With a postmark of the seasons and handwriting that looked like mine
In the morning, ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch and I were awoken by the mellifluous window-rattling of the construction which has now begun on our street, ominously chalking the asphalt like a crime scene and cordoning off all parking on our side through the rest of the month. In the afternoon, we joined in the Seder at my parents' house with my niece and brother—rushthatspeaks was down for the count with a bug—and opened the door for the stranger, the most important thing. And in the evening, we met skygiants and genarti at the Somerville Theatre for Johnny Eager (1942) on 35 mm, my first movie in theaters in four years. Rob in his capacity as bartender favored me with a G&T, although we did not try to match shots with Van Heflin because that way lies blackout by the fourth reel. I love this movie so much, chiefly because he steals it as absently as someone else's unfinished drink; I love knowing that at least as of 1947 in The Saturday Evening Post, Jeff Hartnett was his favorite role. "I was glad that Jeff, being indifferent to his appearance, had few costume changes, for, being a bad dresser myself, I hate to fuss around with decisions about what suit, shirt and tie to wear . . . A crowning pleasure was the enthusiastic audience letters showing that Jeff had come close to the people, been understood, and that they identified me with him." Eight decades on and counting. Chag sameach!
spatch and I were awoken by the mellifluous window-rattling of the construction which has now begun on our street, ominously chalking the asphalt like a crime scene and cordoning off all parking on our side through the rest of the month. In the afternoon, we joined in the Seder at my parents' house with my niece and brother—rushthatspeaks was down for the count with a bug—and opened the door for the stranger, the most important thing. And in the evening, we met skygiants and genarti at the Somerville Theatre for Johnny Eager (1942) on 35 mm, my first movie in theaters in four years. Rob in his capacity as bartender favored me with a G&T, although we did not try to match shots with Van Heflin because that way lies blackout by the fourth reel. I love this movie so much, chiefly because he steals it as absently as someone else's unfinished drink; I love knowing that at least as of 1947 in The Saturday Evening Post, Jeff Hartnett was his favorite role. "I was glad that Jeff, being indifferent to his appearance, had few costume changes, for, being a bad dresser myself, I hate to fuss around with decisions about what suit, shirt and tie to wear . . . A crowning pleasure was the enthusiastic audience letters showing that Jeff had come close to the people, been understood, and that they identified me with him." Eight decades on and counting. Chag sameach!
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Chag sameach.
Nine
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Another of the Leslie-Howard school of "yay! I actually get to dress casual for this role!"
Chag sameach!
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Van Heflin really did steal every scene he was in, which was impressive given that everyone else in the film is also doing their level best to steal every scene, and having a wonderful time doing it. (Becca says I should tell you, though, as I told her afterward, that he looked juuuuuust enough like Art Garfunkel to distract me. They don't even look all that alike, but it was just enough somehow to be a slightly surreal extra layer.)
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