says that as a parent, he would want to know if his son was the culprit. He recalls an incident several years ago when his son was on a retreat with his church's youth group "and used the occasion to partner with another older boy to take monetary advantage of several younger boys in a card game. If one of the fathers had not informed me of the scam, I probably would not have had the chance to address the matter with my son.
"I would like to believe that the camp and the families of the boys involved would like to know what happened and be given the opportunity to address the misdeed."
* * *
Still, plenty of people took our side in the argument. D. McKinna, a professional counselor in Canon City, Colo., says that Amy and I "took a courageous stance with our son and with the public in writing your column....So many children I see have been robbed of the ability to manage their problems and develop the self-esteem that comes with that sort of mastery by overprotective, meddling parents who jump in and solve their children's problems at the slightest provocation."
Ms. McKinna adds: "These are the kids who, as adults, use the court system as parental substitutes to redress wrongs that they never learned to cope effectively with as children."
Linda Wylie, who retired after 34 years as a public-school teacher in Placerville, Calif., also applauded our decision to stand aside.
Her reason: "First, mom and dad should not be expected to solve all his problems; and second, he has to take responsibility for his own actions. I know that the tender age of six is a difficult age for parents to back off and let a child handle his own problems, and sometimes parents do need to step in. But...I've seen too many parents who either step in much too often to solve problems that are the responsibility of the children or who expect the teachers to handle the problem. In either case, they are sending a message to the child that he is not capable of handling problems and that adults will always step in and solve the problem fairly. I only wish I'd had more parents like you and Amy with children in my classroom."
Doris Woods came away with a similar message after reading the column.
Ms. Woods, a grandmother from Somerset, Calif., says "too many children nowadays never learn that there are consequences to their actions. When parents or other adults always go to bat for them, they learn that they can do anything with impunity because someone will always rescue them -- right or wrong."
* * *
I'll end with Matt Slichko, in Puyallup, Wash., who remembers his dad 30 years ago advising Matt and his older brother to lock up their bicycles when not riding them. Well, Matt's brother's bike was stolen, along with a prized football.
Dad was upset, Mr. Slichko says, "because my brother didn't listen to him, and there was some rotten kid who deprived my brother of his prize possessions." He says his dad took his brother to the police department to report the crime, but did not replace the bicycle or the ball.
Mr. Slichko asked his dad about the incident years later and realized "it was a tough decision for him....But he wanted to drive home the point that there are a lot of people who will take advantage of you if you don't take care of yourself and your 'stuff.' My dad was also big on teaching us how to do things for ourselves because, 'Someday, I'm not going to be here to take care of you.'"
(reprinted without permission, purely as an archive reference. Not for redistribution or sale, etc…)

The reader had hoped to elicit vociferous debate about the subject of parent lessons. However, the group chose to take matters – as usual – into its own hands and in short order turned the discussion into a much more personal exploration of the relative merits of bilingual households. One of the present couples happens to have two delightful young children, who are learning to speak, in an English- Speaking Community, with Hispanic parents. The question was whether the parents should be speaking English with their children, to best equip them for the society into which they were growing, or should they speak Spanish, to ensure that they were imbued with the core elements of their heritage? Compelling arguments were made for both sides, and variations thereof.

Last, we had a quick introduction to the playwright, Jean Anouilh, author of the classic French play, “Becket”. The play studies the relationship between Henry II, and his confessor, friend, and later Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Becket. That Anouilh presents the historically Norman Becket as a Saxon is immediate testament to the fac that the author was less interest in historical verisimilitude, and more intent on depicting the emotional and social struggle between two fascinating characters. Rather than bore you with my observations on this, however, I refer you to these very interesting, albeit imperfect, reviews of the play:

http://www.angelfire.com/pa4/becketleaves/becketleavesanouilh.html

http://www.wikipedia.org/wiki/Becket

http://www.brothersjudd.com/index.cfm/fuseaction/reviews.detail/book_id/995/Becket%20or%20The%20Honor%20of%20God.htm

See you in September!

Wednesday, August 20, 2003

Last trip to the Bowl this year

Went the Hollywood Bowl again last night, but this time we elected to eat dinner at home, and take dessert and drinks to the event. Made for a much lighter walk up to our seats! The performances tonight were Vivaldi’s “The Four Seasons”, and Mark O'Connor’s The American Seasons. The Los Angeles Philharmonic was playing, with
JoAnn Falletta conducting/dancing – but more on that later. It was fun to have a different violinist playing each concerto of “The Four Seasons”, as we got to hear 4 very different styles and standards.

Michele Bovyer was the first soloist, playing the Concerto in E major “Spring” piece. She was my least favourite soloist, seeming to often be out of sync with the orchestra, both in tempo and tone.

Bovyer was followed, however, by my favourite soloist: Akiko Tarumoto, whose deft touch and light tone perfectly rendered the ominous falling tones of “Summer”, in a fluid and commanding fashion.

Second best had to wait, as we were served a very Germanic “Autumn” by the undeniably accomplished Stacy Wetzel. Her bowing was confident, precise, and accurate, but so forceful and clipped, that I often wondered whether she was more intent on sawing her violin in half, than evoking seasons of falling leaves and the hunt. Put her in the forest with that violin and she would swiftly spear the fox with the bow. Brünnhilde plays Vivaldi. I have to be honest, even if she is a distant relative (Adams line).

Then came “Winter”, ably rendered by the orchestra and Jonathan Wei. He was my second favourite, although I can’t say why I preferred Tarumoto. Perhaps because, although very emotive, his playing was not as “Vivaldian” as one might expect (although this critique is somewhat empty, in light of the fact that I don’t seem to have on me any recordings of Vivaldi himself conducting or performing his work!).

Mark O'Connor, composer of “The American Seasons: Seasons of an American Life”, also performed the piece this evening – something that would be an honour, if the piece wasn’t so “modern”. The work is a Concerto for Violin and Chamber Orchestra, and there’s no denying that O’Connor is a fine fiddler – his solo in the third movement was awesome – yet the discord of his composition was quite difficult to absorb, after the familiar melodies of Vivaldi. It was interesting, however, to note that the orchestral structure for this second piece was almost identical to that used for the first piece, with the exception of the fact that two guitars had now replaced the harpsichord, arguably being the modern equivalent to this charming ancient instrument. Also of interest were the definite sounds of Copland and Bernstein, drifting in and out of the piece at times.

As for conductor JoAnn Faletta, she was good, but distracting – dancing around on the podium, and wiggling her hips to the music. Very eccentric.

The evening was very enjoyable, overall, and we got home late, but happy.

Friday, August 15, 2003

Free concert in September

My friend Lia drew my attention to an interesting program offered in Griffith Park (Los Angeles). Check it out at www.symphonyintheglen.org.

Tuesday, August 12, 2003

Sidestepping and high-kickin'

Have you ever walked into a nightclub, rave party, or dancehall and stood confused by morethan just the outfits and swirling lights? For a while now, most mainstream dance tunes have been so repetitive and predictable that what was supposed to give you the urge to get your groove on, gave you nothing more than a splitting headache. This is not the case, however, with Sidestepper. I recently discovered this "group" through the recommendation of my friend Dino. Dino and I share some of the same musical tastes - focusing on latin and african rhythms. Sidestepper is actually the brainchild of English producer Richard Blair who, while working on location in Colombia for Peter Gabriel's Real World label, fell in love with Salsa's seductive rhythms and decided to stay and explore Bogota's underground music scene. The result is a compelling melange of classic Salsa, timeless Reggae, vintage D&B (Drum & Bass), and up-to-the-minute nu-House. "This marriage is so successful that you may not even realize that this isn't straight salsa at first. But start dancing and soon you'll hear the skittering drum patterns and feel the pumped-up bass creeping in and loosening up your lumbar region" - Tom Pryor, CDNOW Senior Editor.

Sidestepper has been around since 1997, with their EP, "Logozo" out then, followed by their first album "More Grip" in 2000, and their recent follow-up, "3AM: In Beats We Trust", released 4/03. All are available at the wonderful Amoeba Music stores (if you've never been, GO!).

Monday, August 11, 2003

Sounds of Brazil at Hollywood Bowl

Went to the Hollywood Bowl - again - and saw a great evening's concert, culled from Yo-Yo Ma's new Album, "Obrigado Brazil". Playing were Yo-Yo Ma on cello, the famous Assad Brothers on guitars, Cyro Baptista on percussion, Paquito D'Rivera on clarinet, Nilson Matta on bass, Rosa Passos was the vocalist, Kathryn Stott played piano. All were extraordinarily talented, and you should definitely check out the album!

Friday, August 08, 2003

Update! Update!

The name of the mystery poem from the June 25th Salon is "First Dream" or "Primero Sueño" by Sor Juana Ines
de la Cruz. A bio and further information are listed, along with the poet's picture at http://www.dartmouth.edu/~sorjuana/. To get a translation, check out Amazon.

Thursday, August 07, 2003

The July Salon was held July 30th, and we had a full house! The food was – as usual – delicious, with Empanadas piled high, Salads, wine, vegetarian lasagna, Salmon Kabobs (or was that Chicken kabobs? Whatever they were, they were yummy!), fresh baked breads, juices, and a bacchanalian array of pastries for dessert! Thanks again to the group for all their dishes.

One of the gang brought a friend visiting from Germany, and we somehow got onto the subject of the failure for some languages to effectively represent words used in other languages. The word that started the discussion was actually “verlust”, which literally means “loss” but, when expressed in relation to one’s feelings for another person, it means so many deeper things that could only be translated in a lecture! The Portuguese have a similarly untranslatable word: “saudade”, meaning…well, that’s the problem…

We began the formal literary festivities with an excerpt from Sarah Kane’s “Blasted”, an example of Britain’s “In Yer Face” style of theatre, whose authors also include Philip Ridley; Anthony Neilson; Phyllis Nagy; David Greig; Mark Ravenhill; Patrick Marber; Rebecca Prichard; Nick Grosso; and Joe Penhall, among others. The most successful of the “In Yer Face” playwrights in the US is probably Martin McDonagh, whose 1996 play “The Beauty Queen of Leenane”, as well as its sequels (“A Skull in Connemara” and “The Lonesome West”), shot him to instant success. For more info, go to the "In-Yer-Face" site

This reading sparked a lengthy debate, which I had to curtail, in deference to other readers waiting, such as myself! I quickly read my offering, meant as little more than an “amuse-gueule”: an excerpt from Roger Rosenblatt’s one-man show, “Bibliomania”, here reprinted just for convenience:

“The custom of borrowing books
confutes nature. In every other such situation, the
borrower becomes a slave to the lender, the social weight
of the debt so altering the balance of the
relationship that a temporary acquisition turns into a
permanent loss. This is certainly true with money. Yet it
is not at all true with books. For some reason a
book borrower feels that a book, once taken, is his own.
This removes both memory and guilt from the
transaction. Making matters worse, the lender believes it,
too. To keep up appearances, he may solemnly extract
an oath that the book be brought back as soon as
possible; the borrower answering with matching solemnity
that the Lord might seize his eyes were he to do
otherwise. But it is all a play. Once gone, the book is gone
forever. The lender, fearing rudeness, never asks for it
again. The borrower never stoops to raise the
subject. Can book borrowers be thwarted? There are attempts.
Some hopeful people glue stickers that read EX LIBRIS
to the inside covers (clever drawings of animals
wearing glasses, adorable yet pointless, and the name of
it's owner: "EX LIBRIS Rosenblattimus") - as if the
presence of Latin and the imprint of a name were so
formidable as to reverse a motor reflex. It never works. One
might try slipping false jackets on one's books - a
cover for Cry the Beloved Country disguising a book
actually entitled Utility Rates in Ottawa: A Woman's
View. There's no spectacle that is as terrifying as the sight
of a guest in your house whom you catch staring at
your books. It is not the judgmental possibility that
is frightening. The fact that one's sense of
discrimination is exposed by his books. Indeed, most people
would much prefer to see the guest first scan, then
peer and turn away in boredom or disapproval. Alas,
too often the eyes, dark with calculation, shift from
title to title as from floozie to floozie in an
overheated dance hall. Nor is that the worst. It is when
those eyes stop moving that the heart, too,
stops. The guest's body twitches; his hand floats up to
where his eyes have led it. There is nothing to be
done. You freeze. He smiles. You hear the question even
as it forms: "Would you mind if I borrowed this
book?" Mind? Why should I mind? The fact that I came upon this
book in a Paris bookstall in April 1969 - the 13th, I
believe it was, the afternoon, it was drizzling - that I
found it after searching all Europe and North America
for a copy; that it is dog-eared at passages that
mean more to my life than my heartbeat; that the mere
touch of its pages recalls to me in a Proustian shower
my first love, my best dreams. Should I mind that
you seek to take that all away? That I will
undoubtedly never get it back? That even if you actually
return it to me one day, I will be wizened, you
cavalier, and the book spoiled utterly by your mishandling?
MIND? "Not at all. Hope you enjoy it." "Thanks. I'll
bring it back next week." "No rush. Take your time."
[Liar].”

We then got back into the thick of things with a sly presentation of “The Lay Person’s Feng Shui Book”, by Lam Kam Chuen. I say “sly”, because the reading elicited various intelligent interpretations of Feng Shui, its purpose, and its origins. What the commentators did not know, however, was that one of the people at the Salon was a professional Feng Shui consultant. Several times he wanted to jump in and contribute his thoughts, but fortunately I was sitting directly across from him, and was able to prevent his unveiling with a pleading glance! I wanted to see what observations people would make, without the fear of correction from a more knowledgeable source. It was wonderful to see, therefore that the majority of remarks made were impressively true, if not absolutely accurate in the language or themes referenced. As far as I’m concerned, though, it proved – at the most simple level - that Feng Shui is the practice of intuition, refined over centuries into a formula for living. When our “resident expert” was revealed, he expressed his admiration at the insightfulness of the comments, and went further, teaching us many things relating to his understandings and experiences of the practice.

We then moved on to a reading from Oliver Sacks’ “The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat : And Other Clinical Tales”, a timely reading, as Dr. Sacks had written an article on blindness earlier that week, entitled “The Mind’s Eye” (Issue of 07/28/2003, page 48).

Went to the Hollywood Bowl the other night, to watch the LA Philharmonic, conducted by Esa-Pekka Salonen, performing 3 works. The evening was entitled “Salonen's Fantastic Variations”, and included Royal Hunt and Storm by Hector Berlioz (From his opera “Les Troyens”); Salonen’s own LA Variations; and another piece by Berlioz: Symphonie fantastique.

I packed a little picnic dinner for my wife and myself, and we sat under the stars as a full orchestra played to us in the moonlight…

Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa…

First, my apologies to the Salon of June 25th, as I’ve not had a moment to myself, in which to input the summary of that evening’s events. Now I’m having a tough time recalling what happened when and how…I do recall – thanks in part to the inventive contribution of the kind folks “across the street” (I never use names in this blog, in case you haven’t already noticed!), that we veered into a wonderful new area of creative richness, as we engaged in a sense memory experiment. In the [edited] words of the party who brought this to the event:

“…To be frank the sole object of my offering for this session was to get us all out of our heads and try another approach to stimulate intellectual discussion (and yes I'm aware of how pretentious that sounds) As I believe I told you one day, I'm very interested in the actual process of what - for lack of a better word - is called “conscience thought” or “awareness”..."

The “game” was played as follows: each player (with eyes closed) was asked to pick one bag from a collection of bags. In each of these bags was something with a different and distinct scent. The player was required to smell the scent, and then write down immediately whatever that scent inspired them to write. Below are the phrases written by the participants:

· Saturdays, housework, hospitals, convalescent care, aging.
· Sherbet.
· The smell of rolling kids after the rain; the green painting fingers; the souls laughing angels.
· Angels floating clean and safe in warm sheets of morning light
· Light sawdust on my grandfather’s workbench; an attic space buried in a lonely avalanche of decaying books.
· Books close drawers in the projectionist bedroom with spent pints of gin.

I then tweaked the exercise a couple of ways, until I asked everyone to write down a short phrase, as soon as they heard the word I would next speak.

“BIRTH”

A series of painful contractions
Screaming start of it all
Bumping purple dragonfly
The experience turns you into a grown man
Beautiful addition to the world
Once again to toil and sweat.

It’s not Yeats, but the result was nevertheless a very interesting exercise in group poetry! If taken further, and done more often, some interesting results would surely ensue...

I remember the rest of the evening including an introduction to “The Primary Colors: Three Essays” by Alexander Theroux, a reading of the first 10 pages of my play “Isosceles”, and a lovely poem, the reader of which needs to remind me of the title!

Saturday, June 14, 2003

Historical thrillers seem to be lifting my skirt these days...latest include Dan Brown's "The Da Vinci Code", a mediocre work of literature that just happens to contain some brilliantly evocative theories...some of these theories will offend greatly, some will inspire re-examination of your views on everything from religion to Art, via politics and puzzles...

Another interesting read is the less recent, but even more complex "Ex Libris", by Ross King: a labyrinthine examination of the influence of literature, serving as a backdrop for a tale of love, intrigue, murder, and a narrator with a club foot, and a penchant for eels...

I fell in love with Umberto Eco's "The Name of the Rose" in the early 1980's, was enraptured by the same author's "Foucault's Pendulum", and then fell swiftly out of love with Eco, as soon as I began reading the dreck of "The Island of the Day Before". I find myself in search of great works of historical literary intrigue, and am occasionally - as in the two instances mentioned at the beginning of this entry - fotunate to discover fragments of this genre represented. I've yet to unearth the full-bodied richness of a truly satisfying work of historical intrigue, dealing with issues of literature and academia. I guess The National Enquirer will have to do for now....

Thursday, May 29, 2003

Talk about fast turnaround! I've already received two complaints about the "Islamic fundamentalist writings"...

For those not clear on the concept: My reviews of each month's Salon do not necessarily reflect or represent my personal beliefs. For the record, I applaud the individual who presented Sayyid Qutb's words, as the presentation provoked the type of discussion that is the very essence of our Salon: an opportunity to intelligently debate and explore multifarious issues, through the lens of creative expression, be it our own, or others. Some of these issues are contentious, and I say "Good!"

Choc-a-block

We had the full complement of guests yesterday evening, overflowing our cozy little patio. In the soft glow of overhead lanterns, around a table strewn with rose petals and votive candles, and with tiki torches standing serene guard around the patio perimeter, we could have been enjoying twilight in Tuscany...or perhaps the final episode of "The Bachelor"...

The literati gaggle was accompanied by a gourmand's melange of cheeses, wines, salads of every imaginable style, gnocchi with alfredo sauce and penne pesto. After delighting and satiating our palates, we began the Salon with an introduction to the reflective poetry of Harry Youtt, Poet-in-Residence at the Philosophical Research Society, Los Angeles. An instructor in the UCLA Extension Writers Program, Youtt also teaches courses in Information Design and Writing for Convergent Media and Multi-media at the University of California, Irvine, and conducts annual readings and workshops for Welsh poets at the Dylan Thomas Centre in Swansea, Wales. The piece we heard - "Screened Porch" - was one of a collection of poems examining the life of the author's father, and the relationship the two men struggled to have. The collection is titled "What My Father Didn't Know I Learned From Him", published in 2002 by Trafford Publishing. Previously, Harry was an East Coast Trial Lawyer for twenty years, specializing in Constitutional and Intellectual Property Issues. Harry also worked as the Chief Public Defender for the City of Cleveland. Harry presently is employed by the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists' Broadcast Department and negotiates collective bargaining agreements for the Broadcasters.

This opening piece was followed by an exploration of what it is to be a "renaissance person", with many different views bandied about....a perfect segue for our next offering of the evening,which focused on the views of the fundamentalist, specifically Sayyid Qutb, as expressed through his writings, excerpts of which were presented in an effort to provoke conversation concerning the role of women in western society, specifically, the balance between family and career, and the perceived or actual ability of women to get what they want using the carrot-and-stick prospect of sex. Below are the excerpts that were read and, once you have read them, you will - I'm sure - be able to well imagine the passionate discourse that ensued!

The America I Have Seen (1949)

"The American girl is well acquainted with her body's seductive capacity. She knows it lies in the face, and in expressive eyes, and thirsty lips. She knows seductiveness lies in the round breasts, the full buttocks, and in the shapely thighs, sleek legs -- and she shows all this and does not hide it."

Social Justice in Islam (1949)

"And while today we watch the material West preferring women to men in some professions, particularly in commerce, in embassies, in consulates, and in information services such as newspapers and the like, we must not forget the regrettable and unsavory significance of this advancement. It is a form of slavery and servitude in an atmosphere of the smoke of incense and opium. It is the employment of the sex instinct by the tycoons and potentates of the merchant world; and similarly the government sends women into embassies and consulates, and newspaper editors send women to glean news and information. All of them are merely attempting to make use of women; and they know what success a woman can have in these fields. They know, too, what she must give to achieve her success. And even if she gives nothing -- which is an absurd supposition -- they know what hungry passions and eager eyes are on the watch about her body and about her reputation. But they take advantage of women's hunger for material gain, and for some slight success; for humane and noble feelings are far, far from them."

Milestones (1964)

"If the family is the basis of the society, and the basis of the family is the division of labor between husband and wife, and the upbringing is the most important function of the family, then such a society is indeed civilized. In the Islamic system of life, this kind of a family provides the environment under which human values and morals develop and grow in the new generation; these values and morals cannot exist apart from the family unit. If, on the other hand, free sexual relationships and illegitimate children become the basis of a society, and if the relationship between man and woman is based on lust, passion and impulse, and the division of work is not based on family responsibility and natural gifts; if woman's role is merely to be attractive, sexy and flirtatious, and if woman is freed from her basic responsibility of bringing up children; and if, on her own or under social demand, she prefers to become a hostess or a stewardess in a hotel or ship or air company, thus using her ability for material productivity rather than the training of human beings, because material production is considered to be more important, more valuable and more honorable than the development of human character, then such a civilization is 'backward' from the human point of view, or 'jahili' in Islamic terminology." (Jahiliyya is defined as pagan ignorance of divine guidance).
"The family system and the relationship between the sexes determine the whole character of a society and whether it is backward or civilized, jahili or Islamic. Those societies which give ascendance to physical desires and animalistic morals cannot be considered civilized, no matter how much progress they may make in industry or science. This is the only measure which does not err in gauging true human progress."

Sayyid Qutb was born on 8 October 1906, in a village called "Musha" in the township of Qaha in the province of Assyout in Egypt. He entered the elementary and primary school of Musha in 1912 and finished his primary education in 1918. He dropped out of school for two years because of the revolution of 1919. His father was Haj Qutb, son of Ibrahi, and a well-known religious person in his village, and his mother was also a religious lady from a well-known family who cared about him and his two younger sisters, Hamida and Amina, and a younger brother, Muhammad. After completing his primary education in Musha, Sayyid Qutb moved to Cairo for further education where he lived with his uncle, Ahmad Hussain Osman. This was in 1920, when he was 14 years old. It should be noted that he memorized the Qur'an when he was about 10 years old in his village. He lost his father while he was in Cairo, so he convinced his mother to move with him to Cairo, where she died in 1940. After the death of his mother, he expressed his loneliness in several articles (Ummah, My Mother) published in the book, "Atatiaf Alarbaa" (The Four Lights), which his sisters, brother and he wrote.

In Cairo, he completed his high school education and enrolled in the teachers' college, Darul Oloom, in 1929. In 1939 he qualified as an Arabic-Language teacher and received a Bachelor of Arts degree then joined the ministry of education. Very soon (about six years), he left his ministry job as a teacher and devoted his time to freelance writing. A factor leading to his resignation from the teaching job was his disagreement with the ministry of education and many colleagues regarding his philosophy of education and his attitude towards the literary arts.

From 1939 to 1951, an obvious switch in his writing towards the Islamic ideology was noted. He wrote several articles on the artistic expression of the Qur'an, as well as two books titled "Expression of the Qur'an" and "Scenes from the Day of Judgement." In 1948, his book "Social Justice in Islam" was published. In it he made it clear that true social justice can only be realized in Islam. In November 1948, he went to the United States to study educational curricula. He spent two and one half years moving between Washington DC., and California, where he realized the materialistic attitude of the literary arts and its lack of spirituality. He interrupted his stay in the United States and returned to Egypt in August 1950. Sayyid Qutb resumed his job as a teacher and inspector in the ministry of education before he resigned in October 1952 (again because of his repeated philosophical disagreements with the minister of education and many of his colleagues).

The period from 1951 to 1965 included his joining the Ikhwan (The Muslim Brotherhood). His ideas were quite clear about the fallacy of many of the prevailing social and political/economic injustices and the need for Islamic reform, and he became the chief editor of the newspaper of Ikhwan. During his period, several of his books appeared on Islamic ideology and Islam as a complete way of life. He was arrested when the Ikhwan was accused of attempting to overthrow the government in 1954 and was sentenced to 15 years imprisonment with hard labor. He remained in Jarah prison near Cairo for about 10 years after which due to his health condition, he was released when the Iraqi President, Abdul Salam Arif, intervened.

In 1965 he published his famous book, Mallem Fittareek (Milestones), which led to his re-arrest with the accusation of conspiracy against the Egyptian President, Abdul Nasser. He was tried and rapidly sentenced to death based upon many excerpts of his book, Milestones. There was quite an international uproar and protest in various Muslim countries with appeals to President Abdul Nasser to pardon Sayyid Qutb. In spite of several demonstrations and many objections in various Muslim countries, Sayyid Qutb was executed by hanging on August 29, 1966. He left behind a total of 24 books, including several novels, several books on literary arts' critique, on the education of adults and children, and several religious books, including the 30 volume Commentary of the Qur'an.

---Bio by Ahmed El-Kadi, MD - printed in 'The Message', a monthly magazine published by the Islamic Circle of North America.


After a highly energetic discussion that wandered hither and thither for nearly an hour, we adjourned for dessert, which consisted of an obscenely extravagant array of pastries, cakes, and sweet delights...topped off with two exquisite homemade "Tartes aux Citron" - lemon tarts with wild blueberries, served on etched glass platters. Some herbal tea, and many of us were happily silent for a while, as we indulged our palates once more. As one of this evening's guests so wrily put it, "...in this cultural desert, how pleasant to enjoy such an evening of culture and dessert"....

The next reading was a short "playlet" - actually an article from a recent LA Times edition, written by Jane Wagner, in a style apeing that of its subject matter, Lily Tomlin's "Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe", currently playing at the Ahmanson Theatre.

This was followed by a fine extraction from the middle of Ibsen's "Enemy of the People": a series of small speeches by the character of Dr. Stockmann, woven together into a rousing diatribe against the wrong-placed power of the majority. The voice of Ibsen the maligned author and activist rang clear.

Somewhere amidst the conversations, dialogues, discussions, arguments, and banter, we also managed to briefly celebrate three upcoming birthdays and an anniversary. These gatherings have become a sa fine home brewed soup, or excellent red table wine: they improve with each subsequent tasting.

Thursday, May 22, 2003

Found a nice "directory of blogs maintained by folks who live in the greater Los Angeles area" at www.lablogs.com. Nice chap by the name of Jonah keeps us Lalabloggers tied together...

Monday, May 19, 2003

Freeway musings - The sequel

It isn't enough that one gets to rage against the vagaries of our fellow citizens (See March 31st entry) - I need to find solutions. So, in a peyote-induced haze of hyper consciousness (kidding), I came up with a plan that seemed - at least at 3am last night - to be eminently feasible:

We've all seen COPS - one of the reality TV pioneers - at least once, probably by mistake (although the second viewing can not so easily be written off as a remote control spasm...). We've all witnessed the police cruiser dashboard-cam in action, a small video camera mounted on the dashboard of the police car, automatically recording the process of a roadside meeting between cop and wildly inebriated trailer trash...

In this day and age of digital cinematography and TiVO, we possess the cost-effective capabilities to outfit cars with digital recording devices capable of recording visual data, and being edited down on the fly. Imagine outfitting a car with such a camera, that can record for 4 hours, and then excise and archive - within moments - the relevant 3 minute event, ready for evidence, while erasing the useless 3 hours and 57 minutes, ready for new recording...

Now imagine recruiting "Solid citizens" - individuals with no prior criminal record, and no moving violations - to act as deputies, in the battle against offenders. Why take up the valuable and under resourced time of our uniformed phalanx of law-enforcement officials, in the pursuit of petty litterbugs, ignorant arsonists, and parking offenders?

One of the aforementioned "citizen deputies" can just as effectively drive about town, recording auto traffic, and capturing cars parked illegally in handicapped spots (a quick check on the license plate will show whether the automobile had a right to be there or not); witnessing digitally any individual thoughtless enough to throw lit cigarettes or other trash out of the car; and otherwise servicing as a highly effective community police force.

What's in it for these deputies? How about a commission? Since they would be unable to tamper with the digital recorders, save to erase or archive data feeds (blocks of video capture), there seems no chance that these deputies could cheat the system themselves, so they would be rendering a valuable service to an overtaxed police force. They would be helping to eliminate the burden of littering, the arrogance and thoughtlessness of handicap spot hogs, and the threat of roadside forest fires. Such lawlessness could be highly fined, and a percentage of revenues brought into the city treasuries by the deputies could be returned to said deputies, on a commission basis.

To those of you who have watched “Minority Report” once too often, I hasten to assure that this plan would not resemble, in any way, the pre-crime scenarios of that feature film! This is simply a case of wrongdoers, and bad citizens being caught in the act, and recorded on video. The deputy would in no way interact with the wrongdoer, and trained officers of the law would conduct all policing. Tamper-proof recording devices would eliminate the possibility of evidence manipulation.

Where’s the hole in all of this? Does anyone have a better idea? Let me know!

Monday, May 05, 2003

The Time Capsule of Theatre

This evening, I went to the Premiere of Showtime Television's screening of the Westport Country Playhouse production of Thornton Wilder's Pulitzer Prize-winning 1938 play, "Our Town". Paul Newman, Jane Curtin, Frank Converse, Ben Fox and Maggie Lacey costar in this original interpretation of the dramatic masterpiece, presented in conjunction with PBS's "Masterpiece Theatre." James Naughton directed the play, and I could see that it had been a fine production, with sensitive and powerful portrayals almost all-round. The shame was that my oft-spouted contention was once more proven true: theatre lives on because it CANNOT be recreated to full effect on television or film screen. It is one thing to produce a wholly original adaptation of a play or musical, as was done to great effect with such fare as "Chicago", "West Side Story", The Music Man" (h I could go on forever with the great musical films!)..and what of Kazan's "Streetcar Named Desire"? Branagh's "Henry V"? “A Lion in Winter”? “Becket”?…I guess this list is also long. However, how many great plays have simply been taped for film or TV, to great acclaim and success?

Precisely. None that we can think of easily.

There is a great frustration to be felt, sitting in a darkened movie theatre, watching a stage performance squeeze itself out behind the flattened confines of the screen. The intimacy is all there, but the immediacy is absent. It’s as if I were watching my daughter’s wedding via streaming video on the internet…I’d not want to miss the event, but I would be left somewhat hollow by the production, as I had experienced it.

I can only hope that viewers of the work, when it airs on Showtime, and later in the year on PBS, will feel compelled to experience the play live, so that they can marry the undeniably great performances, with the timeless pleasures of live attendance upon finely crafted language and the exquisite subtleties of human emotion. As Wallace Stevens once wrote, “We pass through moments of rightness”. A rough paraphrasing might be, “You don’t participate in life whilst sitting on yer arse!”

Thursday, May 01, 2003

April Showers

Tonight was a delight of gastronomic and literary cuisine...

We started on the back patio, with a warm pasta and vegetable salad, scalloped potatoes, thai chicken pizza, and all sorts of wines, ales, juices and sodas. We then progressed to the most divinely sinful cheese platter, with a selection of cheeses that melted in mouths already watering in anticipation...add the fresh olives, and more wine, and we were ready to roll!

We began with discussion of Lucien Freud's art, and meandered through voiced thoughts on the value of the visual arts and its varied practitioners. We were then offered two recommended books, with a short critique of each from Mary:

"Interpreter of Maladies", by Jhumpa Lahiri; and "I Don't Know How She Does It: The Life of Kate Reddy, Working Mother" by Allison Pearson. Both are first novels, if I recall Mary's critique, and both succeed in "capturing the essence" of characters or moments in time. This observation led to a discussion of how great works of literature manage to enshrine moments or personages, in a manner unique to the form. The conversation moved into an exploration of what constitutes great works of literature, and what type of work merits the imprimatur "classic". After nearly an hour on this topic, we decided to move indoors, as it was beginning to get chilly.

Once settled in the living room, Anne Marie introduced us to two of her favourite poems by Rainer Maria Rilke. The first " The Swan", she read in English, and then in German, illustrating the power of the language's sound in support of the mood of the piece. In German we heard, without even understanding, the swan's transition from waddling and awkward land, to smooth regal gliding ghost on the water.

The Swan

This laboring through what is still undone,
as though, legs bound, we hobbled along the way,
is like the awkward walking of the swan.

And dying-to let go, no longer feel
the solid ground we stand on every day-
is like anxious letting himself fall

into waters, which receive him gently
and which, as though with reverence and joy,
draw back past him in streams on either side;
while, infinitely silent and aware,
in his full majesty and ever more
indifferent, he condescends to glide.

(Translated by Stephen Mitchell)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Original German

Der Schwan

Diese Mühsal, durch noch Ungetanes
schwer und wie gebunden hinzugehen,
gleicht dem ungeschaffnen Gang des Schwanes.

Und das Sterben, dieses Nichtmehrfassen
jenes Grunds, auf dem wir täglich stehen,
seinem ängstlichen Sich-Niederlassen—:

in die Wasser, die ihn sanft empfangen
und die sich, wie glücklich und vergangen,
unter ihm zurückziehn, Flut um Flut;
während er unendlich still und sicher
immer mündiger und königlicher
und gelassener zu ziehn geruht.


The exercise was repeated, though this time in reverse (German, then English) with her next Rilke poem, "Autumn Day":

Lord, it is time. The summer was too long.
Lay your shadow on the sundials now,
and through the meadow let the winds throng.

Ask the last fruits to ripen on the vine;
give them further two more summer days
to bring about perfection and to raise
the final sweetness in the heavy wine.

Whoever has no house now will establish none,
whoever lives alone now will live on long alone,
will waken, read, and write long letters,
wander up and down the barren paths
the parks expose when the leaves are blown.


Translated by William Gass,
"Reading Rilke: Reflections on the Problem of Translation" (Knopf)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Original German

Herbsttag

Herr: es ist Zeit. Der Sommer war sehr gross.
Leg deinen Schatten auf die Sonnenuhren,
und auf den Fluren lass die Winde los.

Befiehl den letzten Fruchten voll zu sein;
gieb innen noch zwei sudlichere Tage,
drange sie zur Vollendung hin und jage
die letzte Susse in den schweren Wein.

Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr.
Wer jetzt allein ist, wird es lange bleiben,
wird wachen, lesen, lange Briefe schreiben
und wird in den Alleen hin und her
unruhig wandern, wenn die Blatter treiben.

-- Rainer Maria Rilke, Paris, Sept. 21, 1902

After another good round of discussion, we moved on to dessert and tea, followed by the reading of a very interesting one-act play by David Ives, taken from his One-Acts collection "All in the Timing". This, of course, revived the discussions, and we went well past 10pm, and enjoyed every moment.

My thanks to all who participated, and I'm already eager for the month of May to come close to its close, so that we may return to this joyful place, our Salon...

Wednesday, April 30, 2003

Remembering a storyteller of old...

Many newspapers around the country have recently run this Los Angeles Times article about "Ray Hicks: traditional Storyteller". In case the link has expired by the time you read this, here is the text of the article:

"Sunday, April 27, 2003, 12:00 a.m.
Ray Hicks, 80, 'voice of Appalachia'

By Myrna Oliver
Los Angeles Times

Ray Hicks, 80, named a national treasure by the National Endowment for the Arts because of his uncanny ability to tell stories rooted in medieval folklore in hillbilly-honed Elizabethan English with Chaucerian flourishes, has died.

Mr. Hicks, who rarely ventured from the unpainted hemlock house his Appalachian forebears built in 1912 on Beech Mountain near Banner Elk, N.C., died there last Sunday of prostate cancer.

Although the ancient tradition of oral storytelling has enjoyed something of a resurgence in the last few decades, with perhaps 200 story-telling festivals staged annually around the United States, Mr. Hicks was unquestionably a rarity and among the last of his breed.

Often called "the voice of Appalachia," he was the featured bard at almost all annual National Story-Telling Festivals staged by the International Story-Telling Center in Jonesborough, Tenn., since Jimmy Neil Smith organized it in 1973.

That festival — 65 miles west of Mr. Hicks' 4,200-foot-high aerie in the Blue Ridge Mountains — was one of the few places he was willing to travel to tell his stories. He turned down invitations to appear on NBC's "Tonight Show" and "Today" at either end of the country, and, for the most part, let the folklorists, linguists, documentary makers and journalists come to his mountain to hear him "tell."

Mr. Hicks, who received his $5,000 National Endowment for the Arts award in 1983, appeared in the PBS series "The Story of English" and was featured in National Geographic.

He was adept at the "cantefable," a story form rare among white Americans in which a storyteller suddenly might burst into song. He might even add a riff on his harmonica.

But Mr. Hicks was best known for his "Jack stories," and he was said to be the last traditional Jack tale-teller in North America. Such stories — think "Jack and the Beanstalk" — all feature a poor, naive youth named Jack who overcomes unrelenting adversity with adaptive pluck and luck. Adversity can include lions, giants and witches.

Something of a scarecrow in overalls, the 6-foot-7-inch, 150-pound Mr. Hicks learned most of the stories from his grandfather, John Benjamin Hicks, and great-grandfather, Samuel Hicks. They were passing along the family tales from the 19th century by his great-great-grandfather, Council Harmon (1803-1896), from whom both his parents were descended.

The family had come from northern England in the mid-1700s and isolated itself in the American Indian territory of the Appalachian Mountains. The lack of roads and communication helped preserve — albeit with hillbilly additions — features of the English language now lost even in England.

Like the "Jack" of his best stories, Mr. Hicks grew up poor, one of 11 children in the two-story, ramshackle house his great-grandfather, grandfather and father built. His father, a peddler, hanged himself when times were particularly hard during the Depression. Mr. Hicks could recall hungry winters when he "got so thin at times a puff o' wind a-throwed me down."

Mr. Hicks and his wife, Rosa, raised their five children — Leonard, Dorothy, Ted, Kathy and Nita, who gave them four grandchildren — living off the land by growing potatoes and cabbage and selling evergreen galax to florists.

He occasionally earned a little cash by telling stories to school classes. But mostly he spun tales — and cured warts — for free, believing that stories, just like the Bible, were meant for joy and teaching people how to live. His sons, he said, learned his stories but probably could not maintain the family storytelling tradition because "they shy."

Mr. Hicks worked a few months a year as a carpenter, mechanic or sawmill operator. He chopped wood and kindling for the wood stove, carried water from a spring, hunted small animals for meat and grew most of the vegetables his wife canned.

He avoided radio, television, newspapers, telephones, plumbing and central heating, allowing only limited "electric" to illuminate two rooms and to power a refrigerator. He rolled his own cigarettes from tins of Prince Albert tobacco.

And when his throat grew sore from telling those stories that could stretch from 15 minutes to three hours, depending on how many tangents caught his imagination, the mountain man, the voice of Appalachia, knew just what to do. He would strip some bark off a cherry tree, crumple it into a wad and chew."

Monday, April 28, 2003

Being as the subjects covered in this blog are supposed to be inclusive of all forms of creative expression, I wanted to encourage you to take a look at this inventive little Flash Movie, called Kunstbar. It's a frantic tour through the works and imaginations of Bosch, Chagall, Dali, Picasso, Pollock, and more. Lasts only a couple of minutes, and will leave you feeling...well, just check it out!...

Click here to visit one of the leaders in the Weblog community. Learn the history of blogging, and get one individual's perspective of what this trend is all about. Please note that there exists no definitive definition of what a weblog (or "blog" for short) should be, in terms of content, nature, and function.

Friday, April 25, 2003

Another interesting Blog from the frontlines of the war at http://www.back-to-iraq.com/

...part of the "warblogs:cc" group.

Public Service of the month: Below is a chart, detailing the contrasting symptoms of various more common ailments, with the symptoms of SARS...

SARS Symptom Chart

Allergic Rhinitis -- Asthma -- Cold -- Flu -- Pneumonia -- SARS

Body Aches and Pains 0 0 1 2 2 2
Chills/Rigors 0 0 0 2 2 2
Cough 1 1 1 1 1 1
Diarrhea 0 0 0 0 0 1
Dizziness 0 1 0 0 0 1
Fatigue/Malaise 0 0 1 3 3 2
Fever 0 0 1 3 3 2
Headache 0 0 1 2 2 2
Nasal Congestion 0 0 2 1 0 2
Nausea/Vomiting 0 0 0 0 0 0
Painful Breathing 0 1 0 0 1 1
Productive Cough 0 0 0 1 1 1
Shortness of Breath 1 2 0 0 2 2
Sneezing 1 0 2 0 0 1
Sore Throat 1 0 2 1 1 1

KEY
3 = Commonly present, high or severe
2 = Commonly present
1 = Can be present
0 = Not usually present

Thursday, April 17, 2003

Whether it's for real or not, it's certainly compelling reading. Make up your own mind:

Is this writer really in the middle of Baghdad?

Posting Pantoums

Intrigued by the discovery of the "Pantoum" (see posting from 3/27/2003), I decided today to try and write such a poem, and this is the first draft of what I dreamed up. It betrays the mark of the beginner, but I hope it's not too sophomoric! Due to the nature of the panthoum, whereby it revisits lines previously written, I though to write in a style that would suggest the indolent side of intellect: the ability to say very little, while using many words. When reading this, imagine yourself (if you'll forgive the image) sitting on the loo, with no magazines to read. Recall how the mind tends to wander, when it has nothing to do, and nowhere particular to go...:

PASSING TIME
by N. de Wolff

We sit at times in silent pensive thought
Withdrawn from even simple word or deed.
We find ourselves reduced to almost naught,
And hang around as flowers gone to seed.

Withdrawn from even simple thought or deed,
We cannot force our fortunes into gear,
And hang around as flowers gone to seed,
In passive hope that fortune will come near.

We cannot force our fortunes into gear,
When we are seated on our cushioned rear
In passive hope that fortune will come near,
We soon lose sight of bounties once so dear.

When we are seated on our cushioned rear
We tend to loose the bonds that vision sets
We soon lose sight of bounties once so dear.
And fear to gamble on the simplest bets

We tend to loose the bonds that vision sets
We dare not tread where none have gone before
And fear to gamble on the simplest bets
When no one else can tell us what’s in store

We dare not tread where none have gone before
So sit we here, in uffish silence now
when no one else can tell us what’s in store
No answers come to “Who”, and “Why” and “How’.

So sit we here, in uffish silence now,
(We sit at times in silent pensive thought)
No answers come to “Who”, and “Why” and “How’
We find ourselves reduced to almost naught.

Copyright, Nicholas de Wolff. 2003.

Saturday, April 12, 2003

A Florid State
Went to a play a couple of nights ago. First time in many moons...

Saw an stage adaptation of Virginia Woolf's "Orlando", the "epic 1928 time-traveling gender-bender" (LA Times). I had enjoyed Sally Potter's 1993 film, and was looking forward to an equally charming flight of wit and reverie. Instead I found myself privy to a production that has used much the same conceit as my nearly-complete adaptation of Stephen Crane's short story "______ _________ _____" (Not naming it until I present it, but it shouldn't be too tough to fathom...).

The use of 3rd-person narrative is no longer my idea, I guess! While it has been used throughout history in theatre, I was looking forward to presenting a work of some originality, in its narrative structure. I was disappointed, therefore, to find that I'd been beaten to the punch, and only just. However, this production of "Orlando" and the intentions I have for my script are alien enough that I don't think the two would be compared.

"Orlando" was inspired by Woolf's passion for Vita Sackville-West. It has been called the "greatest love letter ever written", though who called it such I can't recall...

It begins in Elizabethan England, where the androgynous hero (played wonderfully on stage by Chicago actor Polly Noonan) wins the favors of the virgin queen (Kate Walsh), through no particular effort of her own, and on one condition: "Do not fade, do not wither, do not grow old."

So she abides by this dictum, and proceeds to live through centuries of history, with a couple of well-placed and lengthy naps in between.

The book is definitely worth a read, and the film is indeed still charming. To round out the experience of the tale, it would be well worth it to see the play, and grasp some nuances that seemed to lose themselves in the transition from page to screen. There a resome discourses that still play better through theatre.

Monday, March 31, 2003

So I was driving along the freeway the other day...

Thanks to my recent foot surgery, I find myself not as ambulatory as I used to be, at least until I recover. The negative implications are obvious, and were foreseen: restricted movement, frustration, sedentary days, pain, frustration, impatience, etc...

The advantages of this situation were, however, not so easily foreseen.

I tend to think a little before I do something, and - by extension - I've begun thinking a little before I say things. I stress "a little". Habits are hard things to amend...
While I enjoyed the fine art of observation prior to my surgery, I have found myself noting even more intimately the finer details in the goings-on about me. I see more of the people who rush about, filling the minutiae of their lives, and I do not like the things I see.

Of course, there's not much I can do about it, but I thought this blog would be a good place for me to record my thoughts, in the vainglorious hope that someone might read and know what to do with them, better than I.

Road-Hogs
Why the rush? Have we spiraled so deeply into the entropy of the "rat-race" cliche, that we are no longer capable of pacing ourselves? Must we rush about, cutting one another off on the freeway; speeding along surfaces streets, without any regard for the children who walk and play mere feet away? I've lost count of the number of times I saw drivers swerving across lanes and taking turns, without bothering to signal their intentions, nor looking to check for suitable openings in traffic. The worst offenders are, of course, the SUVites: a marauding band of individuals (usually middle-aged women from Beverly Hills or Studio City), that rumbles from shopping mall to shopping mall, usually in black or "Eddie Bauer"-emblazoned tanks of tinted glass and metal. They have been trained at the school of "fuck-you", and believe that the Sport Utility vehicle always has the right of way.

Firestarter bug
Possibly the only creature more irritating than the SUVite is the once rare, but now fast proliferating Firestarter bug. This is a parasitical and dangerous insect that consistently shoots burning embers from its shell, at people and cars about it. Every five minutes or so, it expels a larger burning mass of embers, usually into roadside woodland, but often onto the paintwork of cars rash enough to travel nearby. The firestarter bug is doubly odious, because it carries in its shell a device exclusively designed to accommodate the embers that it prefers to throw out onto roads, into woods, and everywhere but into the ashtray built specially for the purpose of safely and responsibly storing cigarette ash and stubs...The firestarter bug has been responsible for freeway accidents, roadside and forest fires, and rampant littering, in areas worldwide. Unfortunately, researchers have done little to discover a way to stop this pest.

Gastronomically lavish underachieving tonnage of tenuously ordered neurons
As odious as the SUVite and firestarter bug are, the gastronomically lavish underachieving tonnage of tenuously ordered neurons ("glutton" for short) is a sad and pitiful sight to behold. This species differs greatly from the passively obese, or pathological shopaholic who, although just as sad to behold, deserve support and assistance, as opposed to pity and contempt. The glutton is found laboriously inching its way from fast food restaurant to fast food restaurant, stopping occasionally to spend food stamps and welfare checks on useless, ill-made, and socially unhealthy consumer goods. These creatures are uniformly overweight, not due to any glandular challenges, but simply through a combination of bad diet, lack of exercise, and a sense of slothful entitlement that is supported by the focus of modern society on providing comfort and convenience, instead of value and quality. The glutton seeks instant gratification - mentally, psychologically, nutritionally, and otherwise. Anything that requires waiting is deemed unacceptable, and anything with subtitles is judged useless. As a result, the glutton expands its girth, but never its knowledge. The glutton would be relatively harmless, were it not for the fact that free-trade societies tend to develop their product offerings with the glutton specifically in mind. The glutton usually ensures that its offspring become gluttons, and this serves to increase the species exponentially, and serves to rapidly destroy the natural habitats of more attractive creatures, such as the intellectual, the artist, the activist, the ecologist, and other fast-disappearing ancient creatures.

People have become ruder, dumber, angrier, greedier, and uglier. Political correctness dictates that we not explore this trend. So we sit dumb, comfortably numb, and we allow our communities to disappear.

It would be, of course, unacceptable to attack the uneducated, unattractive creatures - a few of which I mentioned above. Instead, might I suggest that - just as they are encroaching on our physical habitats, we make their habitats untenable?

Let's not support the expansion of fast food, and instead support the presence of healthy food outlets, such as your local farmer's market.

Let's actively discourage littering and bad driving, by setting a good example, and politely advising offenders that they have been seen, and suggesting that they pick up their litter, and drive a little more carefully. I stress politely, because litterbugs, firestarters and angry drivers are usually very sad and bitter individuals, who do not react well to criticism, unless it is very measured and light. These individuals are overly sensitive, and they will react badly to indignation, but will be quick to note the lack of patience that those around them express...

We have become passive as a culture, hoping that "someone else" will take care of the problems. Who exactly did you have in mind to take care of the clean up, and put out the potential fire, when you saw that lady throw the cigarette out her window onto the road?
Who were you thinking of, when that guy dropped that trash in the parking lot, or left the shopping cart in the middle of the road? Who were you helping, when you allowed that oblivious woman to drive her Explorer across three lanes, and make an illegal u-turn, without using her indicators?

Do you think living in a community has become easier, or tougher, as we have continued to keep our mouths shut, and our opinions to ourselves?

Thursday, March 27, 2003

"I've got to admit it's getting better..."

Last night we had another Salon, and this time we began the "Summer Sessions": sitting on the back patio, with the scent of jasmine and orange blossoms wafting across the proceedings...

OK, the lovely aromas of nature were masked by the equally attractive smells coming from the barbecue grill: marinated lamb, salmon and chicken kebabs...the table was laden with a feast fit for princes and princesses of pedagogy, and we sat around this large table, filling our stomachs and minds with riches. (Hyperbole in full effect, Dawg!)

After a relaxed main course, we began with a brief look into the mind of Martha Gellhorn, a war correspondent who covered conflicts worldwide, from the Spanish Civil War to the U.S invasion of Panama (when she was 81 years old).

For more on Ms. Gellhorn, click here.

Alternatively, you can find various sites about her here.

In keeping with the obviously timely theme of war, we then had a reading of the classic Wilfrid Owen poem, "Dulce Et Decorum Est". Owen, a soldier in World War I, was killed one week before that war ended, but his incisive observations will live on as long as we take up arms against one another.

This was followed by a short but trenchant 30-word composition, CAUSA BELLI, recently penned by the UK Poet Laureate, Andrew Motion - in response to the ongoing conflict in Iraq.

After an intense but happily apolitical discussion about the Middle East, global media, the differences between "reporting" and "reportage", and the contrast between a correspondent and a reporter, we moved away from the field of battle, and on to some original material.

The shift was not so wide, though, as the poem read was an interesting exercise in form, on the subject of Kennedy's assassination. The form in question is the "pantoum", a rare form of poetry similar to a villanelle. It is composed of a series of quatrains; the second and fourth lines of each stanza are repeated as the first and third lines of the next. This pattern continues for any number of stanzas, until the final stanza, which usually contains the first and third lines of the first stanza as its second and fourth lines. Ideally, the meaning of lines shifts when they are repeated although the words remain exactly the same: this can be done by shifting punctuation, punning, or simply recontextualizing. The example we heard last night was a fine one, and led to some great exploration of the form and its merits. (Interesting side note: The pantoum is originally a Malayan poetic form, and not found in much English-language poetry).

Death seemed to be the theme of the night this month (although not in any overtly macabre sense), and our next reading was loyal to the pattern: Mary Oliver's poem, "When Death Comes" was presented to an audience that was pleased to be introduced to a poet obviously worthy of closer study. The poem studies the impact death will have, and compels the listener/reader to reexamine the impact they are having on their present life - an interesting spin on the "Carpe Diem" idea.

So we moved almost seemlessly from death to life, and next heard another excerpt from the memoirs of one our group. These memoirs center on the experience she had, as the victim of a horrible fire, and tonight she shared a section where she touched upon the dreams she had during her recovery in hospital.

From death...to life...to dreams...

A full evening, filled with readings, discussion, questions, answers, more questions, and new authors introduced to the assembled group..."each name a comfortable music in the mouth"...and eventually, to continue in the words of one of our poets of the evening (Mary Oliver), "...tending as all music does, toward silence".

Next month we will be hearing a short play, among other offerings....until then, may the next thing you read enrich your world.

Monday, March 24, 2003

How thrilling that Adrian Brody's performance in The Pianist was rightfully lauded last night, at the Oscars. How interesting that Roman Polanski was also awarded a "gold-dipped Ken Doll". Interesting because it brings to the fore once again that age-old discourse on whether one can and should separate the art from the artist.

Was it right to blackball Communist sympathizer scriptwriters and directors? Is it proper to judge the work of Leni Riefenstahl, freed of the context within which such work was created? What about Bertoluci's "1900"? Diego Rivera's murals? D.H.Lawrence? Should the artist be judged, and by extension possibly remembered through history, for content of work alone, or also for context of work, and character of creator? The discussion continues, as it should...

Tuesday, March 18, 2003

It seems that the hype over this Middle East sortie is taking longer to warm up than the last one (1991, or somewhere around there - for those who feel compelled to refer to their archived TV Guides. It was under "Desert Storm", usually after "Friends" or "Just Shoot Me", depending on what channel you were watching...).

Regardless of how our digestion of these next days/weeks/months comes to manifest itself, I'm concerned about oneparticular issue, among several...:

For those who think "Pro-Choice" means pro-abortion, the following might prove confusing:

I am Anti-War. I think that most of the world is Anti-War. There are few people on our planet who relish the prospect, and welcome the promise, of impending war.

I am NOT however Anti-Servicemen-and-Women.

I'm saddened by the inability of some Europeans to separate US Government policy from US citizens traveling in Europe (see "French spitting on US citizens abroad", and "Germans cursing at American athletes abroad"). There was a time when Americans at home were unable to separate US Foreign Policy from the individuals sent to enact said policy, regardless of their personal beliefs. The Vietnam War was an era when scarred young veterans returned home to the collective abuse and scorn of their fellow citizens. It was a time when we forgot that our servicemen and women do not have all the liberties that we have. They cannot choose who they want to fight, or when. Their job is to protect our liberties, and they do this by surrendering theirs for the duration of their service...

So, regardless of what happens abroad or- God forbid - here at home, please remember that whatever your views on war may be, the only stand that seems fair and honourable, when it comes to those of our servicemen and women who go forth into battle in the name of our freedoms, is FULL SUPPORT AND RESPECT.

Rail against the right-wing administrative machine that sets draconian policies and makes us ashamed to call ourselves American, but don't shame our nation further by repeating the mistakes of our past. Welcome our troops home with warmth and love.

The weather seems to be changing finally. I guess that last deluge was the big ringer...at least I'm hoping so: I'd like to have next week's Salon on the patio in the back. The orange tree and jasmine are rich in scent, and the roses are all coming out....we'll see...

Monday, March 17, 2003

Pamphlet on Salon Etiquette:

by Lady Smithington-Hyde-Pierce-Whingebottom

First printed in 1897, in the Reader's Digest.

1. A Salon is akin to a refined bare-knuckled brawl. Greatness is cheered
and celebrated, and mediocrity should be artfully set up for a speedy
one-two knockout punch. As much as the literary work being presented might
be creative, it is an even more admirable act of creativity to be able to
critique with insight, humour, and value.

2. Do not pick your nose while someone is reading their work. Please wait
until they have finished.

3. A Salon is a collective experience. As such, no novels, lengthy essays,
or other "one-person shows" should be presented in their entirety in this
forum. To read an excerpt (or excerpts)from such works is perfectly
acceptable, but the ultimate goal of a salon is to involve participants in
the ongoing exploration and discovery of new or forgotten works of
creativity. It is impossible to do this, if the whole time is spent
listening to one person read from their memoirs.

4. A Salon is a private affair. Attendance is by invitation only, and vocal
participation should be proportional to seniority of membership, as a matter
of decorum as much as convention.

5. Dominating a conversation is acceptable, so long as one is confident that
what one is sharing is of infinite value. Remember that a Salon judges the
merits of its membership by nothing other than their intellectual
contribution to the whole. If your contribution subtracts from everyone's
enjoyment, involvement, and enlightenment - don't expect to be invited back.

6. A Salon is a forum for contribution, dialogue, support, and polite
conversation. It is not a platform for any one individual, but rather an
arena - wherein the collective opinions and insights of several may be mixed
for added flavour.

Thursday, March 13, 2003

Rumination number 1437...

While I'm flattered that many friends are eager to participate in my monthly Salon, I remain curious as to why an almost equal number seem unable to RSVP. This seems to be a uniquely West Coast phenom, and I previously assumed it was one of those "LA flaky" things, that served as just another reflection for the superficial self-absorbed nature of the "typical" Angelino...but that explanation doesn't sit well with me, in light of the fact that most of my friends are simply nothing like this typical slouch. I've been blessed with a small circle of friends whose reliability has rarely been questionable, and whose interest in creativity and intellect is certainly beyond any doubt active.

So what holds people at arm's length?......"THE DRIVE".

There is a strange haze that hangs over Los Angeles County. Not the usual haze of smog and deals in the making, but a depressing vapor that has for decades kept residents of our area from tapping into the diversified offerings of Los Angeles, in the way that citizens of New York, Chicago or London seem to do all the time. Despite the weather, residents of these cities are always going out, be it to a gallery exhibit, a play, a restaurant, or a friend's apartment. New Yorkers think nothing of catching a cab or bus downtown, spending an hour in travel each way. Londoners use their famously ancient public transportation system (The double-decker buses and underground "tube") to access every nook and cranny of their fascinating metropolis. Chicagoans brave snowdrifts and gale force winds to drive or bus or "El" to a friend's home for dinner and a playreading...

Yet we, the sun-drenched residents of LAlaland, find it soooo difficult to drive to one of the hundreds of theatres dotted about town. We regularly turn down invitations to art shows and live events. We prefer to stay home and order Chinese, than to get into the car, and drive a short way for home cooking. Why?

It's impossible to grasp, until one has lived, and tried to function, in this unique land. Even then, it is impossible to fully explain. What keeps us from attending "Babe's and Ricky's", the best and oldest Blues bar in Los Angeles? When was the last time you went to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art? What about MOCA?The Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena has a wonderful sculpture garden, not to speak of the artwork in its galleries. While you're in Pasadena, go early and spend the morning at the Huntington Gardens (tea in the Rose gardens is quite delightful, dontchooknow!)...

There is so much to do here in LA, and yet we so rarely do it...

Those of us who have lived in New York, Chicago, London, or nearly ANY other major city for that matter, will acknowledge that we once used to go out almost every night and "do stuff"..."see things"...."expand our horizons"...

Nowadays, we all too often drive home after work, and watch the lovely LA evening horizon burn its warm goodnight across the sky, as we numbly shovel Spicy Orange Chicken and rice into our mouths.

I'm just as guilty as the next guy/chap/bloke...Whenever I get an invitation, I vacillate between the pleasure of being thought of, and the dread of the road ahead. Literally. I dread having to turn around after a hard day's work, and battle the bad drivers, torturous on and off ramps, etc..., etc..., ad nauseam.

But I now recite a little mantra: "In life, it's all about the journey. In L.A., it's all about the destination". I remind myself of the fun I had at that art reception, or how much I learned at that industry seminar, or the joy of watching that great little play, in the company of 98 other individuals "in-the-know". I buffer myself against the ignominy of "THE DRIVE", with recollections of the pleasures to be found at the end of the line.

I don't know whether this works for everyone, but if you haven't tried it yet, please do. Look at all your evenings spent watching Judge Judy, Friends, American Idol, or CSI...use your VCR/Tivo/DVD Recorder!!

LA is a counter cultural megalopolis. There is so much going on, some great stuff, some lousy, but this community's pulse is driven by the it's inhabitants. If we all continue to stay home in our own little sanctuaries, the pulse slows.

So let's drive....

Monday, March 03, 2003

Take my Quiz on QuizYourFriends.com

Sunday, March 02, 2003

"I have friends, whose society is extremely agreeable to me; they are of all ages, and of every country. They have distinguished themselves both in the cabinet and in the field, and obtained high honors for their knowledge of the sciences. It is easy to gain access to them, for they are always at my service, and I admit them to my company, and dismiss them from it, whenever I please. They are never troublesome, but immediately answer every question I ask them. Some relate to me the events of the past ages, while others reveal to me the secrets of nature. Some teach me how to live, and other how to die. Some, by their vivacity, drive away my cares and exhilarate my spirits, while others give fortitude to my mind, and teach me the important lesson how to restrain my desires, and to depend wholly on myself. They open to me, in short, the various avenues of all the arts and sciences, and upon their information I safely rely in all emergencies. In return for all these services, they only ask me to accommodate them with a convenient chamber in some corner of my humble habitation, where they may repose in peace: for these friends are more delighted by the tranquility of retirement, than by the tumults of society." - Petrarch.

My thanks to all who came to the last Salon. Another hit...a palpable hit! We began with a lesser known work by Khalil Gibran, "The Song of the Wave", which was followed by a short original poem, and then excerpts from the letters between Henry Miller and Anais Nin. After a delicious Italian meal, and too much ice cream, we were treated to a group reading of a new short one-act, inspired by the absurdist plays of Ionesco and Jarry.

I recently found a short treatise on Absurdism, that I thought I'd reproduce here below:

"ABSURDISM

The term is applied to a number of works in drama and prose fiction which have in common the sense that the human condition is essentially and ineradicably absurd, and that this condition can be adequately represented only in works of literature that are themselves absurd. Both the mood and dramaturgy of absurdity were anticipated as early as 1896 in Alfred Jarry's French play Ubu roi (Ubu the King). The literature has its roots also in the movements of expressionism and surrealism, as well as in the fiction, written in the 1920s, of Franz Kafka (The Trial, Metamorphosis). The current movement, however, emerged in France after the horrors of World War II, as a rebellion against essential beliefs and values both of traditional culture and traditional literature. This earlier tradition had included the assumptions that human beings are fairly rational creatures who live in an at least partially-intelligible universe, that they are part of an ordered social structure, and that they may be capable of heroism and dignity even in defeat. After the 1940s, however, there was a widespread tendency, especially prominent in the existential philosophy of men of letters such as Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus, to view a human being as an isolated existent who is cast into an alien universe, to conceive the universe as possessing no inherent truth, value, or meaning, and to represent human life, as it moves from the nothingness whence it came toward the nothingness where it must end, as an existence which is both anguished and absurd. As Camus said in The Myth of Sisyphus (1942),

In a universe that is suddenly deprived of illusions and of light, man feels a stranger. His is an irremediable exile. . . . This divorce between man and his life, the actor and his settting, truly constitutes the feeling of Absurdity.

Or as Eugene Ionesco, a leading French writer of absurd drama, including The Chairs (1952), has put it: "Cut off his religious, metaphysical, and transcendental roots, man is lost; all his actions become senseless, absurd, useless." He also said, in commenting on the mixture of moods in the literature of the absurd: "People drowning in meaninglessness can only be grotesque, their sufferings can only appear tragic by derision."

Samuel Beckett (1906-89), the most eminent and influential of writers in this mode, was an Irishman living in Paris who often wrote in French and then translated his works into English. His plays project the irrationalism, helplessness, and absurdity of life, in dramatic forms that reject realistic settings, logical reasoning, or a coherently evolving plot. Waiting for Godot (1955) presents two tramps in a waste place, fruitlessly and all but hopelessly waiting for an unidentified person, Godot, who may or may not exist and with whom they sometimes think they remember that they may have an appointment; as one of them remarks, "Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it's awful." Like most works in this mode, the play is "absurd" in the double sense that it is grotesquely comic and also irrational and non-consequential; it is a parody not only of the traditional assumptions of Western culture, but of the oncentions and generic distinctions in traditional drama, and even of its own inescapable participation in the dramatic medium. The lucid but eddying and pointless dialogue is often funny, and pratfalls and other modes of slapstick are used to project metaphysical alienation and tragic anguish. Beckett's prose fiction, such as Malone Dies (1958) and The Unnamable (1960), present an antiero who plays out the absurd moves of the end game of civilization in a nonwork which tends to undermine the coherence of its own medium, language itself. But typically, Beckett's characters carry on, even if in a life without purpose, trying to make sense of the senseless and to communicate the uncommunicable.

Another French playwright of the absurd was Jean Genet (who combined absurdism and diabolism); some of the early dramatic works of the Englishman Harold Pinter and the American Edward Albee are in a similar mode. The plays of Tom Stoppard, such as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead (1966) and Travesties (1974), exploit the devices of absurdist drama more for comic than philosophical ends. There are also affinities with this movement in the numerous recent works which exploit black comedy: baleful, naive, or inept characters in a fantasitic or nightmarish modern world play out their roles in which Ionesco called a "tragic farce," in which the events are often simultaneously comic, horrifying, and absurd. Examples are Joseph Heller's Catch-22 (1961), Thomas Pynchon's V (1963), John Irving's The World According to Garp (1978), and some of the novels by the German Gunter Grass and the Americans Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. and John Barth.

See Martin Esslin, The Theatre of the Absurd (rev., 1968); David Grossvogel, The Blasphemers: The Theatre of Brecht, Ionesco, Beckett, Genet (1965); Arnold P. Hinchliffe, The Absurd (1969); Charles B. Harris, Contemporary American Novelists of the Absurd (1972); and Max F. Schultz, Black Humor Fiction of the Sixties (1980).
Quoted at length from M. H. Abrams, A Glossary of Literary Terms, 6th Ed. (1993), without permission. All rights reserved.""


If anyone has anything else to add, please email me at playreadings@hotmail.com.

The play that was read touched innocently on the topic of the threatening war, as a gravedigger might innocently shake the hand of a mysophobic...the result was a spirited and lengthy open discussion that was let to roam freely about my living room for a couple of hours, before the assembled agreed to force it gently back into Pandora's box...at least until the next meeting.

Invitations to the next Salon will be emailed shortly.

I, for one, can't wait!

Wednesday, February 19, 2003

The snowstorms on the East Coast have stranded some of our Salon members, so I'm not sure how many will be turning up this evening. Nor am I sure what I will present as my literary contribution to the evening...

I'm nearly finished with my latest play script, and look forward to sharing that sometime in the future.

It's amazing how much creativity can be unleashed, when one's study has been cleaned up at last!

Tuesday, February 18, 2003

Salon Sentimentality

I decided to resurrect the ancient and perilous ritual of the literary salon this year, and inaugurated the new tradition on January 29th. I was fearful the evening might degenerate into a pretentious free-for-all of ego-numbing proporations or, worse yet, it might be boring...

I needn't have worried: It proved to be an unqualified success!

The inaugural Salon was so much fun, it lasted nearly 5 hours. Many
thanks to all who came and shared their poems, playscripts, songs, food,
drink, and intelligent thoughts! We had original poems; excerpts from a
One-Woman show about figures from the Beat generation; an excerpt from
"Archy and Mehitabel", a collection of poems by Don Marquis (the poem we
heard is reprinted below); an original song; an anecdote about Colonel
Griffith; and an excerpt from a very personal story. We had so much more,
though, as these readings only served as springboards to lively discussions.

This month's Salon is scheduled for February 19th, instead of 26th, as I
have one of those "previous engagement" thingies on the 26th.


That's tomorrow, for those of us not familiar with the Gregorian calendar...
---------------------------------------------
The Lesson Of The Moth


i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense

plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity

but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself

archy