“In a world full of Barbies, every girl needs a Joan Jett” — Dave Grohl

Posted on January 14, 2025 by sheila

At this point, my “relationship” with Dave Grohl (born on this day), is decades-long. I was there when Nirvana hit. I was swept away by Nirvana – and all their ilk – and cried when Kurt Cobain died. My sadness about the demise of Nirvana felt personal. It was like I had to say goodbye not just to Cobain but to Krist Novoselic and Dave Grohl too. It was like, “Oh well, that’s all over now.” I don’t know why I didn’t consider that of course these were young men, the survivors of Nirvana, and they’d go on to make more music. But Nirvana … It was so hard to let them go. I’ll never get over it.

I have a visceral memory of my sister telling me Dave Grohl had come out with a “solo” album. Of course it wasn’t a solo album, it was the debut of his new band Foo Fighters, but … we didn’t have enough information to know that yet. The internet wasn’t pouring us into the rumor mill 24/7. We just heard whisperings, inklings. I remember saying, “WHAT?” It was like a miracle. Light from the caves. Hyperbole required. Maybe you never loved something that hard, maybe you never felt like something died – something big – when a beloved figure dies … OR maybe it wasn’t Kurt Cobain for you, maybe it was something else. And that’s fine. But for me, for so many others, Nirvana MEANT something. Just like River Phoenix MEANT something. Phoenix and Cobain died just months apart: a watershed moment for Gen-X kids and young adults (particularly for those of us who were in the arts). Maybe these losses weren’t to the level of “The Day the Music Died” … but it was OUR Day the Music Died. So Dave Grohl, from seemingly out of nowhere, put out this rough-sounding album – and his band was called … wait, WHAT was his band called again? What the hell does Foo Fighters mean? I bought the album on cassette tape the week it was released.

What a thrill it was to listen to that first album for the first time. When I hear any of those songs again, I still remember the first time. If you’re not Gen-X – OR if you were one of those people who looked around at everyone crying when Kurt Cobain died and thought, “These people have lost their minds” (if you recall, much of the commentary was like this) … all I can say is: Maybe have some curiosity about what other people are going through, particularly younger people, and maybe consider that those “kids” know exactly what it is they are crying about?

It wasn’t just exciting that Dave Grohl emerged from Nirvana and still wanted to make music. What was even more thrilling was … HE was now the front-man. AND he was playing guitar and singing. AND he wrote the songs. Nirvana was, of course, a trio – and each of them were famous – but … you know. Cobain was the magnet, the light, the charismatic troubled center. Grohl said once in an interview that Nirvana was really “heavy” – the vibe was heavy, the fame was REALLY heavy – and the first Foo Fighters album was a way for him to shake off the heaviness. You can FEEL it in those songs. The release and catharsis. That long-haried boy playing drums in Nirvana had all THIS in him. Who knew??

What is even more amazing is that the Foo Fighters are still here. And they are the opposite of a nostalgia act, a way for people to channel their grief about Cobain or some such. I have said this before: the Foo Fighters have a sound that is often as aggressive as Nirvana’s, but positivity fuels it, not anguish and rage. I am not dissing anguish and rage. I need artists to express those songs, and Cobain was a genius at it. But positive aggression is rare! When I say “positivity” I don’t mean it the way it’s normally meant today – so maybe I need to find a different word. “Positivity” has been co-opted by every single emotional fascist on TikTok who want to regulate literally every individual’s response to every single individual moment. Nothing but “positivity” is allowed! No thank you. It’s the 1950s smiling-white-family-white-picket-fence conventionality and consensus-building-requirement in another form, but equally as bossy and conformist. When I say positivity I mean: an emotion and a drive on the side of life, of joy, of openness, of fluid and free emotions, of possibility. To me, that’s what the Foo Fighters sound like. And that’s all Dave Grohl.

I want to link to a piece my brother wrote about The Colour and the Shape, their second album, the one that launched them into the stratosphere (the first album being more like a tentative introduction). Bren included it on his 50 Best Albums list, and he says much of what I feel and much more articulately. Because that album … I honestly listened to it too much. I had to take a step back. I know the track listing by heart, because you actually listened to ALBUMS back then. Anyway, here’s my brother’s wonderful piece:

50 Best Albums, by Brendan O’Malley, #18. Foo Fighters, The Colour And The Shape

And now for some clips. They’re a little bit off the beaten path but I love them. Grohl was part of one of the heaviest bands ever – and nothing can take away my adoration of Nirvana – but it’s like he wriggled out of the chains of the kind of fame Nirvana achieved – wriggled out of the codependent anxiety between Nirvana and its fans – to find a new kind of freedom. He plays with Queens of the Stone Age (talk about HEAVY). He sometimes plays with Tenacious D. He appeared in a Muppet Movie. He’s all over the place. He’s free. And I’m happy for him. So two of these clips are Dave Grohl supporting other artists, and fan-boy-ing OUT, which I love.

First up, though, a clip Grohl isn’t even in. You might have seen this. 1,000 drummers gathered in a field in Italy, to play “Fly” – as a way to lure Foo Fighters to come play in their area (which they never had before). It’s awe-inspiring and – again – even without the Foo Fighters’ presence – maybe even BECAUSE of the absence – the joy in the music is almost palpable. Not the joy of the musicians, although that’s present too, but the joy in the SOUND.

Next up: Dave Grohl playing sideman to Rick Springfield, and he’s so into it he makes me laugh out loud. He is so excited to play “Jessie’s Girl” and is just so INTO supporting Rick Springfield, and it makes me feel like sometimes the world works out, sometimes it’s a good place, of tribute, honor, memory, collaboration, and personal triumph.

I have deep affection for this clip, Dave Grohl and the Foo Fighters performing “The One” at the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City. Everyone looks cold. They’re outside. February 2022 was so close to 9/11, I still remember how deeply this joyful sound – and the joyful crowd – touched me to my core. For months I had been living in chaos, we all were, but New Yorkers more so. I can’t put into words what I felt watching Dave Grohl, his breath showing in the icy air, singing this joyful loud song:

And here’s Dave Grohl and Paul McCartney singing “I Saw Her Standing There”.

1. This is my favorite Beatles song. I made my choice at age 8 and I’m sticking to it.

2. WATCH DAVE GROHL. In the piece I linked to above, my piece, I compared him to Paul McCartney! So first, there’s the opening: Dave Grohl crouched beside McCartney, grinning and cackling with excitement like a little kid.

3. Once the song starts, keep watching Grohl. He’s so into it! He’s US, in other words, and yet he’s also famous and he’s also onstage. I remember a funny comment made by one of my Red-Sox-fan family members in the world-changing year of 2004 about first baseman Kevin Millar: “He is the closest thing we’ll get to having a Red Sox fan ON the team.” It made me laugh out loud because it was so true. And Dave Grohl is a superstar, but in this moment, he’s a fan. And he can’t contain himself. His vibe is almost like he’s doing air-guitar by himself alone in his bedroom. That’s how free he is onstage.

4. Listen to that audience sing along. It’s a Coliseum ROAR.

5. At around the 1:10 mark, Grohl comes back into the microphone. He does some harmony lines, but mainly he’s just standing there, playing, and staring right at McCartney, with a white-hot focus of “OH MY GOD YOU ARE PAUL MCCARTNEY.”

6. And then watch Grohl at around 1:24 on. I mean, that’s how we all feel, right? That’s what the song makes people feel like. From the moment the song was released to now, to beyond, that’s how the song makes you feel, that’s what you need to do when you hear it.

7. Paul McCartney steps back to give the stage to Grohl for the guitar solo. Look at the smiles on everyone’s faces. And please watch Grohl at around 1:57-1:60.

I don’t need art to be joyful. I like all kinds of art. Mournful art, cynical art, satirical art. But the ability to express joy like this – all of the guys onstage actually are in that zone, watch their energy, their smiles, their support of one another, their freedom – is precious.

 
 
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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“When I was discovered, everything happened like dominos. I don’t know how to talk about it now because it’s too mindblowing. It’s so unreal, and yet it’s real.” — Faye Dunaway

Posted on January 14, 2025 by sheila


Bonnie and Clyde

It’s her birthday today.

I haven’t written all that much about Faye Dunaway – at least in a concentrated way – although I’ve seen all of her big and rightfully iconic performances many times. I think she’s a fascinating actress, in her courage and precision, in her absolute don’t-give-a-shit-about-being-likable bravery, very very rare in today’s younger generation of actors. Now we all want to SYMPATHIZE with Diana Christensen in Network, we want to know her BACKSTORY, we want to FEEL for her, poor woman making it in a sexist world. Okay, okay, that’s part of it. But we see Diana at the END of all that. She’s sacrificed her humanity, her capacity to feel for other people (if she ever had that capability to begin with. Maybe the point is: In order to make it like Diana has made it, you have to be that ruthless. No other options. People like Diana – truncated emotionally, limited, single-minded – are the ones who “make it”). Faye Dunaway didn’t care about sentimental-shmoopy backstory. Diana Christensen is a symptom of a large societal problem, but she is also its AVATAR.


Network

And Dunaway did not shy away from that. She loved Diana, she loved her strength and creativity. But she understood the woman’s ugliness too. Having an orgasm as she imagines the good TV ratings in her future – having an orgasm BECAUSE of good ratings (a moment “stolen” in an homage in Francis Ford Coppola’s Megalopolis – is one of the most bizarre and disturbing sex scenes in American cinema, and to have a gorgeous movie star play such a scene was evidence of how everything changed in 1970s film. It was Dunaway’s era. The 60s discovered her, the 70s let her LOOSE. Stanwyck could have played such a scene, would have played such a scene if she came up in another era. She and Dunaway have similar qualities. With all Dunaway’s beauty, she was drawn to ugliness.


Chinatown

I do want to take a moment to shout out a lesser-known film of hers, Puzzle of a Downfall Child, directed by Jerry Schatzberg and written by Carole Eastman (who also co-wrote Five Easy Pieces with Bob Rafelson – they were nominated for an Academy Award). There are some similarities between Five Easy Pieces and Puzzle of a Downfall Child, but Puzzle doesn’t have the cache of Five Easy Pieces because …. why. Dunaway is more remote than Jack Nicholson? No. That doesn’t hold water. Nicholson’s character in Five Easy Pieces is more “relatable” than Dunaway’s in Puzzle? “Relatable” to whom? I relate to BOTH. There are many many many women who can relate to Puzzle of a Downfall Child, so why should it be considered LESS relatable, just because it’s about a woman? At this point in our cultural history, we can not allow the male point-of-view to be considered the DEFAULT. Combat that attitude whenever you see it.


Puzzle of a Downfall Child

When I interviewed Dan Callahan about his book The Art of American Screen Acting: Volume 2, we discussed his chapter on Faye Dunaway (among other things), and he specifically referenced Puzzle of a Downfall Child, which capitalized on Dunaway’s very unique strengths: her otherworldly beauty (the character is a high-fashion model) and her strange dissociated quality.

The only other thing I’ve written about her is very close to my heart: I devoted one of my Film Comment columns to Emir Kusturica’s Arizona Dream , a nearly-lost film – and carelessly chopped up for its US DVD release – a film that has haunted my dreams for 20+ years, ever since I saw it during its 5-day run at the Chicago Art Institute. The film stars Johnny Depp, Jerry Lewis, Lili Taylor and Faye Dunaway, with Vincent Gallo in a smaller but crucial role. Faye Dunaway got to utilize parts of herself in this film – her whimsy, her humor (Dunaway is not known for her humor!) – and also got to use the things she’s known for – glamour, on-the-edge emotional frenzies, repression, madness, sexuality.


Arizona Dream

It’s one of Dunaway’s best performances, and it’s a disgrace how this gorgeous film was treated – mis-read by critics – butchered by the studio – and still, to this day, nearly un-see-able in its original form (you have to keep an eye out for it on YouTube, sometimes the original version shows up there).


Arizona Dream

Faye Dunaway plays a lunatic matriarch obsessed with building a flying machine. She has a passionate love affair with the much-younger Johnny Depp. One of the thrills of my time in grad school was getting to ask Dunaway about this film. This film that almost nobody else has even seen. She got so excited when I asked the question. She literally bounced in her chair, and moved forward to the edge of her seat. (I wrote about our interaction in my piece.) She LOVED doing the film and was very upset about its failure.


Arizona Dream

It’s a dream of a movie, and Dunaway is a dream IN it.


Bonnie and Clyde

 
 
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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Mirrors #24

Posted on January 13, 2025 by sheila

A couple of great ones from Desire, starring Marlene Dietrich and Gary Cooper, with John Halliday as third lead, and Akim Tamiroff in one scene as a suspicious police inspector. A heist movie, and I love heist movies! Dietrich plays a jewel thief, who scores HUGE, stealing a string of pearls from right under the nose of the jeweler, and then flees across France and Spain, trying to escape detection. Along the way, she meets a bumbling charming earnest American (Cooper), having the first solo vacation of his whole American life. This is Dietrich’s first film post her collaboration with Josef von Sternberg. Her costumes are breathtaking. The great Travis Banton designed her wardrobe! He was responsible for so many iconic looks, and he made most of Carole Lombard’s gowns.
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Turn on the goose

Posted on January 13, 2025 by sheila

China Syndrome
China Syndrome (1979)

What Happened Was...
What Happened Was… (1994)

I have no idea what it means – it means nothing, really – but I could make up a whole story, drawing out the connections. The scene shows a woman in her private world, her home, where nobody else ever goes. I had a conversation about the China Syndrome last night, and the production design of Jane Fonda’s house, which I have actually written about (and totally forgot I wrote about. It was June 2020. Those months are a blur).

Maybe I need to get a goose lamp! But I fear it would not survive in Frankie’s new riotous reign.

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“As long as they pay me my salary, they can give me a broom and I’ll sweep the stage. I don’t give a damn. I want the money.” – Kay Francis

Posted on January 13, 2025 by sheila

“My life? Well, I get up at a quarter to six in the morning if I’m going to wear an evening dress on camera. That sentence sounds a little ga-ga, doesn’t it? But never mind, that’s my life … When I die, I want to be cremated so that no sign of my existence is left on this earth. I can’t wait to be forgotten.”
— from Kay Francis’s private diaries, c. 1938

Kay Francis, ultra-glam and impenetrably confident, was a massive star of the pre-Code era, and in many ways representative of its pleasure-seeking freedom and its carefree disregard of propriety. Normal everyday concerns did not impact Francis’ persona. When compared to the other queens of pre-Code – Barbara Stanwyck, Joan Blondell, Miriam Hopkins, Jean Harlow, Ann Dvorak – Francis exists in her own atmosphere. Blondell, Harlow, Dvorak, Stanwyck … all lived in the world of hard knocks. They were tough, sometimes hardened by experience. Francis breezed through all of it unscathed. She was tall and willowy, clothes draping on her form with exquisite perfection. In the grim years of the Depression, Francis’ clothes had soothing capabilities. James Baldwin wrote about the pleasing properties of Joan Crawford’s back, and how that back made him see the world – and certain kinds of women – in a different way. In a harsh world, movie goddesses can lull their audiences into a daze of pleasure. The pleasure is momentary, but no less meaningful (and maybe even more so).

Francis was not an ingenue. Nobody this worldly and languidly self-pleasing could be an ingenue.

Francis’ fame did not translate into the more serious years of the 1940s and 50s, although she continued to work (in movies and on the stage), before retiring and becoming a near-recluse. The sea-change in her fortune started early: in 1939, she played Cary Grant’s unpleasant gold-digging wife in In Name Only, and her rival was an adorable warm-hearted Carole Lombard.

There are a couple of interesting things about In Name Only. In some aspects, Lombard played the role Francis would have played a mere 6 or 7 years earlier (albeit with a couple of quirks: she didn’t have Lombard’s adorable pliancy and sympathy). Francis didn’t play spider-women or femme fatales. If she stole your husband, it was just because she was so gorgeous: she wouldn’t fall in love with him or give you trouble in that way. And you could barely blame your husband if he messed around with Kay Francis. She wasn’t a dark-hearted schemer. But there’s more to it than that, especially in re: In Name Only and its status as an in-between-eras melodrama: 6 or 7 years earlier, “gold-digger” wasn’t an insult. It was an understandable strategy in the midst of widespread collective hardship. Yes, you could be too blatant about it (like Ginger Rogers in Gold Diggers of 1933 – but even there, she’s not presented as some grotesque beast, or hard-hearted – the way Kay Francis is in In Name Only. Rogers’ character is just sick of being poor.) The entire Gold Diggers franchise featured scrappy young women – teetering on the verge of outright prostitution – who were practical about what they needed to survive. It was 1932, 1933. Society judges those who haul themselves out of poverty by any means necessary only when it is fat with plenty. But by 1939, things had changed. War clouds were gathering. The Depression was over. And so in 1939 a gold-digging wife had to be un-loving and no fun at all, she had to be an obstacle in the way of our blameless leading man’s happiness. And Kay Francis, languid pleasure-loving inhabitant of the Pre-Codes, now got that role. It’s a bit eerie. In Name Only goes out of its way to condone Cary Grant’s infidelity: his wife is an unpleasant bitch, and Lombard is perfect. Cary Grant has to almost DIE in order for everything to turn out right. The decision has to be taken out of the yearning couple’s hands. Traditional conventional morality is present in In Name Only in a way unthinkable just 6 or 7 years earlier.

Francis flourished as an actress when convention didn’t make a dent in her consciousness.

For a time, Francis reigned as Queen of Warner Brothers. Her only rival was Bette Davis. Davis’ talent was more fluid and flexible, and Davis took more chances. Francis wasn’t the type to push. She’s a tricky one: what did she get out of acting? Who was she as an actress? Look at her diary entry opening this post. You can bet Bette Davis would never have said something like “I can’t wait to be forgotten.”

My friend Dan Callahan wrote a wonderful piece about Francis for Bright Lights Film Journal:

Francis’ detractors said she was a star just because women wanted to see what she’d be wearing next, but she was much more than that. Francis gives herself to the camera completely and you can read all of her emotions — she’s usually slightly out-of-it and weary, and this functions as part of her open-faced charm. Also charming is her most notorious drawback, a lisp that turned all of her r’s into w’s, which made her easy to mock.

Also:

George Cukor said that the great stars had a secret, and Francis’ face always seemed to carry a particularly wicked one.

Francis made many many movies, and I’ll just call out her two most famous:

Ernst Lubitsch’s Trouble in Paradise (1932), with co-stars Herbert Marshall and Miriam Hopkins.

Trouble in Paradise‘s atmosphere is one of amorality cloaked in such glittering charm it makes morality look bad. Morality is for chumps only. Marshall and Hopkins are thieves who work in concert, making their way through the playgrounds of the rich, with Marshall posing as a baron, the better to insinuate himself into the wealthy’s rarified air. He accidentally falls for his “employer”, a rich woman – Kay Francis – and this throws his primarily relationship with Hopkins into crisis. The grifters infiltrate Francis’ home, making themselves indispensable to her, all while keeping a close eye on what goes into the safe. The dialogue is so witty, the trio’s chemistry is crackling. Everything is funny and light and inconsequential and therefore weirdly emotional. When Billy Wilder talked about “the Lubitsch touch”, it’s this sort of thing he was referring to.

And then there’s William Dieterle’s 1932 Jewel Robbery. Like Trouble in Paradise, the action features grifters, jewels, and heists. William Powell plays an unnamed talented jewel thief, and Kay Francis plays Teri von Horhenfels, a gorgeously attired married Baroness, clearly more in love with her jewels than her husband. Or, she loves her husband because he keeps her draped in jewels. The distinction is irrelevant. Powell has his eye on Teri’s glittering neck, fingers, wrists … but there is undeniable chemistry between the thief and his mark, making Jewel Robbery a subversive delight. The two fall in love at first sight, literally while the robber is in the process of robbing a jewelry store where the Baroness is shopping. Teri looks like she’s delighted at the prospect of being robbed, especially by someone as charming as he.

But also, and this is key: The Baroness may be a rich woman, with a chauffeur and a life of luxury, but she’s as in love with jewels as the thief. Is there REALLY a difference between Francis’ rich woman and Powell’s jewel thief? Doesn’t Teri have more in common with the jewel thief than her husband? This romantic comedy involves a thief and a married woman, making it pure pre-Code. She’s married the whole entire movie. She never even contemplates divorce. William Powell’s thief, on the lam, de-camps to Nice, leaving the married woman he loves behind. It’s clear he’s not going to reform. He is going to continue on as before. In the final moment of the film, Teri’s husband tells her she needs to go away for a rest after her time of struggle. Teri says, without a hint of shame, that she’d like to take her rest cure in Nice. As the music crescendoes, she strolls towards the camera, looking RIGHT AT US, breaking the fourth wall, saying, in a daze of humorous mischief, “Nice! Nice!” She “sh”es us to keep her secret.

There’s a difference between immoral and amoral. Kay Francis was the latter. “Sh”-ing the camera acknowledges the complicity Francis created with her audience. We loved her amorality.

It’s hard to picture Bette Davis “sh”-ing the camera, staring straight at us, as she embarks on a life of crime alongside her criminal lover. We might recoil. The movie would judge her. This is nothing against Davis. I am just pointing out the difference to highlight Francis’ unique effect. Francis was “naughty” and was never punished for it. There’s a catharsis in this.

 
 
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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“Fear urged him to go back, but growth drove him on.” — White Fang, by Jack London

Posted on January 12, 2025 by sheila

“The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.” — Jack London

Jack London was born on this day, January 12, 1876.

London was a magazine writer who achieved world-wide fame during his lifetime. Best-known for The Call of the Wild, White Fang, and To Build a Fire, he had a robust and busy career as a reporter and activist. Some of the more pointed activist stuff does not time-travel as well as his most famous works, but it all provides a great portrait of the fights of the Left – with others and with each other – during that era. He was a unionizer. He wrote a lot about class war. He spent his years as a teenager bumming around, pan-handling, working on ships (he traveled as far away as Japan), working in canneries. He did attend high school but he was essentially self-educated, and a voracious reader. He wrote for the high school newspaper about living through typhoons off the coast of Japan (not the usual school paper essay topic). He was determined to attend Berkeley and after busting his ass on the entrance exams, he got in.

But London always kept a foot in the wild side of life. While attending Berkeley, he hung out in saloons frequented by sailors and pirates and rough trade. These were his people. He would end up writing about all of them.

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“I can pick a good song, but I sure couldn’t pick a good man.” — Ruth Brown

Posted on January 12, 2025 by sheila

It’s the Rock and Roll Hall of Famer’s birthday today! Ruth Brown was born in 1928, one of seven children. Her father was a choir director, and she grew up surrounded by gospel, but she was drawn to chanteuses like Billie Holiday, Sarah Vaughan. As you can imagine, there was conflict in the home. Dad would not be happy to know his teenage daughter was sneaking out at night to sing torch songs in USO clubs. So Ruth did what she had to do. She ran away from home and never looked back.

She flailed for a bit – of course! She was 16, 17! She did some big-band-hopping, trying out for singer jobs, getting those jobs, getting fired, etc. She was already interacting with some now-legendary people, like Lucky Millinder and other band leaders. It seems everyone who heard her were impressed, but there wasn’t any certainty on where she might fit. People loved the voice, but couldn’t envision what she might do with it, what material she should sign. This took place in 1948-9, and it is the awkward transition period into the 50s. In a matter of just 5 or 6 years, all the kids wanting to be country singers switched to rockabilly, and all the kids wanting to be torch singers (Brown was one) switched to r&b. Some switched due to commercial/financial reasons. If you wanted to make a buck, you wanted to participate in the new trend. Some switched later in the game and it was clearly a jump-on-the-bandwagon thing (this happened a year or so into the wave). There was a lot of talent out there and the genres were rigid structures you had to fit yourself into. Wanda Jackson assumed she’d be a Grand Ole Opry country singer. Elvis thought he’d join a gospel quartet. Someone like Brown assumed she’d sing in jazz clubs like Billie Holiday. It was 1949. Nobody really saw what was coming, but Brown was in that first wave.

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“I’ll stay and look you straight in the eyes like all these normal people when I scream for my rights.” — Taraneh Alidoosti

Posted on January 12, 2025 by sheila

“I’ve inherited this courage from the women of my land, who for years have been living their lives, every day with resistance… I will stay, I will not quit, I will stand with the families of the prisoners and murdered and demand their rights. I will fight for my home, I will pay whatever it takes to stand up for my rights, and most importantly: I believe in what we are building together today.”
— Alidoosti’s Instagram post, before she was arrested

It’s the birthday of Taraneh Alidoosti, one of the most famous actresses in Iran, who was arrested in December 2022, and incarcerated in the notorious Evin Prison, where they put political prisoners. Her last two posts were of 1. a photo of her standing in public without a headscarf, holding a sign that said, in the Kurdish language, “Women Life Freedom” and 2. a post condemning the first execution, that of Mohsen Shekari.

Her arrest was significant. She was so well-known. She had a new film coming out. Her international profile is high.

I followed Taraneh on Instagram. She often posted about what was going on in Iran. It was clear where she stood on all the important issues. What was different was she was doing so from within the borders of the country. So many of Alidoosti’s contemporaries have chosen to leave Iran, and live in exile. She stayed. Think about her having 8 million followers. Julia Roberts has 10 million. That’s how famous Taraneh is. I feel it’s important to underline, particularly for Western-focused people, or for people who don’t watch foreign films, or whatever. No judgment, but there are MASSIVE stars in the world who have never set foot in Hollywood. Alidoosti is one of them.

The regime knew her arrest would make international news. Not only do they not care, the headlines are the point. Alidoosti was eventually released, and she looked thin and wan, albeit happy, in the pictures of her in the arms of her family when she got out. The problem persists.

More after the jump:

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Colm Tóibín, Gary Indiana, and Los Angeles

Posted on January 11, 2025 by sheila


I took this in 2009.

I am naturally heartbroken about what is going on. Friends have lost everything. I am in a constant state of worry about my friends and family who are there, and devastated for everyone who has lost everything, communities like Altadena and Pacific Palisades, all of the historic sites and artwork. Yes, people are more important than things, but history is held in objects and objects are also irreplaceable and deserve to be mourned. It is far from over. This week we had the New York Film Critics Awards, a night of celebration haunted by what was going on in Los Angeles. Wednesday already feels like it was a million years ago. So much has happened since Wednesday. But I did want to share Adrien Brody’s speech when he accepted Best Actor for The Brutalist.

The feeling of mourning and fear in the club was palpable.

And I also wanted to share a devastating and yet beautiful piece in the London Review of Books by the great Colm Tóibín. And the fate of the legendary critic Gary Indiana’s book collection. Human life is the most important thing but there is a lot to grieve and we can’t even begin to start to grieve while there is still so much danger raining down, while the air is still on fire.

God bless the firefighters and the help from Canada and Mexico. And all of the people who are there on the ground, offering their hotels for shelter, offering “housing” for all the displaced horses, the shops turned into relief and aid centers, and everyone doing their best to offer solace and shelter. Dark days ahead. We have to help each other, look out for each other. We are all we’ve got.

Posted in Personal, writers | 7 Comments

“And the world Is gonna know your name. What’s your name, man?” “Alexander Hamilton.”

Posted on January 11, 2025 by sheila

Except for the opening paragraph, this post was (mostly – there are some updates) written in 2008, years before “Hamilton” mania overtook the world. I almost can’t believe it’s happened. To all of you newcomers to Hamiltonia, I say, Welcome to my lifelong obsession. What took you so long?

It’s Alexander Hamilton’s birthday … probably. The year is in question (he often lied about his age), but January 11 is generally agreed-upon as the day he came into this fallen world.

You know what Alexander Hamilton feared the most, so much so that he was criticized for being a monarchist? He feared the mob. He feared the blood frenzy of crowds. He stopped a mob on the verge of attacking the British loyalist president of what is now Columbia University. The crowd wanted to string the man up. Hamilton made a rousing speech against this sort of activity. This, of course, did not make him particularly popular with the blood-lust crowd. But as events eventually unfolded in France during THEIR Revolution, his attitude was more than prescient. It’s something humans will always have to struggle with: the battle will never be won.

So let’s get to it.

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Posted in Founding Fathers, On This Day | Tagged , , , , | 20 Comments