“There’s no one ‘right’ way of making a science fiction movie; there’s no one way of making any kind of movie, really!” — Nicolas Roeg

It’s his birthday today.

When he died, I wrote a tribute for the Jan/Feb 2019 issue of Film Comment.

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“Yeah, and I’m buddies with Alfred.” — Eminem on Alfred Hitchcock

For Alfred Hitchcock’s birthday.

“It got silent, then all these voices said
‘Come follow me into the gates of Hell.’
I heard ’em yell ‘Welcome to the Norman Bates Motel!’
I ring the bell for service and I was greeted by his mother,
Covered in dry blood, head still dented from the shovel.
I said I need a room so I could try to get some rest.
She gave me the keys to the best suite and a bag of cess
And told me that’s just for starters, Satan’ll be in to see me later
To see if I’m interested in being partners.”
— Eminem, “Demon Inside” (1998)

That ^^ is from one of the first songs Eminem recorded with Dr. Dre. It didn’t end up making it onto Eminem’s first (official) album, The Slim Shady LP, and it remains unfinished and unreleased but it is the perfect way to start this post for Alfred Hitchcock’s birthday, a post about Eminem’s lifelong obsession with Hitchcock (he calls him “Uncle Alfred”) and Norman Bates, in particular.

If you listen even casually to Eminem you’ll hear references to Hitchcock everywhere. Even though “Demon Inside” didn’t make it onto the first album, “Role Model” did.

“I’m ’bout as normal as Norman Bates with deformative traits.
A premature birth that was four minutes late.
‘Mother, are you there? I love you!
I never meant to hit you over the head with that shovel!'”
— Eminem, “Role Model”

An isolated weirdo with violent thoughts and Mama issues? A demonic Mama’s boy? Not a stretch to figure out the connections. Norman is the perfect metaphor for him.

Or how about this.

“Don’t come close, don’t run, yo (run),
you can’t hide
We’re in the shadows of the room you got sentenced to
So leave the motel or no sperm cells, go into the doorway and get fucked.
Anyway, it’s Norman Bates.”
— Eminem and 50 Cent, “Norman Bates Motel” (2009)

In 2020, Eminem took the Hitchcock thing next level, using it as the organizing principle for not one, but two albums, Music to Be Murdered By (dropped in January 2020, just before Covid demolition-derbied into our lives) and Music to Be Murdered By, Side B (dropped in December 2020). These two massive albums – one of which was recorded entirely during 2020 lockdown – were inspired by Alfred Hitchcock’s 1958 spoken-word album Music to be Murdered By, which Dr. Dre somehow discovered and passed on to Eminem, knowing MM’s whole Hitchcock thing. At this point, Eminem drops the albums himself – with no advance press and/or warning. He barely does interviews. But suddenly: here they both were. He is a recluse and a workaholic: the pandemic didn’t halt his work ethic, an engrained habit, but I can’t help but feel he also knew how much everyone out there (his fans anyway) needed it. Needed something from him, if nothing else as a distraction. Entertainers can provide welcome distraction, it can be one of their most important roles, particularly in times of stress/trouble. 2020 was so bad, and he gave us two albums that year.

The cover art on the album was an imitation of the cover art of the original.

I can’t even express how happy this all made me.

Because Eminem is like Howard Hughes at this point, rarely seen, he basically dropped the first album via Twitter, saying: “Uncle Alfred and I have cooked something up.”

The album starts with a clip from Hitchcock’s original album, Uncle Alfred crooning in his “let’s all get deliciously scared” voice:

“How do you do? Ladies and gentlemen. My name is Alfred Hitchcock and this is Music To Be Murdered By. It is mood music in a jugular vein. So why don’t you relax? Lean back and enjoy yourself ….
Until the coroner comes.”

This is then followed by a horrifying clip of a woman screaming, accompanied by what sounds like a shovel hauling up dirt. Ominous. The first song on the album, “Premonition”, is a bragadocious “I’m the best and fuck the haters” song ending in a perfect cadence:

“Only way that you’re ahead of me’s alphabetically
‘Cause if you diss me I’m coming after you like the letter V.
Killing everything, play this tune, it’s your eulogy,
It’s your funeral, prepare to die.
This is music for you to be murdered by.”

Skipping ahead: A couple months after the first album dropped, the world shut down. Eminem performed a show in Dubai (in February, I think). He performed “Lose Yourself” at the Oscars and Salma Hayek spilled water on him backstage. After that, we went into lockdown, and Eminem was literally not seen – not once – for the whole entire year, until he showed up randomly in an SNL sketch in December 2020. Almost an entire year passed without one glimpse of him. (He did guest “spots” on a couple of people’s albums, contributing a verse to a song with Moon Man, with Jessie Reyez), but he was never SEEN. I thought, “Can someone do a welfare check on Marshall? Just for Proof of Life?” In a year when celebrities became so accessible to us we knew what the interiors of their houses look like, Eminem vanished even more completely. There was news though: In April, 2020, a man broke into Eminem’s house in the middle of the night. Eminem woke up and a person was standing over his bed. Eminem said, “Who are you?” The person said, “I am here to kill you.” !!! Eminem somehow defused the situation, and talked to the guy, keeping him calm. We still don’t really know how he did this or what was said, since Eminem has not once addressed it. Eminem led the guy out of the house, where the security detail – who had clearly been napping on the job – tackled the stalker. The guy was arrested. We only heard about all this when the news broke a month later. Eminem, to this day, has never spoken about it. Meanwhile, he was quietly sending food to the healthcare workers at Michigan hospitals, those who couldn’t (and wouldn’t) take breaks from the disaster unfolding. The only reason we know about THIS is because Detroit-area nurses and doctors were posting pictures to Instagram of the food and the notes from “Marshall Mathers”. He was also working on voting initiatives in Detroit, using his clout (quietly: again, none of this was publicized) to convince stadiums to open their doors to voting, so people could come – en masse – to cast their vote while ALSO social distancing.

There was rampant speculation this whole time that he was working on a second album, a part 2 of Music to Be Murdered By. In the fall, a couple of photos leaked, one of him in a hat with a bird on his shoulder that appeared to be from the same photo shoot for the cover of Music to Be Murdered By.

Also: black bird? Plus Hitchcock? People felt like something might be coming. There was then the aforementioned surprise SNL “appearance” in mid-December.

Right on schedule, if you had been sifting through all these tea leaves, Music to be Murdered By, Side B arrived a couple days after the SNL appearance. The fortune tellers had been right.

So let’s discuss.

The lead track of the Side B album is an extravaganza called “Alfred’s Theme”. It’s over 5 minutes long. It is … not a song you’d bump to in the club. Casual listeners would be like “wtf is this?” It’s not melodic, there’s no real beat, and … it isn’t really “about” anything, except for re-capping the strangeness of life in quarantine (including singing “Happy Birthday to you” as he washes his hands), as well as bragging and word play, just for the fun of it, all set to Charles Gounod’s “Funeral March of a Marionette” (the theme song of Alfred Hitchcock Presents). Eminem plus Gounod is a VERY strange mix on the one hand, but makes perfect sense on the other: Gounod’s song has a circus–y jangle to it, similar to Eminem’s use of dark-spooky-circus background tracks, which gives his work a mischievous sound, a sort of “I am tiptoeing up behind you with my Silver Hammer and about to yell BOO and bop you on the head” kind of sound. (See: “My Dad’s Gone Crazy”). “Alfred’s Theme” sounds like hip-hop as filtered through an organ-grinder in 1884. Hip-hop as played in a vaudeville theatre in 1911.

Early on he chants:

Yeah, and I’m buddies with Alfred, we about to
Disembowel them, gut ’em and scalp ’em, yeah.
This is ’bout to be the bloodiest outcome
‘Cause we gon’ make you bleed with every cut from this album.

The whole conceit – the whole “double”, as hip-hop heads call it – is that “murdered” means violent death and is also colloquial for a successful performance. “You MURDERED the crowd tonight.” There’s Nas’ famous dis to Jay-Z: “Em murdered you on your own shit” (in regards to the Jay-Z Eminem collaboration “Renegade”, technically Jay-Z’s song with Eminem providing a guest verse. People are still arguing to this day who “murdered” who on that track. In this context, Nas, a legend, saying “Em murdered you on your own shit” is brutal.)

Word on the Eminem-street is that “Alfred’s Theme” was supposed to be on the first album, but there were extremely complicated rights issues to maneuver, and this held up the process. This is a strange thing when you consider “Funeral March for a Marionette” was written in 1872. Who the hell is going to put up a fuss if Eminem samples it? Regardless: it was all sorted out, so Eminem led off with “Alfred’s Theme”.

A couple months after the second album dropped, a video was released for “Alfred’s Theme”. There is so much to discuss. It’s a “lyric video”, as they say, where the words appear alongside the images. The visuals are the thing here: the video is Saul Bass-inspired animation, a perfect choice considering all of the memorable Saul Bass opening credits Hitchcock used in his films. Even more fun, the video is crammed with references to Hitchcock’s movies as well as deep cuts from Hitchcock’s TV show.

Here are the references I clocked:

Psycho
Rear Window
The Birds
Notorious (the binoculars with mirror-like glass)
The 39 Steps
Vertigo
The Sorcerer’s Apprentice
I may be reading too much into it, but I think there’s a ref to an episode from his TV show: “Glass Eye”
Young and Innocent (a super deep cut)
Plus there are dancing skeletons.

I’m probably missing some! Let me know if you clock any others.

This Eminem/Hitchcock thing was so much fun, in a year (2020) where fun was hard to come by. And I found it disheartening on another level: This rich detailed nerdy 30-track double album – inspired by Alfred Hitchcock – came out and… crickets from film critics.

I wrote about it on my site and Tweeted about it. I was the only one. I pitched a piece about all these connections to Film Comment, for my column (RIP), and they were intrigued, but then Film Comment shut its doors in the late spring of 2020. Rolling Stone published a snooty review of one of the albums – or maybe it was just an essay, I don’t know – but it sounded like it was written by one of the “pick a little talk a little” ladies in The Music Man, horrified that the librarian “advocates dirty books”. It’s so strange to hear a pass-the-smelling-salts tone in Rolling Stone for God’s sake, written by someone who isn’t 75 years old. From one of the comments made in the review, the critic clearly did not know of the existence of Kamikaze, Eminem’s 2018 album, released right on the heels of his – unfairly scorned – album Revival. Inexcusable. After being bombarded with reader complaints, a correction was appended to the review. How can you write on Eminem if you don’t even know his discography? The reviewer led with a disapproving tone, fact-checking one of the lines from “Gnat”, where Eminem joked about all of the adjustments everyone has had to make during lockdown. The reviewer corrected Eminem’s joke about getting Covid from a bat-bite, and accused Eminem of spreading harmful conspiracy theories. Since the reviewer was clearly not familiar with Eminem’s work, I suppose he missed Eminem’s guest spot earlier that year on Moon Man’s song “The Adventures of Moon Man and Slim Shady” which started with:

Fuck’s going on, man?
Bunch of half-wits up in office.
Half of us walking around like a zombie apocalypse.
Other half are just pissed off and
Don’t wanna wear a mask
and they’re just scoffing.
And that’s how you end up catching the shit off ’em
I just used the same basket as you shopping.
Now I’m in a fuckin’ casket from you coughin’.

It was so irritating to read a review where the critic spent half the time pompously correcting Eminem’s “incorrect” information about Covid (complete with links to CDC pages), when CLEARLY what Eminem was doing – Eminem, the only artist I am aware of who received a visit from the FBI, wanting to ascertain whether or not Eminem’s public rage at Trump posed a serious threat – was lampooning Trump’s campaign of misinformation. The reviewer also mentioned the “disturbing” image in the “Gnat” video of Eminem coughing into the camera. My God, guy, haven’t you heard of irony and satire? Or, at the very least, lightening the mood in a universally serious and scary time? Why is a critic for Rolling Stone scolding an artist for being “disturbing”? Are you familiar with rock ‘n’ roll at ALL? You think the Sex Pistols or Jerry Lee Lewis or Little Richard WEREN’T “disturbing”? Disturbing the complacent status quo is how rock ‘n’ roll was born.

Considering this young critic’s attitude, maybe writing for Good Housekeeping would be a more appropriate gig.

At this point, Eminem doesn’t need accolades or critical approval. Both albums were on the top-selling albums lists of 2020 (and the usual suspects huffed and puffed in indignation because no one THEY knew listened to Eminem. “Nobody listens to Eminem” someone said with a straight “face” on Twitter.)

So this is my post about Eminem’s use of Alfred Hitchcock as an inspiration.

You’d have to tiptoe into Eminem’s body of work in order to perceive the overlap between the two. Here, off the top of the dome, are the connections, explicit, implicit:

— Hitchcock’s glee at making people squirm in their seats, his joy at causing fear in others
— the catharsis Hitchcock felt from expressing his own inner nightmarescape, sharing what terrified him in the hopes others will share the terror
— Hitchcock’s innovations in what was already a well-established genre
— Hitchcock’s creation of characters who have entered the cultural lexicon as a kind of shorthand (can you say “Stan”? “Stan” is cousin to “Norman”)
— Hitchcock’s films are frightening, but they are also unapologetically popular entertainments. Hitchcock wasn’t going for a niche audience. He was going for everyone.
— Hitchcock suffered from anxiety, dating back to his childhood. He remembered every trauma.
— Hitchcock was 1. an exhibitionist and 2. socially awkward. An anxiety-provoking combo.
— Hitchcock was a one-woman man. Maybe not a HAPPY one-woman man, but a one-woman man nonetheless.
— Hitchcock was a devoted father, and he often included his daughter in his work.
— Hitchcock was one of the most successful artists of his day, racking up an awe-inspiring number of awards.
— Hitchcock was celebrated in his own time and ours. He directed hits. But in the critical world, this is often a strike against you. You’re a “hack” if you’re too popular. (The French took Hitchcock very seriously indeed.) Critical consensus often celebrates not the serious, but the SELF-serious – and wanting to be entertaining is seen as low-brow.

Lots of overlap.

“You’re all hitched to my cock.”
— Eminem, “Alfred’s Theme”

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“I like myself poems that are gentle rather than arrogant intellectually. Where language fades into cries or whispers.” — Medbh McGuckian

“Hate those two words together, they are so unwomanly and unpoetic together they cancel each other out. ‘Poet’ I don’t like or ‘woman’ or ‘man’ none of these words although I have had to use them. ‘Female’ not much better. ‘Poetess’ actually I like the sound.” — Medbh McGuckian on being called a “woman poet”.

Born in Belfast on this day in 1950, poet Medbh McGuckian studied with Seamus Heaney at Queen’s College, and met other Northern Irish poets like Paul Muldoon (post on him here) and Ciarán Carson (post on him here) while there. She had already decided to be a poet during her time in a convent school, and she began to publish things here and there in the mid- to late 70s. A harsh time in Belfast. Her poems do not directly address the violence of Northern Ireland. Her concerns are personal. As the quote above from her expresses, she felt she was in a no-win situation from birth: a typical response to being born Catholic in Belfast, but there is the added level of womanhood. She is eloquent on the role of Irish women in Irish society, and the society of literature, where they are often ignored or, in a way worse, put on a pedestal.

Her voice is an important antidote. She writes about families and love and childbirth and mothers and daughters. These are not “women’s concerns”. Does not Seamus Heaney write about his father? His childhood? Does not James Joyce write about his wife in every damn thing he ever wrote? Why is it different when he does it? The fact of the matter is it is NOT different, but it seems different, “lesser”, when a woman does it – at least to men looking on. McGuckian, standing in a very male tradition, writes from the center of that tension. She is highly aware of the “other”-ness of female experience, specifically Irish female experience. She feels that womanhood itself has been pathologized in Ireland. The only safe role for women historically has been “beasts of burden”. If the Irish woman shows some spunk or intelligence, or even a desire for love, if she is in any way unruly, she is feared and scorned or thrown into a Magdalene Laundry. These fears are real.

“I know being a woman for me for a long time was being less, being excluded, being somehow cheap, being inferior, being sub. I associated being a woman with being a Catholic and being Irish with being from the North, and all of these things being not what you wanted to be. If you were a woman, it would have been better to be a man; if you were Catholic, it would have been a lot easier to be Protestant; if you were from the North, it was much easier to be from the South; if you were Irish, it was much easier to be English. So it was like everything that I was was wrong; everything that I was was hard, difficult, and a punishment.”

Eavan Boland opened the space for other “women poets” (yuk, hate the term). She widened the spectrum of what “could be talked about” in poetry (and she continues to do so). All the “big guys” of Northern Ireland (Muldoon, Heaney, Carson) recognized McGuckian’s gifts. She lives in Belfast still. She teaches there. She has four children, and a busy life.

Her first poetry collection came out in 1982. She has won many prizes and awards.

On Ballycastle Beach is the name of her 1995 collection and I’ll post the title poem today. Her images are startling and disturbing, and you can feel her circling around her own private library of associations, working something out in the verse. She has said she often writes a cluster of poems on one particular topic, and then realizes later only one of them is THE poem.

Calvien Bedient called her “easily the most white-hot Irish poet since Yeats.” Comparisons are unavoidable (especially in Irish literature). Every Irish poet has to deal with the giant of Yeats. I suppose it is better to be compared to Yeats than to NOT be compared to him, but the tension of influence and history is part of what McGuckian’s poems are all about, with the special knowledge that being a woman throws the whole situation off even further.

On Ballycastle Beach

If I found you wandering round the edge
Of a French-born sea, when children
Should be taken in by their parents,
I would read these words to you,
Like a ship coming in to harbour,
As meaningless and full of meaning
As the homeless flow of life
From room to homesick room.

The words and you would fall asleep,
Sheltering just beyond my reach
In a city that has vanished to regain
Its language. My words are traps
Through which you pick your way
From a damp March to an April date,
Or a mid-August misstep; until enough winter
Makes you throw your watch, the heartbeat
Of everyone present, out into the snow.

My forbidden squares and your small circles
Were a book that formed within you
In some pocket, so permanently distended,
That what does not face north, faces east,
Your hand, dark as a cedar lane by nature.
Grows more and more tired of the skidding light,
The hunched-up waves, and all the wet clothing,
Toys and treasures of a late summer house.

Even the Atlantic has begun its breakdown
Like a heavy mask thinned out scene after scene
In a more protected time – like one who has
Gradually, unnoticed, lengthened her pre-wedding
Dress. But, staring at the old escape and release
Of the water’s speech, faithless to the end,
Your voice was the longest I heard in my mind,
Although I had forgotten there could be such light.

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“One day I hope I can write happier poems, but most of the things I think about aren’t very cheerful.” — poet Philip Larkin

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, one doesn’t STUDY poets! You READ them and think, That’s marvelous, how is it done, could I do it? and that’s how you learn. At the end of it you can’t say, That’s Yeats, that’s Auden, because they’ve gone, they’re like a scaffolding that’s been taken down. Thomas was a dead end. What effects? Yeats and Auden, the management of lines, the formal distancing of emotion. Hardy, well … not to be afraid of the obvious. All those wonderful dicta about poetry – ‘the poet should touch our hearts by showing his own,’ ‘the poet takes note of nothing that he cannot feel,’ ‘the emotion of all the ages and the thought of his own’ – Hardy knew what it was all about.” — Philip Larkin, Paris Review interview

It’s Philip Larkin’s birthday. Born in 1922.

This is a bit of a repeat of what I wrote below, mainly because the main post I wrote years ago and I am just updating some thoughts: He wasn’t on my high school curriculum, and – for me – if someone wasn’t on my high school curriculum then I had to discover them myself. Which took years. Larkin came up a lot in Christopher Hitchens’ writing, and the first poem of his I read was “This Be the Verse”, probably the best way in. I was maybe in my early ’30s. The poem is so colloquial and it gives you an idea of him – correct in some ways but a blind alley in others. Some of his other poems are so deeply sad, so pessimistic, so haunted by death… that (to be honest) you wonder how he was able to bear life at all. (Apparently, he was an alcoholic.) I think Ernie Hilbert featured him in his poetry newsletter (which I subscribed to back in the late ’90s/early aughts).

A couple years back, in my ongoing lifelong project to fill in blanks and introduce myself to writers I have heard of but know nothing about, I decided “Hey, let me fill in the blank on Larkin!” I bought his collected works, a very big volume, with more footnotes than text. It took me months to get through it. Six or seven months. ! I read a poem every morning (sometimes a couple, if they were short). It was arduous. I like arduous reading in the early morning. Not too much of it, just a page or two. I am currently crawling my way through the collected works of Jonathan Swift and learning a lot about controversies in the 1720s. The notes in the Larkin volume weren’t just “this means this” etc. They are obsessively detailed. Larkin only published four volumes of poetry, but there were many more “one off” poems, unpublished and published.

Let’s start where I started.

Continue reading

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“I gave my eardrums to MGM. And it’s true: I really did.” — Esther Williams

“Critics established a snobbery toward me.” — Esther Williams

My formal introduction to aquatic-mermaid-star Esther Williams wasn’t through her movies. Oh, I may have seen some of the numbers on the various afternoon movies shown on local TV, where I first saw the old movies that made me a movie fan. But no, not for Esther. I learned about Esther Williams through Judy Blume.

When I was a kid, 9 or 10 years old, my favorite book of hers was Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself. It tells the story of a young Jewish girl whose family moves to Miami Beach from New York City in 1947. Sally lives a rich world of fantasy. She dreams of being a detective, or the star of some sweeping romance. During her first months in Florida, she becomes convinced that their next-door neighbor is Hitler, in disguise. Judy Blume has said that Sally J. Freedman was her most autobiographical book, dealing with a post-WWII childhood, the lingering spectre of Nazism over American Jews, and the domination of Hollywood over the dreams of kids. Movies are an escape for Sally from frightening reality.

Sally is obsessed with Esther Williams.

Here is an excerpt from Blume’s book:

Esther Williams was her favorite movie actress. Some day she was going to swim just like her, with her hair in a coronet and a flower behind her ear. Swimming along underwater, always smiling, with beautiful straight white teeth and shiny red lipstick. Esther Williams never got water up her nose or had to spit while she swam, like Sally, who didn’t like to get her face wet in the first place. Not even when she dove off the high board. You’d never know you had to kick to stay afloat from watching Esther Williams. And when she swam in the movies there was always beautiful music in the background and handsome men standing around, waiting. It would be great fun to be Esther Williams!

Check out this wonderful homage to Williams:

I was a kid who loved watching old movies whenever they showed up on channel 56. That’s how I first saw James Dean, Marlon Brando, Joan Fontaine, Vincent Price, Cary Grant, and all the rest of them. On a staticky little black and white TV on Saturday afternoons.

When I first saw an Esther Williams movie, I remember feeling a thrill, feeling so SMART because I already knew the name, and I already knew how important she was, because hadn’t Sally J. Freedman introduced me to her so well?

Thanks, Judy Blume.

Fanny Brice, the original Funny Girl, supposedly once wisecracked, “Esther Williams? Wet, she’s a star. Dry, she ain’t.”

When Esther Williams heard that remark, she laughed. She didn’t take herself too seriously. She didn’t have pretensions about who or what she was. She was a star. More “serious” actors would kill to have her charisma. You look at her and you feel happy. How many people can you say that about? She was an amazing athlete, the undulating movements of her body showing off her power, but also her grace, her legs curling around underneath her, her back arched like a swan’s neck, silky, elongated, beautiful. Through all of this … her smile seems – IS – real, and that’s what I think of when I think of Esther Williams. Well, I think of her body, its beauty, its fluidity, how she moved, the long strength of her legs. But mostly I think of her smile.

Here’s a clip from Easy to Love, 1953.

An apt title. It describes Esther Williams in 3 small words.

26starlets

“It appeared as if I had invited the audience into the water with me, and it conveyed the sensation that being in there was absolutely delicious.” — Esther Williams

Posted in Actors, Movies, On This Day | Tagged | 2 Comments

On This Day: August 7, 1934: “It must always be remembered that his locale was Celtic and his season Spring.”

On December 6, 1933, the US Court of Appeals (Judge John Woolsey) judged Ulysses by James Joyce to be NOT obscene and declared that the book could be admitted into the United States. There were then appeals to this decision.

On August 7, 1934, Woolsey’s decision was upheld by the US Court of Appeals. Random House raced to get the book into print, available in America for the first time.

Here’s the first American edition of the book:

The book was initially published by Sylvia Beach and Shakespeare & Co. in 1922. (Post about Sylvia Beach here.) It was controversial even before it was published, but once it was published it was promptly banned. The only way to get it was to order it directly from Shakespeare & Co., and then smuggle it into your country in a box of sweaters or whatever, or you had to visit Paris and buy a copy at the actual bookstore. Shipments of books were seized by U.S. Customs. The legal battles dragged on for a decade. It was already the most talked-about book of the young century, and very few people had an opportunity to actually read it. Worse for Joyce, he couldn’t make any money off it. There were black market editions but they did him no good. A bowdlerized edition appeared which was then suppressed. Joyce was already working on Finnegans Wake, of course, but imagine what those 11, 12 years were like: He wrote UlyssesULYSSES – and nobody could GET it.

Finally, after all the appeals in the U.S. courts, the case made its way to federal Judge John M. Woolsey.

judge_john_m_woolsey_c1931

Woolsey hailed from South Carolina and was nominated by President Calvin Coolidge for his seat on the U.S. District Court of Southern New York in 1929. The case against Ulysses was not the first time Woolsey weighed in on freedom of expression vs. censorship. There had been a couple of cases leading up to the Ulysses case:

A book on “married love” had been labeled obscene, and a book on contraception had been labeled obscene, and the controversy made its way into the court system. Woolsey’s decisions on these cases were thoughtful and beautifully articulate (he was an amazing writer). He judged in both of those cases that the books (as well as the subject matter – even more radical) were NOT obscene.

It’s worth it to take a look at his decision in 1931 about the book “Married Love.”. He builds his case, meticulously:

“Married Love” is a considered attempt to explain to married people how their mutual sex life may be made happier.

To one who had read Havelock Ellis, as I have, the subject-matter of Dr. Stope’s book is not wholly new, but it emphasizes the woman’s side of sex questions. It makes also some apparently justified criticisms of the inopportune exercise by the man in the marriage relation of what are often referred to as his conjugal or marital rights, and it pleads with seriousness, and not without some eloquence, for a better understanding by husbands of the physical and emotional side of the sex life of their wives.

I do not find anything exceptionable anywhere in the book, and I cannot imagine a normal mind to which this book would seem to be obscene or immoral within the proper definition of these words or whose sex impulses would be stirred by reading it.

Whether or not the book is scientific in some of its theses is unimportant. It is informative and instructive, and I think that any married folk who read it cannot fail to be benefited by its counsels of perfection and its frank discussion of the frequent difficulties which necessarily arise in the more intimate aspects of married life, for as Professor William G. Sumner used aptly to say in his lectures on the Science of Society at Yale, marriage, in its essence, is a status of antagonistic co-operation.

In such a status, necessarily, centripetal and centrifugal forces are continuously at work, and the measure of its success obviously depends on the extent to which the centripetal forces are predominant.

The book before me here has as its whole thesis the strengthening of the centripetal forces in marriage, and instead of being inhospitably received, it should, I think, be welcomed within our borders.

That is rather beautiful, I think.

Let’s also check out Woolsey’s conclusion in his 1931 decision about the book “Contraception:”

I have read “Contraception,” and I find that it does not fall, in any respect, within these definitions of the words “obscene” or “immoral.”…

Such a book, although it may run counter to the views of many persons who disagree entirely with the theory underlying birth control, certainly does not fall within the test of obscenity or immorality laid down by me in the case of United States v. One Obscene Book, Entitled “Married Love,” 48 F. (2d) 821, at page 824, for the reading of it would not stir the sex impulses of any person with a normal mind.

Actually the emotions aroused by the book are merely feelings of sympathy and pity, evoked by the many cases instanced in it of the sufferings of married women due to ignorance of its teachings. This, I believe, will be the inevitable effect of reading it on all persons of sensibility unless by their prejudices the information it contains is tabooed.

It follows that as “Contraception” is not an obscene or immoral book, and, obviously, is not a drug, medicine, or an article for the prevention of conception within the meaning of title 19, U. S. C., § 1305, it may be imported into the United States and the libel brought in this case to test that question must be dismissed.

After these landmark decisions, Woolsey was “the one” to weigh in on the case known as: United States v. One Book Called Ulysses. He read the book. He read opinions on the book. He then came forth with his judgment that the book was not obscene and therefore could be published in the United States. A great triumph for freedom of speech (as well as freedom of thought.)

My Bloomsday pal Jonathan Goldman edited a book about Joyce and the law. You can order it here.

Bennett Cerf, influential American publisher, was a champion of the cause; he understood the situation’s urgency. When Ulysses was finally brought out in America in 1934, Judge Woolsey’s decision was included in the edition its entirety, making it the most widely distributed judicial decision in history.

Morris L. Ernst, counsel for Random House, successfully defended the book against obscenity charges in 1933-34, and wrote in his foreward to the 1934 edition:

It would be difficult to overestimate the importance of Judge Woolsey’s decision. For decades the censors have fought to emasculate literature. They have tried to set up the sensibilities of the prudery-ridden as a criterion for society, have sought to reduce the reading matter of adults to the level of adolescents and subnormal persons, and have nurtured evasions and sanctimonies.

Here is Judge Woolsey’s decision in its entirety. It is a masterpiece: an important legal decision, but also a sensitive analysis of the book itself:

United States Discrict Court, Southern District of New York, Opinion A. 110-59

December 6, 1933

On cross motions for a decree in a libel of confiscation, supplemented by a stipulation — hereinafter described — brought by the United States against the book “Ulysses” by James Joyce, under Section 305 of the Tariff Act of 1930, Title 19 United States Code, Section 1305, on the ground that the book is obscene within the meaning of that Section, and, hence, is not importable into the United States, but is subject to seizure, forfeiture and confiscation and destruction.

United States Attorney — by Samuel C. Coleman, Esq., and Nicholas Atlas, Esq., of counsel — for the United States, in support of motion for a decree of forfeiture, and in opposition to motion for a decree dismissing the libel.

Messrs. Greenbaum, Wolff and Ernst, — by Morris L. Ernst, Esq., and Alexander Lindey, Esq., of counsel — attorneys for claimant Random House, Inc., in support of motion for a decree dismissing the libel, and in opposition to a motion for a decree of forfeiture.

WOOLSEY, J:
The motion for a decree dismissing the libel herein is granted, and, consequently, of course, the Government’s motion for a decree of forfeiture and destruction is denied.

Accordingly a decree dismissing the libel without costs may be entered herein.

1. The practice followed in this case is in accordance with the suggestion made by me in the case of United States v. One Book Entitled “Contraception”, 51 F. (2d) 525, and is as follows:

After issue was joined by the filing of the claimant’s answer to the libel for forfeiture against “Ulysses”, a stipulation was made between the United States Attorney’s office and the attorneys for the claimant providing:

1. That the book “Ulysses” should be deemed to have been annexed to and to have become part of the libel just as if it had been incorporated in its entirety therein.
2. That the parties waived their right to a trial by jury.
3. That each party agreed to move for decree in its favor.
4. That on such cross motions the Court might decide all the questions of law and fact involved and render a general finding thereon.
5. That on the decision of such motions the decree of the Court might be entered as if it were a decree after trial.

It seems to me that a procedure of this kind is highly appropriate in libels for the confiscation of books such as this. It is an especially advantageous procedure in the instant case because on account of the length of “Ulysses” and the difficulty of reading it, a jury trial would have been an extremely unsatisfactory, if not an almost impossible, method of dealing with it.

2. I have read “Ulysses” once in its entirety and I have read those passages of which the Government particularly complains several times. In fact, for many weeks, my spare time has been devoted to the consideration of the decision which my duty would require me to make in this matter.

“Ulysses” is not an easy book to read or to understand. But there has been much written about it, and in order properly to approach the consideration of it it is advisable to read a number of other books which have now become its satellites. The study of “Ulysses” is, therefore, a heavy task.

3. The reputation of “Ulysses” in the literary world, however, warranted my taking such time as was necessary to enable me to satisfy myself as to the intent with which the book was written, for, of course, in any case where a book is claimed to be obscene it must first be determined, whether the intent with which it was written was what is called, according to the usual phrase, pornographic, — that is, written for the purpose of exploiting obscenity.

If the conclusion is that the book is pornographic that is the end of the inquiry and forfeiture must follow.

But in “Ulysses”, in spite of its unusual frankness, I do not detect anywhere the leer of the sensualist. I hold, therefore, that it is not pornographic.

4. In writing “Ulysses”, Joyce sought to make a serious experiment in a new, if not wholly novel, literary genre. He takes persons of the lower middle class living in Dublin in 1904 and seeks not only to describe what they did on a certain day early in June of that year as they went about the City bent on their usual occupations, but also to tell what many of them thought about the while.

Joyce has attempted — it seems to me, with astonishing success — to show how the screen of consciousness with its ever-shifting kaleidoscopic impressions carries, as it were on a plastic palimpsest, not only what is in the focus of each man’s observation of the actual things about him, but also in a penumbral zone residua of past impressions, some recent and some drawn up by association from the domain of the subconscious. He shows how each of these impressions affects the life and behavior of the character which he is describing.

What he seeks to get is not unlike the result of a double or, if that is possible, a multiple exposure on a cinema film which would give a clear foreground with a background visible but somewhat blurred and out of focus in varying degrees.

To convey by words an effect which obviously lends itself more appropriately to a graphic technique, accounts, it seems to me, for much of the obscurity which meets a reader of “Ulysses”. And it also explains another aspect of the book, which I have further to consider, namely, Joyce’s sincerity and his honest effort to show exactly how the minds of his characters operate.

If Joyce did not attempt to be honest in developing the technique which he has adopted in “Ulysses” the result would be psychologically misleading and thus unfaithful to his chosen technique. Such an attitude would be artistically inexcusable.

It is because Joyce has been loyal to his technique and has not funked its necessary implications, but has honestly attempted to tell fully what his characters think about, that he has been the subject of so many attacks and that his purpose has been so often misunderstood and misrepresented. For his attempt sincerely and honestly to realize his objective has required him incidentally to use certain words which are generally considered dirty words and has led at times to what many think is a too poignant preoccupation with sex in the thoughts of his characters.

The words which are criticized as dirty are old Saxon words known to almost all men and, I venture, to many women, and are such words as would be naturally and habitually used, I believe by the types of folk whose life, physical and mental, Joyce is seeking to describe. In respect of the recurrent emergence of the theme of sex in the minds of his characters, it must always be remembered that his locale was Celtic and his season Spring.

Whether or not one enjoys such a technique as Joyce uses is a matter of taste on which disagreement or argument is futile, but to subject that technique to the standards of some other technique seems to me to be little short of absurd.

Accordingly, I hold that “Ulysses” is a sincere and honest book and I think that the criticisms of it are entirely disposed of by its rationale.

5. Furthermore, “Ulysses” is an amazing tour de force when one considers the success which has been in the main achieved with such a difficult objective as Joyce set for himself. As I have stated, “Ulysses” is not an easy book to read. It is brilliant and dull, intelligible and obscure by turns. In many places it seems to me to be disgusting, but although it contains, as I have mentioned above, many words usually considered dirty, I have not found anything that I consider to be dirt for dirt’s sake. Each word of the book contributes like a bit of mosaic to the detail of the picture which Joyce is seeking to construct for his readers.

If one does not wish to associate with such folk as Joyce describes, that is one’s own choice. In order to avoid indirect contact with them one may not wish to read “Ulysses”; that is quite understandable. But when such a real artist in words, as Joyce undoubtedly is, seeks to draw a true picture of the lower middle class in a European city, ought it to be impossible for the American public legally to see that picture?

To answer this question it is not sufficient merely to find, as I have found above, that Joyce did not write “Ulysses” with what is commonly called pornographic intent, I must endeavor to apply a more objective standard to his book in order to determine its effect in the result, irrespective of the intent with which it was written.

6. The statute under which the libel is filed only denounces, in so far as we are here concerned, the importation into the United States from any foreign country of “any obscene book”. Section 305 of the Tariff Act of 1930, Title 19 United States Code, Section 1305. It does not marshal against books the spectrum of condemnatory adjectives found, commonly, in laws dealing with matters of this kind. I am, therefore, only required to determine whether “Ulysses” is obscene within the legal definition of that word.

The meaning of the word “obscene” as legally defined by the Courts is: tending to stir the sex impulses or to lead to sexually impure and lustful thoughts. Dunlop v. United States, 165 U.S. 486, 501; United States v. One Book Entitled “Contraception”, 51 F. (2d) 525, 528; and compare Dysart v. United States, 272 U.S. 655, 657; Swearingen v. United States 151 U.S. 446, 450; United States v. Dennett, 39 F. (2d) 564, 568 (C.C.A. 2); People v. Wendling, 258 N.Y. 451, 453.

Whether a particular book would tend to excite such impulses and thoughts must be tested by the Court’s opinion as to its effect on a person with average sex instincts — what the French would call l’homme moyen sensuel — who plays, in this branch of legal inquiry, the same role of hypothetical reagent as does the “reasonable man” in the law of torts and “the man learned in the art” on questions of invention in patent law.

The risk involved in the use of such a reagent arises from the inherent tendency of the trier of facts, however fair he may intend to be, to make his reagent too much subservient to his own idiosyncrasies. Here, I have attempted to avoid this, if possible, and to make my reagent herein more objective than he might otherwise be, by adopting the following course:

After I had made my decision in regard to the aspect of “Ulysses”, now under consideration, I checked my impressions with two friends of mine who in my opinion answered to the above stated requirement for my reagent.

These literary assessors — as I might properly describe them — were called on separately, and neither knew that I was consulting the other. They are men whose opinion on literature and on life I value most highly. They had both read “Ulysses”, and, of course, were wholly unconnected with this cause.

Without letting either of my assessors know what my decision was, I gave to each of them the legal definition of obscene and asked each whether in his opinion “Ulysses” was obscene within that definition.

I was interested to find that they both agreed with my opinion: that reading “Ulysses” in its entirety, as a book must be read on such a test as this, did not tend to excite sexual impulses or lustful thoughts but that its net effect on them was only that of a somewhat tragic and very powerful commentary on the inner lives of men and women.

It is only with the normal person that the law is concerned. Such a test as I have described, therefore, is the only proper test of obscenity in the case of a book like “Ulysses” which is a sincere and serious attempt to devise a new literary method for the observation and description of mankind.

I am quite aware that owing to some of its scenes “Ulysses” is a rather strong draught to ask some sensitive, though normal, persons to take. But my considered opinion, after long reflection, is that whilst in many places the effect of “Ulysses” on the reader undoubtedly is somewhat emetic, nowhere does it tend to be an aphrodisiac.

“Ulysses” may, therefore, be admitted into the United States.

JOHN M. WOOLSEY
United States District Judge

Woolsey’s decision was affirmed by the Second District Court of Appeals in 1934. It’s well worth remembering that America was the first English-speaking country where Ulysses became available to all, sold in bookstores, free to be read by all.

When Joyce heard of Woolsey’s decision, he commented:

Thus one half of the English speaking world surrenders. The other half will follow … And Ireland 1,000 years hence.

He exaggerated, of course, but he was pretty near right.

Woolsey’s decision is still a triumph, and his conclusions are ones we would do well to remember – not just when it’s thoughts/expressions we agree with, but more importantly when we disagree. Freedom of speech is tough, it requires vigilance, but the concept is as important as it gets in any so-called free society.

 
 
Thank you so much for stopping by. If you like what I do, and if you feel inclined to support my work, here’s a link to my Venmo account. And I’ve launched a Substack, Sheila Variations 2.0, if you’d like to subscribe.

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“These kids only want to talk about acting method and motivation. in my day all we talked about was screwing and overtime.” — Robert Mitchum


Robert Mitchum, Cannes 1954, photograph by Leo Mirkine

It’s his birthday today. The greatest.

Excerpt from Are You Anybody? An Actor’s Life, by Bradford Dillman

For the past fifty years Robert Mitchum has been captivating filmgoers with his sleepy demeanor. He was the first actor to be jailed for marijuana, and it’s no state secret he’s enjoyed a cocktail or two in his time. But his toughness is no pose.

Before beginning a film with him, Henry Hathaway, a director acknowledged as a card-carrying sadist, felt impelled to explain himself.

“Listen, Mitch,” he said. “I got this thing. Sometimes I get a little excited, call actors names and cuss them, but I want you to know it’s nothing personal. It’s just me.”

“I hear you, Henry,” Mitchum replied. “I know how it is. I’ve got this thing, too. See, whenever somebody calls me names or cusses me out, I haul off and bust him in the mouth. Nothing personal. It’s just me.”

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Mitchum in prison for marijuana possession, 1949

Dillman shares another anecdote:

Yet few know what an intelligent, articulate man Mitchum is, how charming he can be. He’s also a prankster. When I worked with him on location in Hong Kong, our director was hearing-impaired. In the briefcase used for transporting his script he carried several hearing aid battery replacements. We’d rehearsed a scene in an office, we were doing Take One, I’d fed Mitch his cue, when he mouthed his response. No sound.

“Cut.” The director was pounding his ear. “Damn,” he said, removing the device, opening his briefcase to install a fresh battery. “Okay, let’s go again.”

Take Two. I give the cue, Mitch mouths his line.

“Cut.” The director pounding his ear anew. “Who makes these things, anyway?”

It took four takes for him to realize he’d been victimized by an imp.

The imp struck again during a scene in the lobby of the Hotel Peninsula, he and I seated at a table. Normally spectators keep a respectful distance as they observe the moviemaking process, but a blonde plumper spilling out of her pink pants suit couldn’t restrain herself. Between takes she rushed over and did a five-minute number on how Robert Mitchum ruled her life, how jealous he made her husband, how her friends teased her about her crush. It went on and on, the actor grunting occasionally before pretending to nod off.

The lady’s moving lips were right in his ear when Mitch jolted awake. Feigning shock, he thundered, “Suck what?”

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Excerpt from Lee Server’s Robert Mitchum: Baby, I Don’t Care:

Director and star proved to be ideally matched. In [Robert] Mitchum, [Jacques] Tourneur had found the most expressive embodiment of his own cinematic aesthetic of eloquent, subversive resistance and oneiric sensuality. Tourneur loved Mitchum’s physical grace, the gliding, pantherlike movements, and his underplaying and powerful silences, his expressive quiescence thrilled the director whose films were among the quietest in the history of talking pictures. He savored Mitchum’s ability to listen in a scene. “There are a large number of players who don’t know how to listen,” said Tourneur. “While one of their partners speaks to them, they simply think, I don’t have anything to do during this; let’s try not to let the scene get stolen from me. Mitchum can be silent and listen to a five-minute speech. You’ll never lose sight of him and you’ll understand that he takes in what is said to him, even if he doesn’t do anything. That’s how one judges good actors.”

In Mitchum’s opposite, the sort who tried “not to let the scene get stolen”, Tourneur might possibly have been thinking of Kirk Douglas. With his explosive starring roles – Champion, Ace in the Hole, Detective Story – still a few years off, Douglas was becoming typed for intelligent, urbane characters, supporting parts. As Whit Sterling, certainly among the most well-spoken and civilized of ruthless racketeers, Douglas gave a brilliantly controlled and charismatic performance, but he could not have been thrilled by another second fiddle part – especially second fiddle to Mitchum, who had already taken from him the lead in Pursued. The two got along well enough off the set, but the rivalry would flare as soon as the cameras began to turn. Since Tourneur was not about to accept any obvious histrionics in his diminuendo world, Douglas was left to try and out-underact Mitchum, an exercise in futility, he discovered. He tried adding distracting bits of business during Mitchum’s lines and came up with a coin trick, running it quickly between the tops of his fingers. Bob started staring at the fingers until Kirk started staring at the fingers and dropped the coin on the rug. He put the coin away. In another scene, Douglas brought a gold watch fob out of his coat pocket and twirled it around like a propeller. This time everybody stared.

“It was a hoot to watch them go at it,” said Jane Greer. “They were two such different types. Kirk was something of a method actor. And Bob was Bob. You weren’t going to catch him acting. But they both tried to get the advantage. At one point they were actually trying to upstage each other by who could sit the lowest. The one sitting the lowest had the best camera angle, I guess – I don’t know what they were thinking. Bob sat on the couch, so Kirk sat on the table, then one sat on the footstool, and by the end I think they were both on the floor.”

Tourneur, no martinet, liked to give his performers a lot of freedom and waited out the one-upmanship antics with a weary grace. “Quoi qu’il arrive, restez calme,” he liked to say.

Actors were actors. One night he was screening the rushes of a scene with Mitchum and Douglas talking to each other on either side of the frame, and he was startled to see how Paul Valentine – placed in the background and without a line of dialogue – had craftily picked up a magazine and was flipping the pages with an altogether distracting intensity, hijacking the scene.

“Oh, Paul,” he said to the actor, “now I have to keep an eye on you, too?”

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Robert Mitchum in 1958’s “Thunder Road,” a Gearhead Heaven type of movie

The duet in The Night of the Hunter is one of the most memorable and frightening scenes in cinema. A standoff between two dueling brands of Christianity, one that’s about compassion and one that’s about judgment. The sides cannot coexist. One side has to win. It is a battle still raging in our culture today, and the duet in Night of the Hunter is a chilling evocation of it. Whistler’s Mother with a shotgun vs. The Man Out There In the Dark.

Believers, both of them. Both are ready to break a Commandment, one of the most important Commandments of all. Until then, they sing.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up just thinking about this scene.

Mitchum made a big point of never seeming to work. He strolls through movies, smoking, looking around with heavy-lidded eyes, easy, natural, and can be ominous or sexy, sometimes at the same time. He was the ultimate Alpha Male. He could be terrifying (as in Night of the Hunter), or sexy and romantic. He could be a resourceful hero. He could be a sad-sack low-life. He could conduct his own “instrument”, like a Maestro, bringing this or that quality forward, but my analogy makes his work sound deliberate or studied. Nothing he did was ever studied. He was a valid leading man for decades. This cannot be explained. Some things just are.

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Mitchum in “Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison” (1957)

I also love him for personally reaching out to Elvis to co-star with him in a movie he was developing (which ended up being Thunder Road). Elvis was so flattered that Mitchum came to see him personally, and also that Mitchum would have thought of him at all. The Colonel was furious and made it clear to his 21-year-old client that any and all offers had to come to the Colonel FIRST, and Elvis had no business making any deals without the Colonel’s say-so. The image, though, of Elvis and Mitchum, two crazy hep-cats, sitting around in Elvis’ suite in The Knickerbocker, Mitchum “pitching” his project to the young King of Rock ‘n’ Roll …

Well, I guess I just wish I had been there.

David Thomson wrote in his The New Biographical Dictionary of Film: Sixth Edition:

How can I offer this hunk as one of the best actors in the movies? Start by referring back to that dialogue [in Out of the Past]: it touches the intriguing ambiguity in Mitchum’s work, the idea of a man thinking and feeling beneath a calm exterior that there is no need to put “acting” on the surface. And for a big man, he is immensely agile, capable of unsmiling humor, menace, stoicism, and, above all, of watching other people as though he were waiting to make up his mind. Of course, Mitchum has been in bad films, when he slips into the weariness of someone who has read the script, but hopes it may be rewritten. But since the war, no American actor has made more first-class films, in so many different moods.

Friends of Eddie Coyle

Mitchum’s monologue in the bowling alley in the wonderful gritty Friends of Eddie Coyle is a pure example of why Mitchum is so great. Done mainly in one shot, with only a couple of reaction shots.

Watch how Eddie Coyle (Mitchum) puts the arrogant yet stupid gun-runner (Steven Keats) in his place. You can almost see (or at least I can imagine I can see), Keats the actor watching Mitchum the actor, right in his face, thinking, “Holy shit, he is so good.” Or: he’s not thinking at all. Mitchum is so connected to himself and what he’s saying that Keats is drawn into that reality without having to work at it. You see that’s also the thing with genius actors. Not only do they make it look easy but they HELP everyone else around them to be as good as they are. That’s how much authority they have.

The monologue I’m talking about starts at around the 1 minute mark. It is rare today to let a scene go that long without a million cuts. To let someone just talk in that way. Movies today are poorer for it.

This is acting, in its purest most beautiful form.

To quote David Thomson again on Mitchum:

Untouchable.

robert-mitchum-wallpapers-5

And finally, just because it’s riveting:

 
 
Thank you so much for stopping by. If you like what I do, and if you feel inclined to support my work, here’s a link to my Venmo account. And I’ve launched a Substack, Sheila Variations 2.0, if you’d like to subscribe.

Posted in Actors, Movies, On This Day | Tagged | 34 Comments

“I wrote as much as seventy lines at one time, and used to go shouting them about the fields after dark.” — Alfred, Lord Tennyson

He was not only a minor Virgil, he is also with Virgil as Dante saw him, a Virgil among the Shades, the saddest of all English poets. – T.S. Eliot

It’s Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s birthday, born on August 6, 1809.

Before we get started, here’s a short poem from the man who wrote long poems. I think it’s perfection.

The Eagle
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

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Podcast: Jen Johans and I discuss Dana Andrews

It was so fun to chat with Jen Johans, host of the excellent podcast Watch with Jen, about Dana Andrews. We discuss Laura, Where the Sidewalk Ends, Fallen Angel, Daisy Kenyon (all directed by Otto Preminger), with mentions of Ball of Fire, Best Years of Our Lives, The Ox-Bow Incident, and more. He is universally beloved – if YouTube/Instagram/Whatever comments sections are any indication but he is also strangely under-discussed. Imogen Smith wrote a wonderful piece about him, and I referenced it quite a bit.

You can listen to our discussion here, or wherever you get your podcasts.

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“Poets, the best of them, are a very chameleonic race.” — Percy Bysshe Shelley

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like wither’d leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,

Scatter, as from an unextinguish’d hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawaken’d earth

The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
— Percy Bysshe Shelley, from “Ode to the West Wind”

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