Sunday Afternoon Matinee ’86

MLK’s Dream = Beck’s Nightmare

We are living in truly stupid days. The clown prince of FOX and the twitter from Wasilla gathering the FOX Zombies in Washington to help “restore honor” to the country. You have to wonder where they were for eight years previous. Beck has said that Obama is a “racist” who whas a “deep-seated hatred for white people.” And Ms. Palin, the dumb demagogue who recently defended Dr. Laura for using the word “nigger” on a black caller who didn’t like the racial slurs from her husband’s friends. They have nothing to offer this nation but divisive paranoia and race-baiting while fantasizing about their eventual Christian civil war — all while filling their coffers from the ranks of the ignorant. Lonesome Rhodes lives!

Friday Song: Jeannie C. Riley

In 1969, this acerbic story song by Tom T. Hall and sung by Jeannie C. Riley was a massive radio hit, going to Number One on both Country and Pop charts. Riley was inducted into the Country Music Hall Of Fame and taken to the hearts of the South, who know their kind better than most. You can see why a song like this, which lays out its plot and climax in three minutes, would have meaning to small towns where gossip and self-righteousness go hand-in-bible. To honor the recent braying of the Tea Party, here’s “Harper Valley PTA” — their political socking can’t come soon enough.

Chemical Chords

How weird. Feelin’ like Stereolab this morning. And clicked on to see they have a new release this week, “Chemical Chords” — their first on Brit-visionary label 4AD. Here’s an absolutely delightful song, “Cellulose Sunshine.” I feel like this retro-soundtrack-esque pop tune was written directly into my synapses. Enjoy.

Happy Birthday Mr. Bond

Sean Connery scores 80.

Scott Pilgrim Vs The World

Literally it seems. Go see this kinetic action comedy romantic musical epic NOW.

“Live Forever!”

Ray Bradbury is 90 years young today, and there’s not much I need to write for those of you in the know. I love that Los Angeles is honoring one of its fortunate sons with a week of cool events. Suffice to say, he had a formidable influence on my life after I read “The Martian Chronicles” at age 13. He was never a “science fiction author — he was truly what the Lit Academy likes to call “magical realism” (except they reserve that semantic honor for writers like Gabriel Garcia-Marquez). He’s really a poet at heart, and he encompasses the dark as well as the light. He’s made firemen torch forbidden paper and dinosaurs wail over a lighthouse while gently leading boys to Mr. Dark’s carnival and the jars of dandelion wine in the summer basement. Growing up, he befriended another visionary soul, Ray Harryhausen, and their fates were entwined as mine was with the fantasy writer and the stop-motion magician.

Speaking of magic, the first time I saw Ray Bradbury speak was at a Long Beach writer’s conference and his keynote address is still the most inspirational speech I’ve ever witnessed. He was like the wise, spritely grandfather we all wish we had around to inspire us. Even though my script was being honored at the conference with other scribes, Bradbury told the crowd, “You won’t learn a Goddamn thing about writing from screenplays.” After his talk, we were assembled in the back to take our group photo with Bradbury as centerpiece. I was standing next to him, awed and silent, and for some reason, he suddenly reached out and grabbed my hand as the photographer began to snap away. I felt electrified within his grasp and I recalled the story that Bradbury has oft-told about how he became a writer:

Mr. Electrico was a fantastic creator of marvels. He sat in his electric chair every night and was electrocuted in front of all the people, young and old, of Waukegan, Illinois. When the electricity surged through his body he raised a sword and knighted all the kids sitting in the front row below his platform. I had been to see Mr. Electrico the night before. When he reached me, he pointed his sword at my head and touched my brow. The electricity rushed down the sword, inside my skull, made my hair stand up and sparks fly out of my ears. He then shouted at me, “Live forever!”

When I received the Official Group Photo — it was not the shot of Ray clutching my hand, but the last perfunctory one after I tried to slip away. So my peering head was in there, but Bradbury had already captured my soul. I felt that I had been baptized by his warm clutch and that he was sending me his own message to Live Forever — or at least to take the work serious enough to devote my life to the cause. I did and it’s a fact that Ray Bradbury and his poetry of wonders will live on eternally. Happy Birthday.

The ABC Sunday Night Movie ’79

Friday Song: Nirvana

I remember that week in 1992 when it felt like suddenly everybody was listening to a new song called “Smells Like Teen Spirit” by band called “Nirvana.” I’ve still never seen a musical phenom burst like that in my life and it was clear why. The jagged thudding song was the end of the romantic pop 80′s and the start of the grunge 90′s. Generation X had arrived. I didn’t like the song much and the first time I heard it, I said to my incredulous friends, “This is suicide music.” Yes, I was not a Nirvana fan. I have rage and sadness in me, but not that kind. I liked melodic melancholia, not nihilist despair. I was sad for Kurt Cobain and his pain, but the music was simply too depressing. It wasn’t until their MTV Unplugged show in 1993 that I came to appreciate their unique sound more, and the low-key acoustic setting gave more form and shape to the songs that I heard before. I particularly dug this version of “Royal Tea” and think the whole show is one of the best live performances in rock history. RIP Kurt.

Mosque Of The Red, White & Blue Death

Whenever I think the GOP can’t sink any further into their miasma of fear, hate and bigotry, they continue to unpleasantly surprise me. The instinctual monkey behavior when it comes to Republicans in their efforts to gin up divisive points to further their wretched cause is truly depressing. Especially since less than two weeks ago, the GOP BLOCKED a 9/11 Responders Health Care bill — yet they once again try to wrest moral authority on the victims. Even after Ann Coulter said the 9/11 widows “relished their husband’s deaths.” And of course, FOX’s Morning Zoo Poster Boy Beck showed his concern with this Republican-fueled compassionate paen to New Yorkers who lost their loved ones:

World Premiere

The Force Is Strong With This One

At the recent STAR WARS Celebration event, the news was unscrolled about the upcoming Blu-ray box set (with deleted scenes):

SAN FRANCISCO, Calif. (August 14, 2010) – Today at Star Wars Celebration V, Lucasfilm Ltd. and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment announced that the complete Star Wars Saga will come to Blu-ray Disc with a worldwide release in Fall 2011. The Star Wars Blu-ray Box Set will feature all six live-action Star Wars feature films utilizing the highest possible picture and audio presentation, along with extensive special features – including documentaries, vintage behind-the-scenes moments, interviews, retrospectives and never-before-seen footage from the Lucasfilm archives.

“Blu-ray is the absolute best way to experience Star Wars at home – in pristine high definition,” said George Lucas, creator of the Star Wars Saga. “The films have never looked or sounded better.”

To seal the geek deal, they presented a cut scene that would have been Luke Skywalker’s reveal in RETURN OF THE JEDI (1983) –  in a word, it’s awesome, connects THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK fully to the story, and Luke even looks like the Emperor in his robe. I LOVE the tilt down to him rebuilding his light saber, prepping to save Han Solo, and a future challenge to Darth Vader. This single beat gives ROTJ an entirely new tone from the outset (though I do like Luke’s first appearance in the film).

I’ve always said Mark Hamill has never received enough credit for the series, and it’s strange to read sub-ironic putdowns of his performance today from some quarters. Funny that we all loved him in all three at the time and actually, he’s the only character to have a full arc across the trilogy; Hamill perfectly segues from Luke’s “gee whiz” teen qualities to his more confident, impatient warrior in TESB to his fully developed Jedi Knight in ROTJ. It’s just a scientific fact that the emotional high point of RETURN OF THE JEDI is the moment when Luke and Darth Vader clash light sabers in silhouette as John Wiliam’s operatic chorus rises, signifying the duo’s destiny at its peak. If we didn’t believe in Hamill’s intense, sincere performance, that scene would never have worked. Nor would the films. As for this clip, I love the cheering and “woo woo”s from the crowd — it reminds me of how people used to react to the STAR WARS films, the best communal audiences I’ve ever experienced a theater. Now, about releasing those original pre-digitized versions of the trilogy…

Friday The 13th Song

Forgotten Films: Serial (1980)

“These are exciting times, aren’t they? Gas is over a dollar a gallon and it’s okay to be an asshole.”

So sayeth Martin Mull in the opening scene of SERIAL, one of those transitional films of the late 70′s/early 80′s that slipped into the repetitious cable maw of HBO, ensuring at least one generation was exposed to its mellow charms. Based on a comic 1977 novel by Cyra McFadden called “The Serial: A Year In The Life Of Marin County” that originated in a Marin alternative newspaper, the film version was penned by Rich Eustis and Michael Elias (who later created the Howard Hesseman show, “Head Of The Class”). The story is a broad macrocosmic (and macrobiotic) jab at the Bay Area hot-tub Esalen Montessori Me decade at its tail end, detailing the lives and lovers of an affluent fringe society who have little economic problems so channel their energies into hyper-self-examination, unlimited personal freedom and expansive neurosis. Along with time for swinging orgies.

Martin Mull received one of his rare lead roles, the result of his fame from MARY HARTMAN, MARY HARTMAN and his cult classic 1977-78 show, FERNWOOD 2NIGHT, which was a pith-perfect parody of late-night talk show banality, introducing many of us to Fred Willard’s clueless sidekick. Mull had an established career as a smug and ironic comedian replete with popular records, and in SERIAL his Harvey Holyroyd acts as the smart-ass audience surrogate, verbally challenging every facet of the Marin laid-back lifestyle. His wife Kate (the always awesome Tuesday Weld) is more open to new experiences as is their daughter who calls her dad by his first name. Harvey’s circle of friends is almost Altman-esque, including Sally Kellerman in a funny role as the most susceptible to pop psycho-proselytizing female of the group. Bill Macy plays his middle-age crazy friend who ends up a victim of the culture and Peter Bonerz is the “let it all hang out” coked-out psychoanalyst to Holyroyd’s no-bullshit son. Tommy Smothers pops up as a flaky new-age priest who has some hilarious non-committal wedding vows – “I now pronounce you pair-bonded for as long as your relationship continues.” My favorite bit of casting is Sir Christopher Lee as Mull’s tough guy boss (sporting a faux-Texas drawl) who turns out to be more than meets the eye in one of the film’s best scenes. Lee had been a hit on “Saturday Night Live” and that allowed him to truly break free of his horror typecasting with roles in AIRPORT ’77; 1941 and this. There are funny bits from all the supporting players. SERIAL also contains what I believe is the first STAR TREK cultural reference in a motion picture.

Director Bill Persky was a well-known TV producer/writer/actor and SERIAL remains his only theatrical credit. The film doesn’t have much a style and some of the ADR is fairly distracting (along with an awful TV-level theme song) but the film recalls the low-key satirical tone of Paul Mazursky, who actually wrote the final word on the 70′s Me Decade in 1969 with BOB, CAROL, TED & ALICE. The main difference is that Mazursky has more gentle empathy for his subjects while the script here slams home the shallow hypocrisy of the group with excess superiority. Frankly, Holroyd is kind of a condescending square, even after his first and only orgy (ah, the 70′s…). He does “let it all hang out” and hooks up with the sexy Stacey Nelkin as an archetypal free spirit of the era, i.e., Will Make It With You Without Hangups, Man. He later leads an impromptu rescue of his daughter from a group of Moonie-type cultists, a subplot that TV’s brilliant “Soap” handled with more wit and drama. But minus Sir Lee on chopper.

Probably the film’s biggest drawback is the Marin characters are primarily caricatures while Holroyd is presented as the only sane man in a world gone narcissistic, when in fact he’s bland and disengaged (even though Mull plays him just right). Tuesday Weld is more interesting and she gets one of the film’s best shock lines. Despite the wonky tone, Persky keeps the rhythm flowing with some wonderful scenes, such as Kellerman inviting her black maid into a liberated rap session; the class/racial sub-text is smartly addressed and parodied. Robert Altman certainly could have done wonders with a sprawling story like this.

In the end, I appreciate SERIAL as one of the last of its kind, a 70′s film aimed at adults in a transitional cultural period. It’s clearly a harbinger of the 80′s Just Do It decade, and the mocking of personal spiritual expression is symptomatic of the Reagan era. After Harvey Holyroyd and family flee the self-help cocoon of Marin, he would likely end up a Yuppie (or in Martin Mull’s “History Of White People” HBO specials). Contrary to some reports, SERIAL was a modest hit and remains a favorite for those with nostalgia for late night cable, valium, cocaine, unprotected sex and naked jacuzzi parties…

Jerry Garcia 8-9-95

I never saw the Grateful Dead in concert. However, I did hang out in the parking lot with friends and partake of the Deadhead circus; I could easily hear the music though I wasn’t much of a fan simply through lack of care and exposure. Eventually I came around to enjoy much of their music and they were of course an integral stitch in the fabric of The 60′s. I was living in Berkeley when Jerry Garcia died and you could the feel the Bay Area slide into a collective cultural mourning. I regret not going to see them in concert. Here’s one of my favorite Garcia moments, his beautiful improvisational piece for Michaelangelo Antonioni’s masterpiece (IMHO) ZABRISKIE POINT (1970). Here’s some background on how this unique cinematic collusion came to pass:

“Jerry Garcia did not go to Rome to record his marvelous guitar fantasia for the love scene. The Grateful Dead guitarist flew alone from San Francisco to Los Angeles, where he performed on the M-G-M soundstage there; apparently he didn’t even take a roadie. That Garcia was not Antonioni’s first choice for the job is, in retrospect, astonishing. In Garcia, the director found not only a dynamic and sensitive improvisor — a pithy melodicist whose soloing combined a thoughtful folk-blues clarity and a pungent jazz-blues attack shot through with genuinely psychedelic rapture — but also a keen enthusiast of the cinema. In the early 1960s Garcia unofficially attended film classes at Stanford University, where his first wife, Sarah, had been a film student. Garcia was certainly well-versed in Antonioni’s Italian-language work and flattered to be asked to contribute to Zabriskie Point.

“Michelangelo liked The Grateful Dead, and I had a friend who lived across the street from Jerry at the time,” Don Hall recalls. “He talked to him about the movie and we got together. It was almost done as an afterthought. Michelangelo wasn’t even in town when we did the music; he was back in Rome.

“We went into the large studio at M-G-M, which they usually used for the symphony orchestras. And Jerry sat there by himself, on a stool, laying it down. They had the love scene on a loop, and he played live while the film was running. He didn’t want to do it away from the film and then cut things in. He played right to every single shot in the scene. That’s why there are certain notes over certain frames, over people moving in the desert. He played right while watching it. It was miraculous — pure genius.”