My Oscar Ballot

Picture: Winter’s Bone

Actor: Colin Firth, The King’s Speech

Actress: Michelle Williams, Blue Valentine

Supporting Actor: John Hawkes, Winter’s Bone

Supporting Actress: Hailee Steinfeld, True Grit

Director: David Fincher, The Social Network

Original Screenplay: Another Year

Adapted Screenplay: Winter’s Bone

Cinematography: True Grit

Art Direction: Inception

Editing: The Social Network

Costume Design: I Am Love

Score: The Social Network

Song: “I See the Light”, Tangled

Sound Mixing: Inception

Sound Editing: Inception

Visual Effects: Inception

Make-Up: The Way Back

Foreign Language Film: Dogtooth

Documentary Feature: Exit Through the Gift Shop

Animated Feature: Toy Story 3

Animated Short: The Lost Thing

Live Action Short: God of Love

Inspiration

I am not a particularly creative person. My writing has always leaned toward analysis and academia-based essays, but never fiction. I have a musical sensibility, vocally and instrumentally, without the skill to match. My attempts at photography, juggling and magic are notable for their failure to go anywhere. Unless you count intentionally bad poetry (especially limericks), you might say the most creative thing I do is this blog and these postcards--which may not be saying much (whatever gifts I have lie elsewhere). But my tastes over the years have allowed me the opportunity to hang around dancers, musicians, photographers, filmmakers, all of whom have amazed me with their talent, but in an art form that I still found somewhat accessible, either from first-hand experience or long-term exposure.

But artists--painters, sculptors, mixed media--have always impressed me in a different way. Because I honestly don't know how they do it. Examining brush strokes up close in a museum never fails to leave me in awe, for every little dib and dab seems so arbitrary, random on its own. But the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, and seeing a canvas breathe life and force and intensity in its static frame is a thing of singular beauty that I don't feel in a position to scrutinize. With the other arts, I think I can provide some sort of critical perspective, because I understand the mechanisms behind creating harmony or dissonance, light or shadow, fluidity or gravity.

Of course, all these qualities apply to painting, too, and I've seen enough art (across four continents) to know that I like some things much more than others. But while I am personally discerning, I guess I feel less qualified to be judgmental. Because every achievement that works or connects with me, I see as a small miracle. And the ones that don't are miraculous in their own way, too. That's why I've never had an issue with "modern" art--for while it can be superficially assessed as simplistic or naive or lazy, it still was inspired by something powerful and elusive, yet rendered in front of me whole and concrete and fearless. I respect that a lot, and while I've known my share of artists over the years, I've never seen them at work, so the process is still couched in mystery to me.

Which is why a movie like Pollock (Harris, 2000), or any artist biopic, can be challenging. Because inspiration is rarely a simple throughline of cause-and-effect. The epic expanse of white that is a blank canvas would be terrifying to me, that first stroke too great a level of commitment. And while Pollock's process may involve more sheer physicality than a Da Vinci or Monet, conveying that window into his artistic mind can still be a difficult thing to dramatize. Very few movies have done it successfully, leaving the artist we love (no matter how well-acted) still an enigma, chronicling the events and external demons of a life but never harnassing the soulfulness that makes that art great.

I wouldn't know what makes a painting "great" anyway. Back in college, my friend in UC Santa Cruz had a Pollock-y painting on her dorm room wall that I thought was marvelous. Learning her 6-year old niece made it didn't change that opinion one bit. I have a painting hanging now at home, from a friend. It reminds me of Van Gogh, but with a pallette that's more verdant than I'm used to him. Is it any good? All I know is that I love it.

My favorite films about art are The Mystery of Picasso (Clouzot, 1956) and The Quince Tree Sun (Erice, 1992). Neither are biographies, but simple films about trying to capture that process, and depicting how the making of a piece (be it masterful or not) is itself a journey that's singular, with the rest of the world only seeing the final destination. They are both magical films, and ones that I never hesitate to recommend to my artist friends--though I never know if they've sought them out. For process itself can be sacred and private, and while other artists perform in front of audiences, a painter or sculptor rarely does. And it feels almost intrusive to ask about how those seeds are planted.

The Phladlephia Museum of Art. The Tate Modern. The Uffizi. So many I've seen and adored visiting, and so many more I'd like to some day. In a private gallery or a public square, I never tire of being left in awe. The stamps for Pollock and De Kooning (played by Ed Harris and Val Kilmer, respectively) were part of an Abstract Expressionist issue by the USPS (Scott #4444d & b), while the other Pollock stamp (nicly mirroring the poster itself) was part of the Celebrate the Century series (Scott #3186h)

2010 Yearly Wrap

 Katharine Hepburn, Scott #  4461

Cowboys of the Silver Screen issue, including Roy Rogers, Scott # 4446

Abstract Expressionsists issue, including Mark Rothko, Scott # 4444c

Sunday Funnies issue, including Archie, Scott # 4469

Merry Christmas

Like last year, a Christmas one sheet of a Disney short, this time with Mickey and Pluto in Mickey’s Good Deed (Gillett, 1932). The holiday wreaths (Scott #3245-7) are part of the same set and match up with the wreath in the window. Depression era B&W Disney are far better in both humor and nuance, with lots of nice detailing in the animation and a greater gift for character design without being afraid of surrealistic elements. And there are still emotional touches that are charming.

May your Yuletide be full of food, fun, and fellowship.

Grim Burton

There are two types of Tim Burton movies—ones which are largely original, inventive, joyful, and inspired: Pee Wee’s Big Adventure, Beetlejuice, Ed Wood, The Corpse Bride. And then there are the adaptations. (shudder)

Despite the assumption that he loves these properties he chooses to embrace, he seems to have an underlying contempt for them too. How else to explain the turgid Sleepy Hollow, the embarrassing Planet of the Apes, the woeful Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? And now the abysmal Alice in Wonderland, which appropriates all the trappings of Carroll but none of the cleverness or sophistication. It's an ugly movie, and an unfortunate one.

Although they have a decidedly dubious record with adaptations, too (even recent “classics” like The Little Mermaid or Beauty and the Beast can’t hold a candle to Andersen or Cocteau), the people at Disney managed to maintain a sly, misanthropic perversity in their 1951 version, perhaps the last time the studio embraced a truly surreal sensibility in its animated features. But for a real innovative adaptation of Carroll—true to the spirit but still singularly original—you need to pursue Jan Svankmajer’s remarkable stop-motion Alice (1988), or the fantasy sequences in the small treasure Dreamchild (1985). Both are quirky, visceral, and visionary.

As for Johnny Depp? His creative marriage to Burton used to highlight a quirky worldview in the interesting, underrated actor of the ‘90s. But now, in the days of the ever-more-tedious Jack Sparrow, it just feels like artistic laziness. Even the Oscar nod for Sweeney Todd is explainable only if you’d never heard a single cast album of the brilliant musical—in short, a worthy effort that longs for someone with real singing chops and not just brooding and viscera. Depp used to actually appear in fantastic movies: Dead Man, Donnie Brasco, Ed Wood. But that seems like a lifetime ago.

The Disney stamp releases of Alice (Scott #3913) and Peter Pan (Scott #4193) were an excuse for me to pull a few other postcards from my collection. This Alice illustration doesn’t have an ounce of cutesiness in it and more closely resembles the 1979 British Alice stamp, which I piggybacked on the FDC of the Queen of Hearts USPS Love stamp release (Scott #4405). The Cayman Islands stamp I ran across as a happy accident, and had enough of a pirate feel to marry to the Peter Pan postmark and the one-sheet of the first Pirates flick.

Gotta Dance!

The Frank Sinatra stamps (Scott #4265) I used on these two musicals, On the Town (Donen/Kelly, 1949) and Anchors Aweigh (Sidney, 1945), only serve to remind us that Gene Kelly has yet to receive a stamp from the USPS. The fact that Fred Astaire also hasn’t been recognized made me think...are they preparing a Great Dancers issue? Still, the omission is quite conspicuous, especially since Judy Garland has gotten two already, completing the triumvirate of the most important actors in the history of the American musical.

I’ve always been a much bigger fan of Kelly, not because he was a better singer than Astaire (he wasn’t) or dancer (it’s a tie), but because he always seemed far more accessible. In his films, Astaire usually played a dancer. But Kelly played a soldier, sailor, ball player, actor, artist, ordinary working Joe. He wore khakis, not tuxedos. He was graceful, but also athletic. And while Astaire was usually kept apart from his love interest by circumstance, contrivance, or crossed wires, Kelly’s worst enemy was typically himself. He didn’t mind playing the heel, being unctuous and pushy. And sometimes, that shit-eating grin can annoy as much as charm. An American in Paris (as beautiful as it is overrated) makes him a little too insufferable for my taste, stalking, rather than seducing, poor Leslie Caron.

But more often than not, that smile was a façade to darker recesses, for he was a far better actor than Astaire, tapping into his characters’ emotional depths and neuroses that played out in choreography that often was as tortured as it was jubilant. Astaire had a delightful, feather touch that played counter to what felt natural if forced to portray a bad guy (Exhibit A: Yolanda and the Thief). But Kelly understood that such brazenness was a double-edged sword, that he could steamroll you with his energy, and that self-awareness makes his best performances (The Pirate, Singin’ in the Rain, It’s Always Fair Weather) both charming and provocative.

A great comparison is between Town and Aweigh, for while he’s mostly a goof and a jerk in the latter, he’s wonderful in the former, finding a perfect pairing with Vera-Ellen while still being exceedingly generous with his hugely talented co-stars: Sinatra, Betty Garrett, Ann Miller, and Jules Munshin. Town was the first film he co-directed with Stanley Donen (himself, vastly underappreciated for his contributions to so many 50’s musicals), but except for the ballet sequence, Kelly plays to the strengths of the ensemble instead of hogging the show. Town is also the far better musical, despite abandoning huge chunks of the original stage show, with one boisterous number after number. Aweigh is now mostly remembered for the inventive dance Kelly has with the animated Jerry the Mouse.

I was lucky to find two related stamps that fit perfectly with both the theme and the color scheme of the respective one sheets. The New York Skyline is an Air Mail stamp from 1947 (Scott #C35) and the Navy stamp (Scott #435) is from a year earlier. Note how Jose Iturbi gets prominent billing in the latter, because the one-sheet itself is Spanish.

Gone, but Not Forgotten

Even though I’m early by a few months to the exact date, 2010 is the 70th Anniversary of George Cukor’s The Philadelphia Story (1940) and another example where biding my time ended up paying off in a big way with my FDCs. I got this card after Cary Grant (Scott #3692) and Jimmy Stewart (Scott #4197) were already issued, so when the wedding set of ring and cake stamps came out (Scott #4397-8), I was tempted to try to squeeze the actors in as well. But while some stars may be Maybes when it comes to a future USPS release, I always knew that Katharine Hepburn was a Mortal Lock, so it seemed preferable to just wait and get all three lined up under one postmark eventually. Little did I suspect that her selection would happen so soon. And as you can see, the result is a real winner.

Many of the stamp designs in the Legends of Hollywood series have been serviceable at best, but I have to say that Hepburn’s is beautifully rendered and probably the most striking of not only the series, but of any USPS issue in recent memory. Aside from Hitchcock’s, it’s the only one in black and white, and the key light is very effective, creating an incandescent quality to an already terrific image. It’s an absolutely lovely tribute to a marvelous actress and to an era in Hollywood that is just a memory. I think it’s also interesting that, unlike Cary & Jimmy, she’s not looking at the camera, but upwards, as if pensively deciding which of the two to choose. Another nice touch is that the suit Stewart is wearing in the stamp is the exact same suit he’s wearing on the one-sheet! Got really lucky there.

I’ve always had mixed feelings about Philadelphia, its “classic” status notwithstanding. It's superbly acted, of course, but still never quite feels divorced (ha!) from its stage origins, and I still think it suffers a little when compared to either the magnificent His Girl Friday (also w/Grant) from the same year, or Bringing Up Baby or even Holiday, which Grant & Hepburn made together two years previously. Engaged to uptight fiancée George (John Howard) and pestered by her roguish ex, C.K. Dexter Haven (Grant), Tracy Lord (Hepburn) has, the day before her wedding, an encounter with visiting reporter Mike (Stewart)—one that’s brief but which still proves formative in allowing her to fully realize what she knows she wants deep in her heart.

Like my real life persona, this blog has never really been eager to share many personal revelations. I usually prefer to play things close to the vest. But today being my 40th birthday, I’m feeling unexpectedly wistful. For a long time, I was never quite convinced by this connection (for lack of a better word) between Tracy & Mike. Mike knows that he’s not right for her, but he still falls and falls hard. And as fate would have it, he is exactly what she needs at that moment, for the circumstances around their connection compel her to decide between Dexter, the man she was meant to be with, and the rigid and judgmental George. I’d always wondered if you could really spend less than 24 hours in someone’s company and still know that you wanted to share a lifetime with them. Romantic comedies are usually designed to sustain us with fantasies about fate and resolution, closure and kismet; whereas the truth was that in the real world, it was always more common for me to feel like a Ralph Bellamy than a Cary Grant.

Yet, fate sometimes has a funny way of completely subverting all your expectations. Because, for one incredible series of moments, I became a “Mike” myself (I was told once that Sept. 30 is a good day for Mikes). As the Dire Straits song from their album Making Movies goes:

Juliet, the dice was loaded from the start
And I bet, and you exploded into my heart
And I forget--I forget--the movie song
When you gonna realise it was just that the time was wrong?

Even now, watching The Philadelphia Story feels a little like picking an old scab--one that still feels fresh. Mike proposes to Tracy, out of chivalry but also out of love; acting as a trigger to her awakening allows him to recognize something new and exciting in him, also. And a lifetime with a smart, spunky, creative, charismatic beauty--who wouldn't want that for themselves? But we know better. And so does she; she belongs to Dex. But after Tracy & Dex find their happiness, I still wonder about Mike--both his legacy and his loss. And sometimes, this Mike still wonders if his Tracy/Juliet ended up with a George or a Dexter. I always hope the latter, though if he’s anything like most of us guys, he’s probably a bit of both. For things are rarely as clear and clean-cut as in the movies.

Remembering things, both personally and institutionally, is an impulse that we can rarely escape. Birthdays commemorate another year gone by. Stamps memorialize our history and our shared and varied culture. Movies so often act as a record of our dreams and idealizations. And for me, even the happiest of films in the most happy of times still evoke that low-lying poignancy, of being that Mike on the margin and the distant echoes of that singularly special Friend and Lover, dearly missed, gone but not forgotten.