essentialsaltes: (Default)
 LA Times:

When L.A. Opera invited 
Gustavo Santaolalla to write a new score for the Spanish version of the 1931 film “Dracula” to be performed live with an orchestra, the Oscar-winning composer was intrigued by the potential to combine traditional movie soundtrack techniques with an experimental approach.

A couple photos.

--

Dr. Pookie and I went to the third and final show on Sunday afternoon at the gorgeous United [Artists] Theater on Broadway, built in 1927 in the style of the cathedral in Segovia, Spain. [OMG, for a time, Gene Scott broadcast from there!] Inside, everything was lit up luridly in red.

In short, it was a fantastic experience. The film was great; the music was great; the film (1930s Universal style) with the music (modern film score style) was great.

For those not in the know, a largely Spanish-language cast and crew took over the sets of the Tod Browning/Bela Lugosi Dracula production, shooting at night while the English cast shot by day. Many claim it's a better version, and they are right. Much of the beginning is largely a shot by shot match for the English version, but it departs quite a bit later on with longer takes, additional dialogue, and a few pieces of absolutely superior staging. 'Spanish Dracula' is nearly a half hour longer. And this additional material helps the whole story cohere much better and makes the ending much less abrupt. [About a week before we watched the Bela Lugosi version for some reference.]

I'll mention two significant improvements. In both, there's a scene where Van Helsing discovers Dracula has no reflection (in the lid of a cigarette box). In the English version, we see Dracula standing (and not standing in the reflection) next to Mina bidding her goodbye. In the Spanish version, he kisses her hand, so in reflection we see her holding her hand up to empty air, making the point much better. Shortly thereafter, the Count is tricked into looking into the cigarette box lid. Bela Lugosi does do a great take, where his face swells with rage and fear and he slaps the box to the ground with his hand. Spanish Dracula upstages him slightly by dashing the box with his cane and cigarettes go flying cinematically.

In one of the comedic sections, the sanatorium ward and a nurse are commiserating that they are the only two sane people "and sometimes I worry about you" the ward says to the nurse. And the scene sort of ends with them standing there awkwardly. Spanish nurse sticks her nose in the air and strides away in a huff.

Anyway, it seemed clear that Spanish Dracula is more satisfying and just better as a film. I would say one critical minus is that Spanish DP could never get the proper focus on Dracula's eyes. So Bela's mesmeric stare (and the film shot of it) is better than Spanish Dracula.

It's possible I'm swayed by the additional effect of the music, and what music! Beyond the orchestra, there was effective and extensive use of accordion, electric guitar and the additional bonus of some foley work, occasionally timed to the beat of the music [typewriter clicking and dinging as we read the headlines about the fate of the Demeter.]

Santaolalla played guitar (and drums!) for the performance which was an added bonus. I could feel some connection to his work for The Last of Us, but where that was intimate, this is big and melodramatic with full orchestra. I might quibble that the 'sting' when Dracula first gets Dracul-y is too melodramatic, but hey, this is freaking Dracula here. 

Honestly much better than I had hoped and expected.

--

Afterwards, we strolled to Cole's, which I'm sorry to say is sliding into dive bar territory. The French Dips and drinks were still great, and the horseradish mustard remains addictive, but economics (I assume) have eliminated the wait staff, so you order at the bar. Tables in the back have been removed and pool tables put in. The formerly ironic signs about ladies being requested to be discreet in their soliciting seem more sincere. Still worthy, but not like it was when we wore onions on our belts.

essentialsaltes: (eye)
 Given the cruise, I'm a bit behind (and getting behinder)

After Dark, Haruki Murakami


Naturally, there's some stylish choices, but ultimately this tale of the wee hours fails on a couple points, mainly due to authorial cheating. We're given a tense set-up, and the resolution is just a deflating rabbit out of a hat rather than a release of tension. Similarly, the whole novel just ends. I can't even add an adverb to that. It stops.
 

Mexican Gothic, Silvia Moreno-Garcia


Gothic romance/horror is full of tropes and this (naturally) hits them. But I appreciated the phantasmagorical sense of our protagonist getting unsettled by the mansion and getting to doubt her senses. If our heroine were just slightly less competent, she'd share the fate of her cousin she's come to rescue.



 

The Future was Now, Chris Nashawaty

A non-fiction look at the origin stories and making of 8 classic science fiction(*) films that blasted into theaters in a short summer span in 1982. Nicely follows the threads of writers, directors, producers as they move from recent projects into the featured ones. Probably only of great interest to people (like me) who were sentient and movie-going in 1982 -- of the 8 films, I own 5 on disc. For the record, the 8 films are Blade Runner, Tron, ET, Poltergeist, Wrath of Khan, The Thing, Mad Max, and Conan [*definitely not!]. I fear Nashawaty's right about the ultimate effect of summer blockbusters on the industry:

 

By the dawn of the ’90s (continuing right up till the time this book is being written), what should have been a new golden age of sci-fi and fantasy cinema became a pop-culture beast that would devour itself to death and infantilize its audience in the process. Four-plus decades ago, we were entertained, enthralled, and enlightened. 

Now we get a firehose of MCU and unnecessary Ghostbusters-flavored or IntellectualProperty-flavored content.

 

Ladylord, Sasha Miller

Fantasy set in a vaguely Japanese milieu, where a daughter is declared the heir (and son) to one of the 5 kingdoms. She has to prove herself to the Big Cheese by cutting down the tallest tree in the forest with a herring. It starts a little ham-fisted, and ends in an absurdly abrupt courtroom scene, but the middle of the book has lots of nice scheming and political machinations that's mostly separate from the protagonist's far less interesting quest. Goes slightly too far out of its way to be spicy sexy.

The Guncle, Steven Rowley


An intoxicated cruise guest pressed this into our hands when he saw us reading quietly in a space on the ship. I vaguely remember seeing a favorable review, so why not? It owes a lot to Auntie Mame. I mean a LOT; it's practically a modern retelling. It doesn't quite absolve it of its lack of originality, but it does clearly make this debt explicit. Rather than an aunt 'inheriting' a nephew to raise, we have the gay uncle inheriting his brother's kids after their mother dies (and the brother goes into rehab). A good job of touching on both the humor and tragedy/humanity of the situation. Some truly funny moments.

essentialsaltes: (Default)
Amadeus: Saw the movie with live orchestral and choral accompaniment. I think this was my first time at such a thing -- movie with the music recreated live. So much of it was done so faithfully it was basically seamless and unnoticeable. One of those magic tricks where you don't see how difficult it is because it's all invisible. The only major tonal difference was the celeste (or whatever) in the Magic Flute. This had a very different mellower sound from the very bright tinny one in the film.

And since the focus is on the film screen, it's hard to notice what the orchestra was up to. Probably the most challenging bit is where Frau Mozart has brought examples of his work to Salieri, who examines the scores and flips through them with the music changing at each turn. I tried to pay attention to the orchestra for that stretch, and it looked like a well-oiled machine.

Anyway, a very neat experience.

--

Starfarers by Poul Anderson

This has been sitting in my TBR pile for a long time. And my TBR pile is getting remarkably small as I transition more to e-books. So it's a 25 years old book by someone who was already a septuagenarian SF grandmaster. But it's a pretty engaging story with some great ideas, the main one being... after discovering a very-close-to-light drive, humans have to deal with the huge spans of time that still attend flight to the stars. A few years of shiptime can be centuries of Earth-time. You can never go home again, so they say. The main crew is fairly diverse with clear and distinct characters; the only let down is a tendency for them to exclaim "Ay Caramba!" or "Mazel Tov!" to clumsily reinforce their ethnicities.
essentialsaltes: (Default)
 

The Making of Incarnation

 


But very little substance to latch onto. While it has a soupçon of Borges, Neal Stephenson and Cheaper by the Dozen, it only reminded me of how much more enjoyable those would be.

Ostensibly a sort of deconstructed look at elements coming together in a science fiction blockbuster film, there's not much of a plot, just details that spin themselves out into disquisitions.

--

The Pleasure of Finding Things Out
by Richard P. Feynman

A motley collection of shorter works by Feynman on vastly different subjects from different points in his career. Generally interesting, but no real blockbusters. His essay on 'cargo cult science' has a great theme of scientific skepticism.

Feynman also reads much better when he's been filtered through Ralph Leighton. His own writing is a bit rough. It's funny because he was such an engaging speaker, but I guess he needs that animating live touch.


essentialsaltes: (dead)
 Kind of interesting for being written in the time of Gorbachev and glasnost and perestroika. Not long before the Soviet Union collapsed. But as a story, I found it kind of a let-down. The first two-thirds is kind of a jumble of bits and pieces, and while the last third holds together better, it's on some pretty inevitable rails that take us to the end. While Le Carré is often... arid... this one sinks into the sin of being boring.

While I'm usually a stalwart on the side of book in book vs. film, I admit I'm curious to see the 1990 film with Connery and Michelle Pfeiffer. I expect a screenplay that cuts some of the fat and crap off could make for a better story.
essentialsaltes: (Default)
The Big Goodbye: Chinatown and the Last Years of Hollywood, by Sam Wasson

I guess I thought this was going to be more generally about 1970s film-making in Hollywood, but the book is very tightly focused on the production of Chinatown from inkling of a story through the whole process, focusing on writer Robert Towne, producer Robert Evans, Polanski and Nicholson. It does a great job of bringing that process to life, and the characters involved, although the book occasionally strays into fleshing out the details with some story-telling flavor. Lots of interesting details. Hard to imagine Jack eating at Norms. Or Jack dating Anjelica Huston at the same time that Jake is romancing John Huston's screen daughter Faye Dunaway. Or Jerry Goldsmith (who studied under Miklos Rozsa at USC) coming in at the last minute to score the film in less than two weeks, after Philip Lambro's score bombed in test screenings and with the studio.

--

Red Pill, by Hari Kunzru

A fictional tale of a somewhat feckless author type, who gets a prestigious fellowship at a German literary center, and as his life comes unglued, he also gets strangely attracted/obsessed with neo-Nazi types. And his life becomes more unglued. Does a good job of hinting at the maddening attractiveness that sucks some seemingly sane people into these bizarre undergrounds, but ultimately kind of pointless and doesn't quite deliver in my view. There's also a strange interlude as our feckless narrator interviews a maid whose story of East Germany is 10 times more interesting than his own life, but it seems very disconnected plotwise, even if it hits common thematic elements of paranoia and secrecy. I did appreciate the real-life references to Heinrich von Kleist woven in to the mix.

essentialsaltes: (mr. Gruff)
Jesmyn Ward (I really liked her Sing, Unburied, Sing) edited The Fire This Time: A New Generation Speaks about Race, which was chosen for a different book club. The book is an homage to Baldwin's the Fire Next Time, incorporating poetry and essays generally on the topic of race.

On the whole, it didn't captivate me or reveal anything that hasn't been made obvious to anyone paying the least amount of attention. I will point out my particular favorite:
'The Dear Pledges of Our Love': A Defense of Phillis Wheatley's Husband, by Honorée Fanonne Jeffers. It's something of a literary detective story and I feel a definite kinship to the author. Wheatley is recognized as the first African American to publish a book of poems. The literary gossip that has come down to us is that her husband was no good. But Jeffers finds this rests really on the recollection of one woman, who may have had her own axe to grind, much as some views of Washington are colored by Parson Weems' fanciful storytelling.

--

Witchmark, by CL Polk, won the World Fantasy Award, and I did enjoy it quite a lot. It had a little vibe of Deryni with magic users hiding among ordinary folk. A dribble of steampunk. A dash of gay romance. Aristocratic skull-duggery. Not quite enough for me to absorb the full trilogy.

--

How Long 'Til Black Future Month? by NK Jemisin pulls together 20+ short stories by the multi-Hugo-winning author. They are quite varied and a lot of good ones. Despite the provocative title, the content is not 100% racial justice warrior-bard (not that there's anything wrong with that).

--

Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order has one great thing going for it -- immersion in the Star Wars universe. Yes, you get to be a Jedi and have a droid sidekick, and yes it is awesome. That said, there are some really annoying bits, like these parts where you slide on ice or whatever and die in a pit a hundred times in a row (if you're me, anyway). Also, I actually found the game too hard. This is the first game I can think of where I had to bump the difficulty down.
 

--

But getting some melee practice in was good for segueing to Ghost of Tsushima. I'm not finished with it yet, but really enjoying it from beginning to end. If Fallen Order let you be in your own SW movie, this puts you into an epic samurai film. Glorious look and feel, and some of the rethinking of game mechanics is clever. Instead of having a map with radar to lead you to your goal, the wind blows in that direction, and you can follow the scatter of cherry blossoms to your destination.
essentialsaltes: (eye)
Five Strokes to Midnight is a World Fantasy Award nominated anthology of horror/dark fiction stories by five authors: Gary A. Braunbeck & Hank Schwaeble (which duo also edited), Tom Piccirilli, Deborah LeBlanc, and Christopher Golden. Each contributed two or three stories, loosely bound to a theme particular for each author. All pretty good stuff, many with a vein of deep personal emotion -- as a robot, this is not always my thing, but here it is handled generally really well.

The book starts out strong with Piccirilli's "Loss", as some out-of-left-field fantastic elements add some mystery to the regret. Tom's second story seems overlong, but now that he himself is gone, I'll take all the words I can get.

Leblanc's Curses gives us some vivid pictures of backwoods Louisiana - voodoo and worse.

Schwaeble's "Bone Daddy" is an agreeably nasty bit of work -- Lap dances for liches never turn out well.

Golden's Folklore stories take on Lost Miners, Goat Suckers and Ghost Trains. The last of which ends with a satisfying note that helps you close the book without shuddering.

---

The Adventures of Tom Bombadil and Other Verses from the Red Book collects a few of the longer verses Tolkien used in the Lord of the Rings, some related poems not in LotR, and others.

Many of them are rather somber in tone, while others are quite, well, Tom Bombadilly.

"The Mewlips" is delightfully creepy

The Shadows where the Mewlips dwell
Are dark and wet as ink,
And slow and softly rings their bell,
As in the slime you sink.
...

And how can I not love "Cat"?

The fat cat on the mat
   may seem to dream
of nice mice that suffice
   for him, or cream;
but he free, maybe,
   walks in thought
unbowed, proud, where loud
   roared and fought
his kin, lean and slim,
   or deep in den
in the East feasted on beasts
   and tender men.
...


His love of internal rhyme is on full display here, something I often find appealing.

The art by Pauline Baynes is amusing, hearkening to medieval illustrations, but it makes for a good segue into my last little review

----

Eye of the Beholder: The Art of Dungeons and Dragons

This is a documentary film about the artists behind some of the iconic images of D&D. In many ways, it is exactly as nerdy as it sounds. As a documentary, it's maybe not the best, but there are some neat insights, and plenty of dragons (and dungeons) on display.

Once upon a time, a lot of fantasy art looked like Pauline Baynes work -- somewhat tame. And then Frazetta and Vallejo showed up and went bonkers. D&D artists all wanted to be Frazetta and Boris. And this is their story.

It's interesting to see some of the inside history of how TSR grew, and went from amusing (and sometimes somewhat crudely executed) B&W images done on the cheap, and quickly turned into big colorful professional works. And then (to my eye) it drifted into something very 'corporate'. Alas, I think this final phase has, as the film I think correctly points out, informed a lot of current fantasy art (from novels to film to videogames to everything) making it derivative of a particular TSR corporate look. I mean it's commercial art, so it is what it is. And the stuff I'm nostalgic for was commercial art as well. But that original Players Handbook cover, which is rightly lauded in the documentary, just sets you thinking in exactly the right way to explain the game.

What just happened? Who are these people? What are they doing? Some people are doing this, and other people are doing that, and then there's those people over there --  what is going on? Did the lizard things live here and worship here? What's going to happen when they pop that jewel out? What will they do then?














essentialsaltes: (eye)
On the international business trip of mystery, I finished reasing Less, the Pulitzer Prize winning novel by Andrew Sean Greer (and also a NYT/PBS Now Read This book choice). A gay novelist approaching 50, Greer chose to write a novel about a gay novelist approaching 50. While amusing but not hilarious, the book's best quality may be the slow burning build of pathos for its initially unlikeable protagonist. Hey, I realize I'm not the Pulitzer Committee, and the prize sets some expectations. This didn't meet them, for me. But maybe if that wasn't emblazoned on the cover, I would feel better about what is certainly a finely crafted novel.

On the plane back, I watched Clint Eastwood's fictionalized film of the incident where 3 Americans on holiday take down a terrorist on a French train. What it resembles more than anything else is that Traveller game where you show up and start character creation and there is only time for one encounter before you have to go home. We get the elaborate backstories of the Americans, and boy is this Clint at his hamfisted worst. 'I'm the kid who doesn't school good, but guns will complete me.' 'I'm the one with a problem with authority, but the service will make me a fine human being.' 'I'm the black one.' It is propaganda, and only became watchable to hate it and its obviousness.

Red Sparrow was about 75% stolen from La Femme Nikita, but there were a few nuggets of originality in the other 25%. Hard to really enjoy films on a plane, especially as you develop a cramp in your thumb from pressing on the headphone jack to keep the audio in stereo. But I can safely say it was a finer film than the steaming pile of crap that was 'the 15:17 to Paris'.
essentialsaltes: (wotan)
Saramago won the Nobel Prize for literature a couple years after Blindness was published. A mysterious infectious ailment causes people to go blind. The book focuses on this first group of afflicted people, who are first interned in an asylum, as more and more blind people join them in their new community. Saramago considers himself a pessimist, so things go south pretty rapidly. The strong prey on the weak, the men on the women, and so on and so forth. A few glimpses of human beings behaving humanely glimmer here and there to relieve the awfulness.

Saramago is also something a verbal sadist: none of the characters is named, he eschews quotation marks, and tends to go on long comma splices of dialogue that can be hard to follow. Not too fond of paragraph breaks either -- many's the time you face two unbroken columns of text on the pages. This is particularly bad because I tend to have a mental memory of where on the page I left off -- but not if there are no little typographical details for memory to seize on. These idiosyncrasies may be literary, or they may just be irritating. I tend toward the latter. I didn't care for the ending, and the whole is kind of like a gruesome novelization of a Twilight Zone episode. I don't mean this to demean a Nobel laureate, but to raise up Twilight Zone as also shining a light on ugly aspects of humanity through speculative fiction.

Saw Blow-Up recently. Certainly a great time capsule of authentic Austin Powers-y swinging 1960s London, but I'm not sure I liked it. I guess Antonioni was doing something right if I can't tell for certain whether I was bored or not. It helps that models take off their clothes from time to time. But the most interesting detail was seeing the cameo by the Yardbirds, filmed during the brief period when both Jeff Beck and Jimmy Page were part of the lineup.
essentialsaltes: (pWNED!!! by Science)
Was considering Mexican places for lunch today. Discovered that Margaritas on Crenshaw wouldn't open until 2pm. [Ended up at the El Cholo on Western]

KCET showed a nice documentary [interspersed with begging for money] about Endeavour's trip down the streets of LA. As it trundles down Crenshaw, there's a nice shot of it through the archway at Margaritas.






ThisTV was (well, still is) having a Bond film marathon. ThisTV has an interesting assortment of advertising, including one for a little hand-operated food processor thing that has a pull cord that moves the blades. I was a bit shocked that the smiling loud man chopped some vegetables, dropped them into his stir-fry, looked into the camera, and said "Me so Hungry" as though he had done nothing wrong.

Then when the credits of A View to a Kill came on [I said it was a marathon of Bond films, not a marathon of good Bond films. Only watchable for Grace Jones and the fact that the ridiculous plot involving injecting water into oilwells to cause earthquakes has turned out to not be so ridiculous.] and it was hard to let a name like Papillon Soo Soo go by without further investigation.

"Papillon Soo Soo appeared as Pan Ho in the 1985 James Bond film A View to a Kill, the first of three films that she appeared in.

She is also well known for playing the role of the Da Nang hooker who uttered the famous "Hey baby, you got girlfriend Vietnam? Me so horny. Me love you long time," and "Me sucky sucky" lines in Stanley Kubrick's 1987 film Full Metal Jacket, which continues to be referenced in popular culture..." such as advertising on This TV.

[Since things come in threes, we can further connect synchronicities #1 and #2 via Moonraker, which is just as bad as I remember it.]
essentialsaltes: (cartouche)
Ancient Images starts off promisingly: A film editor tracking down a lost film with Karloff and Lugosi winds up dying mysteriously, and his colleague takes up the charge to find the film and silence the critics who say it never existed. Details emerge... a troubled set... a dead director... powerful figures try to suppress the film both when it was made, and now that new efforts are being made to uncover it. Then it veers off into 'Wicker Man'-esque territory, along with an additional quasi-Irish Traveller or Romany caravan element. The main spooks are seen-out-of-the-corner-of-the-eye types that seem to be endlessly dogging the steps of our main characters, but don't do anything other than make tiny noises and appear in the corners of people's eyes, at least until we get deep into the not very climactic climax.

I was surprised to see that Wiki page for Ramsey lists it as winning the Bram Stoker. So much so that I checked the listing for the Bram Stokers and didn't see it there. Left a note on the Wiki talk.




Skin Job collects a couple dozen poems that riff off films and film-making, or delve into anatomical and medical fixations. Some good stuff here: curious turns of phrase and trails of thought. To tie my two tales together:

Bad timing runs in the family. Karloff
does his best with rotten lines.


From "Made for T.V." (anent Frankenstein 1970, which might be better lost than found.)
essentialsaltes: (arkham)
All the photos (and a couple videos)

I flew up Thursday to Portland for the 20th anniversary fest. Got set up in my hotel, and then ventured out for food and haircare products. I was happily surprised to find that you can still buy brilliantine. The Thursday night VIP party was held at a speakeasy, Circa 33, and we were encouraged to dress Thirties' style. I didn't really go for period authentic, but tuxedos are pretty timeless, and the brilliantined hair added some vintage flair. Great venue & good drinks. I spent some effort flipping the dipswitch from introvert to extrovert, and managed fairly well at mingling with people I knew and people I didn't. A sazerac and some ciders also helps to lower the shields, so that pretty soon, I'm embracing Charlie Stross and Jeff Combs.

Charlie/Mike/Jeff

Met lots of other good people there. Dick Lupoff and his wife -- discovered we were both Raiders fans. Leeman Kessler, [livejournal.com profile] princeofcairo, a gaggle of other attendees. And plenty of friends that I generally only get to see at the fest: Glancy, Gwen, Andrew, Andrew & Linda, Gwen & Brian (who had some particularly kind things to say), and ...

The party was really a high point. It was a great venue, and everyone was relaxed -- just a bunch of fascinating people with a common interest being people together.

... )
essentialsaltes: (Titan)
LACMA has a fine exhibit on German Expressionist film, with lots of behind the scenes production art, stills, posters, and other material. Loops of several films also play in inviting walkthrough areas of the exhibit. You don't feel like you have to stay for the whole show, or that you will annoy anyone by staying a moment and passing on.

Lots of good material on the Cabinet of Dr. Caligari.

Concept Art, Cabinet of Caligari

Die Nibelungen

Dragon from Lang's Die Nibelungen

M

Trial Scene from M

Metropolis

Metropolis

The Golem, The Blue Angel, Faust, Waxworks, the Testament of Dr. Mabuse...

After the art, a fine meal at Ray's, although the server and the chef paid a lot more attention to a few wealthy donor types. I'm sure it's wishful thinking that the chef would deign to speak with the likes of us, but at least I know what 'sous-vide' means, unlike the wealthy twat you're fawning over. They had a nice menu of drinks inspired by (not German expressionist) films. My Evil Flying Monkey was based on an aviation, natch. The charcuterie plate is just as good as I remember it. And the lamb sausage pizza was fantastic stuff.
essentialsaltes: (Eye)
Yeah, we moved. I may get around to journaling about it the whole thing, but it's too big a topic, and I'm too tired.

But more importantly, the digital antenna seems to really work like a charm. I was so happy the setup was so easy, and the results so good. I know we're probably weirdos for only having basic cable before, but we've stopped paying Time Warner a buttload, and we get more channels. Sure, half of them are foreign language (including like a dozen in Armenian), but my mind boggled when the initial scan dredged up like 158 channels. OK, some turned out to be just beyond the antenna's range, but still.

So if you only want basic channels, and you don't need cable for internet, and you have a line of sight to Mt. Wilson, ditch your cable.

[The internet thing may be a bigger pain point; we've yet to get U-verse set up for internet, but I wasn't encouraged by the CAPTCHA when I tried to check on the order:

I'm worried AT&T may be no better than Time Warner.]

For the interested, the antenna is a Mohu Curve. Since our TV is older, we also needed a digital tuner, so I just picked a top seller on amazon, which can also function as a DVR if you plug in a USB hard drive or even a flash drive. Total cost = less than 1 month of our Time Warner bill (for TV & internet).

Plug antenna into tuner, plug HDMI from tuner to TV, turn it all on, and then the tuner was raring to go scan for channels. After that, I cruised through Armenian, Vietnamese, Khmer, Spanish, Chinese, and a dozen variations on the Home Shopping Network (including several in those preceding languages) and stopped on some random channel (Get TV) showing the Caine Mutiny. Jackpot.

ETA: LA TV Stations.
essentialsaltes: (City Hall)
It was a really great show. I only wish it hadn't been a long show after a long Friday after a long week, but I still had such a great time.

My flickr set

Can't argue with the Wiltern as a venue. The place is gorgeous. It looked a little different this time, with a half dozen minibars throughout the various lobbies selling Caucasians. Lots of people milling about. Fewer costumes than at the bowling night we went to last time, but still quite a few. We got ourselves a couple oat sodas and found a nice spot in the mezzanine. A bit before showtime, Peter Exline came out and told his story.

The Kyle Gass Band opened up the official festivities, dropping in to see what condition their condition was in. They had to work at it, and they definitely stepped over the line by trying out an Eagles tune, but they soon had the crowd whipped up and plenty of people on their feet at the foot of the stage. Some impressive rock flute.

While they changed gear, a few more of the actors said hello. Coffeeshop lady had just turned 80, and the fest crowd filled that room with "Happy Birthday". Ralphs checker girl. My pic of irate Corvette owner was blurrier than most, but he was there. Liam. And Jeff Dowd, who was the Seattle Seven (with six other guys). He rambled a bit, and perhaps had been less (more?) strict than usual with his drug regimen.

And then it was Jeff Bridges and the Abiders. I found it hard to believe this was actually happening. Hey, there's Oscar-winner Jeff Bridges playing a song from Crazy Heart. Hey, there's the Dude playing the opening and closing songs of the Big Lebowski. Hey, there's the Oscar-duding Crazy Bridges playing Creedence.

Bridges came back to introduce the film, and Duded himself up with sweater and glasses. The crowd went apeshit. This is a terrible picture of a perfect little moment:

Glasses on, introducing the film

My favorite part of watching the movie was seeing that everyone else (at least in LA) recognizes that LA is also a star of this film. When you first see the lights of the city, that got as much applause as most of the other characters when they appeared. Philip Seymour Hoffman was sent off with the longest applause.

It was a given that people were going to shout out lines, but it was all good fun (except that one drunk guy). Another given is that whenever the Dude lit a J, the audience was going to do likewise. You wouldn't think you could make that huge space reek, but you can. If I have a least favorite part, it's that too many guys seem to think that Walter is the hero of this film. He's not wrong; he's just an asshole.
essentialsaltes: (spockmonkey)
The original rejected Star Trek pilot with Captain Christopher Pike (later edited into "The Menagerie")

and an episode of Columbo.

Both directed by Robert Butler, who will be there in person.

January 24, 2014 - 7:30 pm
Free Admission

--

Also of note on the schedule, the restored Pre-Code film The Bitter Tea of General Yen. Yes, General Yen is played in yellowface, but how can you not love a film in which Christian missionary Barbara Stanwyck has an erotic dream about a Chinese general?

January 12, 2014 - 7:00 pm
essentialsaltes: (spockmonkey)
McKellen played Salieri in the first Broadway production of Amadeus (replacing Paul "A Man for All Seasons" Scofield from the British run).

With Tim Curry as Mozart. And Jane Seymour as Constanze.

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