REDS, WARREN BEATTY, REVOLUTIONS AND HISTORY

Yesterday I promised to write regularly about that infamous year, 1968, from the perspective of the forty years that have passed. I was there for so much of it and have wanted to re-think it for some time but could never seem to face it in its entirety. Among other things, it’s the year I graduated from college. And worked in the McCarthy campaign. And was present at the Chicago "police riot" at the Democratic Convention. I’m going to do it – I promise.

But last night’s insomnia led to the two of us watching Reds, Warren Beatty’s remarkable film about John Reed, Louise Bryant, Greenwich Village radicals, Eugene O’Neill, Emma Goldman and left wing intellectual life before and during World War I.
At the end of what was, in the theaters, the first act, there’s a wonderful montage. John Reed (Warren Beatty) gives an impassioned speech, revolutionaries begin to sing the "Internationale" and the film cuts between scenes of political passions and those of the passions, both physical and intellectual, between Reed and Louise Bryant. To me, it’s the perfect metaphor for our lives in 1968 — shared political passions even with the most intense of lovers – inextricably combined with personal passions intensified by the sadness, rage and sense of mission brought on by events – in their case the attempt to build a "workers paradise" in Russia, on ours, the war in Vietnam. The YouTube clip of this beautiful five minutes won’t post outside YouTube – it’s been blocked, but you can see it here. In the meantime, watch the trailer and think about what it’s like when life, love and politics intersect with such precision.

Reds – Reds

Posted Apr 30, 2002

Warren Beatty’s award winning epic mixes drama and interviews with major social radicals of the period. "Reds" tells the story of the love affair between activists Louise Bryant and John Reed. Set against the backdrop of the tumultuous start of the twentieth century, the two journalists’ on-again off-again romance is punctuated by the outbreak of WWI and the Bolshevik Revolution. Louise’s assignment in France at the outbreak of the war puts an end to their affair. John Reed’s subsequent trip to Russia

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:

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.

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.

JULES, JIM AND ME

I was 19 the first time I saw Jules and Jim. French New Wave films, especially those by the wondrous François Truffaut, were almost mystically revered by “intellectual” college students who hung out in art houses that served coffee and would have chained the doors shut rather than screen English language films (except for British New Wave, of course — or something like Zorba the Greek.) I remember loving the rebelliousness of the three of them: the amazing friendship between Jules and Jim; the disruptive but liberating presence of Catherine. She defied gender stereotypes, conventions of behavior and all other societal bonds. It was thrilling.

As I watched it tonight though, I realized that somehow I had missed the entire second half: the disintegration of the relationships, the selfish, destructive manipulations by the glamorous Catherine and even more interesting, the dominance, over all, of the friendship between the two men. As the narrator tells us, “Jules and Jim’s friendship had no equivalent in love.” Although both men loved Catherine, desperately, and lost so much because of her over the years, the truest, most enduring love was between the two of them. It’s also so interesting that they were German (Jules) and French (Jim) and that their friendship survived the horrors of the Great War though they fought on opposite sides. It’s particularly interesting since Truffaut lived in German-occupied France during World War II.

I guess watching the story at different points in one’s life is in many ways like it was for the three of them, living it. How we see life and what it brings us changes over time. If we are lucky, our early days permit the intoxication of rebellion and challenge of authority. If we continue to be lucky, none of those acts of rebellion does the kind of permanent damage that came to Jules, Jim and the woman they loved. And if we’re very lucky, blessed as I feel blessed, as those later days emerge, we recall what came before with amusement, affection and a joy tempered by rueful wisdom. That’s why this film – a completely different experience in 2007 from what it seemed to be 1965- is still such a gift. That’s why it will continue to matter. That is why, when mentioned among people my age, the response is a sigh and a smile. We’ve learned a bit about living and managed not to drive off into the river but, instead, to apply our hard-earned wisdom to keeping the car on road.

ME AND MRS. MUIR

When I was one year old, Joseph L. Mankiewicz directed Gene Tierney and Rex Harrison (and a very young Natalie Wood) starred in a movie about a spirited widow who falls in love with the ghost of a sea captain. Set in the captain’s seaside cottage high on a bluff, it was wonderful – romantic but in a very modern way. His efforts to “haunt” her until she fled failed because she just didn’t scare easily — which made her very attractive to him (of course it didn’t hurt that she was Gene Tierney beautiful) and his gritty honesty and love of life enchanted her.
I can’t remember the first time I saw The Ghost and Mrs. Muir – it’s so much a part of me – and of memories of sitting up in the middle of the night, on the old sofabed in the room where the TV was, watching it with my sisters and a plate of pretzels and mustard — that it seems as much a part of me as they are. This morning at about 6, I woke up and found it just beginning on HBO.
What a joy for a Sunday morning! Fifty-nine years after this film was made, it’s more timely than many of the most modern of today; the woman so determined to be independent, the man who loves her loving her for that very quality. Of course there’s the rest – the almost disatrous marriage, the help the Captain gives her when she runs out of money – but basically they were two remarkable people on different sides of the veil – yet with more in common and more of a respect for one another than many film couples who are both alive.
So find it on HBO before the month is out or get ahold of it some other way. It’s a wonderful journey to a time and sense of place that valued love and respect between men and women (alive OR dead) and a perfect film to watch with someone you love – lover, husband, son or daughter. You’ll both be happy by the end of it — if a little weepy – and you’ll have so very much to talk about!