The New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival: I'm Not Going

Isaac Hayes

"Nobody goes there anymore. Its too crowded."

--Yogi Berra

Yogi must have been talking about the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival. As the five of you who routinely read my posts know, I've attended Jazz Fest every year for many years now. And each night I write a book on the people I've seen, the acts I've heard, the food I've eaten, and any other little uniquely odd New Orleans experiences that happened. But not this year.

The Jazz Festival began in 1970 in Beauregard Square off of Decatur Street, in what, roughly a hundred years before, was the famous (or infamous) Storyville section where Congo Square had been located, and where local musicians later invented this new kind of music called "jass."  It competed against the likes of the venerable Newport Jazz Festival. The first Festival must have been unimaginably amazing. It featured absolute legends like Mahalia Jackson, the Meters, Fats Domino, and Clifton Chenier. 350 people attended, and most of them were musicians.

Solomon Burke

But it quickly grew, and in two years moved to the New Orleans Fair Grounds, the local horse racing track. Through the years, the New Orleans festival became "the" music festival, after which all the Johnny Come Latelys would model themselves. While it would feature enormously popular "name" acts (Duke Ellington, Aretha Franklin, Miles Davis, Tony Bennett, BB King, Bob Dylan, Stevie Wonder, Bruce Springsteen, James Brown, and SRV are just a drop in the bucket), it also featured, and introduced millions to Louisiana musical greats (Professor Longhair, Allen Toussaint, Solomon Burke, Ernie K-Doe, the Neville Brothers, the Radiators, Dr. John, Irma Thomas, Marcia Ball, Randy Newman, and hundreds of others). The Fest, maybe uniquely, also features a Gospel Tent, which showcases the rich tradition of local and regional gospel acts. Brother Sherman Washington, leader of the world famous Zion Harmonizers, started the Gospel Tent at the first Festival, and it has featured luminaries like Mahalia Jackson, And at the "Economy Hall" tent, they feature music you might have heard on the deck of the Titanic. Here you'll see your grandmother second lining across the floor as a band dressed like they were Love Boat crew members plays instruments like the clarinet or the theramin, to get that authentic 1910 sound. And the Fais-Do-Do tent is just a two week long Cajun dance party.


Bro. Sherman Washington

Neil Young

Also uniquely, the Festival features not only music, but "heritage." One could spend an entire Festival day and not listen to any music. Cooking demonstrations, art and photography exhibitions, local craft workers demonstrating their arts, extensive shopping booths, second line parades, Native American dances, and some of the most amazing, artery-clogging, nirvana-inspiring food ever made all beckon Jazz Fest fans to peel away from the stages and enjoy the gumbo that is Louisiana. There's even a Kids' Tent with a wide variety of musicians and other performers to entertain the kiddoes.

Sound fun? I know, right? That's the problem. Where Austin's ACL Festival limits the number of tickets sold, the Jazz Festival does not. As the Festival attracts more and more famous acts with huge followings (e.g. Pearl Jam, Jimmy Buffett, Widespread Panic, Eric Clapton), each of these acts attracts their huge following to the Festival, who have to spend their remaining hours crowding other stages. So through the years, like a great lawn that trampling hordes have ruined, Jazz Festival has become, in my opinion, a victim of its own success. The crowds are stultifying. Its gotten to where the Festival attracts so many people it makes Tokyo rush hour look like a country picnic. Jostling, squeezing past, stepping in precise spots, waiting in lines and timing one's port-o-let visits all become essential Festival skills. The crowds essentially keep one from entering the relatively enclosed Blues, Gospel, and Jazz Tents when anyone of any note performs there. To see acts play those tents, you basically have to arrive early, stake out a spot, and stay the whole day. That means you must miss any other acts performing at one of the ten or so other stages. The crowds have also prompted the Festival to hire "security" personnel with absolutely no interest in the music or other happenings, and who take it as their mission to yell and scream at their slightest inconvenience level.

But for the crowds, the other manifold practical Jazz Fest problems might not present such a challenge. These exist aplenty. The Festival occurs the last weekend in April and the first weekend in May. That's right around the time that the heat comes back to New Orleans. For office workers like myself, who've just endured the winter, standing for up to seven hours in that heat and humidity really takes a toll. Sometimes though, it rains. Hard. And long. And turns the place into pretty much a Woodstock-style mud pit where one feels like a soggy rag most of the day. Then there's the cost. Jazz Fest has gotten quite expensive for out of towners. Air fare, near-gouging hotel rates, Festival tickets, food and drinks inside the Fair Grounds, and local restaurants all roll up into an incredibly expensive mini-vacation. Finally, there's the challenge of getting to and from the Festival. I've mastered the super secret parking spot within about a 10 minute walk of the Fair Grounds. But to claim it, I have to arrive before the gates open, at around 11:00 a.m. Meaning that I have to get up relatively early to eat, exercise, do any daily errands, and get all my necessaries together to get out to the venue. It has presented more and more of a challenge each year.


Richie Havens

I know, I know. "What you're really saying is, 'I'm old.'" Well, maybe. Or at least too old to keep Festing the way I have (standing the whole time, darting from stage to stage, staying in the sun for seven hours). I hope not.

But this year seemed like the right time to take a break. Instead, I went Hollywood. I attended the TCM Classic Movie Festival, blogging about it just below. It had all the things that Jazz Festival didn't: air conditioning, comfortable seats, guaranteed entry, and above all, no Parrot Heads.

Patti Smith

I'll go to Jazz Fest again. Maybe even next year. Though I have to tell you, the TCM Festival sure was a lot less damaging on my back, knees, and hydration levels. But as you five followers may have discerned, I do enjoy music, and certain Jazz Fest performance have been among the highlights of my life: Randy Newman singing Louisiana 1927 just as the skies began to pour, the Foo Fighters, Solomon Burke, the Rev. Al Green, the Zion Harmonizers, catching Willie Nelson's bandana, Jeff Beck, Isaac Hayes playing the "Theme from Shaft" at Congo Square, Richie Havens singing "Freedom," Ike Turner, Stevie Wonder, Ernie K-Doe, and many others. I'll go back. But I have to figure out some way not to have a near death experience in doing so. Ideas please?

So to this year's Festers, enjoy! Hope to see you again soon.

NEXT-Why they don't make 'em like that anymore

The TCM Classic Film Festival (Part 2)

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

"These things must be done delicately...or you hurt the spell!"

--The Wicked Witch of the West

Sorry for the delay. Work, work, work!

Let's get right to it. In our last episode, I had described the first two days of the TCM Classic Film Festival.

The Festival's third and fourth day proved several things. The old movie palaces beat the hell out of the modern multiplex. Their ornate decoration and majestic lines give a sense that the movie is an event, and not just something you do after dinner. One can have fun watching movies at the theater when its a quality movie, when noise-causing cretins don't attend, and the audience reacts audibly to the movie. For example, its more fun to watch a comedy when you're with other people than at your own house by yourself. And its more fun to watch movies when the others surrounding you appreciate and enjoy movies and have some sense for the movie's significance. All weekend, people generously applauded as main characters appeared on screen or in the credits. I talked to lots of people while waiting on line, and everyone seemed to possess a strong knowledge of and appreciation for classic movies. No one seemed pissed that they weren't watching a superhero movie (hey, once I turned 12 I lost interest in comic book characters...was I the only one who grew up?).

Here's how it went down.

Saturday after a great morning run down Santa Monica Boulevard from my Petit Ermitage command headquarters into Beverly Hills (ok, right away I acknowledge how spectacularly douche-ridden that sounds), I made it to Hollywood to watch Hannah and Her Sisters. Ok, ok, Woody Allen's non-perv status doesn't look so good these days, but I adhere to the "art is separate from the artist" rule and still enjoy what I regard as his most entertaining movie. Yeah, that's a handy rule. Its allowed me to enjoy countless movies and songs produced by people whom I regard as either personally or politically offensive. Besides, art stands alone, even from its creator. Getting back to the movie, TCM host Ben Mankiewicz introduced it and pointed out that Allen had originally offered the Mia Farrow role to Kim Basinger, who turned it down to star in 9 1/2 Weeks. I'm glad she did so-her physical appearance would have overwhelmed the movie, and we wouldn't have gotten to see her crawl across the floor in 9 1/2 Weeks. The audience obviously enjoyed the movie too. People clapped and cheered as one then-unknown actor turned big star appeared on screen: Julia Louise Dreyfus, Sam Waterston, John Turturro, Joanna Gleason, Daniel Stern, Julie Kavner, and Bobby Short. Allen sure could spot talent.

While standing in line for the movie, I connected again with an older lady whom I met yesterday while waiting for Meet Me In St. Louis. She said that Ryan O'Neal, who was supposed to introduce Paper Moon (which I skipped), was a no-show. Good thing I didn't settle on that show.

Next up was a movie I'd never previously seen-John Ford's How Green Was My Valley. Also known as the movie that won the Best Picture Oscar over Citizen Kane. This was shown in the El Capitan Theater, a true movie palace that more closely resembled an oversized Broadway theater. Its Hollywood in every way, right down to the gold leaf organ in front of the screen, on which an organist performs a short concert before each screening. I think Disney owns it (which makes perfect sense). Preceding the showing, TCM host Robert Osborne interviewed its star, 93 year old Maureen O'Hara. Let me just say, without any hint of sarcasm, this was one of the most touching and moving displays I've ever encountered in person. Ms. O'Hara, one of Hollywood's all-time most photogenic stars, had an amazing life and career, and is one of that Golden Age's last survivors. She spoke for nearly 10 minutes from her wheelchair, pretty much not prompted, about how we shouldn't fear old age but should embrace it. We shouldn't ridicule the old or make fun of old age, but should thank God for it and ask Him to give us a good old age. She spoke of missing those "on the other side" and her looking forward to seeing them again. Though 93, she still spoke with a very strong Irish brogue, just like in The Quiet Man. And she visibly cried several times as the crowd rose to its feet to cheer her and as Osborne lauded her with praise. You can watch this moving appearance by clicking here. The movie itself was quite good, if something of a downer. It involves a turn of the (20th) century Welsh coal mining town where the town's mine began to play out and as jobs became scarce. The declining economy took a toll on the town and O'Hara's family. Walter Pidgeon played a young Church of England vicar with whom O'Hara fell in love, though the two ultimately could not become married. Sad, but very compelling.

Kim Novak

After that experience, it was time to check out another classic film, introduced by another classic star. Bell, Book and Candle, at the Egyptian Theater, introduced by one of the film's stars, Kim Novak. Bell, Book and Candle, as I recall, was part of the deal that allowed Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak to make Vertigo. Some sort of studio wrangling about letting one or the other of them make a film for a rival studio. While Vertigo is one of the greatest movies ever made, Bell, Book and Candle is just a nice little romantic comedy, which benefitted from an outstanding cast. Stewart and Novak, but also Jack Lemmon, Ernie Kovacs in a rare screen appearance, Hermione Gingold, and Elsa Lanchester. Novak plays a witch, bored with immortal life and wanting to fall in love. She casts a spell on Jimmy Stewart, who breaks off his engagement with Debutante Barbie to be with Novak, whereupon hilarity ensues. Replete with Jack Lemmon playing the bongos in some proto-beatnik Greenwich Village dive, and Hermione Gingold playing the leader of the witches with her impeccable diction. One really funny moment happened during the movie. At one point, Jimmy Stewart's character is asked whether he is still engaged or if he broke it off. He replies, "let's just call it 'uncoupling.'" I knew that Gwynnie didn't come up with that line herself. Kim Novak's introduction led me to see this, and snag a third row seat. I didn't watch the Oscars, but apparently there was some unpleasantness involving her. Which I don't get at all. Its 2014; we're going after early '60s actresses now? Who's next, Janet Leigh? Ann Margaret? Anyway, Ms. Novak seemed near tears most of the time, reacting to "bullying" she received at the Oscars, and bemoaning Ellen DeGeneres' pretty cruel jokes at Liza Minnelli's expense. Host Robert Osborne jumped in to support her and the crowd cheered pretty loudly. Ms. Novak also talked about being bipolar and the difficulties she faced in Hollywood with various studio executives. Let's not forget, she was pretty much the number one actress in Hollywood for a time, so she saw it all. She received a rousing ovation afterwards, and I have to say I loved being so close to such a legendary performer. After all, she dated Sinatra. And Sammy. That is #baller. You can watch the interview by clicking here.

I wasn't sure I had it in me, but it was on to movie number 4 after that. The Women. This movie, about women who go to war with their rivals, makes Mean Girls look like the Easter parade. In short, it was awesome. Oscar nominee Anna Kendrick introduced the movie along with Ben Mankiewicz. She was absolutely delightful and has become one of my age-inappropriate crushes (TMI?). She was self-deprecating and funny, referring to her successful run on "BroadWAY!!" for example (she said "I can't even say that without being douchey"). Click here to watch the interview. A splendid way to end a classic movie-filled day.

Anna Kendrick

The Women strikes me as being one of the most fascinating movies ever. Made in the tolden year of 1939, it featured only women roles. No men appeared on screen. Yet, it starred just about every actress on the MGM lot at the time: Norma Shearer, Joan Crawford, Rosalind Russell, Paulette Goddard, Joan Fontaine, Ruth Hussey. I think only Judy Garland missed it and that's because she was making the Wizard of Oz. Its about women dealing with cheating husbands and the conniving bitches who go after them. The great irony is that while the movie ostensibly is "The Women," they spend the entire time reacting and positioning themselves in relation to men. Probably a sign of the times. The dialogue absolutely cracked as the ladies drove daggers into one another. These women may have acted nice and gracious, but they smiled with glee each time they twisted the knife. Seeing this movie, I now totally get the Joan Crawford addressing the PepsiCo board incident. 

Sunday it was back to work, watching Elizabeth Taylor wear a slip better than any woman in the history of women. And...those eyes. You could pretty much just have filmed her in a close up sitting in a chair for two hours and I'd have paid to watch that. Happily, we also had Paul Newman and Burl Ives, and a highly watered down script of Tennessee Williams' Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Ben Mankiewicz introduced this as well. He told a couple of great stories. This movie was originally set for black and white, despite the fact this would have wasted the pairing of Taylor's magnetic violet eyes and Newman's sea blue eyes. The director Richard Brooks complained about it through back channels, prompting a couple of younger studio executives to visit the set. They said, "why are you making this in black and white? Why not in color?" to which Brooks replied, "that sounds like a good idea." They then asked "if you switched it to color, would you have to change the wardrobe and the sets?" To which Brooks replied, "the wardrobe and sets are already in color, only the film is black and white." Mankiewicz recounted the story of how Mike Todd, Taylor's husband, died in a plane crash while the movie was filming, but she insisted on continuing filming. She absolutely lost her appetite, however, and was rapidly losing weight. Rather than try to force her to eat, Brooks replaced the prop food with real food in every scene where Maggie was required to eat, and shot these scenes several times hoping Taylor would eat something. It worked. You can't tell that she's abnormally thin. Finally, he said that the day she resumed filming after Todd's death, she had a scene where she had to say the line "I know what its like to lose someone you love." Eerie. The movie itself loses a lot of its punch by washing out the play's suggestions of Brick's homosexuality. But Newman playing Brick as straight gives Maggie the Cat license to be a...cat. What an underrated performance. I saw current sexpot Scarlett Johansson in a Broadway revival of the play a couple of years ago, and she was woeful compared to Elizabeth Taylor's performance. Johansson screamed just about all her lines in some weird half-Arkansas/half-Dutch accent I never could figure out. It basically just served to remind me how amazing Elizabeth Taylor was.

The Quiet Man

After that, it was on to Graumann's Chinese for The Quiet Man, the other Maureen O'Hara movie shown at the Festival. I love this movie. Many years ago, my dad taped it on VHS off TCM, and I must have watched it dozens of times. I bought the VHS, then the DVD, then the BluRay. Its the quintessential Irish movie, one of John Ford's best movies. Wayne and O'Hara have greater chemistry than just about any screen couple ever. And its O'Hara's tour de force. She appears absolutely radiant throughout the movie, and wonderfully captures the tempestuous yet compassionate Mary Kate Danaher.  Author Nancy Schoenberger, who introduced the movie, said this was Maureen O'Hara's favorite of her movies. She said Wayne was quoted as saying "Maureen O'Hara is the greatest guy I ever knew." It turns out also that The Quiet Man actually had its Hollywood premiere at the Graumann's Chinese, the same theater where I was watching it. And the Festival either found a special copy or the theater's projection machine is incredible because the movie itself looked gorgeous. I'm very familiar with this movie, as I wrote above, and this showing revealed picture details I'd never seen. It looked like it was made in 2014, not 1952. Fresh off having seen Maureen O'Hara live the day before, I relished seeing The Quiet Man today.

Though it almost seemed a shame not to end the Festival right there, I stayed on for The Wizard of Oz, the last Festival showing. Robert Osborne introduced it, in the Graumann's Chinese where it too debuted in 1939. I noticed a number of things about the movie for the first time, which right away tells you that you're watching a fantastic movie. If it can reveal new things after repeated watchings, then it has meaning. And tonight I noticed that the "mission" to capture the Wicked Witch's broom didn't instill in the four principal characters the character traits they wanted. Rather, it showed them they already had those traits. The Lion did have courage, and he went along every step of the way despite his fears. The Scarecrow did have a brain, and I noticed he came up with the plan to rescue Dorothy from the castle and the idea to cut the rope holding the chandelier above the Witch's guards. The Tin Man did have a heart, persevering despite incredible odds and urging the party on despite adversity. And in the end, Dorothy learned not just that she wanted to go home, but what home meant. It meant all the people who loved her and missed her, and whom she loved. And missed. As she said near the end, "it wasn't enough just to want to see Uncle Henry and Auntie Em -- and it's that -- if I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own backyard.  Because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with!" Parents who object to the Wizard of Oz, and I've learned that many do, often cite the "scary" scenes during this part of the movie. Dorothy's abduction, the flying monkeys, Dorothy waiting to be executed as the hourglass runs. But I think we make a huge mistake in shielding kids from the reality that the world has unpleasant, even "wicked" things in it. This movie shows a pretty hapless bunch of losers somehow make it to Oz, then, only through love for each other and family, prevail despite long odds over evil. What better lesson can kids learn?

Another incredible print revealed some other points too. Did you know that when they head out to get the witch's broom, the Scarecrow has a gun? I never noticed or saw that. But sure enough, he's holding a revolver. And a butterfly net. Which begs the question, when the flying monkeys come to take Dorothy, why didn't just go all South Central and bust a cap in some monkey ass? That would have made for a different movie. And how lame was it that you could kill the Wicked Witch just by pouring water over her. She better not coach a winning college football team, she'd never survive the Gatorade bath. What happens when it rains? Does that kill her? Or when she brings a glass of water to her lips. I guess she never bathed either, which I suppose after awhile would make one pretty wicked. And what did all her evil henchmen do after she turned into a globule under that hat? They bow down to Dorothy, give her the Witch's broom, then Dorothy takes a breeze. What did all those guards do? Hang around? Go find another witch? I hope they invaded Munchkinland. That Lollypop Guild is obviously no match for the Witch's Guard. Finally, everyone forgets at the end that Toto is still wanted by the Sheriff. Remember, Almira Gulch had a warrant from the Sheriff to confiscate Toto (which, BTW, is ridiculous that a sheriff is going to give some private citizen a writ to take someone else's property. Hell, that so-called "order" allowing her to seize Toto looked like a scrap of paper someone scrawled something on, hardly an official "order"). Toto jumped out of her basket and ran back to Dorothy. Yeah, they went to Oz and then came back I know. But Miss Gulch still has an "order" allowing her to take Toto. So its off to the pound for him. Which I guess wouldn't be quite as good an ending as "there's no place like home!"

Well, mmmkay, that's pretty much it. After the last show I met the gorgeous Julie S., world's loveliest attorney, for a light supper at the award winning Bazaar in Beverly Hills. You know that's how I roll. The next day I flew home, tired but fulfilled at having seen old friends (errr, "long-time" friends), and great movies. Mission Accomplished!

NEXT-Jazz Fest has begun. Why aren't I there?

The TCM Classic Film Festival (Part 1)

Fraser Heston introduces Touch of Evil

I'm out here in Hollywood attending the TCM Classic Film Festival. Turner Classic Movies, the cable channel that shows uninterrupted classic movies, started this festival five years ago. They feature a wide assortment of classic movies over four days. Several movies feature stars or directors introducing the showing. The Festival has seen very thick crowds, filling most screenings.

Highlights include Mel Brooks introducing Blazing Saddles, Shirley Jones introducing a restored Oklahoma, Richard Dreyfuss introducing The Goodbye Girl, Maureen O'Hara introducing How Green Was My Valley, Ryan O'Neal introducing Paper Moon, and Kim Novak introducing Bell, Book and Candle. The Festival screens many other classics this year on the big screen, such as What Ever Happened to Baby Jane, The Lion In Winter, A Hard Day's Night, the Godfather Part II, The Quiet Man, Gone With the Wind, and the Wizard of Oz. Later this weekend, the Festival will hold a Jerry Lewis tribute, complete with his putting his hand and feet prints in cement outside the Chinese Theater.

The Festival screens at several classic Hollywood movie theaters, including the Egyptian, El Capitan, and the old Graumann's Chinese Theater. These are across the street from the Cinegrill and the Roosevelt Hotel.

Yesterday I attended the Festival opening, a restored version of Oklahoma, with Shirley Jones discussing the movie briefly before it ran. This was a red carpet event, with several stars and lots of industry attending. Tippi Hedren, Kim Novak, Margaret O'Brian, and Alec Baldwin attended. Oklahoma was her first movie, and she recounted several stories about its making, proudly reflecting she was 18 and the time, and now is 80.

After that, I saw a really cool, underrated movie for the first time-1939's Bachelor Mother, starring David Niven and Ginger Rogers. Comedian Greg Proops introduced it, drawing laughs before this romantic comedy started. Rogers plays a down on her luck single woman who, through a series of misunderstandings, takes custody of a baby boy. Employer and rich playboy David Niven connects with the baby and then with Rogers, leading to the inevitable screwball happy ending. Niven never really did fulfill his promise as a romantic lead, but carried the role originally meant for Cary Grant very well. Ginger Rogers likewise never seemed to escape Fred Astaire's shadow, which was a shame because she clearly had the chops to do so. Both displayed impeccable timing with a great script. Oh, and let me just add, Ginger Rogers was HOT. Who knew? And, yes, she was originally a Texan.

Today I saw three movies, all at the Chinese Theater. The first, the restored director's cut of Orson Welles' Touch of Evil, really stood out. Imagine the Citizen Kane treatment for a pulp B-movie. Throw in a stellar cast: Charlton Heston, Janet Leigh, Welles, Marlene Dietrich, and many of the Welles regulars, a Henry Mancini score, and gorgeous black and white photography. Very ahead of its time. 

The second was the MGM standard bearer, Meet Me In St. Louis, the old Judy Garland standout. Classic MGM musical, depicting a year in the life of a St. Louis lawyer's family. Pretty much what you'd expect, though its pretty much the whitest movie ever made. Garland shines. Other actors may have done certain things better than she did, but no actor ever possessed more overall talent than Judy Garland. She could do everything.

Then I met my friend Donna for dinner at the complex, before queuing for Blazing Saddles. After an hour and a half wait, we finally got in (Donna didn't have a festival pass, and basically had to talk her way into the nearly full theater). Mel Brooks, despite being in his 80s, still possesses enormous energy and enthusiasm. He came out and sang the theme song's first verse before settling down to answer host Robert Osborne's questions. I'd heard most of his stories before, such as Gig Young originally taking the Waco Kid role but dropping out due to alcoholism, or Richard Pryor being intended for the Sheriff role. Brooks confirmed what many have said, that he couldn't get the movie made today. He said someone high up with Warner Bros. gave him extensive notes on what he had to cut. "You can't have someone farting. You can't hit a horse." Those cuts would have left a 12 minute movie. Brooks said he didn't cut a single word or even concept. He agreed to a limited release at first, but if it did well in New York and LA, the studio agreed to a national release. Brooks did say one new thing. They had debated how much, if at all, they could use the "n-word" throughout the script. Pryor pushed for using it extensively. He argued it was necessary to convey the townsfolk's evil, and also to justify the Sheriff's triumph when he finally won them over. That makes perfect sense. How could you portray a late 1800s Western town supposedly hating a black sheriff, without using a word that whites (and even blacks) used almost casually until the late 20th Century? Brooks is right-political correctness has run amok. This movie represents a potent, timeless, attack on racism. As Brooks once said as to why he could justify using humor about the Nazis, the worst thing he can do to them is laugh at them. And painting them as ignorant, unthinking, dumb, dullards...you know...morons, is much more devastating than any deadly serious frontal attack. Yet, today's pandering, patronizing, soundbite politics would totally ignore (or fail to grasp) that great reality and would focus only on the "word" (much like those ignorant blowhards who want to ban Huckleberry Finn).

That's the first two days. Coming up, I plan to see Mary Poppins, either the Goodbye Girl or How Green Was My Valley, Bell, Book and Candle, and the Women. Also Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, The Quiet Man, and The Wizard of Oz.

Check back for updates. Or I'm tweeting too.

ETA: a serendipitous moment occurred during Blazing Saddles. (Spoiler alert-though if you've never seen Blazing Saddles you're either 12 or you've been stranded on a desert island). Late in the movie, Harvey Korman ducks into a movie theater to hide from the Sheriff and the Waco Kid. We see him buy a ticket, walk in, and then watch a bit of Blazing Saddles, albeit he is in Blazing Saddles. The theater he goes into is Graumann's Chinese, which is where we were watching Blazing Saddles, 40 years later. At one point, I was sitting in the theater and watching a screen that showed an actor in that exact same theater watching the same screen, and the same movie on the same screen. Kinda mind blowing huh? Kismet. 

Contrarianism: Revisited Movie Classics

Maureen O'Hara

If there's anything I'm known for, its doing new things.

Uh, yeah.

But this year, I'm doing something new. Rather than attending the Jazz Festival, I'm going Hollywood. Specifically, I'm attending the Turner Classic Movies Classic Movie Festival.

Its held at several landmark Hollywood movie theatres, like the famous Graumann's Chinese Theatre and the Egyptian. They will screen dozens of classic movies, many restored, and many featuring interviews with actors or other people associated with the movie. The highlight, as far as I'm concerned, will be a restored Blazing Saddles, introduced by Mel Brooks. "I must have killed more men than Cecil B. DeMille."  I hope to blog from the Festival, much as I've done when attending Jazz Fest. Hope you can follow along.

Meanwhile, to get some practice writing about movies, I wanted to bring up some classic movie issues that occasionally bother me. And which should bother you. These questions in no way ruin the movie. But its fair to ask these questions, at least years later. Mostly, I wonder about certain plot holes or implausibilities. It can ruin a movie for me if it shows something that could never happen. True, nearly every science fiction movie does this by definition. I mean, within the world where the story takes place, something that could never happen. Or makes so little sense given what we know about that world that it would never happen. Or something the character would never do (like When Harry Met Sally's orgasm scene. Prim, closed off, live by the rules Meg Ryan's character would never have faked an orgasm right smack in the middle of Katz's Deli during a crowded lunch rush).

Here's some examples.

Star Wars (the trilogy): For someone with the Force on his side, not to mention a light saber that he

Nice Kentucky move there, Luke

can effectively wield without even looking at the target, Luke Skywalker sure needs a lot of help to do practically anything. Han and Leia have to disarm the shield on Endor for him to even get at the second Death Star. In the first movie, he stands around on the Death Star all weepy about Obi Wan dying as his more level headed friends have to practically force him to get on the Millenium Falcon. Then he has to fly a tie-fighter as part of some huge formation that draws most of the enemy fire so he can get in his shot. Leia has to rescue him from the Cloud City at the end of Empire Strikes Back. Many Bothans "had" to die to get the stupid plans for the second Death Star, which, oh by the way, was exactly the same as the first Death Star they had already blown up. And in the end, he doesn't beat Darth Vader. Or the Emperor. His incessant yammering at Vader about how he knows Vader is good deep down, you know, like, after he's killed hundreds of thousands of people, obviously prompts Vader to shit can the Emperor just so Luke will shut up. Then, in the end, Lando Calrissian, flying that whale known as the Millenium Falcon, manages to bring down the second Death Star just like Luke had in the first movie, (without using the Force by the way).

Casablanca

Casablanca.  OK, Casablanca's the greatest movie ever made. But the script, compelling and fascinating in every way, only came together after shooting began. So the writers came up with the whole plot pretty much on the fly. As you recall, Victor Lazlo, hero of the Underground Resistance, was carting around his secret wife, Ingrid Bergman, all over Europe trying to get to America (ok, question right there, who exactly excused him from the fight? How does he get to go on an American vacation? Was the war over? Get back to Paris and keep blowing up trains, shirker). Along the way they land in Casablanca, and it turns out the only guy who can get them out of town is the guy that Bergman totally blew off the year before in Paris. Major oops! moment. And, spoiler alert, he gets them out of Casablanca because he has "letters of transit" signed by Gen. Weygand, which cannot be revoked or questioned. Contemporary audiences would have know that Maxine Weygand was Vichy France's National Defense Minister, and a collaborationist leader who deported Jews and others to concentration camps. Most of the movie, the Gestapo is running all over Casablanca hunting down those letters of transit, lest they fall into Lazlo's hands and he escape their clutches. So, let's get this straight. The Nazis blitzkrieged over most of Europe. They exterminated six million Jews. They started the Blitz over London and launched V-2 rockets later in the war just to kill civilians. They looted and plundered priceless art treasures. But, notwithstanding their usual ruthlessness and seeming disinterest in international law, the Nazis were going to let someone who was really good at paperwork punk them. Like Major Strasser was going to just look down, shake his head, and say "ahhh...you got me" if Lazlo showed up with the signed letters of transit. Hmmm...ok. At the end, Lazlo and Bergman head off to the plane without anyone official bothering to check their travel documents anyway. What, the pilot was going to verify their documents? Oh, ok. And another thing. Why does Lazlo take his wife along? Usually when you go off to war, you leave your untrained, non-military wives and family behind. You don't drag them along with you where they might wind up getting shot accidentally as the enemy comes after you.

The Way We Were. You know this story too. Ordinary, loudmouth nice Jewish girl Katie somehow intrigues rich WASP Robert "Hubble" Redford enough for him to marry her. Actually she date rapes him but that's not the point. He's all angsty about 25 years before that became acceptable, and just can't deal. Katie spends the whole movie fawning over him but that's not good enough. Though doting and loyal, she's annoying and preachy, always pushing him to write some novel that will sell exactly six copies, instead of making movies and writing TV scripts. Eventually, he gets sick of it and they divorce. But not until Katie finally gets pregnant. Rather than being a responsible father, Hubble leaves Katie with his baby. He totally takes a breeze, having nothing to do with his daughter. Who does he think he is, Dr. J? Way to keep it classy. And what was Hubble's problem exactly? Katie wanted him to write a novel? To protest against McCarthyism? Land sakes! A girl wanting to think? Streisand was ok looking back then. She was no Lois Chiles, obvs, but she was interesting at least. Besides, in the long shot at the end, we see the girl he did finally wind up with, and, well, Damn! That chick probably barks. Bad for the look, Hubble.

Your girl is lovely Hubble

 

Gone With the Wind: Yeah, ok, this one's full of questions. The happy go lucky slaves, who love picking cotton and fussing over the white folks' problems at Tara, the happiest place in the world not run by Disney. Rhett Butler, who doesn't do anything in the slightest bit to justify his reputation as a supposed bad ass. Like, maybe if he'd shot a Yankee or something. Hell, Scarlett was ten times the bad ass Rhett Butler was supposed to be. And most famously, why was she so hung up on stupid Ashley? He'd have been great hanging around the plantation on sleepy nights, but was utterly useless once the war ended. All he could do was split rails and not keep his hands off her when she wore her new bonnet around town. And she sure does her best Saul on the road to Damascus impression when, during about a 30 second span, she gives up her lifelong love for stupid Ashley and simultaneously realizes she really did love Rhett after all. Honestly, it was about 30 seconds. That's longer than it takes me to walk down a flight of stairs. Its like that scene had an NBA shot clock on it. Guess it takes a lot less time to totally reject the love of your life than I thought.

So that's pretty much the gist of it.

The Festival features some really incredible movies and I'm looking forward to catching the scene. The Goodbye Girl with Richard Dreyfuss introducing it. Bell, Book and Candle with Kim Novak appearing. Fiddler on the Roof, with director Norman Jewison. Oklahoma with Shirley Jones. Can't wait to spend day after day watching some of the greatest movies ever made, in the greatest movie theaters ever built. Follow along here!

You Don't Turn Off Jimi Hendrix

Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock

Sorry for another extended absence. Work seems to occupy just about all my spare time, not to
mention my actual work time. I hate when work gets in the way of important life endeavors. The things that really matter. Like 10,000 word essays on things like who's the cooler hero mentor: Viper from Top Gun or Morpheus in the Matrix (Viper, obvs. He got BOTH Maverick AND Iceman. You've got to have #baller game to do that).

So here's a quick hitter. A few days ago I was driving up South Congress on a beautiful Spring day. I had the top down, natch, and was just stopping at a traffic light. I had my satellite radio blaring, and Jimi Hendrix's "The Wind Cries Mary" just came on. Just as I stopped, I changed the channel to see what else was on.

A number of people were waiting at a bus stop at the light, and at that moment, as I was messing with the channels, an older black man waiting for the bus waded out into the traffic lane at my car and was saying something to me. Though I became a bit apprehensive, I turned down the radio to hear what he was saying. "Was that Jimi Hendrix?" he asked. "Yeah," I answered. He became upset and yelled to me, in that ubiquitous, disapproving, fatherly way in which older men can yell, "Put it back on! You don't turn off Jimi Hendrix!"

Hey, there's nothing more important in this world than knowing when someone drops some serious truth on you. And that, my friends, was some serious truth. Never, NEVER turn off Jimi Hendrix. Ever.

It just goes to show, you can learn something important any time, anywhere.

I put it back on quickly and waved to him. Then the light changed.

But I started thinking, who else should you just never, ever turn off? That every song they performed is better than just about anything else that could possibly be on. Here's a list (I know, I know. I've said lists aren't really writing, but you take what you can get).

Miley Cyrus. Just kidding. (Of course, there's probs millions of people in this country who would totally say that in all seriousness. This is why the Chinese are beating us.)

Ella Fitzgerald
Louis Armstrong
Frank Sinatra
Duke Ellington

The Beatles
The Rolling Stones (everything through Tattoo You)
The Who (until Keith Moon died)
Marvin Gaye
The Supremes
Roy Orbison
Elvis Presley (before 1965)
Otis Redding
Ray Charles
John Coltrane
Hank Williams

Muddy Waters
BB King
Led Zeppelin
James Brown
The Beach Boys (up until Smile)
Buddy Holly
Patsy Cline
The Ramones
Sam Cooke
Chuck Berry
Nat King Cole
Stevie Wonder (except Ebony and Ivory)


What music would you never turn off?

Talkin' 'Bout (Not) My Generation: The Millennial In Your Workplace (A Handy Reference Guide)

Millennials. Yay!!

[Before even getting started, I have to warn you, this post reeks of Bitter Old Guy. Read at your own peril.]

Ah, life. Countless scholars, mystics, clergy, philosophers, song writers, romantic comedy screenwriters, and bartenders have contemplated its meaning. What are we doing here? Is there a God? And if so, how does He (or She) intend that we live our lives? Do we live one life or do we "reincarnate"? Should we devote our lives to helping others, or to pursuing our own happiness however we can? How do we cope with life's tragedies and why must we suffer? Does love really exist or is it just some chemical reaction within our minds?

Me? I'm just trying to remember what town I'm in when I wake up most mornings. And keep from freezing. Like Pee Wee Herman looking for his lost bicycle, my life has played out on the road for much of these last two months. I haven't met Large Marge yet (although the rental car shuttle driver in St Louis was very odd), but I go from town to town meeting clients, giving speeches, checking in and out of hotels, and trying to survive the Polar Vortex (honestly, first I nearly froze to death in Springfield, Illinois, then I damn nearly caused a 15 car pileup trying to drive back to St. Louis in a snowstorm...why do people live places like that? Humans aren't penguins. Move to where its warm!! Like the cave men did during the Ice Age.). When not on the road, I've been getting ready to travel, or recovering from travel. All while dealing with, ummm, how you Americans say...law firm BS? In short, My life of late seems much like a Lynyrd Skynrd song, only without the fun parts.

This slog through life kept me away from the site, unfortunately. No blogging. Which means you've been adrift for a couple of months, wondering about important things like how would Goose and Maverick approach about this whole Ukraine thing, or what's the lamest Winter Olympics sport (trick question, they're all equally lame, except possibly hockey).

Oh, and the Daily Affirmations Year In Review? Yeah, that's not happening. Its March. time to look forward. Waiting until March to do your past year in review would be like when Spinal Tap released its Christmas album in July.

So that's all in the past. But now I finally had the chance to spend an entire week at home. You might think the time away offered a chance to reflect. Save up great blog topics and witty phrases. Uh...yeah...that's exactly what happened. Or maybe not so much.

I did, however, courtesy of one particularly iconoclastic friend, manage to contemplate how we must communicate with the millennials.  Or as Archie Bunker might have called them, those punk nosed kids ("Edith, stifle yourself over there!!")  These are people born starting in the early 1980s on through the end of the Clinton years. So they're "millennials" because they grew up in the "new millennium." (OK, they bore me just from that description alone). They grew up with cell phones, computer games, computers, and all the other gizmos that still seem like Star Trek to me. They have no living memory of most of the cool things in life. Like Led Zeppelin, or Three's Company, or John Travolta actually being good, or boxing not being a total joke, or being able to go somewhere without your phone blaring e-mails or text alerts, or good music to dance to, or the absence of "drug resistant viruses," and most importantly, a world where no one outside of Armenia or Los Angeles had ever heard the name "Kardashian." They roll around with their tattoos and piercings, watching Jimmy Kimmel, worshipping Barack Obama (whom they didn't bother to actually vote for because their tweet up was on election day), listening to Beyoncé and John Mayer (singing songs he produced when he found time around his busy schedule of sexing mediocre starlet/singers and acting sensitive), and watching Gossip Girl. Yeah, them. You shall know them by their knit ski caps (worn even when it's 95 degrees out).

Here's the salient point: they're basically impossible to talk to.

Basically, New Age parenting manuals advising Baby Boomer parents to praise, praise, and praise their kids, give them participation ribbons, don't keep score or assign grades, and not discipline them (I'm sorry, "time out" is a vacation, not discipline) have spawned an entire generation of narcissistic, self-absorbed, irresponsible, live in the moment poseur douchebags. (Ah yes, let the hate flow through you! Feel the power of the Dark Side). Except Zooey Deschanel. She's wonderful.

But as for the rest, they drip with an undeserved sense of entitlement. Their self-perceived delicate little snowflakes that wither without constant affirmation (like...a "daily affirmation" perhaps?). Skinny jeans. At work. Putting their entire lives on the internet (a secret's a what?). Likely to have as many "on-line" friends as actual real human friends (this explains why the movie "Her" could be a thing). Really into comics. Wearing hats and vests. Basically, millennials are what you worried would happen the first time you saw a Benetton ad.

They're mostly skittish little yappy dogs. Especially when you're trying to communicate with them. The workplace millennial represents a rare breed. Oh, sure, most of them have some sort of McJob down at the coffee shop or occupying a cubicle at some web design company where everyone's under 30 and works a 20 hour week (so they can spend the rest of their time auditioning or getting gigs for their "band").

I have to deal with (and even "supervise") millennials more and more often. Sadly, unlike when I was in their position, you can no longer just beat or humiliate and then ignore them. And you just can't talk to them the way you can talk to everyone else, i.e. grown ups. It takes a special method, almost like using a different language. 

Particularly when supervising them. They don't possess the ability to focus on much of anything. Certainly longer than say a minute. And you may as well be speaking Swahili if you're trying to convey criticism or negative thoughts. Tell someone their 250 word client memo contained 75 misspelled words and six hummus smears, and your millennial employee pretty much hears you exactly like the adults in a Charlie Brown special.

So, as always, I'm here to help. Just remember, when you need to tell them anything at work, especially when it contains something even remotely resembling criticism, you must follow a formula. Otherwise, your millennial will withdraw, like a groundhog seeing its own shadow.

Here's how it works.

 

Required workplace millennial conversation structure:

 

1. Start with a common bonding statement ("hey about those Grammy awards, huh?")

 

2. Proceed to mention minimum three great things about the millennial ("I really admire how you cleaned your desk yesterday, it was so boss" NB-work in popular TV show references)

 

3. Then deliver critique or bad news in feather soft, positively-phrased manner ("wow, most people wouldn't have taken a whole day to answer my e-mail, you must have had a lot of important things going on. I bet you'd be super awesome at delegating some of those?")

 

4. Then list four more great things about the millennial ("but no problem because we just couldn't get along without you, I mean, the way you alphabetize files is awesome!")

 

5. Finish with a youth-connecting salutation ("alright, stay cool, you watching Walking Dead tonight?").

 

That's how its done.

Make sure to keep some other things in mind. 

They don't have the time or attention span to speak complete words, much less entire sentences. So instead of saying something is "totally amazing," you just say "totes amaze balls" or "supes jealz" instead of "I'm so jealous."

It's best not to look directly at them. Tattoos, piercings, slovenly dress, and hair freakery have turned many of them into characters from a Boris Karloff movie. Also, like Boo Radley, they don't like direct critical attention. If, however, you're admiring them, they get less skittish.

 

You're going to have to get internet savvy. Hey, preaching to the choir here. That means following all the latest memes, tweeting, ridiculous new made up phrases (like "dashboard" or "thought leader"), trolling, and knowing every single new device that comes out. And you may find it easier to communicate with them by devices instead of face to face. Like all these kids I see texting each other, even as they sit right next to one another. Oh, and use lots of colors and short phrases (are you proud of yourself now, USA Today? See what your cartoon/pie-chart journalism caused?).

And you have to know all their stupid shows and that includes not only cable TV and movies but non-traditional sources like Netflix or streaming outlets. House of Cards is a great example. And their "bands," God help you. I think if I really had to listen to Bon Iver, I might just break out in cancer. All over. Right there.

Me? I'll probably just try to find a way to stay a fossil the next 10 years, then retire early. Or fall off a balcony and live off disability the rest of my life. It beats keeping up with the latest memes and walking around with a man purse. Totes!

NEXT-a trip down (or up) South Lamar.

Bloglette: Men Talk

Guy Talk

Where have I been? Stupid work leaves me no time to write an authentic Daily Affirmation, which means I've profoundly misplaced my life priorities. Still NO TIME to write the usual insightful harangue, err, analysis.

So instead I want to just toss out something I intended to leave as a comment on the excellent She's Come Undone blog. Ultimately it proved too off topic and rambling for that purpose. Shocking, I know. But that just means its right at home here.

Talk amongst yourselves: a woman has to listen to men's conversations every day, and their topics surprise her. I don't know for sure, see below, but I'm just guessing this overheard male conversation isn't all relationship talk or what's the meaning of life talk or feelings talk or is little Johnny experiencing a self-actualized childhood at home talk or do I have a sufficiently contemporary hairstyle talk or what happened on the Bachelor last night talk or do these suede shoes go with these skinny jeans talk. Just a guess. I don't know.

Reactionary Guy stuck in the '70s Reaction:

Well, I have been a man for roughly 49 years (probs more like 35 years, with a 14 year apprenticeship). I've never thought men actually have conversations with other men. At least, I've never encountered one. Maybe I don't know enough "millennial" or whatever young hipster d-bags are called now. But as far as I've ever seen, men only have conversations with women. That's why you have woman friends, right? And to hope she'll introduce you to her hot friends...I've heard. Men will also have conversations with their fathers. Or brothers. But no one else.

Men will talk to other men, of course, but only to top one another's stories ("oh, dude, that's lame, listen to what I did LAST weekend!), quotes from the right movies ("So I jump ship in Hong Kong, and make my way over to Tibet...."), predict future game scores or election results, outdo each other's jokes, run down someone's favorite candidate or sports team, bag on some other guy ("listen to what that a-hole did now"), or have an object judging contest (who has the best BBQ grill, car, lawnmower, girlfriend, etc.).

Or we'll talk in great detail about one mundane thing (the ball game) to avoid talking about something else you probably should talk about but don't want to (like why are you cheating on your wife).

Basically, male "conversations" are just verbal competition.

Attempts at actual conversation inevitably turn into problem solving: "Oh, I know, buy her TWO dozen roses." Things you will never hear most men say to each other: (1) "So how did that make you feel?" (2) "How's your relationship with [insert wife/girlfriend name here].

City Slickers was generally a lame movie (oh, sorry for the bad transition), but one passage really illustrates how this works. On the cattle drive, the guys frequently talk about baseball. This irritates jilted Helen Slater (BTW, what idiot would ditch her?) so she asks why they talk so much about baseball. She has this really incredible exchange with the now sadly deceased Bruno Kirby :

Ed: What do you and your friends talk about?
Bonnie: Real life. Relationships...are they working, are they not? Who's she seeing, is that working?
Ed: Its no contest. We win.
Bonnie: Why?
Ed: Honey, if that were as interesting as baseball, they'd have cards for it and sell it with gum.

Exactly.

So, there are no "men's conversations." Thank God.

NEXT-if I can ever get to it, the Daily Affirmations 2013 Year In Review