Our Man in Vienna

Catching an Image

For three decades I’ve been passing the display window of a photographer in my neighborhood. He takes bad photos, and I have yet to find a good one in his window. My question is: can’t he take a good one by chance? Can’t his lens catch a good composition and channel it onto the film of his camera? The answer is no. Good artists are magicians, and bad ones have the magic of always being bad.

If by chance, he did take a good photo, he probably rip it up.

The Magdalene Sisters

In the film The Magdalene Sisters young girls, who are considered wayward for one reason or another, are committed to a Catholic asylum run by nuns. They are exploited as laundresses and forced to do other menial tasks without respite or pay. The word for this work is slave labor.

The sadistic Sister Bridget, a merciless taskmaster, or rather taskmistress, drives the girls to work harder and entertains herself by demeaning them.

In one scene, she announces a beauty contest and orders the girls to undress. The girl with thickest pubic hair will be declared winner. The honor goes to Crispina, who breaks down sobbing.

The film viewer is afforded the same pubic view as Sister Bridget. (Might as well provide a visual thrill for the male viewers while you’re engaged in social criticism!)

Later at a Corpus Christi celebration outside of the asylum walls, Crispina starts yelping and cannot made silent by the nuns.

She is then taken off to what must be an even worse asylum.

 

 

Churches and Temples

In my childhood I loved the Church, the lilting organ and the smell of incense. I loved the priests with their vestments and the nuns in their flowing habits. And I loved the wonderful illustrations of Jesus with the lamb and the children on the bridge with the guardian angel watching over them.

But there was one edifice that appealed to me as much as the Church, if not more, and that was “the Temple.” This building too was a “religious.” Its entrance was lit with flashing lights and there were long lobbies that led to caverns of worship.

Front-center were curtains that parted to reveal a screen that turned into a world of adventure with moving images in black-and-white or in color. And in the old days these Temples really resembled “Temples.” They not only resembled Temples, they were Temples.

Today the images are still shown in buildings with interiors that are bare auditoriums –
the Temples are gone.

I still have nostalgia for the Churches of my childhood. They still stand, but my attitude has changed; the Catechism has long lost its validity. So even though the old Churches still look the same, I see them through different eyes. But greater than my nostalgia for Churches is my nostalgia for the Temples of yore.

 

to be continued . . .

– Herbert Kuhner

Whose side are you on?

 

Here’s what I wrote about Napoleon:

Yes, the Napoleonic Code was a remarkable and laudable document, but it was brought to other nations by the sword. Napoleon had no qualms about summary executions and he liked to play pranks such as shooting the nose off the Sphinx. And by the way, what was he doing in Egypt? And speaking of “doing,” what the hell was he doing in Russia?

There have been so many so spectacular films about Napoleon with battle scenes galore.

Now, here’s my question:

Why do I invariably want him to win?

 

 

The Big Night and Art in General

 

The Big Night, directed by Stanley Tucci is about the art of cooking and art in general.

Time is the Fifties. Primo and Secundo have left Italy for New Jersey and have established the Paradise Restaurant.

Primo is a culinary master who makes no compromises and Secundo, played by Tucci, is the front-man who takes care of the PR.

The Paradise provides culinary Paradise, but the brothers have established Paradise
in the wrong Jersey neighborhood. And unfortunately, they are on their last financial legs.

Okay, everyone likes spaghetti Napolitano, but apparently these Jerseyites, or Jerseyans if you will, wouldn’t recognize a gourmet meal, even if it floated from their plate to their palate. No slur to Jersey! I’m a Jersey boy myself. There are gourmet restaurants galore in the Garden State, but they have to be in the right Jersey location. Actually, I don’t know of a wrong Jersey location for Italian food. But there must be one. And Primo and Secundo seem to have found one. Let me say this, as far as Jersey is concerned, they have the best pizza parlors in the world – not the most elaborately designed, but the best.

Pascal’s Restaurant is fancy pasta eatery that offers run-of the mill fare. Let me interject that you have to look hard to fund a mediocre Italian restaurant in Jersey, but that there must indeed be such places.

Pascal wants Primo as his chef, but he wants him as a prize, rather than as the chef that he is. He would of course raise the Pascal standard, but that would be all. No celestial morsels for the palate.

Pascal concocts a plan to bring the Paradise down. He tells Secundo that he has arranged for Louis Prima, the great entertainer to come to the Paradise for a meal and Secundo tales the bait, hook, line and sinker. When Louis show up and enjoys the elaborate meal that Primo has prepared for him, the customers will come a-running and Paradise Lost will be Paradise Saved.

Primo is a savvy guy, but who isn’t blinded by false hope?

Now let me say this: if Louis had known what Primo had prepared for him, he would have come a-runnin’. But of course he didn’t know.

To make a long story short, and to put the tragic finishing touch on a fine film, Primo makes a splendid gourmet meal for those in the Paradise minus Louis – and that’s the end of the Paradise!

Primo reproaches Secundo and there is a tussle, but the brothers do not come to blows. They push and shove, and they roll on the floor, but they cannot strike each other. They are not Cain and Able – they love each other.

The film closes with Secundo making scrambled eggs for Primo and himself the next morning.

That’s it!

Isn’t Paradise a valid statement about art and artists? What more could you want?

 

 

Ironweed and Suspenders

 

In Ironweed based on the book by William Kennedy and directed by Hector Babenco in 1983 is set in Depression-time Albany. Jack Nicholson and Meryl Streep are two bums on the road. Jack went on the road after accidently dropping his baby son while drunk, He attempts drown his guilt for the baby’s death in drink.

 

The scene when Jack returns to his home with a Thanksgiving turkey for his wife played by Carrol Baker is heartbreaking. Jack joins her and his family for dinner. He wants to stay but has to move on.

Tom Waits, who’s on the road with Jack, wears a suit with suspenders permanently hanging out the back. That’s a terrific touch. I’m sure that it was a Waits idea.

Incidentally, can someone explain to me why downbeat songs by Waits and sung in his gravelly voice are so good?

The Ironweed did not do all that well, but strangely enough, hanging suspenders became a fashion for both sexes due to the film.

 

to be continued . . .

– Herbert Kuhner

Ken Curtis and the Sons of the Pioneers

When I was in grade school I went to the B-western double-feature programs. One venue was the Garden Theater in Trenton. Here’s a description of getting there:

The bus from Princeton arrived at the dreary pea-green Perry Street Bus Station. To the left of the station there was a dry goods store with a window filled with cowboy boots, Stetsons, fancy shirts and belts and other western paraphernalia. I always stopped to look at those hokey treasures on or from my way to the station. Around the corner of Broad Street was the Garden Theater that specialized in B-western double-feature bills. Alongside it was the cubby-hole hot-dog stand that smelled of sauerkraut.

The B-oaters came off the assembly line. They were all alike, with stereotypical goodies and baddies, but there was one element in the Roy Rogers’ films that was unique. And that was Roy singing with the Sons of the Pioneers. It was the A-element of the Rogers B-westerns.

The singing was nothing short of great. I loved it then, and I still love it. The songs were of the western variety, quite different from country & western music.

Roy filmed for a poverty row studio, but didn’t end up on poverty row like Ken Maynard. He knew how to make a buck and he was never short of the green stuff. Here’s a question: Didn’t he ever get the itch to make an A-film? Didn’t he ever come across a good script that he had the itch to film? Tim Holt was a B-film cowboy, but both Orson Welles and John Huston gave him a chance at acting. But after taking those chances, he went right to riding on the range in B-film oaters.

The Sons graduated to A-films in Rio Grande, an A-film directed by John Ford and starring John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara. However, the graduation was not quite legitimate since the film was released by Republic, a B-film poverty-row studio. It’s where John Wayne started out and it was Roy’s home base. Going back there must have been a delightful homecoming for Wayne.

Rio Grande was the third film in Ford’s Cavalry Trilogy, rounding out Fort Apache and She Wore a Yellow Ribbon. Actually, Ford did not intend to make the third film of the series. He had The Quiet Man in mind. Herbert Yates, however, Republic’s chief was skeptical of its commercial chances and insisted that Ford direct another sure-fire cavalry venture first.

Both Rio Grande and The Quiet Man hit the jackpot. In the former, Ken Curtis teams up with the Sons. There’s plenty of action, but the film is a sort of a musical and the music is magical.

 

These were great moments for Curtis. This actor-singer was handsome and had everything it takes, but didn’t get any further than supporting roles in As and some starring roles in insignificant Bs.

As a singer he subbed for Frank Sinatra in the Tommy Dorsey band and took over for while when Sinatra left. But that’s about it. (I’ll try to dig up those records.)

Don’t ask me who I prefer! I don’t have to hesitate to answer.

Yes, ladies and gents, good looks and talent don’t always insure success. Ken had it all, but who ever heard of him? Well, you can hear him on the Rio Grande soundtrack recording. The songs with the Sons were his great moments. Sorry Roy, but they are unmatched. And thank you Herbert Yates for making it all possible!

 

Jim Jarmusch – Master Director

Other directors can make films on important themes. I like to go to see them. However, I prefer to make films using details that others edit out. I’ve always been interested in the little things that are considered unimportant but that make up most of our lives.
– Jim Jarmusch

Yes, Jim takes those details and weaves them together in his films. His pace is slow and at times he uses blackouts between scenes. The movement is often drawn out and the mood often infused with black and absurd humor. You’d think that his films would be boring, but they’re anything but.

Here are situations in Ghost Dog and Dead Man:

Ghost Dog is a hit man whose samurai code has been gleaned from a pocket book he carries around with him. His best friend is a Haitian Mr Tastee Ice Cream van hawker who only speaks French. Ghost Dog: “I don’t understand him. I don’t speak French, only English. I never understand a word he says.”

The gun battle in Dead Man is the most slapstick screen violence I have ever viewed. The mild-mannered accountant hero is caught in bed with a gunslinger’s girlfriend. The latter draws his pistol and shoots the girl dead, wounding the accountant with the same bullet. The hero awkwardly reaches for a pistol on his bed table which it seems to go off of its own accord, shooting the assailant in the neck.

 

Jarmusch spent his last semester of studying literature at Columbia University in Paris, where he spent his days in the Cinémathèque and became enamored of French films. The influence shows in his style. The sardonic humor is reminiscent of Truffaut, but the flavor of his films is very American. The “details that others edit out,” the bits and pieces, the odds and ends, fall into place so that everything seems to fit. I feel very akin to Jim since I use the same method in structuring my literary work. I often take seemingly unrelated segments, endeavoring to make them form a composition. I consider swing music and film cutting as influences in the craft of bringing out the harmony and rhythm that are inherent in language. A writer works to achieve visual images in the reader’s mind. So there is some kind of similitude between celluloid and the word.

This should be about Jim’s films, and perhaps going off on a personal tangent is a good way of expressing my admiration for them.

 

Flowers on Her Grave

In Broken Flowers directed by Jim Jarmusch, Bill Murray sets out to search for a son that one of his old flames may have had. He makes a call on each one.

There is a scene where he places flowers on a grave and says, “Hello beautiful.”

When someone you have loved has died,
it breaks your heart all over again,
it breaks your heart all over again.

 

to be continued . . .

– Herbert Kuhner