Hit So Hard - P. David Ebersole
Some Days are Better than Others - Matt McCormick
Shut Up Little Man! An Audio Misadventure. Matthew Bate
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Highlights from MoMA New Directors/New Films 2011
Hit So Hard - P. David Ebersole
Some Days are Better than Others - Matt McCormick
Shut Up Little Man! An Audio Misadventure. Matthew Bate
Some Books That I Want and Won't Fit In My Bag
Frank O'Hara Now: New Essays on the New York Poet
by Robert Hampson
Sempre Susan
by Sigrid Nunez
When Movies MatteredReviews from a Transformative Decade
by Dave Kehr
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Twitter x Hugh Hughes
"Hi there, lovely to meet you. I have a special page on my site to welcome you. Hugh x"
How adorabubble is Hugh Hughes?
Note to Self - This is how to be a Twitter pimp!
PS He's coming to Canada? Amazing!
To The Film Industry In Crisis
Not you, lean quarterlies and swarthy periodicals
with your studious incursions toward the pomposity of ants,
nor you, experimental theatre in which Emotive Fruition
is wedding Poetic Insight perpetually, nor you,
promenading Grand Opera, obvious as an ear (though you
are close to my heart), but you, Motion Picture Industry,
it's you I love!
In times of crisis, we must all decide again and again whom we love.
And give credit where it's due: not to my starched nurse, who taught me
how to be bad and not bad rather than good (and has lately availed
herself of this information), not to the Catholic Church
which is at best an oversolemn introduction to cosmic entertainment,
not to the American Legion, which hates everybody, but to you,
glorious Silver Screen, tragic Technicolor, amorous Cinemascope,
stretching Vistavision and startling Stereophonic Sound, with all
your heavenly dimensions and reverberations and iconoclasms! To
Richard Barthelmess as the "tol'able" boy barefoot and in pants,
Jeanette MacDonald of the flaming hair and lips and long, long neck,
Sue Carroll as she sits for eternity on the damaged fender of a car
and smiles, Ginger Rogers with her pageboy bob like a sausage
on her shuffling shoulders, peach-melba-voiced Fred Astaire of the feet,
Eric von Stroheim, the seducer of mountain-climbers' gasping spouses,
the Tarzans, each and every one of you (I cannot bring myself to prefer
Johnny Weissmuller to Lex Barker, I cannot!), Mae West in a furry sled,
her bordello radiance and bland remarks, Rudolph Valentino of the moon,
its crushing passions, and moonlike, too, the gentle Norma Shearer,
Miriam Hopkins dropping her champagne glass off Joel McCrea's yacht,
and crying into the dappled sea, Clark Gable rescuing Gene Tierney
from Russia and Allan Jones rescuing Kitty Carlisle from Harpo Marx,
Cornel Wilde coughing blood on the piano keys while Merle Oberon berates,
Marilyn Monroe in her little spike heels reeling through Niagara Falls,
Joseph Cotten puzzling and Orson Welles puzzled and Dolores del Rio
eating orchids for lunch and breaking mirrors, Gloria Swanson reclining,
and Jean Harlow reclining and wiggling, and Alice Faye reclining
and wiggling and singing, Myrna Loy being calm and wise, William Powell
in his stunning urbanity, Elizabeth Taylor blossoming, yes, to you
and to all you others, the great, the near-great, the featured, the extras
who pass quickly and return in dreams saying your one or two lines,
my love!
Long may you illumine space with your marvellous appearances, delays
and enunciations, and may the money of the world glitteringly cover you
as you rest after a long day under the kleig lights with your faces
in packs for our edification, the way the clouds come often at night
but the heavens operate on the star system. It is a divine precedent
you perpetuate! Roll on, reels of celluloid, as the great earth rolls on!
- Frank O'Hara
with your studious incursions toward the pomposity of ants,
nor you, experimental theatre in which Emotive Fruition
is wedding Poetic Insight perpetually, nor you,
promenading Grand Opera, obvious as an ear (though you
are close to my heart), but you, Motion Picture Industry,
it's you I love!
In times of crisis, we must all decide again and again whom we love.
And give credit where it's due: not to my starched nurse, who taught me
how to be bad and not bad rather than good (and has lately availed
herself of this information), not to the Catholic Church
which is at best an oversolemn introduction to cosmic entertainment,
not to the American Legion, which hates everybody, but to you,
glorious Silver Screen, tragic Technicolor, amorous Cinemascope,
stretching Vistavision and startling Stereophonic Sound, with all
your heavenly dimensions and reverberations and iconoclasms! To
Richard Barthelmess as the "tol'able" boy barefoot and in pants,
Jeanette MacDonald of the flaming hair and lips and long, long neck,
Sue Carroll as she sits for eternity on the damaged fender of a car
and smiles, Ginger Rogers with her pageboy bob like a sausage
on her shuffling shoulders, peach-melba-voiced Fred Astaire of the feet,
Eric von Stroheim, the seducer of mountain-climbers' gasping spouses,
the Tarzans, each and every one of you (I cannot bring myself to prefer
Johnny Weissmuller to Lex Barker, I cannot!), Mae West in a furry sled,
her bordello radiance and bland remarks, Rudolph Valentino of the moon,
its crushing passions, and moonlike, too, the gentle Norma Shearer,
Miriam Hopkins dropping her champagne glass off Joel McCrea's yacht,
and crying into the dappled sea, Clark Gable rescuing Gene Tierney
from Russia and Allan Jones rescuing Kitty Carlisle from Harpo Marx,
Cornel Wilde coughing blood on the piano keys while Merle Oberon berates,
Marilyn Monroe in her little spike heels reeling through Niagara Falls,
Joseph Cotten puzzling and Orson Welles puzzled and Dolores del Rio
eating orchids for lunch and breaking mirrors, Gloria Swanson reclining,
and Jean Harlow reclining and wiggling, and Alice Faye reclining
and wiggling and singing, Myrna Loy being calm and wise, William Powell
in his stunning urbanity, Elizabeth Taylor blossoming, yes, to you
and to all you others, the great, the near-great, the featured, the extras
who pass quickly and return in dreams saying your one or two lines,
my love!
Long may you illumine space with your marvellous appearances, delays
and enunciations, and may the money of the world glitteringly cover you
as you rest after a long day under the kleig lights with your faces
in packs for our edification, the way the clouds come often at night
but the heavens operate on the star system. It is a divine precedent
you perpetuate! Roll on, reels of celluloid, as the great earth rolls on!
- Frank O'Hara
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
"[Patti] Smith was 29 when she recorded Horses. Joan Didion was 29 when she wrote her first novel...."
“[Patti] Smith was 29 when she recorded Horses. Joan Didion was 29 when she wrote her first novel. Tina Fey was 29 when she was named head writer of SNL. bell hooks was 29 when she published her first major work. Oprah had just turned 30 when she got her first local TV talk show. There is a reason “boy genius” rolls off the tongue more naturally than “girl genius.” By the time most of us accept the fact that we have earned this label for ourselves, we are most decidedly no longer girls.”
- In Which We Can Feel The Horses Long Before Horses Enter the Scene This Recording
- In Which We Can Feel The Horses Long Before Horses Enter the Scene This Recording
Friday, March 11, 2011
young grifter with plenty of moxie but he's a sucker for Lady Love
Still on my robbers 1970s tip we have - The Sting!
The preview alone is full of genius one-liners - will have to see this ASAP.
PS 'next time you want to spend 50 dollars on me - mail it!'
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
21st Century Girl
Is this video the 21st Century equivalent of At the Drive In's Invalid Litter Dept. and the moment where Buffy meets the First Slayer? Or am i reading too much into it?
Friday, March 4, 2011
Who you lookin' at tuff guy?
Lou Reed, Leonard Cohen, Marlon Brando, Burroughs and Kerouac, Jimmy Dean and Friend
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Lets go little Kitty Kat
This is my favourite ever Madonna photo shoot. Weirdly enough I found a silk scarf screen of the top photo at BKK markets FOR 100 BAHT (3.50 AUD) - ultimate score!
Serge Gainsbourg - New York USA (1964)
I saw a bit of this clip in the Fran Lebowitz profile film Public Speaking (thanks Scorcese) far from the best thing in the film - did I mention its a profile of Fran Lebowitz and she's a genius? - it still made me a little excited that I will be in NYC for a week in approx 3!
HIgh school is for learning but it's also where you should be learning to socialize.
I realised its my 10 year high school reunion soon - if I let them know where I was (AKA not still in the Boarding House) I would have been invited I'm sure. If my high school was more Freaks and Geeks and less Flirting (minus Noah Taylor) or Prep (minus all the boys) then I would also probably be going but as it stands - not so much.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)