Well, dear readers, I am sitting here like so much fish, listening to Mr. Ormandy work his magic on the Shostakovich fifth symphony – a brilliant recording any way you slice it and I slice it in fourths. There are many, many fine recordings and, of course, Mr. Ormandy’s is on no list but it’s on my list, baby and I don’t care who knows it. I probably have twenty versions of this marvelously marvelous symphony, and, for me, Ormandy is up there with the best of them – maybe not THE best, but one I enjoy tremendously every time I hear it. The great Columbia stereo sound helps – the depth, the detail, the clarity – hard to beat. And now – it’s done, and we have the sound of silence. The sound of one hand clapping. The sound of Marcel Marceau. It’s eerie, especially after the Shostakovich fifth. Earlier, I did watch a motion picture on Prime entitled The Believers. I believe I saw The Believers when it came out but I didn’t remember much of it. It stars Martin Sheen, Helen Shaver, Robert Loggia, Richard Masur, and Harris Yulin and it’s directed by John Schlesinger. It is beautifully filmed and certainly well directed, but it’s a bit of a muddle as a horror thriller and it never really engages. Helen Shaver is not my favorite, so I couldn’t really get into that aspect of the movie, Sheen is fine, but it’s a misfire from a director I normally really like – I mean, Midnight Cowboy, Far from the Madding Crowd, Sunday, Bloody Sunday, Day of the Locust, Marathon Man, and Yanks – all terrific. But after Yanks there’s not much to like, at least for me. There are a few disgusting scenes in it that I don’t think would fly today. Other than that, I did watch some irritating YouTube videos. Earlier, I got about nine and a half hours of good sleep, got up, answered lots of e-mails, took no telephonic calls, got no modern major miracle, decided not to go out, had a nice discount coupon for Postmates and used it for fried catfish from Uncle Andre’s – saved a bit over ten bucks, so that was nice. I puttered around the home environment, dozed off for a bit during the irritating YouTube videos, and then had a six-inch calorie-friendly sub from Subway. And here we are, with the sound of silence, the sound of one hand clapping, the Marcel Marceau of notes.
Today, I’ll be up when I’m up, I may or may not have a lunch engagement – have to see what’s what, but I have to do a little interview thing so it may not work out – I’ll pick up dry cleaning, do a small Gelson’s run, perhaps put some gas in the motor car, pray for a modern major miracle, and then at some point I can watch, listen, and relax.
Tomorrow, she of the Evil Eye comes so I’ll breakfast somewhere, do some errands and whatnot, and then the rest of the week is just relaxing as we head into our fourth weekend of shows, with what will hopefully be an okay experience on Friday night with a sub pianist.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, be up when I’m up, maybe have a lunch thing or not, do a little interview thing, pick up dry cleaning, do a Gelson’s run, put gas in the motor car, pray for a modern major miracle, and watch, listen, and relax. Today’s topic of discussion: What directors that you loved petered out in their final years of directing – film and theater. Let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we, whilst I hit the road to dreamland, as we wrap up these here notes with the sound of silence, the sound of one hand clapping, the sound of Marcel Marceau.