Twelve movies

[One to four stars. Four sentences each. No spoilers.]

Festival (dir. Murray Lerner, 1967). Scenes fom the Newport Folk Festival, 1963 to 1966. The crowds are young, earnest, and almost entirely white. The greatest shares of screen time go to the big names: Joan Baez (relentless vibrato), Bob Dylan (wheezy harmonica and raggedy going-electric), and Peter, Paul, and Mary (guitars hoisted high in a choreographed gesture as songs end). The most exciting moments for me: Son House, Mississippi John Hurt, and Mississippi Fred McDowell, seen in truncated performances. ★★★★

The Window (dir. Ted Tetzlaff, 1949). A boy given to telling tall tales sees a murder through a apartment window — and no one, not even his father or his mother, believes him. Bobby Driscoll is brave and resourceful. Paul Stewart and Ruth Roman are the unsavory people one flight up. An unanswered question that hints at the sordidness upstairs: what was the victim doing in that apartment anyway? ★★★★

Beyond a Reasonable Doubt (dir. Fritz Lang, 1956). A newspaper editor opposed to capital punishment cooks up a scheme with his future son-in-law (Dana Andrews) to have said son-in-law convicted of murder on specious circumstantial evidence, after which all will be revealed. And things begin to go wrong. The bizarre plot — bizarre in a good way — is helped by the lack of chemistry between Andrews and Joan Fontaine. My favorite line: “That’s a weird, crazy idea, but maybe that’s the reason it intrigues me.” ★★★

Night Editor (dir. Henry Levin, 1946). A perfect B picture, with an atmospheric frame story — newspapermen in near darkness, smoking, playing cards, and listening to the editor’s tale — and a satisfying twist that joins the tale to its frame. William Gargan is credible as a cop who witnesses a murder that he cannot talk about, but Janis Carter, with her booze and ice pick (shades of Basic Instinct), steals the show. This movie, which was to be the first in a series, is based on a long-running radio serial that became the basis for a short-lived television series. I wish there had been more movies. ★★★★

Art and Craft (dir. Sam Cullman, Jennifer Grausman, and Mark Becker, 2014). A documentary about Mark Landis, a forger and self-styled philanthropist who travels to museums (on “philanthropic binges”) to donate his creations and share backstories of imaginary dead relations and their art collections. Landis, who looks like a ghostlier John Malkovich, works with the television on (often TCM), in a house that he shared and, one might say, still shares with his mother. In his self-knowledge and self-deprecation (and mental illness), Landis reminded me at many points of R. Crumb’s brother Charles. But Landis appears to be flourishing, filled with purpose and engaged in the world, making a wholly original life by means of imitation, and now by making original portraits from photographs. ★★★★

The Green Glove (dir. Rudolph Maté, 1952). Mix one part The Maltese Falcon to three or four parts The 39 Steps to get what happens here. Glenn Ford plays an ex-GI searching for a lost religious relic; George Macready is the Nazi collaborator after the same relic. The real treasure here is Geraldine Brooks, a smart, saucy partner to Ford — and it’s not surprising to learn that they had an affair while making this movie. I wonder if the dizzying footchase on mountains might have helped inspire the ending of North by Northwest. ★★★

Never Trust a Gambler (dir. Ralph Murphy, 1951). An ex-husband shows up at his ex-wife’s house, looking for a place to hide so that he won’t have to implicate his best friend and employer by testifying in a murder trial. When a lecherous cop barges in with a bottle in his pocket, complications ensue. Dane Clark and Cathy O’Donnell are credible as mismatched exes finding, at least for a while, common cause. With a great final sequence at the Los Angeles shipyards, wherever they are. ★★★★

Bunny Lake Is Missing (dir. Otto Preminger, 1965). I’ve now seen Carol Lynley in two films — Once You Kiss a Stranger. . . and this one. Yes, she was beautiful, or beyond beautiful, but she was also a eminently capable actress. Here, by turns fierce, fragile, desperate, and resolved, she plays a young mother whose daughter goes missing — but there’s some doubt about whether that daughter in fact exists. This exceedingly disturbing family romance also stars Keir Dullea and Laurence Olivier. ★★★★

Bombardier (dir. Richard Wallace, 1943). In childhood, Elaine watched this movie with friends again and again on Saturday afternoons — even singing along to “Song of the Bombardiers.” So we had to watch, and we were impressed by some edge-of-seat aerial sequences. But a wealth of acting talent (Pat O’Brien, Randolph Scott, Anne Shirley, Robert Ryan) is herein used for little more than propaganda. I suppose this movie could serve our president’s newfound cause of “patriotic education.” ★★

Cry of the City (dir. Robert Siodmak, 1948). Two guys from the same neighborhood: Marty Rome (Richard Conte), a cocky hood who slips through the hands of the law, and Lieutenant Candella (Victor Mature), determined to grab him back. The movie is surprisingly inert, as there seems to be nothing between Rome and Candella but mutual contempt. I liked the seedy streets, the all-night diner, and Mama Rome’s kitchen. The best scenes: Rome’s encounters with a crooked lawyer (Barry Kroeger) and a murderous masseuse (Hope Emerson). ★★

Coney Island (dir. Valentine Shevy, 1952). A perfect prelude to follow-up to Little Fugitive: Henry Morgan narrates a short documentary of a day and night at Coney Island. Crowds, a freak show, rides, and some remarkable abstractions made of lights in the dark. The real star of the movie: Albert Hague’s score, which to my ears suggests Gershwin and Poulenc. As a one-time regular at Coney Island, I can’t help realizing in retrospect how squalid it all was — all those bodies, all that sand, yuck. ★★★★

Nightmare Alley (dir. Edmund Goulding, 1947). A weird and wonderful film from William Lindsay Gresham’s weird and wonderful novel. Tyrone Power captures the clueless hubris of Stanton Carlisle, carny and aspiring showman. Joan Blondell, Coleen Gray, and Helen Walker are the women he takes or is taken by (and/or with). Ian Keith has a brilliant turn as a gentleman carny turned hapless alcoholic: watch his body language; when he collapses, he looks as if his body is missing a skeleton. The best scene: “Dory!” ★★★★

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Real leaders take risks, continued

They eschew protective coverings: masks, condoms, eclipse glasses.

A related post
Real leaders take risks

Real leaders take risks

Real leaders take risks: that appears to be the line with which Donald Trump*’s COVID infection is now being marketed to a gullible audience. “Real leaders” is of course just a step away from “real men.” It’s the language of toxic masculinity, inflated to executive proportions.

Real leaders do take risks, by making difficult choices and asking those they lead to do the same. Donald Trump*’s reckless disregard for human life should never be mistaken for the risk-taking of a genuine leader.

[Posted before Trump*’s Walter Reed drive-by with masked Secret Service agents in a hermetically sealed SUV. See this tweet quoting a former Secret Service agent.]

NPR, sheesh

Heard a few minutes ago, concerning events in Belarus:

“Several protestors were attacked by onlookers.”

Onlookers? If you’re attacking, you’re not looking on.

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Sean Conley, MD

“It came off that we were trying to hide something, which wasn’t necessarily true”: Sean Conley, MD.

Necessarily ?

MD = Medical Dissembler.

“Poor Moon”

I think I’d like it even if it weren’t a cover of a Canned Heat tune.


[The Green Child, “Poor Moon” (Alan Wilson).]

For the fanatics among us: Canned Heat released “Poor Moon” on July 15, 1969, one day before the Apollo 11 launch. The song borrows from Garfield Akers’s “Dough Roller Blues” (1930) and Charlie Patton’s “Jesus Is a Dying Bed Maker” (1930). See also Blind Willie Johnson’s “Jesus Make Up My Dying Bed” (1928).

The Green Child (Mikey Young and Raven Mahon) appear to take their name from a 1924 Herbert Read novel. So there’s almost a century’s worth of culture behind this cover.

Here’s the 1969 Canned Heat recording. As you can hear, the trippiness of The Green Child’s version is built into the original.

Harrison FTW

I caught a half-hour of the Lindsey Graham–Jamie Harrison debate tonight on C-SPAN. Harrison is an impressive candidate — a plainspoken truthteller. I can easily imagine him running for president in the not-distant future.

“Self-dealing malevolence”

“Self-dealing malevolence”: on CNN a few minutes ago, Walter Shaub, senior advisor to Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington, tossed off this charged, memorable phrase.

Shaub was characterizing Donald Trump*’s decision to hold a fundraising event knowing that he had been exposed to someone who had tested positive for COVID-19 and possibly having already tested positive himself. As Shaub added, the phrase applies to the Trump* presidency in its entirety.

Trump* really, literally, equals death.

[And if the “someone,” Hope Hicks, caught it from Trump, even more so. Note: “Not present at the [Amy Coney] Barrett events [last Saturday] was Ms. Hicks.”]

Today’s Saturday Stumper

Today’s Newsday Saturday Stumper, by Greg Johnson, made me remember a line from Thomas Campion: “I care not for these ladies.” I cared not for this puzzle, which I found exceedingly difficult and unjoyous. I kept going back to square one, literally, and did not finish, having erred with 1-A, seven letters, “Had principally.” The correct answer there (which I just didn’t see) would have helped me see the answer for 1-D, eight letters, “Bloke harvesting beetroot.” Huh? And speaking of “Huh?”: how about 6-D, five letters, “It’s planted in home gardens.” Huh?

Some clue-and-answer pairs I especially liked:

30-A, eight letters, “Unquestioning.” Looking up the answer (which I knew had to be right) helped me understand a line in the 1931 Dracula that has always baffled me. I thought the writers had made a mistake. But no.

32-A, nine letters, “Tourist trap?” I know a different variety. When I finally saw the answer, I was happy.

33-D, seven letters, “Surveyor's angular measure.” I thought the answer must be the name of a tool, something like a sextant, and I had it, but no, it’s not a tool. Life-long learning!

56-D, four letters, “Moving day instruction.” Terse, terse.

65-A, five letters, “Broken-off branches.” Clever.

A pair of answers that almost pair: 27-A, six letters, “Pat alternative” and 54-A, three letters, “First Family member, 50 years ago.” Weird.

And a clue to which I take exception: 36-A, seven letters, “Tablet smaller than a smartphone.” No.

No spoilers: answers, explanations, and a rebuttal are in the comments.

Sour apples

Elaine and I have long been fans of a nearby family-owned orchard. Its abundance has been the stuff blog posts are made of. But no more, not for us. When we drove to the orchard yesterday, we found to our surprise that every customer in the small shed that holds apples and produce was masked — that’s hardly the norm in downstate Illinois. The only people not wearing masks: the two people working. We stood around for a minute, thought about what to do, and walked out. Elaine left a comment on the orchard’s Facebook page. It was soon removed. She then posted about our experience to her Facebook readers, and I mailed the following note to the orchard today:

Dear friends,

For many years my wife and I have enjoyed apples, peaches, and everything else we’ve brought home from your orchard. Yesterday when we came by, we were surprised to see that everyone was wearing a mask — everyone but the two people working. And so we left. We cannot risk spending time at a business whose employees do not wear masks.

It puzzles me that you’ve deleted Elaine’s comment from your Facebook page. If you’re comfortable with a no-masks policy, why not let people know that no one needs to wear a mask at the orchard? If you’re not comfortable, then please, change your business practices. We’d be happy to come back if you do.

The icing on this crummy cake: one of the people working at the orchard is a retired science teacher. She always wears a mask. But she apparently has little influence on everyone else.

[“Such stuff / As dreams are made on”: William Shakespeare. “The stuff dreams are made of”: Sam Spade.]