Co-incidence in film choice; WFB R.I.P.
Last week I was at the Milwaukie library (formerly called the Ledding Library, for some reason) and decided I'd like to take home the DVD of Goldfinger again. While browsing further, I came across this relatively obscure Orson Welles film Mr. Arkadin from 1955. When I got home I put in Arkadin first and while studying the opening credits (I always like to look for eminent actors in small early performances) I saw none other than Gert Frobe! Yes, Auric Goldfinger himself. What did my unconscious mind know about that? Sadly the Arkadin disc they have at that library is pretty lame. Though it looks all nice and fancy in its box, "Special Edition" and all that, it turns out it is from Laserlight productions. They were well-known for super-cheap classical CDs back in the 1990s. So the transfer was rather poor, and there were next to no special features. There was however an unintentionally funny "introduction" featuring Tony Curtis. He specifically mentions Laserlight, so he must have made this just for them. Who knows how they managed that on their shoestring budget. He looks ridiculous with this weird old-fashioned white shirt and black gloves, surrounded by antique movie equipment. One would think he's getting ready to pilot a WWI bi-plane or something (where's his scarf?). He consistently mispronounces the name Arkadin, making it clear he hasn't seen the movie recently (if ever). Most of the "introduction" (I put scare quotes on it because it doesn't do the job) consists of him giving a thumbnail sketch bio of Orson Welles. Curtis awkwardly stumbles through it all as if he's reading off of cue cards with no rehearsal.
Goldfinger remains the best of the Bond extravaganzas. I have to qualify it that way, since I have sympathy for the minimalist fans who prefer Dr. No and From Russia With Love because they predate the over-the-top villains, silly gadgets and all. Among the more outrageously ambitious of the Bond films this is the prototype. Further I have to think John Barry's score is the best, though his music for On Her Majesty's Secret Service is pretty close. That film is often underrated because it was the sole film with George Lazenby as Bond and some think it was rather a flop because he never played the role again. In fact, as a film it's one of the best Bond installments, even though it isn't satisfying for star-watchers who want to see Connery or Moore.
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I was surprised at myself for how hard the death of William Buckley, Jr. hit me. Ever since I've been politically aware I've been on the opposite side of the spectrum from his position. Yet when I was in college and wanted to find out what "the enemy" was up to, National Review was usually the first choice of magazines I read. Back things up further: when I was in junior high school, the first writer whom I thought of "as a writer" was Rod Serling. No doubt this was because he appeared on TV as narrator of many of the shows he wrote. Like most people of my generation (and subsequent ones), being on TV generally equalled being "real." If Rod Serling was the first writer I thought of as real, Buckley had to be the first intellectual who seemed real. Here was someone on TV (PBS's Firing Line) who was not at all ashamed of parading his intelligence. From the big words. to the pseudo English accent, to the casual dropping of references to Augustinian philosophy as if everyone should know what he was talking about, he was so different from--well really from anyone else on the tube. Charlie Rose had a full hour special devoted to him, consisting mostly of clips from previous interviews. I realized that Buckley simply had a certain presence that others did not and do not have. Some speak of his various proteges: Paul Gigot, David Brooks, Garry Wills, et al. While those people might get some time on TV as talking heads for political discussion programs, none of them has even a tenth of the presence of Buckley. This is strange, because Buckley often stammered and spoke too quickly. His hair was rather messy, his tie half loosened, his coat not quite fitting snugly. It wasn't until I read Paul Fussell's book Class that I realized what that was all about: the people who come from old money almost take pride in a bit of slovenliness. They can dare to drive an old car, wear a sweater with frayed collar, etc. They know they have money, and they know that other people know they have money. It is the upwardly mobile middle class and the nouveau riche who are panicked about looking like a fashion plate all the time. Their worst fear is that people will not realize they have money.
As I became politically educated, I realized Buckley was on the other side from my native sympathies, but it doesn't surprise me that so many liberals (Galbraith, Schlesinger, and so on) were on friendly terms with him. Back when I lived in Phoenix he came to town to tape a special episode of Firing Line with himself playing harpsichord along with the Phoenix Symphony. He played badly, as he later admitted. Lots of missed notes and flubs. He was an amateur, after all. Still for his public embrace of classical music--whatever his politics--he scored (and scores) a lot of points with me. How many notable left-wing intellectuals are classical music lovers? I struggle to think of any.
I have to say that as a public figure Buckley is irreplaceable.
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P.S. The Girl in the Red Coat [Katie] cut my hair yesterday.
Goldfinger remains the best of the Bond extravaganzas. I have to qualify it that way, since I have sympathy for the minimalist fans who prefer Dr. No and From Russia With Love because they predate the over-the-top villains, silly gadgets and all. Among the more outrageously ambitious of the Bond films this is the prototype. Further I have to think John Barry's score is the best, though his music for On Her Majesty's Secret Service is pretty close. That film is often underrated because it was the sole film with George Lazenby as Bond and some think it was rather a flop because he never played the role again. In fact, as a film it's one of the best Bond installments, even though it isn't satisfying for star-watchers who want to see Connery or Moore.
--
I was surprised at myself for how hard the death of William Buckley, Jr. hit me. Ever since I've been politically aware I've been on the opposite side of the spectrum from his position. Yet when I was in college and wanted to find out what "the enemy" was up to, National Review was usually the first choice of magazines I read. Back things up further: when I was in junior high school, the first writer whom I thought of "as a writer" was Rod Serling. No doubt this was because he appeared on TV as narrator of many of the shows he wrote. Like most people of my generation (and subsequent ones), being on TV generally equalled being "real." If Rod Serling was the first writer I thought of as real, Buckley had to be the first intellectual who seemed real. Here was someone on TV (PBS's Firing Line) who was not at all ashamed of parading his intelligence. From the big words. to the pseudo English accent, to the casual dropping of references to Augustinian philosophy as if everyone should know what he was talking about, he was so different from--well really from anyone else on the tube. Charlie Rose had a full hour special devoted to him, consisting mostly of clips from previous interviews. I realized that Buckley simply had a certain presence that others did not and do not have. Some speak of his various proteges: Paul Gigot, David Brooks, Garry Wills, et al. While those people might get some time on TV as talking heads for political discussion programs, none of them has even a tenth of the presence of Buckley. This is strange, because Buckley often stammered and spoke too quickly. His hair was rather messy, his tie half loosened, his coat not quite fitting snugly. It wasn't until I read Paul Fussell's book Class that I realized what that was all about: the people who come from old money almost take pride in a bit of slovenliness. They can dare to drive an old car, wear a sweater with frayed collar, etc. They know they have money, and they know that other people know they have money. It is the upwardly mobile middle class and the nouveau riche who are panicked about looking like a fashion plate all the time. Their worst fear is that people will not realize they have money.
As I became politically educated, I realized Buckley was on the other side from my native sympathies, but it doesn't surprise me that so many liberals (Galbraith, Schlesinger, and so on) were on friendly terms with him. Back when I lived in Phoenix he came to town to tape a special episode of Firing Line with himself playing harpsichord along with the Phoenix Symphony. He played badly, as he later admitted. Lots of missed notes and flubs. He was an amateur, after all. Still for his public embrace of classical music--whatever his politics--he scored (and scores) a lot of points with me. How many notable left-wing intellectuals are classical music lovers? I struggle to think of any.
I have to say that as a public figure Buckley is irreplaceable.
---
P.S. The Girl in the Red Coat [Katie] cut my hair yesterday.