Hey Ziggy, We Did All Right; On Changing Language and Culture and Being Cool

Ziggy played guitar.

It’s one of those times in my life where I don’t know if I’m here or there, sad or happy, me or you, making it or faking it. But it doesn’t matter because I’ve got David Bowie playing on, in and around my headphones.

Dig it.

In my youth we said things like, “do your thing,” “it’s your bag” “funky” (I love the word funky — you jive ass turkey). We also said — well not me, but some people — my head’s in a weird place right now (for fuck sakes get it out of there!). We used to “trip” and “go through changes” and we were worried about someone “hassling” us or “messing” with us (the jive ass turkeys). Some of the shit people said was silly like “when is the meeting happening?” But at least no one forgot anything, they merely “spaced on it.”

I was young at some amazing times. It was when we stuck it to the man, took to the streets and grooved and got down and boogied. There was the fucking war in Vietnam and it was just so fucking obvious that that shit was messed up and we protested the hell out of the war. That was a damn good thing and was accompanied by our belief in equality and racial justice.

I’d grown up trying to be keen and boss but then it all became about being cool.

Young, man. That was a trip. Tripping man, they could be trippy. Course we tripped on acid (LSD to y’all). That was heavy. Messing with your own mind. Enlightenment. We were all about that shit. 

We got stoned, loaded, wasted, fucked up, shit faced, bombed out of our minds.

We went through some serious changes — dude.

Dude was a word that looped around in weird ways. Changing a lot and do the young people still use it, my dude? There were no fellas and very few guys. But dudes -- yes.

Females were chicks to some. Gays were queer, and queers were gay. Even the young and the hip were still processing homosexuality. That was new to us but in keeping with new and enlightened times we were accepting — eventually.

There was a time that our Black brothers and sisters were Afro Americans. I liked that term but it went away and was not my call. 

Ziggy played guitar jamming good….

Love and peace were serious themes. Do we talk about them anymore? I mean we were serious about them both. They were what it was all about. Give Peace a Chance and All You Need is Love, said the Beatles. They were the main spokespeople of our generation, hell, they pretty much formed our goddamned generation. 

Course there were others: Hendrix, Joplin, The Doors, The Who, Marvin Gaye, Bowie, Stevie Wonder, the Jefferson Airplane, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Neil Motherfucking Young. Even the Beach Boys — Pet Sounds, y’all. Yeah, we had our voices and they were cool beyond words. Rhythm. We danced like crazy and the dancing was CRAZY. But you knew that.

Woodstock!!Z!!

But some shit was nasty like Charlie Manson and the poor saps he hypnotized. Murdering bastards. Totally uncool.

Vibes were super important. You wanted good ones.

The Black Panthers were at the vanguard. 

But there were serious enemies. The pigs. Hoover and the Fucking FBI. The CIA. The Military. Nixon, Reagan. Mayor Daly. So many. The uncoolest.

We were right, though, ya know. We had it together. We were right and righteous. It was our time. We changed the world. No, not so much the U.S. power structure, it looks like rich, corporate, militaristic bastards will always hold sway. But we created the culture man. We made movies, and music, and TV and literature and art and liberated teens, and sex and language and clothes and hair. Hair, man.

We did a number on that. 

People should totally thanks us.

Ziggy, out.

Pain, Godland My New Novel and More Oppie, All in One Post!

From "Godland"

Pain hurts.

I’ve had a lot recently owing to a foot infection which stems from the surgery I had last month.

Sharp, biting, stabbing, throbbing pain. It comes suddenly. Sometimes one sharp jolt. Other times waves.

I’m on antibiotics. 

Again.

This is my second round. I was better now it’s back.

Great.

Sometimes I mix the pain with anxiety. At least I’m not currently depressed. Like I was last week. 

If it’s not one thing….

It’s another.

On Friday I taught a class while in excruciating pain. Not optimal. You do get a certain amount of adrenaline and are able to carry on — maybe an occasional wince — and while engaged can ignore the pain. 

Today is much better. I can feel the effected area but so far no jolts. There’ll be some in the course of the day but they’ve been diminishing and I’ll be right as rain soon. One assumes....

Meanwhile the novel is about a month away from being ready to send out to perspective agents and publishers one of whom will surely see it for the best selling classic it is destined to be. 

Here’s a little bit about it: “The Blood of Love is the story of David Trentwood and his great love, Cordelia McKenzie, set against the backdrop of massive social change and political unrest in Berkeley during the 1960s.

It is a kaleidoscopic look at the Sixties, the demonstrations, the counter culture, sex, drugs and rock and roll. It invokes the spirit and passion of the time as characters explore new found freedoms and take to the streets to protest the Vietnam War. David is at once a witness and a participant. The story is told in his voice which is fresh, irreverent yet sophisticated. David’s story is told as it happened, unfolding for the reader as it did for him. As David says in the book’s foreword: ‘This will be my story but it will also be about those times. Most of the eight years described took place within the crucible of Berkeley, California, then an epicenter of the student movement, a place where the cultural sea changes were always evident.’” Sound good to me....

Watched an extraordinary film yesterday, Godland (Pálmason). It is the best new movie I’ve seen since Drive My Car. Visually stunning replete with the dramatic vistas of Iceland. It is an engrossing story about a priest sent from Denmark to start a parish in the wilds of Iceland. It is man against nature, man against religion, man against man. I believe it was in theaters in the Spring and now it can be found on the Criterion Channel. Don’t know that it’s currently available anywhere else. Pity because it deserves a wide audience.....

Been reading American Prometheus the biography of Robert Oppenheimer that inspired the film currently raking it in at the box office (deservedly so). I enjoy reading about complex characters and Oppie was certainly that. Yes he helped fashion the atomic bomb that so devastated Hiroshima and Nagasaki but he came to abhor his creation and worked towards keeping it from being unleashed again. He was liberal, an ardent anti-fascist before the war who “flirted” with the Community Party. Actually he’s very difficult to label — which is a good thing in a person. He was admirable, deplorable, kind and cruel, progressive, thoughtful and the pioneer of the bomb. He was never dull nor was his life. Amazing character. Brilliant book. 

Movies I've Watched Lately, Some of Which I Liked Greatly

Stefania Sandrelli in I Knew Her Well

Dog Day Afternoon (1975) Lumet. I’ve written about DDA numerous times on the blog so long time readers (Mary Ellen Moskowitz of Bismarck, South Dakota) know of my deep affection for this film. I refer you to this post for more. A truly great film only gets better with time. I’ve got some complaints about the casting in some of the films mentioned below but you couldn’t begin to imagine anyone better in any of the cast of DDA. Of course Al Pacino as Sonny gives a master class in acting in one of his greatest roles but John Cazale, his blinkered partner in crime, Charles Durning, the New York cop in charge, Penelope Allen, the lead teller, Sully Boyar, the bank manager and Chris Sarandon one of Sonny’s wives couldn’t have been improved upon. Sidney Lumet’s direction deserves plaudits and this is one of the best edited films you’ll ever see thanks to Dede Allen who also edited such films as Reds, Bonnie and Clyde, The Hustler, Wonder Boys, Serpico and Little Big Man — not too shabby.

Traveling Saleslady (1935) Enright and Make Me a Star (1932) Beaudine. Two from Joan Blondell. The former is everything (almost) that you want out of Blondell picture. You get Blondell, a woman who was simultaneously cute and sexy as a perky young woman wise-cracking her way through life getting the better of any man who crosses her path. Blondell plays the daughter of a toothpaste company owner (ably played by the always reliable Grant Mitchell). She strikes out on her own when Dad won’t give her a job, working for a competitor and becoming an incredible success. The only problem was that her leading man was played by William Garage (who?) a fine supporting player but no romantic lead. Fredric March would have been perfect and others such as Robert Montgomery or Joel McCrea would have done nicely. Make Me a Star was a terrible film. The missus and I can’t figure out how we managed to watch a full half hour of it before calling it quits. The pacing was….well, pretty much non-existent. Under the incompetent direction of William Beaudine, the film had all the pep and excitement of a funeral. Blondell was billed as the lead but the main character was played by Stuart Erwin who could better carry a boulder than a film. His acting perfectly fit the film’s ponderous pace. What a dog!

Mirror (1975) Tarkovsky. This was my fourth viewing and I still have trouble making heads or tails out of much of it. I love it all the same. Like Stalker, another favorite of mine from the great Russian director Andrei Tarkovsky, Mirror is not exactly inaccessible but it is hard to unlock. This only enhances the joy of watching it. It’s a challenge but one well worth taking on because of the stunning and mysterious visuals. It is ostensibly the story of a dying man in his forties remembering moments in his life. Margarita Terekhova as his young mother is utterly beguiling, as is the film.

The Strange One (1957 Garfein. It’s the name of the film and it describes it as well. The Strange One is set in a military school where a sadistic upper classman browbeats freshman and sets up a major’s son for expulsion. Ben Gazzarra in his film debut is magnetic in the lead role as we quickly come to despise him. It’s a compelling story and yet an unpleasant one and by the end one is left wondering what the point was. Do we learn anything from this story of cruelty and the fate of the main character? Are their lessons for our or its time? Not obvious ones. I’m not sure what to make of The Strange One. It was like watching a nasty argument, but one you couldn’t turn away from.

I Knew Her Well (1965) Pietrangeli. This under appreciated (at least in the U.S.) gem from Italy tells us the story of an aspiring young model and actress. She is on the cusp of fame but reaching the highest heights is a big leap requiring a lot of luck. Will she make it? We see her life in a series of vignettes in which we both learn about the difficulties of achieving stardom — the disappointments, the embarrassments, the sacrifices and the joys of being young, beautiful and talented enough to draw attention. Our protagonist goes to nightclubs, works in movie houses, models during boxing matches, attends lavish star-studded parties, goes on dates. She also languishes in her apartment listening to an endless string of .45s. We see her as a pratfall prone naif but also as a sweet and caring young woman, perhaps too sincere for the world she seeks to enter. The movie’s ending hits hard but is somehow inevitable. The then 19-year-old Stefania Sandrelli stars and she is an utterly enchanting delight who it’s impossible not to fall in love with.

The Goddess (1958) Cromwell. We end with yet another disastrous bit of casting, and in the lead role, no less. Here the great stage actress Kim Stanley plays a woman who emerges from humble and unhappy beginnings to become a beloved actress and sex symbol. Stanley plays Emily Ann Faulkner from ages 16 through 31. The problem, especially in the early scenes, is that Stanley was 33 at the time and looked closer to 43. Couldn’t they have at least tried to make her younger? Perhaps more significantly, Stanley was no great beauty and there’s never any hint of sexuality, smoldering or otherwise, in her performance. And we’re supposed to believe she’s worshipped by fans the world over? It might have helped if they’d shown her acting. Adding to this, Stanley and some of the other cast absolutely chew up the scenery whenever given a big scene. The screenplay is perfectly fine which is not surprising given that it was written by the great Paddy Chayefsky. But director John Cromwell was not up to the script and whoever was in charge of casting the film was an idiot.

I Don't Know if I've Ever Been Almost Famous But I Saw a Film with that as its Title

Kate Hudson and Patrick Fugit in Almost Famous

Friday night the missus and I watched a film called, Almost Famous from 2000. I saw it when it first came out but hadn't since. I had the vague recollection that I didn’t like it at the time although I couldn’t tell you why. Even vaguer was my recollections of the film itself. A young reporter? Rock and roll? Kate Hudson was in it? It’s the sort of film that is made reference to every now and again. No one calls it a classic but it's not widely disparaged. It’s also obvious that it means a lot to some people. It seemed worth another go although I can’t tell you what finally got me to watch it again.

Almost Famous is the autobiographical tale of director Cameron Crowe’s experiences as a fifteen-year-old reporter (!!!) following a rock band on tour for purposes of writing a story for Rolling Stone magazine. It stars Patrick Fugit as the precocious writer and no that name is not familiar to me although he’s been in a few films I’ve seen, never in big roles. In Almost Famous the band is called Stillwater — it’s fictional. Crowe was embedded with the Allman Brothers. Kate Hudson plays the primary groupie or Band-Aid as they call themselves. She along with Frances McDormand as the kid’s mother steal every scene they’re in. McDormad, as we know, is a multiple Oscar winner but Hudson seems to have mostly done mediocre rom-coms. More’s the pity.

If it’s true that I didn’t like Almost Famous twenty-three years ago I’m at a loss for why. I found it to be a delightful story, with excellent pacing, a good soundtrack and good to outstanding performances. The story it told was worthy of the two-hour screen time. It was sweet, it was coming-of-age, it was about love and dedication and a young man learning life lessons in real time during the heady experience of traveling with the famous — or almost famous.

But Almost Famous also was a cold slap in the face for me.

In a good way.

I am a writer. I was once a young aspiring writer. I was a brash young reporter. I was a talent. I was cool. I was “going places” (never got there). But I tossed it all away. I was hedonist. I loved chasing women and getting high too much more than I was ambitious. I was lazy. I was stupid. I squandered my opportunities. 

In recent years I’ve come to wonder why there was no one around who would set me straight. I never had a mentor; I never had an older wiser voice around me prodding me in the right directions. Actually there were some voices about that occasionally tried to give me counsel but I was much too arrogant to pay them any heed. So perhaps trying to talk sense into me would have been fruitless. After all, how do you talk sense into the senseless?

Like a lot of good films, Almost Famous convinced me (again) that I have to get more serious about my writing. Mind you I’ve finished my third novel (well, almost) have the draft of a fourth and have started a fifth and write on this blog at least four times a month but I tell you it’s not enough and in all earnestness it isn’t. I squander far too much time poking around various corners of the internet. One can always do better and I can do a helluva lot better. Fucking internet.

(I have no idea how or why the above paragraph came out looking like that. I swear it's not my fault and I tried to fix it -- to no avail.)

I loved being a reporter. It seemed at the time that it was my calling. So naturally I quit when I was twenty-five. Idiot.

Is this the cause of my depression? Do I live in regret of my mistakes? Do I wallow in self-pity at the wounds I inflicted — on me? Better question: can I not learn to live in the moment? Can I not learn to be grateful? Can I not appreciate what I’ve done, where I am and where I’ve still to go as a mortal?

You’d think.

Almost Famous focused my thinking in a particular direction and I appreciate when a film does that. Yesterday I watched the great Russian film, Come and See (1985) Klimov which has to rank among the great World War II pictures of all time. It’s a visceral viewing experience and for fleeting moments hard to watch. It caused no great introspection on my part but did get me thinking about human’s incredible capacity for evil and destruction. Brutal honesty in film is much to be admired if it is presented in a way that is palatable to audiences. The imagery of Come and See is rich and powerful and glorious despite the horrific subject matter.

So, yeah, films — good ones — can send your mind into different directions.

What have I learned from writing this? Probably that I’m doing all right. I need to appreciate today, learn from yesterday and keep an eye out for tomorrow because it’ll be here soon enough.