Well, dear readers, I do believe it is sort of raining outside. Not hard, but supposedly we’re going to have some hard rains in the middle of the night. We shall see. The weather report has been brought to you by Kellogg’s Sugar Pops, the favorite cereal of Wild Bill Hickock on the television. “Sugar Pops are tops” in case you didn’t know. Does anyone still eat Sugar Pops? Do they even make such a cereal now or has Kellogg’s killed it off, in which case they would be a cereal killer? Well, I’ll be swacked and pickled in moonshine – they still make the cereal but it’s now called Corn Pops. Is that how we’ve devolved? Sugar is a bad word now? I hate to say it, but Corn Pops sounds unappealing, like corn on the cob lollipops or something. Damn them, damn them all to hell. What is so wrong about Sugar Pops? It was good enough for kids of all ages for decades and it’s probably exactly the same, but now they have to pander to today’s silly parents? I say revolt! I say take a stand! I say bring back Sugar Pops because Sugar Pops are tops. Just look how appealing the box is – AND we even get Wild Bill Hickock as played by Guy Madison.
Now THAT is a cereal box of grand appeal. I’ll bet they changed the name of Frosted Flakes, too. What is it now, I wonder? Well, it’s Frosted Flakes, so I guess that one passed the silly parents test. I used to like the idea of cereal if not the reality. My problem with the reality is I hated milk. But I occasionally endured the milk to get the cereal. I rather fancied Sugar Pops and Frosted Flakes as a wee bairn. And I rather fancied Raisin Bran as long as I could pour a rather large amount of sugar on it. Shredded Wheat amused me on some level because it was like eating staples. Why the HELL am I talking about cereal? Don’t I have some notes to write?
Yesterday was another fine little day. I only got six hours of sleep again, because I awoke at eight and finally had an idea how to start the book I’ll be writing in January. So, I got up and typed up the idea of it and even wrote two rough paragraphs, which I like to do in advance of starting. After that, I had a visit with film music historian and writer Jon Burlingame, who picked up some CDs. We had a very nice chat.
After that, I answered e-mails, then went and had some lunch – a chili, cheese and onion omelet and an English muffin. After that, I picked up one package and then came home. I was delighted that two more screeners arrived – Birdman and Wild. I did some work on the computer, had a few telephonic calls, and then Mr. Nick Redman stopped by with a birthday gift – a rather spectacular coffee table book from Criterion, featuring cover art for their releases as well as designs and art that wasn’t used. It’s a beautifully designed and printed book. After that, I finally sat on my couch like so much fish.
Last night, I watched a documentary on DVD entitled A Life in Dirty Movies, about the exploitation filmmaker Joe Sarno. I’d heard his name over the years, mostly from Nudie Musical co-director Mark Haggard, who was a huge fan of his. He made his most well known films in the 60s. Yes, they were adult films, but for Sarno they were always about the stories and the characters. There really wasn’t much nudity in them, but they had a certain eroticism. He was, in those days, kind of legendary in those circles. It’s fun to watch some of those films (many of which have clips in the documentary) as they are a time capsule when New York and Times Square were New York and Times Square and not the Disneyland of today. So, there are some great views of 42nd Street when it was lined from Broadway to Eighth Avenue with movie theater after movie theater. That’s where Sarno’s movies played. At the time the documentary was shot, Sarno was close to 90. He’s charming and weird, and all through the film he’s still trying to get movies made. His wife of many years, twenty years his junior, is quite a character. Sarno, after refusing to do hardcore for years, finally succumbed and did a few, but he hated it. Those kinds of exploitation films are, of course, a thing of the past, but it was a colorful past well worth taking a look at. I enjoyed it thoroughly.
I then watched a screener of a motion picture entitled The Imitation Game, about the man who broke the Enigma code machine, Alan Turing. A few months ago I’d watched a documentary about him, which I wrote about here. He was a fascinating man who, by breaking the code, saved millions of lives and was responsible for hastening the end of World War II. The film is directed beautifully by Morten Tyldum, a Norwegian filmmaker who directed Headhunters. His direction is in the classic style with no sops to today’s horse manure. The period settings are done very well. The film goes back and forth in time, starting with Turing’s arrest in 1951 for homosexuality (a crime in the UK), flashing back to both the wartime adventures and his childhood. The structure works and always holds interest and the film is very well paced. All the other actors are really good, including Keira Knightley. I guess they call films like this Oscar bait, but I never thought of that once because the story is compelling and interesting and the pace is just right. The score by Alexandre Desplat is interesting on certain levels. I like Mr. Desplat and have for years. His early work showed some nice originality and a way with melody. But because producers today want a certain kind of score, Mr. Desplat delivers what they want. The problem is all these scores sound exactly the same and few of them work as film music should really work, which is get under the skin of the story and characters and enhance that storytelling in ways that aren’t invasive. That’s what a classic Jerry Goldsmith score does or an Elmer Bernstein score or a Bernard Herrmann score – those people really understood the purpose of film scoring. Today music is simply laid on with a trowel. Yes, there might be a nice or decent tune somewhere, but it doesn’t mean anything in terms of the movie’s story. It’s just there, like aural wallpaper. And in many cases it does the opposite of what it should – it’s bombastic and epic when the story isn’t. And then, in the end credits we get a new trend – music we actually haven’t even heard before. It’s just weird. I’m not trying to be down about Mr. Desplat, who is clearly talented – this is more about what producers and directors want today. They temp track their films to within an inch of their lives, fall in love with it, and then ask the composer to ape it, one of the reasons they all sound the same. But it’s not a huge problem with this particular film, although the Jerry Goldsmith of the 1960s would have written a score that actually made the picture better. All that said, I thought this film was just terrific and Benedict Cumberbatch is great and will definitely be up for an Oscar. He may even win.
After that, I went to Gelson’s and got some tomato soup (first time I’ve seen tomato soup in their deli) and some of their excellent stuffing – just a small thing of it. I came home and ate it all up then relaxed and did stuff on the computer.
Today, I have a few things to do, more songs to choose, I’ll hopefully pick up some packages, do a bit of shopping, and then it’s a birthday dinner with the Staitman clan at Ruth’s Chris.
Tomorrow, she of the Evil Eye will be here bright and early and I’ll do a little jog, then eat something, then the rest of the day is a ME day. Sunday has turned into a busy day – a 9:30 meeting, then maybe seeing a screening of Into the Woods at 3:00 and then dinner with Kay Cole and Michael Lamont.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, choose songs, hopefully pick up packages, watch screeners, and have a birthday dinner. Today’s topic of discussion: It’s Friday – what is currently in your CD player and your DVD/Blu and Ray player? I’ll start – CD, The Theory of Everything. DVD screener – next up will be Birdman. Your turn. And also, what was your favorite breakfast cereal growing up? Let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we, whilst I hit the road to dreamland, where I shall undoubtedly dream of cereal killers.