New England Intellectual
While we’re playing cameo-watch, let me chronicle one more in a admittedly discursive manner:
I love acting companies. I love stables. There’s a gleefulness about watching actors work with each other in a variety of manners. It’s one of the things that makes watching television so fun in that, if the writing holds up and is sufficiently varied, one gets to see that all-important group chemistry in a series of situations, and the actors get to play off each other in ways that are both familiar and new. It’s why reviewers look for the naturalness of the ensemble cast, because there’s an extra degree of trust that allows for a greater risk-taking and spontaneity in the communal and individual acting.
I am at least always partially conscious of the unreality of film- and stagecraft, and an ensemble cast helps me quiet my qualms that Hollywood is so cutthroat, so mercenary. So many comments about how “we’re all a family here” often rings like hollow EPK hype, and the appearance or sense that actors have formed a band or de facto company that actually feel loyalty and camaraderie that is personal as well as professional allows me to better appreciate a work as a work and simultaneously as a piece of entertainment. I like hearing stories about directors who always include their friends in their projects in some manner. I like directors, writers, and producers who will — in a small way, not in a nepotistic, I’m Gonna Get My Nephew Screenwriter Credit On This sort of way — include their “family” and friends in their work.
Aaron Sorkin is pretty-well recognized for reusing people in his various projects. There are a number of people who crossed over between SportsNight and The West Wing as well as The West Wing and Studio 60. So it was fun to notice in the midst of watching Charlie Wilson’s War that one of the SportsNight tech trio had a one-line moment for those paying particular, if not obsessive attention. Yes, yes, everyone loved the on-again, off-again relationship between Casey and Dana and the slashtastic friendship between Casey and Dan, but one of the best reasons to watch SportsNight were the frequent deadpan moments shared by the supporting ensemble. Watch the writer’s block sequence from the “Dear Louise” episode, but watch the rest of the room. Watch the actors. This is almost an outtakes reel. SportsNight, particularly during their famous Christmas episode where they thanked, on-air, the actual production crew for all their hard and largely unsung work, often had this palpable sense of production verité. And that sense made the moments with the actors playing the production staff all the more interesting. And while I couldn’t really tell you which of the tech guys was Chris, Will, or Dave, it still gives me a thrill when I see them turn up on other Sorkin projects.
If you find yourself similarly inclined — I prefer “inclined” to “obsessed” — then when Tom Hanks is cutting through the House of Representatives, calling in IOUs to support his budget increases for Afghani weapons, and he is talking to a group of “Northeast intellectuals”, then prepare yourself for 3.7 seconds of a cameo by Ron Ostrow. It made me very happy, anyway.
Springfield is here.
Went to the world premiere of the upcoming Simpsons movie last night, and am overflowing with stuff to say about it, despite the fact that I haven’t written about anything on this blog for, literally, months. And yet this movie — or, more accurately, this event — has me brimming with commentary. So expect three or four (depending on how I organize it) posts about the film and the premiere and the Springfield hometown search. Once I’m done with that, I plan on backfilling the emptiness of my previous silence with some stuff I planned to post and never got ’round to. More on that in a future post! Goodness, I have prolific plans!
As has been fairly widely reported, the definitive location for The Simpsons‘ Springfield has been chosen. Creator Matt Groening had frequently said that the reason he chose the name for the town was that it was so omnipresent — Wikipedia informs us that there are Springfields in 34 of the United States, including one in New Hampshire, which probably shouldn’t surprise me, but does (I’d never heard of it, certainly, but who is intimately familiar with the names of towns of under a thousand people in Suffolk county? Not I, in any case). A joke in the film’s trailer is that from the peak of a local mountain one can see the four states that border Springfield: Ohio, Nevada, Maine, and Kentucky… thus helping to solidify the town’s non-location. However, as one of the many promotions for the film — including turning 7-11s into “Kwik-E-Marts”, Dunkin’ Donuts Simpsons varieties, ancient pagan chalk outlines, et al. — a competition was held in USA Today to determine, once and for all, the actual location.
Thirteen of the many and varied US Springfields were listed by the paper as possible candidates, and each had submitted a brief video as to why their location deserved the honor. And, against most expectations, Springfield, Vermont was chosen by popular vote. Clear skies, rolling mountains, deep winters, and a local nuclear power station may have all seemed convincing physical aspects, but it seems from the number of votes that it’s likely that people watched the video and found it to be the most amusing of the possible options. Apparently, some people thought that Oregon had a lock on it (I would have assumed Illinois, myself), as Groening is an Oregonian originally, but they only came in third place.
So it’s Vermont. And on 21 July, slightly less than a week before the film opens around the globe, 20th Century Fox shuttled in two SUVs of writers and staff in order to inaugurate the town’s official relationship with the show, and to present a plaque that stated as much. Vermont, in turn, gathered together the members of the Vermont Film Council, the Springfield Chamber of Commerce, and a couple of state senators to preside over the occasion and to pass over the key to the city town to Groening and producer James L. Brooks.
The disparity between the public’s reaction to their local officials and the more Hollywood power set was pretty noticeable. Clapping was polite but brief for the senators, and laughter at their jokes and Simpsons references was almost nonexistent. Applause for the creators and crew was voluble and sustained, even for people like Mike Scully and Al Jean, who can’t have been household names for a group of people who kept on pronouncing Groening like “Groaning”. But their very connection to the show was sufficient to bring the glamour, particularly evident when both Groening and Senator Peter Welch used the exact same line in their prepared remarks (“As Homer would say: ‘Woo-hoo!'”), and the Senator got no love for his attempt to reach out to the people. Some young teenagers who were standing near me in the crowd were complaining about the sheer number of local dignitaries and politicos that needed to thank people and confirm their association with the event. “Who cares?” one muttered to his cronies. “Bring on the Simpsons guys!” And even though none of the vocal talent was in attendance at the event, they were riveted by the presence of these West Coast VIPs.
Here’s the thing these kids are too young to realize: you’re basically required to namecheck sponsors and include local influence in these things, no matter what kind of event it is (see the Bloom County excerpt for a parallel example). These events don’t happen without the work of focused individuals exerting their personal and professional influence to grease wheels and make calls and get people thinking about, talking about, and acting on whatever needs to happen in order for something to take place. This didn’t “just happen”. And while the event itself was not run with the sort of efficiency or consistency one might have preferred, it didn’t organically fall into shape or spring up like a forest mushroom. The people these kids wanted to see were there because of the efforts of the people they didn’t care about. And the people they didn’t care about were damn well going to make sure that you associated them with this event. Just like political candidates are constantly churning through The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, US Senator Bernie Sanders and VT State Senator Welch (who’d really like to trade up to Congress) would love to be associated with the success of the campaign to bring The Simpsons to Vermont, or just to have some small name recognition at all with the show’s target audience.
In fact, the whole event, before the film actually began screening for the lucky lottery winners, felt like a fascinating combination between a political stump speech and a town fair. With the road shut down and the booths of local wares lining the sidewalks, it felt like a street fair, right down to the rock cover bands and the insipid cheerleading by a local “comedian” and radio/TV personality. On the other hand, the thanks yous had a certain political hucksterism to them. Amidst all the ludicrous claims that “We knew all along that we were the real Springfield”, was the underlying message that Springfield, Vermont and Vermont in general could really use a shot in the arm. Otherwise you wouldn’t have Senator Sanders saying, “This day is about showing the whole darn country that Springfield, Vermont is a strong community!”
Um, no… no, it’s not, Bernie. That’s a nice spin on why Vermont got the votes over the other twelve candidates, but the day is about Fox and NewsCorp advertizing their new movie, and they’re using you to do it. If you get something out of it, then they’re happy for you, but your claims of strength make you sound a little desperate, a little worried.
One last note: yay, Vermont, and all that. But you certainly cannot see Maine from the top of a peak of a local mountain. You know why? Because Maine does not share a border with Vermont. Vermont borders New Hampshire, Massachusetts, and New York. Maine borders New Hampshire… and nothing else. It is, in fact, the only state to share a border with only one other state. So if Springfield is in a state that borders Maine, then I don’t give a damn what the readers of USA Today think, it has to be Springfield, New Hampshire. Take that, Vermont! Snookered by your own sponsor!
EDIT: There were fourteen candidates, not thirteen. An article talking about the thirteen other Springfields lodged the incorrect number in my head. Please add one to all references to twelve and thirteen in the above posting. Ta.
Waiting for Superman
I AM CONSUMED! I have allowed the spirit of Superman to ride me like the loa. This is necessary like breathing, because right now the only thing keeping me from curling up into a ball of impoverished, jobless depression is the expectant, bubbly pre-joy at the prospect of Superman Returns. I even researched where the closest 3-D IMAX cinema was (1 hour, twenty minutes away in Manchester, CT) in case I decided that I wanted to get not just consumed but utterly bloody immolated with Superman-anticipation.
To aid me in this obsession, I have been logging on to the Quaker Oats ‘Win Superman Merchandise’ website every day and duly plugging in the little “no purchase necessary” code. And this morning, I won some Silly Putty! It’s not called Silly Putty, of course, because it’s not made by Binney & Smith. And despite the fact that it looks an awful lot like Gak or Gloop or something patented by Nickelodeon, consumer reports indicate that it’s essentially Silly Putty. No word yet on whether it can reproduce mirror images of the comics page from the Daily Planet. Anyway, that was nice, seeing as I had failed to win either free tickets or a laptop in various other Superman-related sweepstakes.
Until then, I rely on music to keep my eagerness on a quiet simmer. Chris McLaren, blog commenter extrordinaire, once pointed me towards a miscellany of Superman-related MP3s, which claimed to be the Top 20 Superman Songs. I was bemused by the fact that they named the post after a Sufjan Stevens song that they didn’t include, and noticed one or two other discrepancies in opinion. As they make sure that their links are no longer valid after a brief period of time, I have compiled my own list of top Super-tunes, which I will have on high rotation until Wednesday:
- Lazlo Bane, “Superman“, Scrubs soundtrack
- Crash Test Dummies, “Superman Song“, God Shuffled His Feet
- Iron and Wine, “Waiting for a Superman“, Yeti Compilation #2
- Sufjan Stevens, “The Man From Metropolis Steals Our Hearts“, Illinois
- John Williams, “Main Title March (alternate)“, Superman: The Movie soundtrack
Also of note is the ReFrederator cartoon podcast, which is going to be making a classic Max Fleischer Superman cartoon available to watch each day next week. The cartoons aren’t long on plot — or indeed, dialogue — but they are lovely to look at, and truly exemplary of the sort of three-dimensionality that hand-drawn animation can exhibit. As you count down to Wednesday, I hope you give ReFrederator some of your bandwidth.
‘Bout Damn Time
I began watching Firefly on September 20, 2002. I bought tickets to Serenity on April 27, 2005, and joined the Browncoats message boards the same day. After seeing the film eight days later, as part of the whole “fan premiere” promotion effort, I spent a while on the boards to find out which of the stars had appeared at which of the locations, and then wandered off to less focused internet nerditry.
But then the boards instituted a merchandizing scheme that allowed people to get free stuff for participating on the site and accumulating points. Reading posts and watching videos and getting other people to click on links and submitting fan art could get one points… so all stuff that cost nothing but time and patience. And after some silly drawings and some failed attempts to have my friends click on links to get me points, I finally accumulated enough to earn a patch. This all reached a pitch because the site was closing down with the release of the DVD, and it was all a bit of a scramble to increase my participation points by more than 200% before they stopped doing promotions. I got my last clicks in, and resigned myself to the fact that I would never be able to accumulate 15,000 points for an autographed Josh Middleton illustration of Summer Glau, and ordered the patch on November 5, 2005. Two to four weeks for delivery, the invoice said.
The site closed down on January 3, 2006. Still no patch. I had mostly given up hope by that point, but faint vestiges remained. But as I have felt the month of August looming closer, and my eventual move from my current address became more imminent, these cobwebs of hope had been blown away, and I had well and truly accepted that the patch would never grace the sleeve of my nerd overcoat (which already showcases the emblems of the Ministry of Space, Couscous Express, Death of the Endless, GIR, and Jill Sobule). Then, today — seven months since I ordered it — the patch is in my hands. And it will soon adorn my sleeve. Thank you, Universal Studios promotion intern; you’ve restored my faith in marketing.
In Space, No One Can Hear Your Engine Cavitation
Went to go see the Star Wars: Where Science Meets Imagination exhibit at the Boston Museum of Science yesterday. I’ve been in Star Wars mode of late, really enjoying my nostalgic connection with the films. I dug out my Star Wars Lego sets from a couple of years back and reassembled them, noticing again how well designed they were and how old school the design was. Much of Lego’s current output relies heavily on the large, structural pre-fab elements that remove any resonance from the traditional term “Lego brick”. They are vastly un-brick-like. Rumours persist that this is because Lego had to design new and different building elements once their copyright on the traditional nubby blocks expired, and so in order to prevent their kits from falling into commercial obsolescence they have engaged in a number of marketing and licensing deals, and have increasingly built kits using their non-rectangular “bricks”. Whether this is completely accurate, it is one of the seeming failings of the upcoming Batman line of Lego kits, which seem flimsy and chi-chi, without the solidity of the classic kits. Amusingly, to further justify the bitterness of the prequel-hatahs, the Star Wars original trilogy Lego kits are largely designed like the kits that would have been their contemporaries in the 1980s.
I had been to a Star Wars museum exhibit at the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum in 1998, and so I anticipated that this exhibit would be similarly enjoyable. However, except for the presence of an AT-ST, a jawa, an actual full-sized set-model of Luke’s Episode IV landspeeder, and some jedi outfits, there was little in this exhibit that I hadn’t seen before. Some artifacts and props were totally unfamiliar, and upon closer examination, I discovered that they were part of the world of design that underlay Episode III. How sad that I was so underwhelmed by the prequels that by the time it came to Revenge I wasn’t even paying attention to the world-building and prop and costume design that LucasArts has always done so well. Although, it must be said, the original trilogy was designed with the aim in mind that the used objects would have been well and truly used, that little would look clean or pristine. And the new films were designed at the apex of a civilization, with curves and opulence. And, frankly, I found it less interesting. The way in which an object wears and is distressed gives it a sense of history and tangibility. It makes it look less like a prop and more like a tool. And the little crater marks and dents on the Falcon and the landspeeder make them more interesting than any lovely Naboo creation.
One other thought on the exhibit: the gift shop had a number of t-shirts and hats and the like featuring the visage and color scheme of Darth Vader. Most of these were accompanied by various logos that spelled out “Vader” or “Sith” in gangland fonts reminiscent of tags and tattoos and tribal markings. And while this was relatively cool, I am totally bemused at the idea that The Empire, an ultimate expression of a monolithic Establishment, could be successfully sold as teen-friendly rebellious street-wear. S’all I’m sayin’.
And what has caused all of this fondness for the creative works of a man I had largely disavowed? Star Wars: Jedi Academy. I am now up to level three, and the difficulty level has progressed to the point where my ass is being handed to me by Sith on a regular basis. With the most recent upgrade to my powers, I had the option of sticking with one lightsaber and being able to wield it as strong levels, or to use two sabers simultaneously, or to use a Darth Maul-stylee dual-bladed weapon. Frankly, the hilt designs on the dual-saber were all terrible, but after fighting a bunch of Sith apprentices, I was keen on the idea of being able to see more than one color laser-blade while zooping about the maps. However, the fact that I can’t seem to defend myself with two blades, thus causing me to die shrieking every couple of minutes is causing me to seriously consider jumping back to a previous save point so that I can stick with one supah-strong blade.
But while working valiantly to get to my current stalemate, I was having a really good time. Despite the fact that I needed to consult the walkthrough about four out of every five missions at some seemingly impassible point — a mark of shame, as it clearly indicates that I could never buy a video game on its release date, as I would hit some intractable puzzle and have to wait a few weeks until someone else had taken the time to map everything out… how demoralizing — the gameplay and the action have been incredibly compelling. Wired magazine mirrored my opinions to a T recently when they pointed out that the best movies George Lucas has released lately have been Star Wars video games. The blend of sound effects and soundtrack, and the complex action sequences are exactly what I want out of a Star Wars film, and i have the ability to skip past the lame dialogue. These are the adventures I would have played in my backyard in 1980, with gun-shaped sticks and the occasional Mattel product. And that is a most satisfying nostalgia, far more fulfilling than trying to justify the failing vision of a once-inventive director.
Good Night.
Many changes have been afoot, and much activity has been imminent, so there hasn’t been much typing of late. Just in the last five days I’ve driven to New Hampshire, eaten two Thanksgiving dinners, spent ten hours in transit to a church in Pittsburgh — flying, waiting, flying again, busing, and then walking about fifteen to eighteen blocks — then three changes of company in quick succession, more walking, then busing, flying, weather delays, more flying, and landing and being presented with the unsightly spectacle of a $2,000 vehicle repair and inspection bill for a $1,600 car. Then cake, then more driving.
And all this happened after a week of frantic internet activity. The V announced that it was going to be leaving the chilly embrace of Prospero’s Delphi Forums system in favour of the more flexible and totally free Beehive Forums system. With them went went many of the other assorted WEFugee forums, including those hosted by Dan, Keith, JOSH, and Ted. Which, with the exception of my own little humble Delphi Forum, comprised a pretty comprehensive list of all the reasons why I subscribed to Delphi’s services in the first place. So, I had to figure out how to host a Beehive forum of my own. (Click and join!)
And to do that, I had to download Beehive and phpMyAdmin, install them both, get the rights to create a database on my webhosting, discover that I didn’t have the right permissions through phpMyAdmin, do lots and lots of searching and tweaking of the prefs to try to correct this, try to lean MySQL, contact my hosting service, discover they provided a much better and cleaner version of phpMyAdmin, delete a database, create a new database, install Beehive, delete phpMyAdmin, and then configure the new version of The Brothel. So that was the previous five days before the previous five days. There’s still a missed week of posting in there someplace, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles.
So, here’s my minor story from Thanksgiving, to help allieviate the long silence: The week before, despite the fact that I have been trying to reduce my spending, I had gone to see George Clooney’s Good night, and good luck. at my local cinema. In part this was because of the immensely favourable review it received from the keen eye of Andrew Wheeler, but also out of the sheer surpise of finding it at my local commercial movie house instead of at the nearby art theatres. A few days later, at the traditional family outing of Going To See A Cheesey Movie In Order To Get Out Of The House After Thanksgiving, the even more commercial movieplex had a pile of miniature posters for Good night, and good luck, with a photocopied flier available for the public to take. However, the flier wasn’t supposed to be there. The flier was actually a photocopy of a letter from Warner Independent’s promotional department, detailing instructions that would allow the theatre manager to download the actual flier, and any additional P.R. materials he wished. Included in the letter was the password that would allow one to download hi-rez images, and other virtual press-kit materials. The flier that the letter asked the theatre manager to photocopy instead of the letter was nowhere to be seen.
Naturally, I snagged one. That’s two major studios I can now get press materials from. Only fourteen to go.
Lawrence
Lawrence of Arabia is, in my opinion, the best film I’ve ever seen. It’s magnificent to watch, and compellingly unusual in its characterization. I have vague memories of my great-aunt Edie having a bit of a thing about T.E. Lawrence, and one of these days I will have to make sure I buckle down and overcome my habitual resistance to reading non-fiction so that I can further investigate the man and the politics in which he was embroiled.
Given the chance, I’d love to start this journey at the exhibit that just opened at the London Imperial War Museum, all about Lawrence and his life, his career, and his bizarre death — in fact, the exhibit includes the very motorcycle on which he died, a particularly macabre piece of inclusion that only a war museum could probably get away with. It will be open for a respectably lenghty period of time, and if I started saving money today… I still wouldn’t have enough for plane fare by the time the exhibit folds in mid-April. Anyone interested in getting me an early graduation present is hereby duly winked at.
Nominally, the exhibit has opened because of the seventieth anniversary of Lawrence’s death… except that the seventieth anniversary doesn’t seem all that numerically significant. Apparently it qualifies for “Platinum Jubilee” status, according to the Big Book of Anniversary Proceedings, so apparently when something has lasted seventy years, we’re less picky about the manner in which we carve up the number one hundred. I merely mention that being dead for a long time isn’t actually much of an acheivement, as everyone will be able to do that with certainty.
However, the War Museum seems to be getting significant mileage out of the fact that Lawrence, in his unique position as cultural ambassador, had a particular understanding of the conflicts and peoples of the region, and was bitterly opposed to the way in which Araby was divided by the European governents. A map with Lawrence’s alternative proposal is on display at the museum, and the implication seems to be that the Mid-East conflict would be significanly different today if the map had been drawn by someone, like Lawrence, who knew “the facts on the ground [and] the people of those areas.”
In totally unrelated news, I have no idea how, precisely, to interpret the juxtaposition of this image and the accompanying title, but it’s my favourite new web-thingy. EDIT:The Beat has switched publishers, and the archive of that post no longer exists, but I believe it was the headline “This is going to be one of those days” and then this picture.
Charade for Free
While reading through a Wikipedia entry on Frank Sinatra, trying to clearly establish which came first, his film career or his wide renown as a singer (it seems he began as a singer but didn’t catapult into chanteur status until after he began appearing in movies), I happened upon an anecdote about the film Suddenly, which was reputedly watched by Lee Harvey Oswald just prior to his shooting of President John F. Kennedy. According to a biography of Sinatra, when he learned this, he had all prints of the film pulled from available distribution, and did not renew the copyright, thus allowing the film to fall into the public domain. A wikipedia link to a website that allows free downloads of lapsed public domain films led me to a link to a free download of Charade.
However, despite assertions to the contrary, I maintain my belief that Charade cannot actually be in the public domain. Now, I’m not a copyright lawyer, and I may well be wrong about this, but it seems quite clear to me that the various public domain DVD releases of Charade — and there are many — are not standing on firm legal ground, but taking advantage of a loophole that wouldn’t stand up under close scrutiny. Y’see, some prints of Charade were distributed without a notice of copyright. These prints are the ones that have been reproduced freely, as people are saying, “Hey! It didn’t say it was copyrighted on this print! How was I supposed to know?” The fact that it was copyrighted on other prints, and that intellectual property adheres to the content and not just the physical iterations of said content seems to be escaping most of these people. Plus, the fact that Universal Pictures made a remake of the film and re-released Charade on the DVD of said remake seems to indicate that they’re pretty sure they’re the copyright holders.
However, because of this loophole there are those that have thought the reproduction or adaptation of the contents of the intellectual property of Charade were fair game. So not only is there the official Universal remake, but there is also an indie-film adapation of the film. Robert Foreman has written and directed a film called Duplicity, written by Jack Cornish from “a 16th draft of a screenplay based on Charade”. Viewed at Cannes in 2004, it’s gone nowhere since. I’m hoping someone forgets to renew its copyright, so that I can legally download it and watch it for free, as I think that a film based on a screenplay based on a draft of a rewrite of a film based upon a novel based upon a screenplay based upon a short story in Redbook seems like something for which one might not want to pay good money.
Two last things. Firstly, while searching for some definitive answers to the public domain status of Charade, I stumbled upon some newsreel footage from 26 September, 1963 of “Mr. and Mrs. Robert Kennedy, Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson and his wife, and the President’s sister Mrs. Sergeant Shriver” attending the sneak preview of Charade at a benefit for the Stay-In-School Fund, an organization of which Mrs. JFK was honorary chair. Charade was released on December 6, 1963, and there was a rush to alter the prints so that the word “assassinated” would be dubbed over in the wake of the murder of President Kennedy. Why aren’t there more conspiracy theories surrounding this? VP Johnson clearly saw the original, pre-dubbed cut!
Secondly, I feel I should point out that Matt Fraction blogged about the free, downloadable public domain feature films aaaaages ago, but I never noticed that Charade was on the list. So, once again it becomes quite clear that I was born one day too early to actually be cool. Curses. However, the new video that Fraction’s animation and design studio produced for Guided By Voices is similar to their past works but a quantum step forward in terms of 3D incorporation and effect. Go watch it. I actually prefer the images with the sound off, but the camera strobe movement of the characters in the film make more sense when you realize that they’re in time with the song. Beautiful little thing, though, and the x-ray glasses effect is wonderful.
Telegram from Dynamite Dan
Found in the Detroit Free Press:
For Auction: Collection of 24 Telegrams Twenty-two telegrams sent from Howard Hughes to Katharine Hepburn between 1937 and 1939 and including two 1939 handwritten drafts in Miss Hepburn’s hand of telegrams to Hughes.
One of the great Hollywood romances of the 1930s started innocently enough. In June 1935, while filming “Sylvia Scarlet”, Cary Grant invited Howard Hughes to lunch in Malibu. Hughes made a spectacular entrance by landing his Sikorsky Amphibian on the golf course where director George Cukor and co-star Katharine Hepburn were playing. Miss Hepburn mentioned it in her autobiography Me, thinking it “rather nervy and romantic, in a bravado sort of way.” Obviously, something about Hughes impressed her as, a year later, they began an affair that lasted more than two years and garnered much media attention.
The first of the telegrams from Hughes to Miss Hepburn is dated January 19, 1937 and addressed to the Ambassador Hotel in Chicago where she was starring in a theater production of Jane Eyre, in part: “…supposed to arrive six something in the afternoon probably not in time to see you before the theatre so will try to contain myself until eleven thirty, love Dan.” Dan was short for Dynamite, one of their nicknames for each other. That very day, Hughes had flown from Burbank to Newark breaking his own transcontinental speed record. Hughes spent a few days in Chicago on this trip, leading to speculation that he and Miss Hepburn were married. Most of the telegrams to Miss Hepburn were sent to Emily Perkins, Miss Hepburn’s assistant, to avoid unwanted attention.
One message from Hughes reads (in part): “Conkshell, you are terrific, but you might say something nice amid cleverness and reminders which make me lonesome…” One of the two handwritten drafts from Miss Hepburn appears to be from this same period and reads: “Arrived one item, missing one boss, lonely one mouse, empty one conkshell.”
Hughes, of course, purchased the film rights to The Philadelphia Story and gave them to Ms. Hepburn as a gift. Despite the consistently positive notice of her widely-touring performance of the stage version, Ms. Hepburn would probably not have been allowed to star in the feature adaptation as the studios considered her to be unhireable. Hughes’ gift therefore gave her the ability to leverage herself into the film version. It was clearly a gift for which we should all be thankful.
Browncoats
Right, full disclosure time. My first impulse, after buying the tickets to the special Official Sneak Preview of the upcoming film Serenity, was to wander to my closet and figure out what I was going to wear. I had eight days until the screening, and there was no earthly reason why I should want to look nice or special or noticeable… But, y’see, the überfans of Serenity and its progenitor, the television show Firefly, are called “Browncoats”, for reasons important only to those who care. I’m a big trenchcoat wearer, but I don’t own a duster, and I certainly don’t own a brown oilskin, which would be the preferred garb of a die-hard Browncoat. I didn’t and don’t particularly think of myself as a die-hard, but the truth is that my first thought was to consider if I could find a duster in time for the film and, if not, what I could scrounge from my closet that would be a suitable substitute.
This is how the nerding begins. I scoff at Star Wars fans and Trekkies and Trekkers and even Rocky Horror Picture Show devotées. I’m too cool for school, and I think that a minimalist nod in one’s wardrobe that acknowledges that one knows the scene but maintains a detached distance from it is the best dress code. Never wear a Name shirt to a Name concert, but a slim cloisonné pin from a band in the same scene or on the same indy label… now that’s slick. Hip, but superior: that’s the way one carries oneself at a public gathering of fans. So I found myself surprised to be, well, almost dressing up in costume in my excitement for this film. I was able to justify it by using nothing that I wouldn’t have casually worn with anything else in my wardrobe on any given day. But, truthfully, I garbed up for this event, and I’m a little embarrassed at how slippery that slope really is.
Luckily the brakes on said slope were put on by the presence of the other audience members, who weren’t as appalling as the average comic book convention, but still represented a cross-section of genetic slovenliness that should shame both Mendel and God. And while I will certainly watch any downloadable videos or special features that have footage shot by the documentary and promotional crew on site, and I will look for myself in the crowd, I was a little relieved not to be interviewed or featured, as such a prominent position would mean that I Belong more than I’d prefer to admit. I’m just not fan enough.
A young lad snuck around a couple of rows to try and move more quickly through the line to receive autographs from the graceful attending stars, Morena Baccarin and Sean Maher (see image at left), and ended up standing behind me. He attempted to engage in conversation about the success of the film, and I could tell by his plaintive, reedy voice that a withering stare was not going to dispell him. I considered turning and frankly informing him that not only did I not go to the cinema to meet people, but that I especially didn’t talk to overgrown juveniles whose vocal pitch and tone indicated a severe lack of human, non-virtual interaction… but, well, it seemed slightly harsher than the occasion merited. However, he did compliment me on my attire, and I think I did rather well not to immediately strip down and set it ablaze.
However, despite this and the most minimal of other disproprtionately memorable experiences, it was a good audience, an audience that listened to the film and drank it in with the appropriate attention. It meant that the theatre was quiet, because they were fans, and they wanted to get every morsel of dialogue and plot and information that they could. And it was lovely to be in a cinema with patrons so attentive and respectful.
When they got home to the internet, of course, the talk turned bitter. Plot events conspired in directions that made sense dramatically, but may seem as a betrayal to those who care more about characters with whom they empathise than the merits of the well-told story and its needs and structures. Too bad. It’s a dynamite movie, real solid summer entertainment with good storytelling, inventive filmmaking, and impressive visuals. Early buzz said that it was just a longer episode of Firefly, and the negative response by some of the fans is making the fans that couldn’t go to the screenings nervous. I hope the second series of pre-release screenings on May 29th (an odd promotional decision, I feel) does something to counter the bad vibes being engendered. I left the cinema more satisfied theatrically than I had since The Incredibles.
So a brief note for those who have read the hints of the doubters, who never saw the source TV show, and for those who are slightly allergic to anything associated with the Buffy the Vampire Slayer movement: Serenity is a marvelous piece of sci-fi cinema. It’s funny, charming, and has some excellent visuals, and some breathtaking suspense. Universal has a film that could easily go toe-to-toe with any summer blockbuster, but it’s not going to be in theatres until September 30th, when the season has cooled down. Hopefully this will allow Serenity not to get chased out by the newer, bigger release and will give you enough room to go see it. Give it a whirl. I strongly recommend it.
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