(I may say more later — right now I’m having trouble processing all these people passing on.)
Equals parts filmmaker and music nut and creator after my own heart. I thought a good deal of his stuff didn’t quite work, but every time out I could precisely feel and understand where he was trying to go.
The neglected item: Melvin and Howard. Eccentric, sure, but how many movies are not only eccentric but one-of-a-kind?
Favorite uplift from source material: Silence of the Lambs. The book, which I was captivated by the flick enough to read afterward, is clunky and ordinary in comparison. Every change Demme made is an improvement. Wise to shun sequels.
The ultimate of course is Stop Making Sense. Changed the way amplified concerts were filmed. No band could ask for a finer monument. I was riveted by right from the first of the several times I’ve seen it. About halfway through it hit me: “Ho-lee crap — there’s no question this is more exciting and overwhelming than seeing the actual show. No single audience position could knock out your brains like this!”
Official site of one of the writers who fundamentally changed the character of my home town.
The musts? These —
Alp (belongs with One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and Catch-22 and more playful and funny than either)
Grey Matters (forgotten even among his fans — sure as hell deserving of the next lost-marvel-of-science-fiction revival)
Toro! Toro! Toro! (the “bullfight novel” the ghost of Hemingway wishes he had written)
Falling Angel (at least this was seen right away as a noir as sharp and inventive as Grey Matters in sci-fi was not)
Nevermore (unclassifiable as Alp and as much, if darker, fun).
Angel Heart (a perfect adaptation of Falling Angel)
One I’d most like to see made: Morning of the Magicians
The High Days —
Paradise Players production of Twelfth Night in Emigrant, MT, 1974 —
Feste the jester is “Gatz” — in the middle. Grand artist Russell Chatham who designed the sets, in white shirt in back.
Hmmmmm. Writer/director/producer Jordan Peele got his breakout on MADtv. MAD magazine took off when the line of EC horror comics was effectively censored. Get Out is perfect as a no-holds-barred current combo of EC and MAD on screen. Something has come full circle. Whoo-hooo-haa-HAAAH!
The ghost of William Gains has opened one of the most expensive bottles in his otherworldly wine cellar.
Just as quick reminder — all “Alien” themed movies and whatnot, whether they like/admit it or not, derive from two 1939 stories by A. E. Van Vogt — “The Black Destroyer” (giant catlike monster plays dumb and harmless, is taken aboard spaceship, proceeds to start dining) and “Discord in Scarlet” (bizarre, shape-shifting organism plants carnivorous eggs inside space travelers). These were also Van Vogt’s first published stories and they are written with feverish intensity. The humans are no more than stick figures, but the aliens are unforgettable. Both included in the recommended book, Voyage of the Space Beagle.
(Of course it has to be admitted that the year before the Van Vogt stories, John W.Campbell published his masterpiece, “Who Goes There?” — which puts a carnivorous, shape-shifting alien into an isolated polar encampment.)
Namely, ROCKIT (American Beat reissue, 2007) (original issue 1979)
I breezed through this a couple-few times when I got the reissue and thought — “eh.” But I think I was fixating on the quite extended recasting of “Havana Moon,” which is pretty yargh any way you cut it, but this time I heard that he had figured out how to do longer tunes in his own manner — an accomplishment. And it’s followed by what I consider the near-masterpiece on the album, “Wuden’t Me,” a harrowing escape from jail story (love the Trump-supporter trucker with the swastika armband), that only somebody who’s been in the clink far too much could get this right. Then there’s “Move It,” deft update of classic moves, and “House Lights” where he finally figures out how to address playing in front of huge crowds.
They say dying is the biggest promotional move you can make, so this album Chuck coming out in the summer could set off righteous final fireworks. Maybe the original wave of rock and roll will come back.
Can’t be said often enough about a peculiar phenomenon I have never understood. The sex-terrified reactionaries of the ’50s wanted rock and roll to just go away — by banning if necessary. Send that monster Elvis into the Army. Send that threat to white women Chuck Berry to jail.
And damned if it didn’t work in a funhouse-mirror way. The rock of the British Invasion and later (up to a point) is annoyingly present (just consider the nonstop soundtrack we had to put up with while the car was worked on this Sat. — maybe the single most painful part was the inclusion of “I Wanna Be Sedated” like it was the hit it shoulda been). But the whole original wave of rockers is neglected except for oldies moments.
C’mon everybody (ahem), you can program that stuff right in with the Boss and related acts.