So I was talking with Son last night while we tried watching Polar Express. I say tried watching because we have this wonderful television-dvd combo that we got a number of years ago and the d*mn thing works like cr*p. Nearly every movie freezes up on us before we can get all the way through. I know it isn't the discs because those work on the computer. But the computer monitor is older than the television and night scenes are like - black.
But anyway, for some reason I was reminded of going to a cartoon festival way back in the 70s. Chris invited me, which I found odd at the time as Chris never struck me as a cartoon kind of guy.
We arrived early in Chris's new car. It was one of the earliest models to have automatic shut off of head lamps. Chris took special pains to leave his lights on. Then, while we stood in line, he waited for someone to notice. I was amazed at how long it took for anyone to notice. That is, until I realized that nearly everyone in line was a dead head drug user. Not the heavy duty stuff. I don't think. Not that night anyway. But a LOT of marijuana.
Time is running out. Chris is calculating there are only a few seconds left. Finally some guy sees the car and starts trying to get everyone's attention. But by the time he can, the automatic shut off has kicked in and the lights are off. He does one of the biggest double takes I have ever seen. Might have swore off the drugs after that. Probably not.
I remember a lot of what we saw, but only one title. What sticks out most vividly in my mind is that that night was the first time I ever smelled marijuana. We were sitting down near the front. I had the aisle seat. That way Chris had to sit next to the high guy. All of a sudden there is this - smell. Chris leans over to me.
Chris: Smell that?
Me: Yeah. What is that? Smells like someone lit the diaper pale on fire.
Chris: That's marijuna.
Me: You're kidding!
Chris: No. That's what it is.
Me: And people want to smoke that stuff? Why not just buy dirty diapers?
The auditorium was boisterous. That is putting it mildly. I was sitting there and wondering what I had gotten myself into. Then the first film began. LOW volume.
There were cries of "turn it up", but soon those were being replaced with "shut up, man". By the time the first cartoon was over it was quiet. At this point in time the projectionist turned up the volume. I was impressed.
The first film was simply a cartoon of some guy dancing across shapes and colors. Cool music. Bouncy. Then, at the end, the guy kind of fell off the world and floated. At this point someone from the middle of the auditorium calls out, "He's high, man!"
I enjoyed most of what we saw. There was the one with claymation. A couple of folk guitarists were in the mountains. Then, they began to transform into a rock band, playing psychadelic music. That one ended with the mountains turning into volcanoes.
Mostly the films were quite colorful. Chris explained to me that people on drugs really got into the bright colors and things. Helped them hallucinate or something. (I suppose you can tell I have never indulged. Too afraid of dying, or losing my brains. I had more than one friend die because of drugs.)
The only film title I remember is available on YouTube. It's a short, 1:30, animation. It's a classic. I called it up and showed Son, who knew of it, but had never seen it. Here it is. The one and only original:
And afterward we went and had pizza.
Showing posts with label Movies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Movies. Show all posts
Monday, December 7, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
Young and Childish Humor
We're watching Young Frankenstein as I write this post. It's a wonderfully funny movie I first started watching back in the fall of 1975 at the Varsity Theatre on the UofM Campus. The theatre is still there, but it looks like it's live shows now, instead of films. Back in the 1970s it was a dollar theatre. Saw lots of good movies there. I didn't actually attend the University, except to go to movies and eat pizza at the Green Mill in Dinkytown. Great pizza, but always busy.
Anyway, there is the scene very early in the film where Gene Wilder, in a fit of emotional frustration, stabs his leg with a scalpal. It reminded me of something Stephen did shortly after we graduated from high school.
Stephen was an artist. Mainly, he painted with oils, and he often purchased his supplies in bulk. It was ultimately cheaper and he spent less time running to the art stores. One of the things he purchased in bulk was paint. They came in soft plastic bags, like plasma.
Stephen had recently been hired at a leather and luggage retail outlet. Life was dull there. Everyone was so serious. He decided what they needed was a bit of humor to lighten things up. So, he tied a bag of red paint to his thigh, inside his pants. Then he went to work.
While at lunch a female co-worker sat down beside him. The lunchroom was small and there was only the one table. Stephen very casually withdrew a large syringe from his lunch box. He then proceded to stab his thigh and withdraw a full supply of red liquid. The girl screamed and ran out.
Stephen was fired on the spot.
I laughed when he told me and I laugh every time I think about it. Stephen probably suspected he might get into some trouble, but I doubt he realized he would be fired. Stephen often had trouble envisioning the consequences of his humor.
Once he nearly got us both arrested as pedaphiliacs. I was driving and he was sitting with his window down, bored to death. There was this young girl sitting at the curbside. Don't know what she was doing, but she was minding her own business. Stephen sees her and tells me to slow down. Dumb old me hasn't figured out what's about to happen and so I do. As we near the poor little girl Stephen sticks his head out the window and, in his best (worst) Peter Lorre voice says, "Want to go camping?"
He thought it would be funny to scare her. She was scared. She was also bright enough to get up and run into the house. Needless to say I not only burned all othe rubber off my tires getting away from there, but Stephen had to listen to my anger for the next two hours. When I got too tired to yell at him anymore I drove us to Chris's house and told him. Chris could stay angry at Stephen much longer than I could. And he was much better at yelling.
Poor Stephen. He just couldn't understand that some things just aren't funny.
But in my book, the paint and syringe thing was funny. I wouldn't have fired him.
Anyway, there is the scene very early in the film where Gene Wilder, in a fit of emotional frustration, stabs his leg with a scalpal. It reminded me of something Stephen did shortly after we graduated from high school.
Stephen was an artist. Mainly, he painted with oils, and he often purchased his supplies in bulk. It was ultimately cheaper and he spent less time running to the art stores. One of the things he purchased in bulk was paint. They came in soft plastic bags, like plasma.
Stephen had recently been hired at a leather and luggage retail outlet. Life was dull there. Everyone was so serious. He decided what they needed was a bit of humor to lighten things up. So, he tied a bag of red paint to his thigh, inside his pants. Then he went to work.
While at lunch a female co-worker sat down beside him. The lunchroom was small and there was only the one table. Stephen very casually withdrew a large syringe from his lunch box. He then proceded to stab his thigh and withdraw a full supply of red liquid. The girl screamed and ran out.
Stephen was fired on the spot.
I laughed when he told me and I laugh every time I think about it. Stephen probably suspected he might get into some trouble, but I doubt he realized he would be fired. Stephen often had trouble envisioning the consequences of his humor.
Once he nearly got us both arrested as pedaphiliacs. I was driving and he was sitting with his window down, bored to death. There was this young girl sitting at the curbside. Don't know what she was doing, but she was minding her own business. Stephen sees her and tells me to slow down. Dumb old me hasn't figured out what's about to happen and so I do. As we near the poor little girl Stephen sticks his head out the window and, in his best (worst) Peter Lorre voice says, "Want to go camping?"
He thought it would be funny to scare her. She was scared. She was also bright enough to get up and run into the house. Needless to say I not only burned all othe rubber off my tires getting away from there, but Stephen had to listen to my anger for the next two hours. When I got too tired to yell at him anymore I drove us to Chris's house and told him. Chris could stay angry at Stephen much longer than I could. And he was much better at yelling.
Poor Stephen. He just couldn't understand that some things just aren't funny.
But in my book, the paint and syringe thing was funny. I wouldn't have fired him.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Ostracized By Summer
We are having one frikkin' cold summer. Most people around here seem to be happy with it. On the television the news and weather crews keep talking about how 'wonderful' it has been. Wonderful? It's frikkin' cold! In July! We should be enduring temps bordering - and sometimes exceeding - 100 degrees. (That's about 38-39 for those you who measure in celsius.)
I guess I make a poor Minnesotan. Born and raised here, I hate cold weather. Even as a young person I seldom went outside in winter. Only when I had to. There was a person (who shall remain nameless) from my past who used to say, "I like winter better than summer. At least in winter you can put on more clothes. There's only so much you can take off." Well thank God for that!
Most Minnesotans complain about the heat in July and August and then b*tch about cold in December and January. Not me. I moan about the cold all year long and never complain about the heat. Even when it's too hot for me. It's such a rare commodity in this state. Of course, now that I'm incredibly fat I cannot tolerate heat at all anymore. But I won't complain. The heat didn't make me fat. I did that on my own. And when I wasn't fat I could tolerate anything.
Used to convince Stephen to play best-of-five sets in tennis when it was 101 degrees. That's how I know he had to have loved me. Stephen was not a hot weather person. He was the one who got me to go out into the snow. (The things we do for love.) But poor Stephen would just be melting in the heat while I sailed through point after point. Our most famous match came on a Saturday in August when it was 102 and not a cloud in the sky. I won in straight sets: 6-0; 6-0; 6-0. The only points Stephen won were my three double-faults. The final point was scored on his weak lob to the net. I rushed forward and smashed the ball to the court. Stephen wearily turned to fetch the ball. When he did I noticed him brush his shoulder. When we got to J's Pizza (a favorite hangout which still exists in Spring Lake Park this day) he had downed a couple of Pepsi Colas he confessed something.
Remember when you hit that last point?
Yeah.
Did you see me brush my shoulder?
Yeah.
Well, just as the ball went past me a bird flew over and sh*t on me. I thought it an appropriate end to the game.
It's been so cold around here I decided to put in a Christmas movie last night. Polar Express. Just out of spite. Of course, I fell asleep just as they reached the North Pole. I do that now when I watch movies at home. Fall asleep. I expect I could put in a movie ten minutes after getting a restful night's sleep and be out again before the thing is half through. I suppose it doesn't help that I watch television while laying in a bed.
No hot weather. Not a fun summer at all.
I guess I make a poor Minnesotan. Born and raised here, I hate cold weather. Even as a young person I seldom went outside in winter. Only when I had to. There was a person (who shall remain nameless) from my past who used to say, "I like winter better than summer. At least in winter you can put on more clothes. There's only so much you can take off." Well thank God for that!
Most Minnesotans complain about the heat in July and August and then b*tch about cold in December and January. Not me. I moan about the cold all year long and never complain about the heat. Even when it's too hot for me. It's such a rare commodity in this state. Of course, now that I'm incredibly fat I cannot tolerate heat at all anymore. But I won't complain. The heat didn't make me fat. I did that on my own. And when I wasn't fat I could tolerate anything.
Used to convince Stephen to play best-of-five sets in tennis when it was 101 degrees. That's how I know he had to have loved me. Stephen was not a hot weather person. He was the one who got me to go out into the snow. (The things we do for love.) But poor Stephen would just be melting in the heat while I sailed through point after point. Our most famous match came on a Saturday in August when it was 102 and not a cloud in the sky. I won in straight sets: 6-0; 6-0; 6-0. The only points Stephen won were my three double-faults. The final point was scored on his weak lob to the net. I rushed forward and smashed the ball to the court. Stephen wearily turned to fetch the ball. When he did I noticed him brush his shoulder. When we got to J's Pizza (a favorite hangout which still exists in Spring Lake Park this day) he had downed a couple of Pepsi Colas he confessed something.
Remember when you hit that last point?
Yeah.
Did you see me brush my shoulder?
Yeah.
Well, just as the ball went past me a bird flew over and sh*t on me. I thought it an appropriate end to the game.
It's been so cold around here I decided to put in a Christmas movie last night. Polar Express. Just out of spite. Of course, I fell asleep just as they reached the North Pole. I do that now when I watch movies at home. Fall asleep. I expect I could put in a movie ten minutes after getting a restful night's sleep and be out again before the thing is half through. I suppose it doesn't help that I watch television while laying in a bed.
No hot weather. Not a fun summer at all.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Movie Review
It's been quite a while since I've posted about a movie (I think). When I started this blog it had been my intent to regularly recommend films. Instead, I tend to drone on and on about my personal history.
Well, today I shall return to my film critique, and I shall do it with a film I had never meant to go see. Randy took me. Randy was very into "artsy" films. So was Stephen, but this was at a time when Stephen wasn't around, so Randy just took me.
The film is called, Dersu Uzala, written by Akira Kurusawa and based on a book written by Vladimir Arsenyev. Kursusawa also directed the film.
It's a Russian Film, made back in 1975. It stars Maksim Munzuk as Dersu Uzala, and Yuri Solomin as Captain Vladimir Arsenyev.
The blurb on the VHS box reads thus: This exhilarating film tells the story of the friendship between Vladimir Arsenyev, a well-known Soviet explorer, and his guide, Dersu Uzala. They share a primal understanding and mutual respect for the beauty of nature. Dersu Uzala has a very deep wisdom for nature and knows how to survive in the wilderness. But Dersu has grown old and his eyesight is failing. After ther perilous journey, Arsenyev implores him to live with his family in the city. But city ways do not make sense to dersu, and he must return to his home, the forest, forever. It's the story of man's unity with nature and of the struggle for survival in the vast and predatory wilderness.
It is a very low-action film, often omitting dialogue entirely. It follows the friendship from its inception to
its conclusion. We watch as two men discover a bond of love and friendship.
Like I said, I was not keen on going to the film the first time I saw it, but I found myself caught up in it and never noticed how long it is (142 minutes). I expect it is the film's closeness with nature, and the presence of simple friendship, based on nothing but friendship, which captured me. I purchased the film on VHS a number of years ago and will watch it every few months when I have a day alone. It's not the kind of movie Spouse likes at all, but I think Son is getting old enough to tolerate the lack of action.
The movie has no strong social statement to make, although modern civilization and city living are not presented in fair light. If you can rent this movie, or get it from a library, I think you will enjoy watching it.
I do.
Well, today I shall return to my film critique, and I shall do it with a film I had never meant to go see. Randy took me. Randy was very into "artsy" films. So was Stephen, but this was at a time when Stephen wasn't around, so Randy just took me.
The film is called, Dersu Uzala, written by Akira Kurusawa and based on a book written by Vladimir Arsenyev. Kursusawa also directed the film.
It's a Russian Film, made back in 1975. It stars Maksim Munzuk as Dersu Uzala, and Yuri Solomin as Captain Vladimir Arsenyev.
The blurb on the VHS box reads thus: This exhilarating film tells the story of the friendship between Vladimir Arsenyev, a well-known Soviet explorer, and his guide, Dersu Uzala. They share a primal understanding and mutual respect for the beauty of nature. Dersu Uzala has a very deep wisdom for nature and knows how to survive in the wilderness. But Dersu has grown old and his eyesight is failing. After ther perilous journey, Arsenyev implores him to live with his family in the city. But city ways do not make sense to dersu, and he must return to his home, the forest, forever. It's the story of man's unity with nature and of the struggle for survival in the vast and predatory wilderness.
It is a very low-action film, often omitting dialogue entirely. It follows the friendship from its inception to
its conclusion. We watch as two men discover a bond of love and friendship.Like I said, I was not keen on going to the film the first time I saw it, but I found myself caught up in it and never noticed how long it is (142 minutes). I expect it is the film's closeness with nature, and the presence of simple friendship, based on nothing but friendship, which captured me. I purchased the film on VHS a number of years ago and will watch it every few months when I have a day alone. It's not the kind of movie Spouse likes at all, but I think Son is getting old enough to tolerate the lack of action.
The movie has no strong social statement to make, although modern civilization and city living are not presented in fair light. If you can rent this movie, or get it from a library, I think you will enjoy watching it.
I do.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Movie Review
Rented some movies last night. Only 99-cents, so it wasn't a big deal. Three were cartoon episodes of Underdog, and two were classic movies from the late 50s and early 60s.
Last night we watched The Miracle Worker, starring Anne Bancroft and Patty Duke (in her first major movie role), made in 1962.
To those of my generation the story is familiar, and probably most, if not all, have even seen the film. It is the story of Helen Keller who, at the age of 19-months, developed a serious illness which left her blind and deaf. The movie is an account of how Annie Sullivan taught Helen how to use sign language and communicate with and understand the world around her.
It is a moving story, well-written and well-acted by all concerned. We see real people with real problems. There are no heroes or villains. Just people. Real people portrayed as real people with real failings, hopes, strengths, and weaknesses. Ultimately, it is a story of love and persistence, and the rewards which come from suffering through ordeals.
What makes the movie so much better is that it does not rely on special effects of any kind. True, I'm sure the entire film was done on a stage lot in California and not on location, but the background, the house, the things around the people are not the focus. The people are so compelling.
Although several characters walk through the story, five stand out. Helen and Annie, of course, and Helen's parents, played by Inga Swensen and Victor Jory. There is also an older brother to Helen, played by Andrew Prine. These characters demonstrate the love and problems which exist in nearly every family to some degree, and how adding a new element (Annie) can exacerbate these things to a fateful conclusion.
It is a movie worth watching, even if you are the action-adventure type. There's no political posturing, or overt social statement to make, compared to anything of the like made today.
Rent it, if you can. Or borrow it from your local library. It's only 106 minutes.
Last night we watched The Miracle Worker, starring Anne Bancroft and Patty Duke (in her first major movie role), made in 1962.
To those of my generation the story is familiar, and probably most, if not all, have even seen the film. It is the story of Helen Keller who, at the age of 19-months, developed a serious illness which left her blind and deaf. The movie is an account of how Annie Sullivan taught Helen how to use sign language and communicate with and understand the world around her.
It is a moving story, well-written and well-acted by all concerned. We see real people with real problems. There are no heroes or villains. Just people. Real people portrayed as real people with real failings, hopes, strengths, and weaknesses. Ultimately, it is a story of love and persistence, and the rewards which come from suffering through ordeals.
What makes the movie so much better is that it does not rely on special effects of any kind. True, I'm sure the entire film was done on a stage lot in California and not on location, but the background, the house, the things around the people are not the focus. The people are so compelling.
Although several characters walk through the story, five stand out. Helen and Annie, of course, and Helen's parents, played by Inga Swensen and Victor Jory. There is also an older brother to Helen, played by Andrew Prine. These characters demonstrate the love and problems which exist in nearly every family to some degree, and how adding a new element (Annie) can exacerbate these things to a fateful conclusion.
It is a movie worth watching, even if you are the action-adventure type. There's no political posturing, or overt social statement to make, compared to anything of the like made today.
Rent it, if you can. Or borrow it from your local library. It's only 106 minutes.
Friday, May 8, 2009
How to Spend a Summer Day
Yesterday's post reminded me of how young and stupid and silly Stephen, Randy, and myself were when we were young. Now that I'm no longer twenty-years-old I am no longer young and stupid and silly. (Replace "young" with "older".)
Before the Falcon had taken up residence in a field as home to a nest of hornets the car had been an important element in our film careers.
When it had still been Stephen's car the back window had shattered. No idea why. Stephen just came out one morning and it was cracked in about a million pieces. So he tapped out all the glass and drove without a rear glass. This became convenient for our filming. As I had indicated yesterday, Stephen didn't like to film from a script. He just wanted to go out and film. And since he and Randy were both fascinated with the city, often we drove into Minneapolis to do our filming.
We took turns filming and driving. Two would sit in the back leaning on the car's roof, their feet resting on the back seat. While driving along Hennepin Avenue once we were hailed by a pimp and his bodyguard driving a small convertible behind us. He wanted to know what we were up to and insisted Stephen film him. So Stephen did. For real. When we had the film developed and I saw he had actually filmed the guy I got annoyed.
Why did you film him?
I was afraid he's shoot me.
Yeah, but why did you film him? Why didn't you just pretend?
He would have got mad.
How would he ever know?
Oh. Yeah.
Another time we were stopped at a corner. There was this couple, around our age. Early twenties. He looked like a guy with no sense of humor. She was gorgeous. I had the camera, and I immediately focused it in on her. She bowed her head and smiled, coyly. Clearly she was enjoying the attention. The guy, however, was not pleased. Fortunately, I had Stephen at my elbow. Stephen engaged the guy in conversation, interrupting him every time he tried to speak to me.
That's mostly what Stephen and I filmed. Pretty girls. But only if they didn't mind. In all the time we filmed we never found a girl who minded. Randy wasn't so lucky.
Randy was not comfortable with women at all. He never married and I don't believe he even dated once. So when Stephen pressured him to film the girls he resisted. But finally, with Stephen driving and Randy taking his turn with the camera, Randy gave in.
Some of our favorite places to film were the city beaches. It was summer. Where else? Well, Stephen drives into the parking lot and is cruising toward the exit when we pass by this car with a woman and two young children. Randy had the camera up and on her as we drove by. She looked up and saw what he was doing. Randy, always polite, offered a greeting.
Hi!
F*ck off!
I nearly fell off the car laughing. Randy was humiliated. He wanted to quit filming, but Stephen said it was like falling off a horse. He needed to give it another go. So we drove by Lake Calhoun.
Lake Calhoun was a favorite for bicyclists. There were always a dozen or more out enjoying the weather. So Stephen took us down the scenic route where the bicyclists were in great numbers. Randy wanted to film the scenery, but Stephen b*tched back that he didn't want Randy wasting all the film.
I can still them in my mind. Four young women in bikinis biking toward us and waving. The first three greeted us with melodic hellos. The fourth gave us probably the most beautiful pose we could get. Stephen went crazy.
[S] Did you see that!
[B] Yes! Wow!
[S] Randy, did you get that?
[R] Yes. I think so.
[S] Great! Let's go get that developed right now.
We rushed to the nearest One Hour Photo lab and submitted our film. Then we paced for an hour while we waited. Retrieving our film we rushed back to Stephen's uncle's house. He was the only one we knew with a projector. We put the film in and saw the pimp, the beatiful girl on the corner, the woman who swore at Randy (that was funny to relive, even if there was no sound). Finally, we saw the scenic view which portended the four cyclists. Knowing what was coming, Stephen completely forgave Randy for his waste of valuable film.
We saw the trees waving. They went back and forth. Back and forth. Trees. More trees. More trees. MORE TREES. MORE TREES!
[S] Randy, where the f*ck are the girls?
[R] What girls?
[S/B] What girls? Are you out of your mind?
[R] I didn't see any girls.
[B] But you said you got them!
[R] I did! Those trees. I thought it was so majestic, the way they waved in the wind.
Stephen now used one of those phrases he generally reserved for me.
[S] You IDIOT!
Poor Randy. He refused to film ever again. I don't think Stephen minded.
Before the Falcon had taken up residence in a field as home to a nest of hornets the car had been an important element in our film careers.
When it had still been Stephen's car the back window had shattered. No idea why. Stephen just came out one morning and it was cracked in about a million pieces. So he tapped out all the glass and drove without a rear glass. This became convenient for our filming. As I had indicated yesterday, Stephen didn't like to film from a script. He just wanted to go out and film. And since he and Randy were both fascinated with the city, often we drove into Minneapolis to do our filming.
We took turns filming and driving. Two would sit in the back leaning on the car's roof, their feet resting on the back seat. While driving along Hennepin Avenue once we were hailed by a pimp and his bodyguard driving a small convertible behind us. He wanted to know what we were up to and insisted Stephen film him. So Stephen did. For real. When we had the film developed and I saw he had actually filmed the guy I got annoyed.
Why did you film him?
I was afraid he's shoot me.
Yeah, but why did you film him? Why didn't you just pretend?
He would have got mad.
How would he ever know?
Oh. Yeah.
Another time we were stopped at a corner. There was this couple, around our age. Early twenties. He looked like a guy with no sense of humor. She was gorgeous. I had the camera, and I immediately focused it in on her. She bowed her head and smiled, coyly. Clearly she was enjoying the attention. The guy, however, was not pleased. Fortunately, I had Stephen at my elbow. Stephen engaged the guy in conversation, interrupting him every time he tried to speak to me.
That's mostly what Stephen and I filmed. Pretty girls. But only if they didn't mind. In all the time we filmed we never found a girl who minded. Randy wasn't so lucky.
Randy was not comfortable with women at all. He never married and I don't believe he even dated once. So when Stephen pressured him to film the girls he resisted. But finally, with Stephen driving and Randy taking his turn with the camera, Randy gave in.
Some of our favorite places to film were the city beaches. It was summer. Where else? Well, Stephen drives into the parking lot and is cruising toward the exit when we pass by this car with a woman and two young children. Randy had the camera up and on her as we drove by. She looked up and saw what he was doing. Randy, always polite, offered a greeting.
Hi!
F*ck off!
I nearly fell off the car laughing. Randy was humiliated. He wanted to quit filming, but Stephen said it was like falling off a horse. He needed to give it another go. So we drove by Lake Calhoun.
Lake Calhoun was a favorite for bicyclists. There were always a dozen or more out enjoying the weather. So Stephen took us down the scenic route where the bicyclists were in great numbers. Randy wanted to film the scenery, but Stephen b*tched back that he didn't want Randy wasting all the film.
I can still them in my mind. Four young women in bikinis biking toward us and waving. The first three greeted us with melodic hellos. The fourth gave us probably the most beautiful pose we could get. Stephen went crazy.
[S] Did you see that!
[B] Yes! Wow!
[S] Randy, did you get that?
[R] Yes. I think so.
[S] Great! Let's go get that developed right now.
We rushed to the nearest One Hour Photo lab and submitted our film. Then we paced for an hour while we waited. Retrieving our film we rushed back to Stephen's uncle's house. He was the only one we knew with a projector. We put the film in and saw the pimp, the beatiful girl on the corner, the woman who swore at Randy (that was funny to relive, even if there was no sound). Finally, we saw the scenic view which portended the four cyclists. Knowing what was coming, Stephen completely forgave Randy for his waste of valuable film.
We saw the trees waving. They went back and forth. Back and forth. Trees. More trees. More trees. MORE TREES. MORE TREES!
[S] Randy, where the f*ck are the girls?
[R] What girls?
[S/B] What girls? Are you out of your mind?
[R] I didn't see any girls.
[B] But you said you got them!
[R] I did! Those trees. I thought it was so majestic, the way they waved in the wind.
Stephen now used one of those phrases he generally reserved for me.
[S] You IDIOT!
Poor Randy. He refused to film ever again. I don't think Stephen minded.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
My Career in Movies
Back in the 70s Stephen, Randy, and I would make super 8mm films. Stephen began it. He made friends with a pair of brothers who were doing that. He told me of a film they made based on an old gas station commercial in which it appeared people were driving without vehicles. The brothers did that on a dirt road, shooting one frame at a time and kicking up dust behind the people to simulate movement. They even included a wreck.
Stephen and one of the brothers teamed up to make what Stephen always felt was his crowning achievement in film: Fate. Randy was given a bit part in it, but he got killed right off. It was a snowmobile film in which a hunter mistakes Randy for a deer and shoots him. They put ketchup on his face. They only got about five seconds of film because Randy started laughing. The rest of the film was about Stephen trying to exact revenge. The musical score was the Theme From The Exorcist.
Well, after Fate, Stephen wanted to make more movies, and he included me. Unfortunately, Stephen's idea of making a movie was much like Paul McCartney's. He just wanted to take a camera and film whatever happened. Like Magical Mystery Tour, nothing ever did.
I wanted a script of some sort, but Stephen insisted that would stifle his creativity. (He starred in fate, but he didn't control the production.) In the end, I got him to compromise. Mainly because I had come up with an idea he thought was fantastic. We would do our own version of - The Flintstones.
My sister, Judayl, had once owned a Ford Falcon. She drove it thirty miles while it was overheating in order to bring it to Daddy d to fix. I remember her diving into the yard, the car gasping, and then shuddering, and finally going silent. Daddy went out, opened the hood, and declared it dead. Judayl sold it to Stephen for ten bucks.
Stephen's dad worked at a Ford dealership. He would bring home parts (I'm sure he paid for them [grin]) and together, he and Stephen put the car back together. Eventually, Stephen sold the car to Randy for $100. Randy eventually parked the car in a field because it had rusted out so bad he was afraid he would fall down on the road while driving. That was my plan.
We would take the car, kick out the bottom, and then tow it behind Randy's new car. Filming from the side, we would show the feet running and the arms hanging out the window. It would great. I thought so. So did Stephen. Even the stoic Randy considered it a good idea. All we had to do was get one more group on board and away we would go. Unfortunately, that group happened to be a nest of yellow-jackets which had taken up residence in the Falcon.
Using his superior intellect, Randy had already made one attempt at evicting the mighty stingers. Knowing that honey bees go docile in smoke, he decided to light a fire under the car. It was a brillliant idea. Lit up the entire sky when the car itself caught fire and burned. When we came to take the car for our film it was entirely burned out, except for one section at the right front fender. Guess where the hornets were nesting?
We tried various methods to get the hornets to depart, but none worked. Then, I offered a new suggestion. It had been my experience that hornets weren't that keen on rain. What if we flooded them out? So Randy got the hose and began showering the car with water. The hornets didn't like it and chased at us, but wouldn't come through the water. After a half hour or so, they left. The car was ours again.
I remember walking to the driver's door and looking inside. What had been a pile of dusty ashes on the seat was now a mess of sludge. Nobody wanted to sit in that. We had no ideas about the cleanup. Besides, we'd exhausted our day getting rid of the hornets. So, giving up all ideas of making a film, we went to Keno's Pizza and ate.
This was a fight to make any military historian proud. A tremendous battle of forces over a small piece of property. And after winning, walking away to let the vanquished return and lay claim to it once again. That's kind of how it works, isn't it?
The beauty of war.
I still feel bad for those hornets. That was their home.
NOTE: Before the Falcon died, I got to play the hero in Falcon Man. A film that would have been good had Stephen just relented and used a script. Alas, my film career came to an unhearalded early end. Sigh.
Autographs are ten dollare apiece.
Stephen and one of the brothers teamed up to make what Stephen always felt was his crowning achievement in film: Fate. Randy was given a bit part in it, but he got killed right off. It was a snowmobile film in which a hunter mistakes Randy for a deer and shoots him. They put ketchup on his face. They only got about five seconds of film because Randy started laughing. The rest of the film was about Stephen trying to exact revenge. The musical score was the Theme From The Exorcist.
Well, after Fate, Stephen wanted to make more movies, and he included me. Unfortunately, Stephen's idea of making a movie was much like Paul McCartney's. He just wanted to take a camera and film whatever happened. Like Magical Mystery Tour, nothing ever did.
I wanted a script of some sort, but Stephen insisted that would stifle his creativity. (He starred in fate, but he didn't control the production.) In the end, I got him to compromise. Mainly because I had come up with an idea he thought was fantastic. We would do our own version of - The Flintstones.
My sister, Judayl, had once owned a Ford Falcon. She drove it thirty miles while it was overheating in order to bring it to Daddy d to fix. I remember her diving into the yard, the car gasping, and then shuddering, and finally going silent. Daddy went out, opened the hood, and declared it dead. Judayl sold it to Stephen for ten bucks.
Stephen's dad worked at a Ford dealership. He would bring home parts (I'm sure he paid for them [grin]) and together, he and Stephen put the car back together. Eventually, Stephen sold the car to Randy for $100. Randy eventually parked the car in a field because it had rusted out so bad he was afraid he would fall down on the road while driving. That was my plan.
We would take the car, kick out the bottom, and then tow it behind Randy's new car. Filming from the side, we would show the feet running and the arms hanging out the window. It would great. I thought so. So did Stephen. Even the stoic Randy considered it a good idea. All we had to do was get one more group on board and away we would go. Unfortunately, that group happened to be a nest of yellow-jackets which had taken up residence in the Falcon.
Using his superior intellect, Randy had already made one attempt at evicting the mighty stingers. Knowing that honey bees go docile in smoke, he decided to light a fire under the car. It was a brillliant idea. Lit up the entire sky when the car itself caught fire and burned. When we came to take the car for our film it was entirely burned out, except for one section at the right front fender. Guess where the hornets were nesting?
We tried various methods to get the hornets to depart, but none worked. Then, I offered a new suggestion. It had been my experience that hornets weren't that keen on rain. What if we flooded them out? So Randy got the hose and began showering the car with water. The hornets didn't like it and chased at us, but wouldn't come through the water. After a half hour or so, they left. The car was ours again.
I remember walking to the driver's door and looking inside. What had been a pile of dusty ashes on the seat was now a mess of sludge. Nobody wanted to sit in that. We had no ideas about the cleanup. Besides, we'd exhausted our day getting rid of the hornets. So, giving up all ideas of making a film, we went to Keno's Pizza and ate.
This was a fight to make any military historian proud. A tremendous battle of forces over a small piece of property. And after winning, walking away to let the vanquished return and lay claim to it once again. That's kind of how it works, isn't it?
The beauty of war.
I still feel bad for those hornets. That was their home.
NOTE: Before the Falcon died, I got to play the hero in Falcon Man. A film that would have been good had Stephen just relented and used a script. Alas, my film career came to an unhearalded early end. Sigh.
Autographs are ten dollare apiece.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Goodbye, Mr Chips
I first saw this film back in the 1960s. Watched it on television with Lynahr and Judayl, who both insisted I wouldn't like it because it was neither adventure, fantasy, or cartoon.Their cynicism encouraged me to at least watch as long as I could - just to prove them wrong. What surprised me was that I DID prove them wrong. I liked the movie.
Back in those days you had to wait for one of the network stations, or the local station, to show a movie once it left the theatres. And Goodbye, Mr Chips had left the theatres long before I was born.
For those of you who might be unfamiliar with the film, it is a black and white production from 1939, starring Robert Donet and Greer Garson, also Greer Garson actually was only in it for a short time.
The back of the VHS case has this to say:
In 170, Charles Edward Chipping (Donat) becomes the new Latin master at Brookfield School, where he leads a rather lackluster life. On a walking tour of the Alps, he loses his way in a fog and encounters Katherine Bridges (Garson). When the two meet again in Vienna, they fall in love. Happiness and tragedy mold Chipping's rise from mere teacher to "Chips," the most beloved member of the faculty.
Adapted from James Hilton's best-selling novel, the film is both an intimate study of human nature and a nostaligic tribute to England's venerable public schools where generations of young men were instilled with the traditions of a world now but a memory.
Approximate Running Time: 1 hour 55 minutes.
Actually, the blurb is inaccurate in that Chipping does not get "lost" in the fog. He just has to quit walking because of the fog. (Or risk a mistep and fall to his death.)
It's a tender movie, despite it's quiet acknowledgement of certain cultural truths about gender and class (which we still stuggle with today, I must say). No time in recorded human history has been good for everyone. But this movie seems to suggest that perhaps the culture of that era had a lot of things over the way we do things now. If only we could merge the best of both and discard the worst of both.
If you enjoy history at all then give this movie a go. I bought it a good number of years ago (which is why I own a VHS and not a DVD version) and I watch it several times a year. It's one of those films which fills me with longing and tears for something I never knew.
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