Freedom

"Then last week, as it must to all men, death came to Charles Foster Kane."

It was over 10 years ago now, but I still remember the phone call vividly. Catching up with mom like I always did, the content of the conversation wasn’t any different than usual—she was fine and Dad (an invalid, bedridden, and suffering from dementia for years) was no better or worse.

But there was something about the tone in her voice that was unusual, though impossible to pin down. And even though I couldn’t put my finger on it (and didn’t even know if she realized she had sounded different), I knew what I had to do.

So within a few hours, I was on the road, driving the 500 miles overnight to head back to the house I grew up in, surprising her that following morning at the door. I spent an hour just holding his hand, and then took a quick nap. After waking up, I joined her again in his room, and with each of us by his side, clasped hands again, we watched him peacefully pass. He was 93.

The end was simple. No profound last words, like Kane’s “Rosebud”. No frogs from the sky (though Jason Robards’s incredibly moving portrayal in Magnolia often reminded me of Dad’s last moments of lucidity, before his mind disappeared beyond our grasp). It was death at its most quiet and solemn. And for my Mom, who was his caretaker for years, and for him, a shell of his former self, it was a freedom for which I had long prayed for. He had had a good run, but that day was painfully overdue.

I got my blue eyes from him. My love for tennis (watching and playing) and travel (he visited 60 countries over 40 years working in the U.S. state department). We went to the same alma mater, graduating 63 years apart. Most of the life he lead before my Mom he kept close to his vest. But I do know that when he was my age, his first marriage hadn’t failed yet (mom was his second, and last). So a belief in second chances is something I might slowly learn to embrace from his example, too. We had few things in common, but a need for redemption from past failures is one of them.

He was born on the 4th of July, just like the song's Yankee Doodle Dandy (Walter Huston’s final scene w/Cagney’s George M. Cohan, in the film of the same name, is another beautiful cinematic deathbed moment, father and son saying goodbye). So when I celebrated Independence Day, it really was more about my Father than our Founding ones. The fireworks were always for him in our eyes. And when he died, my interest in the holiday largely died with him. It was nice and musical and colorful, but just wasn’t the same.  And never will be.

The 3 American flag stamps joining Captain America (Scott #4159e ) date back to 1957: Scott #’s 1094, 1132, and 1320. The US Citizen Kane stamp (Scott #3186o) I paired with one from Guyana. Bernard Herrmann’s first film score was for Kane, as was Orson Welles’s only Oscar (but for screenwriting, not directing).  The Scott #’s are 3341 & 3772b, respectively.

Queer Notions

It’s hard to imagine two films as different from each other as Beautiful Thing (Macdonald, 1996) and Happy Together (Wong, 1997).  One traces the beginning of a romance while the other chronicles the slow death of one.  One is heavily stylized, with saturated colors, handheld intimacy, and grainy black & white, while the other has TV movie production values.  One story is very linear, while the other is more elliptical.  One is sexually coy, with a cast of unknowns, while the other decidedly isn’t on either count.  They take place on the other side of the globe from each other, with family and community playing a big part in one, while the other is a tale of cultural alienation, with the two main characters virtually the only ones with speaking parts.  Even the respective approach each film has to its title is polar opposite, for while Beautiful Thing is puppy-dog sincere, the men in Happy Together are anything but.

But if there’s one thing they have in common (besides their gay protagonists), it’s about how the laws of attraction can transcend all sorts of barriers and obstacles, for better and for worse.  As The Turtles song (which makes a late appearance in the Wong Kar-Wai film) goes:

Me and you and you and me

No matter how they toss the dice, it has to be

The only one for me is you, and you for me

And these lyrics hold true, in different ways, for both films.

Beautiful Thing starts off as a British working class drama in the classic kitchen sink tradition.  Gritty, urban, and racially diverse, we eventually learn that this, external trappings aside, is no world of a Loach or Leigh or Richardson.  For while the film starts with its feet on the ground, it ends with its head in the clouds.  Forged from common feelings of loneliness, the chemistry between Jamie and his mate Ste is sweet, tentative, believable.  But while trenchant topics like schoolyard bullying and domestic abuse start front and center, the film, perhaps a little too easily, sheds itself of these issues to lose itself, head over heels, in its romance.

What would be the cultural fallout to two lads being out and proud in such a closeknit but economically disadvantaged environment?  There would be pockets of acceptance, but the film skirts the larger backlash from peers that would likely result.  Is the film itself a metaphor for how those other problems dissolve away in the mind’s eye (but not the real world) when you fall in love?  Or is it a victim of its own soft center and good intentions?  The rooftop finale ends up being extremely touching but also a bit naïve, but perhaps that’s only if we project our expectations on the film to ground itself in fact.  But Love often represents its own Truth that ignores fact.  That’s where the risk of Love lies, and one’s sense of the larger film as emotionally authentic fantasy or well-meaning empowerment exercise directly relates to how, for this couple, you choose to embrace this Truth.

That this kind of Love-as-Truth can fly in the face of all demonstrable evidence is also at the core of Happy Together, a film that finds in the extraordinary visual palette of cinematographer Christopher Doyle, a corrosive melancholy in the depiction of a relationship in its downward spiral.  For there is love there, but buried under the frustration, imbalance, and resentment of a romance on the rails.  There are lots of petty arguments and needling efforts to taunt and torture the other, but no huge turning point in the course of the couple, just a festering complacency that is spiritually toxic.  A slow death by a thousand ruts.

But that doesn’t mean there isn’t beauty, intimacy, and longing—even if it’s longing for something that once was but is no longer.  The fulfillment of a personal dream, only to understand its hollowness when that person to share it with is absent.  The memory of a closeness that’s faded, when it’s mirrored in the kindness of a stranger.  The cherry-picking of experiences, the fixation on little moments that echo in your consciousness that serve as a reminder of why you’re drawn to them in the first place.  The heart wants what it wants, even if it doesn’t always know best.  Like moths to that flame until one inevitably burns out, director Wong captures those feelings that go beyond narrow conceptions of sex and gender.  It’s a film that’s erotic not in the particulars of the bodily exchanges, but in the language of cinema itself—the rhythms and music, the cutting and compositions that infuse every frame with sensuality…and sadness.

Tony Leung and Leslie Cheung were as big as any actors alive in Chinese cinema at the time, but their portrayal of two gay lovers has no real equivalence in American cinema when it comes to stars of that magnitude in our industry.  And a film like this makes you wonder what a Scorsese or Eastwood or Spike Lee would do with similar material, where the queer element is both central and incidental.  Maybe one day we’ll know.

Like the previous Quilts of Gee’sBend posting, these two one-sheets were selected because the patterns and color schemes of the poster design matched nicely with the stamps themselves (Scott # 4094 & 4091).

For more entries in the Queer Film Blogathon

Horse Feathers

The immense outpouring of affection recently at the loss of Maurice Sendak filled me with joy and sadness—joy at the abiding legacy he left with so many people, and sadness because I was not one of them.  I never grew up with Where the Wild Things Are, or any of his other books.  I was probably in high school before I was even aware of who he was, and while that wasn’t too old to appreciate his genius, the opportunity his books had to tap into my childhood impulses of defiance, giving tacit approval to less decorous desires, was past.

Mine was a childhood of “Children should be seen and not heard”, of bedtime Bible stories and Little Golden Books.  Maurice Sendak, Judy Blume, were simply not on my radar at all.  The only element of subversive role modeling in my life, embracing anarchy and reveling in chaos, were the Marx Brothers.

To my parents, they were silly.  Cartoonish.  With cute musical numbers.  In short—harmless.

But while other classic comedians I was allowed to watch might fall into that characterization—Bob Hope or Danny Kaye, say—I knew the Marxes were different.  For they weren’t cowards.  They weren’t clowns.  They were jesters, fearless in the face of authority.  They were brazen with women, insulting toward tough guys, and irreverent towards anyone who told them what to do.  They were one-of-a-kind and hilarious.

And I loved them.  For they were a balm in a landscape of suburban propriety I had around me.  And the fact that my parents didn’t seem to get it—the satire, the innuendo (much of which went over my head, too), the blatant disrespect they represented—made them that much richer to me.  In a still water world, they were my din and tonic.

A Day at the Races (Wood, 1937) may be their last largely satisfying movie.  Once they moved to MGM, they began to gradually lose their fizz, but this was only their second film at the studio and their energy was still suitably manic and unrestrained, though some telltale warning signs (overly produced musical numbers, an increased sentimentality) are there, too.

While the Marxes would usually run rampant in the corridors of the elite (opera circles, ivory tower universities, luxury cruise liners), Races is unusual in that it straddles itself between a highly formal environment (the Shelton sanitarium) and the racetrack, where shysters, con men, and rascals like Groucho, Chico & Harpo are right at home.  

The horse in Races is High Hat, the final hope for the financially strapped hospital that has just recently acquired Hugo Z. Hackenbush (Groucho) as its chief-of-staff, at dowager Margaret Dumont’s insistence (though no one knows he’s actually a horse doctor).  That the racetrack adjoins the sanitarium means the action can move back and forth, with jockey Harpo and co-conspirator Chico prepping the horse for the big race.  The less said about Allan Jones, colorless love interest to sanitarium owner Maureen O’Sullivan, the better.

There are some memorable comedic setpieces. The legendary Tootsie-Frootsie ice cream negotiation between Chico & Groucho is still fantastic, and Chico & Harpo’s game of charades is fun, as are the boys’ examination of Dumont & foiled seduction of floozy Esther Muir.  And the climactic race is in the boisterous spirit of the football game in Horse Feathers, which takes a lot of the conventions of the sport and turns them on their head (and unlike most horse racing films, this is a steeplechase, which is fundamental in a final twist).  

But the film really belongs to Groucho.  His phone conversation with Leonard Ceeley is a miniature masterpiece, and his rumba number alternating between Dumont & Muir has its own perverse grace.  None of the other Marx boys could hold the screen on their own, for Chico perpetually needs a partner and Harpo risks becoming too precious left to his devices alone.  But give Groucho a dance floor or an empty hotel room and he’s master of the house. 

And speaking of dance numbers, Races is unique in Marx Brothers history as being the only one of their films nominated for an Oscar—Best Dance Direction for the genuinely bizarre “All God’s Children Got Rhythm”, which manages to combine terrific jitterbugging with unfortunate blackface in a bizarre tangent that has nothing to do with anything in the story (though the number is still a step up from another turgid Jones ballad).

The Marxes did end up getting an Oscar—an Honorary Achievement one in the early 1970s, when only Groucho was left alive.  One can only imagine the chaos they would’ve caused at a ceremony, worthy of Races’ gala or the climax of A Night at the Opera (still my favorite of their flicks).  But they had to become elder statesmen of comedy to finally get their due.

Which still, curiously, has not happened with the USPS yet.  For while Laurel & Hardy, Abbott & Costello, and W.C. Fields have gotten their stamp, the only mention they’ve gotten has been Groucho in the You Bet Your Life stamp (seen here as part of the Early TV Memories series, Scott #4414; coupled with horse racing, Scott #1528).  But their real impact as a group, making them still quite contemporary while the other artists I listed have dated some over the years, continues to go unrecognized.  Having a slate of stamps, with the mirror scene from Duck Soup, the stateroom scene from Opera, and the barrels in Monkey Business (to throw Zeppo a bone) would be perfect. And throw Tootsie-Frootsie in there, too.  For the Coconut in all of us.

For more entries in the Classic Movie Horse Blogathon

Hero Sandwich

I already mentioned last year’s disappointing crop of comic book movies, and while there are high hopes for this year, I remain skeptical. I’m an enormous fan of Christopher Nolan’s version of the Caped Crusader, but has there ever been a third installment of a comic book franchise that didn’t suck? (The answer is Not Really). And while I enjoyed Sam Raimi’s first two Spider-Man movies immensely, it seems far too early to pump new blood into a body that hasn’t had time to get cold.

The two comic book titles I used to collect in middle school were Spidey and the Avengers, so the kid in me is excited about getting the team together, especially with the cast they have. But like the X-Men movies (which I haven’t cared for), will the assembling of the team be at the expense of any interesting characterization from its individual members? The pedigrees on all the films are certainly promising. We'll see.


We’ve already seen Batwoman, but here’s a one-sheet for the Batman theatrical movie (Martinson, 1966) with TV’s Adam West, which featured his four biggest villains united together against him and the Boy Blunder (Scott # 4084e & o). The one-sheet for Spider-Man 2 (2004) has the wall-crawler stamp (Scott #4159a) and the two Avengers comic book postcards feature stamps for Captain America (Scott #4159o), Iron Man (Scott #4159h & r), and the Hulk (Scott #4159l), all of whom will appear in the upcoming film.

Maximum Cool

A few years ago, when this blog was in its infancy, a series of stamps came out that were all movie posters—a first for the USPS.  I was excited and thought this might be the start of a cool series, but it never was.  What made it even cooler was that these were films that weren’t household names, but ones that held important historical weight, which is exactly what the postage stamp program should be about—celebrating our past and bringing to light unsung figures across all crafts and disciplines.

The series was called Early Black Cinema and consisted of the following titles (Scott # 4336-4340)

Black & Tan (1929, Dudley Murphy)

The Sport of the Gods (1921, Henry Vernot)

Princesse Tam-Tam (1935, Edmond T. Greville)

Caldonia (1945, William Forest Crouch)

Hallelujah (1929, King Vidor)

Some interesting things about these selections: 

• Two are short films, with Black and Tan and Caldonia each being music showcases with a running time of 1 reel (about 20 min.).
• One (Tam-Tam) is a French film, not an American one.
• One (Sport) is a completely lost title, with no copy known to exist anywhere-- a fate that is estimated to be true for 80-90% of all American silent films.
• I’ve only seen two of these—the first and last.

So while some of these films’ stars—Duke Ellington, Josephine Baker, Louis Jordan, Cab Calloway—are legends, these titles are still relatively obscure.  So imagine my surprise when I discovered that 3 of the 5 were ones I had postcards of!  I’ve discussed maximum cards before, but having the poster stamped onto the same identical postcard was a happy, lucky break.

But why stop there?  There are many decades of iconic African-American films that I do have postcards of, so I used more stamps from the series not only for the same exact title, but what those titles often represented in terms of their cinematic legacy.  Of course, I wouldn’t count Anatomy of a Murder an example of black cinema, but it does feature a wonderful score by Duke Ellington, which is why it seemed a perfect place for the stamp. And the recent jazz stamp issue (Scott # 4503) seemed like a good way to supplement some of these cards.

The first Duke Ellington stamp (from 1986) is Scott #2211 and the Jimmy Stewart stamp is Scott # 4197.

2011 Yearly Wrap

Gregory Peck, Scott # 4526

Pixar issue, including WALL-E, Scott # 4557

Jazz, Scott # 4503, here with Bing Crosby, #2850

My Oscar Ballot

Picture: The Tree of Life

Actor: Gary Oldman, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

Actress: Michelle Williams, My Week with Marilyn

Supporting Actor: Christopher Plummer, Beginners

Supporting Actress: Melissa McCarthy, Bridesmaids

Director: Terrence Malick, The Tree of Life

Original Screenplay: Midnight in Paris

Adapted Screenplay: Moneyball

Cinematography: The Tree of Life

Art Direction: Hugo

Editing: Moneyball

Costume Design: The Artist

Score: The Artist

Song: “Man or Muppet”, The Muppets

Sound Mixing: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Sound Editing: Drive

Visual Effects: Rise of the Planet of the Apes

Make-Up: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2

Foreign Language Film: A Separation

Documentary Feature: Pina

Documentary Short: God is the Bigger Elvis

Animated Feature: Rango

Animated Short: Wild Life

Live Action Short: Tuba Atlantic