Vinyl/VHS Saturday

(The Last Detail (1973) dir. Hal Ashby

The Westerner (1940) dir. William Wyler

The Hustler (1961) dir. Robert Rossen

Stan Getz: The Best of Two Worlds Featuring Joao Gilberto (1975)

Henry Koster's My Cousin Rachel (1952) is an excellent adaptation of Daphne Du Maurier's 1951 novel of gothic Victorian intrigue, replete with themes of guilt and austerity. The narrative is shaped around the pervasive conflict between fierce sexual tension and unrealized longing; the seaside setting-beautiful, yet foreboding-is an apt metaphor for this condition. Both De Havilland and Burton are excellent in the leads, but the former is especially masterful in her portrayal of the beautiful, eloquent cousin who is at the same time threatening and alluring. One never quite knows whether she's deserving of sympathy or condemnation. Was she a calculating, avaricious spendthrift and killer, or merely a victim of calumny and envy? We are never entirely certain...JY

(Stills from Charade; How to Steal A Million; Now, Voyager; and The Heiress)

Relaxing break! Revisited a few gems, namely two by William Wyler, How to Steal A Million (1966) and The Heiress (1949), Stanley Donen's Charade (1963), and Irving Rapper's Now, Voyager (1942). All four are brilliant films in their own right, but seeing them as I did allowed me to better visualize the stylistic differences between 1940s and 1960s filmmaking. The tight, controlled interiors of the earlier decade were a stark contrast to the slick, fluid settings of the 60s pieces, but without the sense that any element of the former compromised the narrative. On the contrary, the rigid, almost suffocating interiors were apt representations and extensions of the constricted lives led by the females leads. Both Bette Davis and Olivia de Havilland shine as repressed women who aspire to and achieve some form of independence in the end. By contrast, Audrey Hepburn assumes the role of the intriguing society woman with humor, poise and just the right amount of complexity to suggest that her existence is not as well-ordered and carefree as one would think. Both Donen and Wyler have created intriguing "caper" films, but they are not without an undercurrent of doubt, something to challenge the moral compass of the protagonist. Fine, fine cinema!

NINOTCHKA (1939)

There was a time, about 10 years ago, when I first became acquainted with Greta Garbo's films and I must say that they left a profound impression. It's been a while since I've been able to sit to any film, but last night I felt a twinge of nostalgia for this particular one, and perhaps because I wanted to see a Lubitsch film again after so much time. After about a minute, all the charm and warmth of this picture found its way back into my heart, having never really left in the first place. Garbo, Melvyn Douglas and her entire supporting cast are brilliant as an ensemble group. The material is just as relevant today as it was back then, and perhaps even more so considering the circulating ideology of our times. Lubitsch's portrays Garbo's Ninotchka as woman in turmoil, torn between her duty to Mother Russia and her awakening heart. The love scenes between her and Douglas are tender and deeply affecting. Perhaps no other actress during that era of the mid-to-late 30s was better able to portray loss in the face of overwhelming circumstances better than Garbo. She epitomized surrender! Lubitsch lovingly frames her face in the close-ups, imparting a soft illumination to her features that would later become a trademark of James Wong Howe's cinematography. As a matter of fact, this is how Lubitsch introduces his heroine, as a living contradiction to the tenets she is supposed to espouse. Her very presence-soft, tender, unquestionably feminine-is at constant odds with her mannerism and learned stoicism. When Douglas asks her to recall the fact that the two have just shared an intimate moment, she flatly responds that she "kissed the polish soldier [she is responsible for killing] just before he died." But fortunately, she does give in to her heart and the resultant warmth is a palpable happiness felt not only by the two lovers, but is also equally shared by we who are watching--so effective is Lubitsch's direction. His comedic elements, rather than undermine the serious nature of the film, function to heighten its exigency and pertinence within the narrative framework. There is much to be said about laughter and how happiness, sheer "joy," can easily be taken for granted and dismissed as an unnecessary, oft overlooked, element of human existence. (Here I am reminded of the closing moments of Preston Sturges's SULLIVAN'S TRAVELS.) Fortunately, this basic, salubrious, human necessity is celebrated with all its due importance by the director. But of course, to avoid any overt sentimentality, he closes the film on a sardonic, yet no less humorous key. Brilliant and wickedly funny!!! JY

(Deborah Kerr)

Stuck to the tape spine is a label I created on a word processor back in 1998. The tape needed to be rewound to the correct spot and the tracking required a bit of adjusting. I remember the first time I watched EDWARD, MY SON (1949) back in ’98. I was taping a lot of films then, expanding CL’s and my collection of VHS titles quite prodigiously! It was mid-afternoon, during a weekday, off from work. I had just moved a small television and the VCR into the den, along with an old, yet comfortable chair. The performances were incredible. Watching Cuckor’s piece again after so much time enthralled my senses with a nostalgia born from that era in my life. I could clearly see that day once again as I sat and became mesmerized by Deborah Kerr’s acting. For me, she was the quintessential actor of her time, versatile, sensitive, always convincing, never given to affectation. Her performance in this film is absolutely incredible, marked by her descent into emptiness and emotional squalor over the recalcitrance of her son and the indifference of her husband. The narrative centers upon an ordinary man’s desperation to procure money in order to finance an operation that will enable his son to walk without handicap. From hereon, Boult (Spencer Tracy) maneuvers himself through a maze of corruption, betrayal and avarice to gain the upper echelons of British society as a parvenu, all the while grossly spoiling Edward and always excusing his contumacious behavior despite his wife’s efforts to instill responsibility and decency. Edward is never visually presented, an “omission” that directs the focus on the parents and their polar attitudes and manner of treatment with regards to their son. His physical absence represents an emptiness present in both father and mother. Lord Boult lacks the moral reflex that would curtail many of his criminal business practices in which he indulges so that his son should not want for any material possession. However, in his alacrity to give everything to Edward, Boult has neglected to provide his son with the most important gifts that can never be obtained with money. The intervening years mark Edward’s physical aging (presented narratively through brief scenes depicting a birthday cake and an increasing number of candles), yet emotionally he remains a child. Evelyn Boult attempts to fill the void in Edward’s development and upbringing left by his father’s over-indulgent, empty gestures, but the chasm is too large and her efforts are in vain. Evelyn ultimately breaks down and succumbs to alcoholism, bereft of both her husband and son’s love and companionship, almost as if they had conspired to drain the life out her. The scenes depicting Evelyn’s steady demise are indicative of Kerr’s mastery of her art, while the grainy black-and-white “VHS” picture only enhances the sullen mood of the film and the weight of each actor’s portrayal.

I am so pleased that I could go back almost 10 years, if only for a few hours. JY

8/15/07

I am lost to Heaven and I am lost to Earth.

Lyrics from Prefab Sprout's Steve McQueen. Released in 1985, ages ago it seems; but the decades dissolve quickly once the opening track is heard and Paddy's lyrics begin to unfold. A master wordsmith-Elvis Costello said he was a lyrical genius from this record alone. In the States, this type of sophisticated pop has never been appreciated-too clever-it certainly does not rock, and the subject matter tends to be less adolescent and more adult. Yes, this music tends to rest comfortably next to Gershwin and Porter, which is fine by me.

That being said-Why now? Why this entry? I have not played this album in years. Last week during a bike ride through an old Norman town lines and melodies resurfaced gently and I began playing the entire album in my head. I made a note to play it once I returned. The mystery of memory is something I will not touch on here, but the beauty of listening to this and sharing it with a friend years ago may be equal to clumsily humming lines while passing old churches and cafes in 2007...Intricate patterns of memory...

I played the album several times tonight. Flawless pop still. The power has not diminished in any way, but it's the love of language, the lyric, that really stands out. So carefully chosen and never obtrusive. Yes, intricate patterns.

Tuesday February 08, 2005
01:13 AM

The album is self-titled, Thelonious Monk. It's a cold winter afternoon and the snow is falling in steady, gentle flakes. The small cafe is an inviting respite from the biting cold, and as I draw closer to its ever opening and closing door, I hear the faint chords of this wonderful music: piano, bass, and drums. I go in, find a small table in the corner near the window, and order a cup of hot tea. It's pretty busy, but somehow, all the bustling about doesn't distract the attention from the music; perhaps nothing could. This is vintage sound, full-bodied and strong, yet adroit, perfect for such an afternoon. Yeah, this is how it must have felt in '52. The sun's just starting to set, but the snow hasn't let up. Looks like I'll be here for a while, drinking and listening...JY

10/25/03- First you hear the crackle, the burst, the pop, the vinyl recording sounds like a busy fireplace in December. The recording: Dave Brubeck Quartet live in New York City, 1955. Many people have stated you have to listen to vintage jazz on vinyl and it's true. The fullness of the sound cannot be matched. The performances are "in the moment" as they say. Sparse, clean , skillful, free association. The lyricism of the melodies, which is one of Brubeck's strengths, are not diminished here. Check out "Lover" and swing.

10/11/03- "I struck a match against the door of Anthony's Bar & Grill . I was the whining stranger. A fool in love. With time to kill" Lyrics taken from Steely Dan's Gauco. I may play them once or twice every six months and I am always impressed with their subtle ability to capture a profound moment...Sadness, break-ups, juxtaposed with cool jazz and intricate R&B. Gaucho feels urban, a little glamorous, a little playful as well; but it also feels like autumn, "She thinks I'm crazy, but I'm just growing old." Touching.

9/21/03- A mid-angle shot of a solitary figure walking up a mountain...The location is France, the figure Van Morrison. This is the cover photo for Van's 1980 release Common One. The picture, now frozen in my memory, will come to represent the image I have of Van Morrison and his music for a number of years. Common One is not for everyone...The blend of jazz, blues, gospel and soul has always been integral to his sound, but on Common One everything is slowed down and stretched out. Van sings about being alone in church, contemplating the great poets, meeting a lover in the summertime in England, accepting the silence....Great themes he has explored over and over again . What I find so intriguing about Common One is the stasis... the sound is a bit murky, and Morrison seems engulfed in the sound he and his musicians have created...He seems reluctant to step out of his reveries for fear he may never tap into this sound again. Veedon Fleece and Astral Weeks are brilliant records, but Van would go in a somewhat lighter direction afterwards... Common One is the beginning of a sound that Morrison would develop and master in the decade to come. A soulful, lush sound that compliments Morrison's abstract, impressionistic lyrics and his incredible vocals.

9/13/03- Cocteau Twins Love's Easy Tears Classroom...She is beautiful, lovely skin. You are learning German....Afternoon, quiet. Autumn is impressive this year...The class ends, students grab their belongings and head towards the door. You do the same. On the way home, you decide to stop by the library to pick up copies of Rimbaud and Baudelaire. They are not German, it does not matter...Compelled to enter new worlds of poetry...New worlds prompted by what you have been listening to lately..".Love's Easy Tears" by the Cocteau Twins. Music that seems to capture those elusive, fragile moments, music that provides a soundtrack to your reading habits, music that is really too pure to describe...Home, you play the song "Orange Appled" and are mesmerized once more. She is beautiful, lovely skin, intelligent too...Open a book...turn to page...The song ends. You play the song again.