Meeting the Beatles, A World of Intoxicating Sensations (A Short Story)

Cordelia and I weren’t sure what to make of a musical phenomenon called The Beatles that our classmates were all atwitter about. Her exposure to music had been through Mr. McKenzie’s classical music collection while I’d been subjected to my parents’ love of bland male crooners who I believed existed to make people somnolent and bored. Peggy and Jim both collected rock and roll .45s which inspired me to do little more than tap my toes. I’d also been exposed to jazz, which I found too frenetic, and folk music which I thought too preachy. The absence of music in my life felt troubling as if I was missing something essential. Maybe The Beatles could fill the void.  Cordelia and I promised one another we’d watch the group's American television debut on February ninth. My family always watched the Ed Sullivan Show, so I didn’t have to engage in negotiations over TV rights as I sometimes did on those rare occasions when there was something I wanted to watch. 

There was talk at dinner about the English rock and rollers. “I want to see what the big deal is. I’ve liked it when I’ve heard them on the radio,” Peggy said. 

“I hear they make a real racket,” Jim added sourly.

“I imagine they’re a passing fad,” mother said as if that were the definitive word on the subject.

When The Beatles were introduced my mother immediately complained about the girls in the audience screaming. “How are they going to hear them sing if they keep screaming? What’s the point?” Jim burst into laughter at the first close of the group. “Look at that hair, they look like monkeys.” I wanted to scream at everyone to shut up but the room grew quiet anyway.

I was mesmerized. I’d never heard anything like The Beatles. Music had never moved me. Rhythm. Percussion. Those fascinating voices. They were interesting, coordinated and made me want to get up and move. I wasn’t listening to music, I was feeling it. It was lifting my — oh-look-what-I-found — soul, and consciousness, to a place I hadn’t known.

Transcendent.

But as if to snap me instantly back into reality, my mother was typically dismissive. “Just a lot of noise, if you ask me. A noisy passing fad. Don’t you think so, dear?” She asked my father.

Dad was loathe to contradict my mother on anything, particularly matters about which he held no strong opinions. “That’s for sure, hon,” he nodded after taking a swig of cognac.

Jim tossed in his unwanted two cents: “Pfft, give me the Everly Brothers or Bobby Vinton any day of the week. At least you can understand what they’re saying.”

“I think they’re kinna cute,” Peggy interjected, “I like their music.”

“Ahh, you’re crazy.” Jim said.

“What about you, David? Did you, my level-headed younger son, like them?” My mother asked.

All I wanted in the world was to hear more and re-live the reverie of their first set. I most definitely didn’t want to share my thoughts with Mom, so hoped it would suffice if I merely said, “yeah, I did.

“You would!” Jim said plunking me on the head with a pillow. He then announced he was going to study for a chemistry test. When he left the room, I felt like leaping for joy.

I sat transfixed during The Beatles’ second set. I’d fallen in love twice within a few months. First with Cordelia, now with The Beatles discovering the magic of two things I’d previously only had a passing familiarity with: girls and music.

When the show ended Peggy announced that she was a fan.

“And you, David, are you a fan as well?” Mother asked.

“Yup,” was the extent of my response as I headed for my bedroom.

“Well, I don’t understand it.”

You wouldn’t, I thought. 

The next day school dragged interminably. All I could think about was The Beatles and seeing Cordelia after school. I worried that perhaps someway, somehow she wouldn’t share my feelings toward these magical musicians. If she didn’t like them, would that do irreparable damage to our relationship?

The school day’s final bell sent me into the fastest sprint I’d ever run. I made the two blocks to Grove Street in less than a minute. Instead of stopping at home first, I continued my mad dash to McKenzie’s, only slowing down when I got within a block, to avoid arriving out of breath. Cordelia’s school got out fifteen minutes earlier than mine so she’d only just arrived. She was still deconstructing her school day with Mr. McKenzie when I walked into the bookstore.

“Goodness, me, did you leave early today?” Mr. McKenzie asked.

“Hi, Mr. McKenzie, hello Cordelia. No, I didn’t stop at home first.”

I joined my friends behind the counter. After a bit of idle chatter Cordelia led me upstairs. She poured us each a glass of apple juice.

“Well? What did you think?” I asked nervously.

“If you mean about The Beatles, I thought they were fantastic!”

Overcome with joy and relief I spontaneously hugged Cordelia.

“You’re wonderful!” I exclaimed.

We immediately went to a downtown record store where we each bought The Beatles’ first album.

Within an hour we were back at Cordelia’s house listening to Meet the Beatles. 

While listening the second time, Cordelia suggested we dance.

“But I’ve never danced before, I don’t know how.”

“It’s easy, silly, the music will tell your body what to do.”

This made no sense to me but, obligingly, I stood.

“Close your eyes and feel the music,” Cordelia suggested.

My hips started swaying, then my arms moved in rhythm to the music. First tentatively then freely, I moved my legs. I opened my eyes. Cordelia’s movements were similar to mine. She smiled at me.

I’d stopped thinking, and was reacting, my body movements in tune with the songs. Finally Cordelia took my hands.

“Let’s try to mix what we’re doing with traditional dancing.”

“I’ve never done any traditional dancing.”

“It’s not going to matter.”

She was right.

The parallel dancing had been great fun, but dancing in coordination with another person — especially Cordelia — created another world of intoxicating sensations. 

I felt free, uninhibited and at a total remove from any cares or concerns. But I also felt as one with another person. More than hand-holding, more than sitting together, more even than our first tentative kisses, dancing with Cordelia, especially to this entrancing music, made me feel connected to her.

We melded together and ascended to the heavens. When we finally separated I had the momentary sensation that half my body had been removed. But more than that I was overcome with the sense that I was well and truly in love. It was excruciating to leave her that day. I walked home still intoxicated by her smell, her looks, her touch and the sound of her voice. I was also buoyed by a new aural sensation: the sound of the Beatles. They’d elevated our love, animating it, giving it tempo and cadence.

I glided into the house unconcerned by Peggy’s surliness, Jim’s arrogance and the great distance that existed between my parents and I.

A Cult Meets at My Gym -- A True Story (No Foolin')

The cult was there again today. They’re at the gym every time I go there. 

There is an Asian man of about fifty years. He’s fit but not muscular. (You don’t have to have bulging muscles to be strong or tough). He’s a regular looking chap, handsome for his age but no one who would stick out in a crowd. 

With him are a group of woman. Sometimes just two, often three, usually four. The man talks and they listen. And let me tell you something, they’re interested. As a veteran teacher I know what a person looks like when they are pretending to be listening and what a person looks like when they really are interested in what a speaker is saying. These women’s eyes are glued to him. They’re leaning forward. There are no yawns. There are also no questions, comments or interruptions of any kind. He holds the floor the entire time.

One of the women appears to be in her late teens, maybe early twenties, another looks closer to forty, the other two look to be anywhere from their mid twenties to mid thirties. I don’t know if this is relevant but three of the four are very attractive. 

The first couple of times I saw them I assumed he was giving them instructions or advice on exercise. But they don’t exercise. They always take  over one of the gym’s five mats that are designated for stretching. But sometimes, like today, he’s at a weight station sitting. No weights are added to the bar, he holds on to it. Either way the women are huddled around, listening.

I’ve walked right by them a few times and have noted that the cult leader sometimes speaks English and sometimes Mandarin. I’ve never picked up more than a word or two so have no idea what he’s going on about.

I’ve seen them in one place for the entire hour and a quarter of my workout. But usually at some point the party breaks up. That means the guru leaves. However the women stick around. With two exceptions I’ve never seen them do anything but stretch and they do little of that. They’re usually sitting on a mat, chatting, looking at their phones and occasionally stretching. I've seen them occupy a mat in such a way for as much as forty-five minutes.

As I said there have been two exceptions. I saw one of them once on a weight machine lifting a very low weight and today I saw one of them on a treadmill. That’s it. That’s the extent of the exercise I’ve seen any of them do besides stretching and working out their ear muscles to listen to der fuhrer. 

So I’m left to wonder: what the hell is going on? They are there every time I go to the gym. This will likely change next week as I go back to work so I’ll be going to the gym in the afternoon rather than morning on weekdays. I’ll probably still see them on weekends. 

What is he talking about for so long that is of such interest? I’ve no clue. There is something very creepy about how they listen to him for so long so often. And what are they doing in the gym? It’s not as though his talks segue into a workout. Why not meet at some ones house? You could have tea and cookies. If it’s a sex cult you’d definitely want to be at a house. Why a gym?

The frustrating thing is that I’ll never know. I can’t very well go up to the women and ask: “just curious, what’s that bloke talking to you about everyday for so long?”

I’d be half afraid to find out.

Anyway, it always gives me a story to tell the missus when I get back from the gym. She’s loves my cult updates.

Can you blame her?

Waging War With Depression, A Powerful Foe

“Because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.”  ― Sylvia Plath from The Bell Jar

The pain is acute today. Depression has been my steady companion for weeks and is of a particularly punishing variety.

I get occasional respites from it like if I’m watching a compelling World Cup match or a movie that I love. A cup of coffee will take me out of it for a bit as will a trip to the gym. But the depression lays in wait — so damn patient. I’ve mostly been able to write through it, but not always. I haven’t always been able to get to the gym either.

There is no specific cause for this depression nor are there non-specific causes. It just is. I’m achingly sad about everything. That’s a terrible place to be. I have my first grandchild arriving in October. I’m looking forward to that. But in depression it doesn’t make me happy. It’s just a thought.

I have a lot of thoughts that are pleasant. They float around. They are powerless against depression. 

My wife does her best. She’s a remarkable woman. Kind and understanding. She looks after me. I couldn’t ask for more from her. But the depression persists. It’s unrelenting. Cruel.

I’m managing to write this. It’s honest. It hurts. It’s all bad. Oh, oh the pain. The seeming uselessness of my being here, trying anything.

No, suicide is not an option. I have walls between me and it. The first wall is my immediate family. The second is extended family. Another is the coming grandchild. Yet another is friends, my rich inner life, films, books, music, my writing. A lot of walls. So at least that awful step is not a concern.

I have to assume that the depression will eventually lose its grip. Brighter days have to be coming. It’s a real struggle to fight this level of despair and to conjure hope. I want to keep this short and I want to end with a message of hope….I’m not finding it. 

I will add that if you’re reading this and you experience depression try to be proactive. Go for a walk. Hit the gym. Meditate. Reach out to people you trust. See a professional. Watch a favorite movie or TV show. Don’t yield to the temptation to give up. There are people out there who would be happy to help. I’ve been reaching out to people and they’ve all responded. It’s helped make this bearable. Do the next thing in front of you, don’t stop. I know this is all comes under the category of “easier said than done” but it’s what you’ve got.  

Depression wants you to give up. Don’t play its game. Fight back with all you’ve got. That’s what I’ve got to try to do now.

I’ve managed to write this and I’m going to get myself to the gym. It’s the next thing to do.

Exciting News (Well, it's News) About My Top 100 List (Actually, I Don't Know that its Necessarily News Either)

From The Godfather which is ranked #5

Exciting news everybody( honestly it's not all that exciting but go on). I've done some revisions to my top 100 films list. Actually that's a lie, the list looks the same, what's different is the list of movies that follow it, those many movies that I love but didn't quite crack the exclusive top 100. Time was (until yesterday) that it was just a haphazard list with films tacked on willy nilly. (Do you suppose there's a gent out there somewhere whose name is Willy Nilly? If so, what's he like?) Now all those films are sorted by directors, the directors appear alphabetically and if there are multiple films under a director they are listed chronologically. 

Full disclosure: ChatGPT did all the work. Thanks, AI! in doing so it came across some interesting facts that I'm going to share with you now whether you want me to or not and I suspect you do because you're a faithful reader of this blog (I'm looking at you Goliath Truffaut of Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin). There are 180 motion pictures on the others that I love list. According to my advanced calculus that, with my top 100, makes 280 flickers. 

The director with the most films on the lists is Woody Allen with 14 followed by Ingmar Bergman 11, John Ford 10, Aki Kaurismäki 10, Alfred Hitchcock 8, Federico Fellini, Howard Hawks, Billy Wilder and Martin Scorsese each have six.

The most represented decade was the 1970s with 42 followed by the 1960s with 34. There were 31 from the 1940s and 29 from the 1930s. Only 19 from the 2000s and five so far from the 2020s.

The four top individual years were all from the 1970s.

Countries with the most films were the U.S. followed by Italy, Sweden, Finland, France and Russia.

It should be noted that my top 100 and films that follow it are not set in stone. Last week I moved No Country For Old Men from somewhere around sixty into my top twenty. My feelings for movies change after additional viewings. Some move up, a few move down and occasionally one is added and another subtracted. Anyway I find it a fun and worthwhile exercise.

It's Time Again For Your Favorite Feature: Films I've Watched Lately, Some of Which I've Loved Greatly

The Awful Truth

The Awful Truth (1937) McCarey. A classic of the screwball comedy genre that is highlighted by one scene. Irene Dunne and Cary Grant are going through a divorce that’s about to become final. Masquerading as Grant’s sister, Dunne shows up at Grant’s fiancé’s mansion, where there is a formal yet intimate gathering. What ensues is comedy gold. The brilliance is that Dunne never overplays it. She acts just unhinged enough to create maximum discomfort while remaining completely committed to the performance. Grant's reactions are priceless—he's trying desperately to maintain his dignity while watching his carefully constructed world collapse around him. The timing between them is immaculate. While Dunne steals the scene, it doesn’t work without Grant as something of a straight man.

Wonder Boys (2000) Hanson. One thing I love about Wonder Boys is that it feels so much like a February weekend—especially the Sunday scenes. How does a movie do that so well? Create the feeling of a specific day? Wonder Boys blends meloncholy, humor, and a deep affection for its characters. Michael Douglas, Robert Downey Jr. and Tobey Maguire are brilliant, interesting and a bit lost. Katie Holmes and Frances McDormand do nothing but add to the film’s charms. Wonder Boys is less interested in plot than in spending time with people who, even if we can't relate to them, we at least enjoy spending time with. As someone who flatters himself to be a novelist, I particularly relate every time I see it. 

No Country For Old Men (2007) Hanson. A perfectly made film, masterfully directed by the Coens. So many memorable scenes that stay with you. Like the coin toss. It's interesting that in that scene the Coens didn't do the usual thing of making Anton a nice sort when he wasn't killing people. He was a jerk at all times. I also liked when the manager of the trailer park stood up to him and refused to tell him Llewelyn's workplace. There was nothing he could do. Every scene with Tommy Lee Jones is excellent. He's something like the moral centerpiece of the film. The sanity within. After this viewing I moved NCFOM into my top twenty on my all-time favorites list.

La piscine (196) Deray. My second viewing and I now regard it as a masterpiece. A love triangle starring Alain Delon, Romy Schneider and Maurice Ronet. Added to the mix is the young daughter of Ronet’s character played by Jane Birkin. It would be easy to overlook her given her three co-stars all of whom were excellent (not surprisingly). But Birkin as an actress had quiet confidence in this film and so did her character. The first time she opens up and speaks is when the movie became really interesting to me, I can't exactly tell you why, but perhaps it announced that she wasn't merely decorative and thus the whole movie was going to be deeper than I'd imagined. What La piscine does so well is build. It’s not a film that announces itself in the first minute — that’s too easy. It asks our patience and then pays off. I can’t wait to watch it again.

Lancelot du lac (1974) Bresson. I hated this movie. I’m baffled as to why it’s so highly regarded. Usually when I don’t like an acclaimed film I can at least see why others do. Not with this one. Part of it is that I’m not a big fan of Robert Bresson. I thought A Man Escaped, Diary of a Country Priest and Pickpocket were good films but I hardly consider them classics. But this iteration of the Arthurian legend — I was bored to death.

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962) Ford. Jimmy Stewart is far too old to be playing the lead character, just as in Vertigo and Bell, Book and Candle. For one thing he’s twenty-two years older than Vera Miles who plays his wife. Why did they continually cast Stewart in roles for younger actors? The film itself is fine though if I were making a list of my favorite John Ford films, there would be at least a dozen Ford films ahead of it. TMWSLV is not as visually interesting as other Ford films, it was shot mostly on studio lots. Liberty Valance is almost cartoonishly evil. I like the political/historical themes but they weren't at all subtle.

Wagon Master

Wagon Master (1950) Ford. Somehow I’d never seen this John Ford film, given that I knew little about it, I wasn’t expecting much. I got a lot. What a wonderful film. I liked Ben Johnson and Harry Carey Jr. as the wagon masters and always enjoy Ward Bond when he has a juicy part. Also fun to see Alan Mowbray. Beautiful film to look at and interesting that the film starts before the opening credits, which I was initially confused by. I suppose by Ford standards it’s a modest film but by any standards it’s a terrific one and typically beautiful to look at with equal respect to the characters and the scenery. 

Shampoo (1975) Ashby. One thing that particularly struck me from this viewing is what an empty person Warren Beatty's character, George is. He has no interior life and nothing profound to say. Other than wanting his own shop he's directionless. Today he'd probably be classified as a sex and love addict. Overall the film is excellent. Hal Ashby directed a string of really good movies that I love in the seventies like The Landlord, Harold and Maude, The Last Detail, Shampoo and Being There. Shampoo is set on election eve 1968 but was filmed at the heart of Watergate. An interesting combination. A great cast that includes Goldie Hawn, Julie Christie, Carrie Fisher (first film role), Lee Grant (gorgeous at fifty) and Jack Warden. Warden graced many a great film including From Here to Eternity, Twelve Angry Men, All the President’s Men, Being There, Heaven Can Wait and The Verdict. He made all those films and Shampoo better for his presence.

Dersu Uzala (1975) Kurosawa. I greatly appreciate films that combine technical mastery with deep compassion for their characters. This is a perfect example. Dersu Uzala is an odd one in a sense because here we have the great Japanese director directing a film set in Russia with Russian actors speaking Russian. It’s one of his later pictures but retains so many Kurosawa touches while being distinct from most of his other work. I really liked the title character who is a native hunter helping Russian soldiers on early 20th century surveying missions. It’s a day later and many of the film’s scenes still live vividly in my memory. Few directors have filmed nature better than Kurosawa and this is a classic man versus nature film with a heart-warming friendship and two richly drawn characters at the heart of it.

It is the Long-Awaited Return of Headlines!

Happy Pride Month Everybody!

It's been awhile (February '22) since I offered headline's from the day's news with my wise, snarky and pithy comments following. It used to be a regular feature on this blog but for the past few years there hasn't been much in the way of news so....Anyway it's back, at least for today. Enjoy!

From the New York Times:

Supreme Court Expands Trump’s Power Over Immigration

In other words xenophobia and hatred are to be codified into law. As a student of U.S. history I can tell you that this is nothing new. See, for but one example, the Chinese Exclusion Act. Is there a country that owes more to immigrants? Doubt it. But few countries vilify immigrants as much.

More Temperature Records Fall as Deadly Heat Stifles Europe

It used to be to that you could go to England in the summer and not worry about heat. No more. The temperature has hit 100 degrees in London. France has been baking. What’s at the root of it all? Don’t tell Trumpy this, but according to scientists (those weird-ohs) it’s human-made climate change.

California Will Vote on a Billionaire Tax. Billionaires Aren’t Happy

Guess what, billionaires? You’re outnumbered. And ya know what else billionaires? Fuck you. You’ve got more money than ten people would ever need and you’ve got the gall (unmitigated gall at that) to whine about a bigger tax bite? No sympathy for you, ya greedy bastards.

From CNN:

Texas is poised to require millions of students to study Bible stories

While you’re at it, Texas, why not require students to read about unicorns, Bigfoot and Star Wars? If you’re going to use fantasy stories in schools, don’t limit them to Christian ones. Of course this means that Americans (at least in places like Texas) are going to get even dumber. 

Why Seattle’s Pride match has caused outrage for the two teams playing in it

As part of Pride Month and the hosting of some World Cup matches in Seattle the contest between Iran and Egypt has been designated the pride match. Rainbow flags everywhere. The two participants aren’t happy about this because they’re fundamentalist Islamic states — in other words, raging homophobes. Don’t like it Egypt and Iran? Go the fuck home. Some of us embrace our LGBTQ brothers and sisters. Sorry you’re still back in the dark ages. (But its our culture, it's our religion. Then fuck your culture and your religion.)

From the BBC:

Could a Madison Square Garden wedding be the love story of Taylor Swift's wildest dreams?

Honestly. I don’t care. I know the woman has gazillion fans and that one of my daughters is one of them, but why would people obsess over a celebrity’s wedding? Obsess over a new album? Sure. But nuptials? Come on.

Why has Trump stayed away from the World Cup?

So he does’t have to endure more booing? Because like most Americans he doesn’t really like soccer? Because the damn president should be tending to other matters? 

From the Guardian:

Alarm over ‘extreme’ sentences for anti-ICE protesters convicted of terrorism

Harsh sentencing is a hallmark of repressive regimes, especially against dissent. This is another clear sign — like we needed one — that the U.S. is slipping into authoritarianism. 

Why did Tucker Carlson and Marjorie Taylor Greene leave the Republican party?

Better question: why aren’t more people leaving the Republican Party? 

From MSNBC:

FEMA official known for Waffle House teleportation claims steps down from role

Dude’s name is Gregg Phillips (what’s with the three ‘gs” in Greg?). Here’s a line from the article: “he claimed, more than once, that he was involuntarily teleported, including an incident in which he said he was sent to a Waffle House restaurant 50 miles away. In response to questions about his alleged experiences, the FEMA official continued to insist on the validity of his claims.” Trumpy, in his infinite wisdom, had appointed this election-denying nutcase as  head of the Federal Emergency Management Agency’s Office of Response and Recovery. Folks, you can’t make this stuff up. I dare you to try,

Stephen Miller memo exposes plan to punish Americans with disabilities

You’ve always thought Stephen Miller was an evil bastard. Turns out you had no idea. Miller is behind a DOJ memo that lets states institutionalize Americans with disabilities instead of funding the community care that allows them to remain home—undoing decades of reform and precedent. Again, you can’t make this stuff up and again, I dare you to try.

I Hate Los Angeles But There Are Some Great Films Set There, Here's Ten of Them

Sterling Hayden and Elliot Gould at the beach in The Long Goodbye

I do not like Los Angeles. Never have. Never will. It’s a place where people drive their cars to visit a next door neighbor. There is no charm. No downtown. Nothing but schlock and gloss and edifice. There are beautiful neighborhoods but they have no soul. It is an endless sea of people, cars, streets, freeways and parking lots. There are many malls. You can find anything you need in L.A, but nothing you’d want. So much of everything is nothing.

New York — a million times the city L.A. is — has been the setting for countless classic films and hundreds of good ones and of course quite a few mediocre and bad ones. L.A. cannot compare — even though it is where many films are made — but it has been the setting for some of American cinemas greatest films. In other words for New York I could probably list fifty great films. For other cities, five would be a stretch, for L.A. I managed a top ten. 

Here it is.

Chinatown (1974) Polanski. One of the ten greatest films of all time and the one that is the classic expression of what the L.A. area is all about: greed, corruption and water rights. L.A. between the wars was not a boomtown but a boommetropolis. Polanski, brilliant set and costume designers and a cast led by Jack Nicholson and Faye Dunaway made it all look luscious. L.A. was certainly more habitable then and maybe had a bit of charm. Maybe not in Chinatown though.

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019) Tarantino. This the L.A. of fifty areas ago. It’s  good in in depicting that time that you can’t believe it’s time-stamped 2019. The sights the sound (it’s the car radios in the background that clinch the deal) and you’d swear the smell of L.A. in 1969. A masterpiece of design and mood and of capturing a place and time.

Sunset Blvd.(195) Wilder. Here we go back to the L.A. of 1950 when the boom was cresting and Hollywood and the studio system were still riding high. The decadence is on full display via the home of aging silent star Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson in almost a case of it takes one to know one), the desperate wannabe, Joe Gillis is captured perfectly by William Holden. It’s sad, creepy but magnificent. 

The Big Sleep (1946) Hawks. This is noir L.A. at its best, which can be quite entertaining though generally not comparable to noir New York or San Francisco. L.A. actually looks interesting here. Neighborhoods, cafes and that bohemian house where the initial murder takes place.

Double Indemnity (1944) Wilder. Here again L.A. looks tolerable. The Dietrichson home and neighborhood are pleasant enough. Downtown L.A. is a wonderfully noir-like as is Walter Neff’s apartment. Overall it feels less L.A. than the other films here listed. That’s a good thing.

Pulp Fiction (1994) Tarantino. Nineties L.A. Get your kahuna burger. There’s nothing pretty about this L.A. and we see plenty of it. It is the functional L.A. with places to hang your hat, eateries, clubs and — if you’re into it —drug dealers. Nobody stops to look at what’s around them. There’s too much going on for that. A great place to be famous or anonymous.

Shampoo (1975) Ashby. It was set in November 1968 and filmed in ’74-75 so it captures a bit of both eras. This is a hip L.A. with Warren Beatty playing the classic Southern Californian — totally vacuous and yet desired. Riding his chopper from one sexual assignation to the next, he’s totally oblivious to any “real world” problems. He’s all in that empty head — ya know, just like L.A. itself. That party in the hills is L.A. at its hippest.

Rebel Without a Cause (195 5) Ray. High school L.A. the Griffith observatory and some of the homes seem pleasant enough. This is L.A. as an over-populated suburb. Gum-snapping, hot rods and the sense that there’s gotta be a malt shop around the corner. It’s teen land.

Boyz N the Hood (1991) Singleton. Not the L.A. we’re used to seeing in films. This is heavily African-American and say, where have Black people been in other L.A. films? Except for the maids and valet parking attendants they’ve been tucked away. This is a very real L.A. with starkly human stories and tragedies. A rare but important glimpse into the L.A. that their police forces tried to beat into submission.

The Long Goodbye (1973) Altman. Seventies noir L.A. with an updated version of the same Philip Marlowe Bogie played in the Big Sleep. This time it's an uber cool Elliot Gould doing the honors. Altman-style L.A. is voguish noir, with naked girls next door and angry mobsters showing up unexpectedly. There’s also the big beach house and parties. Looks like fun.