Erll, deat reathers – well, you see what happens when you’re tired and your fingers go one key off? Well, dear readers – there, that’s much better. Although I’m kind of liking Erll, deat reathers – it’s vaguely Scandinavian and I, for one, like anything that’s vaguely Scandinavian, even though I have no clew as to what that means or what the HELL I’m talking about. In any case, I am happy as a clam because the original Thurber drawing arrived safe and sound and is stunning. Where it will hang isn’t known as of yet but will be later today. We did make the decision to leave it framed as it is – simply. I put it in the living room, and all throughout the day I kept walking in there to gaze at it lovingly. Prior to its arrival, I got up, answered e-mails, and then the helper arrived and finished putting postage on packages. Then she left and I went and picked up the Thurber package as well as a couple of other smaller packages. I then came home, put the transfers of our next two projects into iTunes, and then overnighted them to the mastering guy, who will now work his magic. Of course, I had the transfers done flat, right off the master tapes and even flat (with no EQ work) both sound terrific, especially the earlier score, which is in great mono sound. After that, I went and had what turned out to be a teeny-tiny turkey sandwich. Then I came home and did a mile and a half jog – wasn’t in the mood to go further. Then I looked at my Thurber lovingly a few more times. Then I looked in the mirror and thought I looked vaguely Scandinavian, but the moment passed and then I looked vaguely like an older Jew, which I am. Then I buckled down Winsocki and wrote the second set of liner notes I had to write – it was great to get the first draft done. Then the fellow I hired to assemble a project that I didn’t have time to assemble. Actually I could have done that part, but it’s the paperwork that took a really long time because the rights’ holders for this title are sticklers for everything under the sun and I wanted it all documented to the nth degree so that they’d either have no questions or this fellow would be able to answer the questions quickly and easily. Grant Geissman was supposed to come over but didn’t, so we met halfway and I picked up something from him, showed him the Thurber, and then came home, where I finally sat on my couch like so much fish.
Last night, I watched a motion picture on Blu and Ray entitled The Ghost Writer, directed by Mr. Roman Polanski, from the novel The Ghost by writer Robert Harris (Harris and Polanski did the screenplay). I make no bones about the fact that Polanski has been one of my favorite directors since I first saw Repulsion back when it came out. His film of Rosemary’s Baby and also Chinatown remain two of my all-time favorite films. Since he left the country back in the mid-1970s, his output has been up and down, at least for me. I loved The Tenant and I enjoyed Frantic and Tess. But I didn’t love Bitter Moon or Pirates or Death and the Maiden. I enjoyed The Ninth Gate, even though I found all the parts about book collecting not very accurate, at least in terms of the Johnny Depp character. I liked The Pianist from afar and thought Oliver Twist was okay. I had no idea what to expect from The Ghost Writer – I didn’t know the book at all, and had no idea what the plot was. Well, I’m happy to report that it’s Polanski’s best film in ages and ages, right up there with his greats. No, it didn’t please the impatient youngsters of today, who are only used to adrenalin and fast cutting and pumped-up, stupid storytelling. They simply cannot sit still to watch a classically filmed suspense film – suspenseful in the way Hitchcock used suspense. Polanski is a master visual filmmaker and this film looks great. Every shot looks great. The pace is leisurely. He takes time the time he needs to tell the story and he adds no sops to today’s youthful audience. He does it his way and his way works perfectly. The cast is wonderful – Ewan McGregor, Kim Cattrall, Pierce Brosnan, Tom Wilkinson, Timothy Hutton, and a wonderful one-scene turn by the great Eli Wallach. I really liked the story, it held my attention from start to finish, the photography was great (and isn’t it nice to have a filmmaker still working who won’t pander to this need to have everything look yellow – this is a blue movie in the best sense of the word – great color), and the score by Alexandre Desplat works perfectly and is terrific. Highly recommended by the likes of me, but not recommended by the likes of me to those who can’t sit still.
After the movie, I went to Gelson’s and got some toy food to nibble on, as I was quite hungry. A tiny bit of righteous red potato salad, two small chicken tenders, and a small amount of their lobster salad – all of it was fine.
Well, why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button below whilst we all remember the story of The Randy Vicar and the Kumquat, which is, in case you didn’t know, vaguely Scandinavian.
Oh, and I watched all the trailers that were on the Blu and Ray and I have to tell you we’ve now gone from the ridiculous (that awful pompous trailer voice intoning things like “In a world where…”) to no narration at all – just quick little flashes of film accompanied by one-line text, with awful music. Every trailer is exactly the same – image – text (they were destined to meet) – image – text (they were opposites) and on and on. I have to say that Hollywood creativity as at its nadir and it’s not going to get better.
Today, I shall be up early, CDs and helper will be here at nine, and we’ll box up about seven hundred CDs, prepare the couple of dealer shipments and get everything to the postal office. I’m hoping we can get through all that by noon. Then Mr. Grant Geissman will be coming over to continue moving pictures around and we’ll be finding the perfect place for the Thurber (somewhere in the living room, I should think). I’ll also be taking a couple of things to the framers. I’ll have the evening all to myself.
Tomorrow I’ll be going to listen to some tapes of potential upcoming releases, and then I’ll be meeting the wonderful Brad Oscar for a late-afternoon snack – perhaps at Bird’s, which is not far from the Pantages, where he’s performing in Young Frankenstein.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, ship a LOT of CDs, I must see Grant Geissman and hang pictures, I must go to the framers, and I must actually try to relax and at some point I shall do a jog of some sort. Today’s topic of discussion: I’m very fond of the British playwrights and have been since I was a teen, when I read The Browning Version and The Winslow Boy. So, who are your favorite modern (modern meaning from the 1930s to now) British playwrights, what are your favorite British plays, and what’s the best production of a British play you’ve ever seen? Let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we, and do make your postings vaguely Scandinavian.