More music. Hot day here.
Alternate name for this doodle is “William Bolcom and Randy Newman Look Alike.”
More music. Hot day here.
Alternate name for this doodle is “William Bolcom and Randy Newman Look Alike.”
2000: 2009:
directed by Al Reinert
“Filmed on location by the United States National Aeronautics and Space Administration.”
Criterion #54.
(Moon landing documentary, of sorts, made entirely of NASA archival film.)
“Make no mistake,” as our president would say: this is by far the most astounding and spectacular and terrifying and important footage ever shot. It has been transferred and enlarged and printed wonderfully; the picture is pristine and frequently beautiful. The work done by the filmmakers in sorting through the countless hours of previously unseen NASA footage, and then making these selections public at such high quality, is a great and important service.
And continue to make no mistake: You can’t watch this stuff without being awed and thrilled and frightened and inspired (not necessarily in that order). Yes, by now a lot of the basic images may have collapsed into cliche — familiarity has drained the standard “blue marble” photo of most of its power — but it hardly takes any variation, just a tilt or two of the lens, a slightly new angle not seen before, and suddenly one can’t help but be contemplating it afresh, for real. Good god, that’s everything, all of it, surrounded by nothing, and someone went and stood in the nothing to look back and photograph everything. It’s tremendously, nauseatingly real.
In the commentary track, astronaut Eugene Cernan (“Last man on the moon”) says:
I can remember standing on the surface of the moon in sunlight looking back at the Earth surrounded by the blackest black that you can conceive in your mind, a three-dimensional blackness without a beginning and without end: it’s not darkness, but blackness. And the Earth, with all its beauty and all its splendor, lives three-dimensionally within this blackness.
That’s not just theoretical. Like it or not, that unthinkable enormity (in all senses) is something that a man really stood and looked at and saw, and it was as real and ordinary as this tissue box on my desk. A real man, a person so real and ordinary that after returning to the everything from the nothing, he did something as banal as record a commentary track for Criterion. Seeing it — that three-dimensional blackness without beginning or end — in a photograph isn’t as intense as looking directly at it, thank god, but it remains mind-boggling: literally unthinkable. And here it is, the unthinkable, captured on film by a few humans who wore death-proof suits and carried cameras beyond the edge of the living world.
So make no mistake: I was glad to watch this.
Aaaaand… you can make mistakes now.
C’mon, Simone: let’s talk about my big “but.”
The unique and tremendous power of this footage is that it is real. So it is inescapably frustrating that the filmmakers have stitched it together with the customary white lies of film — and a few egregiously gray ones — and in so doing have needlessly diminished it.
There were six moon landings and 11 manned Apollo missions in all. The approach taken by the director is to edit together the best footage from all of them, to create a montage that gives the general cinematic impression of a single mission from start to finish. The rationale for this approach is presented in various ways and in various places in the Criterion package: it allowed the use of all the best footage in one movie, it emphasized the universality of the endeavor by treating all the individual astronauts as essentially interchangeable, it avoided the need for an excess of technical-historical detail that would only distract from the cinematic force of the images.
I find all that completely sympathetic. It is perfectly legitimate to edit non-fiction film with an eye for poetry rather than encyclopedic accuracy. And this material cries out for poetic treatment.
But manipulating documentary footage in this way demands certain scruples that these filmmakers do not have. Their film does more than just edit things together out of sequence. It tells unnecessary lies, repeatedly.
In the very first minutes there is a shot of a crew of astronauts (I think from Apollo 16) walking down a hallway in their suits, headed for the launchpad. The arm of a woman who stands just off-camera appears briefly, waving at them as they walk by. In the film we hear her voice, crystal clear, cheerfully saying “Y’all take care now!” like a waitress might say to anybody who went through the door. That’s an odd and amusing thing to say to astronauts headed for the moon, I thought; what a strange and wonderful detail from way back in 1972, recovered by these filmmakers for me to re-experience and savor in the present day. Then the big “but” hit me: But wait, I thought. The NASA film crew surely wasn’t carrying a boom mike down this hallway. This footage is probably silent. And come to think of it, that sure didn’t sound like sound from 1972. I think that was ADR. Someone in an editing room in 1989 made up those words and stuck that in there to give a sense of place.
Whoever did it was comfortable so doing because it’s the kind of thing that’s done all the time in editing rooms: “We need to lay on some intuitive sound to make this shot feel alive. Let’s put some foley footsteps in there and some crowd noise from outside the door. And I guess when you see the woman’s arm wave we need some sound to justify it or it will seem weirdly silent. I guess we’ll just put in a voice.”
Generally, that’s all well and good for just another day in post-production. But I’m watching this to be put in touch with the real moments of which the film is an artifact. Adding phony footstep sounds is already a little suspect, though I can see the argument to be made for its subliminal value; certainly as a claim about the past it is very mild. But adding phony dialogue is simply no good! That is a strong claim: a woman said this. When in fact she did not. Maybe.
Only a few shots later, the man who closes the elevator door on the gantry is clearly heard to quietly say “Godspeed, men” as he salutes the astronauts. But wait, no he didn’t! Not necessarily! Someone sneaked into this stash of truth and inserted some lies! Hey, I was watching that!
Admittedly there’s not a lot of that kind of ADR lying, but those two instances came very early on and got me off to a bad start. The sin committed more often is false crosscutting. The only flight director we’re shown at mission control is Gene Kranz (whom you know as “Ed Harris”), with all footage seemingly coming from the same day, and maybe the same hour. I can accept that the premise of the film is that we’re not worrying about details: he’s just “a flight director” in this poem of the moon landings. If it cuts to him directing during footage of the launch and then again during footage of the moon landing and he’s wearing the same tie, we just have to roll with it. And I think I can. But when they show someone on the moon making a joke, and then they cut to him laughing, that really irks me! Was that how he looked laughing at that joke, or not? Is this a real moment that was part of a remarkable historical event, resurrected decades later by the marvel of film technology? Or is this an editing room invention from 1989 that is no more significant to me than anything else concocted by film editors in 1989? Those are pretty different categories!
When a video image of the Earth as seen from lunar orbit is shown on the screen in mission control, then we cut to reaction shots of various mission control crew staff members looking awed or reflective. Are they really looking at that image of the Earth on the screen? Or is it just their reaction to something else, maybe on a different day, during a different mission, and it just happened to be what the editor thought their reaction to seeing the Earth on the screen “should feel like”? My impression was that we were getting some of both.
Sly montage technique (as seen regularly at the Academy Awards and elsewhere) in which different sources are mixed and matched to create rhyming couplets — Tom Hanks dials his phone and then black-and-white Joan Crawford answers her phone, etc. — is post-modern fun that is absolutely antithetical to documentary. Just because all this footage is from NASA and none of it is from It’s a Wonderful Life doesn’t mean that what’s going on here is any different. We see an astronaut step off the lander on to the lunar surface and hear Neil Armstrong saying his line about it being a “one small step for [a] man.” Then we hear another astronaut’s interview about how when he stepped on to the moon, he made a joke because nobody would care what the “second guy” said, and then see the same video feed continue as a second astronaut hops down from the lander. We hear him say: “That may have been a small one for Neil, but that’s a long one for me.” Wow, I thought, how amusing! Why has nobody ever told me that that’s what Buzz Aldrin said?
Because it’s NOT what Buzz Aldrin said. It’s what Pete Conrad said, many months later, during Apollo 12. The moment created in the film, in which one line follows the other in short succession during the same video feed, is like a conversation between Tom Hanks and Joan Crawford: they both take place in dreamy silver screen land, for the viewer’s pleasure. “That’s the wonderful magic of the movies! P.S. The moon landing itself was real, though, we swear.”
I can’t overstress that this matters. You can’t cut historical footage like it’s fiction without devaluing the fact that it’s real. I want to be allowed to muse on the astonishing reality of everything I see! That is, in fact, the only thing I want from a movie like this. What else are we here for?
Turning on my jaded, skeptical, TV-watching, mediocrity-parsing brain is really, really detrimental to my ability to experience awe. Detrimental to my outlook as a whole. Why couldn’t the filmmakers see that the greatest gift they could offer would be to refrain from asking that of me?
A running theme in my mind during the movie was that man’s comprehension of the reality into which he is venturing is simply insufficient. Great emphasis is given to showing the astronauts goofing around, doing flips in zero gravity, acting like monkeys. It’s meant to give homely, human charm to the proceedings. But to me it said: yup, these are monkeys. Monkeys somehow figured out how to do this, monkeys put themselves in a tiny can and went way, way beyond the edge of what they understand, into a three-dimensional blackness without beginning and without end.
We are shown a real photograph of THE ENTIRE EARTH, to contemplate its unthinkable everything-ness, over which one of the astronauts is heard musing in an interview: “The three things that I associated with Earth were people, and green trees, and fresh water.” This is so bizarrely small-minded and stupid — you associate three things with Earth? And yet against the backdrop of infinite space, which is to say the reality of the universe, that’s just who we are. Hopelessly provincial monkeys with some dumb shit to say.
One of the astronauts describes the moon as “2001 type stuff.” This is what one of the twelve human beings ever to stand on the actual moon has to say about it. I don’t hold it against him: that’s just what we as humans have got to work with. The real moon does look kind of like the moon as seen in that movie 2001, come to think of it.
I saw the Earth and thought about the future of the species. I thought about climate change and pollution and how it is and will remain unmanaged because even as mankind gets big, man remains small. I felt down.
But then I had a flash of relief: I’m only thinking this stuff because that’s the mindset of this movie. This movie is making me think about Man The Mediocre because it has deliberately turned the most amazing documentary footage imaginable into something marketably less than a documentary, something less threatening, less real, less complex. Like planetarium shows have done for decades, the filmmakers set out to reveal the spiritual behind the science and instead just made another middlebrow Hallmark card. Neither here nor there, neither fact nor poem, neither man nor monkey.
But make no mistake: the raw materials are truly stirring stuff, and they shine through. Between the moments of frustration and the moments of despondency, I was moved. You’ll just have to do some editing in your head as you watch, philosophically and otherwise. And that seems a shame, since the whole point of the movie was to do the editing for us.
The Criterion package is great. The movie looks great, the commentary with Gene Cernan (and director Al Reinert) is engaging and personal, the bonus features are nicely assembled. In a way, they supply the traditional documentary grounding that the movie lacks.
The music is by crossword puzzle stalwart Brian Eno. I assumed he would bring ambient awe and terror to outer space, but the music is all dipsy-doodle Museum of Science type stuff. The music as the lander descends sounds like either the pinnacle of human endeavor or a spooky carnival on Punky Brewster. Or possibly the hold music when Henry calls the spooky carnival to make reservations.
It turns out that that particular track (“Quixote”) is actually by Roger Eno, Brian’s brother (who has, unfairly, never been in a crossword puzzle). Herein, it seems, hangs sort of a tale, one not told by the Criterion disc. According to the Wikipedia page for Eno’s original soundtrack album, the film was first assembled in 1983 as a purely non-narrative montage to music, with no voice-over. To give it wider appeal, it was gradually reworked into the 1989 version seen today, in which process some of the music from Eno’s 1983 soundtrack was replaced by music from his 1988 album Music for Films III, which is actually sort of a collaborative album, containing tracks by several other musicians (such as Roger). Having given a quick skim listen through the original 1983 soundtrack, I feel like it offers something more spiritually cohesive than what’s heard in the finished film. I also feel like the purer, artsier 1983 version of the film might well have eased nearly all of my objections above. It sounds more like the conscientious poetry that this footage deserves.
The finished film offers no musical cues that aren’t at least partially obscured by voice-over. The two longest stretches come during the spooky carnival sequence and then the end credits. Since of those two, only the end credits is actually by Brian Eno, that’s what we’re going with. The track is called “An Ending (Ascent)” on the album and runs about twice as long; I’m giving you as much of it as could be extracted from the film without including any dialogue. End Credits.
To me this sounds like 6th grade science class. Someone wheeled in the TV on a cart so we could watch something lame.
Footnote: Apparently, that’s not what “dipsy-doodle” means. But it should be.
1999: 2007:
directed by Akira Kurosawa
screenplay by Ryuzo Kikushima, Hideo Oguni and Akira Kurosawa
based on the book 日々平安 (Peaceful Days) (1958) by Shugoro Yamamoto
Criterion #53. Sequel me!
椿三十郎 = Tsubaki Sanjūrō = “Thirty-Year-Old Camellia.” The international title is Sanjuro. So basically this movie is called Thirtysomething. (I have just checked whether there is a Japanese-language version of the Wikipedia page for Thirtysomething, to compare the titles. There is not.)
But why, really, is it called “Thirty-Year-Old Camellia”? Well, when our mysterious hero is asked his name in Yojimbo, he resorts to the old “at the Alamo in the basement” routine: he looks out the window, sees a mulberry field, and says his name is “Kuwabatake Sanjuro (= thirty-year-old mulberry-field)… though actually I’m nearly forty.” The sequel repeats the whole bit, except this time there are camellias out the window.
It’s all about the mythic force of the ritualistic running gag. “Bond. James Bond.” Aw yeeah, he said the thing he always says! Kickass! As the orphan in The Cider House Rules explains, when another orphan asks why Michael Caine always recites the same little benediction every night when he turns out the light: “He does it because we like it.” Just like James Bond! Just like getting tucked in at night! The difference between “kickass” and “snuggly-cozy” is only a very slender line of macho denial.
This is only the second movie about “Thirty-Year-Old. Thirty-Year-Old [Plant-Out-The-Window],” which might seem a little premature for selling snuggly-coziness, but that’s what Sanjuro is selling. And I think that’s why I liked it better than Yojimbo. Because I know this game and I know how to play along. Tuck, tuck me in!
This movie doesn’t just happen to be one of the sources of that iconic image of Toshiro Mifune as a samurai (you know, the famous image, the one from CULTURE AT LARGE); this movie is itself deliberately trading on that iconicity, amping it up to make sure we get what we came for and know that we got it. Look at him go! it says. Look, it’s really him! It’s really one of those movies, and it’s happening right now! You are watching a sequel! Unlike Yojimbo, this one never feels less than commercial.
Well, that’s great. I’m all for it. Let’s hurry up and get this genre all good and coded out so that I don’t have to think about it rationally anymore. Because that’s really what I hate about samurai movies, westerns, and superhero movies: the pretense to actual representational meaning. As if! Enough already! The more artificial the better. If I’m going to have to watch samurai, I want you to put them through a rock tumbler first and make them all shiny. Comic book here we come! Bring on the magic powers! Bring on the time travel!
You think I’m kidding, but we really get almost all the way there. Sanjuro ends with a ridiculous duel — and by ridiculous I mean ridiculously KICKASS! — and by ridiculously KICKASS! I mean ridiculous — in which the two guys have a face-to-face epic comic-book stare-off for a very long time without moving, and then suddenly in a flash they both move and Toshiro Mifune has already killed the other guy, with a single slice across the chest that produces a truly fantastical fountain of spewing blood, like a firehose, Monty Python-style. In the bonus documentary we learn that the absurd overkill of this effect was a technical mishap, but that Kurosawa just went with it.
In other words, snuggly-cozy comic-book dream ballet for all the kids out there. The kids who can handle it.
Yojimbo felt pretty awkward for a classic made by people. Sanjuro feels pretty graceful for junk made by the system. I’ll take graceful junk over awkward classics any day. In fact I’ll take graceful junk over most things. (Junk of course is relative. Obviously there are limits. But this is 1962 and there’s still plenty of breathing room.)
I know, my response to Yojimbo was just a response to my own false expectations. Probably I should have just enjoyed it as good junk. I wish I could come to every movie purified of all prior knowledge of it, but I can’t.
Plot: Toshiro Mifune and the nine dumb good guys. “Do I have to do everything around here?” “I’m getting sick of your blundering!” “Now see what you’ve done!”
The story is about two officials, one of whom is bad and the other of whom is good. These two officials are a chamberlain and a superintendent. I couldn’t have come up with more MacGuffiny titles if I had tried. I find this aspect of the movie deeply charming. To a true innocent, everything in every movie is a MacGuffin. The “real purpose” is always outside the frame; what we are shown is only and ever an interplay of ciphers. Having to consider whether to trust the chamberlain or the superintendent brought me back to a time in my life before definitions. The movie operates there. Nine dumb guys and a smart guy have to rescue a kidnapped chamberlain from a superintendent and his army. Surreality is never far away.
The same might be said of that staple of childhood cinema, Star Wars, in which 70% of the dialogue is blessedly abstract. In Sanjuro once again I felt like I was seeing the complete contents of George Lucas’s brain laid out for inventory.
As my attitude toward life has been improving, my completist masochism has inevitably waned. I watched the documentary for real, but the commentary… well, it’s playing in the next room. Right now, as I type this. I can totally hear it. Here, right now he’s saying “…and that will give us the transition to this splendid sequence of Mifune stalking toward Muroto’s gate…” See?
It’s the same guy as last time, so I feel pretty sure I know how much he has to offer me. Now he’s saying: “… So you could say that one side of Sanjuro’s deadly nature, here, is his facial hair…” And now: “… Kurosawa almost never does this kind of routine continuity editing…” You get the drift. I know I do.
I promise not to post this until he’s done talking.
Music is by Masaru Sato again, with some use of the theme from Yojimbo and some of the same instrumentation, but generally a more restrained and sober dramatic approach. (With a couple of exuberant transgressions.) The score is more effective, less entertaining than last time around. Here’s the main title, all groaning and clattering. I like it. Sure sounds like this one’s gonna be bleaker than Yojimbo, doesn’t it? Well, turns out it isn’t. But too much atmosphere never hurt a movie.
He finished.
Winner in the category of WRITING (Original Screenplay) at the 15th Academy Awards, presented March 4, 1943 at the Cocoanut Grove, The Ambassador Hotel.
The other nominees were:
Wake Island — W.R. Burnett, Frank Butler
Road to Morocco — Frank Butler, Don Hartman
The War Against Mrs. Hadley — George Oppenheimer
One of Our Aircraft is Missing — Michael Powell, Emeric Pressburger
Opening of screenplay:
1FADE IN:
INT. SAM’S OFFICE, NEW YORK CHRONICLE – NIGHT – CLOSEUP – A MAN’S HAT
dingy and formless from long, severe wear. It lies on a desk. INCLUDED IN THE SHOT are a paper-weight made of a baseball covered with autographs and part of a receptacle filled with “books” of assembled copy paper and carbons. A typewriter carriage comes in and out of the shot rapidly, in synchronization with the staccato – two-fingered clicking of the keys.
CAMERA PULLS BACK to reveal Sam Craig as he finishes typing, pulls the pages out of the machine and starts to assemble what he’s written, frowning as he does so.
Sam’s office is one of a row of small cubbyholes which line one wall of the large room that houses the Sports Department. His door is open.
The large room which we see in b.g., adjoins the city room, from which it’s separated either by an actual partition or merely a railing. In either case, it has its own entrance in extreme b.g. leading into the corridor where the elevators are. There are about fifteen desks, each with its phone and typewriter, grouped around a long (or horse-shoe) table which is the sports copy-desk. At the moment only one or two of the regular desks are occupied, but the copy-readers are around their table in full force. A noteworthy feature of the scene is the business-like rather than hectic atmosphere usually associated with newspaper offices. The head copy-reader picks up a phone next to him as it rings. His voice is audible in b.g.
(hangs up)
Sam’s frown of dissatisfaction deepens as he reads what he’s written. Still poring over his pages, he starts slowly through his open door toward the copy-desk.
2INT. SPORTS DEPARTMENT — NIGHT
MED. SHOT — COPYDESK
The head copy-reader looks up expectantly as Sam comes toward him. But Sam, his pace becoming slower as his discontent increases, comes to a full stop a few feet away from the desk and, with an expression of disgust, suddenly crumples his pages and chucks them into a wastebasket. The head copy-reader “Tch-tchs” sympathetically. Sam detours around the copy desk and goes toward the entrance.
First lines in film:
WHAT DO YOU THINK? TESS HARDING TELLS YOU DAILY IN THE NEW YORK CHRONICLE
TESS HARDING FEARED LOST IN CONVOY
TESS HARDING WELCOMED IN LONDON
TESS HARDING IN TALK WITH CHURCHILL
TESS HARDING CONFERS WITH F.D.R.
TESS HARDING CALLS FOR UNITY
SOLON DEMANDS TESS HARDING PROBE
HITLER WILL LOSE! SAYS TESS HARDING IN THE NEW YORK CHRONICLE
THE YANKEES WON’T LOSE SAYS SAM CRAIG IN THE NEW YORK CHRONICLE
— Miss Harding and Mr. Kieran both have their hands up. The full title, please.
— It’s Nights in the Garden of Spain.
— Uh, Nights in the… Garden of Spain.
— Hello, Sam.
— Hiya, kid.
BROOM Let’s not do the Mad Men thing where we gleefully list its transgressions against present-day feminism. Let’s try to be more nuanced than that.
ADAM Actually, I thought it was going to be a lot worse than it was. I think the ultimate compromise they arrived at was reasonable, even for a present-day feminist.
BETH I agree with that.
ADAM At times I was a little worried about where they were going.
BETH I was too, but I didn’t really believe that Katharine Hepburn would have chosen to be in a movie with the message that she should surrender her identity to housewifery.
ADAM But poor Gerald!
BROOM When you say “the compromise they arrived at,” you’re really just talking about the one line: “instead of being Mrs. Craig, why can’t you be Tess Harding Craig.” But we don’t see that put into action; we don’t know what it means, to him or to her. And the whole sequence before that, where she tries to cook, is meant to humiliate her.
ADAM But it’s affectionate. That sequence wasn’t mean-spirited. It’s funny in part because he’s good-naturedly playing along.
BROOM Because she shouldn’t even be trying?
ADAM Right. Alma’s not going anywhere — she’ll make the waffles.
BROOM It was very hard to tell whether the movie thought that Tess’s whole value system was bad, or whether it was just comically distant from our value system.
BETH I think it was the latter. The movie was trumpeting her individuality. I think it sided with her living outside of standards.
ADAM Well, towards the 60 percent mark, at the awards banquet, it did seem like it might descend into her being a shrewish villain. That’s the point when I worried that she was the villain and he was the good guy. But it didn’t actually go there. Ultimately it was a sweet movie — notwithstanding its treatment of the effeminate male underling. Who was right: she did have a battleship to launch, guys, so…! How was he supposed to know that it wasn’t a good time to interrupt?
BROOM Are we to understand that Sam hit Gerald over the head with a champagne bottle?
BETH Yeah, I think so.
BROOM That could be deadly! That’s very dangerous. And he may also have pushed him off the porch.
ADAM It turned out that the homosexual was their enemy all along, not Katharine Hepburn. Although we sort of knew that.
BROOM The movie wasn’t unkind to to Gerald until that last sequence; he just happened to be intimidating to our man Spencer. He was just humorless when it would have been more pleasant if he had been personable.
ADAM And he called her “Miss Harding” at an inopportune moment.
BETH That’s true.
BROOM When?
ADAM When he was walking in the door and handing his gloves to Spencer Tracy.
BROOM Why was that inopportune?
ADAM Because that wasn’t her married name, and wasn’t the right thing to say in front of Sam.
BROOM Oh. Were we supposed to read it that way?
ADAM That’s how I read it.
BETH I don’t know. I can read it that way.
ADAM I mean, she was pretty annoying for much of the middle stretch of the movie.
BETH Well, she was making some selfish choices.
ADAM She shouldn’t have brought home the Greek boy.
BETH She definitely shouldn’t have.
ADAM That was a funny scene though. I thought it was going to be a child of hers from a previous marriage.
BETH I knew it would be a humanitarian scheme.
ADAM You knew it would be a Greek boy?
BETH No, I didn’t know that.
ADAM I thought one of the strangest things about the movie was the weirdly tepid raciness. There were clearly meant to be some titillating jokes in there. But they were swathed in cottonballs. That might have been a period thing or it might have just been a tastefulness choice. It was weird, to my modern sensibility.
BROOM What was weird?
ADAM The way that the racy jokes landed.
BROOM Which particular jokes? You said “this is rather racy!” when they first went back to her apartment after their date.
ADAM Well, that scene was strange, because the implication was clearly that they were going to hook up. And he tells her that he would have with other girls. I don’t know, that seems legitimately shocking for a movie from 1942.
BROOM The implicit endorsement of premarital sex?
ADAM The acknowledgement of it. But no, I’m talking more about the joke when he’s talking to his mother and says “You can’t ask a girl that! I don’t know, mom! All right, I’ll ask her if she’s a good cook.”
BETH Right.
ADAM I didn’t have a problem with it. I just thought it was amusingly mild.
BROOM You thought “I’ll ask her if she’s a good cook” was a punchline to a virginity joke?
BETH It was.
BROOM But in the final scene we see that whether she’s a good cook turns out to be material. And I thought the point was that when his mother says “I don’t know if she’s good enough for you,” she isn’t just asking about virginity, she’s asking about femininity. Which is why she’s sent the cookbook that we see at the end.
ADAM I know. But the joke of the phone call is nonetheless “Ma, you can’t ask that!”
BETH Yeah, I think so too. I think that’s how the audience was supposed to hear it.
BROOM Oh. Because in that earlier scene, I was already thinking, “Ah, Tess’s overachievement makes old fogeys like his mother suspicious of her.” Whether or not you read it as being about virginity, she’s this advanced feminist modern woman, and the question is whether that kind of person is a proper wife… So clearly when the mother brings up cooking, that’s genuinely at issue.
ADAM Clearly that’s the literal function of the scene. I’m just saying that the way they set up the joke, it was a virginity joke. There were a couple other funny things like that. I’m not trying to just poke fun at its pastness, but it was funny to me the ways that it was both very frank about sex but also amusingly indirect.
BROOM They did do the whole Marx Brothers stateroom scene except as a “cockblock” joke.
ADAM Poor Dr. Lubbeck. The other thing I was going to remark on about the screenwriting is that the pacing was super strange, from a modern perspective. I’m not saying it was ineffective, but it was very leisurely. In that last scene, before he came in, she spent like five whole minutes setting up the breakfast.
BETH It was enjoyable to watch, though.
ADAM Yeah, it worked! But it’s just funny to watch Katharine Hepburn, you know, moving around a kitchen.
BETH Reading instructions.
BROOM I thought that was an intentionally bold choice, that we should arrive at this final kitchen scene and it should suddenly get very slow. Remember that movie Big Night, with Stanley Tucci and Tony Shalhoub?
ADAM No.
BROOM They think that their restaurant is going to have a really big night because a famous person is coming, and then it doesn’t happen, and it’s a big letdown, and they blew all their money and it’s not clear what’s going to happen to them. And the very last scene, after this big downer, is just one shot where Stanley Tucci makes eggs, and it takes however long it really takes. And they must have gotten that from here. We go through this whole movie with its own narrative rhythm, and then we end with the rhythm of a real task. Of course, the tasks became farcical here. But I actually thought the pacing was strange much earlier, in ways that I was less sure I was supposed to savor. The whole first half had no conflict in it.
BETH The drinking scene was just very leisurely. And the baseball game.
ADAM It was affable rom-com stuff.
BROOM Yeah, but there wasn’t even a romantic comedy plot; just straight romance. They liked each other, they went on dates.
ADAM Well, there were some moments of conflict. Like: Gerald won’t let him into her office, so he reads the Chinese newspaper. There were little bitty conflicts.
BROOM To me it really felt like we were just gradually falling in love, and then getting married, and then living together. It took me a long time to understand what the specific thrust of the movie was.
BETH That’s surprising to me. I knew that’s what the conflict would be, immediately. Maybe that’s only because I came in knowing who each of them is.
ADAM She invites him to a party and there’s all kinds of foreigners there. Get it?
BROOM I just thought that was a kind of charm comedy. She’s upmarket and he’s downmarket.
ADAM But she’s also thoughtless.
BROOM I thought that was just part of his comic journey toward the girl he was falling for. I didn’t see it as having asserted itself as a thematic problem. Yes, I see in retrospect that it wasn’t just color, it was supposed to be seen as actually frustrating to him. But since the mode of screwball is [shrugging tone] “oh dear, this leopard just got into our apartment…” it just seemed like comedy, not conflict.
ADAM Spencer Tracy only has one face: eyes bugging out, annoyed. He’s a redhead, right?
BETH Yeah.
ADAM You can just seem him flushing to the roots of his red hair. By the way, how old were they, in this?
BETH I’m curious to know.
ADAM They seemed like a hundred years old.
BETH They seemed like they were in their early 40s.
BROOM They were probably supposed to be playing mid-20s; they probably were each around 30. Let’s see.
ADAM Well, no, they each already had distinguished careers at that point.
BROOM Let’s see. Katharine Hepburn was born in 1907.
BETH She was 35.
BROOM Which is about how she looked. She looked like the mature 35 of that era. And Spencer Tracy…
BETH Had to be older.
BROOM … was born in 1900. 7 years older: 42.
ADAM Okay, that sounds about right.
BETH But their parents were in great shape!
BROOM Yeah, they looked the same age as the kids. It was the same as Cary Grant’s mother in North by Northwest. When Spencer Tracy was standing with the older woman, and she said, “drive me back?” I felt a little awkward, because we were supposed to see her as completely not a conceivable or appropriate match for him, but she looked like an appropriate match for him.
ADAM I agree with you: at the end the pacing was probably deliberate, and it worked — but they could still have trimmed 20 minutes out of this movie. I was expecting a lot more rat-a-tat dialogue, a la His Girl Friday. This wasn’t really that. He would say something, and she would say something really fast, but then they would just look at each other. It was funny, though. We laughed many times.
BETH I laughed more than I usually laugh at movies.
BROOM During the first section, I thought it was so romantic and charming that I wondered why it isn’t more fondly talked about. But then as it became clear that the central issue is one that has aged, as opposed to being timeless, I understood. And then it ended in a very strange place, for me. It left me not with a bad taste in my mouth, but with surprise that we were left to resolve it for ourselves. I thought it was going to really resolve the issue one way or another.
ADAM I agree that the specific gender flavor of it has aged, but this is basically what the movie Hook is about, right? You know, when he throws his cell phone into the snow at the end.
BROOM You’ve invoked that as a stupid and offensive thing quite a few times.
ADAM Well, that’s the same thing as hitting Gerald over the head with a champagne bottle.
BROOM Those aren’t the only two times that has happened. At least what was wrong with her was mostly that she couldn’t see what was right in front of her, as opposed to simply that a woman shouldn’t be doing these things in the first place. However, the linchpin line — that we had to rewind and confirm that he had really said — that “the woman of the year… isn’t really a woman at all,” is painful.
ADAM Oof. Yeah, what a devastating thrust. Though she doesn’t really take it that way.
BROOM I mean that it’s painful to watch now. Because either the movie is endorsing that it’s wonderful that she’s a woman and she does all these things, or it’s not.
BETH Or it could be that that’s just his problem. The movie wasn’t necessarily taking his side, even though at that particular moment she had turned us against her by bringing in the Greek boy.
BROOM I don’t know. Sam didn’t seem to be portrayed by the movie as having a distinct psychology that we were supposed to track. Admittedly that may be a problem with my watching of it. But I was waiting for it to present some kind of equal failures on both their parts.
BETH It didn’t really care about him.
ADAM Yeah, he doesn’t have much of a personality.
BETH Which made their partnership a little bit confusing.
ADAM He spent half the movie just in reaction shots.
BETH Because she’s such a force.
ADAM And he’s just rolling his eyes: at Dr. Lubbeck, or at the foreigners at the party…
BETH Although that was clever of him, to call in his ragtag troupe of lowlifes.
ADAM That’s true. “You leave it to Flo!”
BROOM He was supposed to be someone for us, the audience, to identify with, because we were expected to share the reaction: “Look at them high-flyin’ folks — well that’s just fine for them! Now, for a woman to be doin’ all that? Hoo-ey brother, I don’t know what I think of that. But I’ll tell you this: if she doesn’t remember my birthday!… if she doesn’t call me when we’re both in Chicago!…”
BETH “If she doesn’t notice my new hat!”
BROOM “If she doesn’t notice my new hat, boy, there is a problem! I kinda thought there was a problem, and now I know there’s a problem.” If he had been a more complete character, it actually wouldn’t have been as disturbing to me.
ADAM Well, I was thinking about this in the context of the romantic comedy tradition. In My Best Friend’s Wedding, the guy doesn’t have a personality either. Maybe there’s something about the fact that it’s a Hepburn-Tracy movie that makes it seem like they should have equal billing — but it’s really a movie about her, just like My Best Friend’s Wedding is about Julia Roberts and Cameron Diaz, and not about… I don’t even know who played him.
BROOM Dermot Mulroney.
ADAM Thank you. It also occurred to me that if this were a contemporary romantic comedy they would each have a best friend.
BROOM They did: he had Pinky and she had Gerald.
ADAM Then they could have talked about their feelings, instead of just having to play out their conflicts with each other.
BROOM They each got to talk about their feelings with the father and the father’s girlfriend.
BETH But contemporary movies overuse the best friend.
ADAM Yeah, it’s a little creaky, but there’s a reason for it. It’s also somebody who can intensify the boyness of the boy character and the girlness of the girl character.
BROOM He was a “sports writer”! What more do you want?
ADAM She didn’t have any lady friends. Except for Gerald.
BROOM She had that woman, the older family friend.
ADAM Her aunt.
BROOM Wait, that was her aunt? Her aunt married her father?
BETH Yes.
ADAM Her mother died when she was a baby and her aunt raised her.
BROOM Okay. I didn’t take in who that woman was. I missed the moment when she introduced herself.
BETH It was at the speech, where he enters through the back curtain. She says, “I’ve always felt about my aunt that she was my mother…”
BROOM Oh right, “… because she was my aunt.”
ADAM No, the aunt says that, while they’re waiting for the plane.
BETH Oh, okay.
BROOM I didn’t recognize that woman as anyone who had been at the speech. I thought it was just a friend who had showed up. I was distracted.
ADAM What’s the classic Tracy-Hepburn movie?
BROOM Adam’s Rib?
ADAM Maybe that’s what I was thinking of when I said His Girl Friday.
BROOM I’ve never seen it.
BETH This is the first one I’ve seen.
ADAM It was certainly amiable and perfectly pleasant to watch. Was there any particularly clever writing? I guess some of the jokes.
BROOM I thought the writing was good throughout, smartly put together. I thought the depiction of her intellectual international stuff was well handled: not cartoonish but also not followable. I mean, it was a little cartoonish, but not in a ridiculous way. Dr. Lubbeck was not Dr. Strangelove. Those people didn’t look like a bunch of Mr. Peanuts. The headlines at the beginning, and the stuff she said on the phone, always sounded serious enough. I appreciated the way that was done, since the whole scheme of the movie was basically for us to feel intimidated by it.
ADAM Alienated from it.
BETH Like we’re on the outside.
BROOM Yes. Spencer Tracy can’t read the Chinese newspaper he’s holding, but that’s his own doing; it’s not as though Gerald is saying [snooty voice] “If you can’t read this, then you, sir, are an idiot!” I liked the dynamic between the two leads when they were falling for each other. It was genuinely romantic. It wasn’t an absurd fast-talk movie but it was still somehow charmed.
ADAM Although they fell in love much too quickly. For a movie with leisurely pacing, that happened awfully fast.
BETH In two days, it seemed like.
BROOM Well, they went to the baseball game, and then to that party, and then he went to see her the next day, and then she asked him to take her to the airport… it wasn’t just a two-scene deal. It was quite a few scenes before they really acknowledged to each other that they had fallen in love. And then they got drunk, and then they went back to the room, and then he left the hat, and then she got him a hat… Remember all those things that happened?
BETH I really liked the party scene, by itself, as just a scene of feeling completely lost and uncomfortable at a party.
ADAM The fact that it went on much too long also contributed to that. Because it was like, “Lgh, this is awkward.” And the Turk: that was particularly awkward.
BROOM Because Sam called the turban a towel?
ADAM No, because I thought he was going to turn out to speak English. “Yes?” “Yes?”
BETH Just as a standalone snippet, I liked that part.
BROOM I enjoyed that sequence too. I enjoyed all the little setpieces. It was all very well balanced. And I can imagine this in 1942 being “the adult entertainment of the season!” It’s all very well put together. So I don’t know why it had to end with him hitting Gerald on the head with champagne. That’s ridiculous.
ADAM Well, Gerald, as the symbol of her officious thoughtlessness, had to be dispatched in some fashion. But that does seem a little bit too Looney Tunes.
BROOM I really didn’t see that he needed to be dispatched. I thought the movie was going to end with them declaring that “this is our home, and this is how we’re going to be at home.” Why she told Gerald to show up there I don’t know.
ADAM She didn’t. He tracked her down.
BETH He traced the call.
ADAM I did think the funniest line in the movie was “Miss Harding said if you’re making eggs she’d like some. She also said I should tell you if I was hungry too. I am.”
BROOM The whole thing was very charming. But it came a little too close to home for me to embrace it as a favorite. Not too close to my home, but to issues of empathy. And, like I said when I watched Summertime: Katharine Hepburn’s energy always feels to me like it has something incomplete about it, like it’s a little bit too brassy to believe.
ADAM She’s not relatable at all.
BROOM And her movies all use that, and say: “that’s just cover, she really needs love just like anyone else.” Which I believe! But then the way they depict that love, how she needs it and how she gets it, it always feels a little shallow, like it’s good enough for the movie’s purposes but it doesn’t really resolve the real issue. I had no sense, at the end of this, that her issues are even remotely resolved. They gave her a whole psychological background: she didn’t grow up in America, she was traveling all around, she never really lived in one place… So when the ending is that he says “You don’t need to cook for me! But you need to be more wifely in other ways!” and she says “Okay!”… I didn’t feel that she would know what that means, or that he would know what that means, or that she will ever be quite happy, or that he will ever really get through to her.
ADAM But that’s a mature comedy, isn’t it? It doesn’t have to be fully resolved; they’re just not going to get divorced right then. Yay, we’re not getting divorced!
BROOM Yes, that’s how I felt at the end: they’re not going to get a divorce today. Someone — maybe I’m still getting this from that Molly Haskell essay — someone called the movies in this genre “comedies of remarriage.” They’re always about a relationship that falls apart — and then the two people each have to find the deeper insights that make it more meaningful, so that in the end they get to be together again.
ADAM Quite literally in this one, she says to him, “Will you marry me?”
BROOM And yet the “first” marriage takes up so much of this movie before the “problem” presents itself, and then in the last scene they just sort of say “ah but don’t you see?” and then it’s suddenly over. It feels like that was just a very thin covering they put over what is essentially an anti-feminist critique built into the rest of the movie.
ADAM If you had walked out of the theater as she’s driving back in the car, you’d think, “Ugh, what a retrograde, regressive movie.”
BETH But didn’t he say “I’m disappointed in you for even trying to do this stuff that has nothing to do with who you are”?
ADAM Yeah. He was saying “I’m disappointed in your attempt at being inauthentic,” not “I’m disappointed in your waffles.”
BETH Which I feel is a very worthwhile message.
BROOM That’s right, and earlier when she gets on her knees and wants to be the little wife, he says, “you’ve been a phony before but this is the worst.” But he never quite said the thing that I really wanted him to say, which was “You’re the most amazing woman in the world, and that’s who I want to be with.” Because he didn’t really give a shit that she was amazing!
BETH Yeah, but in a way, that was what made him deserve her, because he didn’t idolize her, he just liked her. He just loved her.
ADAM He went toe-to-toe with her.
BROOM I’m not sure he did. He kind of just slumped around.
BETH I’m filling in blanks for myself to make it work out.
BROOM I was hoping they would fill them in for us, which I guess represents a kind of nervousness on my part. “Please say the right things and make this okay!” They didn’t sin as badly as I thought they would, but once I started worrying, I couldn’t shake it. Once he said that line, and revealed that the meaning of the title is an ironic question: “Is the ‘woman of the year’ a woman?” That’s some disturbingly high stakes! And they never really “kissed and made up” in the way that would have healed me from having been disturbed by that. But yes, all the stuff they did was cute.
ADAM You’re right; it’s very difficult to imagine Katharine Hepburn playing an ordinary woman. She couldn’t be a housewife. It would be completely unbelievable if she played a housewife!
BETH I don’t think she ever attempted anything like that.
BROOM But try imagining some “more feminine” Hollywood actress playing this role, playing the woman of the year. Myrna Loy or someone, someone who was more of a glamour girl.
BETH Or Ginger Rogers….
BROOM I picked Myrna Loy because she also had an “intellectual” thing that she played.
ADAM Marion Davies! Lucille Ball.
BROOM I think that what you would feel when any other actress was struggling to cook would be, “well, I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”
BETH You’re probably right.
BROOM That’s why that scene was also strange, in insisting that she needed to be humiliated. Because she takes off her coat with some enthusiasm, with the attitude that she’s smart, she can follow instructions, she can do this. And I thought, “yes, that’s probably right. She can figure it out.”
BETH She’s not an idiot.
ADAM She can speak Slovenian.
BROOM She can speak every language in the world, so she might not know how to turn on the burner first thing, but once she figures it out, she’s gonna have it down for life. She learned the rules of baseball in one session!
BETH Sort of.
BROOM The gist was, he says these things once and she takes them in. She’s sharp enough to follow anything, even if it’s not her thing.
ADAM Yeah, you’re right. But she had to be taken down a peg, just in terms of the movie’s geometry.
BROOM Well, that’s exactly it. It’s the idea of pegs and being taken down one that worries me. Does anyone really need to be taken down a peg?
ADAM It wouldn’t have been a satisfying ending if she just said “I love you and I promise to do better” and then she made him waffles. Not only would that not have had any dramatic structure, but it wouldn’t have been satisfying.
BROOM When she hears the marriage vows and tears up, and then drives back while we zoom in on her face, I thought for sure she was going to arrive and makes a speech: “I realized something that I never realized before: I want more than just to be woman of the year. I want you and that means that our home is a place that matters more to me than I knew, and now we’re going to start again.” I thought she was going to invent all that herself!
BETH That’s the Jerry Maguire ending. I don’t think a movie made at this time would have had a line like that.
BROOM Well, I didn’t do a suitably comic version of it. But in this ending, the comedy was just “She don’t know what she doin’!” Also: even if she put yeast in the waffle batter, it wouldn’t come out looking like a rubber balloon in the waffle iron.
BETH It looked like a frog.
BROOM And why did the coffee maker have that huge glass bowl on it?
BETH It was a percolator. I don’t know how those work.
[we read the New York Times review]
BETH So he felt that the ending was essentially that she had returned to find out how to be a wife.
ADAM He seemed to see this as a movie not about men vs. women so much as eggheads vs. ordinary Joes.
BETH It was interesting that he didn’t really mention feminism at all, but I guess that wasn’t part of the public dialogue at the time.
[we then read about the original ending and Ring Lardner’s displeasure with the reshot ending seen in the finished film]
BROOM Like I said! There’s needless humiliation there. But I also understand why their original ending didn’t work, this Gift of the Magi place-switching. Again, I think it goes back to the real problem being that Sam doesn’t have enough of a character.
BETH I think that’s right, yes.
ADAM He’s in a language school in the original ending? That would suggest that he feels shame at being not her equal, instead of just irritation at her.
BROOM Which would have made the movie a little richer; if she could tell him “I don’t need you to be one of these people,” that would mean she had some wisdom to offer him, too: forgiveness for his shame. Without that it felt imbalanced. And surely it didn’t originally end with them launching Gerald. That definitely felt like producers getting in there. “Ya know what people’ll like?” Cigar, cigar.
BETH I did like the last scene, though! I laughed a lot.
ADAM I did too!
BROOM Did you not cringe when he said he launched Gerald?
ADAM We all did!
BROOM Look, I don’t have to dislike things like that. Most of the what I cheerfully lap up from old movies is exactly that they do seem like some producer came up with them, such that they just cluelessly resemble other old movies. But here it did leave me feeling a little queasy.
ADAM She was originally going to write his column for him, just to be a good wife? That’s weird. It’s like, “You think you’ve been castrated so far? Now you’ve been rendered completely superfluous. I can do my job and your job.”
BETH “And you’re not really going to learn these languages; come on.”
Last line in film:
The only footage of the 15th Academy Awards ceremony that I can find is the newsreel seen here (scroll down). The Acceptance Speech Database contains more text than appears in the newsreel, so clearly there is more footage out there somewhere. But even that database doesn’t have any record of most of the awards, including the writing awards. Nor are there any photos of the presentation of the Original Screenplay award.
1999: 2007:
directed by Akira Kurosawa
screenplay by Ryuzo Kikushima and Akira Kurosawa
On we go. Criterion #52. Here too begins my new healthier attitude.
用心棒 = Yōjinbō = The Bodyguard, which is a perfectly good English title. Yojimbo is not.
I don’t know who’s going around saying that I love samurai movies but it’s not true. I’ve said it before, but I guess Akira didn’t hear me, so I say it again: I just don’t get much out of this genre. I find the milieu almost completely unexciting. The instant I see a wet noir street, or a glowing sci-fi planet, or a crumbling Dracula’s castle, I get a good eager taste in my mouth. When I see topknots and kimonos and dust and sliding panel doors I taste nothing. Like a big old gulp of air. Who cares.
This one I basically liked. So that means this one’s pretty great, all things considered. But it’s a drag to have to consider all things. I mean, when have all things ever considered me?
This one’s pretty great but I still don’t like samurai movies. I wrote a longer more intellectual(-sounding) entry investigating the ins and outs of why, but it was beating around the bush. The bush is a black-and-white mulberry bush somewhere on a studio lot in Japan. And who really wants to watch a bush?
Isn’t it important that we leave room in our worldview for there to be things that are genuinely boring? And once that room is made, are not samurai movies clearly such things?
Remember how George H.W. Bush didn’t like broccoli?
Beth said she finds samurai movies pleasantly lulling. I guess I can manage to find most things from before around 1970 pleasantly lulling, in a pinch. Maybe this project qualifies as a pinch.
Kurosawa continues to strike me as being too stately to be punchy and too punchy to be stately. Dammit, how fast is my heart supposed to be beating? Maybe what’s going in is that I’m too uncentered a person to savor balance, but to me it doesn’t feel like balance; it feels like taste tug-o-war between a fish and a fowl.
The exposition in this movie seems to me completely fumbled, undramatic and confusing, and then the story structure is designed around longueurs and redundancies that let the air out. Toward the end, undeniably, there’s some really good pulpy stuff — a top-notch escape from a locked room, for example. But then why wasn’t it all like that? Why is so much of it like hammy theater? Who’s this for? Why don’t I know how to be, watching it?
I think the answer is: dignity, boredom, innocence, and fun are different cultural quantities in Japan, so the math works out differently. Witness karaoke.
But only slightly differently. Every aspect of this movie that worked for me also seemed very American. Call me a jerk if you will, but I think present-day film buffs tend to love Kurosawa because it’s the least adventurous way to like something foreign. It’s just Hollywood as done by a stodgy Japanese uncle. Focusing the mind to be able to disregard the stodge and see through to the intention seems to be a gratifying part of some people’s intellectual self-image. How else to explain these commentary tracks (this one being no exception), which worshipfully point out every composition and editorial choice, even when those choices are blatantly gawky and ineffective? It reminds me of the analyses of 12-tone music I had to read in college: y’all sure have lots to say about what makes it so great but you skipped the part where we investigated whether it is so great.
My response to this commentary track, as to many other commentary tracks (as to many other things I encountered in college besides 12-tone theory): 1) Analysis is not in itself worthwhile or significant, nor does it demonstrate that the thing analyzed is worthwhile or significant. Anything can be analyzed. 2) Mere description is not analysis.
I mean, the commentary is fine. It’s conscientious and scholar-dull as you’d imagine, and tries to make a sweeping historical reading, which is silly. The included documentary from Japanese TV is much like the one on High and Low. It’s good enough but the overarching Japanese low self-esteem makes it all strangely small. They manage to make ostensible pride seem pathetic. What’s the opposite of a humblebrag? Anyway, there sure is a lot of weird Japanese “ahhhhh”ing and hearty chuckling about unfunny things. The 80-year-old set designer is interviewed wearing a Guns N’ Roses T-shirt.
I can see that in its day this movie was pioneering and inventive, but that was 50 years ago. Like I said in dismissing Nanook of the North, there’s a difference between historical significance and greatness.
I’m still glad to have seen it.
I feel strong pressure to make a couple of nominally “objective” points to save face but you know, my face is fine.
(e.g.: that the samurai genre and Yojimbo in particular are often discussed as an analogue to the Western genre, but that in fact this functions more like a gangster movie than a Western, despite the ghost-town visuals. I noted in fact that the plot was rather similar to Miller’s Crossing, and then was vindicated to learn that both movies were documented as having been inspired by Dashiell Hammett’s The Glass Key. And the legacy of this movie’s particular innovations (A Fistful of Dollars aside) seems mostly to be in other genres, in things like Indiana Jones and Die Hard and Dirty Harry. Plus that severed arm that was in every Star Wars movie. And pretty everything else in Star Wars for that matter. George Lucas has been here.)
The music, by Masaru Sato, is delightful — which is not to say it’s not also incredibly heavy-handed and only intermittently effective. Touch of Evil seems like a clear point of reference, but here incorporating elements of traditional Japanese music which surely are to be read as ironic. It’s got “attitude.” The whole movie’s got “attitude.” Just listen: track 52, the main titles.
The trailer uses different music, straight noir sleaze that has no traditional or period element at all, most of it sort of a sardonic saxophone dirge, and it works much better than the real score. In fact, watching it made the whole movie sort of snap into focus in my mind: oh I see, the movie is slow because sleaze is slow. I wish I could watch the whole thing with that score.
You know, I might just have been cranky when I watched it. But consider that you too might be cranky when you watch it.
Oh boy, I wonder what’s next!
Winner in the category of WRITING (Original Screenplay) at the 14th Academy Awards, presented February 26, 1942 at the Biltmore Bowl, Biltmore Hotel.
The other nominees were:
The Devil and Miss Jones — Norman Krasna
Sergeant York — Abem Finkel, Harry Chandlee, Howard Koch, John Huston
Tall, Dark and Handsome — Karl Tunberg, Darrell Ware
Tom, Dick and Harry — Paul Jarrico
Opening of screenplay:
FADE IN
EXT. XANADU – FAINT DAWN – 1940 (MINIATURE)
1WINDOW, VERY SMALL IN THE DISTANCE, ILLUMINATED
All around this an almost totally black screen. Now, as the CAMERA MOVES SLOWLY towards the window which is almost a postage stamp in the frame, other forms appear; barbed wire, cyclone fencing, and now, looming up against an early morning sky, enormous iron grille work. CAMERA TRAVELS up what is now shown to be a gateway of gigantic proportions and HOLDS on the top of it — a huge initial “K” showing darker and darker against the dawn sky. Through this and beyond we see the fairy-tale mountaintop of Xanadu, the great castle a silhouette at its summit, the little window a distant accent in the darkness.
(A series of set-ups, each closer to the great window, all telling something of:)
2THE LITERALLY INCREDIBLE DOMAIN OF CHARLES FOSTER KANE
First line in film:
— Rosebud!
BETH Well that was definitely the best episode of Hoarders I’ve seen.
BROOM That’s a more profound joke than it seems at first.
BETH I was aware of that when I thought of it.
ADAM I found it exhaustingly theatrical. I recognize that it’s really got a lot of clever lines, and clever photography tricks, and clever acting, and it’s affecting… but it’s so different from modern movie-making as to be foreign and antique.
BETH You’ve seen it once before?
ADAM Yeah, once before.
BROOM I don’t think I could agree with “antique,” because that suggests that it’s part of some historical style, but I don’t think that this is in the style of any other movie.
BETH Before or after. It seems like it’s entirely its own thing.
ADAM There were a lot of things here that reminded me of other things, although some of them I guess are movies yet to come. But it reminded me a lot of Gone With the Wind, and that sort of bigger-than-life… You know: “Romance! Drama! Epic!” So maudlin that it’s almost daring you to not have a straight face. But maybe that’s just my small-minded cynical naturalistic modern sensibility.
BROOM I didn’t have a reaction anything like that, so I’m trying to figure out what you might be responding to. What scenes? Give me an example.
ADAM Every time someone was backlit with dramatic, dusty light.
BROOM I see, the whole tone.
ADAM Or a thunderstorm every time anyone was interviewed. Some of the camerawork is really clever, but awfully melodramatic.
BETH It just makes you notice it.
ADAM Coming in through the ceiling like that. Twice.
BROOM Three times if you include going back out.
ADAM So many of the clever transitions were like, a thing dissolves into another thing that’s totally different from it but looks just like it. Like the swinging doors dissolve into the newspaper plates. There were a bunch of those.
BETH And that tired you rather than exhilarated you?
ADAM Well, maybe it’s just that tonight it tired me. Maybe in a different sort of emotional mood I’d feel differently about it. But at the moment it was just… I mean, no wonder I had thought it was longer than 119 minutes.
BROOM It’s very dense. It must be one of the movies most dense with incident. It compresses so much content — not just narrative time, but perspectives and things that it’s trying to address. So it does feel very long.
ADAM Don’t get me wrong: I didn’t not enjoy it. Although I was fatigued by it, there are so many rich little details that are cool. And clever. Like the scene at the very end when the cockatoo screams in your face.
BROOM Well, your objection is the one that I think critics of the time held over it: that it was technically showy in a way that didn’t necessarily further its cause. But to me, part of what’s exciting and satisfying about this movie is the particular combination of this technique and this material, which is very ambitious even separated from the technique. To me it’s stimulating; it doesn’t feel like they’re fighting with each other.
ADAM I’m not saying that I didn’t think it was successful. I’m saying that it felt like I ate an entire fruitcake at one sitting.
BROOM I feel stimulated by exactly what you’re saying was fatiguing to you. Beth and I are reading our way through the George Smiley novels of John Le Carré, and the first one — Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy — was striking to me the first time I read it, and again recently when we reread it, for being hard to follow. It doesn’t belabor anything; it makes it difficult to keep track of what’s significant. But as a result of having to turn your brain up to that level, it has an intensity. What you glean out of it seems somehow richer than just some genre spy novel. Whereas in the third one, which we’re reading now, he’s being a lot more obviously careful not to lose the reader, and as a result the whole thing seems thinner. And this to me worked on the same principle. The fact that there’s so much shadowplay and trickery put me in a state of having to run, and then the blood is pumping and you feel that something exciting is happening to you as you experience the non-trickery part of it, the material itself. Which I think is thrilling exactly because as a result, the ambition of what it’s trying to be about, which is pretty grand, works. At least for me. You can have this movie that’s about the meaning of life, or “who is a person?” — it works because the audience is put into this state of being drawn through a haunted house and things are jumping out at you. It intensifies your experience of what’s there. So I didn’t feel fatigued. Except for maybe in that haunted house sense of “Whoa! This is really intense.” It didn’t feel too long. But I guess it has to do with how sleepy a person is.
BETH It does, because I know that in previous viewings I have felt that it was a slog, and “I know I’m supposed to like this but.” But this time I completely did like it. Partly because I’m reading a biography of Orson Welles, and I’m drawing parallels. I was connecting with it, not on the level that you’re talking about, but just sort of analyzing Orson’s psychology.
BROOM I think I had the best experience of it, then.
BETH You probably did.
BROOM This was probably my best experience ever watching it. I got goosebumps and felt overwhelmed by what it was saying.
ADAM It could have used more levity and moments of exhaling. I guess it had those, but they weren’t really coded that way.
BETH It didn’t have many.
ADAM Like the scene with the dancing girls I’m sure is supposed to feel like a moment of relaxation…
BETH I don’t know, I think it’s supposed to be ironic. It’s grim.
BROOM I think it’s supposed to have a feeling of claustrophobic good cheer, and you see it in Joseph Cotten’s face: “I’m at the party, but…”
ADAM Oh. I thought maybe there was supposed to be some relief in that “fun,” but it didn’t really feel that fun to me. And I was going to say maybe it doesn’t feel that fun to me because seventy years have gone by. But maybe really it’s just not fun.
BETH Yeah, it’s not.
ADAM It’s fun like Edgar Bergen and that little girl.
BROOM If you take it at its word and its tone, it’s a very grim movie. It’s almost a kind of ghost story-ification of a biographical movie. It takes the idea of investigating a person and makes it gothic. It’s upsetting!
ADAM It has kind of a Masque of the Red Death quality.
BROOM Yeah! I was going to say Poe.
ADAM A room lit by horrible cross-cutting stained glass.
BROOM I think it ends on the “No Trespassing” sign at the end because —
BETH That was great; I had not made anything of that in prior viewings. Or I just didn’t remember it.
BROOM There’s no trespassing on the heart.
BETH On the soul.
ADAM So in terms of innovation: is this the first time in movies that you see a man crazily crashing around a room destroying everything?
BETH I was thinking about that too, because we just watched The Room…
BROOM When we were watching The Room and he destroyed a room badly, I thought, “I hope this doesn’t discolor our upcoming viewing of Citizen Kane. But apparently it did.
BETH I couldn’t help it!
ADAM When we saw this in college I remember talking about how when you see his first marriage dissolving, it’s the first time you have a montage of anecdote, essentially, being used to convey dramatic narrative.
BROOM Maybe. I don’t know if it’s the first time.
BETH It’s definitely referred to all the time.
BROOM It’s a very iconic sequence. I think I got this from the Roger Ebert commentary that’s on the disc — or maybe somewhere else: that Welles didn’t truly innovate a lot of this stuff, he borrowed it, but he borrowed from such widespread sources that he consolidates a lot of what had been avant-garde technique into this one movie. It showcases so much invention that had been in 20s and 30s cinema that it ends up feeling new.
ADAM Like what?
BROOM I don’t remember because I don’t remember the source of this comment. But things to do with the lighting, the staging, the extreme constrasts. The deep focus. Strange camera movements that take you from one space to another space through an intermediate space. The ghostly quality of the camera’s relationship to the subject.
ADAM I was thinking of the scene where he’s in the hall giving the speech running for governor, because of course we just saw that last year in The Great McGinty, in all those crowd scenes.
BROOM That’s true.
ADAM But here of course you’re in the back of the theater, there’s that big Hitler poster of him… it was turned up to eleven.
BROOM The elevenness of it is this Romantic, gothic tone that covers the whole thing. I know that Orson Welles generally liked that for his radio plays…
BETH He liked it for everything.
BROOM … because it’s intense. And for me it works. Maybe it’s a taste thing, but for me it goes beyond my own “taste” and self-image: I really get transfixed by that kind of intensity. The threat of it! There’s a kind of scariness to it.
ADAM I’m not saying it didn’t work; I’m just saying I wanted to get up in the middle.
BROOM Which you did. Which you were free to do. So we’re here to talk about the screenplay.
BETH I was gonna say.
ADAM It’s full of bon mots. That aren’t necessarily relevant to the story. I guess the most famous one is the woman in white on the ferry, which is, you know, a poem in six words, if you will, just sort of strewn there for no reason.
BROOM Well, I think for a very clear reason.
ADAM For atmosphere.
BROOM It’s directly related to the subject of the movie.
ADAM Well, it’s not narrative.
BETH It’s thematic.
ADAM Yes.
BROOM The screenplay is designed to be returned to and studied and seen more than once, and on a second or third viewing, that anecdote becomes one of the oblique explanations that the movie offers for Rosebud, which it never gets to address overtly: what are we really saying, for him to have been dreaming on this sled? This ferry story is an explanation of how these things can function psychologically. I mean, if you watch it from the beginning there are lines in almost every scene that turn out to sort of be coded lines for the second-time viewer about what you’re going to understand the movie really to be about.
ADAM Right, but which are also memorable and striking in their own right.
BROOM Of course potentially it all works for the first-time viewer, because you’re gathering this outlook, the philosophical perspective of the movie, and you hear people saying all these things, so that you’re suitably prepared to find out what “Rosebud” means, at the end. In the first scene, a reporter says, “Maybe it’s a horse that he bet on… that didn’t come in!” A variety of things like this are said. What does the woman say in the last scene? Someone says something at the very end…
ADAM “Something he lost…”
BROOM Right. “Maybe it was something he lost… Maybe it was something he couldn’t get.” That’s what the story about the woman on the ferry is: “you’d be surprised what sticks in a man’s mind.”
ADAM I’m not saying it’s not related to the theme, I’m just…
BROOM You’re quoting Roger Ebert, who came and made a speech about that when we were in college.
ADAM Is that why that’s stuck in my head? All right, fine.
BETH You guys saw him?
BROOM We saw Siskel and Ebert talk together, which supposedly was something of a rarity because they didn’t really like each other, and they gave sort of parallel speeches from opposite sides of a stage.
ADAM I don’t remember this. Though apparently I do remember this.
BROOM Here are a few things I remember about it. It was only a year or so before Siskel’s death. The theme they chose to talk about was scenes in movies that are not explicitly necessary.
ADAM Is this where I got the Fargo thing, from this event? It wasn’t a thing we saw on TV?
BROOM Yes. They each talked about scenes that contribute to a movie spiritually without being a plot necessity. I don’t remember exactly the thesis statement, but it was something to the effect that that’s the essence of movies, being given these moments that don’t have to happen, where you don’t know why they’re happening but in a larger sense you feel why they’re happening because you’re in movie space.
BETH I like that.
BROOM I think the woman on the ferry was Ebert’s example, and Siskel’s example was the scene from Fargo where she meets with the guy from high school…
ADAM Gordon.
BROOM … who turns out to be sort of delusional…
ADAM I think Gordon is his name. If I’m wrong you can correct me in brackets in a snotty way.
BROOM No, I won’t do any such thing. [ed: I don’t need to — readers can click this link to watch the Mike Yanagita scene and decide for themselves.] Here’s the other thing I remember from that event: Ebert said “You know, you can go across the street to the Coop and buy—” and Siskel started laughing and said, “Coop? Like a chicken coop? It’s the CO-OP, Roger!” And Ebert lit up, and turned immediately to the audience and said “What do you guys call it?” And everyone shouted “The Coop!” And Siskel was sort of shame-faced. It was like that’s what Ebert lived for.
ADAM Well, I guess that stuck with me without my knowing where it came from. But anyway, Orson Welles is sort of showing off at the end by giving everyone their best little witticism in the credits.
BROOM They seemed to be alternate takes.
ADAM And what could be showier than that last credit?
BROOM The faux modesty of putting “Kane” at the very end of the credit list?
ADAM The humblebrag.
BROOM But then he has a proper card for “Direction — Production”.
ADAM That just makes it even snottier. “Oh, well, acting, psssh.”
BROOM But the big director credit is on the same screen with the photographer, which I think is a genuine sharing of glory.
BETH Was this the first movie that did that thing with clips of each character at the end?
BROOM Oh, I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t know. It was certainly standard form for trailers.
BETH Even in the 30s?
BROOM I don’t know. I’m just so used to it.
ADAM I think Coming to America was the first.
BROOM Back to what I want to say about the screenplay. The impetus would seem to be reading about famous or powerful people like William Randolph Hearst, and speculating about them. The fun of talking about Michael Jackson and how weird he is: “what’s going on on that crazy estate he lives on?” Or Gwyneth Paltrow and her “ridiculous” divorce announcement. And then in a writerly, humanist, artist’s way, saying: “if we’re going to speculate, let’s try to be as real as possible about what’s going on behind this public figure.” And yet the brilliant thing about it is that it doesn’t answer that explicitly. It occupies itself with the business of trying to get through and be real. Beth, when you said during the opera scene that you liked that she wasn’t hilariously bad — I feel like that’s the spirit of the whole movie: we’re not going to laugh at any of this stuff. We’re going to make it gothic, and then it’s going to be up to you to feel out what’s behind it that makes it so, figure out what is the ghost in the closet.
ADAM Not that it’s subtle: three different people say “What he wanted was love.”
BROOM That’s right; it’s very direct and simple about its psychological outlook, in what it does offer. But it rings true as far as it goes. And the kernel of it, that scene with his parents, leaves a lot of questions unanswered — to me, at least; maybe I’m missing things — about why they are each behaving the way they do in that scene.
ADAM His mother is an abused wife who is cold for her son’s protection; the father is a drunken ne’er-do-well who mishandles them.
BROOM So you take the mother’s words at the end of the scene at face value: “I’m sending him away because you are likely to beat him.”
ADAM As opposed to what?
BROOM Well, I think we’re supposed to be chilled when she says “I’ve had his bags packed for a week” and is stony.
ADAM I think she is a monster, but an understandable monster.
BROOM You think she’s the victim of abuse and that has made her into stone.
ADAM That’s sort of how I read it. I’m sure there are other ways to read it.
BETH I hadn’t read it like that before, but I like that interpretation. It makes her more sympathetic and understandable.
ADAM As opposed to that she’s just a witch?
BETH It’s partially that Agnes Moorehead looks like a witch that makes it hard to sympathize with her.
ADAM In fact I can only think of her as a witch, since she played Endora.
BETH But your interpretation makes a lot more sense, actually.
BROOM But it follows on a scene of the father ineffectually pacing around and fairly sympathetically saying “Why does my son have to go away?”
BETH But he also seems a little bit drunk.
BROOM Clearly drunk.
ADAM And then when the fifty thousand dollars is mentioned, he drops his protestation and says, “Well, I hope it’s for the best.” I’m sure he’s not a bad guy, but…
BROOM I’m not saying “You guys need to be nicer to him; I love the dad,” but the movie is all about the love that Kane needs because of this separation.
BETH It’s clear that he had more of an affinity for his mother. “Mom, why aren’t you coming with me, mom?”
BROOM He loves Pop too; he runs over to him.
ADAM Leland says later, “He never loved anyone but himself. Well, I guess he loved his mother.” Are you supposed to take that at face value? That his childhood really was this halcyon place? Or is it just a fantasy, the way the woman on the ferry is a fantasy?
BETH It’s his memory, which is infused with…
ADAM But if he really was beaten… if it really was as bad as his mother implies.
BROOM I don’t get the sense that that’s the case, from that last scene. I do think it’s implied from her last line that he has beaten her and that she cannot conceive of raising her son in this environment. But there’s something darker going on with her than just a kind of beaten-down resilient pragmatism.
ADAM Oh, I agree. She’s coded as a total creep. The way she stares out the window like death. It’s super-creepy.
BROOM And yet he as a child seems basically cheery. I guess maybe you could read into the fact that his make-believe in the snow is some sort of battle. But we don’t really know. And that’s what the “No Trespassing” of the whole screenplay is.
ADAM They seem to be a darker version of Scarlett O’Hara’s parents.
BROOM I don’t remember how Scarlett O’Hara’s parents are portrayed.
ADAM Her father is sort of a drunken, sentimental Irishman, and her mother is a chilly, elegant Charleston dame.
BROOM Do we see them for more than one scene?
ADAM You see the father a lot. Maybe it’s just me, but to me this movie has strong impressions of Gone With the Wind.
BROOM I haven’t seen that at all since I was a teenager.
ADAM It also has strong Gatsby qualities. But it’s sort of a haunted house Gatsby, as you said.
BROOM Yes, it’s related, but in Gatsby the presentation is different because the audience and the narrator are somewhat drawn into the potential glamour of this way of life, whereas here the entire pageant is about how he’s trying too hard and protesting too much.
ADAM Yeah, you’re right. The subject matter is the same but the psychological outlook is different.
BROOM This time while watching, I was thinking: “And why shouldn’t he want to be loved? Who in this story does love him? He is very lonely.” I guess this is where the Orson Welles parallels become complex.
BETH They’re all over this movie.
BROOM Because the movie has a very scolding, cautionary-tale attitude toward the impulse to try to buy love. But it doesn’t present an image of what he could have done instead. It sort of says that having been set on this path, this emotional need inside him was always going to express itself this way, which wasn’t going to work.
ADAM Well, Susan seemed like she could legitimately love him; she was very nice to him in the first scene, even though she didn’t know who he was. That was sort of the sweetest scene between any two people in the whole movie. And when she turns into a harridan, it’s disappointing.
BROOM She only shrieks like that in the stress of having been made into an opera star, which is artificial for her. But that “sweet” scene when they’re in her apartment together: the scene doesn’t miss an opportunity to have her say something really stupid.
ADAM Oh yeah, she’s clearly a moron.
BETH “Is it an elephant?”
BROOM Or later when they’re at Xanadu and she says “What time is it in New York?” and he says “11:30” and she says “At night?”
ADAM When he’s dressing her as the opera star, it felt like Vertigo to me.
BROOM But that scene in the apartment is a sweet scene, because he says he was on his way to a warehouse of his mother’s stuff, looking to recapture his own actual emotional life, and so her childlike simplicity feels to him like a connection… and then he immediately invests it with “what will I buy you? How will I give you fame and glory?” And poisons it. The script is very determinist about that. It doesn’t say “here’s where he could have gone right; here’s where he made a mistake.” It’s all imposed on him at the beginning. Although when she says “you never gave me anything that I actually wanted” — when he does tricks to cheer her up in her apartment, it is sort of an actual act of generosity. Although maybe we’re supposed to see that as trickery; he’s just trying to impress.
BETH To seduce.
BROOM Trying to get another person to think he’s cool.
ADAM I felt pained watching this thinking that we’ll never get to see a remake starring Philip Seymour Hoffman. It struck me overwhelmingly, at the end, that this would have been quite a role for him.
BROOM I don’t think this needs to be remade. You saw that April Fools’ joke about Keanu Reeves.
ADAM I didn’t see The Master, but you did, right?
BROOM Yes, and I guess it did have some connections. There Will Be Blood, actually, had more in common with Citizen Kane, though.
ADAM That was another movie that I felt was so hard to actually sit through because it was so gnarled with style. But that’s not as good as this.
BROOM That’s a movie that I found harder to take than this — though I really liked it and admired it and was glad to sit through it — but I found that harder to take because it depended less on tricks: it spent longer periods letting us just soak in the uncomfortable atmosphere of a particular moment. Whereas Citizen Kane is such a screenplay movie; watching it feels like reading a screenplay, in some ways. And that’s what’s exciting about it: this unfettered freedom to have whatever next thought it wants.
BETH That’s interesting though, because it’s so directed. I didn’t feel at all like I was reading a screenplay, because it’s so visual.
BROOM I didn’t mean it feels like reading in that it’s as colorless as words on a page; I mean it moves around conceptually in a way I associate with reading.
ADAM You mean because it’s choppy, and it cuts back and forth between past and future?
BROOM Yeah, and I feel like its attention generally moves with a very advanced kind of freedom that I associate with the printed word. It’s creatively exciting to watch because it feels unfettered.
BETH That’s not really done now.
BROOM I don’t think it’s been done in very many movies. I mean, there’s a structure to it; obviously the script has been carefully worked through many times: they knew there would be sequences about his love life, his political career, the newspaper, Xanadu — and then they divided them up, and chose which order, and who’s going to talk about what, and which parts are going to be repeated… But still the flavor of how it’s constructed is that the mind skips around, through time and thematically.
ADAM I like that you’re introduced to him through a newsreel. I remember when I read American Pastoral, the structure was very striking. The first third of it is the main character as observed by Zuckerman. And he seems super-shallow, and he doesn’t understand why he’s supposed to think that this guy is so profound. It’s all the main character seen from the surface. And it’s only then that you pivot into the story and see him through his own eyes. It has this coiled structure, where the surface is first and then you come into the inside. I mention that not because I think there’s anything related here, but because that observation was a touchstone for me when I read it. Here, first you see him through the newsreel, which is this sort of impassive quote-unquote “objective” picture of his life.
BROOM And there’s nothing gothic or Romantic about the visual style or presentation.
BETH Although I think those handheld shots of him being wheeled around are pretty innovative and genuinely feel invasive.
BROOM Because it’s directly implied that these are paparazzi shots stolen from outside his gates.
ADAM “No trespassing”!
BROOM Watching that sequence, right at the beginning, I thought, “This screenplay is already more sophisticated than almost any other,” because it’s about how we think about people, and it starts by showing us a way of talking about people that we’re all familiar with, which the point of the movie is to improve upon — but it doesn’t write off the newsreel a joke; it’s densely full of information. By the time you get to the end of the newsreel, not only has it mapped out the whole story, but it’s told you a whole lot of genuinely interesting stuff.
ADAM That’s the only reference in the whole movie to his son’s death.
BROOM And to the source of his money, essentially. The newsreel is already exciting in that the movie is declaring that it’s going to be about a made-up major public figure, and filling in that outline. That the game of the movie is to hypothesize a “Citizen Kane” of great fame and influence. If I had lived in the time of William Randolph Hearst, some of what is impressive to me about this movie might not be, because I would really get that it’s a thinly veiled speculative biography of Hearst, whereas to me now it feels like a pure display of invention. And what a canvas to be painting on! It’s not a zone in which fiction is usually made. It’s like fictional news; it addresses itself to whole idea of public figures and makes up this stuff. It’s already exciting, just to be told a story that way. And then the newsreel projector runs down and suddenly we’re in this world of shadows where the real movie is going to take place. And I just now had the thought that maybe the haunted house shadowy quality is a visual analogue to what the movie is about, that everybody carries this shadow reality, their emotional self, while they’re going about their business.
ADAM Behind their newsreel self.
BROOM Yeah.
BETH Well, isn’t this kind of the first movie about Twitter? When he said “News never stops, it’s 24 hours,” I was like, “Yeah, you just invented Twitter.”
BROOM I don’t know what you mean.
BETH That instant information, and branding, were represented here.
BROOM The connection is that people on Twitter are fake versions of themselves?
BETH Yeah, that it’s self-representation.
BROOM I see, self-branding. I wasn’t sure if you were talking about the media itself. Since the movie is about newspapers.
BETH Well, and the drive to be the first person to share information.
ADAM Also it’s like Twitter in that it has a mosaic quality; that everybody has a different story about him, and none of them is the right story but they all overlap to form pieces of this larger whole.
BROOM This is what I was leading to: the movie by its style feels haunted by something, and that something is his emotional life, this inner life. Which we are sort of told we haven’t seen anything of, that these stories are just surface stories, though that’s not entirely true: we glean and get a sense, and, as you said, there are several scenes where people are very explicit about how what he really needs is love. But that too is their interpretation. The inner reality is always behind what we’re seeing, it’s implied, it’s like the atmosphere that lets you know that a house is haunted. So that atmosphere infuses the whole thing because he’s the haunted house, and his feelings, that he doesn’t actually say out loud — we don’t really know what he feels like, even though we can speculate.
ADAM Or if he knows what he feels.
BROOM Yeah: he doesn’t know what he feels like. That’s the meaning of the scene at the end where he pathetically trashes the room, because he knows he’s having some feeling and thinks that maybe he’s supposed to wreck all this stuff. It has that pathetic quality of trying to perform something for himself. But it just seems spectacularly bold to put that on paper and then try to put it on screen. And be effective! So that I can I sit here and watch and pick up on all this and know what they intended. You have to have…
BETH Conviction!
BROOM Yeah, to just do it and not stop.
ADAM To be clear: I think we could talk about this for another hour. Not that we will, Emma.
BROOM She’s not reading these anymore.
ADAM That’s a testament to the density and quality of the material. But ugh, I’m ready for a caper. A sorbet.
BROOM Next up is Woman of the Year, which I think ought to suit you.
BETH We’ve already got it. You can watch it right now.
BROOM There are just very few movies that try to be so…
ADAM So literary.
BROOM That so baldly try to say something true about life, on this scale. It’s an anti-genre movie. You were talking earlier about how writers begin by depending on genre stuff in their heads, to get themselves going, which reminds me of something else I wanted to say — I know I’m talking seven times as much as you guys are, but you should just cut in if you want to say something! —
ADAM That’s okay. We’re used to it.
BROOM You should have cut in then, too!
ADAM No, we just don’t have as many thoughts as you do.
BROOM When I was a kid, I understood Citizen Kane to be this mystery movie about a man who says a word at the beginning, and you don’t find out what it meant until the end, and it’s not what anyone thought! It’s a thing you’d never have guessed, even though it was there on the first page all along. And that was it. And that was plenty: it’s a great form, it’s very satisfying. And it was almost satisfying enough for me to enjoy watching the whole movie — even though it was a bit long and I might get bored in the middle, when we’re dealing with Boss Gettys or something, which really doesn’t have anything to do with Rosebud. But really, it was just like a children’s book about “The elephant’s been with us all along! Did you spot him on page 2?” And what’s wonderful about the screenplay’s use of that structure is that what I just described is a completely cohesive understanding of the movie; it is not at all a misunderstanding of the movie. On the first page when he’s a kid and he just has his feelings as a kid: that was the secret of his whole life all along, and nobody noticed it…
ADAM You should put a spoiler alert at the beginning of this entry.
BROOM I had it spoiled for me by a Peanuts cartoon.
BETH It was referenced a lot when we were kids. Rosebud was everywhere.
ADAM I agree. It was spoiled for me long before I’d seen the movie.
BROOM In some ways — in most ways — it’s not really a spoiler. You like the movie better if you know what it is. Because if you didn’t know that it was going to be a sled, when you found out, you’d probably go, “Oh… Why was it a sled?” And then be like, “Hm, I guess because when he was a kid was the purest time in his life, and he felt nostalgic for that; whatever.” Whereas if you know at the outset that that is the entire point of the movie, you’re able to enjoy it.
ADAM Probably, but it would be interesting to actually see the whole movie without knowing it. Because the question is: is anyone actually invested in the mystery of “what is Rosebud”? Obviously we’re not.
BROOM I’m saying, for a kid, that was a totally legitimate way to watch the movie. And it’s exciting! To see the lips saying the word, and nobody knows what it means, and the glass ball breaks — it’s all very spooky and expressionistic; and then we have those shadowy guys in that room saying, “Rosebud, his last word: what does it mean?” Of course you’re invested in the mystery.
ADAM And it has a noir quality, that they don’t find out but you do. “The truth can never be told.”
BROOM And in this respect too, the movie is like a ghost story. It’s like The Ring or something: they have to go to the haunted island to interview the last person who saw the ghost. And right before he kills himself he says two words: what was he hinting at? And the old lady in the shack in the woods: what did she see?
ADAM “Redrum!”
BROOM There was an Indian burial ground here!
BETH “Pay me a thousand dollars and I’ll tell you.”
BROOM You feel almost worried; it’s scary: when is the revelation going to come? And then it’s a worthy revelation: it’s the thing from the beginning, and he’s already dead, and it goes up in black smoke. So it’s great that that is legitimately how this movie works; that is right. And all this sophisticated stuff about marriages, about journalism, and friendships, about real politics, and fake politics, and crazy people who build estates for themselves — Michael Jackson, and George Lucas — is the distraction from the real thing, which is that everybody is a kid inside, everybody’s got feelings. And there’s no way for him to get back to that at the end; he’s too old and too isolated, and he’s about to die. That’s why I get chills now: because the thing that I thought as a kid is still right. The paradigm of “But no it’s a twist ending!” is still correct. And I don’t think the cinematic device of the twist, the cheap ghost-story twist, as a kid understands it, could be used for a more profound purpose than this. Where the twist is that your life is not about the thing that you think it’s about; it’s about the other thing, the thing that nobody is talking about because it was too mundane, the thing on the first page.
BETH So do you think this will become the number one movie again?
BROOM After Vertigo?
BETH Because really, Vertigo is not about life the way this is. This is definitely a better movie.
ADAM I haven’t seen Vertigo in a long time.
BROOM Well, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t win Best Screenplay.
ADAM I don’t think any Hitchcock movie is going to win.
BROOM Yeah, I guess this is better, but the total unreality of Vertigo can serve a purpose in talking about real life. I guess what’s thrilling about Citizen Kane is that it contains both. Vertigo is just the psychodrama, just the nightmare version of things.
BETH And our culture is pretty consumed with the appeal of the nightmare right now.
ADAM Wouldn’t it be interesting to see a remake of this where you could see it with all of the lavish spectacle that presumably audiences saw in 1941? This would have seemed like really crazy special effects.
BROOM It doesn’t feel like that to you now? It’s visually very exciting.
BETH It still feels like that to me.
ADAM Yeah, but it still feels old-timey, because it’s an old-timey movie.
BETH Do you think if we’d made it fill the whole width of the TV that would have helped you?
ADAM I don’t know.
BROOM I think this Blu-ray image looks so crisp and fresh, and the photography is so stylized, that I don’t have a sense of it being old. I mean, obviously I do, of course, in a way that I’ve forgotten about. I just don’t think about it anymore. Yeah, this is from the past. But I’m so comfortable with it. And I feel spoken to very directly by it. So I’m not at all attracted to the idea that anyone should do it again. But someone could do a close equivalent. The material of “a big man’s life” — you could do anything with that.
ADAM You’re not interested in seeing it done by Baz Luhrmann? With rap music?
BROOM I’m not much of a fan of Baz.
ADAM I’m genuinely curious to see what the New York Times has to say.
[we read the review]
BROOM I always like Bosley Crowther. I know that he wasn’t very well liked in his time or by other critics.
ADAM Yeah, that was a review you can be proud of.
BROOM Yes, he “got it right.” His quibble is with whether the film should have told us more about Kane.
BETH I think the fact that it didn’t tell us more is powerful.
BROOM So I really don’t know anything about Herman J. Mankiewicz. Do you, Beth, reading that biography? Not yet?
BETH No.
BROOM What I’ve heard is that Welles didn’t really write it; Mankiewicz did.
BETH That’s interesting to me because there are many parallels with Orson’s life. So my impression is that he at least tinkered with whatever was written.
BROOM Well, maybe I’m wrong about that.
Last line in film:
This is the only video footage I can find that seems to be from the Academy Awards ceremony. Selections from the radio broadcast audio are available on this page, but the presentation of Best Original Screenplay is not among them.
The acceptance speech (winners not present; accepted by George Schaefer, President of RKO Radio):
GEORGE SCHAEFER: Mr. Herman Mankiewicz called me today and asked if I would be good enough to step up here tonight and receive this in his behalf. I’m flattered, of course. I’d be happier if he were here personally to receive it. Thank you very much.
Here is a photo of the moment. Preston Sturges, last year’s winner, is presenting.
According to the 2014 edition of the “1000 Greatest Films” list at They Shoot Pictures, Don’t They?, which purports to be the aggregation of all other such lists, the Criterion films thus far fall as follows:
1. Grand Illusion: 39
2. Seven Samurai: 10
3. The Lady Vanishes: 573
4. Amarcord: 77
5. The 400 Blows: 23
6. Beauty and the Beast: 234
7. A Night to Remember: —
8. The Killer: 685
9. Hard Boiled: —
10. Walkabout: 408
11. The Seventh Seal: 70
12. This Is Spinal Tap: 348
13. The Silence of the Lambs: 537
14, 15, 16. The Samurai Trilogy: —
17. Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom: 186
18. The Naked Kiss: —
19. Shock Corridor: 570
20. Sid & Nancy: —
21. Dead Ringers: 488
22. Summertime: —
23. Robocop: — (2012 list: 764)
24. High and Low: 327
25. Alphaville: 391
26. The Long Good Friday: —
27. Flesh for Frankenstein: —
28. Blood for Dracula: —
29. Picnic at Hanging Rock: 515
30. M: 49
31. Great Expectations: 447
32. Oliver Twist: —
33. Nanook of the North: 246
34. Andrei Rublev: 25
35. Diabolique: 624
36. The Wages of Fear: 251
37. Time Bandits: —
38. Branded to Kill: 742
39. Tokyo Drifter: —
40. Armageddon: —
41. Henry V: 647
42. Fishing With John: — (N/A?)
43. Lord of the Flies: —
44. The Red Shoes: 154
45. Taste of Cherry: 410
46. The Most Dangerous Game: —
47. Insomnia: —
48. Black Orpheus: 667
49. Nights of Cabiria: 176
50. And the Ship Sails On: — (2011 list: 949)
51. Brazil: 225
Or, put the other way:
10 Seven Samurai
23 The 400 Blows
25 Andrei Rublev
39 Grand Illusion
49 M
70 The Seventh Seal
77 Amarcord
154 The Red Shoes
176 Nights of Cabiria
186 Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom
225 Brazil
234 Beauty and the Beast
251 The Wages of Fear
246 Nanook of the North
327 High and Low
344 This Is Spinal Tap
391 Alphaville
408 Walkabout
410 Taste of Cherry
447 Great Expectations
488 Dead Ringers
515 Picnic at Hanging Rock
537 The Silence of the Lambs
570 Shock Corridor
573 The Lady Vanishes
624 Diabolique
647 Henry V
667 Black Orpheus
685 The Killer
742 Branded to Kill
2012: 764 Robocop
2011: 949 And the Ship Sails On
None of
7. A Night to Remember
9. Hard Boiled
14, 15, 16. The Samurai Trilogy
18. The Naked Kiss
20. Sid & Nancy
22. Summertime
26. The Long Good Friday
27. Flesh for Frankenstein
28. Blood for Dracula
32. Oliver Twist
37. Time Bandits:
39. Tokyo Drifter
40. Armageddon
43. Lord of the Flies
46. The Most Dangerous Game
47. Insomnia
42. Fishing With John (N/A?)
is invited to the party.
By contrast, here is my personal critical ordering (as done just now with minimal deliberation):
5. The 400 Blows
34. Andrei Rublev
35. Diabolique
51. Brazil
12. This Is Spinal Tap
49. Nights of Cabiria
10. Walkabout
6. Beauty and the Beast
11. The Seventh Seal
42. Fishing With John
4. Amarcord
50. And the Ship Sails On
44. The Red Shoes
1. Grand Illusion
30. M
31. Great Expectations
26. The Long Good Friday
29. Picnic at Hanging Rock
48. Black Orpheus
3. The Lady Vanishes
45. Taste of Cherry
46. The Most Dangerous Game
24. High and Low
2. Seven Samurai
37. Time Bandits
22. Summertime
32. Oliver Twist
19. Shock Corridor
47. Insomnia
36. The Wages of Fear
20. Sid & Nancy
7. A Night to Remember
13. The Silence of the Lambs
39. Tokyo Drifter
9. Hard Boiled
18. The Naked Kiss
38. Branded to Kill
40. Armageddon
14, 15, 16. The Samurai Trilogy
21. Dead Ringers
41. Henry V
8. The Killer
28. Blood for Dracula
43. Lord of the Flies
33. Nanook of the North
23. Robocop
25. Alphaville
27. Flesh for Frankenstein
17. Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom N/A
Comparing this list to the ostensible critical consensus list above, we find that apparently by my estimation, the most overrated of these movies are Nanook of the North and Alphaville, and the most underrated are Diabolique and The Ship Sails On.
Sure.
But wait, there’s “more.” It remains to reveal why I have chosen to pause for these obsessive festivities at this particular point, after 51 films.
Indulge me this alternate trophy case.
And from the front, tiny:
Those are the original spines and covers of titles 1–51, as they appeared upon release, beginning March 31, 1998, and running through the fall of 1999. These comprise the entirety of the releases designed to Criterion’s first DVD cover template:
With #52 they introduced the second template, a considerable ensleekening of the same basic idea:
This lasted until 2006 and #341. #342 is the first title with the third template, the longest-lived and still in use today, courtesy of the all-powerful “Paula Scher of Pentagram”:
(If you’re wondering what number they’re up to now: #703 The Freshman was released on March 25.)
To obsess over this a little bit further — which is, after all, what they want us to do: Criterion does not release these exactly in “spine #” order. The numbering is apparently assigned early enough in the production process that delays can cause projects to fall out of order in the queue, sometimes far out of order. As it turns out, one of their longest-delayed titles was #1, Grand Illusion, which was put off for nearly two years because a better film source was located. It didn’t become available until November 1999, around the same time as #62. So its cover wasn’t actually designed until after the second template was already in effect. If you scroll back up you’ll see that it’s different from the rest.
You’ll also see that it has an all-around snazzier cover than most of the other first 51 releases. With the exception of the last of them, the very showy Brazil translucent slipcase 3-disc extravaganza, the packaging design of this first year’s releases does not yet seem to be the priority and hallmark that it has since become for Criterion. Certainly if you go back and look at the laserdiscs that they had been releasing since 1984, the cover designs are completely ordinary.
It seems as though the heavy design investment in the Brazil packaging marked the arrival of a new strategy, and that the sleeker branding of the new template that followed it is another manifestation of the same. To my surprise I can’t find the history of this epochal business decision documented online, despite its obvious geek appeal as a subject, but maybe I just haven’t searched hard enough. Anyway, Steve Jobs gets all these accolades for having made a fortune by betting on design above all; whoever steered Criterion to put its money into art direction was just as inspired, in a distinctly different sort of market. I mean, I don’t know the numbers. I just know that when you go to Barnes & Noble DVD department today, in the age of the digital download, “The Criterion Collection” gets its own aisle, on par with “Comedy” or “Children.” I think it’s the only brand in the entire store that gets treated like a genre unto itself. Design is why.
I have very deeply mixed — well-nigh tortured — feelings about design and its power, and Criterion is a perfect object for them to play on. But to dig into that now would be premature, because we haven’t yet gotten to that era of Criterion’s identity. The all-black spines and the frequently gawky covers seen above are the company in its adolescence, not yet a woman. So I guess I’ll save my sound and fury about design for our next pitstop, 20 years from now.
Suffice it to say, for now, that by the way I am delighting absurdly in ordering these rows of rectangles, and above all in investing myself in the numbered list (oh god yes the numbered list!), I am revealing the psychological opportunity that was essentially dropped in their lap, and that they were savvy enough to seize, but I am also revealing the roots of my ambivalence.
All old news, round these parts.
What remains at present is to address the fact that Criterion has complicated my perfect rows of rectangles by reissuing and redesigning their editions of many of these films, years later, but retaining the same spine numbers. Of the 51 titles above, only 13 are currently in print in the same editions/the same packaging. 14 of the others are simply out of print, generally because rights agreements expired. A full 23 of them were replaced by improved versions: completely new releases in new transfers with new features and new packaging, products of a much later period within the DVD age. Whenever possible I watched the newest and best version — the old ones are, in fact, frequently not of great quality, 1998 having been very early days for DVD. So of course I am going to have enumerate each of them.
To start with the dullest and most pointless: if you totaled up that breakdown in the previous paragraph, you noticed that there is 1 missing. That’s this guy, which mysteriously on later pressings had the second template replace the first on the cover, without anything else about the product changing (as far as I’m aware). Maybe for a minute they considered doing that for all of them, but then decided against it.
Next dullest: these here Samurai — remember them? — were gathered into a box set (good call; who’s going to want just part 2?) and got similar template upgrades in the process (plus they eliminated that Papyrus-y title font, of doubtful ethnic sensitivity. Another good call). The box is at right.
Now we move on to the four that were genuinely rereleased in better transfers in the era of the second template, 1999—2006. Since I didn’t start watching my way through these until 2008, I got to see the new and improved editions of each of these four. These new covers are all improvements (though the loss of the 50s title treatment on The 400 Blows is disappointing).
(People who are really up on their Criterion OCD will know that there is actually yet another 400 Blows design from this era, as part of the “Antoine Doinel” boxset (spine #185, containing #s 5, 186, 187, 188). But I consider that as merely a component of release #185, only numbered “5” for old time’s sake and never sold individually as such. I thus am not addressing it here. I realize that I may lose some subscribers over this but we have always been guided by principle here at Broomlet. Today’s decision continues that fine tradition. Broomlet proudly embraces the spirit of the 21st century, in which no-one is excluded. However nothing matters more to us than your opinion. We want to hear from you! Please fill out a survey on your way out and let us know if there’s anything we can do to improve your experience.)
When the era of Blu-ray came around and necessitated high-resolution issues of otherwise old products, these same four releases, having already been brought up to a higher standard both internally and externally, simply had to have their designs adapted to current template.
However you’ll see that in the case of Beauty and the Beast they did take the opportunity to rework it, using the same basic components for something tonally rather different. This then, I believe, is the single example in their catalog of a title with three different covers: a 90s, 00s, and 10s edition. It can be easy for me to forget how different those three decades have felt, but these Beauty and the Beast covers have it nicely mapped out for me. If I’d seen the 2013 cover back in 1998, I would have thought it looked lopsided and arid and completely uncool, some clueless Soviet stab at elegance. Sterility chic hadn’t yet been invented; I couldn’t yet conceive of the general public, or even the pretentious few, feeling aspiration or desire for bloodlessness, for an icily soothing stasis. Nowadays of course the Apple Store cleantopia is axiomatic, and tweaked or drained color is de rigueur for movies.
That is all a bad thing, right? It seems like a bad thing. But there is another part of me now that thinks the box looks pretty cool and would probably look especially cool next to many other boxes of the same dimensions.
Moving on.
(No wait, before I move on. To be more fair (to me in 1999), I wouldn’t really have thought this looked clueless and Soviet. I would have recognized the asymmetry and cold as notions of high-fashion intellectual-aesthetic stylishness revived from earlier in the 20th century. And I probably would have found that remarkably historically-aware and exciting, the way I felt about Rushmore in 1998: “Wow, the aesthetic vigor of decades past doesn’t have to be dead after all! We can do it all again if we like!” So it wasn’t that I couldn’t yet feel the aesthetic; I just couldn’t yet imagine that in only a decade, Rushmore would have brought about so complete a renovation of popular aesthetics that these same gestures would be rendered completely ahistorical, drained of their vigor, turned into mere anxiousness and compulsion.
Okay, NOW moving on.)
Brazil is now being sold in a single-disc edition (and Blu-Ray) with the third template on a cover that might look like it was completely redesigned. Actually, it’s the same illustration that was always on the first box of the set, once you took it out of the translucent blue slipcase. (Now that you know what to look for, you can sort of see him there, winging it, even in this tiny image.)
So here, at last, are the interesting ones, the nineteen (+one box) that were completely upgraded and redesigned after the Pentagram rebranding, at the (still ongoing) height of the company’s fixation on design.
On my screen the width can handle five at a time so I’m doing them five at a time. Hope this looks right for everyone else.
Of these five, I saw the new version only of Amarcord. A Night to Remember and Walkabout weren’t reissued until after I’d watched them, but I do regret not having taken the time to seek out the superior editions of Seven Samurai and The Lady Vanishes, neither of which looked too hot on the old editions that I watched. Those are the only cases where I watched an old version by negligence rather than necessity. But there’s no time to look back now; not when I still have 650 titles to go.
The Samurai Trilogy, you’ll be happy to hear, is now only sold as a set. I missed out on all of these reissues, unfortunately.
The two Samuel Fuller titles with the new Daniel Clowes covers I missed out on, too. The rest I got to see in their new versions. (Well, except I opted out of Salo. But it was the new version that I opted out of.)
All of these I watched recently enough to get to see the updated versions.
That’s it. You made it!
So here at the bottom I’d like to announce: going forward I’m going to include the cover in each of my Criterion posts. The covers are irrelevant to the films but very important to what’s going on here. Whether I like it or not.
Update! on the occasion of preparing the post for #52–100.
It’s three horrible years later and naturally Criterion has seen fit to revisit a few titles from spines #1–51 in that time, meaning that the rundown of the cover designs is now less than exhaustive. Naturally I’m going to rectify that.
Soothing, isn’t it.
“Aesop” (c.620—564 BCE?)
Fables (dates of origin various and unknown)
Translated and edited by Lloyd W. Daly as Aesop Without Morals (1961)
Roll 35: 93, which is the row for “Aesop,” who of course only has the one work listed: Fables.
If you’ll remember how we left off, our hero had just worked through a selection of La Fontaine’s fables and, finding them to have been a somewhat unsatisfying reading experience, decided not to press onward to greater heights of obsessive completism but declare that assignment done and roll again…
… so, yes. Fate cracked its whip. Or at least cracked its knuckles. “You think you can escape me? You think you can just pick up and leave whenever you want? If it’s fables you fear, then it is FABLES YOU SHALL HAVE!”
It’s like Jonah and the Whale. Or Job. Or something. For sure it’s like something, something with a big fat moral. If you see what I’m saying.
Actually, the moral, I think, is “spare the rod and spoil the child.” The child here being Fate. It got petulant and acted out when I took a stand, because I’ve been letting it walk all over me for all these years. But if I back down in the face of this tantrum I would just encourage it. Now that I’ve started to turn the tables, I need to carry through and be firm. So. I got this book out of the library. I kept it by my bed for two months and read a little bit most nights. It has 579 fables in it. I read 105 of them. I now declare I am done.
[
Incidentally, above, when I wrote out the scornful speech of Fate, I recognized that correctly it should end with an evil genie laugh of “mwah ha ha ha!” … but I simply could not bring myself to type that, because I despise on principle the institutionalization of “mwah” as the official first syllable of transcribed evil laughter, that being a noxious pseudo-playful development of the late 90s and a leading indicator of the LOLCATaclysm to come.
And yet I did feel the contextual temptation to type it, which pains and disturbs me to admit. Good god: might I have already typed “mwah ha ha ha” on this site at some point in the past 8 years? Sometimes I forget who I am and do terrible things. As Dr. Jekyll might say. Right before letting out Mr. Hyde’s terrifying cackle: “gfurahr harrh harrh harrh!”
(“Bwah ha ha ha” for explosive earthy laughter is just as grotesque a token of emotional counterfeit. Maybe moreso, since at least “mwah ha ha ha” is explicitly roleplay.)
]
If you have to read Aesop’s fables in a non-kiddie context, I endorse this edition, sadly out of print. The title is Aesop Without Morals because the morals, which date from long after the stories themselves and are generally asinine or inapt, have been relegated by the editor to an appendix, leaving the fables alone, to be read in their clearest, barest prose forms, which seems the correct way to encounter this fundamentally skeletal material. Rather than putting clothes and a hat on the skeleton in a vain attempt to make it more than it is. Daly knows what these things are and what they’re not and presents them appropriately.
What they are not is narratives. They are scenarios. In Daly’s introductory words:
If these fables were not intended to serve a moral and instructional purpose, were they brought together to serve any other purpose? The answer to this question is not, perhaps, too difficult to divine, for we know something of the place the fables occupy in our own consciousness. Pointed stories capable of a wide variety of applications have always been in demand. We have only to recall fishing in muddy waters, out of the frying pan into the fire, the goose that laid the golden eggs, the dog in the manger, the boy who cried wolf, the ant and the grasshopper, the hare and the tortoise, and the wolf in sheep’s clothing to realize the proverbial and paradigmatic function the stories serve with us. We depend on the very mention of a fable to say, “Oh, yes, everyone recognizes that kind of behavior; it’s just like that of the animal in the fable.”
Having had it put to me this way I couldn’t imagine seeing it any other way. Despite Fate’s efforts to provide a sequel to La Fontaine, whose insinuating snark made me uneasy, I found nothing like that here. This is definitely not a book of chiding moral lessons; it’s not even really a book of stories. It’s a book of ethical archetypes. It’s like a list of all possible situations. Someone will definitely want to use some of this stuff for stories. But these aren’t stories.
I felt like I was reading a dictionary of idioms.
And I liked that! My one real thought that I wanted to bring with me to this entry was that it is actually quite heartening to spend time appreciating creations of language art that are not yet literature. It made me feel good about humanity for exactly the same reason that they put a picture of bountiful raw oats tumbling out of a burlap sack on the back of your cereal box. This isn’t the thing you eat; it’s the building block of the thing you eat, and all the more stirring for it. These are beautifully artful building blocks, and I’m glad that they’re classics.
A dictionary of idioms could be genuinely inspiring and heartwarming in the same way. Isn’t the expression “it’s a piece of cake” a thing of beauty? Absolutely it is, in its category, and if Harold Bloom figured out a way to get “it’s a piece of cake” its own place on his canon, I’d endorse that. It makes me happy that we come up with these thoughts, images, groupings of words for each other and then trade in them and build our days out of them. And it’s wonderful to think that the ancient Greeks and Romans were coming up with such sturdy archetypes that we still like to think of them now. There will always be something richly marvelous about the image of those unreachable grapes and the disappointed fox slinking away. Glowing, like a stained-glass window. It all starts with thick and hearty 100% whole grain oats.
But only a horse could eat this book raw. Have you ever eaten dry raw oatmeal as a snack? I know I have. It’s good! But it doesn’t work. That’s how this was. Eventually you stop because, seriously, what are you doing?
Your excerpt:
85 The Pig and the Sheep
A pig got into a flock of sheep and fed with them. But once the shephered got hold of him, and he began to squeal and struggle. When the sheep found fault with him for making so much noise and said, “Doesn’t he catch us all the time? And we don’t cry,” he replied, “Yes, but it isn’t the same thing when he catches me. He’s after you for your wool or your milk, but it’s my meat he wants.”86 The Thrush in the Myrtle Thicket
A thrush fed in a myrtle thicket and wouldn’t leave it because the berries were so sweet. But a fowler who observed her fondness for the spot spread his lime and caught her. As she was about to be killed, she said, “Alas! Because the food was so sweet I am to lose my life.”87 The Goose that Laid the Golden Eggs
Hermes was worshiped with unusual devotion by a man, and as a reward he gave the man a goose that laid golden eggs. The man couldn’t wait to reap the benefits gradually but, without any delay, he killed the goose on the supposition that it would be solid gold inside. He found out that it was all flesh inside, and so the result was that he was not only disappointed in his expectation but he also lost the eggs.
And so on and so on up to number 579. Perhaps there is a fable in here about some animal that foolishly prides itself on its singlemindedness, but I wouldn’t know because I stopped.
Here, if you want there to be a rule, I can make a rule: if my selection is not a single work but a body of work, I’m free to move on, if I like, after I’ve given it a month.
The book also includes a fictional “Life of Aesop” written in late antiquity, which undoubtedly has nothing to do with any historical Aesop, if there was one, and certainly sheds no light on the actual origin of these fables. I didn’t read it.
As a book of raw materials for creative play this probably can’t be topped. Any single one of these could provide the kernel for a work of any form, flavor or scope. And if you need to thicken your stew, just throw in another one.
The quick and desultory character of this entry is just another form of revenge on old man Fate. I can do what I like!
Gfurahr harrh harrh harrh!
!
The exclamation point (punctus exclamativus) was invented in the mid-14th century by scholars of the ars dictandi (art of document creation), a movement centered around Bologna. Around 1360 one Iacopo Alpoleio da Urbisaglia listed it as one of eight signs of his own invention. The author of an earlier Ars punctandi, in which the sign is first proposed, is unknown. (This work is often attributed to Petrarch, apparently erroneously.) The first known appearance of the sign in actual use dates from 1399 in the work of Coluccio Salutati, to whom some modern scholars have attributed its invention.
Some sources assert that the symbol is a condensed version of the interjection io (a Latin equivalent to “huzzah”), but this is almost certainly apocryphal, considering that most of the other punctuation marks invented within the ars dictandi were, like the exclamation point, variations on the simple point or period.
@
Neither the historical nor the graphical origin of the at sign (or “commercial at”) is known. Competing theories have it that the symbol is, among other things, a condensation of the Latin ad, or a shorthand version of the French à. All such theories are apparently pure speculation. Around 2000 a scholar claimed in the press that he had discovered the “earliest known” appearance of the symbol in a 1536 Italian commercial letter (with a tallying function similar to its modern use), and this claim is still widespread online. But the symbol has since been shown to have been used in a similar commercial function in Spain at least a century earlier. And it appears in Byzantine manuscripts well before that, but purely as a scribal adornment of the Greek alpha, with no special signification. In 2012 scholars brought such an appearance of the symbol, in a Byzantine-influenced Bulgarian manuscript of c. 1345, to the attention of the press. These same scholars nonetheless still asserted that the Byzantine scribes had in turn surely borrowed the form from the Latin, where it was derived from ad.
#
It has been claimed by at least one scholar (and thereafter reported by many others) that the number sign (or “pound sign”) originates with the abbrevation “lb.” for “pound” (derived from the first word in the term libra pondo, meaning essentially “a weighed pound”). This abbreviation, often written by hand in an uninterrupted movement and thus linked by a horizontal stroke, was afforded a special symbol by printers, ℔, with a bar connecting the two letters. Supposedly this symbol was eventually subjected to further abstraction to produce the modern “pound sign.” This history, however, does not seem to be at all well documented (at least not online!), nor is the purported chronology clear.
In my minimal internet searching, the earliest documented appearances of the symbol in its modern form seem to be from the late 19th century, and it seems to come into regular typographical use only in the early 20th century.
$
There are many apocryphal claims about the origin of the dollar sign, but there does seem to be a respectable consensus that its actual origin is as a condensation of a P with superscript S, PS, an abbreviation for peso in colonial America, where the Spanish dollar was the standard currency. When written by hand in an uninterrupted movement, the upward stroke toward the S creates the vertical bar; in the variant with 2 bars, the second bar is a vestigial form of the P. These two forms are contemporaneous alternatives, of equal authenticity: the earliest documented appearances of both versions are apparently in documents from the 1770s. The symbol was first rendered into type some time after 1800.
%
The percent sign originated in the abbreviation of per cento as p co, traced back to 15th century Italian manuscripts. Gradually the superscript o began to be written directly over the c. By the 17th century, the p had been stylized into a horizontal bar and otherwise eliminated; the symbol had a horizontal form, similar to the division symbol ÷ but with circles rather than points. The oblique form is “of modern origin”; exactly how modern is not clear.
^
The circumflex originates in Ancient Greek orthography, where the acute and grave accents marked vowels with rising and falling pitch respectively; the circumflex symbol, which combined the two visually, was used for single syllables containing vowels of rising and falling tone successively.
The caret, indicating editorial insertion (Latin caret: “it lacks”) is a distinct symbol, presumably with its own history, about which I can unfortunately find almost no information, apart from the claim that its current editorial use is identical with its historical use. I do not know whether the caret sign bears any genetic relationship to the circumflex or whether it is simply a form of arrow, which is a symbol of prehistoric origin.
&
The ampersand symbol derives from a ligature for the Latin et, “and.” Early forms of the handwritten ligature are of Roman origin and date back to the first century AD. The ligature very gradually became more stylized and medieval scribal forms resembling modern ampersands had developed by the 6th century.
*
The representation of a star as a radially pointed shape is apparently of prehistoric origin, and the use of such a symbol as a logogram goes back at least to ancient Sumerian writing. I have had difficulty finding any more specific information about the evolution of the “modern asterisk,” perhaps because there is in fact nothing in particular to distinguish this star symbol from any other.
( and )
Brackets were invented by the same 14th-century humanists cited above in connection with the exclamation point. Exactly as with the exclamation point, the first known appearance of brackets in print comes from a 1399 work by Coluccio Salutati, in which the brackets are asymmetrical and angled. A 1428 manuscript has examples of symmetrically paired angled brackets. The rounded form was recommended by Gasparino Barzizza, and appears in print by 1470.
Readers, please correct all errors and supply all missing information in the comments. Thanks.