Film – Page 8 – Don't Gel Too Soon

ATONEMENT: THE MOVIE

Have you seen Atonement? It’s haunting me. I’m not going to offer a full-on discussion – we’re leaving for San Francisco in the morning and have to get up at 4ish so this is a quick consideration. It’s one of the most beautiful films I remember in a long time, intelligent and sad. The ending is annoying but inevitable. I’m a World War II freak though – the heroism of the British has a always particularly attracted me. I have friends who always remind me of how much more the Russians suffered and how much less credit they get, but you still have to admire the strength of those suffering the Blitz for so long.

So go see it. See for yourself. Think about the universal participation – rich girls in nurses uniforms, maids and chauffeurs joining peers and poets at war. It’s at least worth going for its exploration of those times. Post here if you feel like it; I’d like to know how others feel.

Meanwhile we leave in the morning for San Francisco to see the boys and their friends. Back New Year’s Eve. For word from the city by the bay, watch this space.

HOW WE LOOK TO THE ARAB WORLD: CONTROL ROOM AND AL JAZEERA

OK so I’m three years late. Thursday morning I watched CONTROL ROOM, the 2004 documentary about the Al Jazeera news network. Only it’s not really about Al Jazeera, it’s about perceptions of the United States. About the early days of the Iraq war and how they looked through the eyes of the most watched network in the Arab world. And it’s pretty disturbing. As the New York Times said "Whatever your opinions about the war, the conduct of the journalists
who covered it and the role of Al Jazeera in that coverage, you are
likely to emerge from ”Control Room” touched, exhilarated and a
little off-balance, with your certainties scrambled and your
assumptions shaken."

Precisely. Many Al Jazeera staffers speak English. They’re articulate and thoughtful — and angry. Think about it this way: remember how it felt to see American soldiers dragged through the streets of Mogadishu or to follow the captivity of Jessica Lynch and her fellow war prisoners? Listening to interviews with reporters and translators from Al Jazeera is like listening to American journalists who had to film that horrible day; they are deeply in pain, angry and scornful of the declared mission.

Dominant within the film are likeable American spokespeople who just don’t have the words or perceptions to get past that rage. Nobody really looks like a villain – just naive. One in particular:
Lt. Josh Rushing, a young Texas Marine serving as a liaison officer. He became a "star" in reviews of the film, was then forbidden by the service to speak about the war, and left the Marine Corps to work for — Al Jazeera English. You can see the relationships growing, and the struggle of this basically decent young man to represent his country and be truthful and honorable.

The toughest part of the film for me, after all my years as a journalist, was the death of one of the Al Jazeera journalists hit by an American rocket. The tears in the eyes of the staff and crew brought back memories of lost reporters during Vietnam, and a camera crew lost in a helicopter crash when I worked at CBS. We’d met the dead journalist earlier, joking about how hard it would be to work in a flak jacket and helmet. There was sadness for him, and an awareness that events like this would only raise the level of hostility within much of the network’s staff.

As I watched, charmed and provoked by the comments of what essentially felt like my peers and colleagues, yet with a perspective I did not share, I was as unsettled as that Times review promised. These people speak to the entire Arab world and there are some real haters there and yes they run the statements of Bin Laden and more, but there are issues past that. In addition to their power and reach, many share great portions of our values and ideas. One wants to come to the US and move his kids from "the Arab nightmare" to "the American Dream." Another rages at the looting in the streets of Baghdad – predicting that zealots will push all moderates out – that "people like me" will have no place in the Arab world.

In other words, beyond the basic fact that Al Jazeera broadcasts much that is contrary to the best interests of our country and probably to my well-being as Jewish person, there lies another set of facts. All that we feel and shout to one another in newsrooms and control rooms here in the US, our assumptions and common ground – there’s another huge universe out there that we need to understand – who don’t automatically share our values – at least not all of them. And if we don’t learn how to deal with them, their assumptions and anger and dreams, we face a journey that will make our days in Iraq seem simple indeed. Here’s a preview:

I LOVE LA — NO, REALLY

I’m sitting right here – next to the pool, at the Mosaic Hotel in Beverly Hills, where we’ve been coming for years. What a treat to be writing outside in December. The whole time I lived here I complained – about the lack of "intellectual rigor", about the meanness of Hollywood (which, by the way, makes Washington politicians look like amateurs), about the lack of autumn foliage, about the spoiled kids and on and on. I guess I still think a lot of those things, but when we drive in from the airport, passing all the pastel buildings, the sun shining, the air balmy and gentle – I remember the good things. Maybe our East Coast weather builds character and a grounding in reality but this really is lovely. At least for visiting.

It’s also different to come to LA as an observant Jew. Orthodox Jews are a parallel universe – something like Harry Potter compared to the Muggles. It’s a culture with, by necessity, many of its own institutions, the strengths of which are determined largely by the size of the community. LA has lots of observant and formally Orthodox Jews so there’s a spectrum of services — and standards. Yeshiva girls in sweatshirts and leggings, every kind of kosher restaurant, schools, and of course, shuls. Here’s little bit of what we’ve seen in the couple of hours we’ve been here on this trip.

This is B’nai David Judea, a modern Orthodox congregation on Pico near Robertson, in the heart of the Orthodox community. We’ve been to services there a couple of times on Shabbat – it’s a lovely community and a beautiful sanctuary – and the congregation is young, hip, and in many cases, Hollywood.

Just a block away there are several kosher groceries and delis. Here’s one.

And these guys – they’re the backbone of Jeff’s Gourmet Kosher sausage. We’re taking lots home to our friends – there’s nothing like it near us.

And this — this is a real, live, kosher Subway! Not too shabby.

There’s more to LA than the stereotypes that were our reality when we lived here. Lots that’s nice. Sadly, the ugliness and banality conceals much of it; only after a long absence (and perhaps the added perspective of a religious community) that I, at least, have been able to see both sides. So bring it on Randy Newman — it’s a great song.

AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH AND OUR FUTURE

OK. So I’m way behind a lot of people – including the Oscars voters, in finally seeing Al Gore’s An Inconvenient Truth. It’s a horrifying presentation, scary and fascinating. As a video producer I’m knocked out by the craft that makes such a dry topic so interesting. As some one who’s always been politically involved, I’m mortified that this film still needs to exist and bewildered that I haven’t been more drawn into this issue. It sounds crazy, but I’ve always been so obsessed with human rights and civil rights, education and integration, war peace and poverty, that I kind of left all this to someone else.

You can’t watch this film, though, and remain untouched. A friend says that the research is too new, that other "natural" phenomena come in cycles and that we haven’t had time to be certain that this is not just part of the next one. I respect this woman enormously but I watched this film, thinking of her, and of the power of modern technology compared to the "natural" impact that generated previous cycles and I can’t make myself believe that this isn’t an emergency.

I read a lot of science fiction, and much of it is dark and apocalyptic. Resource wars, water wars, data wars — it is the future that causes the pain. But it’s also the future that’s made by us – and if even half of this film is true, we are permitting what appears to be a horrific future to emerge, despite our ability to prevent it. I’ve followed Al Gore a long time. I remember his honorable environmental advocacy all the way back to his days in the House. He’s for real, using his position in the world to turn this huge air craft carrier of an issue around. In his film, he uses the history of the smoking issue (More Doctors Smoke Camels ads that ran just after the first Surgeon General’s Report) ont he dangers of snoking, to prove that we can change minds.

He’s won the Nobel Peace Prize for his commitment and impact. Some say the Nobel committee is just poliical and that this is a lefty-gesture. But I say hats off. Where else do we have political leaders consistently leading on an issue that has no personal reward, where the only "up side" is that we might stop cooking our planet? I haven’t seen any latery.

REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST – TOM JONES AND SO MUCH MORE

Not to be too obscure here but think about this: Marcel Proust’s REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST was inspired by the scent of one cookie (a fancy one called a Madeline.) Sense memory is a powerful thing.

I saw Tom Jones 44 years ago, with my high school “film club.” The club was just 6 seniors and our creative writing teacher. Our mill town high school wasn’t a culture haven but this young teacher was. He handwrote Irwin Shaw short stories onto “ditto sheets” because there was no budget for the books, started a literary magazine (I was the editor, naturally) took us to Shakespeare performances and — started the film club. At first we rented films (screened on a projector in his classroom) and then moved on to evening journeys “downtown” to local art houses. We saw LA STRADA and THE SEVENTH SEAL, SUNDAYS AND CYBELE and SHOOT THE PIANO PLAYER — and TOM JONES. The films were so intelligent, so clearly different from the “movies” we saw on our own; the theaters served espresso and everyone was smoking. How sophisticated we felt!

This morning as I watched this nearly half-century old film – still funny and charming even though the playful sexual innuendo recalls a more tender time, that 18-year-old girl I’d been came back – all of her. I didn’t know whether to be sad — miss all that I was then – all that’s changed — lost — or just plain passed – or to be grateful for the remarkable kaleidoscope of experiences that my life has been. From the adventure of a 36 year old marriage to the joy of raising two of the most spectacular young men on the planet to presences at royal weddings and presidential inaugurations, travel all over the world and great music experiences to a gentle childhood with talents acknowledged and appreciated to memorable private moments at weddings, bar mitzvahs, graduations and other celebrations with family and friends, a lot has contributed to the wiser woman I am today. I know there’s no way to live the life I’ve lived – or any other – without losing some of the shiny stuff of youth but even so it’s a shock when awareness of those losses lands on you in the middle of an unambiguously optimistic movie 44 years old.

Here’s what I think: there isn’t a person on the planet (despite Edith Piaf) who has no regrets. Recalling days that seem idyllic is a privilege – many haven’t got many to recall. Sadness about the joys of the past emerges only from an accumulated reservoir of happiness that is a blessing in itself. As Auntie Mame used to say “Life is a banquet, and most poor sons of bitches are starving to death.” My sisters and I swore we would live by that.

I’ve tried – and I’m still trying. That’s why this blog is called Don’t Gel Too Soon. Wherever that 18 year old film fiend has gone, parts of her are still part of me – informing and enlivening the person I’ve become. The real challenge in this portion of my life is to hang onto the enthusiasm and curiosity of those years – never freezing in place. The last line in Tom Jones, one of my favorite anywhere, was written by John Dryden – way before movies or even radio. It still works though, and I offer its wisdom for us all. “Happy the man, and happy he alone, he who can call today his own; he who, secure within, can say, tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.”

BONNIE AND CLYDE, VIOLENCE AND TIME PASSING

Last Sunday the New York Times reminded us that Bonnie and Clyde, a film seared behind the eyelids of people like me, is 40 years old. I remember it particularly because just after I saw it, I went to a 21st birthday dinner for a friend at her uncle’s home on Park Avenue in Manhattan. I was new to such places then, and, despite my anti-war lefty politics, both thrilled and intimidated – particularly because her uncle was a writer of some renown. For a college senior, it was another experience milestone.

Along with most of adult America, our host had been appalled at the violence of the film. We, on the other hand, argued that the film was an accurate metaphor for the violence in Vietnam; a social comment that spoke deeply to all of us. The argument was long, fierce and audacious — and, of course, unresolved. I haven’t seen the film in many years and am curious how I would react.

I’ve become a lot more sensitive to visual violence as I’ve raised my sons. Beverly Hills Cop was released when my younger son was five. His big brother was nine and really wanted to see it; since we hated leaving Dan behind, he came too. Do you remember the ending? It was a gun battle too but multiples more gory and violent than Bonnie and Clyde ever dreamt of being. The worst part? My son was upset, yes, but the audience barely reacted – and many cheered. Film and TV violence in the years between 1967 and 1984 had escalated slowly, right in front of us – and we had barely noticed. That progression has continued.

It’s a creepy dilemma. I’m a true romantic who revels in love stories like Bull Durham (1988) and Shakespeare in Love (1998), oldies like Now, Voyager (1942) and two I’ve written about before, The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947)and Rebbecca (1940) as well as decade-old satires like Wag the Dog (1997)and Warren Beatty’s (aka Clyde’s) masterpiece Bulworth (1998). But another of my favorite films is Pulp Fiction (1994)- steeped in violence, much of it random. Silence of the Lambs, too. And of course, The Godfather Trilogy (1972, 1974, 1990) None of these, and other more "realistically violent" films, would have been possible before Arthur Penn brought Bonnie and Clyde to life.

My protective instincts as a mother and activist clash with my respect for the vision of the artist and the gifts those visions can bring to the rest of us. This isn’t a new conversation of course, any more than it was new in 1967. It’s been going on as long as artists have. What’s different this time is that I was a kid when Bonnie and Clyde slammed into our lives; now I’m at least the age of that angry uncle. I know a lot more and that colors how I look at things I don’t know.

I named this blog Don’t Gel Too Soon because I struggle to stay open – available to understand, to appreciate, that which comes next, and to remember that no matter how lovely the lovely there’s more to life than that. And that, after all, if someone doesn’t help us to see it, we can’t join together to change it.

The 50s, TV, The Company and The Hungarian Uprising

I was ten in 1956, when the people of Hungary rose up to end the Russian occupation. It was a rout – and they remained under Communist domination until the fall of the Berlin Wall. It’s difficult to explain now just how scary it was to hear of these heroic people crushed in the streets, and, for a child, difficult to place. Could it happen to me? To my family? How did the Russians get there? Why did they care what people did in Hungary?

A couple of years later a local church group sponsored a Hungarian family’s move to the US and their son, our age and pretty good at speaking English, came to dinner at the home of my friend Lois and spoke to a group of us – maybe it was our Girl Scout troop; maybe just a bunch of girlfriends – I’m not sure. He was dramatic and dignified and so happy to be there. Listening to him and the stories of those he’d left behind was a haunting experience – especially in the mind of a romantic politicized 13 year old mad for JFK.

I hadn’t thought about any of this in years, but this summer TNT brings us The Company – a history of the CIA — and of the Hungarian tragedy of 1956. From the perspective of 50 years it’s still so sad, even through the gauze of TV melodrama – and the freedom and prosperity of Hungary today doesn’t mitigate much.

I’ve kept my eye on what happened in the East since then. We took our kids through Czechoslovakia and East Germany while they were still behind the Iron Curtain. We couldn’t get the boys dry socks after a heavy rain because, as the storekeeper told us “we don’t have socks today.” We gave all our Bruce Springsteen tapes to our guide; each one would have cost him a month’s pay on the black market.

I’ve even been to Pottsdam. That photo on the left is the bridge where spies were exchanged during the days of the Cold War. So it’s not like I don’t know what happened historically. Once in a while though the recreation of reality, even with Hollywood gloss, slams me back where I was for a little while.

That’s all – I’ve been sitting here trying to think of a real ending for this – and I can’t — no massive summary available. Good night.

BACK TO MANDERLAY WITH REBECCA AND JANE EYRE

OK so this movie was made in 1940 — way before I was even born! I read the book in 9th or 10th grade and saw the movie a couple of times late a night and probably with my sisters, pretzels and mustard. And commercials. Even so it had a profound effect on me then – and, apparently, now.

It’s on TCM — I usually have the TV on when I’m working. But I keep having to go back and forth between Rebecca and Angel – ANgel for God’s sake! — because it’s just about unbearable. This poor girl (she doesn’t even get a name – just "the second Mrs. deWinter) is a mouse – pathetic and scared. Everything she does is a mistake. Right now she’s begging her new husband for a costume ball like the ones Rebecca used to hold — I had to turn it off. I know she’s going to wear Rebecca’s costume — know what will happen – and I, of course, unlike Joan Fontaine, know the truth about the witchy, Rebecca herself. I can still see the flames — oh but I don’t want to tell you the ending — maybe you’ll see it yourself some day with your stomach in your mouth in mortification for this poor girl.

As I was writing this I realized that there’s another romantic tale — from a Bronte 100 years earlier – where the ending involves a fire; it’s another book I loved – made into a film – Jane Eyre. Wikipedia says there were 5 silent film versions and have been 10 film versions (they count Rebecca in that – apparently it was a "tribute" based on Jane Eyre so I guess this comparison isn’t very original, alas) and 7 TV versions. Another mousy dreamer – another poor girl making her own way (maybe with more of a spine though), another strong, angry man with a deep painful secret. How embarrassing that I still love both stories – remember where I sat when I first read each book and can’t quite avoid either film when it pops up on TV.

Rebecca may not have – as Maxim deWinter so desperately feared – "won in the end" but her successor – and Jane – won my heart long ago and I guess there’s no point in fighting it. Always, always, the phrase "last night I dreamed I went to Manderlay again" will strike images and memories of my days as a dreamy girl whose literary journeys to great but unhappy mansions and great but horribly haunted love affairs were such perfect gifts.

HILLARY, THE TONKIN GULF AND 1984

OK, those folks who run TypePad and YouTube haven’t found a way to add this blog host to automatic video posting so I’m hooking a link in right here so you can watch this. I can’t decide what I think – it’s funny and clever and a perfect definition of a mashup but it’s also mean and off-mark. While many, including many feminists, have issues with Senator Clinton – this 1984/Apple Commercial version isn’t representative of most of them. Accusations of opportunism and flabbiness on the war are not the same as totalitarianism. True, she voted for the Patriot Act, but so did all but two Senators – and one of them didn’t vote at all!

Now, I remind myself – we still remember who voted against the Tonkin Gulf Resolution (Senators Wayne Morse of Oregon and Ernest Gruening of Alaska) and that was in 1964 so maybe this vote will last too. Anyway, I don’t know where I’ll land politically this year – I’m really just thinking about the power of the kinds of media manipulation (in the technical sense) that are possible today. How will we ever help newer voters figure out how to determine the truth? Are they so much more evolved than we are in a media sense that we needn’t worry, or is the dismal lack of critical thinking work in current No Child Left Behind education going to affect how people think in the voting booth as well as our educational standing in the world?

Thoughts?

BLAME IT ON THE ROLLING STONES

Here I am, working in my office with the TV on for company. It’s behind me on a filing cabinet so mostly I’m really listening. And I hear "Christmas, Christmas time is here, time for joy and time for cheer…" It’s Alvin and the Chipmunks – the sped-up voices singing every December since I was in junior high – and they’re singing now because they accompany the opening credits of ALMOST FAMOUS — Cameron Crowe’s wonderful film about an aspiring rock journalist who wrote for ROLLING STONE, and it has emerged on TBS.

Immediately I’m transported back to the "community room" of Thomas Jefferson High School on Route 51, 6 miles south of Pittsburgh. Sock hops. Standing along the wall waiting for someone to ask you to dance. Crying in the girls’ room when they didn’t. Driving around for hours in Barbara Morton’s dad’s convertible listening to our "Daddio of the Raddio" Porky Chedwick.

Beyond it all, the transporting power of the music. It’s actually kind of weird; this week I was in a Torah class studying ancient rules about when men are, or are not, permitted to listen to a woman’s voice. The rules are very different for the singing voice than for the speaking voice. Yeah – both of them are a bit peculiar but it is fascinating that as long as people (mostly men) have been thinking about these things. they’ve been aware of the power of music to distract, seduce, inspire and arouse.

However disturbing it may be to learn that our long-ago sisters, in all cultures, not just Jewish ones, were isolated because of the perceived dangers of what might arise between women and men if relationships were allowed to emerge, they weren’t wrong about the underlying power of the music.

The theory — at least one — was that listening to a woman’s voice, asking how she is, even, could lead to dangerous interactions. I’m not here right now to discuss this topic, but to observe that as long as man has been making music it has been seen as dangerous and seductive.

Nothing too profound, but it’s Saturday night. What do you want?