| Dillinger is Dead |
[Jul. 12th, 2009|06:25 am] |
| [ | Tags | | | dillinger, ferreri, films, piccoli | ] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | Revolving | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Franz Schubert: Winterreise, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, baritone | ] |
Dillinger è morto is a bizarre Italian film by Italian director Marco Ferreri, made in 1969, and never shown in the U.S. until now in its scattered special engagements. I had the good fortune to catch it in Rome in 1970, on my last night in the city, at the neighborhood Cinema Farnese in Campo de' Fiori.
It deals pretty much with an evening in the life of a character named Glauco, played by Michel Piccoli, who comes home from work in a gas-mask factory, is disgusted with the cold supper left for him by his always sleeping wife, prepares a gourmet meal of his own as he cleans (with virgin olive oil) a revolver found in a closet and wrapped in old newspapers. The papers contains the story of the death of American gangster John Dillinger. The revolver, of uncertain origin, obsesses him. When done, he paints it red with white polka dots. This is an interesting man but hardly a sane one.
And then...well, and then...what Glauco does with that revolver and how it becomes an invigorating turning point in his unwell life, gives the film a measure of its eerily fascinating allure. This lost cult movie is certainly an interesting counterpoint to Johnny Depp's current Public Enemies, about the gangster himself.
I never thought I would see it again, since it has never been available on video or DVD. Yesterday I caught it at the Brattle. So, run over to Cambridge for its last showings, tonight and tomorrow. You may like it; you may not. But, as with me four decades later, it will never leave your mind. |
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| Happiness? |
[Jul. 10th, 2009|09:04 am] |
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Money. Things. Possessions. Appliances. Computers. Clothes. Cars. Gizmos. DVDs. CDs. Food. |
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| Fourth |
[Jul. 4th, 2009|05:42 am] |
Huh? The Fourth of July? So today I'll watch D. W. Griffith's 1924 silent, America, about the Revolutionary War. To celebrate our independence I'll have three hot dogs with mustard and relish, and corn on the cob. Am I not patriotic or what? Wrap me in Old Glory! |
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| Mrs. Terhes' |
[Jun. 25th, 2009|10:30 pm] |
Mrs. Terhes' was a legendary little Hungarian restaurant in Manhattan on 2nd Avenue and 70th Street. It is long gone. I went there often in the 1970s and thereabouts, frequently after attending films at the numerous East Side art houses that dotted the area like the Beekman, the 68th Street Playhouse, the Coronet, Baronet, Cinema I and II.
I'd eat there alone or I'd bring film friends. It rarely cost more than $6-$8 to dine there on goulash or chicken paprika or perhaps choose one of the palacsinta, those ample Austro-Hungarian crêpes, or other old Hungarian specialties. It was unpretentious, hardy food, well-prepared and utterly authentic. Locals of Hungarian extraction would at one time or another dine there, like Eva and Zsa Zsa Gabor.
I don't know what brought about this surging Danubian longing in me for this restaurant of yore. But I want to say to you, Mrs. Terhes, that you were the quintessence of paprika. |
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| A lost arrow. |
[Jun. 16th, 2009|08:51 am] |
I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.
~Longfellow
Funny, but this verse came to mind while re-reading a youthful diary entry in which I wrote, "I think I will revive my former enthusiasm for archery during the summer months ahead." So I purchased four thirty-inch arrows in the City Hall Hardware sports department for 25 cents each. Later that day, as I wrote, "I tried my new arrows tonight and lost one of them after the first shot. I couldn't find it even though I searched the area for nearly an hour."
I think I wasn't really interested in target practice but rather in the soaring of arrows. Poetic? Stupid?
Where is that lost arrow? Or for that matter...
the lost friendship
the lost opportunity
the lost wallet
the wasted money
the wasted time
the unrealized talent
the unfulfilled promise
the lost ambition
the vanished passionate desire
the useless prayer
the lost hope?
I say unto you, Mr. Longfellow, where? Yes, I know, you found your arrow later, in an oak, still unbroke. But I didn't. And I never will. |
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| Benigni, Dante, Boston. |
[Jun. 7th, 2009|08:51 am] |
Webphoto of Italian actor, director, performer Roberto Benigni.
Last night I was part of the overflow audience at Boston's Berklee Performance Center, there to see and hear Roberto Benigni in his acclaimed program TuttoDante. Most folks remember Benigni from his Academy-Award winning film Life is Beautiful and his zany antics at the Oscar ceremonies.
In recent years Benigni has taken on a successful second career explicating and reciting in front of large audiences the poetry from The Divine Comedy of Dante Alghieri (1265-1321.) A multi-set DVD exists in Italy of these collected performances.
Last night as a warm-up he gave us first a wacky and irreverent stand-up-comedian routine that ranged everywhere from Italian politics (Berlusconi is a favored victim of his barbs) to currents events to Boston as a cultural town, all given in his inimitable broken and sometimes indeciperable English peppered with Italian. Then he slowly progressed to the subject of the discourse, leading into an examination of Canto V from the Inferno, with triplets on display in English translation on a screen behind him. His explanations digressed, seemed often unfocused, but ultimately all came together as he ended with a beautifully enunciated recitation in Italian of all of Canto V: the torment of the lustful in hell, the tragedy of Paolo and Francesca, adulterous lovers whose story so had moved Dante that it ended in the pilgrim-poet fainting.
It was the best part of the evening, in fact an overwhelming one, as Benigni abandoned antics and gave us a profound delievery of profound poetry, all from memory. The audience remained rapt, whether they understood the Italian words or not...though they should have. He had given them the story and the words during the part that led up to this delivery. There was total attention, total silence, followed by a thunderous applause. We knew we had witnessed something special.
I felt a little bit envious. I too, as a teacher, had taught and read from Dante's Inferno over the decades (as my icon reflects) and gotten some appreciation from many of my students who always told me they remembered the book. ("One hell of a book," I used to joke.) So, job done. But I am not Roberto Benigni. So glad I was there.
Boston Globe review |
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| Supplies of sake. |
[Jun. 4th, 2009|03:35 pm] |
Interior of sake shop in Kurashiki, 1998.
In Hakone, Japan in 1998, our tour group was housed at a nice resort hotel. I passed up having a restaurant dinner the night we were there. Exhausted from the tour and lulled by a naked bath in a warm communal pool, in lieu of a meal, I settled on lounging in my room, eating junk food like chips and pretzels, and drinking sake...lots of it.
Sake, someone once said, tastes like the fermentation of dirty socks. Well, I don't think it's quite that odious or odoriferous, and it certainly achieved the effect I was seeking, a kind of Zen oblivion for one night.
Fortuitously, later on the tour we visited a charming little canal-side village in Kurashiki, and I went into this magical little sake shop. That's all they sold, sake, in varieties and in containers beyond anyone's fantasy, plus assorted sake paraphernalia.
Agape, all I could think was...
For heaven's sake!
For Pete's sake!
For goodness sake!
Exterior |
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| Akira Kurosawa |
[Jun. 4th, 2009|05:16 am] |
| [ | Tags | | | films, japan, japanese, kurosawa, movies | ] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | Excited | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Franz Schubert: Unfinished Symphony (in honor of A.K.'s "One Wonderful Sunday") | ] |
My 1978 photo of Akira Kurosawa at Berkeley
This past week I have been re-watching the films of the great Japanese director Akira Kurosawa. I had recorded a whole bunch from TCM nine years ago when they did a big, though not complete, retrospective. Over the decades I have been able to see all his movies, from the 1943 Sanshiro Sugata to his last movie, the 1993 Madadayo, including the rarest ones not easily available on video. He made many masterpieces over those five decades. It was the 1950 Rashomon that brought him to real world attention, as it did for its riveting star Toshiro Mifune, and it was the first Kurosawa movie to play locally. I saw it when I was still in high school. It was my first Kurosawa picture.
Over the next weeks I plan to watch all his movies again, and I am up to twelve out of thirty. My own personal favorites are Ikiru, The Seven Samurai, Ran, Dreams (with Martin Scorsese as Vincent van Gogh!), Rashomon, and the lesser-seen but delightful One Wonderful Sunday. Oh, I love and respect many others just as much!
By general consensus his greatest film is considered to be the 1952 Ikiru, about the last days in the life of a dying man. In July 1978 when I was in the San Francisco area, I went out to Berkeley's Pacific Film Archive where there was a special showing of Ikiru with Kurosawa in person afterward to receive some recognition and offer a few words. I believe George Lucas, a Kurosawa champion, was on hand. Lucas's Star Wars, after all, was based, in its narrative outline, on the master's The Hidden Fortress. I took a photo or two of Kurosawa at that time and consider it one of the luckiest moments in my life as a serious film buff. Kurosawa died in 1998. |
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| Bitter pills. |
[Jun. 3rd, 2009|05:25 am] |
| [ | Tags | | | astrazeneca, medicine, pills | ] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | Bitter-pill swallowing. | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Jean Sibelius: Pohjola's Daughter | ] |
One of the medications I must take is very expensive. My Part D Medicare coverage covers most of it, unless I reach the donut hole, a coverage black-hole that usually occurs mid-year, like around now, when they stop covering it for a time. The medication lists for almost $600. That's per month, thirty tablets! Usually I pay $63; in January I paid $275. Yesterday the pharmacist gave me a sad look as he informed me it would cost $567.09! That's almost $20 per pill. Fortunately the drug company that manufactures it, AstraZeneca, has a program whereby once you reach 3% of you annual income in total out-of-pocket drug purchases, they will charge you only $25 per month for the remainder of the year for any of their medications. They did it last year, and it was a life-saver and it allowed me to pursue my annoying habit of wanting to eat now and then.
I have reached the qualification point this year. I showed my card to him; he phoned the company's program rep (I had already done so at home to verify my status), and I was able to save $542.09. The program is called AZ & Me. In this instance, at least, a drug company is my friend instead of a price-gouging vulture and another of the curses of the health care system in the United States of America. |
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| My antipodal acquaintances Matt and Jenna. |
[May. 28th, 2009|09:44 pm] |
This evening I was privileged to have grub and grog with Matt C. and his Australian wife Jenna at Twin Oaks in Cranston, RI. Matt was never actually in a class of mine at the high school I taught at, La Salle Academy, but he was a friend to students of mine, to me, and a faithful cyber-friend as well to me over the years since he graduated in 2003.
Matt and Jenna married a short while ago and have just ended a visit to Matt's folks in Providence, RI. They resume the enviable chore of being Sydneysiders once they complete their return trip which starts tomorrow.
We had a splendid two hours together. I am grateful to Matt for having thought of me in introducing his delightful wife to me and to the both of them for the good cheer we shared this evening. They granted me permission to post this report on LJ.
Matt, Jenna, all my sincerest best wishes to you both for a long and happy life together in Australia. You are a beautiful couple. So, first accolades, next toasts...then blessings.
( Matt, Jenna, and I ) |
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| Obama at Notre Dame |
[May. 19th, 2009|12:47 pm] |
I thought President Obama's commencent address at Notre Dame last Sunday afternoon was not only brilliant and thoughtful, but one of the finest speeches ever given by a president in my lifetime. I hope my opinion is shared by others. It went to the root of the divisions in our country and suggested a way to deal with them, to discuss them, to debate them in a calm, courteous way, respectful of others' points-of-view. Imagine, a president who works to unite us, not to divide us! |
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| Dribbling drivel. |
[May. 11th, 2009|04:19 pm] |
Very often I see blog comments in which the poster refers to someone else's message as "dribble." Well, dribble is a basketball word referring to continued ball-bouncing by a player to keep it in motion. Even this committed non-sportsman knows that. I think the word these bloggers mean to use is drivel, that is if they knew the word existed. Drivel, of course, means hogwash, nonsense, inanities, stupidities. So calling someone's words "dribble" is pure drivel and diminishes anything one may have to say. People that do it are ipso facto drivelers but not necessarily dribblers, unless they spout drivel on the basketball court while dribbling. |
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| Prosciutto deprivation. |
[May. 8th, 2009|12:59 pm] |
I am certain that there are millions upon millions of folks throughout the world who have never tasted prosciutto. This sad likelihood constitutes a tragedy of epic proportions. |
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| Barack Obama's burger vs. my burger |
[May. 6th, 2009|08:33 am] |
Yesterday President Obama and Vice President Biden went out for a business lunch. They waited in line with everybody else at Ray's Hell Burgers in Arlington, Virginia. Barack had the cheddar cheese burger, medium well, with spicy mustard and lettuce and tomato. And cheesy tots. He left a $5 tip as a stimulus package.
Last Thursday I had one of the finest burgers of my life at Newport's Brick Alley Pub. It was called a Huntsman Burger, ordered medium rare, and was topped with a hill of bacon, Great Hill bleu cheese and Cheddar cheese, lettuce and tomato. It was about as big and juicy and smashingly scrumptious as any known burger is capable of being. I frankly think it was even better than what the president had. The Sam Adams I drank was perfection too.
Conclusion: Barack and Joe should fly in to Newport for one of their upcoming weekly luncheons.
Dining in Arlington |
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| Chinatown, Boston, late at night |
[May. 2nd, 2009|12:54 pm] |
There is a great Chinese restaurant I like in Boston. It's called Gourmet Dumpling House and is on Beach Street in Chinatown. As the name implies, it serves dumplings, but also a million other things as well listed on a menu the length of the Great Wall. There are usually more diners speaking Chinese here than English. That's a good sign that you've come to the right place. After the opera last night (The Bartered Bride), I stopped in for a late-night plate of sauteed noodles with beef and vegetables in Sa-Cha sauce before catching my midnight train back. It was an unadventuresome choice but extremely well prepared and tasty. I thought I'd have to take an unfinished portion home; instead I polished off the whole damn thing.
The guy sitting near me was immersed in a mountainous plate of sauteed little necks with basil, and an even huger side-dish of super-green beans. He also had an appetizer plate of what looked like Hunan bacon pieces but might not have been.
The menu includes things I would have to think about twice, nay thrice, before ordering. Some of them are: Fish Head with Mixed vegetables in Clay Pot, Three Essence Duck Tongue (or Frog) in Hot Pie, Sauteed Pork Intestine, Pickled Mustard Greens with Intestines and Blood Pudding, Chilled Spicy Pork Ears, Spicy Duck Web, Roast Pig Heart (or Tongue).
Their Taiwanese Style Pan Fried Dumplings, which I had last time, are freshly-made and to die for. I'll be back but will pass on the pork intestine, unless I develop more intestinal fortitude. |
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| Great political news! |
[Apr. 28th, 2009|03:16 pm] |
Senator Arlen Specter of Pennsylvania has abandoned the Republican party and is now a Democrat. He says the Republican party has gone too far to the right. This development will give the Democrats a filibuster-proof majority, once Al Franken of Minnesota is certified. Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes! I am going to kiss the first donkey I meet on the way to the Old Mill Tap. |
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| Bunny Red Breast |
[Apr. 27th, 2009|06:28 am] |
I peered out the window this morning. On my front lawn there was a robin red breast doing a tango with a bunny rabbit. |
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| Fidel Castro in Providence |
[Apr. 25th, 2009|11:12 am] |
Fifty years ago today Fidel Castro made his way to Boston from New York by rail. In a brief stop in Providence at Union Station, he addressed people that had turned out to see him as he was on his way to speak at Harvard University. He had assumed full power in Cuba a couple of months earlier. I didn't go see him, but I noted it in my diary. |
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| Dropping newborn babies into quiet pools. |
[Apr. 16th, 2009|09:31 am] |
| [ | Tags | | | babies, books, drowning | ] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | Startled | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Gaetano Donizetti: La favorita, Pavarotti, Cossotto | ] |
I just finished the occasionally startling 1949 novel by Frederic Wakeman, The Wastrel. This obscure piece of fiction is about a man shipwrecked and trying to save his life and that of his young son, afloat together in the sea. Chapters alternate between the current survival-struggle and flashbacks to the man's past failures as a husband and human being.
I had been trying to find the 1961 film version The Wastrel / Il relitto, directed by Michael Cacoyannis and featuring Van Heflin. A futile search, so I settled on reading the book buried in the stacks of one R.I. library.
Some things grabbed my attention, especially this anthropological passage whose truth I cannot verify:
"Like all labor pains, the deep torture of man's rebirth as a land animal has mercifully been forgotten, and there remains only hatred, distrust and fear of the heaving blue womb which first gave him life.
"Certain islanders still live close enough to the sea to make use of this salty memory buried deep in the subconscious. Some of the Polynesians, for instance, have a custom of dropping newborn babes into quiet pools. They swim, of course. This baptismal trick must be played before the infant is twelve hours of age; thereafter the babe will not or cannot swim and speedily drowns in the same quiet pool.
"The exact fatal moment when this change comes could well be twelve hours and twenty-five minutes, that being the lunar half day, which has the same significance on water as the solar time period has on land." |
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| Putting off procrastination. |
[Apr. 15th, 2009|07:52 am] |
| [ | Tags | | | procrastination, taxes | ] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | Refunded | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Finnish folk songs sung by Kirsten Flagstad | ] |
Huh? Income tax day?
Well, you procrastinators, you deserve the last-minute anguished frenzy. I did my return last month and got my BIG refund about three weeks ago.
That's because this year I decided to put off procrastination until tomorrow. |
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