My review of City of Joy – a new documentary about the rape epidemic in the Congo, and a couple of people who have banded together to combat the problem – is now up at Rogerebert.com.
This one really got to me. I knew he was old and frail. But I have such affection for him – it’s different than my feelings for other movie stars … it’s its own thing. I am glad he got to experience the expressed love for him at the screenings of The Last Movie Star that happened this year (as well as doing that movie itself, a love letter to him, a space created where he could be with his own fame, contemplate it, regret it, let us in on what it was like to be him.)
There are so many fun roles. People mention Boogie Nights all the time, and yes, it was great to see him play a role with some substance. But unfortunately it’s indicative of a tendency in the critical world to gravitate towards the “serious” as more worthy, less embarrassing to love. Well, I don’t subscribe to that. (See my love of Elvis “formula movies” as possibly the best way to get to know Elvis’ movie persona.) I would say that Burt – at his Burt height – in movies like The Longest Yard, Semi-Tough, Starting Over, Smokey and the Bandit … is the Burt that made him a star. (As well as his revealed biceps and star power in Deliverance). But people don’t admire Burt for his acting, or that’s not all that’s going on. They LOVE Burt for who he WAS. Onscreen, at any rate. There are people with big talent. Some of them become big stars. They appear in serious movies and win awards. This is all fine. I love some of those actors. But the charisma of Burt Reynolds – the way he carried himself – the way he wore his fame lightly, making fun of it – the way he handled his sexuality in an almost casual and self-deprecating humorous way (“Relax, honey, I’m not that good” he says into Jill Clayburgh’s ear before they go to bed for the first time in Starting Over) … all of these indefinable things that made him a superstar … these are the reasons people have such affection for him, this is why he was a star. For the “silly” stuff, the silly stuff that entertained millions. It’s undervalued, this kind of thing. It’s why Reynolds seemed disappointed in aspects of his career, and that, of course, is valid. But as far as the FANS go, there was nothing like Reynolds’ rakish grin, his roguish sense of humor, his pure sex-power charisma – not vain, but so confident he didn’t have to play it up or remind us of it. He lampooned it … in a way that let us know that we were in on the joke. It’s a kind of intimacy with fans that doesn’t happen all that often.
Reynolds acted from pure natural charisma, something unique to him. It won’t win Oscars, but Oscars do not equal actual worth. If you think being “charming” is easy, then walk into a party where you don’t know anyone and try to be as charming as Reynolds. He committed the “crime” of making it all look easy.
Rest in peace, Burt Reynolds. Thank you for giving so much joy to so many. Giving people joy is undervalued and it shouldn’t be. In many ways, it’s the most precious thing of all.
Tamara Jenkins makes about one movie a decade (I wish there were more) and each one is personal in its own way, funny, human, complex. The Slums of Beverly Hills was uneven in spots, but featured an amazingly rich and layered atmosphere – the underclass of Beverly Hills – and an amazing cast (Marisa Tomei, Alan Arkin, Natasha Lyonne). The characters are complex people who marched to the beat of their own often-misbegotten drummer. I loved it. I was a huge fan at the time. I had no idea I’d have 10 years to wait for Jenkins to direct again, this time with The Savages, starring Philip Seymour Hoffman and Laura Linney. It was worth the wait. Hoffman and Linney play tormented unhappy siblings trying to deal with their father’s dementia. The Savages was nominated for 2 Oscars (including one for Jenkins’ superb script). And now, another decade later, is Private Life, starring Katherine Hahn and Paul Giamatti as a couple whose struggle with infertility has co-opted their whole relationship. It’s an infertility … comedy? But no, that’s not right, although it is sometimes very funny. It’s an extremely detailed look at the sometimes absurd fertility industry, but it takes very very seriously the toll wanting a baby and not being able to have one takes on a couple. If you’ve known a couple who has struggled like this, you know how sad it is, how much mourning is done, how difficult it is to move on, to accept that you might not get to “do that,” to deal with just how oppressive our culture can be in its expectation that this is what married people do, and if you want to have a baby, well then go right ahead, have a baby. It’s so good!
Private Life will be playing at the New York Film Festival before being released on October 5.
I reviewed it in the Sept-Oct issue of Film Comment, soon to be hitting newsstands near you (maybe). This is a wonderful film, even though it sounds like a Lifetime movie. It’s not. Just as The Savages wasn’t a “message” movie about dementia – it ended up being a mournful look at how difficult it is to care for an elderly parent, especially if you didn’t have much of a relationship with them when they were alive. Private Life tells a story that’s rarely been told in cinema. Infertility stories usually are on the sidelines of the action, and are usually played for comedy. Private Life puts it front and center, as it is in the characters’ lives. I loved it.
For the “Endings” column in the October issue of Sight & Sound magazine, I wrote about the final shot in Hal Ashby’s Shampoo. It’s one of my favorite final shots in cinema. (I pitched the piece before Criterion made its announcement that it would be releasing Shampoo. Serendipitous timing. Something in the air. Shampoo in the air.)
As much as I’ve written here, as much as I love Shampoo, I’ve never written about that final shot until now. Thanks to Sight & Sound for the opportunity.
It’s a sad sad day. Not just for my friends who just got laid off, but for New York, for all of us. We are ALL the poorer when something like this happens. But to New Yorkers … to writers … hell, to anyone looking for an apartment (the VV’s classifieds!) … the Village Voice was a part of the warp and weft of our lives in a way few other papers ever achieve. Founded by Dan Wolf, Ed Fancher and Norman Mailer (I mean, come on), the Village Voice published some of the greatest voices of the 2nd half of the 20th century, as well as giving a platform to out-there non-mainstream genius types, people with distinct unmistakable sometimes ornery voices, people you looked forward to reading. Robert Christgau. Andrew Sarris. Ellen Willis. (Of course, this all pre-dated me … I WISH I had been around then.) Tom Carson. James Wolcott. Molly Haskell. Wayne Barrett (up until very recently). I feel truly grateful that I have actually gotten to know some of these people personally.
The loss is almost too big to grasp. End of an era. End of a lot of things.
Maybe something else will rise from the ashes. Maybe the corporatization of so much of our culture will help create an underground press, or ‘zines, like back in the day, SOMEthing that isn’t money-driven. It feels like maybe that’s the way things might go. But in the meantime: I mourn the loss of these alt-weeklies, of what they provided, their eccentricities, their devotion to the purely local.
Not too many publications (then or now) would have published Lester Bangs’ unforgettable obituary of Elvis. But the Village Voice did.
If you’ve read it, then you know how powerful and sui generis it is. People are still arguing about it, and these arguments just underline the obit’s stature as a piece of critical commentary. The obituary feels like it’s going to derail into a gigantic PAN of the man – not as vicious as, say, Hunter Thompson’s obit for Nixon, or Christopher Hitchens’ obit for Mother Teresa – but it’s certainly not misty-water-colored-memories. In it, Bangs describes wandering around the Village, going into different stores looking for beer, asking people what they think of Elvis. But of course Bangs builds to something. It builds and builds and builds … The piece has a crescendo like you wouldn’t believe. It is one of the most well-known pieces of music writing in the canon – not to mention social/cultural critique – of that era and ours. It is EERILY prescient about where the culture was going.
In the obituary, Bangs was also one of the only (if not the only) heterosexual male music critics who admitted that Elvis turned him on sexually. This is a huge “missing” in much of the contemporaneous commentary on Elvis, most of which was written by men. Of course the men refer to Elvis’ wiggling, his sexual persona, etc., but they remain distant from it. Lester Bangs goes right to the heart of it.
Everyone always references the final paragraph but I treasure this section:
“He was the only male performer I have ever seen to whom I responded sexually; it wasn’t real arousal, rather an erection of the heart, when I looked at him I went mad with desire and envy and worship and self-projection. I mean, Mick Jagger, whom I saw as far back as 1964 and twice in ’65, never even came close. There was Elvis, dressed up in this totally ridiculous white suit which looked like some studded Arthurian castle, and he was too fat, and the buckle on his belt was as big as your head except that your head is not made of solid gold, and any lesser man would have been the spittin’ image of a Neil Diamond damfool in such a getup, but on Elvis it fit. What didn’t? …
That night in Detroit, a night I will never forget, he had but to ever so slightly move one shoulder muscle, not even a shrug, and the girls in the gallery hit by its ray screamed, fainted, howled in heat. Literally, every time this man moved any part of his body the slightest centimeter, tens or tens of thousands of people went berserk. Not Sinatra, not Jagger, not the Beatles, nobody you can come up with ever elicited such hysteria among so many.”
A huge connection with our past is now severed. In their final announcement, they did say that they were working to keep the digital archives online. But that feels extremely precarious. This is why when people say “the Internet is forever” I say, “What internet are YOU talking about?” Stuff is lost all the time. Yeah, yeah, wayback machine, but please, the fact remains: when a site goes down, often all the writing goes down with it. We cannot lose these things. We cannot lose access to them! What do we have to replace the Village Voice?
Don’t answer that. I already know.
To steal the famous last line of Bangs’ obit for Elvis:
So I won’t say goodbye to the Village Voice. I’ll say goodbye to you.
Ballerina (2009; d. Bertrand Normand)
I tripped over this documentary on FilmStruck (I love dance documentaries), and it’s really really good. Not only do you get to know a bunch of different dancers, but it’s a portrait of what ballet means to Russia and Russian culture. So steeped in history that even these Tween girls in ballet class understand it, know what it means, want to be a part of it. I learned a lot.
Shampoo (1975; d. Hal Ashby)
I watched it a bunch, preparing for a piece I was writing. Should be out in October. Shampoo is everywhere right now, since Criterion’s announcement. Beautifully, though, I pitched this piece before Criterion announced. Pure coincidence. I had something I wanted to write about it that I had never written about before, here or anywhere else. And then came Criterion’s announcement. So it was perfect timing.
Tully (2018; d. Jason Reitman)
Allison and I watched this. We loved it.
Always Shine (2015; d. Sophia Takal)
Allison and I, in discussing Tully, started to talk about Mackenzie Davis, and I referenced Always Shine, a movie I absolutely LOVED. Allison had never heard of it, so we tracked it down and watched it. It was so much fun. We paused every 10 minutes to discuss every small emotional nuance. It was a blast. See Always Shine, if you haven’t.
Chinatown (1974; d. Roman Polanski)
Been a long time since I’ve seen this one. It’s amazing how the images, the outfits, the mood, the specific shots, stay in the brain. Imprinted.
I Am a Killer, Season 1, episodes 1, 2, 3 (2018)
Tripped over this on Netflix and watched a bunch. This is how I relax. Listening to murderers make excuses for their actions.
Madeline’s Madeline (2018; d. Josephine Decker)
I’m a big fan of Josephine Decker’s work. She’s one of the few filmmakers working right now where I could recognize one of her shots in a blind lineup. It’s very distinctive, how she uses focus, how she frames things, how she uses super shallow depth of field… She seems to not care “how things are done.” (Her cinematographer Ashley Connor deserves much credit too.) I don’t know much about her, although her interests are up there onscreen. She started as an actress, part of the “mumblecore” scene in New York, but she was making experimental shorts all along. Her first two features traveled the festival circuit at the same time – and it somehow felt like, “Wow. These are your first two features? WHO ARE YOU?” First was Butter on the Latch (and so far, it’s my favorite of hers). It takes place at a Balkan folk music camp in California – and the film appears to be a mix of documentary and fiction. The folk music camp is a real thing (I so want to attend), and the two young women who attend – whose friendship seems to be somewhat perilous – are fictional – but the line is not clear. God, I love that film. Thou Wast Mild and Lovely, her followup, was a little more ambitious, going for a kind of rough country poetry. There’s always something disturbing going on in Decker’s stories: identities fluid, the violence of merging, the potential of losing your “self” all together. (Decker knows her Ingmar Bergman). Decker’s next film, Flames, was a collaboration with her boyfriend-and-then-ex-boyfriend. They started out to document their relationship and ended up documenting the demise of the relationship. It’s for sure navel-gazing, but when Decker’s “gaze” is as interesting as it is, you want to watch. Madeline’s Madeline, her first film with relatively big “names” in it (Molly Parker, Miranda July), has been scooping up awards and getting insane buzz on the festival circuit. It’s now out in theatres. I love it, don’t get me wrong, but I think Butter on the Latch – so far – is her best. Much of Madeline’s Madeline takes place during an experimental theatre company’s rehearsals and … as Decker usually does … she uses real people, real New York actors, and you feel like these are people who have been working together, playing together, forever. There isn’t a set script. Things are “found” through the filming. There’s more of a message in Madeline’s Madeline, and it’s extremely “meta” (most of Decker’s stuff is) … I don’t particularly groove to the message part of it. I mean, it’s fine, but I love movies that don’t pressure themselves into imparting some message. Message-less cinema gets a bum rap. Decker is personal though. Whatever she is grappling with will go into her films. So this is where she’s at. Extraordinary performances all around, particularly newcomer Helena Howard, who is just as good as everyone has been saying she is. A teenager. Incredible performance. This is not kitchen sink realism. Decker is OUT there, and this teenager can do it. I would still say, though, if you want to get to know Decker – and I think you should – check out Butter on the Latch and Thou Wast Mild and Lovely. Decker is pretty major. More people should know about her.
The Savages (2007; d. Tamara Jenkins)
Tamara Jenkins has a new film coming out called Private Life, which I was reviewing. So I went back to watch Jenkins’ other films. She makes basically one a decade. Which is a travesty, when you consider all the second-rate male directors who have one project every couple of years. Jenkins is an oddball. Her interests are oddball (and yet so personal, so true). She’s a woman. She does personal stories. Hence: one film a decade. I mean, The Savages got two Oscar nominations, one for Laura Linney and one for Jenkins’ script. And then she doesn’t get another thing financed for over 10 years? Maybe she didn’t want to make anything else, but I DOUBT IT. At any rate, I had forgotten how good this one was. Tamara Jenkins is my kind of filmmaker.
Slums of Beverly Hills (1998; d. Tamara Jenkins)
What a strange and funny movie. It’s almost slight, but it has such a rich sense of place and mood and atmosphere. Marisa Tomei is amazing. Everyone is, though. This is what I mean about Jenkins. She has a very clear sense of what she’s about, what she wants to do. She’s got her own vision, her own rhythms. Her scripts are terrific: everyone talks in their own cadences, you can probably tell who is who just from reading it. Distinct characters. Complex. And, see above, these aren’t “message” films. It’s such a RELIEF. I exaggerate. But still … my friend Mitchell says to me, “My favorite kinds of movies are where interesting people sit around talking.” Cosign, my friend, cosign.
Something New (2006; d. Sanaa Hamri)
I will never ever get sick of this beautiful movie. I pop it in to relax. The last scene makes me cry every time. I get engaged with the characters, even though I’ve seen it 20 times. When people say “Why are there no more good rom-coms?” I always point to this one.
Cold Justice, Season 2, episodes 1 – 6 (2014)
Tripped over this on Netflix, maybe. Got totally sucked in. Yet another crime show. This one about cold cases, where a former prosecutor and a crime scene investigator travel around the country helping local police departments solve cold cases (sometimes they fail). It’s a pretty nitty-gritty show, which is why I like it. Forensics, suspects, DNA evidence, what you need to bring something to trial, and etc. Plus I like the two ladies.
We the Animals (2018; d. Jeremiah Zagar) I reviewed for Ebert. I thought it was good.
Spotlight (2015; d. Tom McCarthy)
This month has been very rough in re:
1. attacks on the press
2. the Catholic Church.
So I pulled this movie out and watched to keep my strength up. Because in these particular cases – there is only one right side. There are usually grey areas to debate, but not here. So get on the stick or get out of the way of progress. I have no interest in “debating” someone who wants to roll back the Enlightenment. I reviewed Spotlight for Ebert.
Merrily We Go To Hell (1932; d. Dorothy Arzner)
I had forgotten how devastating this movie is. After a discussion about it on Twitter, I decided to watch it again. (I wrote a huge piece about it years ago.) Directed by Dorothy Arzner, the only female director working in Hollywood – i.e. America – in the 1930s. This is nothing to be proud of. It is a disgrace. Arzner’s work is wonderful and her movies were hits. So shame on … everybody.
Cold Justice, Sex Crimes, Season 1
I can’t stop. An offshoot of Cold Justice, this series focuses on sex crime cold cases, which are much harder to 1. solve and 2. prosecute, due to statute of limitations and all the rest. But it’s terrific. What these women do is travel around the country, giving local police departments the resources to process all the backlogged rape kits (which is a travesty in this country – but these things take money.) They actually solve a bunch of these cold cases. This series is more upsetting that Cold Justice: in Cold Justice the victims are dead. In Cold Justice, Sex Crimes, the victims are still alive. I recommend this series!
BlacKkKlansman (2018; d. Spike Lee)
There are sequences as beautiful as anything Spike Lee has ever done, scenes which embed themselves in your mind (the student protest meeting a perfect example). I am glad I saw this one on the big screen. There’s so much to discuss, of course, but I just want to give a shout out to the performances, in particular John David Washington, who carries the film. It’s a very strong performance.
The Way We Were (1973; d. Sydney Pollack)
You know, I’ve seen it a million times. It still gets to me. It plays out like a tragedy. I want to intervene. They’re both so good.
The Bad and the Beautiful (1952; d. Vincente Minnelli)
A brutal “expose” of Hollywood, how it works, its ruthlessness, its cruelty, the selfishness of its people. Lana Turner at her very best. But everyone’s great here.
Blue Iguana (2018; d. Hadi Hajaig)
Kind of dumb. But it has its moments. Mainly Sam Rockwell. This feels like a Sam Rockwell movie circa 1999. I reviewed for Ebert.
Paradise Lost: The Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills (1996; Joe Berlinger, Bruce Sinofsky)
I saw this on its first release and followed it through the years. It shows the “Satanic panic” for what it was: complete and dangerous idiocy. They literally had NO evidence against these kids. NONE. No physical evidence. Nada. Zip. Zero. Someone in the town said, basically, “Damien Echols is really weird, he dresses in black and reads weird books.” And then one of the kids was pressured into a false confession. Which still isn’t understood as a “thing.” How could you confess to something you didn’t do? But then you hear those interrogation tapes, and how he was led into confessing … you see red. This is why Damien Echols was on death row. A travesty. (Oh, and by the way, my first time in Memphis, I booked my hotel across the river in West Memphis, Arkansas – not sure why I did that. Cheaper, I suppose. Turns out, the hotel was right down the street from where the bodies were found. We drove right by it to get back to Memphis.)
Paradise Lost 2: Revelations (2000; d. Joe Berlinger, Bruce Sinofsky)
Even more upsetting and urgent than the first, especially when you realize – without a shadow of a doubt – that whoever really did this basically got away with it. Those poor little boys were also surrounded by a shady cast of characters, any one of whom could have done it, might have wanted to do it.
Paradise Lost 3: Purgatory (2012; d. Joe Berlinger, Bruce Sinofsky)
Alford Plea notwithstanding, the guys are free, as they should have been all along. The film was nearly done when that happened, they had to quickly finish it up so it could make it out to festivals. I was there at the New York Film Festival when it screened, and Jessie Misskelley Jr., Damien Echols and Jason Baldwin were all there. It was a very emotional moment.
Fleabag, Season 1 (2018; created by Phoebe Waller-Bridge)
Oh my God, this is so great. I got a text from a guy I was in love with 20 years ago. He texts me from time to time. Not to be a pest. We went through a decade and almost a half of no contact. Recently, we’ve texted a little bit. We’re older now. We’re “safe.” At any rate, I only mention this because he texted me a couple weeks ago saying, “You have to watch Fleabag on Amazon. It’s funny, heartbreaking and she reminds me of you a little bit.” When I saw Fleabag (and he’s right: it’s fantastic), and I saw what a TRAINWRECK “she” is, I had to laugh. I’m still laughing. But hey, the shoe most definitely fits. This is funny, raw, honest, out there. Only 8 episodes so far, each one half an hour. I highly recommend it.
Supernatural, Season 6, episode 9 “Clap Your Hands If You Believe” (2010; d. John F. Showalter)
It never gets old.
City of Joy (2016; d. Madeleine Gavin)
Just getting released onto Netflix now. A documentary about City of Joy, a refuge center in the Congo for victims of rape. I reviewed for Ebert, it’ll go up this week.
A Very English Scandal, episodes 2, 3 (2018; d. Stephen Frears)
I finally finished it. It’s so good! Hugh Grant … I mean, obviously he’s a huge movie star, I’m not trying to say he’s not, but he’s good in the way movie stars in the Golden Age were good. They didn’t make a huge deal of their acting, their “process.” There’s very little fuss with Hugh Grant and you’ll never hear him bragging about how hard he worked (if anything, you’ll hear the opposite). I have always loved him. But he’s moving into a REALLY interesting phase right now, and he’s already taking chances – with this, with Paddington 2 (which was amazing), and everything else. He’s older now. And he’s going with it. He’s so fantastic in this.
Lincoln (2012; d. Steven Spielberg)
So I’m reading Ron Chernow’s biography of U.S. Grant right now, so that was one reason I wanted to watch it again. But also I wanted to remind myself of what this country went through, what it fought for, for progress – imperfect, yes. Flawed, yes. But what isn’t? Now that the “party of Lincoln” is no more, it was very moving and heartening – in a way – to dig into this history and remember the sacrifices, the tremendous sacrifices of that time, of Lincoln himself, to wrench this nation into some semblance of fairness. Spielberg is a genius at casting, too. Everyone feels so perfectly cast you think there couldn’t have been any alternatives. But of course there were! Spielberg had to choose. Beautiful.
Supernatural “Tall Tales”, Season 2, episode 15 (2007; d. Bradford May)
This is pretty out there stuff for a Season 2 episode. Too many funny moments to count. My recap here.
Supernatural “Houses of the Holy”, Season 2, episode 13 (2007; d. Kim Manners)
It’s so DARK. The way Kim Manners uses the shadows … it’s like he PAINTS the guys’ faces with shadows. Ugh. Looking at each and every frame here is looking at a work of art. And they had the same amount of time to pull it off as they do now, when the show looks so ugly. I know, I know, I should let it go. Watching this is kind of eerie, considering Season 4. The “angels” show up this early. Mary’s bedtime comment to Dean which takes on such enormous significance later. They’re there already. This episode is a glimpse. Oh, and a new person left a couple of comments on old posts – welcome! – criticizing the inaccurate accents in a couple of episodes. I understand the concerns, although I think it’ll be a long haul if you can’t get past it, since accurate regional accents is certainly not a “thing” in Supernatural. But I just want to say: this whole episode takes place in Providence, Rhode Island – my home state, a state I know very well. And Providence in this episode may as well be New York City, circa 1977. People gunned down in the streets. A priest murdered on the steps of a church. The people you meet in the episode: a prostitute, a drunk, a date rapist and a child molester. Like: THAT’S Rhode Island in this episode. So yeah, I don’t take it personally. I think it’s kind of funny actually. My recap here.
Supernatural “Playthings”, Season 2, episode 11 (2007; d. Charles Beeson)
I haven’t dug into Season 2 in a while. There’s so much that’s good here. This episode is a favorite. Recap here. It’s so bizarre. Plus, there’s the gigantic dress on the wall, and the “you’re butch … you overcompensate” comment, with the button on that being Dean’s REACTION. WHAT IS THAT. He’s busted, he knows it, he’s shy, he’s befuddled, he didn’t realize that was what he was putting out – or he thought he hid it well. Amazing that that moment even happened, honestly. Then there’s this gorgeousness:
Before Sunrise (1995; d. Richard Linklater)
I decided to watch the trilogy all in one sitting. I can’t believe I’ve never done it before. Not sure I will ever do it again. It was extremely upsetting and it almost ruined my day. I had to do something else to shake it off. The accomplishment of the trilogy is almost unparalleled. It seems that the “Up” series is really the only equivalent, although that’s documentary, not fiction. From the jump, from Slacker, that opening monologue in the taxi in Slacker, Linklater has been telling us who he is, what matters to him, how his mind works. I am sure there will be more in the “Before” series. Which may very well add to the devastation. I know people of many generations love these movies, but there’s a specific kind of identification for people around my age … because I’m basically the same age as the two characters. What the characters were going through was what I was going through when I walked out of the movie theatre back into my life. So none of it felt nostalgic to me. I wasn’t a woman of 60 when I saw Before Sunrise for the first time. I was that age myself. So it felt like “this is happening in real time, this is my life too.” A Gen-X love story.
Before Sunset (2004; d. Richard Linklater)
I actually went through a day very similar to this with that guy I mentioned above who told me to watch Fleabag. The scene in the car, in particular. In many ways, my script was inspired by this trilogy, by Linklater, by that guy I mentioned. It gave me the courage to be like, “Who the hell says two people talking ISN’T dramatic? Those people have short attention spans so we don’t need to listen to THEM.” This one is the most painful of the trilogy for me. Maybe because – metaphorically speaking – my guy DID go to catch his flight. And there we have it. The End. No trilogy for me.
Before Midnight (2013; d. Richard Linklater)
It’s been a while since I’ve seen this one. I had forgotten the moment in the hotel room when Ethan Hawke goes to pick up the phone and says “Let me alert Sweden …” which is so hostile and hilarious. This is a great movie about feminism too: its pros and cons. Linklater is brave enough to let both sides have their say, to allow the debate to erupt. It’s not that “everyone’s right” or “nobody’s right” – it’s that these things have to be fought out, moment to moment. You can see where she’s coming from, but God I can see where he’s coming from too. My first boyfriend always took everything personally the way she does. So I’d say “I’m going to audition for summer stock” and he’d get all weird because that would take me away from him for a summer. And I’d be like “DUDE. I’M AN ACTRESS. What did you THINK was gonna happen? I’d get a day job and try Moosewood Cookbook recipes with you on the weekend??” He was always trying to trap me. But in his mind, that’s not what he was doing. These movies are great, because at some point you can see yourself in them – and not just women seeing themselves in her, men seeing themselves in him … but ALL of it. It also becomes clear that – wow – not getting on that plane at the end of Before Sunset was … really kind of out there. Yes, he gets to see his son in the summers. But he DID leave his son, the thing he said he would never ever do. And you can SEE the toll that has taken on him, on her, on the whole thing. Their relationship, their real relationship, began with an act of betrayal, and you can’t get away from it. I’m very curious to see what the trio is cooking up for the next installment.
They All Laughed (1982; d. Peter Bogdanovich)
What a magical movie. Doomed at the get-go because poor Dorothy Stratten was murdered a month after they stopped filming. It’s now found its audience, it has its champions (myself included). I wrote about the film here. I was so so proud to be one of those interviewed for the documentary about They All Laughed, called One Day Since Yesterday. (Streaming on Netflix.)
— Grant, by Ron Chernow. He’s such an elegant writer, such a good storyteller. His interests as a writer have always been clear. I’ve read them all – except for this one, and his Washington biography which came out recently and somehow I missed news of it. I will catch up! Normally, Chernow’s interests have been financial: the figures he wrote about – JP Morgan, John D Rockefeller, Alexander Hamilton, the Warburgs – have been about the financial movers and shakers of history. With Grant, he moves into another territory – and, I’m assuming, with Washington. Maybe now he’s interested in “great Generals in history.” Whatever, I’ll read it all. I know some about U.S. Grant. (I did not know, though, that the “S” stands for nothing. It was the result of a mistake on his West Point application and it somehow stuck.) I knew about the alcohol rumors. I know about the surrender at Appomattox, and the tipping of the hat to Lee. I know about his relationship with Lincoln. I could pick him out of a lineup because of that famous photo of him outside his tent during the Civil War. But other than that, I have SO much to learn and I am just FASCINATED. As per usual, Chernow comes at his subject with a strong point of view. Chernow is often performing an act of redress in his books. Hamilton needed rehabilitating (well, I think Chernow succeeded there – what do YOU think?), so did Rockefeller, and etc. He doesn’t go all fanboy. He just tries to cut through the rumors and games-of-telephone which create mens’ reputations. I am loving it. The sequence from the end of the Civil War through Lincoln’s assassination – which was a WEEK – made me well up with tears. It’s a wonderful book and I highly recommend it.
— The Haunting of Hill House, by Shirley Jackson. I love her – and this – so much. I’ve been reading it on those deadly commutes I just talked about. You get so sucked into her way of seeing, her ability to make a character and her situation palpable in a brief yet devastating paragraph. Shirley Jackson is the definition of “escape” for me, in that within moments of picking up the book, I am literally in another world. Her world. It’s really quite amazing.
— Interviews With History and Power, by Oriana Fallaci. She is mostly remembered by her explosive 2 final books, and everyone “writes her off” – and I imagine many of those people who write her off never read any of her other stuff. I have a hard time with people like this. I don’t pick fights, because why bother, but you might as well try to understand the totality of someone’s work? Yes? No? We live in unforgiving times. I understand this is a fine line. It can be used to justify monstrosities. You have to take it on a case by case basis – and that is very difficult in our explosive atmosphere. (I remember after 9/11, Susan Sontag’s little piece in The New Yorker erupted through the world. Many of the people who read me were like “FUCK HER.” I wasn’t crazy about her piece, but I said, “Have you read any of her other stuff? Are you aware of her writing? Her influence? Her invaluable contributions to culture? Or have you just written her off? You’re DUMMIES if that’s the case.” I was so annoyed at their lack of curiosity, at their assumption that they didn’t NEED to read any more Sontag. Your loss.) AT ANY RATE. Oriana Fallaci’s interviews … there’s really nothing else quite like them. There’s a very good reason Rolling Stone called her “the greatest political interviewer in modern times.” She prints the interviews in transcript form, so you get them raw. Her questions. Her tenacity! How un-intimidated she is by power. How disgusted she is by power, in general. She is not in any way un-biased. She leads with her opinions. In this book she interviews – among other people – Kissinger, Indira Gandhi, Yasir Arafat, King Hussein of Jordan, Golda Meir, General Vo Nguyen Giap. The Shah of Iran (the final Shah). And more. The interviews for the most part took place in the early 1970s. They are snapshots of moments in time. They are object lessons in how to hold people in power accountable, even people whom she admires. She’s all about the tough questions. And if the person being interviewed dodges, she goes back to her question: “You didn’t answer my question.” She gets another dodge. “But what does this have to do with the question I asked?” I realize there are still journalists working like this. I suppose I am disheartened by the way celebrity has overtaken our free press, so that people will do what it takes to maintain their “access.” NO. Let them ban you. Fuck them. Fuck power wielded like that. Get your information another way. People in power are not to be trusted. Ever. They must be held to account. They must never be allowed to relax. Do not trust power. I don’t care if it’s “your” party in power. You should feel the same way about THOSE people, too. I have always felt this way.
— Black Mischief, by Evelyn Waugh. This is the only one of his I haven’t read. It is … brutal. You can’t even believe he’s daring to do it, even though you already know he’s a fearless writer. It’s a lampoon of revolutions in Africa (which … yikes), but more than that, way more than that, it is a VICIOUS and RELENTLESS takedown of the British diplomat class, their cluelessness, their entitlement, their rapaciousness covered in docility, their pure ignorance, their SILLINESS. I was about to say “gloves off” but Waugh never wore gloves as a writer.
— Rogue Male, by Geoffrey Household. Charley gave this to me. I read it in a day. I could not put it down. Charley called it “the case for why political assassination is sometimes necessary.” He’s right. Even more extraordinary, the book was published in 1939. So just think about that year. Think about what was going on, and what it must have felt like to read this book (a bestseller). It’s one of the great “chase” books, better than any spy thriller. The man to be assassinated is not named. He doesn’t NEED to be named. The book has been turned into various film versions (with different titles), one of which I am very familiar with but I somehow didn’t know about the source material. Within the first two pages I was like, “Huh, this feels like …” I love it when I feel smart. Anyway: read this book! If you read fast, you can zip through it in a couple of days. You definitely cannot put it down once you start it.
I’ve had a hectic summer, and have been job-hunting, with little-to-some success. I’m going on a trip in September, a trip I’ve wanted to take for … 20 years? … so job-hunting while I have this huge thing looming is rather odd (not to mention traveling while I’m looking for work … it feels very decadent, but I booked the trip last year when I had some money.) I have a temp job last week and this week, and my commute (from my new apartment) is so long. Almost 2 hours. I keep experimenting with different transportation combinations to shave off 5, 10 minutes. And, not sure if you’ve heard (those of us in the New York area are obsessed with it) – the MTA system is breaking down. Or broken. I got on my subway train last night, settled in, only to find the next stop was not the expected next stop, and the train had changed to a different line, going in the opposite direction. So the A turned into the F without any warning and I got off, standing in the sweltering muck of the subway station, waiting for any train to come along that wouldn’t deposit me in Queens. I figure since my life has been pretty much subway-less for a couple of years now, since the gig at the New York Times was so central I just got off at the bus station and walked across the street … it’s my turn to participate in the misery that is the New York subway system. So I don’t complain about it too much. Also, I’ve finished 2 short novels during the last week on these commutes.
The point of all this is: Thank you music in the earbuds. Here’s what I’ve listened to on these deadly commutes.
“Mr. Harris” – Aimee Mann. This song is difficult for me to commit to listening to. I usually skip it. It’s … the story of one of my love affairs. THE love affair. It was so long ago. I’m so much older now. Things have faded. But this song makes me remember what it felt like to love someone like that. It burned.
“Bells on a Leper” – Candy Butchers. Mike Viola’s band. The O’Malleys love Candy Butchers. My sister got me into them. She ended up opening for Mike Viola once – it was as huge to all of us as if she were opening for U2. Amazing singer/songwriter/collaborator. He’s the one who wrote all the songs for That Thing You Do and then got screwed in terms of getting credit. He’s amazing.
“Sinner’s Prayer” – Lady Gaga. From her “country” (??) album. Which I really like! And I can’t wait for A Star is Born.
“Tell It to the Sky” – Tracy Bonham. From her great album The Burdens of Being Upright. From the brief season when you could hear female anger on the airwaves. Before the Lolitas took over the industry. And listen, I love some of those Lolitas. But it just goes to show you women are required to be all one thing, because otherwise … HOW COULD PEOPLE EVEN PROCESS IT? Tracy first came to my attention when I was living in Chicago, and I walked into a Virgin Records (remember them) on Diversey and her RAGER “Mother Mother” was screaming from the speakers. I went up to an employee and said, “Who is this?” He led me to her. That album is now a favorite. Not a bad song on it. I still “follow” her. She’s still recording. Now she’s middle-aged and seems to be happy so … her music isn’t as urgent and young-girl-raging – something has been lost in the transfer (for me). But I’ll still follow her wherever she goes. She doesn’t put out that much, so you have to be diligent to keep her on your radar.
“Getting High for Jesus” – Holly Golightly & The Brokeoffs. Adore them.
“Marigold” – The Foo Fighters. A live recording. It’s thrilling, I love the chord changes.
“Burn On” – Randy Newman. Don’t look now but the Cuyahoga River is on fire.
“Missing Person” – Split Enz. I realize I’m dating myself but I wonder if you have to be a certain age – and exactly that age – to have gotten swept away by this album. All I know is everyone was listening to it in college. I associate it with college. It’s a really good album!
“O Holy Night” – live, Tennessee Ernie Ford and Gordon McRae. Honestly, what is my life. I grabbed this off Youtube. It is stunningly beautiful, their two gorgeous male voices harmonizing but still … sometimes I have to laugh at myself.
“Beale St. Blues” – Eartha Kitt. Such a great track. I never get sick of it and I’ve been listening to it most of my life. I also would love there to be a resurgence of Female Vocalist with Male Backup Singers. Marilyn Monroe did that a lot as well. It’s sexy as hell.
“Polyester Bride” – Liz Phair. Off of Whitechocolatespaceegg. I guess there are people who don’t like this album? There are people who dislike everything she’s done since Exile in Guyville. Ah well, I can’t help it that people are wrong. I love the image of the egotistic bartender here – “You’re lucky to even know me.” Which reminds me of Bruce Willis’ comments when he came and talked at my school about his time as a bartender: “I was more famous as a bartender than I”ve ever been as an actor.”
“Bad Romance” – Lady Gaga. You could not escape this song. It blasted out of car windows, out of speakers at Dunkin Donuts, it was in the air. Thank goodness I liked it. This has been a good girl-heavy shuffle so far.
“Foreclosure of a Dream” – Megadeth. YESSSSSSS.
“A New Door” – Lenny Kravitz. Recently I saw some bozo on Twitter make a disparaging comment about Lenny, and the tone of his comment was like “All right-thinking people feel this way.” Excuse me, but speak for yourself. I love Lenny.
“Let It Be Me” – The Indigo Girls. Their songs are hit-or-miss for me. This is a really good one.
“Shakin’ All Over” – Wanda Jackson. Off the Jack White produced The Party Ain’t Over which if I’m not mistaken was her first time in the Billboard Top 100. !!! This is a Rock and Roll Hall of Famer we’re talking about. “It’s about time” doesn’t even begin to cover it. If you get a chance to see her live, do it. She’s old. She won’t be around forever. What are you waiting for?
“Unbroken” – Jessica Sierra. Whatever happened to her? I think she was on Celebrity Rehab (member when that was a thing?) I know she had a lot of troubles. I hope she’s well. She sings the hell out of this song.
“Louie Louie” – The Troggs. I love them so much.
“Young Blood” – The Coasters. This SWINGS.
“Let Her Go, God Bless Her” – The Louvin Brothers. Great guitar-picking. Great harmonies. So influential. Everyone copied them.
“To the End” – My Chemical Romance. These guys are so histrionic.
“Tired Of You” – Foo Fighters. “I woke up getting tired of you.” Brutal.
“Hush Hush” – Pistol Annies. These girls are not having any of your sanctimony.
“Underneath the Tree” – Kelly Clarkson. From her wonderful Christmas album. Love it!
“On the Run” – ELO. There’s just something about their chord changes … mainlining into my emotions. How does that work? If I were a musicologist I could probably analyze it.
“Revolution” – The Beatles. This is a pretty devastating cut-down of what Tom Wolfe called “radical chic”.
“Cure” – Metallica, from the unfairly-maligned Load. Yes. It’s not classic Metallica. Sometimes you’re like, “What on earth are you all doing …” But it’s entertaining. I’d prefer them to try new shit than to keep repeating themselves. They’re not people who play it safe. That’s why they’re Metallica.
“Christ for President” – Billy Bragg & Wilco, off their great Mermaid Avenue album. This was on constant rotation in our family after it came out. My nephew Cashel was a newborn then (he’s a junior in college now – WHAT?) and baby Cashel LOVED this album, and used to lie on his blanket and move around to the beat. It’s too much adorability to even think about.
“Get Down, Make Love” – Queen. Stop telling me what to do.
“Low” – Foo Fighters. Lots of FF in this shuffle. Clearly I love them.
“I Can’t Stop Loving You” – Elvis Presley (HEY ELVIS WHERE YOU BEEN), a rehearsal off of the That’s the Way It Is album (such a good album). I love Elvis’ version of this. This is a rehearsal where he’s kind of goofing off – “Oh YES IT DOES NOW” – pure Elvis. He’s so into it. And there. That’s why Elvis is Elvis. Cuz he gets so into it.
“Rehab” – the Glee version. It’s completely ridiculous and it completely rocks.
“Waitin’ In School” – Ricky Nelson. He was like the biggest damn thing in the world, he was a phenom, the biggest star of his day. He still has his passionate fan base (listen to his “Fever” if you think he was totally white-bread) … but … like Brenda Lee, it doesn’t seem that the magnitude of his fame has filtered down to common knowledge, in the same way that, say, the Beatles’ fame has. Lesley Gore is in this category too. Maybe people think she was a one-hit wonder? Like, Brenda Lee set records that weren’t broken until Madonna came along 20 years later. Anyway, let’s hear it for Ricky Nelson.
“Miss the Mississippi and You” – Jerry Lee Lewis. Off of the 1995 album Young Blood. Still going strong. Still in great voice. I mean, he YODELS here. He’s so damn great. I dread his passing.
“A Very Special Love Song” – Charlie Rich. Another guy who got his start at Sun Records. I don’t think he put out a bad track. His love songs are beyond compare. His VOICE. How much HE was in his voice. Very emotional music.
“Love Game” – Eminem (featuring Kendrick Lamar). This is so much fun. Sampling “The Game of Love” which is so bizarre and perfect. It’s a love song. By Eminem. So, you know, it’s filled with rage, but it’s also weirdly innocent. (“I’m a fucking romantic, you fucking bitch.” hahaha) Also he name-checks Norman Bates.
“Coconut” – Harry Nilsson. Classic.
“Orange Colored Sky” – Screaming Jay Hawkins. If aliens visited our planet and were introduced to Screaming Jay Hawkins … imagine the first impression they’d get of us. They’d think we ALL were as genius as weird as … OUT THERE … as this singular artist. He really can’t be fully explained. This is true of most people who staunchly follow their own star. Who trust their instincts to this degree.
“Fell on Black Days” – Soundgarden. This song …
“Too Much, Too Little, Too Late” – Jellyfish. I adore them. I associate them with a very brief period in my life … when I was hanging out with a certain crowd … and I did ecstasy for the first – and only time. That whole crowd was into Jellyfish.
“Masseduction” – St. Vincent. She’s such a rock star.
“In a Little While” – Wynona Carr. In general, she should be better known. She only came out with one “pop” album (not a bad track on it), and a gospel album – she came out of gospel, playing the same circuit as Sam Cooke at the same time. She’s terrific. Great voice.
“He Can’t Fill My Shoes” – Jerry Lee Lewis. From his 1974 album I-40 Country, after his rejuvenation/rehabilitation in Nashville. I love his country albums. He always brings in that … honky tonk ego (I love how he always throws in his own name into the lyrics) and showmanship, there’s something corrupt about him. Not a bad thing in a rock star. He’s seen too much, done too much, he hasn’t “come through” the storm, he lives in that storm. It’s his sweet spot. It’s his thing. Even with the big chorus behind him, you still feel the wild man in operation. Such an insanely talented man.
“HUAC” – The Raunch Hands. They were a “folk group” in the 1960s. I think they only came out with one album, which my parents owned. My siblings and I were obsessed with it. We knew every lyric to every song. So please picture grade-school kids sitting in the backseat of the station wagon singing lustily,
“H-U-A-C! H-U-A-C!
They’re just lookin’ out for guys like you and me.
So become reactionary and of progress be most wary
Keep our country true and strong and brave and free!”
My parents must have been like, “What have we done.” (Please don’t be boring and be like “You do know the HUAC was horrible, right?” The song is sarcastic.) My mother converted the old scratchy album to a CD and gave it to all of us for Christmas. My life flashes before my eyes every time a track comes up.
“Why Don’t We Get Drunk (And Screw)” – Don Sparks, singing Jimmy Buffett from Escape to Margaritaville, the Broadway show – script written by my cousin Mike O’Malley. It was a blast. The whole audience sings along with every song. People showed up in Hawaiian shirts. Hard-core.
“You Can Make It If You True” – The Rolling Stones. Slow lewd blues. Work that tambourine!
“So Much Better” – Eminem. Mad jealous Marshall! “My life would be so much better if you dropped dead!” Yeah, I think this qualifies as a “Bad Sport Breakup Song,” one of my favorite song genres.
“Crazy Little Thing Called Love” – Queen. So Elvis-inspired you know he would have covered it had he lived long enough to hear it.
“Shine a Little Love” – ELO. For me, it’s all about that opening hook, that then repeats throughout. The rest is kinda disco-stock. But that hook makes the song. Most of their songs have something like that, a unique spin, a chord change, something that grabs you, stays with you.
“The Beehive State” – Randy Newman. A rollicking dance-hall ode to delegates from various states taking the Senate floor. Only Randy Newman …
“Love Runs Out” – OneRepublic. I put this onto my “running mix” about 20 times because the beat is so damn insistent it drives me on to match the pace.
“A Hard Day’s Night” – The Beatles. I just never get “over” these songs. I’m never like “Yeah. Whatevs.” How many times have I listened to this? How many times have I enjoyed harmonizing? (I learned to harmonize, by the way, as a kid, from listening to Beatles albums.)
“Broke Record” – Eric Church. So good. The Rolling Stone cover story interview was something else. Will be interesting to see how some members of his base react to it. He’s not some obscure dude. He is THE superstar right now and he’s bitching about the NRA? A gun owner? Amazing. I saw him perform last year at Outlaw Fest (with Willie Nelson) and it was a thrill. He has a new album coming out in October and I can’t wait.
“Tomorrow Never Comes” – Elvis Presley. This kind of swooping power ballad drives some Elvis fans crazy. But this is as personal as anything else he ever did. He had a power ballad soul. He sings the hell out of this and it’s one of my favorites of his vocals. The song gets HUUUUUUGE and guess what, he fills it. Or … the song expands to HIS size. Either one. I find it thrilling.
“Raglan Road” – The Dubliners. “And I said let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.” My God.
“American Honky-Tonk Bar Association” – Garth Brooks. Has anyone written a knowledgeable take-down of Brooks and his detrimental impact on country music? I like him, I went to his free concert in Central Park … but after you’ve listened to a ton of country music, before him and presently, there’s something really … “off” about him. Like he’s … a fake, maybe? But I don’t know how to say it and wondered if anyone else had done so.
“Missionary Man” – The Eurythmics. One of their best.
“Baby I Love You” – The Ronettes. Great song, with that enormous Phil Spector sound.
“Monkey Back” – Beth Hart. One of the best most gravelly rock ‘n roll voices around. I love her. She stopped recording for a while – or at least I lost track of her – so it’s been fun playing catch-up. I mean, watch. She’s a fucking rock star.
“The One” – Foo Fighters. “You’re not the one but you’re the only one that can make feel like shit.” You know, they’ve got a way with words. I love this one. I’m emotionally attached to the Foo Fighters and have been from the jump, like many of my generation. It was kind of a miracle that they even emerged and that Dave Grohl was… front man? Playing guitar? I grasped onto them and was thrilled that their first album – recorded in, what, 5 days? – was so good. It could have been just a one-time thing, a kind of “Okay, Nirvana is done, I am admitting it is done, I need to do this album to free myself, to grieve for my dead friend, to move on …” But here they still are. 20 years later. Amazing.
“Too Many Rivers” – Jerry Lee Lewis. In his voice is everything … except innocence, maybe. Elvis’ voice had innocence in it, although he could be as dirty as anyone on the planet. But what makes JLL special is how his life experience, the craziness, the scandals, the controversies, probably also the awareness that he had another path (the Jesus path) and maybe he’d pay for that … is in every single note of every single song. He enjoyed his own talent. What can I say. He’s a phenom. But you listen to something like this? A pretty standard country song, if you think about it. With that white-bread chorus behind him … and there’s Jerry … and you can hear ALL of that, ALL of his life in his voice, and how he sings. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.
“Firework” – Katy Perry. She could buy 10 castles in Austria with the proceeds from this song alone. The song always makes me think of this and I just rewatched it now for the 100th time. I’m still not sick of it.
“Girl from the North Country” – Bob Dylan. People more articulate than I am can probably describe the impact of this song. It’s like the impact of a meteor. It changes everything. At least that’s how it makes me feel. It makes me want to lie down and cry for hours.
“Bosom of Abraham” – Elvis Presley. In the 60s, when Elvis was doing movies, and putting out only soundtracks (all as he watched The Beatles and the Stones sweep the nation), he retreated (so called) to the music that comforted him most, gospel. He put out two gospel albums that decade, and they went platinum many times over. They’re probably still going platinum again, as we speak. You can FEEL the urgency in them, the fervor with which he threw himself into these songs, how deep they go for him. It’s great stuff.
“We Shall Overcome” – Mahalia Jackson. It’s devastating. My heart is broken. But if she could hold on, then so can I.
“The Dream” – Rufus Wainwright. I saw him at Town Hall on Valentine’s Day 2002. New York was still wounded. People forget. WE don’t forget but other people do. And certainly people who didn’t live here can’t know how long it took, and in many ways … it’s still always there. I go through the Oculus every day, resting on the footprint of the towers. I think of that day every time I go through there. So there was a sad feeling at that Town Hall – it was in the air – and Rufus felt it. He drank wine, was wonderfully funny, beautifully entertaining and at one point, during one of the songs, he said to us, “It’s going to be okay!!” He FELT it. That sadness-in-the-air was so omnipresent that by Valentine’s Day 2002 it was our new normal. Rufus picked up on it. I’ll never forget that.
“America’s Sweetheart” – Elle King. I love her.
“Make a Wish On Me” – Teddy Thompson & Kelly Jones. I love this album so much. An album of duets, old-fashioned country/folk duets, a man and a woman harmonizing … it’s “old-fashioned” I guess … but old-fashioned as in precious, to be treasured.
“Too Much to Gain to Lose” – Jerry Lee Lewis. It’s just perfect.
“Good Time Charlie’s Got the Blues” – Jerry Lee Lewis. 1980! Still trucking. He’s got 40 years to go. I love the violins here.
“Highwayman” – Johnny Cash, with Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings and Kris Kristofferson. Hell of a lineup. It delivers.
“Copperline” – James Taylor. Okay, this is fine. In fact, I love it. I grew up listening to James Taylor because my parents had all his stuff on vinyl. And I followed him after. Follow him still. I’ve seen him live a bunch of times. Of course it’s hard for me to forget Lester Bangs’ unbelievably titled essay “James Taylor Marked for Death” but the funny thing is, I can see why Lester felt the way he did, and still can enjoy James Taylor’s music. However. HOWEVER. I think the most honest Taylor has ever been – the deepest glimpse we have ever gotten of who James Taylor REALLY is – is in Two-Lane Blacktop.
“Four Letter Word” – Dale Hawkins. The four letter word he’s referring to is “rock” but, you know, the double entendre is RICH.
“Cups” – Anna Kendrick. From Pitch Perfect. It’s so adorable.
“Paisley Park” – Prince. Every so often I have a moment where I’m like, “Wait … he died?? is that real??” I absolutely love “Paisley Park” and this album rules.
“Think” – Aretha Franklin. Oh, Aretha!! I FEEL the absence. Don’t you? But of course she’s left so much of herself behind, with us, forever.
Not too many playwrights – as in ZERO, as in NADA – get a Broadway theatre named for them while they’re still alive.
Neil Simon’s plays were hits (putting it mildly). Over the course of his career, his plays generated fifty – yes, you heard right – Tony nominations for actors. This is an unbeatable record. For many reasons. The industry has changed so much. The stakes are too high. Cats runs for 25 years. Movies are turned into musicals. Ticket prices are astronomical. But still: FIFTY Tony noms. It won’t ever be topped.
If memory serves, Brighton Beach Memoirs was my second Broadway show. I was in middle school. Or maybe first or second year of high school? And War Games had come out and I BURNED and YEARNED for Matthew Broderick. If you’re an actor, or want to be an actor, you are well-versed in Neil Simon, even when you’re young. He helps you learn how to do comedy. The jokes are airtight. (This is one of the reasons why some people didn’t like his work. Pauline Kael, for one!) But anyway, at the same time War Games came out, Broderick was on Broadway making a huge splash in Brighton Beach Memoirs. Matthew Broderick was having a Very Big Year. So I did the legwork myself. I started the process in motion. I was a kid but I was like, “Okay. I have babysitting money. I am going to buy a ticket.” I didn’t live in New York, remember. I don’t remember how the ticket was bought – maybe I gave the money to my parents and they booked it for me – but I do vividly remember calling the actual box office and asking the poor lady who answered the phone, “Will Matthew Broderick still be doing the role next month?” At any rate, I got my wish. I took the train down, I stayed with my aunt, I saw the show, I was in total awe of him.
While I was in high school/college, I used the “pockets” monologue from Brighton Beach Memoirs as an audition piece. I still think it’s a lovely piece of writing.
Oh, God, I wish Daddy were alive. Oh, God, he was so handsome. Always dressed so dapper, his shoes always shined. I always thought he should have been a movie star…like Gary Cooper…only very short. Mostly I remember his pockets.
When I was six or seven he always brought me home a little surprise. Like a Hershey or a top. He’d tell me to go get it in his coat pocket. So I’d run to the closet and put my hand in and it felt as big as a tent. I wanted to crawl in there and go to sleep. And there were all these terrific things in there, like Juicy Fruit gum or Spearmint Life Savers and bits of cellophane and crumbled pieces of tobacco and movie stubs and nickels and pennies and rubber bands and paper clips and his grey suede gloves that he wore in the winter time.
Then I found his coat in Mom’s closet and I put my hand in the pocket. And everything was gone. It was emptied and dry-cleaned and it felt cold…And that’s when I knew he was really dead.
If you say it out loud, the monologue basically plays itself.
The poster kind of expresses the dumb derivative-ness of this movie. But listen, there’s a small screwball rom-com in there struggling to be free. So I’ll give it props for that. Also it gave me a chance to write about Sam Rockwell.
, by Ron Chernow. He’s such an elegant writer, such a good storyteller. His interests as a writer have always been clear. I’ve read them all – except for this one, and his Washington biography which came out recently and somehow I missed news of it. I will catch up! Normally, Chernow’s interests have been financial: the figures he wrote about – JP Morgan, John D Rockefeller, Alexander Hamilton, the Warburgs – have been about the financial movers and shakers of history. With Grant, he moves into another territory – and, I’m assuming, with Washington. Maybe now he’s interested in “great Generals in history.” Whatever, I’ll read it all. I know some about U.S. Grant. (I did not know, though, that the “S” stands for nothing. It was the result of a mistake on his West Point application and it somehow stuck.) I knew about the alcohol rumors. I know about the surrender at Appomattox, and the tipping of the hat to Lee. I know about his relationship with Lincoln. I could pick him out of a lineup because of that famous photo of him outside his tent during the Civil War. But other than that, I have SO much to learn and I am just FASCINATED. As per usual, Chernow comes at his subject with a strong point of view. Chernow is often performing an act of redress in his books. Hamilton needed rehabilitating (well, I think Chernow succeeded there – what do YOU think?), so did Rockefeller, and etc. He doesn’t go all fanboy. He just tries to cut through the rumors and games-of-telephone which create mens’ reputations. I am loving it. The sequence from the end of the Civil War through Lincoln’s assassination – which was a WEEK – made me well up with tears. It’s a wonderful book and I highly recommend it. 
, by Shirley Jackson. I love her – and this – so much. I’ve been reading it on those deadly commutes I just talked about. You get so sucked into her way of seeing, her ability to make a character and her situation palpable in a brief yet devastating paragraph. Shirley Jackson is the definition of “escape” for me, in that within moments of picking up the book, I am literally in another world. Her world. It’s really quite amazing. 
, by Oriana Fallaci. She is mostly remembered by her explosive 2 final books, and everyone “writes her off” – and I imagine many of those people who write her off never read any of her other stuff. I have a hard time with people like this. I don’t pick fights, because why bother, but you might as well try to understand the totality of someone’s work? Yes? No? We live in unforgiving times. I understand this is a fine line. It can be used to justify monstrosities. You have to take it on a case by case basis – and that is very difficult in our explosive atmosphere. (I remember after 9/11, Susan Sontag’s little piece in The New Yorker erupted through the world. Many of the people who read me were like “FUCK HER.” I wasn’t crazy about her piece, but I said, “Have you read any of her other stuff? Are you aware of her writing? Her influence? Her invaluable contributions to culture? Or have you just written her off? You’re DUMMIES if that’s the case.” I was so annoyed at their lack of curiosity, at their assumption that they didn’t NEED to read any more Sontag. Your loss.) AT ANY RATE. Oriana Fallaci’s interviews … there’s really nothing else quite like them. There’s a very good reason Rolling Stone called her “the greatest political interviewer in modern times.” She prints the interviews in transcript form, so you get them raw. Her questions. Her tenacity! How un-intimidated she is by power. How disgusted she is by power, in general. She is not in any way un-biased. She leads with her opinions. In this book she interviews – among other people – Kissinger, Indira Gandhi, Yasir Arafat, King Hussein of Jordan, Golda Meir, General Vo Nguyen Giap. The Shah of Iran (the final Shah). And more. The interviews for the most part took place in the early 1970s. They are snapshots of moments in time. They are object lessons in how to hold people in power accountable, even people whom she admires. She’s all about the tough questions. And if the person being interviewed dodges, she goes back to her question: “You didn’t answer my question.” She gets another dodge. “But what does this have to do with the question I asked?” I realize there are still journalists working like this. I suppose I am disheartened by the way celebrity has overtaken our free press, so that people will do what it takes to maintain their “access.” NO. Let them ban you. Fuck them. Fuck power wielded like that. Get your information another way. People in power are not to be trusted. Ever. They must be held to account. They must never be allowed to relax. Do not trust power. I don’t care if it’s “your” party in power. You should feel the same way about THOSE people, too. I have always felt this way. 
, by Evelyn Waugh. This is the only one of his I haven’t read. It is … brutal. You can’t even believe he’s daring to do it, even though you already know he’s a fearless writer. It’s a lampoon of revolutions in Africa (which … yikes), but more than that, way more than that, it is a VICIOUS and RELENTLESS takedown of the British diplomat class, their cluelessness, their entitlement, their rapaciousness covered in docility, their pure ignorance, their SILLINESS. I was about to say “gloves off” but Waugh never wore gloves as a writer. 
, by Geoffrey Household. Charley gave this to me. I read it in a day. I could not put it down. Charley called it “the case for why political assassination is sometimes necessary.” He’s right. Even more extraordinary, the book was published in 1939. So just think about that year. Think about what was going on, and what it must have felt like to read this book (a bestseller). It’s one of the great “chase” books, better than any spy thriller. The man to be assassinated is not named. He doesn’t NEED to be named. The book has been turned into various film versions (with different titles), one of which I am very familiar with but I somehow didn’t know about the source material. Within the first two pages I was like, “Huh, this feels like …” I love it when I feel smart. Anyway: read this book! If you read fast, you can zip through it in a couple of days. You definitely cannot put it down once you start it. 
, by Diane di Prima. I finished this one a couple months ago. It’s one of the most extraordinary memoirs I’ve ever read. 
