Falconridge

[Kreed]

At which Claremont uni do you teach film? I loved that town. We went
to see Drucker etc but, as I said, no deal came of it. But we were taken
around & had dinner in your quaint village.

[falconridge]

At which Claremont uni do you teach film? I loved that town. We went
to see Drucker etc but, as I said, no deal came of it. But we were taken
around & had dinner in your quaint village.
I'm flattered that you'd think me qualified to teach film--or anything else, for that matter. Actually, I have only two letters, "B" and "A," after my name; consequently, I'm not, strictly (or even broadly) speaking, a member of the faculty. My position is that of a fairly low-level operative: assistant director of a humanities institute--not exactly honest work, but with my wife chipping in, it pays most of the bills. My duties are those of a general factotum, which is to say, whatever the director doesn't care to do, and anything that's too important to entrust to students (which is just about everything). My home institution, of which I am also an alumnus (though, considering my interests, a most improbable one), is Claremont McKenna College--generally known for its strong Government and Economics curriculum, and not considered a haven for the humanities (though it's always had a strong literature department; and the consortium agreement of the Claremont Colleges, the campuses of which are physically contiguous, has always made for ample opportunities for those interested in music, art, drama, philosophy, languages, undsoweiter.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, one of my charges is organizing a weekly film series. Theoretically, faculty select most of the fare, and introduce each film with some brief prefatory remarks that locate said movie within historical, cinematic, cultural, social, or political context. Fortunately or unfortunately, most of that usually falls to me. The time and trouble required is out of all proportion to the audience we draw. Last week, for example, for Michael Caton-Jones's Scandal (1989), only nine or ten turned out for the screening. Still, it's gratifying when the "fit audience though few" comes away having learned something.

I'm expecting a substantially bigger turnout for this Thursday's film, The Cincinnati Kid (again, not a "bio-pic" on our friend and colleague Overlay). Next week: Robert Altman's Gosford Park, a worthy choice, though not mine.

[Overlay]

Will the locals be treated to Russ Meyer's Vixen in McKenna Auditorium again any time soon? ("I'm here as your host and guide -- not your alternate stud. Button up, Miss!")

[falconridge]

Will the locals be treated to Russ Meyer's Vixen in McKenna Auditorium again any time soon? ("I'm here as your host and guide -- not your alternate stud. Button up, Miss!")
Excellent idea! Maybe we could pair that classic with Reefer Madness or Up in Smoke, and bill our double feature "Stroke 'n' Toke Night." Now, that would put asses in the seats. Perhaps you could serve as our host and guide?

Puts me in mind of the time I visited an independent video rental emporium. Being an adult, I moved immediately to the section so designated. And, as an unabashed admirer of the filmography of Tom Cruise, and being in the mood to take in a gauche, implausible adaptation of an execrable novel (there's another kind?) by John Grisham, I reached for a VHS cassette labelled Firm. (Who pays attention to the definite article, anyway? Poseidon Adventure, The Poseidon Adventure--who'd notice?) Imagine my shock at discovering that the actor who'd done such marvelous work in Cocktail appeared in not so much as a frame of this tawdry knockoff--though Firm does take place within the law offices of a corporation called, I think, Handcock & Longfellow. Said corporation advertised many openings, though within a few minutes (say it with me, toetoe), they were all filled. I was so disgusted that, with my free hand, I hurled the empty cassette box at the screen, and didn't even wait to see the outcome (upshot?) of Peter North's third-degree with Anna Malle and Sid Deuce. Caveat emptor, indeed!

Falcon C. Holmes

[falconridge]

Will the locals be treated to Russ Meyer's Vixen in McKenna Auditorium again any time soon? ("I'm here as your host and guide -- not your alternate stud. Button up, Miss!")
Who could ever forget the titular star of Russ Meyer's Vixen, the lovely Erica Gavin? When I say "lovely," I mean it, notwithstanding the heavy mascara and the the trowel-applied ersatz eyebrows that often remind me of how one of Jim Bouton's teammates, in Ball Four, described an especially vampish Baseball Annie: "Sort of like Joe Torre with t*ts." Or was that t**ts? No matter. Though critics panned her acting and opined that hers was not a sympathetic character, I have palpable evidence that, at least as far as the latter is concerned, Erica's detractors were dead wrong. My refutation? If Vixen didn't earn our affection and esteem, explain why, throughout the film (and even more so afterwards), I found myself pulling for her! Well ... ?

Not the least bit attracted to Joe Torre,

Falconrub
Host, Guide, Alternate Stud

[betchatoo]

Actually my favorite of the Russ Meyer genre was "Beyond the Valley of the Dolls." I think Roger Ebert wrote part of the script

[toetoe]

The firm's name -- Havecock & Wilcomb;

The 'actor's' flack-Sid;

Sid's favorite way of reaching starlets -- giving a jiggle;

Thespians' best appraisal of work -- boring.

Toetoe must admit to a huge boner. I attributed a story, later turned into a film, by Morcecai Richler, to one Saul Bellow. 'The Apprenticeship Of Duddy Kravitz' does indeed have that latter-day American 'shtetl' thing goin' on, but my first clue of my own phallicability should come when I read that 'Duddy' is set in Montreal, as opposed to Bellow's Chicago.

Now, to tie it all together with Ridge's crack about 'inserts', how about 'Inserts', starring Richard Dreyfuss of 'Duddy' fame.

Apropos of nothing, four stars for 'The Silence Of The Lambs' and several of the individual performances. Ted Levine as the 'muleskinner' was fabulous, and his range is huge --- he plays the police captain(?) on MONK.

[falconridge]

Toetoe must admit to a huge boner. I attributed a story, later turned into a film, by Morcecai Richler, to one Saul Bellow. 'The Apprenticeship Of Duddy Kravitz' ...
NOTA BENA: Sorry to issue this disclaimer, but I fear that even our sophisticated PA community could harbor some evil-minded deviants who may be susceptible to unfortunate misconstruction of toetoe's use of the term "boner." If it occurred to you that our colleague was referring to anything other than his having confused Mordecai Richler with Saul Bellow, banish that naughty notion.

Though toetoe describes his boner as "huge," it really doesn't stand out enough that it should leave anybody agape. In fact, not only do I think I understand why he pulled it, but am glad that he pulled it, because it got me to thinking again about a great writer who, since his death, has been (as Mark Steyn put it) ungenerously conscripted into the ranks of "Canadian novelists."

I was disappointed with most of the notices I read, in both the popular and the more high-minded press, of Richler's death in 2001. Steyn, whose perceptive appraisal graced the pages of The New Criterion, was a notable exception to the lit'ry undertakers who heaped shovelfuls of damningly pale plaudits on Richler. Richler often made sport of the stunted Canadian nationalism that made many of his countrymen, as he put it, "world famous in Canada." His unalloyed brass made him many enemies, and earned him the epithet "politically incorrect" decades before that phrase was coined. The word "Richleriano," Steyn tells us, has become synonymous with "politically incorrect" in Italy, one of many places other than Canada in which Richler is (or was) "world famous."

Sadly, Richler became a pariah in his native Montreal, and an object of scorn--and worse--throughout Francophone Quebec. The xenophobic, often racist lunacy of Parti Quebecois separatism posed almost too easy a target--but one that Richler lustily blasted to smithereens with his satiric salvos.

One famous example of the kind of oppressive triviality that infects Quebec--and has been known to lay eggs under the skin of those who live south of the 49th parallel--is the Office de Langue Francaise's rigorous enforcement of the Quebec statute prohibiting the use of English words more than half the size of the accompanying French words that appear in advertisements, roads signs, businesses, and buildings in La Belle Province. When, some 20 years ago, I visited an old girlfriend in Montreal, I was surprised to see the cavalier, see-no-evil attitude of the gendarmes who patrolled Parc LaFontaine, a notorious hangout for junkies and women and men of easy virtue. In the following morning's edition of Le Journal, however, I found a photo of a division of Montreal's finest posing beside a cache of recently impounded contraban--a supply cabinet-ful of unused "Dunkin Donuts" bags. Some bust, eh?

The last time I spoke with the Quebecoise cherie, in 1995, I happened to mention Richler, whose Joshua: Then and Now I'd been inspired to read after seeing the movie (starring James Woods, in a typically fine performance) based thereon. The mere mention of the author's name evoked such vitriol that I dropped the subject faster than Billy Patin ditched the buzzer he'd used on Valhol. Though she knew better, and in fact speaks English perfectly well, she wouldn't even countenance the correct pronunciation of Richler's name. "Mawd-keh Reesh-lay: f**k 'eem! 'E doesn't like us, we don't like 'eem."

So, if you're curious about Old Montreal (Pardon! Vieux Montreal), by all means give The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz a look. It may be your only glimpse of the great cosmopolitan city of Richler's youth, for the soul of St. Urbain Steet is fading faster than Ricks Natural Star on the Woodbine Turf.

[falconridge]

Puts me in mind of the time I visited an independent video rental emporium. Being an adult, I moved immediately to the section so designated. ... I reached for a VHS cassette labelled "Firm."
Just remembered another one: Rocky X. Must've missed VI through IX. In X (or was it XXX?), the Philly pug goes down early--and often. In fact, he spends most of the film in the horizontal position. Sad ending (as best I could make out, anyway, what with the sound off and all the extraneous subplots holding up the action): after eight title defenses, Rocky loses his belt.

"Three thumbs up!"--Roger Eberhard