"I want my Maypo"

As it turned out, the CBS special celebrating the 50th anniversary of the Beatles first appearance on Ed Sullivan was very, very good. After it was over, I was slightly perturbed with myself for not setting a recording on the digital video recording cable box. As partly predicted, my Facebook "feed" was full of comments the next morning about the show and the performances - they were almost all positive. It was alleged News reporting which contained negative remarks and write-ups - the Twitter universe, they noted, was aghast (it usually is...) that Katy Perry had changed a word in her rendition of "Yesterday" so that she wouldn't sing "I'm not half the man I used to be". As far as I was concerned, her rendition gave me one more reason to like her. In fact, I was impressed with many of the currently 'hot' performers - most of them can actually sing and play the hell out of their instruments. I was left wishing they would do it more often. I must also note that I was overwhelmed when Anne Lennox and Dave Stewart reunited as the Eurythmics to perform "Fool on the Hill". I've long been a fan of Ms. Lennox, and her/their rendition was superb:



I loved that there were shots of McCartney and Ringo singing along with the performers. It's nice to know they're fans of the Beatles too. And I must admit that I flushed with pleasure as McCartney began to play "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band"; nostalgia flowed freely. As he ended the number, Ringo skidded up alongside him and began to sing, "What would you do if I sang out of tune...". Something wet made its way down my cheek, washing away my sins.

It has been called to my attention, quite delightedly so, that the program will be repeated starting at 8:30pm this evening (Wednesday 12 February 2014). I've already set the DVR, but I will have to clear space on it. That is a recurring problem - it is almost always full. I've some hard decisions to make as to what to delete. Will it be the 4 or so hours of 'Twilight Zone' episodes I've yet to see from that New Year's Day marathon? Maybe it's time to get rid of "Incubus", an odd little early 60s black and white horror cheapy in which an impossibly young William Shatner fights the forces of evil? I haven't quite finished watching it, and well, it -is- the only movie I know of whose dialogue is spoken entirely in Esperanto. I suppose I could sacrifice "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane"... What am I saying? I must have lost my mind.



Losing one's mind just now isn't too odd a circumstance. It's all the rage.  (Pun intended.) We are playing on a Mercury Retrograde game-board. And it's been cold, minus something or other (Fahrenheit) cold. Such weather used to be common around here, but these days the wailing and caterwauling when single digits appear is kind of unnerving. Wait till folks discover that we are supposed to, possibly, maybe, get a blizzard this evening. One of the delights of not having a car and relying on public transportation is that I now stock provisions for several days to a week at a time. It will be a pleasure to avoid the markets today. Except I just realized that I forgot to pick up breakfast supplies. I only started eating breakfast again recently, and I find that it suits me. I hadn't eaten it with any regularity since I was a teen. As I sit here typing, staring out the glass sliding doors to one of those clear blue skies, snow on the ground glowing with a decomposing nitrate film stock brightness, savaging a bowl of steel cut oatmeal (with maple sausage and maple syrup), I suddenly find myself in the house on Allen Street. It had been my grandfather's house, and at the time was owned by my Uncle Bob. He, Aunt Lorraine, my father, my brother, and I all lived there for most of the 1950's. I am in the dining room, sitting at table. This would be about 1956, so there would be "I Like Ike" buttons on the sideboard that sits in the bay window. I was about to push my spoon into a bowl of maple oatmeal, a new product called "Maypo". There had been ads on tv for it. I was entranced, snared by the wiles of Madison Avenue, and wanted to try it.



I asked many times if we could add it to our shopping list. Finally Aunt Lorraine relented, purchased a box, and prepared the heavenly sustenance. My hand trembling, I raised my spoon in anticipation of holy communion. And I hated it. I was forced to eat it, of course. Not just that bowl, the entire box. After all, children were starving in Europe. I didn't touch any form of oatmeal again for over forty years. Lesson learned. You can't, or shouldn't, always get what you want. Hmmm, that reminds me, the 50th anniversary of the Rolling Stones first appearance on Ed Sullivan will be this coming October. I'd better start clearing off the DVR...

Hyperbole

When exactly was it? How did it happen, I often wonder, that our language descended into such decadence that the only thing left for it is the phenomenon of 'semantic satiation'? Was it the advertising hucksters who threw adjectives against nouns with punny commercial abandon? Was it the politicians seeking to waltz already malleable truth? Understanding isn't really necessary, even when it is still possible. I suppose this rumination originated with posts on Facebook. Some people post wonderful, funny, fascinating things. Images, videos, articles, news stories, memes. There are many posting groups centered around themes, such as "classic movies", "cute cats and funny furry animals", "my sad tale of woe", "horrid Hollywood homicides", "liberal politics", "Obama is destroying our country", etc. Some of these groups make money for advertisers by delivering a targeted audience. Many times, links are posted to web pages which, of course, contain paid advertising. A 'linked' article may require one to page through, well, several "pages". Pages with advertising. And pop up windows with advertising, and buttons to "like  this" on Facebook, Twitter, or any of a half dozen or more other "social networks". "Liking" basically translates as, "this will cause your friends who use said service to see your name and picture recommending this post, and there is even room for you to make a comment! You will show everyone that you are just so cool and with it by sharing this interest. Or educate them in this topic. Our headline and a few sentences will stay. And, Oh!, we have ads for you, too!") Each page view is rewarded with some one thousandthmillionth something or other of a cent. Volume is money. Advertising brings volume. So, in Social Media Land one doesn't have a "cute cat pic", one has "The Funniest cat pic of all time! I laughed so hard I wet my pants!" A minor and slightly unfortunate happenstance is suddenly an "Utterly Huge Fail!!!". (The latter phrase always seems to be used by individuals who betray no irony in using that particular verb as a noun.) "The Most Incredible Thing Ever of All Time!" It's like an all news channel, constantly producing raised levels of stress.

 

 

I'm not an Obama fan, but these "memes" are visual hyperbole and very annoying.

This post was originally going to note that we are midway through the awards shows season, and compare those programs and their breathless reportage with the State of the Union address. Hyperbole being a seemingly necessary ingredient all around. At the moment, however, I've become overwhelmed by "the night that changed the world" and several variations of that phrase. The night referenced is this very evening (February 9th), exactly 50 years ago. In this case, there is no exaggeration.

At 8pm Eastern Standard Time that night, Marconi Mark IV television cameras began broadcasting from what was then known as the CBS 'Studio 50'. It had opened in 1927 as the 1,400 seat Hammerstein's Theater. At various times, it was known as the Manhattan Theater (twice!), Billy Rose's Music Hall, and served as a nightclub. In 1936 it became Radio Theater #3, and then the CBS Radio Playhouse. It was converted into a television studio in 1950. Shortly thereafter, it became the home of "Talk of the Town", which soon changed its name to what everyone was already calling it - the "Ed Sullivan Show". 

Studio 50, at 53rd and Broadway, was a busy place. The Honeymooners was broadcast from there for several years.
As were What's My Line, To Tell the Truth, Password, the Rogers and Hammerstein Cinderella, Kate and Allie, etc.

Sullivan had been a boxer who had segued into being a sports reporter for The New York Evening Graphic. When Walter Winchell left the paper for the Hearst syndicate, Sullivan took over as theatre critic and gossip columnist. He soon had the power to make and break careers using the El Morocco as his home base (Winchell used The Stork Club). As the era of café society began fading, CBS hired him to host a variety show. The show was a huge hit and quickly became required viewing in any home with a tv set. And then there was the night in 1956 when Elvis Presley was on. Close to 83 % of the US tv audience tuned in - over 60 million people. (If someone tells you that they saw that show, ask them about the look on Sullivan's face after seeing Elvis perform. If they describe it, they didn't see the show. Sullivan was sick that night and "Elvin Presley" was introduced by guest host Charles Laughton.) By the way, Elvis was not "cut off at the hips" on that broadcast. That didn't happen until his third appearance.

By 1960, the Sullivan show was so famous that it was used as a plot device in the Broadway musical "Bye Bye Birdie". There was even a song called, "Hymn for a Sunday Evening", which was in the sequence that aired on the Sullivan show (advance the video player to 6 minutes into this clip if you want to just see the number in question performed by Paul Lynde and the cast):



In 1963, Sullivan was traveling through Heathrow airport as the fans of a band returning from a tour went wild. He said it was 'like Elvis all over again'. He offered the band top dollar for a guest spot. The band's manager, Brian Epstein, said he would take far less money - as long as The Beatles got to appear on three consecutive shows, got top billing, and numbers at the beginning and end of each show. Their first appearance was 50 years ago this evening.

Sullivan wisely planned for the bedlam which would follow the Beatles opening segment, and had the second act, a card magician, prerecord his appearance. The third act was the cast of the London musical, "Oliver", which had just transferred to Broadway. While waiting to go on, they had cheered their countrymen from the wings. The teenager playing the Artful Dodger was so impressed by the Beatles' screaming fans that he decided that he would have to become a rock star. After his run in Oliver, he signed with Screen Gems, the tv arm of Columbia Pictures, appeared on a few tv shows, and recorded a record for their label.  He soon became famous as Davey Jones of the Monkees.

The Beatles' Sullivan shows were broadcast in black and white - the show didn't make the change to color until 1965. (1965 was the first year of widespread color broadcasts. In those days, CBS had its own color process, which was different from the other networks. NBC used the system and cameras developed by RCA, which happened to own NBC. ABC was still too poor to afford its own color cameras, so they leased from NBC. In one of those moments of true irony, when color recording was desired for use in the US space program, the RCA designed equipment ended up using the CBS system to accomplish that goal.)

There will be a big Grammy tie in celebration of the Beatles anniversary tonight at 8pm. It will take place in the Ed Sullivan Theater, formerly Studio 50. For the last may years it has been the home of the David Letterman show. I don't know if they will use the old black and white footage - if they do, you'll note that Paul and Ringo often look up - they were looking at the fans in the balcony, which has since been removed. It's a much smaller theater now - these days, they use less than 400 of the seats. When the theater was rehabbed to house hi-definition broadcasts a few years back, a little known passageway to CBS' Studio 52, around the corner on 54th street, was sealed up. That studio, by the by, became better known as the nightclub "Studio 54". The Sullivan show faded away in 1971, victim of an aging demographic and lack of interest in vaudeville style entertainments. And the Beatles? Well, if you don't know that part... just check Facebook tomorrow. There will be lots of posts about them and the show tonight, with headlines like "Greatest Night Ever!", "Colossal Grammy Fail - What Were They Thinking?" and etc.

Return of the prodigal

It was barely noticed. It happened about a week ago now. One of the survivors of an alleged golden age, Paramount Pictures (bought and sold a few times since its founding), quietly announced that they were no longer releasing their product on film. The age of celluloid is ending; it is now an analog to digital, but the age of 'analog' is dead too. It gets confusing.

Two weeks ago, I was quite touched to receive notification that Delores had posted here, noting that I was, more or less, missing in action, and hoping that I was okay. An immediate reply was called for, I headed towards a response... and got sidetracked. Every day. For two weeks.

Its' not like I haven't been busy. I haven't really, but I do always seem to be occupied with something or other, even though I can't always say what that something or other is or was. I do remember some of what I was doing around the time Delores wrote.

I rarely go to the movies anymore. It's not that I don't want to. They are just so damned expensive now. One of the movie theatres here in Brattleboro closed a little while back. To tell the truth, it wasn't much of a move theatre.

From Jerry Lewis Twin, to First Cinema, to the Kipling... 
a former manager (my friend Brayton who tried to save it)
stands in front of the closed theatre, since torn down
 to make way for a discount supermarket.

It started life as a Jerry Lewis twin. At one point it was owned by a vice-president at Warners, and the subject of lawsuits. It was a bit of fun as long as your entertainment didn't need to be the movie. It was from the days not so long ago when screens were put at the end of hallways, some seats thrown in, sound of dubious quality added, and Lo! the suckers were separated from their cash. Our other theatre, the Latchis, is one of the survivors of an age when there was a bit more showmanship involved in everything from the auditorium's architecture to the presentation of vaudeville entertainments with a movie. Since the Kipling closed, it has moved from a concentration of what used to be thought of as art house product to standard commercial releases. Not the standard commercial releases of its heyday. The Saturday afternoon serials and B pictures of those days are now the A product, the major releases. Most have little more substance than comic books. Glorious comic books, to be sure. The special effects are great. But most of the product is empty headed nonsense. Not that there is anything wrong with that. But as much as I like corn, I can't eat a steady diet of it. And I can't say that I'm all that enthused about seeing movies like "12 Years a Slave", which from what I heard borders on what has been termed "torture porn".

The Latchis main auditorium, its ceiling restored, with the first new seats since it opened in 1938.

The thing of it is, two weeks ago I went to the movies - twice. The first was at our local library to see Hitchcock's "Strangers on a Train", the start of an every other week film noir series. The host tapped to discuss the movies shown is a screenwriter who moved into the area a little while back. His main claim to fame is a co-author credit for the script of "Revenge of the Nerds".

Farley Granger and Robert Walker in "Strangers On A Train"
(If merry-go-rounds make you nervous, do not see this movie.)

A few days later, there was a special show at the Latchis of "Lawrence of Arabia" as a memorial to the late Peter O'Toole. I had mixed feelings about seeing it again. It's a wonderful movie, one I refuse to watch on tv. (So here's the trailer on an even smaller screen.) It really needs a big screen. A friend wanted to go and asked me to accompany him, otherwise I might have passed on it. I saw it when it was first released. I used to have a 16mm print which had been subtitled for the deaf. I always found it odd that it had the best sound of any 16mm print I ever owned.



I worked for Columbia (its releasing studio) when the 1989 restoration was done. That work started under studio honcho and filmmaker David Puttnam. His philosophy was to make only one or two big budget titles a year, with lots of little movies, all of which stood excellent chances at turning a profit. Of course they fired him - he had, after all, refused to make Ghostbusters 2. Dawn Steele was brought in to run the studio. She was famous for putting pictures of dollar bills on toilet paper. That's marketing, not filmmaking. She cancelled the restoration. In response, Martin Scorsese headed up a group of directors who forced a meeting in which it was very clearly stated that unless the project went forward, neither Columbia nor TriStar (sort of a sister studio - it's complicated) would ever release a picture from that group again. The work resumed. I saw the results in Boston in a 70mm print on a very, very large screen. I didn't want to disturb that memory. By the way, there was a special award for the restoration given at the next Academy Awards. It was accepted by Dawn Steele, who took all the credit for the project.

The reason I'm going on about all this is simple - both movies were presented via digital projection with their source material DVD's. Digital projection is okay, but it just isn't the same. The rich blacks of the film noir era in "Strangers on a Train" were mostly gray. And not very many shades of it, at that. (In those days, release prints had well over 20 shades of gray in them.) The image on Lawrence was a little less than it should have been as well. It wasn't helped by a problem the theatre has with one of its digital projectors which creates an image "artifact", looking sort of like the kind of streak created by dirty rollers and cheap chemicals in old style celluloid processing. The same streak, in the same place, was present in the new Hobbit movie over a month before. It amazes me that no one has seen to fixing it.

This week, I'll be running off to the library for the next title in the film noir series, "The Big Sleep". It's one of those projects where the story of the making of the film is as entertaining as the movie itself. Bogart, Bacall, a Raymond Chandler tale that makes no sense, a script partly written by William Faulkner...

Bacall : I don't like your manners.
Bogart:  I'm not crazy about yours. I didn't ask to see you. I don't mind if you don't like my manners, I don't like them myself. They are pretty bad. I grieve over them on long winter evenings...



It is really wonderful to be able to see these movies on a screen. When I was young, if you wanted to see something like this you studied the tv guide and probably stayed up late one night to catch it. I started collecting movies on 8mm and eventually 16mm just to have access to some titles. I worked in the revival and repertory business. Suddenly, in the 1980's, we were able to video tape movies off of tv on Beta and VHS. Then the studios released them in those formats, and laser discs, and DVDs. Now they are available online, streaming. The trailers and posters collectors spent years trying to track down can now be seen with a few taps on a touch screen. It's such a different world for movie buffs, for those who care. And luckily, here in Brattleboro, we have a library and a movie theatre which show them in public on occasions. No, it's not the same, but it will do.

to be continued...

(I hope)

 

P.S. Hi, Delores!

An Armistice Day Meditation

Once again I've been away from the blog for far too long. I don't know how I stay so busy, but I do. Perhaps part of the problem is spending time on' Fakebook', which is graphically oriented. A bit of text overwhelms the senses and one moves on quickly. I am rather visually oriented and get a kick out of all the graphics there. At least most of the time. Which means that there is something going on that is bothering me.

Back during this past summer, I metaphorically unplugged for a couple of weeks. At the time, I was starting a new course of medication for my rather painful skin condition. A medication with which I've had a fair amount of experience was involved. It has side effects; I gain weight and I become short tempered and angry. I warned everyone that I was going into a two week hibernation and that it would be best not to poke the bear. Of course, a couple of days in someone did. A Board member of the radio station insisted I change a Board decision or he would quit. I'd had enough of such games and I quit instead. I was the Board President, the Station Manager and the Program Director. I have to admit it was a good thing to do for my own sanity, but that is a story for another time. The break from the station, internet - and Fakebook - was, quite frankly, a little bit of wonderful. I had no intercourse with stupid posts which would raise my frustration level with my fellow human beings.

You see, I actually know people who rail against government programs, and who support and post the ravings of right wing provocateurs like Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh. They'd probably post the pithier comments of Ayn Rand except she is beyond their reading level. I've waited on these folks as a cashier in a local supermarket. They are conservative Christians. They utilize foodstamps. They live in subsidized housing. They have low paying jobs yet can afford payments on new cars. And they hate a "socialized" United States. They also give full support to the military.


The FB caption read "Don't forget our four legged veterans".

It was an oddity of U.S. history that Richard Nixon, who escalated the Vietnam War, proposed a volunteer army. Although a form of the draft (i.e. conscription) has returned in the necessity to register for "Selective Service", we've now had a volunteer army for forty years. We now have 'army families' in which generations of the otherwise economically challenged have gained employment in our standing armies.

When I unplugged, I watched a good bit of television. I quickly discovered that I had
stopped watching the shows I liked - I merely had them on as background music, paying attention at some moments, ignoring much of the program while I surfed graphics and read articles on the internet.

After a fight with Comcast over their/my bills, I didn't have tv service for over a year. I only recently returned to the fold. So I used my "unplugged" time to catch up on missed episodes of a few favorite shows. Watching shows, even without simultaneous internet grazing, is one thing. Realizing what I was watching was another. I discovered that I approach most television as disposable entertainment. I watch, I am entertained, I do not retain. In watching commercial cable channels (as opposed to subscription channels whose shows tend to be of higher quality) I began to notice a few trends. Most of the action type shows I used to watch had undergone interesting thematic changes.

Somewhere along the line I became a fan of NCIS. It is about a team of Navy investigators who delve into crimes involving those in military service. Their stories contained a mix of crimes; drugs, theft, romantic affairs, etc. Some episodes tackled "sensitive" topics - harassment of gays in the military, rape culture, the status of women in the services, etc. But there was a change over the last couple of years. It wasn't noticeable at first, but became inescapable with immersive viewing. Most of their story lines now revolved around terrorism - terrorists in war curtailing the rights of women, terrorists bombing military installations, terrorists attempting to harm the homeland, terrorists targeting our civilians. And our brave men and women responded by utilizing methods in which the corners of civil and human rights may be cut a little in order to preserve the greater good. Even the commercials had changed. There were now pitches which directly involved, and marketed to, military families. Financial services. Insurance. For our brave men and women, whom we honor.

This change wasn't reserved for just the two NCIS shows. Many of the detective/crime solving programs featured story lines which involved foiling terrorists here at home. Other shows just weren't as obsessed with such plotlines - but they were there. And so were the commercials.

News programming has also reflected what seems to be an obsession with our military. During the Bush years only the local channels would cover things like departure ceremonies for our National Guard being sent off to Iraq, Afghanistan and etc. Now even the networks spend a fair amount of time "honoring" our military families. It seems like it is impossible to watch a news program these days without someone giving thanks to our soldiers for their service. They also air the ads aimed at military families.

I find this all a little disturbing, particularly coming at a time when as a country we have more or less withdrawn from Iraq and are in the process of getting out of Afghanistan. At a time when a large portion of what had been the lower and middle portion of the middle class have been reduced to poverty levels, it's as though the corporations are pushing a military lifestyle. It is to be honored, to be envied. Patriotism. Service. Cue the Rousing Music and the Waving of flags. We are thankful. By the way, we now have an insurance program just for you.

I need to make it clear that I'm trying to keep my personal beliefs out of these observations and commentary. I am against conscription. I fail to understand why anyone should automatically owe a few years of their life to the government of a geographic area in which they were born. This includes the concept of non-military "national service". Armies are, in my view, a necessary evil. The world would be better off without standing armies. After the recent military exploits of my country, I have grave concerns about the "National Guard". The Guard, while a branch of the military services, was intended as a reserve to be called up in times of emergency. The idea is that the Guard serves only a couple of weeks per year to maintain training levels. They are not a professional army. Many Guard members joined for the financial help they received for college or vocational education. The Guard isn't really National - unless the Federal Government deems it necessary to take control, the Guard is supposed to be under the control of the various states. It was never intended to be used to fight foreign wars. That was supposed to be the job of the 'professional' army.

Today is Veterans Day. Originally, it was "Armistice Day", which celebrated the end of the War to End All Wars. In other words, a transition to Peace. Somewhere along the way it became a tribute to those who served in war. After the Second World War, it became a day to honor those who served or are serving in the militaries, period. (Memorial Day is a different day which honors those who gave their lives, or to be more precise had their lives taken from them, during our wars.)

Fakebook is awash in postings honoring the men (and sometimes, on rare occasions, honoring the women) who "serve". Everyone is dared to "repost" the particular images to PROVE that they also share in the honoring. This has been going on for awhile now as a regular matter of course. These "memes" (images with messages) appear as often as pictures of cute cats or extortions, oops I mean exhortations, to repost memes which pledge to welcome God and Jesus H. Christ into one's home. With Veteran's Day upon us, the normally sane are also partaking of this hero worship. Everyone, of every political persuasion, is posting some sort of Thanks to our Servicemen (servicemen more than women in the service).

 

Clipped from a Veteran's Day post on Homelessness. Right click and open in new window to enlarge.

        
Now look, I do honor and admire the people who go into the military. I also honor and admire the
people who don't, who go into any kind of service helping their fellow humans, and those who go to jail or who went to Canada rather than join in the Vietnam War, or any war, as well as the soldiers of the common people who fought for the 40 hour workday, who continue the fight for fairness, for feeding and housing those without, for healthcare for all and so forth. There are many kinds of war.

It's just that I can't help but feel that there is a confluence of phony honoring that goes beyond a trendy patriotism. When mixed with the marketability of a new class, the 'service families', I begin to wonder. When little suspensions of our Constitutionally protected rights are thrown in during entertainment programs as our military heroes save us from the terrorists, I become slightly concerned. When I see corporations pushing these ideas and images in news programming, I become moderately concerned. When I read news analysis which makes it clear how many of us have been reduced to poverty, I become alarmed with the juxtaposition of a proffered military employment opportunity. At the same time that these stories and advertisements become omnipresent,  news stories also appear telling of people (and Veterans!) whose homes have been swindled away by the banks over unpaid bills of little more than a hundred dollars. Food stamps assistance has been cut, and the bloodhounds are sniffing for more reductions. The current cuts will result in the corporate food stores getting Billions less in income. This will translate into higher prices and layoffs. The bloodhounds bark at the heels of Unemployment assistance, at Social Security, at healthcare. In the meantime, the corporations poison our food and water - and make certain that government inspection supposed to protect the populace is lax. There is a storm brewing as more and more of us become have nots. How long it will take until the storm hits, I don't know. But I begin to understand why I'm seeing so many images of the honored military, a new class to whom benefits flow, a professional military. No longer engaged overseas, they and the National Guard will be available to keep control at home.

 

 

Bless our Veterans, and give Thanks to those who serve.

My First

While I haven't given the matter a lot of thought, it has always seemed to me that as far as songs, movies, tv shows, and etc. go, people generally prefer the version they first encountered. This preference goes beyond nostalgia for the music and tv shows that were current during the years in which they came of age. It is as though their "first" became neurally imprinted as the version by which others are measured. For me, this is especially true of Vampires, Frankensteins, and Wolfmen.

When I was just a lad, television was still new. My formative years were spent in an unathletic and rather private family. I was neither encouraged or allowed to go outside to play. Any such activity could only occur after all school work and chores had been completed, and by that time, it was dark outside. I was not allowed out when it was dark. I spent a lot of time watching tv. Back then, to fill programming needs, it was common for tv stations to show old movies. Although I certainly wasn't aware of it at the time, those movies usually came from RKO, Universal, or Warner Brothers.

Aside from RKO's King Kong, and Warner Bros. Adventures of Robin Hood, my favorite movies were Universal's horror series. My initial encounter with their Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein provided something of an apotheosis, as it contained the holy trinity of Frankenstein, Dracula and the Wolfman. A 3 minute long condensation of it was the first 8mm movie I ever purchased. And Dracula was played by THE Dracula, Bela Lugosi. (Although Lugosi played many a vampire, this was the only other time he played the role in a movie. It was also his last big movie; the rest of his career being spent in grade Z cheapies.)

I got to thinking about all of this a week or so ago after the pay-extra-for-it cable channel Turner Classic Movies broadcast a beautifully restored print of the 1958 Hammer version of the story starring Christopher Lee as the Count. Although it was titled "Dracula" in England, here in the U.S. it was retitled "The Horror of Dracula". As much fun as that version is, Lee just isn't my Dracula. The Dracula story has many film adaptions, and any number of similar stories. But my first Dracula is, for me, still the best. And that is the 1931 Universal version I memorized from televison.

The 1931 version was more or less directed by silent film director Todd Browning, who would also direct the strange and fascinating Freaks. The production was plagued by problems from its inception as a silent film in the vein of the same studio's Hunchback of Notre Dame and The Phantom of the Opera, with Lon Chaney slated to star. Sound and the Depression arrived in Hollywood around the same time. Universal had already purchased rights to the Bram Stoker novel, but now needed a revised speaking script. They purchased a melodramatic stage version which had been a success in 1924 to be the basis of their new script. Depression budget constraints ruled out many of the studio's plans for the project. Lon Chaney, a good friend of Browning's, died from cancer. During the shoot, the usually meticulous Browning was often absent, leaving cinematographer Karl Freund to direct parts of the picture.

Young Bela Lugosi

Initially, neither the studio nor the director wanted Lugosi for the role of the Count. Lugosi was a Hungarian actor who had distinguished himself as an officer in the ski patrol on the Russian Front during WWI. Due to his work for an actor's union, he was forced to flee his homeland during the Hungarian Revolution. He eventually made his way to the US, and won the role of Dracula in that 1924 New York stage production. By the way, it was for that production that Dracula acquired his black cape. Along with a high collar, it enabled the Count to seem to "vanish" into the darkness onstage.

Lugosi's rhythms of speech in the role derived from the natural patterns of speech in his homeland. It is often said that this was due to his limited knowledge of English. At the time he won the stage role, he did learn part of it phonetically, but by the time the movie was made he was quite familiar with the English language.

So what is it about this particular version of Dracula? It's wonderfully atmospheric. There is almost no background music (early sound problems and budget constraints). The title cards are backed by a few bars from Swan Lake, which in this context has a sinister quality. A carriage careens along a mountain path and arrives at a village inn. Frightened women peer out of windows. When the coach's passenger insists on continuing on to the Borgo Pass, an old woman produces a cross for him to wear, "For your mother's sake".

 

 

Before long, we are introduced to the Count himself, slowly descending a castle's stone staircase with menacingly savory and quotable lines that continue for several scenes:

"I am Dracula. I bid you welcome."

(responding to wolves howling in the distance)
"Listen to them, children of the night. What music they make!"

"The blood is the life, Mr. Renfield."

"I never drink. Wine. "

Mist seems as ever present as dust and cobwebs. There is no explanation for the appearance of Dracula's wives - they just appear, floating, gliding, through a nightmare.

Lugosi's Dracula was not an ugly deformed monster, but a handsome nobleman. He approached his victims with a longing sensuality - and with repulsion for his own deeds. Maybe that's a bit of projection onto the character, but it fits and it works. He's a monster, but he's our monster - somehow, we slightly identify with him. I think that is partly due to Todd Browning, who spent many years working sideshows in circuses and carnivals. He knew a thing or two about outsiders.

After the action moves to London, things go downhill a bit and descend into Victorian melodrama. Nothing explicit is ever shown on screen, but there are still more than enough creepy moments to satisfy. There's Dwight Frye, who changes from an assured clerk insisting on going on to the Borgo Pass to a madman craving insects and rats for food.

 

There's Carfax Abbey. There's an incident with a mirror. And there is Dracula, stiff yet leonine. Angry, yet composed. Knowing, perhaps too knowing; "There are far worse things in life than death."

 

Lugosi's menace was so pronounced and memorable that years later Disney artists used his Dracula movements as a guide for drawing the demon Chernabog in the penultimate section of Fantasia.

 

 

Over the years there have been many Draculas. A personal favorite is Francis Ford Coppola's German Expressionist version, with Gary Oldman as a romantic hero of a Count. It works. I like it a lot. I like many of the screen vampires. I like vampire humor. In Roman Polanski's The Fearless Vampire Killers, our young hero (Polanksi) confronts a shetl's vampire innkeeper by brandishing a crucifix. The inkeep responds, "Oy, have you got the wrong vampie-ar!" Interview With a Vampire was a good read, and a good movie - but Brad Pitt would have been the better Lestat and Tom Cruise would have been better as Louis. In recent years we've had vampires that sparkle. And at the end of the month, a new tv series begins with Jonathan Rhys-Meyers as Dracula. That's all very well and good. Everybody has their Dracula. Mine, however, is the one and only. He was my first.

I never seem to get anything done anymore...

Yesterday, just after 12 noon, I made my way to the corner across the street. There is a faded gray green mail box there, the kind that the post office uses to drop off bundles for distribution by what the civil service exams used to call "clerk/carriers". Next to the mailbox is an old metal pole. In old pictures, it used to have a sign hanging from it that announced the Episcopal Church a few feet away. I leaned against the pole. I'm a leaner. In my mind's eye, I cut a dashing figure as I slouch against the pole, a world weary sophisticate primed for any danger which might arise. Breathing a sigh for no particular reason other than the fact that I could, I began searching Putney Road for signs of the bus I intended to take to the supermarket. As I breathed in I noticed it - that scent on the air. The leaves on the old sugar maples by the church have been turning orange for weeks. There it was, the scent of autumn. It's a bit early for it, but I wasn't surprised. It was simply an old friend who had arrived a little sooner than expected.

How has so much time gone by? It's been more than a month since I last posted anything here. There have been several things I'd intended to write about, pictures to share, whining in which I expected to indulge. Somehow, I've avoided it all. If I opened the blog in a web browser, the phone would ring, or a friend would stop by. Since I get few calls and almost no one visits, I should have seen these events as a sign, maybe called in a soothsayer. But no, I'd sit myself down, open the blog, click on "new", reach towards the keyboard - and catch the wafting scent of fresh coffee. Succumbing to the temptation, I'd go get coffee, notice that I'm almost out of sugar, realize that my memory isn't what it used to be and decide that I should start a shopping list. Now where did that little note pad get to? A half an hour later, frustrated that it wasn't in my coat pocket where I thought it was, I'd created quite a mess through my searching (it will have to wait until later to get cleaned up) and given up, using a piece of paper snatched from the printer to start the list. I noticed that the printer is almost out of paper, and opened the closet to get more. Something fell out on top of me, of course. When one lives in a tiny space, the only closet is so packed that Fibber McGee would turn green with envy. Well, at least gray green. After cleaning up the mess, as well as some of the mess from the note pad search, I sit down, reach for the keyboard and realize that I should take something for the headache I was developing. Then I remember that when I'd gotten coffee, I had taken out an aspirin but hadn't taken it - I'd left it sitting on the counter by the sink. Three steps later I have the pill, but find no clean glass at hand - or to be more precise, no clean glass that I wouldn't have to spend 5 minutes moving things in the cupboard to get to. I decide to wash the few waiting dishes. There are still dishes in the drain board; they need to be put away first. It would have been easier to spend the 5 minutes moving things around to get to the clean glasses. The dishes put away, I head back to my chair, sit, stretch my hands towards the keyboard and notice that I'd set the aspirin on it so I wouldn't forget it. Shaking my head in utter resignation, I go to get that glass of water. I still hadn't washed the dishes. As I take care of that chore, I notice that the sponge has gone past its prime and entered old age. I open the cupboard under the sink and have to move out the trash container to get to the box of cleaning supplies. The trash falls over. At least the dustpan is in the cupboard under the sink and within easy reach without the trash can's being there. The broom, however, is in the closet which houses the water heater. There is trash in front of it. A half an hour later, the trash cleaned up, bagged, taken to the cellar, I reach for what turns out to be the last of the trash bags. Better write that down, too. Now - where did I put that note paper? Several hours later, I reach for the keyboard again. I realize I'm too tired to write, it's dark out, I haven't eaten; I decide to go to bed. And so it has gone, every single day. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit, and yes, I making much of this up - more or less. It is typical, though. I can't tell you what I've done all day. If I said I'd puttered around I'd feel better about it. As it is, I feel like I've spent weeks in obsessive compulsive attention deficit hell. Today, however, has been different. I reached forward to the keyboard, and nothing stopped me. Except now, the scent of autumn wafts in through the balcony door, it's like an old friend arriving for a visit...

A little over a week (or was it two weeks?) ago the Savings and Loan held its annual free hamburger and hotdog customer appreciation lunch in front of its building on Main Street. It's the first time I've been able to go in years. As I bank at the S&L, I went. They owe me. It amuses me to no end that many of the people scarfing down the free feed are landlords, trust funders, and the wealthy.

See the guy just beyond the tent with the big moustache? That's the bank's current president, out there flipping burghers. He and his wife used to frequent my line when I was a cashier at the supermarket. Whenever I'm in the bank and he sees me, he waves even when he's in his office and in conference.

One of our local commercial radio stations was broadcasting live reports from the event. The well respected newsman saw me and announced to the world that I'd arrived at the Savings and Loan luncheon.

As I wander further along Main Street, I stop at my friend Wendy's cheese shop just to say hello. At least, I think I did. Maybe it was another day. Sometimes, when one is retired, things blend together.

A block further south I find myself in front of the local art museum. It used to be the local train station. Currently, the main exhibit is by artist Red Grooms whose work I enjoy. A couple of pieces are outside where they can be enjoyed by all.

I also stop at the radio station, mostly to peer out of the window at the scaffolding going up across the street around the Brooks House. Its been boarded up for well over two years now. The resurrection from the fire is finally about to begin.

 

The next day, two large signs were put up at high traffic locations just off Main Street. They aren't really signs per se, they are large chalkboards. Buckets of chalk are there, too. Your participation is requested:

It's a little hard to read, but how many times in one's life does one get to stand in a circle of awesomeness?

As many people will tell you, not very much happens in our little town. Sometimes I really like living here, even though I don't seem to get much done anymore.