Well, dear readers, I am sensing that the relentless media and Facebook negativity is taking its toll on people and people are losing their senses of humor, and all I’m going to say about that is, if people lose their senses of humor we are doomed. I try to keep these here notes humorous, in case you haven’t noticed, and I will keep doing that until the damn cows come home and I think after nineteen years of waiting we all know that THAT will be on the twelfth of never. But of course, the cows think this is all about them – they think it’s called Cowronavirus and Cowvid-19. Is it 19? I can’t remember all the names and numbers anymore. I do hope all you dear readers are keeping your senses of humor. And I think it might be occasionally nice to tout positive things, like how many people have recovered without too much incident, just so it’s not all doom and gloom all the time and that is ALL we get from the media and Facebook. Am I pontificating? I think I’m pontificating. Do you have to be a Pontiff to pontificate? And what IS a Pontiff anyway? I know it’s something because spell check didn’t underline it for me. Ah, it means chief priest, i.e. the Pope. I knew that. I saw The Cardinal. Otto Preminger has never steered me wrong. Well, maybe Skidoo (oodiks, spelled backwards). The other thing is, shouldn’t these here notes have been posted seven minutes ago? Perhaps if I stopped pontificating, they would have been, but I’m trying to make sure we all keep our senses of humor until the cows come home.
Yesterday was like every other day this week and last week and the week before, i.e. more of the same. I got nine-and-a-half hours of sleep, arising at one or something like one. Once up, I answered e-mails, finally signed off on the galley and sent the approval form, did a few things on the computer, and then went to the mail place to pick up a couple of packages, just to exercise the motor car and get that out of the way. There was no one there, so I just got the packages and came right home.
I had a hankerin’ for pizza, so I used Door Dash and got a medium pizza from Big Mama’s and Papa’s Pizza. It arrived one hour later, kind of tepid but fine. It wasn’t great pizza, but I enjoyed it. The slices were very small, so I ate six of them, which was probably like eating three normal-size slices. I gave the remaining two to the nice fellow who lives in the back house.
I then had to write and record a birthday wish for someone on my iPhone and send it to the person who requested it. Finally, I sat on my couch like so much fish.
I decided I did not want to watch any more of Peyton Place, so instead I watched another motion picture on Blu-ray directed by Mr. Otto Preminger, who, by the way, has never steered me wrong. Well, maybe Skidoo (oodiks, spelled backwards). The motion picture was entitled Anatomy of a Murder, and it’s about the anatomy of a murder. It’s a great motion picture with perfect performances from just about everyone. The last time I saw it was when the Blu-ray came out in 2012. I was mesmerized all over again. The dialogue is wonderful, the direction is wonderful, and those performances: James Stewart (never better), Arthur O’Connell, Eve Arden, Murray Hamilton, George C. Scott, Joseph Welch (brilliant casting), Ben Gazzara, Ken Lynch, Howard McNear, and the incandescent Lee Remick. It’s long at two hours and forty minutes but never feels long at all. And having Duke Ellington do the score was a masterstroke of genius. It’s not a conventional score but it’s just perfect for the film. I guess I’d never watched the extras so I checked those out after I made the tuna pasta salad with fusilli.
There’s a weird Firing Line episode with William F. Buckley and Otto Preminger talking about censorship. But the big one is Preminger biographer Foster Hirsch pontificating about the film and Preminger and boy does he pontificate, and not in a good way. First of all, he talks about everything and everyone, always, as you’d expect, with an emphasis on Preminger. Never ONCE, not one single time, does he ever mention the screenwriter. What, the film wrote itself? How dare he minimize, well, not minimize but ignore the screenwriter’s contributions? He talks about the book it’s based on, but someone had to adapt the damn book and it’s kind of a perfect screenplay and the writer’s name, since it seems elude Mr. Hirsch, is Wendell Mayes. Mayes was not some nobody and he deserves much praise and much credit for the greatness of Anatomy of a Murder. Mr. Hirsch, what with being a “writer” and all, should kind of understand that mentioning the writer is the thing to do. Mayes wrote a lot of movies I love, including The Spirit of St. Louis (with Billy Wilder), Advise and Consent and In Harm’s Way for Mr. Preminger, Hotel, The Poseidon Adventure, and Death Wish to name a few. Anyway, if you’ve somehow missed this film, you should really watch it. I did see it back when it came out, but remember little, other than not understanding all of the things that were mentioned of an adult nature – this film had things in it that had never been talked about in a mainstream film before. The transfer is fantastic.
After that, it was already late, so I had to just dive into these here notes after catching up on the posts. Just what up was doing on the posts is not known to me and up wasn’t talking.
Today, I’ll arise when I arise, I’ll eat tuna pasta salad with fusilli and hope it’s not silly, I’ll make the playlist for Sunday’s Best of Kritzerland video show, and I’m sure I’ll watch something and listen to something and take a quick drive somewhere.
Tomorrow, we’ll have the Best of Kritzerland show. I’ll have details in tomorrow’s notes about times and how it will work. And then there’ll be more days.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, arise when I arise, eat, make a playlist, watch, and listen. Today’s topic of discussion: What are your favorite films of Arthur O’Connell, Lee Remick, and George C. Scott? Let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we, whilst I hit the road to dreamland, having pontificated even though I’m not a Pontiff, on the need to not lose our senses of humor.