Schoolhouse Rock!

In the midst of an intense hearing for Alabama senator and U.S. Attorney General appointee Jeff Sessions, there was a surprising bit of silliness: Jeff Sessions is a big fan of “Schoolhouse Rock!”

During the hearing, Republican Sen. Ben Sasse said that there was a “civics crisis” in the U.S. and asked about Sessions’ thought on [President] Obama’s use of executive orders. While arguing that Obama’s use of executive power was an overreach, Sessions said that he felt “Schoolhouse Rock!” was “not a bad basic lesson in how the government is supposed to work.”

There you have it. What more do you need than an endorsement from an actual government representative on the effectiveness of Schoolhouse Rock! as an educational tool?

This series of musical shorts was part of my childhood as it was for most kids of my generation, and I grew to anticipate it as much as the other series on Saturday mornings. They were proto-music videos, with original, catchy songs designed to make kids learn about science and math and history in a fun way, to the point where they don’t even realize they’re learning—and it works. I can still sing the preamble to the Constitution without missing a beat.

“Three is a Magic Number”

The brainchild of ad exec David McCall, who wanted a better way for his son to learn multiplication, he hired musician Bob Dorough to write a math song. The result was the first SHR hit, “Three is a Magic Number.” McCall’s co-worker, illustrator Tom Yohe, made some accompanying images and they pitched it to ABC as a series. The SHR pilot, featuring “Three,” debuted in 1971; two years later came the series. Yohe and George Newall were the executive producers and Dorough, who died two years ago, was musical director.

The following are some of my favorite songs in the series. Links to the videos are in the titles.

—“Verb: That’s What’s Happening.” Music by Zachary Sanders, lyrics by Dorough. The song is all kinds of awesome, but I’m still hoping somebody, somewhere will do something with the Verb superhero character in the video. He’s already cool enough to have his own movie; give him a TV show, a comic book, a toy line, something. 

—“Unpack Your Adjectives.” Music by Blossom Dearie, Lyrics by Newall. Blossom Dearie (yes, that really was her name) was a jazz singer in the 50s and 60s and yes, she really did sing in that high, girlish voice. I liked this video because I can easily imagine a kid on a camping trip who complains the whole time about the tiniest things using adjectives like “frustrating” and “worst” to describe it. Plus, I just thought the little girl slapping signs on everything was kinda funny.

“I’m Just a Bill” taught how a bill
becomes a law.

—“The Shot Heard ‘Round the World.” Music and lyrics by Dorough. A greatly simplified, but memorable summation of the Revolutionary War, I just remember liking the song a lot. It came in handy while writing my novel, too: I remembered this song while making a passing reference to the war.

—“Interplanet Janet.” Music and lyrics by Lynn Ahrens. Obviously one that appeals to the SF geek in me, this is another character I’d love to see something else done with, but first I think she’d have to be defined. She seems like an alien life form but she has a body like a rocket ship?—which makes me think she’s actually some manner of cybernetic creature. She probably doesn’t need to breathe since she can travel in space, but what does she use for propulsion? If there’s never been a planet Janet hasn’t seen, how fast can she travel? Light speed? Inquiring minds want to know!

—“Electricity, Electricity.” Music by Sanders, lyrics by Dorough. EEE-lec-tricity. Once you hear it, you can’t unhear it. EEE-lec-tricity.

“Conjunction Junction”
taught about conjunctions.

In 1993, a live theatrical adaptation of the SHR songs debuted in Chicago and has enjoyed a number of revivals since, including a sequel.

I worked in Tower Records in 1995, which is how I learned of the rock album of SHR cover songs, Schoolhouse Rock Rocks (which makes an excellent companion piece to the rock album of cartoon theme songs, Saturday Morning Cartoons’ Greatest Hits). Listen to “I’m Just a Bill” by Deluxx Folk Implosion to get an idea of what the album’s like. 

Dorough gathered new groups of musicians together to make more SHR songs in 1994-96 and again in 2009.

SHR aired on ABC, and in 1996, Disney bought ABC, so Disney... sigh... owns the rights to SHR now—but at least they actually play the series on Disney+, which is good.

SHR was and is a lot of fun and it’s good to know it hasn’t been forgotten.

Bob Dorough

Asterix and Cleopatra

Asterix and Cleopatra
YouTube viewing

I was halfway through art school when I decided I’d rather study cartooning than illustration. Many of my friends wanted to break into professional comics, which to them meant Marvel and DC Comics. A few already did while they were still in school, so I thought I had to draw superheroes too, and to draw like them: men and women with perfect physiques in a semi-realistic style. I did my best, but it was a struggle. One of my teachers recommended I look to a different model of successful comics: a series out of France called Asterix.

European comics, or bande dessinée, as the French call them, have a rich and diverse history, one which is not dominated by superheroes. For years, the newsstand magazine Heavy Metal exposed Americans to a more grownup and sophisticated alternate world of comics storytelling devoid of the childish power fantasies of Marvel and DC, but the tradition goes back much further, with one of the biggest and most important titles of the medium being the series Tintin. And it wasn’t just original creations: for decades, Donald Duck was a megastar in Europe in comics form.

European comics characters crossed over into movies and TV when Kevin Feige was still in diapers. Some examples Americans knew about for years include the animated film version of Heavy Metal; the Jane Fonda flick Barbarella, and of course, The Smurfs on Saturday mornings!

To Be Continued

To Be Continued
seen @ Scandinavia House, New York NY

Vija recently suggested seeing a new Latvian movie (she's of Latvian descent herself) that screened in the city this week. I had absolutely zero experience with Latvian cinema, and it had been awhile since I saw a movie with the gang, so I decided to give it a try. It was Vija, Franz and Andrea who came this time.

Scandinavia House is the go-to place for Nordic culture in New York and America: that's Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Finland and Iceland, in case you didn't know. Vija had been there before. They're currently running a series called "Nordic Oscar Contenders." (So why are they showing a Latvian film? This might explain it. Thanks to Andrea for the link!)

To Be Continued (in Latvian, the title translates to Turpinājums) is a doc that is also this year's Latvian entry in the Oscar race for Best Foreign Language Film. The director, Ivars Seleckis, specializes in documentaries; you could say he's Latvia's answer to Werner Herzog, or Errol Morris.

This film spends a year following a group of first-grade kids. Why these kids in particular? The movie doesn't give much in the way of an explanation. They're bright, cute in their own ways, from good homes — both in the city and the country, but I had the impression these could have been any Latvian kids.

I focused on the culture and the educational system. It should come as no surprise that these kids are better schooled than ours, because most of the world's kids are better schooled than ours.

Extracurricular activities, with an emphasis on sports and performing arts, are emphasized: we see the kids play hockey, do martial arts, sing and dance, in addition to getting a standard education (math, science, history, etc.) in classes that don't look overcrowded, by teachers who don't look stressed or harassed.

I thought the kids were given a great deal of opportunity to express themselves in class; it wasn't a situation where Teacher dictates the lesson and the kids regurgitate it. There was more of a give-and-take at work; students were free to state opinions and preferences at the teachers' direction.

We also saw the kids' home lives, of course: one lives on a farm, one is of Russian descent, one lives with her grandma, etc. They go through their ups and downs, like kids everywhere do.

Vija and I were reminded of the Seven Up documentary series, an ongoing look at the lives of a select group of kids every seven years, begun by director Michael Apted back in 1964 (and is still going! 63 Up will come out this spring). The difference, we agreed, was that Seleckis didn't appear to make any kind of sociological statement with this film. Part of me kinda wished he had, but for what it was, Continued was okay.

UPDATE: I asked Vija to provide her insight into the film. Here she is:

The Oscars and the art vs. commerce debate

Okay, I read all about this lame new Oscar category for "Best Popular Film" or whatever it'll be called, and I've given it some thought. I get that the Academy and ABC felt they needed to do something to make the Oscars relevant again, and I get that it's called show business for a reason, but this was not the answer. Columns like this reflect my position well. That said, I wanna examine this from a more personal angle.

In my former life, within the comics industry, I had begun my activity at a time, the early 90s, when what was popular truly was mediocre at best. I was in college, and my classmates and I were frustrated at this because we were getting lessons in the fundamentals of art and comics storytelling from industry veterans who didn't fall prey to trends.

Movies like Black Panther would be
a shoo-in for this new Oscar category.

Some of us young turks worked within the system, at Marvel and DC, to help bring about change. Most of us, like me, worked from outside by self-publishing our work or hooking up with small press publishers.

I didn't want to compromise my art by being a slave to trends, but you can bet your ass I still wanted to make money. I believe in the 21st century, it's rare, though not impossible, to find creative people who don't want or expect compensation for their work, but much depends on the audience and what they (think they) want.

"Best Popular Film" could have
benefitted recent blockbusters like Avatar.

With movies, a lot of the time they settle for what's most easily available, true, but these days, it's not uncommon to see a popular indie film playing alongside the latest blockbuster at the multiplex. (Over the past few weeks, I've seen Three Identical Strangers playing in small town, three-screens-or-fewer cinemas.)

Does that mean we, the audience, have become conditioned to choose the popular over the unpopular? Probably. If TCM is on, I'd sooner watch a Jack Lemmon flick over some B-movie starring actors I've never heard of. If I'm in the supermarket, I'd sooner buy a familiar brand name product than a generic version of the same thing. I think it's an inherent aspect of consumerism: the product that advertises better sells better.

As I learned with comics, however, popular doesn't always equal better, a mentality I had adopted for years and have found difficult to shake. In the mid-90s, I watched more indie films, in part, because that's what my video store co-workers, whom I was trying to emulate, watched. They tended to scorn Hollywood and I copped that attitude too.

Will future films like the new Star Wars
films profit from this category?

Most moviegoers, though, aren't like that. If they were, films like Spotlight and Lady Bird and Won't You Be My Neighbor would each make $100 million — and it's not like these films are inaccessible, artsy-fartsy meditations for aesthetes.

The Academy continues to honor these "art" films with Oscars over the "commercial" ones, though, and while we may wish this false dichotomy didn't exist, it does — and not just within the film industry.

Can the playing field be leveled so that all films, large- and small-budgeted alike, compete as true equals? Online streaming could hold the key to the answer. It may mean tearing down the old distribution model, which would make me sad — I enjoy seeing a movie in a theater — but maybe that's what it'll take. In the meantime, I don't see the art versus commerce struggle changing much.

Loving Vincent

Loving Vincent
seen @ Lincoln Plaza Cinemas, New York NY

I threw out most of my oil and acrylic paintings prior to my move to Ohio, in an attempt to straighten my closets and unburden myself of non-essential material, but I remember some of what they looked like. They were from my high school and college years, which also includes the summer I spent in a painting class in Barcelona. None of the work - none of what I remember, anyway - was anything special. My artistic talent has always manifested itself better in pencil and pen & ink and watercolor; oils, and especially acrylics, were a different animal.

Hidden Figures

Hidden Figures
seen @ Kew Gardens Cinemas, Kew Gardens, Queens NY

Math was probably as intimidating to me as it was to most people in high school. I remember taking pre-Calculus in my freshman year because I actually did fairly well in math in junior high. This, however, was entirely different. I don't remember a thing I learned in the class. I struggled with it the entire semester. I don't know how I passed with a 65 but I did, and once I was done, I never wanted to see it again. To this day, I don't know why I had to take that class.

When I was an upperclassman, I had a scheduling snafu one semester and I was stuck in a class called Computer Math. It might have been the first class in which I used a computer (it was probably a Mac), but it was a remedial course. I clearly didn't belong, but as much as I tried, I couldn't get out, so I made the best of it. The teacher knew I didn't belong there, too, and was sympathetic. There was even a cute girl I helped out within the class. All things considered, I didn't have too bad a time there.

Basic math is easy once you grasp it, but the really tough stuff, the material involving square roots and fractions and letters, well, that requires an exceptional level of intelligence. I mean, I have to have a chart taped to the inside of my kitchen cabinet to remind me of measurements and half-measurements. There's no way I could nail down all those fancy algebraic equations.

For a long time, those who can were mocked as nerds. That's changing, though; we're starting to see more stories, across multiple media, in which that kind of intelligence is well-regarded, even glamorized, to an extent.

Hidden Figures is the latest example, and it is particularly noteworthy because it involves black people, black women, to be precise. It's the true story of a trio of mathematicians who were instrumental in helping put the late John Glenn into outer space during the height of the Cold War.

Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughn and Mary Jackson are not presented here as what you might call "nerds." The movie, in fact, goes to great lengths to present them as ordinary women in spite of their great skill with numbers, albeit women who had to live with institutional racism on a daily basis, like all black Americans in the early 60s.

The whole nerd stereotype almost never included black people when I was growing up, except perhaps for Urkel from Family Matters. That never bothered me back then. Nerds were uncool, after all. During my years in the comics industry, I met a number of black creators and fans who probably wouldn't object to the term now, not because they're exceptionally intelligent, but because of a change in the zeitgeist.

As a result, though, I became a little more aware whenever I saw an above-average smart black person in the movies, especially when race wasn't a factor. The Martian had one, for a recent example. Joe Morton in Terminator 2 is another one. The character Theo in Die Hard is yet another. In addition, someone like Dr. Neil DeGrasse Tyson is a surprisingly popular real-life figure.

As a movie, Figures was pretty conventional and by-the-numbers. It was easy to figure out what would happen and how, and once again this was a movie in which the editor had way too much of a free hand. That doesn't matter as much, though, as the subject. Knowing these super-smart black women existed, and made a difference, is more important. Now they, too, are part of the cultural zeitgeist.

Vija came out to Kew Gardens in the snow to see this with me, although we had gotten all the white stuff the previous day, a Saturday. By Sunday, the roads had been cleared pretty good and the trains had no abnormal delays (relatively speaking, of course). The Kew wasn't nearly as crowded as it was the last time I went there for a Sunday matinee, to see Manchester by the Sea, but by the time Figures ended, the lobby was much busier, so I guess the weather wasn't much of a deterrent.

A Boy Named Charlie Brown

A Boy Named Charlie Brown
YouTube viewing

When I was in high school, I took a cartooning class, and about halfway into the semester, I did a report on Charles Schulz. I remember finding what must have been a young adult-style biography of the cartoonist which was quite helpful. in that I not only learned some basic facts about the man, but I got to see the roots of the comic strip that would become the worldwide phenomenon known as Peanuts.

Perhaps you're aware that it began as not a traditional, four-panel strip but a single-panel one, like Family Circus, called Li'l Folks, with a much smaller cast of characters. Charlie Brown and Snoopy look a little different, but they're easily recognizable. The name "Peanuts" was imposed on Schulz by United Feature Syndicate, and he never liked it - which is why all those TV specials and movies are titled "Charlie Brown" this and "Charlie Brown" that.

I imagine the story of my childhood with Peanuts isn't too different from yours. I remember owning the collected editions (still have some of them) and other Peanuts-related books, and I even had a few vinyl records of some of the TV specials. Naturally, I watched those specials every year, like most kids. I'm pretty sure I went to see Bon Voyage, Charlie Brown when it came out theatrically. I remember thinking how lucky the kids were to be able to go to a foreign country on their own.

I also imagine that Peanuts means as much to you as it does to me. From an artistic standpoint, it was and is a notable influence. When I first created City Mouse, Schulz' unique humor was something I strove for often (though not always). I like to think CM has a little bit of Snoopy's style and savoir faire. I have made at least one blatant Peanuts ripoff homage in CM, for what it's worth.

Beyond CM, though, I remember experimenting with a Peanuts-inspired four-panel gag strip back in college, about a pair of young tennis prodigies. If memory serves, I believe this even pre-dated my foray into self-publishing comic books. I did this one strictly for me, however, in the pages of my sketchbook, and if you were to see it, you'd recognize pretty clearly my attempt to be like Schulz. Four-panel gags are a challenge in terms of learning how to pace a joke properly - not as easy as it seems - and I've tried it on quite a few occasions over the years. The nice thing about CM is that I can do it in a variety of formats.

Getting back to Peanuts, though: much has been written about these remarkable characters and what they mean to people. They never seemed completely like kids to me, yet their innocence and vulnerability belonged very much to the realm of childhood. It used to puzzle me that they seemed to have so much freedom, yet were still subject to the bounds of the adult world, however marginalized adults were in the strip.

From Schulz' perspective, it must have been tempting to introduce adults directly, but whether it was a teacher Linus crushed on or a baseball player Charlie Brown idolized or even a simple parent or grandparent, Schulz always kept them off-panel, out of sight, and in so doing, fully immersed us into the kids' world in a way no other comic strip, before or since, has done. That's just one more reason among many why, as a literary work of art, Peanuts stands alone.

And now, Peanuts is back in the spotlight. This Friday, a new animated movie featuring CB and company will debut, a computer-generated one, no less, and it has gotten people talking about these characters again, which is always welcome. I thought I'd take a moment to look back at the first time the Peanuts crew were on the big screen, and since I haven't done any animated movies so far this year, now is the perfect time.

A Boy Named Charlie Brown was released in 1969, four years after Peanuts' animated debut in the television all-timer A Charlie Brown Christmas. Much of it is stitched together from various Peanuts strips, which is kind of disappointing, given that Christmas was an original teleplay written by Schulz, but if you've never seen the strips, I guess you won't know the difference. Bill Melendez directs once again, as he did for Christmas.

Tired of living with loser stink on him all the time, CB is encouraged by Linus to enter a school spelling bee, and the round-headed kid discovers he actually has an affinity for spelling - but how far can he take his newfound success? Boy doesn't hold up quite as well as I had hoped it would - it's not that funny, and with the exception of the marvelous title track, the original songs aren't that great - though the final fifteen minutes or so redeem the whole thing for sure.

And there are some nice surprises. Try to imagine, if you will, a modern animated movie that stops the action for a meditative, artistic musical sequence set to Beethoven, or a rendition of "The Star-Spangled Banner" animated in stars and stripes. Boy looks less like an animated adaptation of a popular comic strip and more like pop art, which was all the rage during the sixties, and it's certainly a reflection of the mind of Schulz.

Boy was Oscar-nominated in the Original Song Score category, which was different from both Original Score and Original Song. I'm not quite sure what the difference was exactly, but they don't use this category anymore, so who cares? They lost to the Beatles for Let It Be, so no shame there. Vince Guaraldi worked on the score, and once again, his jazz-infused inflections give the animated incarnation of Peanuts a distinctive flavor. You'll note the lack of pop songs in the soundtrack.

I know The Peanuts Movie won't be like this. I've learned to accept that the characters are in hands other than Schulz' now, and as long as there's money to be made from them, they will continue without him. Is hoping that they'll be treated with respect too much to ask for? Maybe Calvin & Hobbes' Bill Waterson had the right idea all along: avoid all commercialization and merchandising whatsoever and know when to leave the stage. How many of us, however, have the strength to walk down that narrow path? I'm certainly not blaming Schulz for merchandising Peanuts, nor am I blaming his family for continuing to make money off of it; I'm just saying that as a fan, it's difficult to say this stuff doesn't matter. I'll see this new movie and judge for myself.

Saul Bass

In high school, I took a class in advertising and graphic design. It was quite a challenge for someone unused to the rigors associated with the field. 

I came to think of it as something akin to making art with letters. 

There was an assignment in which we had to design a logo for a word that would illustrate its meaning at the same time - similar to what this guy does. The word I chose was "hydrant." In addition to freehand-ing the letters of a font I got out of a book, I substituted the "H" with an image of a dog lifting his leg next to a hydrant and it kinda sorta made the shape of the letter. 

When I got into making comics, I had to hand-letter word balloons and design sound effects and logos, before computer lettering became more common. The approach I took was what I thought was the simplest one: to leave space for the text at the top and bottom of each panel and use a T-square to rule each line of text evenly. I knew that it was important for people to be able to actually read my words, so I took the time to make sure it came out right. 

Sound effects and logos were harder. My first comic book series had two different fonts for the title (seemed like a good idea at the time) and I remember all the long hours spent at Kinko's trying to shrink them down to the right size, and then struggling to make them level with each other and with the cover. As you might imagine, this was long before I got the hang of Photoshop and how scanners work. 

All of this is my way of saying how much I appreciate the work of someone like Saul Bass. In a time where movie posters have become less and less imaginative and distinctive visually, his work, much of it made in conjunction with his wife Elaine Makatura, stands out now more than ever.

And of course, in addition to posters and title credits, he also designed some of the best known corporate logos in the world.

His work seems simple, but speaking as an artist, I can attest to the fact that you have to do a whole lot of drawing and sketching and playing around with images to get to that level of simplicity in the end. Don't be fooled by what you see on the surface.

The fact that Bass' influence is still felt in Hollywood today is a testament to his impact.

Next: Ruby Dee

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

Movies with titles and poster designs by Saul Bass:

Carmen Jones

The Man With the Golden Arm

West Side Story

One Two Three

The Shining

Previously:

Jack Lemmon   Jean Arthur
Edward G. Robinson   Rita Moreno
Frank Capra   Bernard Herrmann
Joan Blondell   James Dean
Ethel Waters   William Powell
Tod Browning   Edith Head
Joel McCrea   Thelma Ritter
Douglas Fairbanks   Gloria Swanson
Robert Wise

Dr. Strangelove

Dr. Strangelove, or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb
seen @ "Movies With a View" @ Brooklyn Bridge Park, Brooklyn NY

If I were to pick one word to describe the films of Stanley Kubrick, I would pick "tense." Even in a comedy like Dr. Strangelove, there's a palpable sense of tension that Kubrick always knew how to generate. I've always thought it was the result of his cinematography - the way he framed certain shots and then held them, shooting long takes with minimal cross-cutting. It looks simple, but the way he did it was so distinctive. I'm thinking of the scenes between Sterling Hayden and Peter Sellers in Strangelove; the "Open the pod bay doors, HAL" scene in 2001; the scenes between Jack Nicholson and Danny Lloyd in The Shining, the bathroom scene with Vincent D'Onofrio in Full Metal Jacket, the bedroom scenes with Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman in Eyes Wide Shut - if you know these films, you probably understand what I'm talking about. You can always spot a Kubrick film.

Kubrick got his start as a photographer, at a very young age, before he became a director. In this random selection of some of his photos, you can see hints of the greatness to come in the field of filmmaking. Like the best photography, they look both spontaneous and posed at the same time. Composition is also key; knowing where to shoot and how to frame the shot is something you have to have an eye for, but it also has to be well-trained.

I remember taking a photography course in college, back in the prehistoric days before digital photography. Yes, sports fans, I learned how to develop pictures in a darkroom - chemicals, machinery and all, and I remember finding it a wonderful challenge. It was fun going all over Manhattan with my uncle's old Nikon, just snapping shots of anything and everything, and then figuring out how to make them come alive in the darkroom. I paid attention to things like composition and light and shadow, but not too much. I tended to save that for the developing end. 

Of course, photography was an expensive medium back then, particularly for a college kid who was much more of an illustrator than a photographer anyway, so I never stuck with it - and now, these days, anyone with a cellphone can fancy themselves the next Vivian Meier. Indeed, a few of my friends have been experimenting with digital photography through their cellphones, posting their work on their Facebook pages. 

Taking pictures with my phone was, like most of my forays into digital media, something I begun with the most tentative of baby steps - a random shot or two here and there, posted on my page as if they were kindergarten finger paintings. Now I take photos in bunches whenever I go someplace unique. I do wish I were a little better at it - if you've seen some of my film festival photos, you probably wish the same thing - but it's not a priority in my life.

Getting back to Kubrick: like contemporary filmmakers such as Steve McQueen and Andrew Dosunmu, a background in photography served Kubrick well in film. Strangelove is a good example. Some of the most memorable shots include: the wide shot of the war room, with that halo of light shining down on the circular conference table, and the Big Board in the background, makes for a startling and memorable image. This shot of Sellers as Dr. Strangelove looks like a Frank Miller comics illustration. The worm's-eye-view close-up of Hayden as he rants about "purity of essence" emphasizes both his menace and his madness. These shots linger long after one has seen the movie.

Much has been written about Kubrick's meticulous process in not only setting up a shot, but making a movie in general. This epic video highlights his use of one-point perspective, for example. The recent documentary Room 237 goes deeper than deep into the perceived meanings behind The Shining, based on Kubrick's cinematography, set design, and many other subtle cues. And this is just the tip of the iceberg. You can probably count on one hand the number of directors who inspire this level of obsession. Something about Kubrick does, though, probably because he never tried to explain his process in any way. What is it they say about staring too long into an abyss...?

Nothing much to say about seeing Strangelove at Brooklyn Bridge Park. It was a beautiful night, another huge crowd, the usual plethora of bugs (my bug spray did little to fight them off). At one point about a third of the way or so into the film, a great big sailing ship passed behind the inflatable movie screen, slowly making its way up the East River towards the bridge. I should've taken a picture; it was a nice sight.

Friday Night Lights (2004)

Friday Night Lights (2004)
seen on TV @ AMC
12.5.14

It's hard for me to think of Friday Night Lights as a successful TV show or movie much of the time because I always think of the book before anything else. I remember buying the book, written by H.G. "Buzz" Bissinger, after reading an excerpt in Sports Illustrated (you know this was a long time ago if I was still reading SI). 

I've never been a huge football fan. I rooted for the Giants and Jets growing up, naturally, and I was excited when the Giants had their Super Bowl season in 1986. If there was any reason why I stopped following football, I suppose it was a result of when I stopped following baseball. After they cancelled the World Series, I guess you could say it killed my interest in sports in general.

New York sports fans love their pro football, no doubt, but when it comes to college and high school football, the relationship between a town and their team is different. I experienced this first-hand, of course, when I lived in Columbus, home of the Ohio State football Buckeyes. Actually, the "football" part is superfluous; though OSU has lots of other athletic teams, in Columbus, there's no doubt who you're referring to when you say the name Buckeyes.

Whiplash

Whiplash
seen @ Lincoln Plaza Cinema, New York NY
10.12.14

I was thirteen years old when I entered high school and took the freshman drawing class. I majored in art, you see, and it was my specialized course of study throughout high school. The teacher I had, to quote the Eagles, had a nasty reputation as a cruel dude. He was this middle-aged sourpuss of an instructor whom everyone dreaded. He was acerbic, bitterly sarcastic and merciless. In his class, everything had to be done his way if you expected any chance of passing. I hated the guy with a passion.

But he was one of the best teachers I ever had.

One of his assignments was a still life; fruits and vegetables in front of drapery, and I worked big - probably 18" x 24". I worked super hard on it. It was my first few months in this prestigious high school that lots of kids aspired to get into, and I was anxious about doing well and seeing how good an artist I could be. The finished product was one of the most sophisticated works of art I had done in my brief life, and I was certain the teacher would like it.

He hated it. I don't remember his exact words in describing it, and I don't remember the level of sarcasm he threw my way in critiquing it, but I do recall feeling irritated and deflated and embarrassed - until he explained why my still life was no good.

The unexpected virtue of linkage

So there's this local literary magazine called Newtown Literary. It's still relatively new, but it's already built a bit of a rep for attracting Queens writers for short stories and poetry. The theme for their next issue is sci-fi/fantasy.

Guess who's gonna be in it.

Yep! I had had my eye on getting in the mag before, possibly by submitting a piece from WSW, but they only take original, unpublished work (a post on a blog counts as being published), so what I did was, I crafted a short story loosely inspired by a post - in this case, the one on the movie The Terminal. It's a story set in the "near future," in which teleportation technology replaces airplane travel. I didn't have a whole lot of time to write it, and I wasn't entirely sure it ranked among the best stuff I've ever written, but I just wanted to give it a try and see what happens. Lo and behold, they liked it more than I expected they would!

Don't know when exactly the next issue will come out yet, but it should be sometime this fall. I'll let you all know as soon as I do.

In other news: I've decided - and this is probably something I should've done long ago - that not every post about a new movie has to be a long essay. For whatever reason, sometimes I find I can't go deep on a movie at the time I'm ready to write about it, so from now on, whenever this happens, I'll simply write shorter posts. You've no doubt already noticed this by now in my posts for Life Itself and Love is Strange. This only applies to new movies; if I have this problem with an older movie, chances are I'll end up not writing about it at all.

And speaking of writing: at this point, I don't think I'll participate in National Novel Writing Month again this year. I took part in it last year mostly to see if I could do it. I never had a burning desire to write a novel, but recently, in looking at my NaNoWriMo draft from last year, I've found a new way to approach the revision process, and I'd much rather continue doing that than to start a brand new draft which may or may not even become anything. From what I saw of other people involved in NaNo, a number of them seem to enjoy the process of writing a first draft under these unusual conditions more than taking the time to work on revising what they have into a presentable, finished manuscript. I could be wrong, but that's what it seemed like to me. I'd rather polish my draft instead.

Also, on my WSW Tumblr page, you can see pics from the Jackson Heights street named, in a ceremony last Saturday, for Manny Balestrero, the "Wrong Man" of the Alfred Hitchcock film of the same name.

Your links for this month:

Will really, really, REALLY likes pre-code movies.

Le watches Birth of a Nation so you don't have to (and raises some points about the film that I never knew before). Google Translate required, as usual.

Ivan writes about a Gordon Parks Jr. movie featuring Irene Cara in her film debut.

Pam looks fabulous as an extra in the Denzel Washington movie The Equalizer.

Jennifer talks about the real-life Civil War-era train that inspired two classic movies - and where you can see it today.

The Museum of Modern Art has discovered an early silent film with a black cast.

WB/DC looks like they're gonna resist the urge to tie their superhero movies and TV shows into a single shared universe.

Vivien Leigh & Clark Gable may have been the stars of Gone With the Wind, but upon reflection of the film for its 75th anniversary, there's no question who embodies the movie's heart.

12 Years a Slave will be used in high school classrooms to teach students about slavery.

And finally, congratulations going out to my pal Joanne who's tying the knot with her longtime beau.

Grand Illusion

The World War I in Classic Film Blogathon observes the centennial of the first World War through the films based on or inspired by it, hosted by Movies Silently and Silent-ology. For a complete list of participating blogs, visit the links at either site.

Grand Illusion
seen @ "Films on the Green Festival," Pier 1, Riverside Park, New York, NY
7.18.14

When I was in college, I took an art class whose specific name I don't remember, but I certainly recall the teacher. Julie was perhaps my favorite college instructor, partly because she was such a cool person, but also because she encouraged us to think outside the box when it came to our art, and to try things we wouldn't ordinarily do.

In the second half of the class, in the spring, our assignment for the whole semester was to make an art book - a booklet of whatever size featuring original artwork which may or may not have a theme. (See here and here for examples.) This was a new concept to me, and though she didn't say otherwise, I thought she meant a graphic novel, so that's what I did. After wracking my brain for ideas, I came up with a story set during World War 1. Why? Like I said, Julie encouraged us to think big. Even though I had never written a war story of any kind before, nor did I have any experience with drawing things like biplanes or tanks or guns (all of which had to be period- and place-specific), I took a shot.

No, I won't go into detail about it because looking back on it now, the end product is pretty damn embarrassing. I will say a few things about it: I lucked out in finding a photo book on WW1 in a used bookstore, which was of tremendous value. Still have it, in fact. I put myself and a bunch of my friends in the story as characters, which they got a kick out of. And Julie liked my finished book (which I bound myself as well) enough to give me a passing grade. Still, if I were to do it again, it would look very different.

The WW1 movies I've seen almost never get into the politics of the conflict. They tend to just plop you down into the middle of the war and assume you understand why it's going on in the first place. World War 2 movies, on the other hand, tend to be different. It's easy to see why Hollywood, and indeed, the European film industry as well, returns to WW2 time and again, even today. For one thing, it's still within living memory for some. More importantly, though, there are clearer-cut good guys and bad guys. When the Pearl Harbor centennial comes around in 2041, I have no doubt that it'll be a major event that every American will reflect on to one degree or another. The generation who grew up with WW1, by contrast, is gone, and the name Franz Ferdinand is arguably better known today as that of a rock band.

Still, the movies we got out of WW1 are good, and few are better than Grand Illusion. For one thing, Erich von Stroheim gets to speak three different languages, which is pretty boss. It may seem quaint, the way it depicts German officers having such respect and even admiration for their French counterparts, even though they're on opposite sides of the conflict, but I think it says something about the common humanity they share. It's so easy to make the enemy out to be unworthy of mercy or sympathy, especially when they come from another culture.

And of course, for those of us removed from the fighting, it's an aspect of military culture we rarely get to see - at least, not while the fighting's still going on. I'm reminded, as I write this, of a documentary that I saw earlier this year, The Second Meeting, in which two soldiers on opposite sides meet in civilian life years after they met in combat. Once again, war is incapable of obscuring the things we all share, on both sides of the battlefield.

It was a huge crowd, or at least it felt like one, at Riverside Park's Pier 1 on the night I saw the movie, back in July. The pier is comparatively skinny, and everyone was seated close together, which certainly made it seem like there was lots of people. They ran out of seats at one point and the latecomers simply sat down on the concrete, maybe 20-30 feet behind the seated audience at least. It wasn't as windy that night as it was last year, when I went there to see Gold Diggers of 1933, but the weather out on the Hudson River was still cool and pleasant.

The woman seated next to me told me that she and her husband (I think he was her husband, anyway) came without knowing what movie was playing. I had to tell her! They were an older couple, perhaps in their 50s or 60s. They had heard that movies were being shown at Riverside and decided to come down for a lark. I had never heard of anybody doing anything like that before, though now that I think about it, I'll bet it may happen more often than I imagine. Still, I thought it was quite a leap of faith on their part. I mean, the movie could've been Manos: The Hands of Fate for all they knew!

She had a bit of a problem seeing the subtitles in the beginning. She switched seats with hubby but that didn't seem to help. I was sitting on the aisle, and I thought about letting her switch with me, but then she whipped out her cell phone and started texting somebody, and as soon as I saw that, I thought, the hell with it. Let her suffer! They both ended up moving forward when space opened up, so I never found out what she thought of the movie. Oh well.

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Other WW1 movies:
Sergeant York
All Quiet on the Western Front
Wings
War Horse