Some Came Running

Two or three (make that four or six) motherf**kers

Any of you out there ever read Miles Davis' autobiography, co-written with the incredibly patient and scrupulous poet Quincey Troupe? If you have, then you know that there's no greater praise that the very eccentric Mr. Davis can give a musician than to call him or her (although in Davis' case it's more than likely a him) a "motherfucker."

It is in Mr. Davis' twisted but apt spirit that I offer for your delectation and appreciation these samples of the works of two quite significant motherfuckers, who passed away in recent days,in the hope that you'll further explore their good and great works. 

 

God bless Les, and Jim. And the lovely Mary, who passed in 1977. Motherfuckers all.

UPDATE: Damn, how could I have neglected to remember Rashied Ali? Thanks to several commenters for the reminders. Here's a clip of Rashied with James Blood Ulmer and Don Cherry. Of the three, only Blood still walks among us. Saw him not too long ago, he's still and absolute...what's the word?...oh, yes, motherfucker.

Happy 4th of July!

James Cagney and company, Yankee Doodle Dandy, Michael Curtiz, 1942

Tales from the Warner Archives #1: "Bye Bye Braverman" (Lumet, 1968)

"It should have been a soufflé, but it turned out a pancake." So director Sidney Lumet described his 1968 film Bye Bye Braverman in his entertaining book Making Movies. Andrew Sarris, describing the film in his book The American Cinema, is a bit kinder, citing "marvelous" and "affecting" work by some of its cast; still, Sarris says, the picture is "as courageous in its conception as it is vulgar in its execution."

What's so courageous about it's conception, you may ask. And I'll then ask you: how many studio pictures do you know of concerning the mid-life crises of a small group of New York Jewish intellectuals? So there. And this one's plot—in which the aforementioned fellows convene for the funeral of an old pal—seems to take its cue from the "Hades" section of Joyce's Ulysses. At least that's what Stanley Edgar Hyman said of the Wallace Markfield novel upon which the Herb Sargent script is based. (Markfield himself: "I can't say that Joyce is important to me. But what writer has not been influenced by Joyce?") Again, pretty highbrow for a Hollywood picture. Then again, the town was opening up at that time. 

Given its milieu and the fact that Lumet is one of the most indefatigable cinematic chroniclers of NYC, the movie maintains a very distinct curiosity value, one which can now be satisfied via its DVD release from the Warner Archive. After checking it out for the first time in decades—I think the first and last time I saw it was in a truncated version on WABC's "The 4:30 Movie" or some such program—I somewhat regret having to report that Lumet's a pretty good judge of his own work. Braverman has its moments—quite a few of them, in fact—but on the whole it's a bit of a botch. 

Film Exhibition In These United States

The Lincoln, Cheyenne, Wyoming, August 23, 2008

Which is, apropos of nothing, right around the corner from...