Red Right Blog |
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Rants, Rates, Slags, Slates. Manic-depressive posts from Red Wright-Hand. Because there are thousands of worthless blogs out there and who am I not to add to their number?
Total US troop deaths in Iraq to date (09/01/07) since 03/20/03: 3739
From 05/02/03 through 06/28/04: 718 Myeloma (etc.) Blogs
Adventures of Cancer Girl Browse
Arts & Letters Daily
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Monday, November 24, 2003
A helpful reader was kind enough to send me this link: Richard Hell Himself discussing his presentation of The Devil Probably earlier this month in Philadelphia. Nice to get independent confirmation from the original source. And since I'm going on about films, as I tend to do, here's a plug for My Architect, a documentary (this has been a good year for them) about the life and work of Louis I. Kahn, made by the son no one was supposed to know he had. Sunday, November 23, 2003
Fortunately, there is this place to visit on a warm and clear Sunday morning. On display: herons, cormorants, teal ducks, woodpeckers, waxwings. A month ago I noted the death of a former college roommate, and since then I've been made aware of this commemorative site posted by his brother. Thursday, November 20, 2003
The world’s most punctilious blog takes only slightly under two weeks to report that I had the (somewhat-)recent opportunity to view a theatrical screening of The Devil Probably (d. Robert Bresson, 1977), introduced by none other than Richard Hell, who I can literally say looked a Hell of a lot worse than when I saw him perform live in 1982. (I'm looking lots worse since that evening myself, but not a Hell of a lot worse. I hope the distinction is clear.) The discomforting fact proved to be that, while Hell has apparently become a touring spokesman for this particular masterpiece (and Bresson in general), he hasn’t become a particularly good spokesman; while introducing the movie, he lost his train of thought more than once, complained of hearing loss (but not from having seen the movie so many times, ha ha), and more or less rambled self-involvedly about how much Devil affected him when he first saw it. (In 1999! This truly surprised me, as Hell would seem to be, or was at one time, the epitome of NYC-hipsterism, and if there was anywhere you might see Bresson’s masterfully austere films without too much trouble, it would be Manhattan, so what the hell took Hell so long to recognize the great man's work? Hell, even the Philadelphia repertory houses showed his movies back in the 80s, which is when and where I fell in love with them, so you know they were playing in New York too. Was Hell too sleepy from heroin to pick up a schedule from the Thalia or the Bleecker Street Cinema? On the other hand, I never wrote Love Comes in Spurts, so there.) Anyhow, an uncomfortable introduction of the gosh-isn't-Uncle-Richard-getting-dotty variety notwithstanding, The Devil Probably is another outstanding movie from one of my favorite directors (whose L’Argent I sometimes consider the very greatest film ever made). Devil is the story of an almost beatifically anguished young man in contemporary (c. 1977) Paris, of whose death we learn in the very first minute, and whose deliberate abstention from life becomes a supreme comment on a spiritually polluted world. Who is responsible for this awful condition? "The Devil Probably." Or is the young man "simply" depressed to a clinical degree? The film would be unendurable (as it apparently was for a few audience members who walked out of the screening) if not for the characteristic care which went into every shot (there’s a great one where the hero, literally en route to his death in a cemetery, overhears some Mozart through an apartment window, stops on the sidewalk to peek in, realizes the music is coming from a TV set and continues on in disgust), as well as the clear sense that there is nothing fashionable or self-righteous whatsoever in Bresson’s despair, rather that he is working as clearly as his gifts allow him to perceive the elements surrounding him. This, as so many other of his films, is a deeply personal wail of horror at how far humanity tends to fall from its ideals. Speaking of prolixity, yeah, I know, it ain't me, babe. But just think, however much time I spend away from my blog, that's just how much time goes into making a certain health school's web site an extra-bit better. (Do I have to explain that?) Quick, while it's still up in full-text: The New York Times profiles GBV's voluminosity along with Robert Pollard's prolixity. (You may have to register to read this, but it's still free.) A decent article, aside from the callous reference to Tobin Sprout as "a former Guided by Voices guitarist." Sprout remains, of course, the George Harrison to Pollard's Lennon/McCartney. Tuesday, November 11, 2003
Let's see, where to start? How about a nod to last week's mayoral election in Philadelphia (Democrat John Street handily beating Republican challenger Sam Katz), which proved that only in William Penn's green countrie towne (c. 2003) can a Federal investigation into corruption, favoritism and influence-peddling boost the popularity of an incumbent mayor. (Did I say "only in Philadelphia"? I take that back.) A while ago I excoriated Californians for electing grope-meister and politically-inexperienced Arnold Schwarzenegger governor of their state, but I think The Terminator has to take a back seat to The Exterminator who found in the bug in Mayor Street's office and got him re-elected big-time. I suppose you could make a better joke... My eye doctor gave me the thumbs-up yesterday (and not in my eye, fortunately) so perhaps we'll see an increase in posting around here. I wasn't going blind or anything interesting like that, just feeling the sort of optic strain that didn't fill me with the urge to spend even more time typing onscreen after a day at the office. Wednesday, November 05, 2003
More creepy songs: Strange by The Soft Boys Diane by Husker Du Jordan, Minnesota by Big Black Inclusion restricted to songs that are genuinely unsettling (at least to me) and not novelty recordings (like "Monster Mash") or deliberate sops to the goth market (like "Bela Lugosi's Dead"), however appealing these may be. |
