But the copper cables all rust in the acid rain
I would like to be writing about movies, especially Frank Capra's Dirigible (1931), a pre-Code adventure yarn that now feels like science fiction even though it was only documenting the technology of its time, but I've had the same headache for three days in a row and the effect on my sleep has been about what you would expect, so the best I can do is collect things off the internet and remind myself that it was not nothing to get out of the house to run errands this afternoon (I got bagels out of it). Actual content will return when my head does.
1. Courtesy of![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
handful_ofdust: 1940's noir Twin Peaks. I think most of this fancasting is terrific; the actors have been cleverly chosen for screen persona as well as visual resemblance that would be uncanny if Lynch and Frost hadn't been riffing consciously on the genre in the first place. I remain unconvinced by Lloyd Nolan as Albert Rosenfield, but I would probably have been unable to resist recasting Miguel Ferrer with his father.
2. Courtesy ofstrange_selkie: Do you remember, when. The title—Erinnerst Du Dich, als—belongs to a chapbook of poems and sketches given by Manfred Lewin to Gad Beck in 1941. They were eighteen and nineteen years old, Jewish, lovers, living with their families in Berlin. One of them survived the Holocaust and one of them didn't. I don't know why I didn't know about this book before. It has been entirely digitized by the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum with photographs and supplementary material at the link above; it is worth reading.
3. I had no idea an Inuit version of John Ford's The Searchers (1956) even existed, but I am seriously thinking of trying to make it to the MFA on Sunday just to see what it's like: Searchers (2016), directed by Zacharias Kunuk and Natar Ungalaaq. Their previous collaboration Atanarjuat: The Fast Runner (2001) remains one of my favorite epic films in any language, although it happens to have been the first in Inuktitut. That's on Saturday, if you're Boston-local and interested. I wish I had found out about this series sooner than ten minutes ago.
4. This poem seems relevant: Tsitsi Ella Jaji, "Document for U.S. Citizens Who Have Never Applied for a Visa and Have Had It Up to Here with Those Loud Aliens Who Go On and On about Some Letter."
5. I always wondered where the Harvard Film Archive got one of the slides it uses to remind its audience not to text or otherwise futz around with their cellphones during the movie. I finally recognized it the last time I was at the theater: it's a color photo of Michael Redgrave as Thomas Fowler in Joseph L. Mankiewicz's The Quiet American (1958). He's futzing around with a light meter instead, right before the bombs go off at the Place Garnier. Everything about that movie remains better than it deserved.
1. Courtesy of
handful_ofdust: 1940's noir Twin Peaks. I think most of this fancasting is terrific; the actors have been cleverly chosen for screen persona as well as visual resemblance that would be uncanny if Lynch and Frost hadn't been riffing consciously on the genre in the first place. I remain unconvinced by Lloyd Nolan as Albert Rosenfield, but I would probably have been unable to resist recasting Miguel Ferrer with his father.2. Courtesy of
strange_selkie: Do you remember, when. The title—Erinnerst Du Dich, als—belongs to a chapbook of poems and sketches given by Manfred Lewin to Gad Beck in 1941. They were eighteen and nineteen years old, Jewish, lovers, living with their families in Berlin. One of them survived the Holocaust and one of them didn't. I don't know why I didn't know about this book before. It has been entirely digitized by the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum with photographs and supplementary material at the link above; it is worth reading.3. I had no idea an Inuit version of John Ford's The Searchers (1956) even existed, but I am seriously thinking of trying to make it to the MFA on Sunday just to see what it's like: Searchers (2016), directed by Zacharias Kunuk and Natar Ungalaaq. Their previous collaboration Atanarjuat: The Fast Runner (2001) remains one of my favorite epic films in any language, although it happens to have been the first in Inuktitut. That's on Saturday, if you're Boston-local and interested. I wish I had found out about this series sooner than ten minutes ago.
4. This poem seems relevant: Tsitsi Ella Jaji, "Document for U.S. Citizens Who Have Never Applied for a Visa and Have Had It Up to Here with Those Loud Aliens Who Go On and On about Some Letter."
5. I always wondered where the Harvard Film Archive got one of the slides it uses to remind its audience not to text or otherwise futz around with their cellphones during the movie. I finally recognized it the last time I was at the theater: it's a color photo of Michael Redgrave as Thomas Fowler in Joseph L. Mankiewicz's The Quiet American (1958). He's futzing around with a light meter instead, right before the bombs go off at the Place Garnier. Everything about that movie remains better than it deserved.
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Was it The Searchers?
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The poem "Document for U.S. Citizens..." is excellent.
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I have no information either way, but I would not put it past Twin Peaks.
The poem "Document for U.S. Citizens..." is excellent.
It kind of leapt out at me.
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Then again, yesterday I was mad as hell at Victor Frankl for giving up a US visa even though he had a 22-year-old wife, to stay in Vienna with his aging parents, and then in Theresienstadt his wife was pregnant, and there on some table in Vienna was the useless, lapsed visa, and Frankl's parents of course had already died, and then his 24-year-old pregnant wife went to Bergen-Belsen, and she died. And he lived. That dick.
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I don't know how I missed learning about him or Manfred-Meir. I'm glad the book survived, but I wish its author had.
Then again, yesterday I was mad as hell at Victor Frankl for giving up a US visa even though he had a 22-year-old wife, to stay in Vienna with his aging parents, and then in Theresienstadt his wife was pregnant, and there on some table in Vienna was the useless, lapsed visa, and Frankl's parents of course had already died, and then his 24-year-old pregnant wife went to Bergen-Belsen, and she died. And he lived.
He could have given her the visa.
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It's a great shot.