Well, dear readers, it’s the beginning of a brand spanking new week, and, for our Jewish folks (myself included), it’s the beginning of a brand spanking New Year. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, this week bring us the Jewish New Year. So, whilst we can eat cheese slices we cannot eat the ham chunks, for that would be too too. No, this week we shall eat the matzoh and the borscht and the gefilte fish and the chopped liver and the roasted chicken and the kugel and the latkes and the shav, oh, yes, someone somewhere will be having the green bilious shav. And, if a Jew were to have a haircut this week, they’d have a shav and a haircut, two bits. Whenever I say the word “shav” to people, they look at me askance, as if I were making it up. Next time you’re in the grocery store, pay a little visit to the Jewish section and check out the green bilious shav. You will see I am not, in fact, making it up. Shav exists, even though we may not want it to. Of course, George Bernard Shav wrote some great plays, so we’re glad he exists. Look at all these sentences I’ve written thus far, and I don’t have a clew as to what the HELL I’m going on about, other than shav. Speaking of shav, yesterday I gave the most extensive Kritzer tour I’ve ever given. I’ve given very nice Kritzer tours on numerous occasions, but dear reader Hisaka had actually made a list of places mentioned in the three Kritzer books, and this list took up four count them four pages. We began our journey at 11:00 in the morning, and finished our journey at 4:30 in the afternoon. Hisaka saw the legendary Wiltern Theater, the building that used to house my father’s restaurant (called The Erro in the books, but the Kiru in real life), the two corners at Sunset and Vine that used to house Wallich’s Music City and NBC Studios, the Huntington Hartford Theater (now the Ricardo Montalban Theater – don’t ask), several former movie theaters on Wilshire, the site of the old Carthay Circle Theater, and on and on. What was nice is that I had a book of photos that were given to me by an archivist when I was writing the books, and Hisaka was able to see what these areas and places looked like when I was a kid. When we were at dinner at Musso’s, I showed her the decrepit and closed for many years Vogue Theater next door – it’s horrifying to look at it now, but she had no frame of reference until I showed her a glorious photo of it from the 60s. She saw the Kritzer house, Leo’s Delicatessen, Index Radio and Records, the Picfair, the Lido, and the Stadium (mostly just the locations, since the buildings are long gone), the site of the miniature golf course and Fosters Freeze and Gaby’s and Stat’s. She saw Crescent Heights Elementary School, the Susan Pomeroy and Paul Daley residences, Hamilton High, the second Kritzer home, the Apple Pan, and finally the location of POP and Grandma and Grandpa Kritzer’s Hotel St. Regis. Whilst at the beach, I paid a little visit to the high-rise that I lived in from the late 80s through 1996. I had a rent-controlled one bedroom there with a view of the ocean that I paid under $700 for. If I had stayed one more year, or held on to the apartment, they paid people $50,000 to move out, so they could raise the rents (it’s still rent-controlled). They managed to get most everyone out, but a few stayed and are still paying under $1,000. I actually went inside and talked to the nice security guard lady, who told me that rents for one bedrooms now start at $2300, and the two bedrooms on the highest floor (the 17th) go for $5,000. All in all, it was a fun day, and Hisaka professed to have loved her tour. By the end of it, I was all in, and I dropped Hisaka off at her hotel, and I went home to sit on my couch like so much fish, where I promptly fell asleep.
When I woke up, I watched a motion picture on DVD entitled Private Parts, a film by Paul Bartel. I’d seen it once, a long time ago on the Z Channel, but didn’t remember much about it. It’s quite an entertaining and sick (not to mention depraved) little film, the kind that seemed to get made regularly in the 70s (the film came out in 1972). Some of it is quite audacious for that era, and it’s rather amazing that the film wasn’t slapped with an X rating. What’s most interesting is that no film like Private Parts could be made today. That sort of edgy filmmaking simply doesn’t exist because independent low-budget filmmaking doesn’t really exist anymore in the way that it did (Nudie Musical couldn’t be made today in the same way it was then). Now it’s all about money and cookie-cutter films, whether big studio or indie. Everyone thinks there is complete freedom in filmmaking today, but there isn’t nearly the freedom that we had back in the 70s. In any case, the film takes place in the sleaziest downtown hotel you can imagine – the comedy is very black, and the performances are intentionally pitched high. The film has a wonderful score by Hugo Friedhofer, his last for the big screen. It’s also very well directed by Mr. Bartel, and the cast is interesting and very good – Ayn Ruyman (whatever happened to her – she appears to have worked once in the last twenty years or so) is lovely, and Lucille Benson walks away with the film. The transfer is excellent, and frankly the film has never looked better than it does on this DVD. I also had to shut off the oater I’d been watching, the Randolph Scott movie, Man in the Saddle – it’s one of the worst westerns I’ve ever seen, and I love Randy in almost anything. It was directed by the usually reliable Andre de Toth, but the script is just hopeless (it starts out interestingly, but then just goes to hell). The transfer is way too dark, although the color is quite good.
What am I, Ebert and Roeper all of a sudden? Well, why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button below whilst we all ponder shav.
I feel so Jewish right now, with all this talk of shav. I feel that the New Year and Rosh Hashanah will be Shav Enchanted Evening. And if you see Shav in the grocery store, do remember what Mr. Whipple always said – “Please, don’t squeeze the shav.” How many people can say that they’ve played Mr. Whipple? Dick Wilson, for one. Me, for another.
Don’t forget, you have until midnight tonight to submit your Unseemly Trivia Contest answers – right now, we have a sole submission, which happens to be correct.
I have to attend to many things this morning – many errands, packing up and shipping the weekend’s orders, and I must begin to prep the envelopes in which I’ll be shipping the books to all who’ve ordered. I also must write today – I’ve let the entire weekend go without a word, and I just won’t feel right unless I do a few pages today to get back on track with the fun story I’m working on. At some point in the afternoon, I’ll gather up dear reader Hisaka and show her some of the Valley’s sights and sounds.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must write, I must drive about in my motor car, I must ship and hopefully pick up packages, and I must escort dear reader Hisaka here, there, and everywhere. Perhaps I’ll even show her shav. Today’s topic of discussion: What are your favorite independent quirky films from the golden age of independent quirky films, the 60s and 70s. Let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we, and let’s have loads of lovely green and bilious shav, too.