(no subject)
I don't know what the answer is and I don't know where to look
I can't find it on my radio, I ain't seen it in no book
So I'm looking under every single rock that I can find
'Cause I can't keep pretending that I'm blind
And if the answer lies beneath a mountain of who what where and why'ing
I'm gonna get out of this world or die trying
I'll probably die trying.
--Whoa Nellie, "Die Tryin'"
Happy birthday to bryant! Hopefully we'll be hoisting a glass at a convention or something some time this year.
So Thursday night I finally made a night of the big Mikio Naruse retrospective the Wexner Center has been showing, saw Flowing aka House of Geisha (the former's the title in the notes, the latter is the title in the subtitles) and Sound of the Mountain. Both from the 1950's, a lot of people compare his work to Ozu and Mizoguchi but he's much more clear-eyed or maybe I'm looking for the word "easily related-to". Cynical and materialistic, both of which I've heard used to describe his work, I think sell at least the movies I saw really, really short. Both movies are set in the then-present day and are about the working class and the stuck-in-the-dirt-without-hope-of-redemption poor.
I found it interesting to see House of Geisha after seeing that awful fucking Rob Marshall Geisha movie in theaters. It's the difference between Ken Russell's Whore and Garry Marshall's Pretty Woman. In the new movie, its attention to detail consists of showing us elaborate dance moves and wanting us to be dazzled by the beautiful kimonos and the beautiful women. Naruse's film shows us, very early on, a little girl of maybe 10 doing one of the dances and it holds on it and returns us to that image often enough that it starts cute and funny and ends being ineffably sad, a turn so complete that we think we've missed something at first and it's always been that way. The beautiful kimonos appear here but they're lived in and purchased with an eye to how much money they might help the wearer make, like a stripper buying a certain pair of panties for a particular clientele or a business man picking out the right Ralph Purple Label suit for the schmooze. The women are a little too old for the work, watching the job change to being either staid, stiff dancers or out-right prostitutes (it's implied that this has always been the case and the older women just act like they used to enjoy it more), or they're young and pretty but they're trapped and they know they're trapped. There's no forgiveness and there's no apology, and everyone just lives with the choices they've made.
Sound of the Mountain hurt more but also had the worst fucking translation I've ever seen. There were sequences where a character's response didn't make any sense, long stretches of exposition that I assume is trying to explain some idiomatic phrase or pun from the original Japanese. Once I got past that I thought the movie was a masterpiece of longing but that may have dulled my appreciation of the first half hour. Setsuko Hara is one of those actresses with whom it's impossible for a camera not to fall in love, like Catherine Deneuve or Giuletta Masina or Lauren Bacall. And by "camera" I mean, of course, "me". She's in this one as the shy, subservient wife of a hard drinking ladies' man, living with her in-laws. Her father-in-law is either taken with her or just regrets the way his son treats her. More than once he berates his son for never coming home, at one point culminating in the son saying "So you've never had an affair?" and the father responding only "Don't be flippant!" Again, it's just the way things are. I'd say were but I don't really think the scenario's unique to that time and place. Occasionally the son makes a move on the wife but she clings to her loyalty and devotion. The sex is never shown but it's pretty clearly loveless and not fueled in any part by her desire or his affection. By the time she has an abortion it's built up such a vibration of pain that I wanted to stare at a blank wall for hours afterward.
The kind of movies that throw your preconceptions up against the wall, and your faux-Buddhist, I love Japanese movies crap will not be the same. Trancendence isn't always a possibility in a person's life and his work acknowledges that. I'm really looking forward to seeing some more.
Friday night spent with the family as it was my Grandmother's birthday this week. You all know I love my parents and Grandmother. Also caught up on some television, one of my periodic binges since I no longer have cable.
Last night went to Barley's for mooning and getting tounge-tied by the beauty and charm of the bartenders, and a glass of that delicious and deliciously strong barleywine. Staggered up to the St. James, saw Sean tending bar, ran into the beautiful Brenda Arnold (I like anyone who responds to "I really like your coat, what's it made of?" with "Children.") and Carrie Zehala, their friend Heather, Matt and Lori Benz, pally Dave Gibbs, and the usual gang of lunatics. Wandered upstairs and caught most of Todd May's set. One of the absolute greatest fucking songwriters this town's ever had, if you missed the Lilybandits or The Fallow Valley Sinners, you need to ask somebody. I could have used more songs with the full band and fewer solo acoustic numbers just because it's impossible to hear if people are talking in that little room. And my friend Toby, for instance, I hadn't seen her or her roommate Steve since before Christmas so you know I was in the back talking. Boy it was great seeing that line-up with the front line of Todd stage right, Trent Arnold in the middle on bass and vocals and Theresa Fyffe stage left on fiddle, acoustic guitar and vocals. Did a bunch of great originals, a few covers like Gram Parson's "Sin City". Todd and Theresa both took leads and sounded great, the rest of the band was fine, and Trent -- in addition to being a fantastic bass player, one of the best harmony singers in town and a hell of a nice guy -- with this huge grin on his face filling in the middle. I hope this its the start of more playing out for Mr. May and company because he's been sorely missed. Missed my friends Keith and Chris' band Vena Cava but they had a great looking poster, Keith's Rauschenbergy combine thingamabob art hanging on the walls looked awesome, and they had a good sized crowd so they weren't wanting.
Rolled out with Dave Gibbs and Big Steve to the Treebar for some ill-advised shots and some well-chosen music. Got there just as Pete Cassani (Boston legend, once of the band The Peasants) was wrapping up his set, saw cutest married couple ever Jeff and Jen Clowdus, Amy Watson, her friend and friend's girlfriend, Paul Abbott and Sean Woosley just back from more recording. And caught most of Whoa Nellie doing their first full set since Comfest (I say most because Trent, the bassist, had already committed to play with Todd that night so they had the fallback guy who is actually really good and clearly really into the material). Risen from part of the ashes of the much-missed Sovines and augmented with Ukulele Man accompanist (and original Sovine) Pete English on drums and Bob Hite of Ukulele Man, X-Rated Cowboys, Hank McCoy and the Dead Ringers, etc. all having a ball. By being the only songwriter in the band, frontman Bob Starker's songs have stepped up to a whole new level and with the addition of a badass keyboard player he's been able to dust off material that never quite worked in his older bands and give it new life.
They walked in, set up, and immediately tore into "Everybody's Happy Now", a ferocious breakup song as done by the Cars, with Bob's country-flavored voice and Ed's semi-primitive Chuck Berry-by-way-of-Johnny Thunders guitar eating like acid through Hite's squarewave synth lines and some thick, fast bass and drums. "I got no regrets / I'm sorry / It turned out okay / And I think we both know / We're better off this way" and the narrator believes it and doesn't and the hook's as catchy as the lyric is fatalistic. Midway through the second song, Bob again pulls off that beautiful move of switching from rhythm guitar to saxophone in mid-verse and the band's right there behind her. By the long stretch of covers I was a little worn out but it was some beautiful, sweaty, hyper-literate rock and roll. How many people could introduce a song with the Platonic concept of beauty and have it rock like The Saints rolled in motor oil.
Sunday saw the reissue of the Passenger and having seen it twice? I think it's a better thriller than I gave it credit for before. Still my favorite Antonioni movie -- I think most of the guy's work is like watching the least sexy slide show in creation; I don't even like L'avventura -- and I actually think it's more tightly plotted than I originally thought. If anybody's seen it recently and wants to talk about it, particularly the ending, hit me up. I'd like to see what anyone else thinks but the couple of issues I have all hinge on key plot points.
Also saw The New World. I liked most of it, it did a fucking beautiful job of capturing the strangeness and the newness of exploration. And the enviroment as savior and destroyer. I thought Colin Farrell did a pretty stunning job as the Empire. He's called John Smith, but everyone's a metaphor in this, there aren't any people really. The poetic narration got a little heavy-handed at times, and it's about a half-hour too long, but I wish any science fiction or fantasy movie understood the thrill of discovery and the destructive temptation to make the world in your own image like this, or was even this beautifully weird at times. Some of the interaction with the native americans fit into older stereotypes but I always got the impression this was to subvert it and show that we're as strange to them. That could be wishful thinking or my wanting to think it's better than it is but I thought it was largely pretty wonderful.
Is it really only five? This is why I don't normally go straight to bed when I get home at 8:30. *Crack*. Off to another day at the salt mine.
Love to all of you.
I can't find it on my radio, I ain't seen it in no book
So I'm looking under every single rock that I can find
'Cause I can't keep pretending that I'm blind
And if the answer lies beneath a mountain of who what where and why'ing
I'm gonna get out of this world or die trying
I'll probably die trying.
--Whoa Nellie, "Die Tryin'"
Happy birthday to bryant! Hopefully we'll be hoisting a glass at a convention or something some time this year.
So Thursday night I finally made a night of the big Mikio Naruse retrospective the Wexner Center has been showing, saw Flowing aka House of Geisha (the former's the title in the notes, the latter is the title in the subtitles) and Sound of the Mountain. Both from the 1950's, a lot of people compare his work to Ozu and Mizoguchi but he's much more clear-eyed or maybe I'm looking for the word "easily related-to". Cynical and materialistic, both of which I've heard used to describe his work, I think sell at least the movies I saw really, really short. Both movies are set in the then-present day and are about the working class and the stuck-in-the-dirt-without-hope-of-redemption poor.
I found it interesting to see House of Geisha after seeing that awful fucking Rob Marshall Geisha movie in theaters. It's the difference between Ken Russell's Whore and Garry Marshall's Pretty Woman. In the new movie, its attention to detail consists of showing us elaborate dance moves and wanting us to be dazzled by the beautiful kimonos and the beautiful women. Naruse's film shows us, very early on, a little girl of maybe 10 doing one of the dances and it holds on it and returns us to that image often enough that it starts cute and funny and ends being ineffably sad, a turn so complete that we think we've missed something at first and it's always been that way. The beautiful kimonos appear here but they're lived in and purchased with an eye to how much money they might help the wearer make, like a stripper buying a certain pair of panties for a particular clientele or a business man picking out the right Ralph Purple Label suit for the schmooze. The women are a little too old for the work, watching the job change to being either staid, stiff dancers or out-right prostitutes (it's implied that this has always been the case and the older women just act like they used to enjoy it more), or they're young and pretty but they're trapped and they know they're trapped. There's no forgiveness and there's no apology, and everyone just lives with the choices they've made.
Sound of the Mountain hurt more but also had the worst fucking translation I've ever seen. There were sequences where a character's response didn't make any sense, long stretches of exposition that I assume is trying to explain some idiomatic phrase or pun from the original Japanese. Once I got past that I thought the movie was a masterpiece of longing but that may have dulled my appreciation of the first half hour. Setsuko Hara is one of those actresses with whom it's impossible for a camera not to fall in love, like Catherine Deneuve or Giuletta Masina or Lauren Bacall. And by "camera" I mean, of course, "me". She's in this one as the shy, subservient wife of a hard drinking ladies' man, living with her in-laws. Her father-in-law is either taken with her or just regrets the way his son treats her. More than once he berates his son for never coming home, at one point culminating in the son saying "So you've never had an affair?" and the father responding only "Don't be flippant!" Again, it's just the way things are. I'd say were but I don't really think the scenario's unique to that time and place. Occasionally the son makes a move on the wife but she clings to her loyalty and devotion. The sex is never shown but it's pretty clearly loveless and not fueled in any part by her desire or his affection. By the time she has an abortion it's built up such a vibration of pain that I wanted to stare at a blank wall for hours afterward.
The kind of movies that throw your preconceptions up against the wall, and your faux-Buddhist, I love Japanese movies crap will not be the same. Trancendence isn't always a possibility in a person's life and his work acknowledges that. I'm really looking forward to seeing some more.
Friday night spent with the family as it was my Grandmother's birthday this week. You all know I love my parents and Grandmother. Also caught up on some television, one of my periodic binges since I no longer have cable.
Last night went to Barley's for mooning and getting tounge-tied by the beauty and charm of the bartenders, and a glass of that delicious and deliciously strong barleywine. Staggered up to the St. James, saw Sean tending bar, ran into the beautiful Brenda Arnold (I like anyone who responds to "I really like your coat, what's it made of?" with "Children.") and Carrie Zehala, their friend Heather, Matt and Lori Benz, pally Dave Gibbs, and the usual gang of lunatics. Wandered upstairs and caught most of Todd May's set. One of the absolute greatest fucking songwriters this town's ever had, if you missed the Lilybandits or The Fallow Valley Sinners, you need to ask somebody. I could have used more songs with the full band and fewer solo acoustic numbers just because it's impossible to hear if people are talking in that little room. And my friend Toby, for instance, I hadn't seen her or her roommate Steve since before Christmas so you know I was in the back talking. Boy it was great seeing that line-up with the front line of Todd stage right, Trent Arnold in the middle on bass and vocals and Theresa Fyffe stage left on fiddle, acoustic guitar and vocals. Did a bunch of great originals, a few covers like Gram Parson's "Sin City". Todd and Theresa both took leads and sounded great, the rest of the band was fine, and Trent -- in addition to being a fantastic bass player, one of the best harmony singers in town and a hell of a nice guy -- with this huge grin on his face filling in the middle. I hope this its the start of more playing out for Mr. May and company because he's been sorely missed. Missed my friends Keith and Chris' band Vena Cava but they had a great looking poster, Keith's Rauschenbergy combine thingamabob art hanging on the walls looked awesome, and they had a good sized crowd so they weren't wanting.
Rolled out with Dave Gibbs and Big Steve to the Treebar for some ill-advised shots and some well-chosen music. Got there just as Pete Cassani (Boston legend, once of the band The Peasants) was wrapping up his set, saw cutest married couple ever Jeff and Jen Clowdus, Amy Watson, her friend and friend's girlfriend, Paul Abbott and Sean Woosley just back from more recording. And caught most of Whoa Nellie doing their first full set since Comfest (I say most because Trent, the bassist, had already committed to play with Todd that night so they had the fallback guy who is actually really good and clearly really into the material). Risen from part of the ashes of the much-missed Sovines and augmented with Ukulele Man accompanist (and original Sovine) Pete English on drums and Bob Hite of Ukulele Man, X-Rated Cowboys, Hank McCoy and the Dead Ringers, etc. all having a ball. By being the only songwriter in the band, frontman Bob Starker's songs have stepped up to a whole new level and with the addition of a badass keyboard player he's been able to dust off material that never quite worked in his older bands and give it new life.
They walked in, set up, and immediately tore into "Everybody's Happy Now", a ferocious breakup song as done by the Cars, with Bob's country-flavored voice and Ed's semi-primitive Chuck Berry-by-way-of-Johnny Thunders guitar eating like acid through Hite's squarewave synth lines and some thick, fast bass and drums. "I got no regrets / I'm sorry / It turned out okay / And I think we both know / We're better off this way" and the narrator believes it and doesn't and the hook's as catchy as the lyric is fatalistic. Midway through the second song, Bob again pulls off that beautiful move of switching from rhythm guitar to saxophone in mid-verse and the band's right there behind her. By the long stretch of covers I was a little worn out but it was some beautiful, sweaty, hyper-literate rock and roll. How many people could introduce a song with the Platonic concept of beauty and have it rock like The Saints rolled in motor oil.
Sunday saw the reissue of the Passenger and having seen it twice? I think it's a better thriller than I gave it credit for before. Still my favorite Antonioni movie -- I think most of the guy's work is like watching the least sexy slide show in creation; I don't even like L'avventura -- and I actually think it's more tightly plotted than I originally thought. If anybody's seen it recently and wants to talk about it, particularly the ending, hit me up. I'd like to see what anyone else thinks but the couple of issues I have all hinge on key plot points.
Also saw The New World. I liked most of it, it did a fucking beautiful job of capturing the strangeness and the newness of exploration. And the enviroment as savior and destroyer. I thought Colin Farrell did a pretty stunning job as the Empire. He's called John Smith, but everyone's a metaphor in this, there aren't any people really. The poetic narration got a little heavy-handed at times, and it's about a half-hour too long, but I wish any science fiction or fantasy movie understood the thrill of discovery and the destructive temptation to make the world in your own image like this, or was even this beautifully weird at times. Some of the interaction with the native americans fit into older stereotypes but I always got the impression this was to subvert it and show that we're as strange to them. That could be wishful thinking or my wanting to think it's better than it is but I thought it was largely pretty wonderful.
Is it really only five? This is why I don't normally go straight to bed when I get home at 8:30. *Crack*. Off to another day at the salt mine.
Love to all of you.