Well, dear readers, I shall shortly be on my way to the Land of Port. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, in just a few short hours I shall be in Portland, and then I shall be attending a gathering of hainsies/kimlets at the home of dear reader JMK. I shall, of course, take photographs of each and every event, including Monday night’s reading/signing. I will also be taking a look at JMK’s Burt Bacharach revue and offering whatever suggestions that come to mind. And then, I shall be returning home on Wednesday. I’m hoping to discover an excellent restaurant or three, and I’m looking forward to meeting all the hainsies/kimlets. I’ve pretty much decided that at the reading I shall read mostly from Benjamin Kritzer, because I realized that to read from Kritzerland and Kritzer Time might be giving away certain things. So, I’ll probably find one section of those two books, a section that doesn’t reveal anything. And, I’ll read a short section from Writer’s Block. I may even give a preview of Rewind, but we’ll have to see how I’m feeling. I’m also hoping there will be questions from those in attendance, because I love answering questions. Isn’t that exciting? Isn’t that just too too?
Yesterday, I spent a rather lazy day, dealing with a few silly annoyances, and then packing and relaxing, not necessarily in that order. The silly annoyances were truly silly. The first silly annoyance happened at Du-Par’s, where my ATM/credit card was “declined” for a nine-dollar check. That was, of course, absurd. I paid cash, and then got on the phone to Bank of America. I got a nice lady on the phone who told me there absolutely was nothing wrong with the card – no hold, plenty of dough in the bank. She thought it had to do with the three digit security code on the back of the card. She was, most likely, correct, as someone, at some point when swiping the card, took off part of the signature strip, and the little section above it, which contains the security code. Apparently, the woman at Du-Par’s entered it in incorrectly, and that was the problem. However, the woman at Du-Par’s didn’t say that – she merely looked down her nose at me and said “declined.” If she couldn’t read the security code, she should have asked me, since I know it by heart. But no, she just entered it incorrectly, then didn’t ‘fess up to it. However, what is most annoying to me is that she had to enter it at all. When you swipe a card, that should be it, as it is at most venues where I use it. Anyway, I ordered a new card so this would not happen again. The second silly annoyance was that I didn’t put my gas cap back on after getting gas, a first. I drove away, and it must have fallen off the car at the gas station. It took me ten minutes to realize that I didn’t have it, but by that time some cretin had picked it up and taken it with them. Why? How stupid is that? They need an extra gas cap? I bought a new one, and all was well. That was the end of the petty annoyances.
Well, why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button below because I must shower, do my do, and zip up the carry-on bag before the car gets here to whisk me off to the Burbank Airport, where I will shout, “Portland, here I come!”
Last night I watched two count them two motion pictures on DVD. The first motion picture on DVD was entitled The Reivers. I really wanted to like The Reivers more than I did. It has a great cast who give great performances. It has beautiful photography. It has John Williams’ breakout score – one of his all-time greats. It’s from a lovely novel by William Faulkner. And yet, it just never comes together in a satisfying way. You keep waiting for it to soar, you keep waiting for the magic, and what you get are perfectly pleasant scenes that become repetitious after a while. The second half improves, but then the director, Mark Rydell, completely blows the big horserace at the end, by letting narration (by Burgess Meredith) play over pretentious slow motion, which just robs the film’s climax of any power. This is a movie, not a book, and Mr. Rydell should have found the visual equivalent of Faulkner’s marvelous prose. It’s not a bad movie, it just sort of sits there like so much fish, and one just wishes it were great. Steve McQueen is terrific, as are Mitch Vogel, the wonderful Rupert Crosse (who was nominated for an Oscar for his performance), Will Geer, and especially Sharon Farrell, who lights up the screen whenever she’s on camera. But, oh, that score – if you’ve never heard it, try and find it on CD. The scope transfer is gorgeous. I then watched the second motion picture on DVD, which was entitled Eureka, a film by Nicholas Roeg. Nicholas Roeg is a strange film director, and Eureka is fairly awful. It’s beautifully shot, certainly, and it has some good performances (Gene Hackman, Mickey Rourke, Ed Lauter), but it’s so pretentious and long (130 minutes), and so enigmatic that you just want to ultimately pull your eyes out of their sockets. It also features one of the most disgusting murder scenes ever put on the screen, truly repellent. Of course, I went to the imdb, where, predictably, five people proclaim it a masterpiece. I don’t think there’s a film in history that is listed on the imdb that doesn’t have five people who think it’s a masterpiece. It’s laughable, really. In any case, I basically loathed Eureka. It’s not an uninteresting story (based on the real-life Sir Harry Oakes, who was murdered on an island that he owned), but Mr. Roeg is making art, not telling a story, and, I’m afraid, it’s all just a big bore.
What am I, Ebert and Roeper all of a sudden? You’ll be happy to know that the After the Ball booklet and packaging has been put to bed and is on its way to the printers. Oh, and may I just say, “Portland, here I come!”
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, be on my way to Portland, I must try to write on the plane, I must go to the hainsies/kimlets gathering, and I must eat cake, which I’m told is being made for the occasion. Today’s topic of discussion: We’ve done it before, but not in a long while, and I have no time to think of something new – so, who are your favorite painters, and what paintings of theirs are your particular favorites? Let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we, and do keep the home fries burning until I’m safely ensconced in the place where I’m staying – I’ll be looking forward to reading your excellent posts. But, for now, “Portland, here I come!”