Ray Massey in Hollywood (and England)

The What a Character Blogathon is an event devoted to the great character actors of classic Hollywood and the often memorable supporting roles they played throughout film history, hosted by Once Upon a Screen, Outspoken & Freckled, & Paula's Cinema Club. For a complete list of participating bloggers, visit the links at any of the host sites. 

Earlier this year, I watched the film A Matter of Life and Death and for the first time, I really noticed actor Raymond Massey. A supernatural drama in which the life of a British WW2 pilot is judged by an afterlife court, Massey plays the prosecutor, an American colonial. His character added a unique perspective to the story, and I found him quite convincing. Like all of the actors in this blogathon, he’s one of those people you saw a lot of in old movies and always liked, even if you never quite knew who they were.

The Toronto native was lured to acting after serving in the family tractor business in his youth and spent almost a decade on the British stage. In 1931 he came to Broadway in a production of Hamlet that didn’t go over well. Fortunately, though, by that time the movies had already came calling.

Stagecoach (1939)

Stagecoach (1939)
YouTube viewing

My parents were part of a generation that revered westerns. My mother still watches them, mostly TV shows on one of the nostalgia channels. It’s difficult to say whether or not she has a passion for them like I have one for, say, Star Trek.

If you were to ask her, she probably could list a favorite show or a favorite movie, but to articulate further about it—favorite episodes, characters, actors—might be harder, but then, the fan mentality isn’t something that comes easily to her, if at all. I suspect she still watches westerns out of habit. I never get the sense from her of “Oh boy, here’s that Bonanza episode where Hoss gets a rhinoplasty; I can’t wait to see it again.”

For the so-called “greatest generation,” though, as well as the Boomers that followed, westerns were a big part of their cultural identity. That’s something I’ve understood intellectually as a Gen X-er, but to me it’s another genre, like spy thrillers or mysteries. I have my favorite movies and actors, of course, but I’ve never really gotten why it was as huge as it was in its heyday.

Guess what we’re gonna be talking about this month, kids?

Disclaimer: we all get that these movies and TV shows were made during a time when knowledge and appreciation of the Wild West as it really was, relations between Indians and whites, gender roles, etc., was limited and biased. We acknowledge the stereotypes and distortions of history without taking them to heart and will opt to find the good in these stories regardless—and there’s plenty of good to be found.

Tokyo Story

Tokyo Story
YouTube viewing

It’s time once again for us to eat our cinematic vegetables! I’ve gotten kinda flabby around the middle gorging on Hollywood films, so I’m gonna change my diet for awhile and indulge in a few foreign movies, the kind that are supposed to be “good for you.”

Don’t get me wrong; I’m only being slightly serious about this. It’s one of the oldest debates on this blog: just because some big-shot critic says a certain movie is great, does that mean you have to like it too? Especially if it comes across as “boring”? (Please note the quotation marks around that word.) I still haven’t found the answer to that question; I doubt I ever will—but I do want to mix things up around here and look at some foreign films.

Japanese filmmaker Yasujiro Ozu is one whom I’ve heard a lot about but whose work I had never seen before. Omigod, do the critics fall all over themselves praising this guy: his films often make the “all-time best of” lists, Criterion has his films in its collection, they discuss him in film school, the works—so he must be worth watching, right? Well, I was very lucky to have found one of his biggest hits online to watch: the film Tokyo Story. I’m pleased to say I thought it was good, though it took quite awhile for me to appreciate.

Thank God It’s Friday

The Jeff Goldblum Blogathon is an event devoted to the life and career of the actor, hosted by RealWeegieMidget Reviews and Emma K. Wall Explains It All. For a list of participating bloggers, visit the links at the host sites.

Thank God It’s Friday

Disco! I’ve talked about it here before, and while I was way too young to have gotten involved in any disco-versus-rock flame wars civilized debates, if you had asked me in, oh, 1980, which side I was on, I would’ve put on my-my-my-my-my boogie shoes and did The Hustle to the music of Chic, or perhaps the Brothers Gibb—even if disco was dying by that point.

My sister would’ve been the reason why. Disco and classic soul is close to Lynne’s heart, always has been, and she and her husband include plenty of it in their cover band. She had a shoebox full of 45s and I believe she even had some 8-tracks, in addition to her many LPs, and whenever she wasn’t around I’d idly go through them and play a few. I was a Top 40 nerd all through grade and junior high school before I discovered classic rock in high school, so my mixtapes had not only disco, but freestyle and even some new wave.

And dancing? I must have spent the entire sixth grade trying to moonwalk. Not easy in Reeboks. I think I mentioned the bar mitzvah I went to sometime in the mid-80s where I danced up a storm with my friend Howard’s sister Susan. I’m pretty sure there was some disco on the turntable that day, though I couldn’t tell you which moves I busted.

I also recall my junior high prom, but that was in 1986 and by then, though we had plenty of Madonna and Whitney Houston and the Pointer Sisters to groove to, we didn’t call it disco. I doubt anyone did. Freestyle was lumped in with general pop music and I never made a distinction.

These are the days: Sitcom king Norman Lear

I have vague memories of watching All in the Family in syndication, but my family and I definitely lined up every week for The Jeffersons. George & Louise were nothing like my parents, and I never projected myself into their fictitious lives, but even to my young and highly impressionable mind, I believe I was aware of the significance of seeing them, an affluent black couple, on television. I may not have been able to fully process the racial and sociological politics at play, but I recognized George as a dude who took no shit from fools and was true to himself. Though I liked Weezie (I regret not knowing well anyone named Louise so I could call them Weezie), I identified more with George. I loved Florence, the maid. She was awesome.

The Jeffersons was the first time I saw an interracial couple. It was the first time I saw black people interacting with people from wildly different cultures (if you can call England wildly different). It gave me a sense of black history as a tangible thing, not just something you read about in books —even if George tended to exaggerate his upbringing, calling himself the son of a sharecropper. It showed me how diverse black people can be within a single program: Weezie was different from Florence, and they both were different than Helen. And nothing, I mean nothing, beats that theme song. 

The significance of this show wouldn’t register in my mind until much later in life, but looking back, I can appreciate how much it meant to me back then — and for that I can thank Norman Lear.

Three Identical Strangers

Three Identical Strangers
seen @ Angelika Film Center, New York, NY

To know that the current administration is responsible for separating the children of immigrants from their parents, going so far as to cage them in many instances, really makes me ashamed to be an American, yet at the same time it's not too different from a despicable pattern we've followed for as long as there has been an America.

Whether the cause is anti-terrorism, or fighting the Axis, or the right to own other humans as slaves, or simple manifest destiny, there's always been somebody behind it all who will tell you, with a smile and a wink, that an act such as (but certainly not limited to) breaking up a family without their consent was for the greater good. Sometimes there is no reason behind it except meanness.

And sometimes there's a plot at work.

Please don't ask me to identify which is which.

I don't remember the story of the long-lost New York triplets — Bobby Shafran, Eddie Galland and David Kellman — reunited after an entire childhood apart; I might have been a bit too young for it to register. The story of their reunion and everything after, including the mystery of why they were separated to begin with — is what makes up Three Identical Strangers, a heartbreaking, yet warm and often funny documentary.

If this were a Hollywood screenplay written by Aaron Sorkin or somebody like that, no one would buy it because no one would believe in it. The simple coincidence of the triplets living in the same region and suddenly meeting by chance stretches credulity enough... but then again, as you learn to your shock as you watch, it wasn't entirely coincidence.

The Triplets meet Madonna in a cameo in
Desperately Seeking Susan

I think if this were a Hollywood screenplay, there'd be a race-against-time third act where the triplets unite (after a second act in which dissension tears them apart) to unravel the conspiracy against them, Da Vinci Code style. Unfortunately for them, their actual story is nowhere near as melodramatic or cliche.

It's much more about mental illness, and genetics, and above all the age-old question of nature versus nurture. Bobby, Eddie and David grew up independent of each other, yet had so many things in common it was as if they had never been separated.

The Triplets had their own Manhattan
restaurant named, of course, Triplets

Is that genetics at work? One would think so, but if so, what does that say about our ability as self-aware beings to choose? These questions are brought up in the film, and they have a direct bearing on why the triplets were separated; I can't say more without giving it away. Just see it and be amazed.

I would've seen this with Vija and company, but the @#$(+& subway made me late again, and the line for the Angelika was out the door and around the block, which isn't unusual for the Angelika on a Sunday. I hadn't been back there in quite awhile, so I forgot.

David Kellman today

I went back to see it the next day. Meanwhile, I caught up to Vija after the movie; Debbie and Sue came along. We had Japanese for an early dinner and then Sue took Vija and me on a tour of the side streets of the west Village, where she used to live.

The two of them recently spotted none other than Alec Baldwin outside his apartment building in the Village, so we all went back there, thinking we might spot him again. We didn't, of course, but I certainly had no expectations. And it was a beautiful afternoon.

Requiem for a Heavyweight

Requiem for a Heavyweight
TCM viewing

By the year 1954, television was taking off: Lucille Ball, Milton Berle and Ozzie & Harriet Nelson had top-rated shows; The Tonight Show debuted; Senator Joseph McCarthy became an unwitting TV star at the peak of the Red Scare - and a 30-year-old ex-radio writer had moved to New York with his family, stepping up from local TV in Cincinnati. His name was Rod Serling.

If you've ever stared out an airplane window, wondering if a monster is riding the wing; if you've ever looked at a child's doll and suspected it had a mind of its own; if you've ever noticed the lights in the night sky and feared aliens had infiltrated your cozy suburban neighborhood, you've been touched by his legacy.

Long before he led us into another dimension, not of sight and sound but of mind, Serling was another struggling freelance writer looking to break into the new medium that took America by storm in the 1950s, rewriting rejected radio scripts and pitching them to anthology series. In 1955, his teleplay for Kraft Television Theatre called "Patterns" was a hit, and it got him noticed. (I watched it for this post; it's very good.)

Playhouse 90 is now considered the gold standard of anthology series on television. After the success of "Patterns," Serling sold to the series' producers a teleplay that he would later call one of his greatest achievements as a writer: the boxing drama "Requiem for a Heavyweight," the tale of an over-the-hill pugilist searching for a life outside the squared circle even though fighting is all he knows. Jack Palance and Kim Hunter starred.

Serling and director Ralph Nelson both won Emmys for this episode. Adaptations were filmed in other countries, including England (where Sean Connery starred!). The New York Times called it "a play of overwhelming force and tenderness.... an artistic triumph."

In 1962, Serling and Nelson re-teamed for the film version, with a new cast: Anthony Quinn and Julie Harris, plus Jackie Gleason and Mickey Rooney. That's the version I saw on TCM.

It begins with Quinn's character getting his butt kicked in the ring, but it's shot entirely from his perspective, Lady in the Lake style. (This must have been where Ryan Coogler got the idea for use in Creed.) The camera blurs, going in and out of focus as if Quinn's eyesight was fading. When Quinn loses, Gleason and Rooney walk him back to the trainer's room (the walking is more convincing here than in Lady; a hand-held camera must have been used). We even see a rope lifted as he leaves the ring.

When we finally see Quinn's face, it's in a mirror, and he's a bloody pulp; that's when the opening credits roll. Oh, and did I mention his opponent is none other than Cassius Clay - before he became Muhammad Ali? He even got a line.

Quinn doesn't get a visit from the devil, offering him a deal; nor does he slip into an alternate reality or discover he's really a mannequin or anything like that; it's a straightforward drama with the same attention to human frailty and foible we've come to associate with Serling, held together by a dynamite cast.

I watched this with my mother, who once again, couldn't appreciate the artistry of the screenplay because it had a downer ending. Maybe I shouldn't complain - different people like different things in different ways - but my father would've loved this movie. He would've gotten why it ended the way it did and he would've appreciated it in a way my mother can't, for whatever reason. It's frustrating, but what can I do?

20 Feet From Stardom

20 Feet From Stardom
seen @ Herbert von King Park, Brooklyn NY


20 Feet From Stardom was one of those movies that got away from me at first. I remember when it came out; I told myself I would see it for sure, but I never did. Either I was short of cash or it came and went in a hurry; I don't recall. I was pleased to get a second chance at it last weekend as a free outdoor movie.


Stardom is the Oscar-winning documentary about backup singers throughout rock history. They sing the parts of songs that are always fun and easy to sing along with: the shoo-bee-doo-bee-doos, the ram-a-lam-a-ding-dongs. We may not be able to sing like Aretha Franklin, for example, but we can always do the "re-re-re-re-re-re-re-re-spect JUST A LITTLE BIT!" part, whether we're in the shower or the car or in Aisle 6 reaching for the can of corn.

Among the many singers interviewed, including superstars like Jagger and Springsteen and Stevie Wonder, the best-known of the backup singers is probably Darlene Love, who sang with many of the big names of the 50s and 60s. The songs on which she sang lead were not credited as such for a long time. She talks about her struggles with uber-producer Phil Spector, as well as the events that led to her solo career and greater recognition, in and out of music (she was Danny Glover's wife in the Lethal Weapon movies).

Darlene Love

We get to meet other singers, mostly black, mostly female. Things changed for them when they were encouraged, and more to the point, allowed to sing the way they knew how, the way they were used to singing all their lives as opposed to simply filling in the spaces between the lyrics. Rock stars like the Stones, Bowie, Lynyrd Skynyrd, put them on their records, brought them on tour, made them more in-demand. Why didn't these singers become stars in their own right? The movie suggests there's no one answer - but they have no regrets. (Seeing this made me wish, not for the first time, that more black people made rock music today - and that radio would play them - but that's another post.)

Naturally, I thought of my sister Lynne as I watched this, though in her case, it's different. She's the lead singer of a band, one that has been her support structure for years as they play around New York. Her husband is part of that band. As far as I know, she hasn't tried being a backup singer for anybody. Still, the theme of pursuing a career in the field, gaining recognition, resonates.

Lisa Fischer

I think Lynne is a great singer, but she kinda got a late start in going for a career, and in a field that values youth so highly, I think it's fair to say the odds of ever hearing her on the radio one day are long. I think if she did nothing but play bars and clubs with her band for the rest of her life, though, she'd be okay with that. She enjoys the music so much; always has. I think that's what matters most - and Stardom suggests that's the best way to be.

This was the first outdoor movie of the season for me. Von King Park is deep within a part of Brooklyn with which I was unfamiliar. It was a warm summer night, with lots of people having cookouts and playing music and kids roaming freely - but with few people actually watching the movie.

Merry Clayton

The inflatable screen was set up on a largish lawn area. I came without a blanket to lie on (I forgot) and I was concerned my spot would get eaten up by the encroaching audience, like it would if I were at, say, Brooklyn Bridge Park. In fact, the crowd was so sparse, there was room for kids to play catch with a small dog and to kick a soccer ball around. This went on behind me for the most part, though the dog trampled my leg once while running.

If the surrounding park-goers had any interest in the movie, they didn't show it. Far behind me, music (modern hip-hop, of course) continued to play, though the movie was loud and clear enough that it wasn't a problem. With the Fourth of July just around the corner, at one point fireworks went off behind the screen. You'd think a free movie prominently featuring black people would attract more interest in what looked like a mostly-black neighborhood. I dunno. I'm just glad it didn't rain.

Reel family

I've never seen movies bring a family together the way they do for Paddy's. Between her husband, children, father and of course, her three amazing sisters, movies are a bond that ties them all close. The proof can be found in this heartwarming animated short made by Paddy's daughter Janet, a student. If this is any indication, I think big things are in her future.

Feud pt. 3

Part 1 Part 2

Daughters are this week's theme. We meet Joanie's twin daughters for the first time. Christina is implied but not seen. When the twins go away for the summer, Joanie endures a little empty nest syndrome. Bette, meanwhile, consents to put her daughter BD into the film at Aldrich's suggestion, but she is not the thespian her mother is.

Before we get to the principals, let's show a little love to Judy Davis as Hedda Hopper. Between the excessive makeup, the wrinkles and the outlandish hats, Davis, a lovely woman normally, looks like an old hag here. Her role as gossip-monger and confidant to Joanie is shaping up to be crucial. On the one hand, she's eager to offer Joanie a shoulder to cry on, but it's only because she smells blood in the water on the Baby Jane set. All she really wants is to take a bite. It's the kind of role Davis specializes in: catty and full of false sincerity.

I had no idea Bette had children. Kieran Shipka plays BD with a certain innocence that's endearing. Her best moment so far was in Part 2, when she calls her mother on wanting fame as much as her rival Joanie.

Seeing Bette depicted as a single, working mother adds a new dimension to her for me. I had always imagined her as almost a force of nature, but she had many of the same vulnerabilities as other women. One can't help but be reminded of what she says in All About Eve about being a woman: "That's one career all females have in common.... Sooner or later, we've got to work at it."

As for Joanie, she elicits much sympathy for missing the feeling of motherhood, to the point where she even tries to adopt again in this episode, but we all know what kind of mother she really was. It's hinted at in the opening scene with the twins, as well as in her scene with Bette over dinner as they share their family histories. Ryan Murphy and his writing staff know better than to compete with Mommie Dearest (which I've never seen either), so they come at Joanie's motherhood from a slightly different angle, which is smart.

I'm afraid I don't know anything about Victor Buono beyond his IMDB bio. Dominic Burgess plays him here, and he gets a moment where his homosexual proclivities almost get him in trouble off the set. I'll have more to say about Baby Jane as an iconic gay camp movie when I write about it, but I'll say here it was good that the writers had Bette acknowledge her gay audience.

From the tidbits of Baby Jane I've seen throughout Feud, I'm not entirely sure what to make of it. Is it really a horror movie? It doesn't look like one, although Bette in that kabuki makeup and ridiculous blond wig is frightening enough. We got lots of scenes on the set this week. They were funny. Loved the part where Bette and Joanie argue about who should have won Best Actress in 1950, the year of Eve.

Key Largo

Key Largo
seen @ Landmark Loews Jersey Theater, Jersey City, NJ

When I think of Florida, my grandmother comes to mind. This was very long ago, so my memories are dim and fragmented. She was nice, though I can't picture her face. My mother always encouraged me to write to her, but I didn't need much prompting; she always sent me money.

She lived in St. Augustine. We might have visited her at least a couple of times that I recall. I have a vivid image of the street she lived on, if not her house. It was a sandy road, unpaved, with no sidewalks. While in Florida, we also went to Disney World at least once. No memories of that.

We did not visit the Florida Keys. I have no burning desire to do so, though I'm sure they're beautiful, based on what we see of them in Key Largo. John Huston gave us a few location shots, of the Seven Mile Bridge and the piers. I wouldn't want to live down there, though. I'd be too afraid of the damage hurricanes can do. They're enough of a problem here in the northeast.

Largo was based on a play, and as I watched it I tried to imagine how certain scenes would be staged. I imagine it's not too hard to provide sound effects for a hurricane. Maybe you could rattle the sets backstage to simulate the blowing wind. Could you have a tree smashing through a window on stage? Maybe that was for the movie. The climax on the boat probably plays much better on a movie screen.

When Jacqueline wrote about seeing Largo on a big screen, she pointed out how it almost seemed like a different movie because everything's magnified. Absolutely true. Every word. I didn't have the bad experience with the audience she had. The Loews JC crowd was totally respectful, as they almost always are. Going there for this movie was a spur of the moment decision. I'm glad I did it. I feel at home watching a movie there like I do no place else.

Let's talk about Claire Trevor for a minute. Did you know there's a Claire Trevor School of the Arts? It's part of the University of California-Irvine. Jon Lovitz went there, among other notables. They offer programs for visual as well as performing arts.

Largo was Trevor's Oscar-winning role. She had appeared with Bogey before, in the movie Dead End, another Oscar-nominated performance, plus she had done radio work with Eddie G in the late 30s. Her role here may not seem important at first, but it provides depth to the overall story, as well as a contrast to Lauren Bacall's more virtuous lead role. Plus, she ends up doing something very important late in the story. She's quite good as the sympathetic bad girl, a role she specialized at throughout her career.

Largo is a great movie, but you already knew that. It's Eddie G's swan song as a cinematic gangster, just as White Heat was for Jimmy Cagney a year later. When Lionel Barrymore tells Eddie "Your kind has no place in the world anymore," or something like that, the effect is doubly felt because it's being said to someone famous for playing gangsters. Very canny bit of casting there. Indeed, the gangster picture did fall into decline for awhile, until a film school brat named Coppola adapted a certain bestselling novel about the mafia... but that is another story.

A United Kingdom

A United Kingdom
seen @ Cinemart Fiveplex, Forest Hills, Queens NY

I just finished reading the memoir Dreams From My Father, by Barack Obama, written back when he was still a senator. He's a very good writer. He's eloquent, of course, but he's also good at composing a narrative, with lively dialogue and distinguishable characters.

Anyway, as everyone knows, the (sigh) former president is the son of interracial parents, an American white woman and a Kenyan black man. The book is about his attempt to come to terms with their legacy and to establish an identity all his own. Early on, he speculates, based on his knowledge of them, about the first time his parents met his mother's parents:

...When my father arrived at the door, Gramps might have been immediately struck by the African's resemblance to Nat King Cole, one of his favorite singers; I imagine him asking my father if he can sing, not understanding the mortified look on my mother's face. Gramps is probably too busy telling one of his jokes or arguing with [Grandma] Toot over how to cook the steaks to notice my mother reach out and squeeze the smooth, sinewy hand beside hers. Toot notices, but she's polite enough to bite her lip and offer dessert; her instincts warn her against making a scene. When the evening is over, they'll both remark how intelligent the young man seems, so dignified, with the measured gestures, the graceful draping of one leg over another - and how about that accent? 

But would they let their daughter marry one?

It's easy to look upon someone from another culture with respect and admiration when they're not suddenly a family member. My sister's Japanese husband is enough like me, that is, American, that he doesn't come across as being that different, despite his not being black. Naturally, Lynne's life has changed; she eats more Asian food, and once, when they went to Japan, I saw a photo of her in a kimono; to pick two small examples. I suspect, though, they have more in common with each other than Obama's parents did...

...or, for that matter, the protagonists of A United Kingdom, the true story of an interracial Cinderella-like marriage that altered the course of two nations. This comes only a few months after Loving, but it seems a little more high-profile. Plus, the political aspect makes this very different from Jeff Nichols' more intimate portrait of Richard and Mildred Loving.

Seretse Khama and Ruth Williams have to deal with factions within both the British government and his native Bechuanaland (known today as Botswana) determined to keep them apart for political and economic reasons that seem bigger than the two of them alone. Their love for each other, however, sees them through. It's the backbone of this film, another hidden chapter of racial history brought to life by Belle director Amma Asante.

I sound like a broken record, but once again David Oyelowo turns in another great performance, in a role recalling his work in Selma, but with the added aspect of a tender, moving love affair, with Rosamund Pike. This was a labor of love for him; he himself is married to a white woman (she has a cameo in the film) and he's listed as a co-producer.

I arrived late again! I walked into the theater about a few minutes after the advertised start time, thinking I'd miss a trailer or two, but either the Cinemart played them before or they skipped them altogether. Could it be they actually stick to their start times, unlike other theaters that show fifteen minutes of ads and trailers first? If so, I'll have to remember that.

One final thing worth mentioning: when the Kingdom trailer played in front of La La Land, a woman in the audience, perhaps responding to the love story aspect, shouted afterward, "Every man should see that movie!" That got a laugh.

Penny Serenade

The Cary Grant Blogathon celebrates the life and career of the classic film star, hosted by Phyllis Loves Classic Movies. For a list of participating bloggers, visit the link at the website.

Penny Serenade
YouTube viewing

Watch enough movies and listen to enough music and sooner or later, you'll start to imagine what a soundtrack to your life might sound like. Many of us program our iPods with certain songs we play over and over, or fine-tune our Pandora or Spotify playlists for that perfect selection of tracks. What I'm talking about is similar, only the songs represent specific times and places in your life. Since we're all the stars of our own personal movies, it follows that they need killer soundtracks, right?

I have given this some thought, as you might imagine. One day I'll make up some excuse to name my ideal soundtrack, but not today. I will say that it includes a little bit of everything: Motown and country for my parents, disco for my sister, Top 40 for my junior high years, classic rock for high school, grunge for college - though beyond that point, the timeline of my life will get older, and so will the songs!

I've even toyed with the thought of starting a second blog for this purpose: to talk about music the way I talk about movies, with less critical discourse and more personal meditations. Nick Hornby released a volume called Songbook, which collects a bunch of essays he wrote about individual songs and his unique relationship with them. He can talk critically about music, and at times in the book, he does, but he spends more time discussing memories, feelings and thoughts associated with the songs he's chosen. If I were to start a music blog, I would want it to read like this, though I'm not half the writer or critic Hornby is. Maybe after I finish the novel? I dunno.

Penny Serenade plays with the personal soundtrack idea (though I doubt they called them soundtracks in 1941, the year this movie was released). In the beginning, the marriage of Cary Grant and Irene Dunne is about to end. Dunne is ready to leave him for good, but before she does, she goes through her record collection. Each song she plays triggers a memory of their relationship, and that's how we learn what brought us to this point. It's not a bad storytelling device, though after awhile, you start to wonder when she's gonna finish and leave already.

This movie earned Grant the first of his two Oscar nominations for Best Actor, without a win. Hard to believe, isn't it? One of American cinema's greatest, most iconic, most versatile leading men never got nominated for The Philadelphia Story, Notorious, Suspicion, or North by Northwest, much less won. I'd say it's the curse of the pretty-boy actor (see also: Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, Mark Wahlberg, Matt Damon, Johnny Depp), but it's hard to say for sure. Leonardo DiCaprio did finally win the Best Actor Oscar, after all, so maybe there's hope.

From Grant's first scene, we can tell his performance in this movie, about a young couple's quest to have and raise a child, is different. We remember Grant as the suave, debonair man-about-town who's smooth with the ladies, yet not afraid to take a pratfall or two sometimes. The Grant in Serenade is, in general, quieter, more down-to-earth, and more emotionally vulnerable.

A few years ago, I tried to speculate why today's leading men avoid romantic movies like the plague. I cited Grant as an example from the past of an actor as convincing making love to a woman as when he's doing other things in the movies. In Serenade, he doesn't court Dunne as a sophisticated ladies man; he does it in an almost introverted way. He buys a bunch of records in the record shop she works in, even though he doesn't have a player, just so she can wait on him and they can talk longer.

Because this is Grant and Dunne, you expect some silly antics or witty banter, but they play it straight. Throughout the movie, Grant expresses his love for Dunne, in words and deeds, with a naked sincerity and passion rarely seen in today's leading men when their characters have wives or girlfriends...

...and that love is extended to their adopted child. Indeed, director George Stevens goes to great lengths to portray the reality of parenting: the hard work, the constant worry, the sacrifice, and how it can cause problems in a marriage. There's one extended diaper-changing scene, shot in real time with very limited cuts. Dunne is frustrated and nervous over the procedure, but Edgar Buchanan is calmly confident. I found it interesting that Dunne's character was so gung-ho about having a child, yet so clueless about how to care for it also. It's the sort of thing that makes you think parenting might not be for everyone...

Serenade isn't perfect. Spoilers for a 75-year-old movie to follow: in the scene that undoubtedly clinched the Oscar nod for Grant, he pleads with a judge to let him keep his adopted daughter. The judge insists it's a matter of law, but in the very next scene, there's Grant with the baby, happy and smiling. So much for the law! Also, it was shot from too far a distance. We really need to see Grant's face in close-up and we don't.

It doesn't matter, though, because later on, the child dies - off-screen! We find out in a letter Dunne writes to adoption agent Beulah Bondi, only Dunne's handwriting is a little on the fancy side. I had to stop the movie several times to read her letter! The death drives Grant and Dunne apart, but it's okay; Bondi finds a new baby for them at the last minute before they can break up. Hooray! Whatever.

Still, it's a good movie overall and a rare chance to see Grant not be Grant in a movie. Sort of.

-----------------------
Other Cary Grant movies:
Charade

Fantastic links and where to find them

Things have been going good lately. I've been on a bit of a tear with the novel, which is why I took another week off from here. I had to force myself to break away from it in order to keep the blog going! I feel like I understand my characters better now, especially my female lead. I had been sort of feeling my way through her central conflict for awhile, but then bolt-of-lightning inspiration struck. My scenes are getting longer as a result because I have more to say. I'm still a long way from calling this manuscript finished, though.

Meanwhile, I've also been honing my culinary abilities, such as they are. I got my mother's old crock pot out of mothballs and after at least two decades of inactivity, it still works. I've made a bacon & corn chowder and a chicken parmesan pasta with the crock pot using recipes found on cooking blogs. They both turned out pretty good.

The support from my Facebook friends continues to amaze me. Not the support itself - I've got some terrific friends - but the strong opinions that cooking seems to engender. They say too many cooks spoil the broth, but that hasn't happened to me yet. All the advice I've been getting so far has been useful. My only regret is that I never learned how to cook when I was living in Columbus. I went grocery shopping every week, but almost never for food I could cook (as opposed to heat up in a microwave). I might have saved a fair amount of money if I had!

Three blogathon posts this month, including two in one weekend. I may have a lot of new releases too; it's that time of year. I know I won't be able to see everything, though. I never can. Also, the Alamo Drafthouse has finally opened in Brooklyn. I hope to write about my first movie there very soon.

Also, I wanna send a shout-out and good luck wishes to Ruth from the blog Silver Screenings. She's taking on NaNoWriMo this year. As you probably know, the novel I'm working on was the result of my experience with this annual novel-writing challenge. I think everyone who enjoys writing and wants to push their talent and creativity in strange and unexpected new directions should give it a try. It's not for everyone, but those who attempt it will learn a few new things about themselves and their work. 

Your links:

Le talks about the slapstick tradition in Brazilian cinema.

Paddy, guest blogging at Jacqueline's site, provides a Canadian perspective on American cinema.

Ivan reviews two books about essential genre cinema.

Raquel reviews a restored film noir from Argentinian cinema.

Jennifer strolls through haunted houses in classic horror cinema.

Bring me the head of Christopher Walken!

Robin Williams loved bicycles. (subscription required)

A parent-child relationship examined through the lens of Back to the Future.

Cinematic sex and violence, female edition: a critical discourse. (NSFW)

Finally, in honor of the end of the Obama administration, here's an interview where he talks Star Trek. It has been eight great years. Let's hope the next four are just as good.

For the Love of Spock

For the Love of Spock
seen @ Symphony Space, New York NY

What does the character Spock mean to me? Well, first, you have to understand how I came to Star Trek. I remember watching Trek marathons on TV as a kid, but the show never stood out in my memory. I'm honestly not sure why. 

Disdain for old stuff? Doubt it. I liked the monster movies they'd show on Thanksgiving and the occasional horror flicks from the 50s and 60s. It's possible comics had a stronger hold on my imagination than TV or even the movies. Whatever the reason, my attitude wouldn't change until my college years.

I recognized all the important aspects of Spock's character: the bi-racial heritage, the bonds with Kirk and McCoy, the rift with his dad - but The Original Series in general didn't grab a hold on me the way The Next Generation, and especially Deep Space Nine, did. So while I like and admire Spock as a character and Leonard Nimoy's portrayal of him, it was always at a bit of a remove. It took me longer to "get" TOS.

Still, I've certainly seen what he has meant to others. If I were William Shatner, I'd have been jealous of Spock's popularity too. There have been outsider characters in American fiction before: Holden Caulfield in literature, Chaplin's Tramp in film, Spider-Man in comics. 

Spock, though, was an outsider who was accepted by his peers. They know he's different, in profound and fundamental ways, and they accept him anyway. He doesn't have to live his life on the fringes. I think that, more than anything, has been the reason for his fame. People look at him and say hey, if he can fit in and still be himself, maybe there's hope for me, too.

Deciphering what makes Spock the phenomenon he is, as well as his relationship with the actor who brought him to life, is the subject of For the Love of Spock, a documentary by Nimoy's son Adam, an experienced filmmaker in his own right, and one uniquely qualified, to say the least, to address the subject. He interviews family members, including his sister Julie (who's making her own doc about their father), friends and co-workers, including the surviving TOS cast members, about what made Spock, and Nimoy, special.

Adam Nimoy provides insight into what growing up the son of a TV superstar was like. I was not aware Leonard's family was as exposed to the media spotlight as they were, so this was a revelation. Adam and Julie acknowledge both the good times and bad - in Adam's case, he talks about the years in which he and Leonard didn't see eye to eye, and how they were able to bridge the gap between them. It's pretty emotional.

When DeForest Kelley and Jimmy Doohan died, I felt their deaths, but in a detached way - again, because TOS never had the impact on me as it did on others. When Leonard died, it was different. Part of it was because of his presence on social media, but part of it was also the fact that I knew the impact Spock had on pop culture, the things he did outside of acting and directing. I had a greater sense of him as a person beyond Star Trek. That's what Adam goes for in Love, and he gets it for sure.

I saw Love at Symphony Space in Manhattan, a multimedia arts venue on the Upper West Side, in an auditorium named for Leonard Nimoy. Apparently he was a financier who helped keep the venue open when it had fallen on hard times. What I saw of it was nice: stadium seating, small but cozy seats, a cafe. I was pleased to see they had a book sale going on outside by the box office. I found a biography of Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn that I got for three bucks.

Benjamin Sisko

If it seems odd that Benjamin Sisko was the only one of the captains to have an on-screen family (seen on a regular basis, that is), then I'm glad he was the one to be defined this way. His relationship with his son Jake felt so real and warm, every time we saw the two of them together, which is probably because Avery Brooks really did take Cirroc Lofton under his wing and was like a mentor to him during the seven-year run of Deep Space Nine.

We had differences of opinion during the latter years of his life, but I like to think my father and I were still close. I miss him. Whenever I saw the Siskos together - including Brock Peters as Joseph Sisko, to make three generations - something they said or did, sooner or later, would remind me of my relationship with my father. I looked on Daddy much the same way Jake looked on Ben, particularly in the early years of the show, the difference being my mother is still around. If Jake seemed slightly clingy to Ben at times, it may be because of the absence of his mom...

...which is why the addition of Kasidy Yates was such a welcome breath of fresh air. Ben and Kasidy had a mature, loving relationship that grew over time. It had its share of growing pains, but it was such a refreshing change from the cliche of bringing in a love interest for an episode whom you know Our Hero will never have a long-term affair with, but is there strictly for the sake of having a love story. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing; it's just that having someone to stick around was nice for a change.

The Starfleet officer/Emissary to the Prophets dichotomy may not have always been that interesting to watch, but it was a very original wrinkle that gave Sisko additional depth. I liked how it colored the way he got along with Kira. I can't imagine how I would work with a boss I'm not that fond of to begin with who's also the embodiment of a major figure in my religion. To wrestle with that makes for a tough conflict.

I admire Sisko for so many reasons: as a family man, as a Starfleet officer who tried his best to do the right thing while fighting a war against an implacable foe (whether or not he succeeded is entirely up to you), as a friend and confidant to three incarnations of Dax, as a baseball fan, and yes, as a black man too. Avery Brooks invested so much humanity, so much passion, conviction and love into the character, and I'll be forever grateful to him for creating a role model for all kinds of people to admire.

--------------------------
Previously:
Chris Pine's Kirk
Jonathan Archer
Kathryn Janeway

Ratatouille

Ratatouille
Disney Channel viewing

My health scare earlier this year convinced me I need to start eating better. I've attempted to do so in the months since. Habits I had ingrained within me for so many years - the bag of chips bought on the way home, the box of cookies unthinkingly tossed into the shopping cart, the constant refills on soda - they all have to be broken.

Temptation is in my face every damn day. I have to make conscious choices to not buy certain food, to read the nutrition labels on packages, to be careful not to eat too much of something. I have successful days and unsuccessful ones.

Then I started to do my own cooking.

I had a very mild interest in cooking for awhile, but it was never serious. I considered making spaghetti a culinary triumph. Now, though, my health has given me a reason to learn how to cook, and my whole outlook has changed. I've taken baby steps in a few directions. For instance, I used to be horrible at making rice. It would always burn. Now, I can make it in my sleep. I like cooking it in a broth and adding chicken cutlets cut up into pieces.

My mother has been a tremendous help. She always knows how something should be fixed, at what temperature and for how long. Learning from her hasn't been as difficult as I thought. When she demonstrated how to cook fish, she showed me not only how to turn them over in the pan so they won't fall to pieces, but also how to buy them at our local fish market. I've only cooked fish twice so far, but I find it less intimidating now than before. Definitely couldn't have done it without her.

The big surprise has been the outpouring of support I've received on Facebook. A number of my friends have been incredibly encouraging, offering advice, suggestions and recipes. For instance: I met Tricia in Columbus. She was one of my bicycling friends. Don't even know her that well. She sent me a package of basmati rice with spices!

Most friends, though, have stuck to providing words of wisdom. Lynn has been a big help. Recently, she suggested I try sautéed vegetables, which I may do the next time I make noodles. Melissa is a friend of Andi's. I don't know her that well either, but I've picked her brain for advice because she cooks for her girlfriend all the time.

Jen and I have had lots of conversations about food. As a child, her mother fed her junk food literally all the time, and it took years to restore her health to normal and to lose weight. (She's writing a memoir about her rough childhood. There's a beautiful passage where she describes walking for exercise for the first time and how liberating it felt.) She has a pretty good understanding of what I'm going through, and I've confided in her a great deal. She recently suggested I visit a supermarket in Elmhurst, an Asian neighborhood, because I can get things like noodles dirt cheap.

In the beginning, I stuck to the basics, but I've slowly begun trying to cook with a flourish - adding a spice or an herb here, a vegetable or two there. I recognize it's a matter of trying out what works and what doesn't, but I'm still learning about so many things: portions, tastes, smells, cooking techniques. I certainly don't expect to learn even a fraction of it all. If I never cook for anyone other than my mother and myself, that would suit me fine. Melissa seems perfectly happy cooking for her girlfriend. (I had mistakenly thought she cooked for a living.)

Given all of this, you can imagine how differently I now view a movie like Ratatouille. I may not have Remy's culinary instincts, but I think I understand his love for cooking better. It is a form of self-expression, as individual as art or music or writing. It's a language I'm only starting to speak, but native speakers like Remy are eloquent.

For Remy, cooking is not just a fun hobby; it represents an escape from the conservative traditions of his clan and a window into a new culture, a new way of thinking. That's a powerful metaphor. I think this is one of the finest of the Pixar movies; it's certainly one of the best American films of the 21st century so far.