the unholy three [1925]

 

even before i dared to call myself a film buff, a lover of cinema, a rabid moviegoer, infatuated with horror/exploitation/drive-in movies, i'd read an essay that argued talkies killed the motion picture as an art form.  movies are visual medium & silent films are its best expression.  i was nearly persuaded by that argument.  i don't remember the author of the essay or where i read it.  but it always struck me because movies are a visual medium.  & to watch some of the greats of the silent era, harold lloyd & buster keaton, for example, you can understand why these great film artists are more in tune with a silent medium.

& yet, we are a storytelling animal.  & we have language for it.  even our memories are edited over time like an obsessive filmmaker who is trying to create the ultimate director's cut of a movie.  so it was with great delight i shared with anna when she suggested we see this movie, in the city cemetery.  lon chaney, another great artist of the early 20th C, directed by tod browning, who would later introduce the world to bela lugosi as the eponymous vampire in Dracula [1931], & the creepy black humor masterpiece Freaks [1932].  say no more.  i'm in!

now, i must confess that i lack the bona fides to argue this or that in re silent movies.  i've seen my share.  i think harold lloyd is a fucking genius.  but i've never studied silent movies or watched them in great abundance, like i have sound movies.  i've never seen this flick before tonight.  it goes like this.  chaney is a ventriloquist, dr. echo, in a sideshow.  he's great at his craft.  he can project his voice across a room full of people.  he works with tweedledie, a dwarf played by harry earles, & a strong man, hercules, played by victor mclaglen.  they are fed up with the crap they flung at them by their audience.  echo also has a moll, rosie, played by the lovely mae busch, who helps roll unsuspecting rubes from their cash & other valuables.  when tweedleedie loses his shit & kicks the teeth out of a child who was making fun of our erstwhile sport, echo decides to create an alliance, an unholy three, hercules, echo & tweedleedie, of criminals to starts a more elaborate scheme of thievery.  rosie is also in on the score too.  so why not the unholy four?  i dunno.  it's too late to ask tod browning.

thievery is good business until rose falls in love with the guy that helps run the trio's bird shop, hector, played by matt moore.  a bird shop?  makes no sense.  but let it ride.  otherwise, this movie would have no engine to run the plot.  rosie & hector's romance gets in the way of even more thievery.  tweedledee is a sadistic & conniving SOB.  hercules is a big dude but he is essentially a dumbshit.  & echo grows a conscious when confronted by rosie & her pure love of hector.  still, browning keeps all this shit together.  

chaney is a delight to watch.  what a mug.  hollywood a hundred years ago didn't give two shits about teeth or dental hygiene for everyone onscreen had some crooked, discolored, choppers.  the actors' makeup was also thru the roof & the style of acting was, of course, very influenced by stage acting.  oversized emotion & exaggerated expressions & movements.  the fashions was pretty cool.  nearly all the men wore straw hats.  & busch in her bob hairstyle & flapper wardrobe was, at least to this dude, more than sexy.  we think we've seen some wild technological changes.  but the changes a over a hundred years ago were just as profound.  the language of cinema was pretty early established.  it would be just four or five years when talkies became standard for movies.  & the style of acting became more intimate to the medium as film.  

all's well that ends well.  for this is a crime melodrama with a happy ending.  browning keeps our interest in nearly every frame of this film.  chaney is his usual marvelous self.  so are the supporting players.  so when we got to the last reel, & we could see where this ship would land, it was fairly chilly in the cemetery.  a strong breeze developed.  it was quite dark.  we gathered up our things & made our way to our car.  walking thru the graves, headstones & mausoleums.  the silence, in the middle of the city, was invigorating.  i felt my batteries charge.  whether it was because of the location, or the movie, or the fact that i was with my girl, anna, i can't say for sure.  what i can say is that it was a good night for a movie.  

outdoor movie time

 

quote unquote

Photograph from September 11

They jumped from the burning floors--

one, two, a few more,

higher, lower.

The photograph halted them in life,

and now keeps them

above the earth toward the earth.

Each is still complete,

with a particular face

and blood well hidden.

There's enough time

for hair to come loose,

for keys and coins

to fall from pockets.

They're still within the air's reach,

within the compass of places

that have just now opened.

I can do only two things for them--

describe this flight

and not add a last line.

--wislawa szymborska [translated by clare cavanagh]

photorealism by richard estes

start with error

& work outward to

a grid stretching the painting

to a scene that exists 

both in the mind & a picture

then when confounded

expand & remember even more

ecstasy & frustration 

until it is done

of glass & mirrors & water

reflecting surfaces

a scene whether it be city

or forest or sea

now look

absolute motion in a freeze 

happy labor day!

in honor of Labor Day, the unofficial end of summer, & the overall tomfoolery of early 21st C life, let us take a moment to remember all the blood, terror, & tears suffered by our brothers & sisters over a century ago in the labor movement.  we still got a long way to go.  so here's a song sung by harry mcclintock with lyrics written by that old wobbly joe hill.  'you will eat pie in the sky when you die.'

bear witness

i was a lad of 13 my dad & i used to go deer hunting.  i had my winchester 30-30 that i rarely fired & my dad had his bolt-action browning 30-06.  now my old man was a good hunter.  patient, steady & calm.  unlike his usual workaday self.  i've seen him take & make incredible shots.  like shooting a running buck in nevada at around 20 yards.  that magnificent beast hit the ground running & was still deep breathing when we got on to him.  my old man took careful aim and fired into the buck's neck as i watched the wild eyes of this grand animal spin wide until they glazed over.  this afternoon we sat on a fallen log at the end of a deer trail.  behind us was the forest with a slope of around 30 degrees that dropped off into even more thick foretst.  i was a bored 13 year old.  i didn't like hunting.  i hated my rifle.  it was too loud.  too powerful.  too deadly.  but on this occasion we got our bear tags.  these tags were regulated & administered by the state of california allowed us both to kill one adult male bear each.  why we got those tags i can't say.  we had never seen a bear.  until now.  daydreaming i sat on the log until my dad whispered in my ear, 'bear!'  i swiveled off the log & looked behind me.   15 feet away was a male black bear on his hind legs.  my dad had his browning in position.  the bear stopped sniffed the air & froze in mid-step.  i forgot i had a rifle.  he was beautiful.  magnificent creature that stood on his hind leg i shit you not.  he looked 20 ft tall.  the bear sized up the scene & immediately turned down the 30-degree incline & vanished from our sights.  my hands shook when they found my rifle & i could hardly hold it.  my father was already placing his rifle at rest.  'why didn't you shoot it,' i asked.  i don't remember my dad's answer.  all i remember was that this beautiful animal an adult male black bear was a mere 15 feet away.

a touch of fall haiku

revved up like a rocket

anna's hummingbird blurs out of frame

pistil to pistil 

bloom against bloom

in what language do i give my praise

my gratitude in witness

the hard light of the workday

bows out to cooler evening

& i am a pitiable poet

who lacks the courage to say

anna's hummingbird 

speeds out of focus & is my judge

in memorium koon woon