Protected: My Brain Is Mean To Me
29 Thursday Jun 2017
Posted Miscellaneous, music
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29 Thursday Jun 2017
Posted Miscellaneous, music
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02 Saturday May 2015
Posted Best Picture Project
inTags
best picture, Birdman, michael keaton, movies, music, oscars, psychology in film, reviews, Shakespeare, surrealism
The thing about the Oscars is that they aren’t based on what audiences liked. They aren’t even based on what critics liked. They’re based on what the film industry as represented by the members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences liked.
And there’s not much that the Academy likes more than a navel-gazing look at their own industry, especially if it’s cynically critical. I predicted BOYHOOD would win Best Picture this year because of the unusual technical achievement, but in retrospect, BIRDMAN was not a surprise.
That said, I’m not entirely a fan. I don’t particularly like surrealism (I make an exception for Cirque du Soleil’s QUIDAM), and because we’re mostly seeing the film through Riggan’s fragmenting mind, this film lays on the surrealism pretty thickly.
There are aspects of the premise that I like, and I think the use of the Birdman character as a manifestation of the persistent nasty little voices in our heads is an interesting one. He is insidious. He will not be ignored or denied for very long, and he grows louder and more poisonous over the course of the film. Michael Keaton’s aging, increasingly irrelevant actor Riggan does not seem to be cognizant of the fact that he’s hallucinating.
I’m not sure how I feel about Keaton, either. I really enjoyed his “Fresh Air” interview about this film – he came off as soft-spoken, thoughtful, and generally rather pleasant. But I haven’t seen him as any character I actually liked. Riggan is selfish, and he’s unspooling at an alarming rate over the course of the film. Keaton’s Dogberry in MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING is a cartoon, grotesquely overblown, even for a Shakespearean clown.
One thing I’d like to bring up is the score which makes a choice that is especially notable in one scene backstage when Riggan is arguing with Birdman and ends up trashing his own dressing room in the process. It’s an interesting choice to have the music here be nothing more than a series of drumrolls and cymbal crashes, as though Riggan’s life is constantly on the point of just-before-the-curtain-opens.
It’s not a bad movie. I can see why it won. It’s just not my cup of tea.
Also, the Birdman costume is weird. I like the giant robo-bird in the hallucination, though.
Next Up: TBA
16 Sunday Nov 2014
Posted Archives and Libraries, music
inTags
hope, library, lyrics, music, perfection, poem, Wailin' Jennys, youtube
The other day, while at work, I had a moment that still makes me feel all glowy with pleasure when I think about it.
Because I’m having so much trouble finding a more standard, formal position in a library or archive, I’m freelancing as an archivist, helping out with family papers, personal collections, etc., for private clients.
One of these jobs is at the client’s office, which is shared with another person. We’ll call my client A and the other person B.
A is rarely in the office when I am, but B comes in and out while taking care of other duties. This past week, B had a visit from a client, and after greeting him, B said “That’s A’s librarian working. Why don’t we meet out here?”
Librarian. It’s such a simple thing, really, but because I haven’t yet held a professional position in a library or archive (though I have had a few short-term positions for other institutions since graduating), I haven’t actually overheard myself described as a librarian or an archivist. B said it in passing, and after they left the room, I stood there, smiling, and just enjoying it for a few seconds.
And it’s at that point that I realized that the moment was even better. I had my headphones on, and the music on shuffle. The song that came on during all of this was a song by the Wailin’ Jennys called “Heaven When We’re Home.” It was one of those instances when the perfect song comes on. It’s about feeling like everything you’ve tried has been a dead end, and you can’t see into the future further than your own nose. It’s about feeling tired and worn down by the struggle, but continuing to struggle anyway because what else is there to do? You have to keep believing that you’ll find what you’re looking for so that you don’t get completely swallowed up by despair. And when you find it, you’ll be able to set down your burdens and rest for a while.
“Heaven When We’re Home”
23 Sunday Mar 2014
Posted crafting, Week in Photos
inTags
crafting, flowers, fruit trees, garden, home, music, photos, spring, Torah Stitch by Stitch, Train, week in photos
This gallery contains 7 photos.
15 Sunday Dec 2013
Tags
american film history, history, in the news, meryl streep, movies, music, oscars, peter o'toole, Richard Burton, Richard Harris, RIP, tribute, youtube
The film world lost one of the greats today. Peter O’Toole died quietly in a hospital at the age of 81. The online NPR report describes him as “a bit of a hellraiser” which is probably the nice way to put it. My mother described him as “living hard.” A comment I saw on the NPR report said he’s back with his fellow hellraisers – Richard Burton, Richard Harris, and Peter O’Toole are reunited now and it’s fun to think that they’re out there, somewhere, at a roaring great party celebrating their reunion.
Though O’Toole was one of the greats, he was also one of the great always-the-bridesmaid-never-the-bride of Academy Awards history. Always the nominee, but never the winner of that coveted statuette. In 2003, the Academy awarded him the Lifetime Achievement Award. The Academy showed its sense of humor by having the award presented to him by Meryl Streep, who holds the record for most Oscar nominations.
I’ve had the main theme from LAWRENCE OF ARABIA in my head since I saw the breaking news alert blowing up my social media feeds. That said, the man had an amazing career (and, to the end, one of the most fantastic pairs of blue eyes you’ll ever have the privilege of seeing). There’s the wickedly funny HOW TO STEAL A MILLION that places him as a cat burglar alongside Audrey Hepburn, and then there’s the emotional turmoil of BECKET and THE LION IN WINTER. He also clearly had fun in his recent turn as Pope Paul III in THE TUDORS. I admit, I try to forget that he was in CALIGULA (along with Helen Mirren, I might add). There’s MAN OF LA MANCHA, THE RULING CLASS, THE LAST EMPEROR, RATATOUILLE, and many, many others.
So pour yourself a glass of something fermented and enjoy a few videos I’ve found of one of the greatest actors in film history:
Best. Entrance. Ever.
apologies for the subtitles, but I wanted the whole clip.
15 Sunday Dec 2013
Posted Chanticleer, music, Week in Photos
in11 Sunday Aug 2013
Posted Photos, Week in Photos
in29 Saturday Jun 2013
Tags
american film history, Berenice Bejo, Colin Firth, comedy, drama, edward viii, entertainment, Gene Kelly, geoffrey rush, helena bonham-carter, history, Jean Dujardin, movies, music, oscars
The King’s Speech (Best Picture, 2010)
If you ask me, THE KING’S SPEECH is not just the best picture of 2010 but arguably the best film of the past ten years. It’s inspirational, moving, funny, and uncomfortable by turns. By the end of the film we are like those listening to the speech of the title, silently willing Bertie to make it through the announcement that England is at war with Germany.
One of the things I like about the film is the gentle but firm touch it has when handling the political upheaval. Even those not familiar with the problems surrounding Edward VIII and the subsequent crisis of his abdication are quickly aware that he is not really suited to the position created for him by tradition, culture, and world events. It’s not that he wouldn’t have been able to lead (at least, he was brought up to do so), but that he was fundamentally unsuitable for the time, place, and environment in which he was called upon to lead. Guy Pearce’s performance is nuanced, which is not always easy to do with a character who is unappealing in fiction and in history. On the other hand, the world should probably be grateful that Edward VIII was selfish enough to choose Wallis Simpson over his inherited duty. As a Nazi sympathizer, his kingship would have led the world in a very different direction in the 1930s and 1940s.
The film appeals in great part because of the portrayal of the three main characters. Bertie (Colin Firth) appeals to us because he is the quintessential reluctant leader, unaware of his own capability to lead and inspire, but forced by circumstance to step up. Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush) is a refreshing whiff of common sense. It’s appropriate that Lionel should be obsessed with Shakespeare, since Lionel speaks truth to power in much the same way that Shakespeare’s fools can. The Fool can tell the king what he needs to hear rather than what he wants to hear because of his position as a clown. And third, of course, is Elizabeth, Bertie’s wife, whose unflagging support for and protection of her husband is one of the reasons Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother was one of the most popular members of the royal family up to her death at age 101. It’s nice to see Helena Bonham-Carter in a non-crazy role to remind us that she’s a remarkably gifted actress capable of a variety of character types.
I must finally bring up the brilliant use of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 in A, Op. 92, Movement 2 in that final scene where Bertie delivers that important speech. Lionel stands silently before him as a sort of conductor. The music is sad and grand and full of determination, as is the speech, and the two perfectly fit together in their pacing. Bertie’s generation, having witnessed the horrors of WWI, were appalled at the idea that Hitler’s government would contemplate another massive conflict. Many were unwilling to believe it was possible. The broadcasted speech of George VI, announcing to the nation and the Commonwealth that they were once again at war with Germany was necessarily sad, grand, and full of determination.
The Artist (Best Picture, 2011)
It’s interesting to me that THE ARTIST is classified as a comedy, while actually THE KING’S SPEECH is funnier and yet still considered a drama. THE ARTIST has comedic moments, certainly, and it’s about actors trying to create comedic films, but I think it’s much closer to a drama.
I kind of wish this project had ended with THE ARTIST – 2011’s films included more than this one love letter to cinema. Think of HUGO, which also showed the destruction of careers that happened with the introduction of sound, and gloried in the extraordinary imagination of Georges Melies. Then there was the nod to GONE WITH THE WIND in THE HELP, and MY WEEK WITH MARILYN, about the filming of THE PRINCE AND THE SHOWGIRL.
THE ARTIST and THE KING’S SPEECH may not seem to go that well together at first glance, but they have a lot more in common than one might think. Both are about a public figure tossed by the waves of circumstance into an arena of sound that he does not understand. Both are about the end of an era. Bertie’s life and world changes fundamentally with the abdication of his older brother, while THE ARTIST’s George Valentin is shoved aside by a new technology, exacerbated by his own stubborn refusal to change his approach to work. Both Bertie and Valentin have to learn to set aside their pride and admit they need someone else’s help to succeed once again.
Maybe it’s the clothing of the era in which their similarly-themed films are set, but I can’t be the only one to notice the striking resemblance between Gene Kelly and Jean Dujardin. THE ARTIST is the dramatic version of SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN. In some ways it is a blend of SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN and the flashback sections of HUGO, in which Melies’ career collapses and he burns everything associated with his film studio, negatives included.
I’m trained as a librarian, archivist, and historian. It just about breaks my heart to think of all the films produced in the silent era that were destroyed by inattention or the devastation of this new world of sound. THE ARTIST has comical moments, for sure, but it should not be classified as a comedy. At most it’s a “dramedy” but really, it’s a drama with comedic moments. Just because a film contains a lot of people smiling and dancing in shiny dresses doesn’t mean it’s a comedy. Just because a film ends with the main characters happy again doesn’t mean it’s a comedy. To be a comedy it needs to be, y’know, funny. THE ARTIST is a heartbreaker.
Next Up: Argo (Best Picture, 2012)
08 Monday Apr 2013
I’d like to admit something that may come as a surprise, given my postings for National Poetry Month last year and this year.
I don’t read poetry. Not really. Other than a brief foray into Edmund Spenser’s “Faerie Queene” this fall and an equally short glance at Shakespeare’s sonnets a little further back, I haven’t sat down to read a poem since junior year of college when I read Seamus Heaney’s translation of “Beowulf.”
The poetry I encounter most comes with music attached. And so, for the rest of National Poetry Month, I’m going to post favorite song lyrics. Some were written to be songs from the start, while others began as traditional poems and found themselves set to music later on.
I’d like to begin with one of the latter type, a poem/song that is now often found in Jewish services and prayerbooks.
Hanna Szenes was a freedom fighter and partisan during World War II. In 1944 she and some compatriots parachuted into Yugoslavia to help rescue Hungarian Jews from being deported to Auschwitz. She was arrested at the Hungarian border, imprisoned, tortured, and eventually executed by firing squad. Her diaries and other writings have been published and some have been widely used, including the poem I’m featuring today. In fact, this poem is used to close some versions of SCHINDLER’S LIST.
אלי, אלי
Eli, Eli, Shelo yigamer l’olam:
Hachol v’hayam
Rishrush shel hamayim
B’rak hashamayim
T’filat ha’adam.
23 Saturday Mar 2013
Posted Archives and Libraries, Chanticleer, music, Thoughts
inTags
archives, ave maria, beautiful, biebl, Chanticleer, determination, hope, music, twitter, youtube
When I was little and people asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I only ever had two responses. When I was very small, I said I wanted to be an artist. That ended when I discovered that I really don’t have any drawing talent. And yes, I know there are other kinds of artists. At age 6 that was pretty much a dealbreaker.
As I got older, I said I wanted to teach. The kind of teaching changed every few years. It’s only been in the past six years that I realized I said I wanted to teach for one reason: I’ve never been able to envision myself outside of school. Other kids said they wanted to be doctors, lawyers, athletes, writers, musicians… I simply found it impossible to imagine myself in a situation that didn’t involve education.
There have been times in the past year when I wondered if I went to library school for the same reason, that I just couldn’t imagine myself outside of school but since I don’t want to teach, the library is the logical choice. Maybe that’s true, but it’s also true that I have an aptitude for the work involved in the daily functions of an academic library or archives.
This year one thing has kept me determined to finish the MLIS degree. This project has continually reminded me that I’m good at this, and that I like it. The classes involved in a library degree may not always hold my attention, they may seem to have questionable relevance, or they may be based entirely on theoretical propositions. The practical, hands-on work, though. I’m good at that, and I like it, which is even better.
The project to which I refer started with a promotion on Twitter. Last summer, I emailed in time and won a pair of free tickets to a Chanticleer concert at Mission Santa Clara. I had to arrive early to pick them up from will call, and while waiting for the concert to begin, I was approached by someone who identified herself as Chanticleer’s new development director. In the course of the conversation, I asked jokingly if the group was looking for a librarian.
A few weeks later I got this email:
Greetings,
You can imagine how excited I was at the chance to work directly for a choir organization I had worshiped from afar for so long!
I ended up as a designer of the Memory Lane exhibit at the 35th Anniversary Gala for Chanticleer, which took place last night. I wasn’t the sole designer – I’d say Joe, my primary contact at Chanticleer deserves a massive amount of the credit – but my part was not insignificant.
Of course there were frustrating times. I was working on this from a thousand miles away, so I had no access to the materials and anything I sent out went off into the blue yonder. And the project went through several iterations of scope, scale, and layout before we ended up with the final result.
But yesterday, putting everything together and up on the walls at the San Francisco Music Conservatory, I felt nothing but pride in the accomplishment. An idea I’d had in the summer turned out to be the primary focus for the exhibit, and the physical layout of that part was (almost) entirely done by me.
On one wall we posted a world map with dots stuck on all the places Chanticleer has toured, surrounded by magnetic poetry-style statistics (110 men, 3 women, 1 million records sold, etc.), and tour posters from around the world and through the years.
My idea, however, covered three walls. In previous anniversaries, Chanticleer has turned to the music critics and the regular audience members for testimonials. This time, I suggested, ask the singers. Get their stories, their memories, their favorite moments of chaos or perfection. Get their insight into what it means to be part of Chanticleer.
So that’s what we did. We ended up with about a dozen stories that encompassed a wonderful variety of eras and themes, from accidentally setting stage curtains on fire, to tour bus breakdowns, to those shimmering moments of musical perfection that reduce an audience to silent tears. And scattered among the stories I posted photographs at random, not labeled or captioned. I love the power that a simple photograph can have, and adding text to them seemed like it would diminish the effect. It was like a montage, mixing up the years and the groups, mixing the serious photos of performing, teaching, and rehearsing with less formal ones that show the close bonds between these talented men. One of my favorites is a recent photograph, a little blurry, from the last concert of a Christmas season. Clearly punchy with exhaustion and euphoria, a group of men cluster around a scrawny Christmas tree decorated with green room rubbish, like soda cans and M&M wrappers.
The concert portion of the evening ended with the current group inviting all alumni to the stage to join them in what has become a signature piece: Franz Biebl’s “Ave Maria.” It wasn’t anywhere close to the full 110 Chanticleer singers over the years, but the swelled ranks maybe added up to 30 or 40 men.
As they sang, the delicate harmonies made more vibrant and clear by the added voices, I found myself remembering the months of research and work. I remembered lists of names, dates, and voice parts. I thought about the fat binders bulging with carefully labeled concert programs dating back to the late 1970s. I remembered the piles of unidentified, unsorted photographs and those silent, motionless faces captured on film.
It sounds like I’m romanticizing, but I’m really not. I sat there, listening to the music swell with longing and devotion, and in my mind names and images flicked past, almost too fast to see. And I admit that at the end of the piece my eyes were watery and my throat was tight.
A lot of people thanked me effusively for my work and what I helped to create last night, but I felt as though I ought to thank them. Chanticleer helped me hold onto the love of singing since I started high school, and in the past year they also helped me hold onto the reason for my current path.
I wish they had the funding to take on a full-time archivist. I feel like I could do some good there. Whether I ever return or not, though, they gave me a wonderful gift, and I’m sad that it’s over.