A Gay/campy chronicling of daily life in NYC,with individual kernels of human truth. copyright 2011 by The Raving Queen
Saturday, August 31, 2019
How Sad The End Of August!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yes, indeed, girls! Even though "Back To School" has been a meaningless phrase for me longer than I ever went, I still associate September with it. As far as I am concerned, once this month is past, we go into what I call the "ber" months, and the year quickly winds down.
But that did not stop us from enjoying the month, most of which was spent with friends. We took the happy couple, Ellen and Vic, to Chadwick's, for a marital celebration. We had a fabulous barbecue at Joe and Davida's, with entertaining stories, and Kathy's world famous chocolate chip cookies. And we celebrated Dan's new job, with his fiancé Jennifer, at Peter Luger's, without running into La Carcagne!
We made two trips to Jersey. The first, early in the month, was to Ocean Grove, adjacent to Asbury Park. I loved the former, but was disappointed by the latter, which did not live up to my childhood memories. Still, the book and paranormal stores were worth it.
Later in the month, we visited Lynda and Marilyn in Morris Plains. Ah, the scenic splendor of suburban New Jersey.
And I am on some kind of small town social injustice thing with "Kings Row." I am going to have to reread the book, and would believe I missed a screening by hours???????? HOURS!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am telling you!
As for books, as I have kept saying it has been an wobbly year for fiction. But the standout read, for me, this Summer, was "City Of Girls," by Elizabeth Gilbert. It will be around for awhile, girls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
We also saw "Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark." I had fun, but David thought it was crap! But, hey, he is now reading Ann Patchett, so he is on his way!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So, that was our August. Quiet and mellow.
And no Coney Island, this Summer. I guess we are aging out!
See you in September, girls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
How About This, Dolls??????????????????????????????????
Here is a candid shot I found, from the set of "The Song Of Bernadette." The man on the right is director Henry King. Note how he is dressed in what must have been a hot outdoor set, as the film was shot in Hollywood. This is when class ruled, and people took their jobs seriously!!!!!!!!!! Pictured with him is an out of costume Ermadean Walters--check that 1940's garb!--who is listening to King point out what she and Mary Anderson are going to have to do, in crossing the river, as they do in the actual film.
This is a rare photo I have never seen, and I wanted to share it, with all my readers.
Fresh from the 'Bernadette' set!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Recognize This Photograph, Girls???????????????????
Some of you should. It is the first gathering of the peasant women at the grotto in "The Song Of Bernadette. From let to right, there is Mary Anderson, Blanche Yurka, Anne Revere, and Ermadean Walters, as sister Marie Soubirous. In front of them all is Jennifer Jones, on her way to an Oscar, for her stunning work here.
Yes, some of you may have seen this photo before. But not like this. Look at the film slate on the rock. That means the scene is about to be shot, so this is a rare image of the actors getting in their places. One does not see the sign in the actual film!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Just a special rarity I thought I would bring you!
And for those who still have not, I urge you to see this film!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Time To Welcome Another Reader, Girls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Wow! The follower indicator is now up to 95, so it is time to welcome a new reader. Her name is Shady Lee, and to her I say welcome. I don't know how you found your way here, Shady, but I am glad. And, of course, this blog goes great with coffee!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You are also free to comment on any posts written, whether you agree or disagree. I love them all!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And here is the blog's unofficial theme song--"Call Me," by Deborah Harry!
Welcome, Shady Lee, and enjoy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thursday, August 29, 2019
Oh, Girls, You Have GOT To See "Tormented!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Now, I have to warn you, darlings, do not expect too much. I had heard of this movie for years, and with a title like "Tormented," I thought it would be better than it is. It is hardly a brilliant study in madness, like Polanski's "Repulsion." Nor is it bad enough to single it out as a camp icon.
Richard Carlson plays a mediocre jazz pianist named Tom Stewart. He thinks he is heading for a big career, but he is kidding himself, as he is a big old closet case. Wait till you see him running around with just a shirt and panties on, wiggling has trim ass, and then hanging out with Joe Turkel, as Nick, the blackmailer. Uhm-hmmmmmmmm…………..!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The trouble starts because Stewart is a better opportunist, than jazz pianist. When he lands Meg Hubbard, whose family is wealthy, he decides to ditch his current fiancé, Vi Mason, played by Juli Reding. They were most likely brought together in the music world, because Vi is a second rate night club singer. Which is just one step above a cheap cocktail waitress.
So, up to a point, I get Tom's reasoning; except, Meg Hubbard, played by Lugene Sanders, really does love Tom. While he sees only dollar signs.
Dumped Vi pursues Tom to the island (known as "Haunted Island," because of the mysterious death of a little boy years before. Now, THERE is a story I would like to know. Alas, we never get it.)
Anyway, Vi confronts Tom, and they argue all the way to the top of the lighthouse, where, through no fault of anyone, a railing breaks off. The trouble comes when Tom, with Vi falling, is still in a position to save her, but consciously chooses not to. She falls to her death, and the torment begins.
Actually, it comes in three forms. The first is next day, when Tom finds Vi's body washed up, and it crumbles to sea weed, and vanishes.
The best parts are when the ghostly form and the disembodied head appear, chanting, "Tom Stewart killed me!' over and over. Note, during these moments, the music is eerily familiar; it is the ghost music from Allied Artists' big horror success of 1959, "House On Haunted Hill." Like I said, Tom Stewart gets plenty of head here, but Vi does not begin to match the wit of Virginia Leith, as Jan In The Pan, from "The Brain That Wouldn't Die."
Then there is the blind busybody neighbor, Mrs. Ellis, played by Lillian Adams, whose attempts to replicate blindness fool no one. Brick, her Seeing Eye Dog, steals the show.
And so does Bert I. Gordon's ten-year-old daughter, cast here as Meg's kid sister, Sandy Hubbard. It is Sandy who livens things up. Her scenes with Tom suggest a frightening sexual precocity, and in one scene she seems to be coming on to him. As well as viewing her sister as a rival. What the hell is going on, here?
Sandy is also an observant busy body. It is she who witnesses Tom killing Nick, the blackmailer.
Now, Tom feels compelled to kill Sandy. She is terrified. Not to mention, it is hard to believe she eventually grew into an Orthodox Jew, because she looks a young Neva Small, had Neva converted to Catholicism. Which smart Neva never did.
It looks like curtains for Sandy, and even she knows the jig is up. But cheap floozy, yet good girl she ghost, Vi, steps in, causing Tom to fall to his death, saving the child.
The clincher is the next day, when both bodies are found, is that the corpse of Vi is found holding Tom in her arm, the ring on her wedding finger!
That Vi got him, all right!
"Torment" is just a riff on the "if I can't have you...." ploy. Thank God for Susan Gordon, those head shots, and that 'Haunted Hill' score.
Something to amuse yourselves with, on a rainy afternoon, darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Meet Monsignor Bitch!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This is Father Joseph McLoone, and he is the winner of this week's Raving Queen Bitch Of The Week Award. I have the misfortune of having an indirect personal connection to him, which leaves me even more outraged.
Father McLoone is 56 years old, and, till recently, was pastor of St. Joseph's Catholic Church in Downingtown, PA. I know it well. How so shall be revealed.
Ironically, McLoone, who arrived at St. Joseph's Church in 2011, as a replacement for then Monsignor William Lynn, who was arrested in the cover up of a sex abuse scandal.
Hmmm....is this church haunted, or cursed? I wonder.
McLoone seemed to follow this evil tradition. He stole close to $100k from church congregants, and donors, bought himself a beach house--where, and would I love to see that!!!!!!!!!!--and also trolled the website GRINDR, which is a hookup site for gay men who want something much quicker than romance. I guess the beach house was a bedrock of sin. What a summer place, that must have been, darlings.
He looks like a nasty piece of work. Black Irish, with a temper lurking beneath. Well, padre, from one Irishman to another, I would love to take you on. I would wipe the floor with you, before I was through.
As for how this gets personal, well, in 2011, my father, then 96, was moved from Vero Beach, Florida, to Villa St, Martha, in Downingtown, which adjoined St. Joseph's Church, then still under renovation. My father remained at the Villa, until his death, on February 12, 2018. and was a regular congregant at St. Joseph's. So, surely, at some time, my father must have attended masses said by McLoone, and, while laid up, received Communion in his room at the Villa.
My sister, as well as her middle son, and his family, were closer, geographically to this place than I. She--my sister--visited regularly, and is certain she recognized McLoone walking about the grounds, on several occasions.
At the funeral Mass we had for my father, at St. Joseph's, McLoone was not present. But it pains me to think my father, a devout Catholic, interacted, through no fault of his own, with this scum bag. And aided, albeit through no fault of his own, in buying McLoone a beach house.
Geez, Dad, why couldn't you have bought it for ME????????????
A Delightful Bauble Of Black Humor!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Darlings, I cannot begin to tell you how sadistically delightful this novel was. Imagine, to my surprise that its author, Patrick De Witt, wrote "The Sisters Brothers," that unconventional Western, back in 2011. Patrick, what took you so long to find me again?
What does one do when one runs out of money. Well, if you are Frances Price, and her 32-year-old ne'er do well son, Malcom, you don't give a shit, and live off everyone else, while concealing the fact that everyone around is being taken advantage of. Frances and Malcom Price are the greatest pair of grifters, since Sante and Kenny Kimes, just not as evil. They fall somewhere between the Kimes and Auntie Mame.
Then there is the scene stealing cat, Small Frank, said to contain the body of Frances' dead husband. When New York finances close in on them, they head for Paris, where they meet Madeline the medium, Frances' friend, Joan, whose apartment she is appropriating, Madame Rey, a neighbor, and Julius, a wine seller. What a motley cast of characters. One could almost see this staged as a Feydeau farce.
That is, until the end, both sad and romantic, and leaving the reader questioning Malcom's future.
Put yourself on brain freeze while reading this, and just enjoy De Witt's sadistic wit and humor!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Your next party will have such spice, girls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Wednesday, August 28, 2019
Oh, No!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Not Leslie Jones!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It was bad enough hearing the likes of Evan Peters, Sarah Paulson, and Kathy Bates will not be returning to the upcoming season of "American Horror Story." And now, with the new TV season fast approaching, comes news that Leslie Jones, that sassy thing, is leaving "Saturday Night Live!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Everyone thought it would be Kate McKinnon, because her contract had run out. But, she went and extended it.
Leslie, hon, think about what you are doing. Walking away from as steady a gig as any artist dreams of? What plans are in your future? Because I cannot wait to see what you will do.
But, darlings, who could be a better Double Act to Colin Jost? I mean, I could go on there, calling Colin a Creamsicle and all, because I am hot for him, but it just would not be the same, without Leslie.
However, I am willing to give it a try! Get ready, Colin!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Leslie, you should think again about this. You will be missed.
On the other hand, it is your choice, and we, your fans, wish you the best!
Darlings, watch Leslie in the segment, with Colin, on Alabama passing the law on reproductive rights, and you will discover what will be sadly missing, this coming season!
Love ya, Leslie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Darlings, If You Live In New York, You HAVE To Go To Peter Luger's, Once!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I kept hearing about Peter Luger's, ever since I arrived in New York, over 30 years ago. I was always curious, but not enough to pursue it. Besides, what I heard, always, was that it was located in a very dicey place.
That place, Williamsburg, Brooklyn, is not so dicey, anymore. The restaurant stands across the street from a giant savings bank, whose architecture, which is stunning, resembles St. Paul's Cathedral, in London.
The exterior looks like a routine steak house, but with cars pulling in and out, people being helped out of cars, doors held for them, as they entered the restaurant, well, anyone would feel like Anna Wintour! I certainly did!
But I was not the reason for this visit. Our neighbor Jennifer's fiancé, Dan, had just gotten a new job, which he was starting the next day--we were there this past Sunday--and he was dressed so cute I cannot believe he was not snapped up. The rest of us dressed simply, fashion wise; it was, after all, Dan's day, and I was determined not to upstage. I am a good actor.
I must tell you some things I observed about Peter Luger's. It is not as elegant or ostentatious, as I expected. There were really no white tablecloths anywhere--our table was a gray slab of wood, with chairs to match. Very different from the décor I expected.
The clientele was Butch Central! Not lesbians, girls, but Wall Street corporate types; I am telling you, as a card carrying homosexual, I was a bit intimidated. No show tunes in this place, girls! But something even more menacing lurks within Peter Luger's, an urban legend I have heard about for nine years.
It is said that Peter Luger's has a regular, a menacing creature, from another universe, that visits the place regularly, and is accorded celebrity status by the staff. She goes by the name of "La Carcagne," and she is a malevolent sign of death. I was terrified of her entering, and being in the restaurant, because....oh, my God! But this is no tale I am making up, for I have met this creature in her earthly form, and name. She goes by the name...Michelle Eiselman!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Beware her!
But we were safe that day. What did we have? Well, for appetizers tomatoes and onions, though I made do without the onions. Then, we had this bacon, which was like no bacon I have tasted, before or since. It might be worth a visit just for this. As well as their Holy Cow Hot Fudge Sundae, which, in my younger days, I would think of ordering right sway, but, these days, would do me in!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Nevertheless, we continued with two steaks for two, which were superb, creamed spinach, fresh broccoli, and German potatoes. All were luscious.
And, of course, wine for some, a diet Coke, with lemon, for me. And Club Soda, for Dan.
Peter Luger's is famous for its home made whipped cream, and let me tell you, it was the real thing! I went light, with a cheese cake, and decaf coffee. Others had larger, and more luscious deserts--chocolate brownies, and the like.
We were not bloated upon leaving. But between the cost, which was generously covered, and the locale, David and I decided Chadwick's in our neighborhood of Bay Ridge, was as good, if not superior.
And, besides, there we don't have to worry about La Carcagne!
Look out! At Peter Luger's!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Not Cut And Dry, Like "The Song Of Bernadette!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
My neighbor, Jennifer, knowing of my Catholic upbringing, passed this book on to me. It took me awhile, before reading it, to realize Jonathan Miles was the author who caused a minor literary event, back in 2008, with his debut novel, "Dear American Airlines." It went on "The New York Times 100 Most Notable Books List" of 2008, but, girls, it did nothing for me.
"Anatomy Of A Miracle" came out ten years later, and must have slipped right by. But, I am telling you, Catholic or not, this book makes one ponder.
At first, I thought it was going in a too folksy, "Field Of Dreams" type of direction, but that is soon dispelled. Science and the media enter in, in ways impossible during Bernadette's time.
The object of all this seeming veneration is Cameron Harris, a White Trash Southern boy, former high school football player, who served time in Afghanistan, and through an accident, became paralyzed from the waist down, having spent four years in a wheelchair, when the novel begins, and being cared for by his only relative, his sister, Tanya.
One day, while visiting the Biz-E Bee general store, in their town, Cameron suddenly stands up and begins walking. Just like that. Before he can process it, the spot in front of the store, and the store itself, has become something of a pilgrimage mecca, a Southern Lourdes. But no one else is cured, and Cameron, unlike Bernadette, is far from saintly. He cusses, drinks beer, has a sexual nature, and that does not sit well with some religious folk. The miracle does not sit well with him, because he wants to understand why and how it happened, and why he was chosen. Especially--and this was the big surprise for me, darlings--Cameron's story has gay connotations; he finally reveals himself to be gay, leaving the religious right to question his deserving such a thing, for being homosexual. I, of course, say, why not?
Jonathan Miles does not answer any questions, but rather throws out issues for the reader to ponder, and make up themselves. There are no heavenly visions, no miraculous springs brought forth, but this is as much a miracle story as any, Catholic or not, I urge you to read it. If not spiritually, it will cause one to examine matters philosophically.
The real miracle, darlings, as far as I am concerned, is that Miles actually wrote a genuinely good, absorbing book. After "Dear American Airlines," I was ready to write him off; it took over a decade for me to be proven wrong.
So, readers, hang up your skepticism, and go into this novel with as much objectivity as can be mustered.
The reward is a satisfying work of fiction!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Monday, August 26, 2019
How About A Remake Of "Kings Row?????????????????????????"
I have been doing a lot of thinking about the past; this time, not so much the bad times, as the good, when some people were genuinely kind to me, and whom I shall write about, when I feel ready. As for those who were not, you know who you are.
"Kings Row" is a forgotten book in the canon of small-town literature. It should have gotten the attention that Grace Metalious' "Peyton Place" did, but somehow did not.
The motion picture made from Henry Bellamann's novel, published in 1940, the movie released in 1942, was sanitized for the screen, but, if you watch certain actors carefully--especially the two best, Claude Rains and Betty Field, there is a subtext to their acting, suggesting a subtle knowledge of playing what was really going on, and how to, in order to slip by the censors.
Now, I read this novel almost twenty years ago, and I am thinking of reading it again. Though Henry Bellamann achieved both literary and musical fame---he was associated with Vassar College and the Julliard Music School in New York, he was never able to shake his resentment of his hometown of Fulton, Missouri. This connected with me, who shared similar feelings about Highland Park, New Jersey. I dreamed of writing my own "Kings Row" someday, till I realized that, with this blog, I already have. And I let what I say stand.
Although 1957's film "Peyton Place" sanitized things, more made it into this film than with "Kings Row" fifteen years before. The incest between Selena (Hope Lange) and Lucas Cross (Arthur Kennedy) was brought out, the pathology of Norman Page was there, but handled delicately, and Allison's eventual rebelling against the town was pretty open. Not to mention the suicide of Nellie Cross, Selena's mother, who was played by a "Kings Row" actress, Betty Field, a vastly underrated actress.
Now, for anyone who has not read or seen "Kings Row," I urge you to stop reading here, and proceed to the book and film. I am not sure if the novel is still in print, so it may have to be ordered online. It was, for me, and this was some time back.
I don't want those unfamiliar to be ruined by spoilers, which are necessary in discussing "Kings Row." From here on in, I direct this post to any familiar with the book and/or movie! I shall go through the film systematically.
The film, interestingly enough, is set in the often more romanticized time period of 1890. I guess the film was focused on Bellamann's early life in Fulton, MO, which would have been around the same time.
"Kings Row" opens with a loud, symphonic blast of music. Erich Wolfgang Korngold's score for this film was said to have inspired John Williams to write his classic "Star Wars" opening. In hearing it, I can see this makes sense, though, while I first thought it over the top, it paves the way for the epic, if not so pretty, story to be told.
The film's template is immediately established. The camera pans a gorgeous, idealistic small town landscape. It becomes instantly apparent that "Kings Row, along with films like "Citizen Kane," "How Green Was My Valley" and "The Song Of Bernadette," was one of the best photographed black and white films of the 1940's. Color would have ruined the darker moods of the story. And the brilliance of all this came from cinematographer James Wong Howe, and set designer William Cameron Menzies, whom I am sure my girls recall designed a little something just three years before, called "Gone With The Wind."
Now, as the credits roll, depicting an ideal town, school is seen closing for the Summer. No sooner is the happiness of childhood shown, then so is bullying, with a group of kids gathering around a taller one, Benny Singer, played by Danny Jackson. Spinning him around, they chant, rhythmically, "Crazy old Benny..." repeatedly, as the poor, tormented youth spins about, smiling happily, as he thinks he is being accepted in some way. I can relate to this. Later on, a little girl is seen emerging alone, whispered about by others girls. The viewer will soon get to know her; she is Cassie Tower. So, very quickly, the film outlines what is about to be revealed--the visual prettiness of the town, as opposed to the evil behavior of its inhabitants.
Although the leads are all fine actors--Ronald Reagan, (this film is best known for the scene where he loses his legs, and says the line, "Where's the rest of me?," though there is much more to the film, Ann Sheridan and Robert Cummings, the supporting cast is superior to the leads. Warner Bros. originally wanted to borrow Tyrone Power for the role of Parris Mitchell; when they could not get him, they settled on Robert Cummings, from Universal, who, truthfully, fits in better with Sheridan and Reagan, who were not A-list actors themselves. But Claude Rains and Betty Field, plus Eden Gray, as The Tower Family, as well as Charles Coburn and Judith Anderson, plus Nancy Coleman as their daughter, Louise, who comprise The Gordon Family, not to mention Maria Ouspenskaya as Grandma Madame von Eln. Hons, I ask you, how does one out act talents such as these?
The three children--Drake McHugh (Reagan), Parris Mitchell (Robert Cummings) and Randy Monaghan (Ann Sheridan) play together as children, but Randy reveals the first social stigma that, despite her love for Drake, she is a girl from the wrong side of the tracks, and in a town like Kings Row, those paths cannot be crossed. Same as in Highland Park, where I should never have been exposed to the dummies from Goat Alley, when my parents made the mistake of sending me to Irving, rather than Hamilton. I love my parents dearly, and miss them so much, but this is the one thing in my upbringing I question to this day. It stigmatized me, and left me open for trouble in the junior and senior high school years.
But that's me.
Now comes the best part of the story--The Tower Family. Cassie, from the opening, is mocked by the little girls at school, because her family is "strange." Early on, before the actors morph into adult characters, there is a heartbreaking scene where the child Cassie (Mary Thomas) breaks down in tears, and tells young Parris (Scotty Beckett--YES, of "The Little Rascals") she cannot see him or anyone anymore, or go to school, because her father is afraid for her. I may be wrong, but I think there is a "Stella Dallas" type children's birthday sequence where no one shows up to Cassie's party, not because her family is low class, but is strange. In the film, the mother (Eden Gray) is kept imprisoned in her room, like Bertha in "Jane Eyre," because of a mental illness. However, in the novel, it is revealed Cassie was made a recluse because she was maturing, and her father was developing pedophilic feelings for her. He forces her into an incestuous relationship, which breaks her, then reaches a point where, to cover it all up, he kills Cassie, and then himself. Parris Mitchell learns the truth, going through Tower's notes, after his death. Mrs. Tower has passed some time before. As I said, the subtlety of Rains and Fields acting conveys what is going on, without a word; hence it got past the censors. But those not having read the book need to watch closely.
Next to The Towers, The Gordon Family is the most sad and sordid in the novel and film. Dr. Gordon, played by Charles Coburn in the most unsympathetic role I have ever seen him play, is a self-righteous moralist, who thinks punishment should be meted out to whom he considers wrongdoers. There is a scene in the film that scares me to this day. Either the young Parris or Drake McHugh (most likely Parris, as he is interested in becoming a doctor) is sitting on a curb across from a house, where Gordon is treating a patient. Suddenly, from an upstairs window, come the most bloodcurdling screams; the doctor is conducting a surgical procedure on this particular patient, intentionally not giving an anaesthetic!!!!!!!!!!! Sick!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It gets better, darlings! Louise Gordon, their daughter, is forced into reclusive spinsterhood by her parents, especially her mother, played by Judith Anderson in another one of her great bitch performances. No man is good enough for Gordon's daughter, and the mother resents the daughter for being prettier than she is. Well, when it is Judith Anderson, it is understandable, but, really. to ruin your daughter's life like that??????? Judith would go on to do even worse, as the cat killing Mrs. Ivers, in 1946's "The Strange Love Of Martha Ivers."
Louise Gordon, in "King's Row," is played by Nancy Coleman.
Gordon should have had has license removed. I cannot recall if he gets his comeuppance, though I want to say I think Parris, as an adult, provides that.) Actually, he dies at some point in the film. Good riddance! Though I don't know what happens to the wife.
As for Maria Ouspenskaya, playing Grandma Madam von Eln, well, she is more sinned against than sinning. In her old age, she develops cancer. In the novel, Parris helps her along, with an injection, to ease her pain, just as Sipsey (Cicely Tyson) would help Ruth Jamison almost fifty years later, in 1991's "Fried Green Tomatoes." I am not sure whom the house is left to, but Ouspenskaya plays this role like no one else could, save Blanche Yurka. Drake McHugh has money stolen from his trust fund, probably at the behest of Dr. Gordon, and is forced to work for the railroad. There, he injures his legs in an accident, allowing Gordon, over his hatred for the sexually free wheeling McHugh, to think he can marry his daughter, Louise, to unnecessarily amputate his legs, causing Reagan to utter his most famous screen line. Too bad for him he had to enlist in the Army, right after this film. He never regained the momentum it gave him, causing him to be upstaged by a chimp in later classics like "Bedtime For Bonzo."
Some town, huh????????????
Well, what small town vice is left? Smoking? I think Drake does it through portions of the film. As I said, Drake is free wheeling with his sexuality, and this shot suggests there may have been homosexual feelings between he and Parris. That is as far as the movie goes. In the novel though, young Parris befriends a bullied boy named Jamie Wakefield, who lives with his domineering parents. Jamie is bookish, reads extensively, and, most of all, dreams of the day when he can leave Kings Row. Sounds gay to me, right? Now, this is where my memory gets sketchy. His parents force him to become a male spinster, living at home, working a respectable job at the bank, which he is able to do, though hates every minute he is there. But something happens with him and another boy (probably from the Wrong Side Of The Tracks, again!!!!!!!!!!) and the disgrace causes him to kill himself. At least, that is how I remember it.
Parris' childhood home is purchased by Elise Sandor, Kaaren Verne) who falls in love with Parris, and marries him. Drake accepts his disability, and ends up with Randy, as the music builds to end the scene on a somewhat hopeful note, despite having witnessed all having gone before. Those who were raised in small towns like this can point to each character, and say, corresponding to their community, "Oh, that is.....!!!!!!!!!!!"
See what I mean?
Even Elise's last name, Sandor, brings to me memories of a boy in seventh grade who bullied me extensively. His name was Laszlo Sandor and he was a mean piece of work. He would punch me, kick me, call me names; once he kicked me so hard in the shin I cut myself. He would always corner me in the bathroom, trying to get me to do his assignments for him, because he was in a lower group. I never did, and I suffered for it. He left, after that year, and I have no idea what happened to him. But I have always wanted to say to him, "Fuck you!"
So, Laszlo, wherever you may be, consider it said.
I really should reread "Kings Row," and if I do, I will fill you in on what I missed. And some filmmaker, (Todd Haynes, take note) instead of redoing things better left untouched, like "Mildred Pierce," or "Now, Voyager," (God, I can see that one coming!) should take note of this underrated gem. With standards relaxed, and the talent out there, it could be quite a remake! It needs to be well directed and cast, like the first time out. I should be consulted!
As for its connections and myself, well, the past cannot be rewritten, but it can be risen above, though not forgotten.
Something to think about, girls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hah!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Time To Welcome A New Reader, Girls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I see the follower indicator is now at 94, which means we have a new reader! Her name is Dawn Renzi, and I say "Welcome!"
Dawn, I do not know how you found your way here, but I am glad you did.
The postings on here are all over the place, according to my whim. Books and movies are a standard on here, but I do need to write my Marriage Column again--which should be something to look forward to, as it is a hoot--and of course, the one I most inform on here is myself.
I tell everyone--and this is the truth--that this blog goes great with coffee, and it does! It is never far from my side, when I am writing it!
So, welcome to The Raving Queen, Dawn!
Deborah Harry singing the blog's unofficial theme song, "Call Me!"
Enjoy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Friday, August 23, 2019
A Very Different Kind Of Music Novel!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Like "Bel Canto," "Aja Gabel's debut novel, "The Ensemble," is immersed with the music world, but in a more insular way. Here, the reader follows the trajectory of a chamber quartet--Bri, Daniel, Henry, and Jana--their present and past lives, their self absorption, and, finally, their departure as a group. It would not surprise me if the author has seen a production or two of Sondheim's "Merrily We Roll Along," for the ending here seems right out of that musical.
Unlike Patchett, whose descent into the music world is accessible to most readers, reading "The Ensemble" depends on more than a general music knowledge. Narcissism is common to the arts--oh, tell me about actors and dancers, please!!!!!!!!--but musicians are not an exception, just not examined as closely. Well, Gabel does it here, and it is superb.
I could have done without the rampant heterosexuality. OK, in your twenties, I get it, but in your forties? And Daniel, what a pig! And Henry, what a bourgeois! What is he even doing in this field, except he is tremendously gifted, and fit for nothing else?
"The Ensemble" is not afraid to reveal its flaws, and, in some way I found that admirable. Gabel keeps the story moving compellingly, and I cannot wait to see what
subject she tackles next.
Maybe not the year's best, but perfect for a fading Summer!!!!!!!!!!
Even Better A Second Time!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ann Patchett has always been one of my favorite writers. I read this first about twenty years ago. Serendipity put it into my hands, recently, so I decided to give it a second read.
A Japanese businessman is giving a birthday party, flying in special, for his guests, his favorite opera singer, to some remote South American company, where international dignitaries are gathered. The singer, Roxane Coss, stuns with her vocal pyrotechnics, when, shortly after, a group of terrorists come in, looking for the President of this nation, who happened to decline the party that night. So, they hold everyone hostage. Surprisingly, things do not go South, like "Lord Of The Flies," but to an atmosphere of almost peaceful tranquility and communication, which breaks down barriers between these two groups, even allowing for some romance to bloom.
But things have to end, and I was surprised how they did, and by the sheer romanticism of the last scene. In between, Patchett's language is beautiful, with references to operas, arias, composers, and other classical works which even the untrained should be able to pick up.
"Bel Canto" was a satisfying fiction work, when it came out in 2001.
It is even more so, eighteen years later.
Oh, my God!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I Have Had A Bad Case Of Writer's Block!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Oh, it happens, hons! To the best, and the worst.
Part of it was induced by dental anxiety I suffered this week, and a slew of doctor visits, leaving me no time to write, even if I had wanted to.
Broadway is fading, and I am praying for some surprises in the season, to make it all worthwhile. Same with the film and literary scene.
We have to face the sad fact, girls, that we are approaching the end of Summer. A very sad time. And I do have some posts planned. But not till then.
All my animal friends are doing well. But I haven't found a Bitch Of The Week. Though I may find one yet.
Meantime, I have two book posts, coming up. No social gossip; everyone's still out in the Hamptons, and nothing is happening in town.
I am doing my best, girls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Monday, August 19, 2019
Faye Dunaway Is At It Again!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
There is still fallout from the firing of Faye Dunaway, and, hence the shut down of the Broadway play, "Tea By Five," by Matthew Lombardo.
According to Michael Roca, a former personal assistant for Faye during the show, she allegedly abused and humiliated him with regard to his sexual orientation. Allegedly, my ass, she damn well did! On May 2, she called Roca a "little homosexual boy," while referring to other male backstage workers as "little gay people." Roca has gone to file a lawsuit, and I hope he wins!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Oh, Faye, you are too much! Straight men work in theater too, dear. And you are supposed to be a devout Catholic? After shtupping William Holden on camera during "Network," not to mention countless others off? You are no Sister Camille, dear! I mean, neither am I, far from it, but I do not abuse my assistants on anything, save inefficiency, which means hardly at all, because, Faye, I am not a fucking bitch like yourself!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Here is that scene, which Faye is still playing. Get over it, hon!
Oh, well, you career is DONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Is Subway Dancing Domestic Terrorism? I Say Yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Girls, isn't it annoying enough to be minding your own business, zoning out, listening to music, or, in my case, reading, and have it interrupted by subway break dancing?
To give credit where due, some are accomplished and talented, and have obviously spent much time practicing their technique. But even under the best of circumstances, things could go wrong. It has not happened to me, but I am sure there have been times when dancers operating within the confines of extremely limited and unprotected space have injured themselves and/or riders. It is inevitable.
This was brought to my attention recently. David and I were on the R train, riding back to Brooklyn, when, in lower Manhattan a family, or group of friends got on, seated themselves near us, and proceeded to act as though we were not there, carrying on much too loudly, intentionally trying to provoke us, and two got up and began break dancing, and I could see right away they were amateurs; not as talented, as, say, the gentleman pictured.
David ignored it all, and I buried my head in my book, having the unique ability to tune things like this out, through sheer determination of will. Later, as I was not aware, David said he heard one of the group, say, of us, "That's why they don't like us, because we are Black."
Oh, please!!!!!!!!!!! Gimme a break! We disliked you, first of all because you were untalented, and causing a disturbance on the train that could have resulted in several people being injured. You were also violating boundaries by purposely seating yourselves near us--the car was hardly crowded, and acted up, because you wanted to provoke us, or anyone who might have been in our seats. Being Black, had nothing to do with it. Being Obnoxious--an Equal Opportunity Offender--did.
Talented, or not, I agree subway break dancing, or this type of behavior is domestic terrorism. Call me what you want; but the police should take more action, regarding such behavior.
God forbid they should patrol subway cars!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
A Terrific Book! But, Who The Hell Wrote It????????????????
Not since Elena Ferrante's Neapolitan Novels, has an anonymous, or pseudonymous author, captured my attention. "The Secret Diary Of Hendrik Goren, 83/14 Years Old" is supposedly written by Hendrik Groen, but just who the hell is he? Is he real? An octogenarian? A famous Dutch comic? A woman? Someone who actually works in such an institution.
What the entire work is amounts to Ken Kesey meets J. D. Salinger. It has both authors' disdain for authority, though those figures are not as extreme as in Kesey. No one rises to the level of Nurse Ratched. The closest is Evert, Groen's friend and companion, who is almost as devious as Randall Patrick McMurphy. What happens to him, and others, is sad, because what the reader is shown is while there may be peaceful endings to those in institutionalized senior care, none of them are happy endings.
Groen matches Salinger for being a curmudegeon, albeit a humorous, and realistic, rather than idealized, one. The overall portrait of the senior care world is not much different from high school, so, baby boomers facing this eventually, look back on your high school years, and see if you are ready to repeat them. Me, I will act up, this time.
I love those two spinster sisters, the Slothouwer Sisters, the Mean Girls of the place, and how Groen and his cronies triumph over them by forming their own clique, the "Old But Not Dead Club," which goes on some inspirational jaunts, and adventurous outings. Yet the realities of Alzheimer's and other ills are poignantly brought home, leaving us still young enough to see this as our potential future both amused and wary.
I tried finding out who Groen was online. All I was able to determine is that he(?) is writing another diary. I cannot imagine where he will go from here, but on this basis, I am willing to go along with him.
A surprise literary delight, darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Friday, August 16, 2019
Girls, You Have GOT To See This!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Now, darlings, since I was a child, I knew about the 1959 film "The Alligator People," but had never seen it. This was during the late Fifties when every studio was trying to transform someone--"The Fly," "The Wasp Woman," "She Demons," and this film, all came out in the period 1958 to 1960.
What is more, to my horror, when I actually saw it--which is a story in itself, as it was David who was watching it--while I was merely curious, because what a bang for your buck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Twentieth Century-Fox, who brought us "The Song Of Bernadette," were off their game with this one. The studio, not known for horror, had had a huge box-office success with "The Fly," in 1958, featuring Vincent Prince, a Bernadette' alum. So successful was it, that a sequel was made, "Return Of The Fly." But they needed a cheapie to tack on to the second feature spot. "The Alligator People," despite an A-list cast, was made by a cheapjack company, form whom Fox purchased it. Hence, the release.
Even for a cheapie, it featured some A-Listers! My God, Frieda Inescort, about twenty pounds heavier since 1944's "The Return Of The Vampire," where she played her greatest role, Lady Jane Ainsley. Here she is the mother of a damaged veteran, in a crumbling Louisiana manse--shades of Tennessee Williams!!!!!!!!!!!--who has been undergoing experiments to improve him, but which are not working, causing him to be summoned back to his home, while his wife, goes looking for him, as he vanishes on their honeymoon.
The wife, whose name is Joyce Webster, is played by the great Beverly Garland, just three years after she had the honor of working with Cucunbo in "It Conquered The World." As in that film, she goes at the role like Meryl Streep going for the Oscar gold! Here, she has to do operatic love scenes with an alligator-faced husband, deal with Frieda, who is his mother, and run twice through swamps, tearing her skirts, ruining her heels, showing her gorgeous legs, and screaming her head off!!!!!!!!!!!! She has said the hardest thing about this role, one of her favorites, was keeping a straight face, and I do not doubt it. How could anyone ruin those gorgeous Fifties clothes? And in heels?
Isn't he cute? Even with that cheap make-up, Beverly/Joyce could not help still loving Paul, being traumatized, as he tragically sinks to his death, in quicksand.
But wait! You have to see this film from the beginning. So traumatized was Joyce by this horrific experience, she has now become Jane Marvin, working as a nurse, and two psychiatrists have recorded her story. They decide not to tell her the truth, as she might relapse!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
But Beverly and Frieda give it their all!!!!!!!!!!! Not to mention Lon Chaney, who, when he was not doing Larry Talbot, was playing variations on Lennie.
Now, you know me! Bright ideas just pop into my head!!!!!!!!!! This is too campy NOT to be turned into a Broadway musical! I mean, the set and costume designers could have a field day, and maybe Julie Taymor could create The Alligator People.
How about Jessie Mueller, as Joyce? She gets two big numbers in the swamp, plus a love song to Paul, with his alligator head. Wouldn't that be romantic? And how about Victoria Clark or Patti Lu Pone in Frieda's role of Mrs. Hawthorne? Though, come to think of it, Tyne Daly has not been doing much lately, so she may desperately snatch the role for herself!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Oh, girls, it is all too much! But the way Broadway is going, do not be surprised!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Welcome to the Great White Way, kids!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
50 Years Ago, Darlings.......................!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"By the time I got to Woodstock,
there were half a million strong."--
Joni Mitchell, "Woodstock"
No, dears, I did not get to Woodstock THEN, but I have been there SINCE.
The place has become so iconic, especially now that we are celebrating 50 years (Can you believe it! When it happened, I was 14! Now I am 64! I never dreamed such a thing would be possible!) that it calls for me to paraphrase one of Dorothy Parker's most famous quotes--
"If everyone who said they'd been to Woodstock, were laid end to end, I wouldn't be at all surprised!"
That is, more claim to have been to Woodstock than have. I actually know four people--whom I shall not name, but were actually there.
On Woodstock Saturday, fifty years before, without my parents' knowledge, I took it upon myself to dress up in my tie dye shirt, floppy hat, guitar, and try to thumb my way there. I actually made it to the Jersey Turnpike, which was jammed, and began hitching. I thought I was on my way.
Fate intervened. Two friends of my parents, coming home from somewhere, spotted me, and dragged me into the car, took me home, where my outraged parents promptly sent me to my room. I listened to it on the radio, there!
Forty four years later, in 2013, while visiting friends with David, I finally made it to Woodstock. I was walked out to wear the stage was, and, a cappella, started doing a couple of songs. And people gathered to listen.
So, darlings, I have done some sets at Woodstock. There were other visits.
How I wish I could have been there. Fifty years, and I am not about to forget.
Here is the most famous image of Woodstock. We all know it, darlings!!!!!!!!!!
Grace Slick, doing "White Rabbit," and "Volunteers!"
Happy Woodstock 50, everyone!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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