What Is It With People Climbing Out Of Manholes??????????????????????

                               Girls, I am telling you, what are we coming to?  First there is a singular incident of this, now they seem to be occurring all over city?  Are struggling actors trying to enact their own versions of "Les Misérables?"  Are people suddenly developing a fecal fascination with what is underground?

                                 I have walked over manholes, praying they don't explode, but I never displayed any interest in what lies beneath.  Why should I?

                                  And why should anyone?  Have people--even criminals--have nothing better to do than sneak undergrounds through manholes??????????  Really, guys, I gave you more credit for being cleverer than that!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                     Yes, the city is sinking to new lows, but why should it be taken literally?  This is an outright embarrassment to the people who live her, and those maladjusted who are doing this!

                                      I want my manholes covered and in place where they belong!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                       Otherwise, darlings, you are simply full of shit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

To Think This Was Before "Toxic Masculinity" Entered The American Vernacular!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

                                      This was the choice I chose as an alternative to "Svengoolie."

                                      I had wanted to see some of John Cassavetts' film work, and I recall this having gotten some good notices, let alone having a superb cast, so I decided we should watch "Husbands."

                                        It was almost the opposite of "Autumn Sonata."  Where that was detailed and structured, "Husbands," is as if Cassevates threw script pages in the air, let them fall where they may, and then shot each one individually.

                                         He always did have an improvisational style, and the actors--Ben Gazara, Cassavetes  himsef, and Peter Falk, who gives the film's best performance. --are all up to it.   Three lifelong friends, their wives and families, all living in some Long Island neighborhood, but working in Manhattan, have unexpectedly lost through death their fourth friend and colleague, and the film is a long detailing of their expressions of grief, from singing maudlin, drunken songs, to flying to London and trying to make it with hookers.  This film may put some off, but it has an unmistakable style of its own.  My big complaint was that some scenes went on too long.  For example, the episode of them crowding into the stalls of a bar's Men's room, throwing up and curing, was too long for my taste.  Cassavetts' talent sometimes gets the better of him, and he does not know when to quit.

                                       Despite the trio's almost immature antics, the stature of the actors enables them to embody each character with a degree of sympathy, best present in the end when they return home to their wives.  I wish the film had ended with the son saying to his father, "Boy, are you in trouble!" but I guess Cassavetes wanted to end on a sympathetic note for the men.

                                          Gene Siskel--who ever took him seriously? --chose this as one of The Ten Best Films Of 1970!  Are you kidding?  And Criterion offers a boxed set of Cassavetes' work, but I am certainly not going to buy it.

                                             Nevertheless "Husbands" should be seen and viewed as the kind of directorial creativity that does not exist anymore!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                                And actors of these statures?  Sadly, they are gone!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                          

"But The Mother And Child Reunion Is Only A Moment Away!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

 

                                    Ingamar Bergman's better films--and "Autumn Sonata" is one of them--always have an exciting theatricality to them, revealing his theatrical background.  The actors at times seem to be looking directly at the camera, addressing their speech as if to an audience while they are on stage.

                                      This works to great effect in "Autumn Sonata," where a mother and daughter--fiercely competing for the other's attention, despite Mother being a renowned pianist--go at each other in a series of monologues revealing hatred and resentment.

                                          That the mother and daughter are played by Ingrid Bergman and Liv Ullman helps because this is their show and the film is like a master class in acting, taught by these two ladies. Ulman's daughter plays her sister, Helena, neglected by their mother due to some neuro-physio illness that is never explained though it is suggested it was brought on by her father Viktor sexually abusing her.

                                                 Girls, this is very strong stuff, and even I was not prepared for this.  Bergman's camerawork is probing and there are some lovely shots along water ways that lend a relaxing, poetic feel to the trauma before and afterward.  And the colors are muted browns and blacks, suggesting a very autumnal look.  No detail escapes Bergman's eye.

                                                      To think it took me almost half a century to see this.  I highly recommend it, but make sure you are emotionally prepared.

                                                         It's like Tolstoy said, "......every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

                                               

This Film Was Pretty Daring For 1932!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                   Before getting into my thoughts, darlings, let me say this was made before the implementation of the Hays Production Code; otherwise, this picture could not have been made.

                                    Let me make it absolutely clear this film has nothing to do with the Kaufman and Hart play "Merrily We Roll Along," or the 1981 Sondheim musical of the same name.  Though there are a few show biz and party scenes suggestive of it.  But the play was not even produced until 1934!

                                       Lastly, while I urge those never having seen it to do so, there are some spoilers necessary for discussion.  If you want to remain surprised, stop when you hit the word "pregnant."

                                        The film stars two of the era's most underrated actors, Frederic March and Sylvia Sydney.  The film was an adaptation of a 1931 novel by Cleo Lucas called "I, Jerry, Take Thee Joan."  The plot is simple.  It is about two people who never should have gotten married in the first place.  The film wants to suggest that this is the way of the world, and in some cases, it is, but there are marriages that do work out, including yours truly.

                                         The problem is the viewers can see what the characters cannot.  From the first five minutes, it becomes apparent that Jerry Corbett (March) a newspaper reporter and struggling playwright, is also a definitive alcoholic.  A chance meeting with Joan Prentice (Sydney) at a party reveals her to be a naive but loving heiress who has never faced the harshness of the world, and whose father (George Irving) has done his loving best to protect her.

                                             You know the trajectory, girls.  Things are wonderful, until they are not.  When Jerry has a string of hits he resumes partying and drinking again, two timing Joan with the play's lead actress.  Joan finally decides two can play at this game and steps out on the town with Charles Baxter, played by a young Cary Grant.  Sylvia Sydney especially demonstrates quite an acting range, especially when she goes from the mousy Joan to the wild one!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Girls, we all want to be wild Joan!!!!!!!!!!  Or maybe we have been, in youth!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                               But codependent need keeps drawing them back, and when Joan walks out for good, Jerry makes every effort there is to win her back, but her father tells her no dice.  Months later, he reads that Joan, home in Chicago is in the hospital, having given birth to a baby boy.  Ecstatic, he goes there but is told by Mr. Prentice that the baby is dead.

                                                 Which brings up a lot of questions.  Is the baby actually dead?  Because when Jerry forces his way into Joan, they hold each other aa if to cling forever, and the film closes with them clenched, and she is muttering, "My baby, my baby."

                                                     Who even knew Joan was pregnant?  I don't think the film was allowed to acknowledge or show it.  She could have made the discovery while home in Chicago, but the viewer will never know.  Again, as for the baby being dead, is it actually?  And the final words--whom are they directed to--the allegedly lost infant son, or Jerry himself?  My guess is the latter.

                                                          Dorothy Arzner's direction and the script of Edwin Justus Mayer lays out a troubled marriage in spite of the couple genuinely loving each other.   The answers to the questions I have asked I think they intentionally leave to the individual viewer to make up.

                                                            I was once told by someone wise that making the wrong decision about marriage can turn into a nightmare.  This film illustrates that.  I do think they will get back together, child or no child, and the cycle will begin all over again.

                                                              I wonder if a young William Inge saw this?  Maybe it inspired him to write "Come Back, Little Sheba!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

                                                                

Under No Circumstances Is This To Be Watched!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                             Girls, I am telling you, "Svengoolie" is really scraping the bottom of the barrel by offering this.  I never knew George Romero's 1968 masterpiece was ever remade, and I do not want to see it.

                                                  I mean, darlings, who can forget the original's opening with Barbara (Judith O'Dea) and her brother Johnny, (Russell Streinver) looking like a nerd /serial killer, going to visit the gravesite of a loved one.  Barbara is all decked out with a hairstyle suggesting Candace Hilligoss in "Carnival Of Souls," only she cannot pull it off as she is not that pretty.  Clearly, she is headed for spinsterhood, which is a kind of death in itself, so when Johnny becomes one of the undead, and Barbara gradually loses her mind, rushing into a pack of zombies, thinking she has finally found Johnny, she either becomes a zombie or is consumed by them.  Since this is the last time she is seen in the film, I would vote for the latter.  But since spinsterhood was ahead for her, why not?

                                                    But the original had stunning black and white photography, and who could forget Karen Cooper, who stabs her mother on camera with a spatula?  And one of the dead eating a bug from a tree?  This was a big deal in 1968, and, viewed today, it still is.

                                                       Whomever thought they could remake this classic is sadly mistaken. The only remake I can endorse--and it is one of the few better than the original--is Judy Garland's 1954 "A Star Is Born."

                                                           But then Judy Garland says it all.  We have chosen a more sensible alternative for tonight than last week, and I will share that with you tomorrow.

                                                           I am pleading with you, girls, skip "Svengoolie" tonight altogether.

                                                           You will not regret it or miss a thing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dickens A La Francais!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                I cannot believe it took me this long to see "The 400 Blows."  I had no idea what I was missing.  The performances of its leads, including the young Jean-Pierre Leaud as Antoine Doniel are spot on.  Anyone who has been through adolescence will easily relate, and those on the verge of it should see this film as a cautionary tale of what to watch out for.

                                 Adolescents, in all sorts of ways, act out.   I know I did.  I never drank or smoked, but I was always acting Barbra Streisand, singing "I'm The Greatest Star," or doing hysterical monologues, like Natalie Wood in "Splendor In The Grass."  My poor parents.  Now I understand what they were going through.

                                    Antoine's parents, though wonderfully played by Albert Remyand Claire Maurier, are sub-par.  The father overworks to support the family, while the mother is a tramp, two timing her husband with the boss, and neglecting the boy, because she feels he is too much of a burden.

                                         So, he acts up in school, reminding me of those years when I resented some of the teachers for the way they taught or did not, and feeling I knew more than they did, which I still do. I did not become a juvenile delinquent like Antoine, but I had my meltdowns.  And I had problems with authority!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                             The boy ends up in a reformatory, which is straight out of Dickens, but with a French twist.  The film captures the more austere sides of Parisian life, but there is a poetic shot of boys running through a flock of pigeons, as if foreshadowing "Les Yeux Sans Visage," and the opening has some wonderful poetic shots of Paris, and some interesting, almost noir, camerawork.  I was more moved than I expected to be.  The final shots of Antoine running along a beach , the ocean in the background is beautifully filmed.

                                                I thought the film ended abruptly, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.  The film ends asking its audience the question "So what's next for this boy?"

                                                  Being it is semi-autobiographical I would say the future was bright, for Truffaut emerged as one of our most brilliant filmmakers, despite a troubled past.

                                                    "My only adolescence, my pretty adolescence, my shitty adolescence........!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

                                                       

"Phipps Are Great Big Bunch Of Gyps!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

                        Remember the famous "I Love Lucy" episode where she did the Phipps Foam Mattress commercial thinking it was a dress rehearsal, only it was live?  Well, that is how David and I felt Wednesday after visiting the Centennial exhibit at The Paley Meida Museum.

                          The exhibit, meant to celebrate 100 years of NBC, is only running for a week, so it is not like I can tell you, darlings, to dash right to it.  Even if it had a longer run, I would tell you to avoid it.

                             What a disappointment!!!!!!!  Let's start with certain displays having such small decals, placed inappropriately on the ground, that only a midget could read what was on them.  Hello?  Does this museum have a curatorial staff.  And what kind?  This was such a chintzy attraction it was not worth our while to come into the city.  No gift shop?  Nothing groundbreaking or exciting!  At my former workplace better exhibits were put on with much more material, if not much more time.  The point is--theirs were better than this.

                                I don't know who was responsible for this reprehensible presentation but shame on them.  I could have come in and mounted a superior exhibit. How about some footage of "Hullabaloo," with Michael Bennett, and Donna McKechnie??????????  Does anyone at Paley know who they are?  I doubt it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                     Really, this exhibit is not worth anyone's time, let alone putting it up.

                                     Go to The Morgan, and see the Tarot Exhibition, now playing through October 4.

                                      There, darlings, you will see masterful curatorial work!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!