"Imitation is the highest form of flattery."
I'm inclined to believe that Louise Brooks wouldn't necessarily agree, particularly where the work of Lee Israel is concerned. Israel has become the focus of my attention due to a recent eBay listing, featuring a letter that is purported to be of Brooks' authorship; having skimmed the text and compared the signature to other samples of Louise's handwriting, the letter sadly does not ring true to me. Whether or not it is in fact a true Brooks letter, I cannot say for certain (I would still believe that it is not); however, this issue brought Lee Israel back to my attention. Israel, a one-time biographer who, having fallen upon hard times, took to writing forged letters from the likes of Noel Coward, Lillian Hellman, and Dorothy Parker, made Brooks one of her earliest targets. She often sourced biographical material for her forgeries (including personal letters), though it seems that the Brooks letters were mostly comprised of Louise's own words, which Israel shuffled around and embellished ever so slightly. As she became more self-assured in her work, she took greater creative liberties, which ultimately caused her undoing. Israel decided to come clean with a memoir, Can You Ever Forgive Me?, which was published in 2008. I have yet to read the book myself, but I'll make it a point to do so, as I'd like to wrap my head around this woman and her work; though her intentions were dubious, there is little doubt that she is quite skilled with the English language. One last item of note: as the letters she authored were "from the realm of the dead", the deceased were thereby incapable of defending themselves or setting things right. The notion of "cheating the dead" would make me feel glum, but I take comfort as I imagine that somewhere, anywhere and everywhere, "St. Louise is listening."
9.01.2010
8.05.2010
Stray Dog at the Dryden Theatre, 8.5.10
Another fine evening at the Dryden, spent viewing an Akira Kurosawa classic, 1949's Stray Dog. The plot is centered around a fairly green cop, Murakami (Toshiro Mifune), whose gun is stolen while riding on an overcrowded bus. Sparing a rundown of the entire plotline, the film utilized several beautiful angles and shots, many of which would feel right at home in a film made tomorrow. Kurosawa particularly favored asymmetrically-framed shots, an aesthetic consistent with traditional Japanese woodblock prints. The interchanging forced perspective close-ups and long-range shots allowed for beautiful, subtle storytelling to unfold, keeping the dialogue at a bare minimum. There was a sense that you were amidst the action, conveniently tucked behind a sheer curtain or thrust against a wall in a narrow alley as the story came to life before your eyes. Another item of note: it seems that posturing and attitude denote superiority of will and/or intelligence (at least in the Kurosawa realm). The characters with the most knowledge or experience were often leaning comfortably against a railing or table, legs folded casually beneath them. Compare Murakami's stiff stance, signaling unfamiliarity and novice status, with Sato's (Takashi Shimura, another wonderful actor) eased slouch and cool attitude.
Though there was a great deal of beauty to behold in Kurosawa's cinematography, in equal measure there was a sense of despair and dismay looming through the streets and homes of postwar Japan, culminating in a moment that will surely linger in my consciousness for the coming days and nights...(after the jump, in case you'd like to remain unspoiled by the plot)
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Murakami has at long last reunited with his Colt, though not without seeing the damage that it had inflicted upon several innocent people. Collapsed from exhaustion and blood loss, he is relieved but far too weary to celebrate. Lying next to him, in handcuffs, is the equally weary Yusa, the culprit. Worn down by a lost war and his own social inadequacies, among other factors, he is particularly sensitive. In the distance, a group of small children marches along the fields, cheerfully singing the praises of the cherry blossoms; it is at this moment, as he notices the blooms hovering above him, recalling the criminal nature that has set forth from his own hands, that his soul completely shatters. He releases a scream so primal and blood-curdling that will stun anyone and everyone in its wake. A devastating, wordless expression of humanity's unbelievable power, used alternately for better and for worse. Stark, pure, undeniably humbling.
Though there was a great deal of beauty to behold in Kurosawa's cinematography, in equal measure there was a sense of despair and dismay looming through the streets and homes of postwar Japan, culminating in a moment that will surely linger in my consciousness for the coming days and nights...(after the jump, in case you'd like to remain unspoiled by the plot)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Murakami has at long last reunited with his Colt, though not without seeing the damage that it had inflicted upon several innocent people. Collapsed from exhaustion and blood loss, he is relieved but far too weary to celebrate. Lying next to him, in handcuffs, is the equally weary Yusa, the culprit. Worn down by a lost war and his own social inadequacies, among other factors, he is particularly sensitive. In the distance, a group of small children marches along the fields, cheerfully singing the praises of the cherry blossoms; it is at this moment, as he notices the blooms hovering above him, recalling the criminal nature that has set forth from his own hands, that his soul completely shatters. He releases a scream so primal and blood-curdling that will stun anyone and everyone in its wake. A devastating, wordless expression of humanity's unbelievable power, used alternately for better and for worse. Stark, pure, undeniably humbling.
6.11.2010
An evening at the Dryden Theatre with Ira Resnick...and Brooksie.
What a whirlwind of a Friday, particularly in the realm of all things Louise Brooks. I went out to Holy Sepulchre this morning to pay my respects (though it always takes me a while to actually find her grave...the written directions are no good when you've gotten yourself spun around so that you can't tell left from right), as I like to do from time to time. Bright sunshine and a gentle breeze made for ideal conditions, and her gravestone was flanked with lovely pink flowers, including snapdragons, a personal favorite of mine. It may seem strange to some, but I truly enjoy going to visit her. It gives me a feeling of ease and comfort beyond compare, and I could only hope that it would do the same for her. I'd like to believe that her spirit is still in Rochester, silly as that may be, but it's a thought that keeps me light.
On to the evening: there was a steady crowd in wait at the Dryden Theatre, anticipating the screening of The Canary Murder Case; the film was preceded by a discussion with Ira Resnick, author of Starstruck: Vintage Movie Posters from Classic Hollywood. Resnick, who has been collecting memorabilia since the late '60s, has invested a great deal of time and money into his collection, though a few of his pieces were acquired for as low as $35 each. As he showcased some of his personal favorites, I reflected on an interview he gave the day before on WXXI radio, and I came to realize that movie poster design is truly a lost art. Resnick voiced his disappointment (on both occasions) with MGM's promotion, citing that they placed the stars and names above all else, including the film's content. Many modern films do much the same; they seek to sell names and pretty faces, when technology and special effects are absent, and that is precisely where promotion ends. The variety of designs, techniques, and styles employed throughout Resnick's collection is astonishing, and it certainly tugs at the heartstrings. Where has the artistry gone, in the movies themselves and in their advertising? I have only owned the book for a few hours, so I have yet to fully explore and digest its contents, but I am greatly looking forward to the opportunity. (On a side note, as I was exploring the museum shop before the showing, I noticed that they are now reprinting T-shirts with Louise's iconic pearl necklace image from the Richee photo session...which I had spent years wishing for and had only come across on eBay several months before. Tempted to buy a second shirt, but only because I am certifiably nuts when it comes to such matters.)
As for the film itself, it was an enjoyable, somewhat lighthearted and campy mystery. Knowing beforehand that Louise's voice was going to be dubbed over, I had set myself up for some disappointment, and to be honest, the film took its time in building steam. It seems that the first portion of the film consisted largely of salvaged material from having been shot as a silent feature, evident in the uncomfortably long pauses between (sometimes poorly) dubbed dialogue. The editing also showcased some weaknesses in the decision to create a "part-talker", particularly with Louise's scenes. Margaret Livingston (wife of famed bandleader Paul Whiteman) not only dubbed Louise's voice, but acted as a stand-in when necessary, and this was very apparent in scenes shot from the rear or side views. The hairline was distinctly different, as was her movement...however, there was one scene where the "Canary" approached her apartment door, shot from the rear, and I could tell that it was in fact Louise. Her movement is so graceful and distinctive that it cannot be missed, and G.W. Pabst was (in my humble opinion) the only director to fully appreciate and utilize her dancing background. While I am quite familiar with Louise at this point, I wanted to get to know William Powell, whose Philo Vance largely kept this film afloat with his unique suaveness, sleek intelligence, and hushed charm; Powell is an actor I'd definitely like to see more often, and if it were possible, I'd wish to chat over a drink. The supporting cast's performances were often comical, whether intentional or not, but that made the experience, with crowd and all, that much more fun.
I know now that I want to attend screenings at the Dryden on a fairly regular basis, taking in a wide variety of films, though silents will continue to be a soft spot. Just as I was a late bloomer to music, so it is with the movies. Signed book in hand, looking up at the clear night sky, I couldn't have felt more alive and full of joy, having realized just what my new mission in life must be. Call me starstruck.
On to the evening: there was a steady crowd in wait at the Dryden Theatre, anticipating the screening of The Canary Murder Case; the film was preceded by a discussion with Ira Resnick, author of Starstruck: Vintage Movie Posters from Classic Hollywood. Resnick, who has been collecting memorabilia since the late '60s, has invested a great deal of time and money into his collection, though a few of his pieces were acquired for as low as $35 each. As he showcased some of his personal favorites, I reflected on an interview he gave the day before on WXXI radio, and I came to realize that movie poster design is truly a lost art. Resnick voiced his disappointment (on both occasions) with MGM's promotion, citing that they placed the stars and names above all else, including the film's content. Many modern films do much the same; they seek to sell names and pretty faces, when technology and special effects are absent, and that is precisely where promotion ends. The variety of designs, techniques, and styles employed throughout Resnick's collection is astonishing, and it certainly tugs at the heartstrings. Where has the artistry gone, in the movies themselves and in their advertising? I have only owned the book for a few hours, so I have yet to fully explore and digest its contents, but I am greatly looking forward to the opportunity. (On a side note, as I was exploring the museum shop before the showing, I noticed that they are now reprinting T-shirts with Louise's iconic pearl necklace image from the Richee photo session...which I had spent years wishing for and had only come across on eBay several months before. Tempted to buy a second shirt, but only because I am certifiably nuts when it comes to such matters.)
As for the film itself, it was an enjoyable, somewhat lighthearted and campy mystery. Knowing beforehand that Louise's voice was going to be dubbed over, I had set myself up for some disappointment, and to be honest, the film took its time in building steam. It seems that the first portion of the film consisted largely of salvaged material from having been shot as a silent feature, evident in the uncomfortably long pauses between (sometimes poorly) dubbed dialogue. The editing also showcased some weaknesses in the decision to create a "part-talker", particularly with Louise's scenes. Margaret Livingston (wife of famed bandleader Paul Whiteman) not only dubbed Louise's voice, but acted as a stand-in when necessary, and this was very apparent in scenes shot from the rear or side views. The hairline was distinctly different, as was her movement...however, there was one scene where the "Canary" approached her apartment door, shot from the rear, and I could tell that it was in fact Louise. Her movement is so graceful and distinctive that it cannot be missed, and G.W. Pabst was (in my humble opinion) the only director to fully appreciate and utilize her dancing background. While I am quite familiar with Louise at this point, I wanted to get to know William Powell, whose Philo Vance largely kept this film afloat with his unique suaveness, sleek intelligence, and hushed charm; Powell is an actor I'd definitely like to see more often, and if it were possible, I'd wish to chat over a drink. The supporting cast's performances were often comical, whether intentional or not, but that made the experience, with crowd and all, that much more fun.
I know now that I want to attend screenings at the Dryden on a fairly regular basis, taking in a wide variety of films, though silents will continue to be a soft spot. Just as I was a late bloomer to music, so it is with the movies. Signed book in hand, looking up at the clear night sky, I couldn't have felt more alive and full of joy, having realized just what my new mission in life must be. Call me starstruck.
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