Some Came Running

Driving "Trafic," heading uptown

My musings on Jacques Tati's Trafic, to my mind a wonderful and misunderstood film, have just gone up over at The Auteur's Notebook. The splendid Criterion DVD of the picture streets on July 15.

I've been meaning to head up to Harlem to check out the Maysles Cinema ever since it opened in March, and I now have even more of a pretext to do so and/or less of an excuse not to, as the case may be: Sunday, the uptown arthouse with a documentary emphasis begins its series "Strangers in a Strange Land" which runs through August 5. Curated by the Museum of the Moving Image's astute and, incidentally, personally delightful Livia Bloom, it starts with a bang: a marathon screening of Louis Malle's beautiful, penetrating seven-hour Phantom India. Other delights include an inventive double bill of Vigo's A propos de Nice and Chantal Akerman's beguiling News From Home. The schedule is here; a good news piece about the Maysles Cinema is here.

"Wall-E"

I do love Wall-E, I really do. It's just that the love is not unconditional. I explain in my review at The Auteur's Notebook.

More "Gang" Activity...

I'm happy to announce that I've joined the terrific crew of writers over at The Auteurs' Notebook—not that I'm abandoning my post here, mind you. My first piece for the site just went up—some notes on the putative surrealism of long time fave The Gang's All Here, with the added bonus of some reminiscences about the shooting of the film from then-Benny-Goodman-Band-drummer (he was all of 19 at the time!) Louie Bellson. It's a fun piece, if I may say so myself. The disembodied head of Eugene Pallette commands you to go to this link and read it!

Department of trying NOT to start a pissing contest

Oh my.

I see that the kids over at The House Next Door have gone and begun posting the epic podcast featuring myself, the delightful and trenchant Karina Longworth (Spoutblog), and stalwart hosts Vadim Rizov and John Lichman...not to mention House honcho, recordist, and hosting pinch-hitter Keith Uhlich...that was produced as part of Rizov/Lichman's infamous "Live" at Grassroots Tavern series. For those of you unfamilar with the concept of this series, it involves everybody meeting at St. Mark's Place's very "charactery" bar and getting bombed and discussing the cinematic issues of the day. I'm not going to discuss my own intake, but as the thing has been divided into three parts, I can see that we did go on.

I do, however, very much want to state for the record that I had nothing to do with the title of the podcast, which involves some small mockery of an Entertainment Weekly critic who was, among other things, quite kind to me on those occasions that I spoke to her at Cannes. As it happens, said title is a reference to something this critic supposedly fumed during the clusterfuck that was the wait to get into the press screening for James Gray's Two Lovers back on the Croisette, not that I heard it myself. And in fact, if she did indeed say it, I don't blame her. But I don't even remember if Lichman/RIzov/Uhlich/Longworth/myself even got into that incident. Maybe we did, and maybe you can hear me begging them not to use their proposed title. But use it they did. You can't get these kids to listen these days, I tell ya.

So Lisa, if you're reading this, I know "I didn't do it" is the Bart Simpson defense, but really—I didn't do it!

That aside, the podcast may have some entertainment value for many of you.

Speaking of kids, I learned during the recording session that the suave and debonair Mr. Rizov is, like, 12. Okay, he's over 21, obviously—they do card at Grassroots—but not by much. This strikes frighteningly close to the heart of the fallacy inherent in the 30-something Nathan Lee's constant plaints that big media doesn't employ enough young film writers, e.g., NONE OF US ARE ACTUALLY GETTING ANY YOUNGER. I dare say that a drinking session with Vadim would have even Lee recalling Marvell's immortal lines, "But at my back I always hear/Time's winged chariot drawing near..."

UPDATE: Never mind. See comment below. And check out the podcasts!

"Some Came Running," at leisure

Display case, "No Wave 1976-1980," KS Art

As I deal with the varied vicissitudes of being out (for the time being) of a day job, I've been trying to do a bunch of stuff that I might not have done were I still, you know, in a day job. Hence, last Thursday night, I met up with my similarly day-job-less pal Louise W. (who I met in geometry class at Jefferson Township High School in 1977; she was a freshman, while I was a mathematically-challenged senior), with blankets in tow, to get a sweet spot on the lawn by the Prospect Park Bandshell for the opening night of the Celebrate Brooklyn! series of concerts at said bandshell, featuring Mr. Isaac Hayes. We were soon joined by a host of day-job-possessing pals, including Kenny-Evans-wedding maid of honor Rubina H., wedding usher Patrick K., my buddy Mario of DVD Palace fame, and more. (My Lovely Wife, alas, was tied up in rehearsals for a play.)

It was a beyond-perfect night for such an event, which was hilariously prefaced by a bunch of goofy speeches from varied representatives of the municipality. Hayes was pretty awesome. He can't rock the gold-chain "Black Moses" vest like he used to—he instead wore a long black-and-gold robe—and he had three electronic keyboardists emulating the sounds of a 21-piece orchestra, but close your eyes and it was Hot Buttered Soul and Live at the Sahara Tahoe all the way, except without the stage patter. It was as if South Park had never even existed. "Lord, ain't nobody making music like this no more," one delighted old-schooler exclaimed a couple minutes into "I Stand Accused." Damn right, as Hayes says on one of his most famous hits. Speaking of which, the extended version of the theme from Shaft with which he closed the show had enough wacka-wacka for ten porno movie soundtracks...

Late afternoon Friday I hied down to Manhattan's Leonard Street, with a two-fold purpose. First, to attend a book party/gallery reception celebrating No Wave: Post-Punk. Underground. New York. 1976-1980 by Sonic Youth's Thurston Moore and longtime critical gadfly Byron Coley. An essential photo collection and text for anybody who looked in terrified wonder at the back cover of No New York, and subsequently listened in terrified wonder to its grooves.

Another friendly reminder

We all enjoy a good argument, but let's not forget that we often regret the things we say...in the HEAT OF THE MOMENT...

Personal to R.G. and B.D.: "and now you find yourself in f**kin' '82..."

So, in that spirit, let's all make up and be friendly, with this classic from the Bonzos...

That is all.

Department of Self-Promotion

It's something I'm going to have to get a little better at, I'm told.

So, in keeping with that sentiment....did I mention that while at Cannes I joined the indefatigable Matt Singer from the 6th-etage balcony at 6 la Croisette to do a play-by-play of the red carpet action for Woody Allen's Vicky Christina Barcelona? It was a great deal of fun—I felt like John Madden reincarnated as a cinephile—and Matt and I both think the IFC "Cannes Cam" episode that resulted turned out pretty well. Click the blue letters to check it out.

My buddy Matt Carr, who was shooting the actual festivities, squeezed off a snap of Mr. Singer and myself in action:

Also, I recently spoke with another pal, the great James Rocchi of Cinematical, in what some (but not me) would call a Cannes-stylee. Here you may find the post that links to the podcast.

Early Monday evening I'm scheduled to participate in what may be the most intriguing of these "cast" projects, an episode of the infamous "'Live' From Grassroots Tavern," hosted by John Lichman and Vadim Rizov and featured on the exemplary House Next Door website. In this series, Lichman and Rizov and guests discuss the state of cinema whilst ensconced in one of St. Mark's Place's most ingratiating dives. I'll be guesting along with SpoutBlog's Karina Longworth, who bids fair to claim the title of The Dorothy Parker of Blogospheric Film Critics. I'm wondering just how far I'll be able to push my Foster Brooks impersonation whilst staying within the boundaries of a family-friendly format? Or is it really an impersonation? And is it really family-friendly? We'll keep you posted.

"Kenny, affecting a perhaps Germanic severity..."

My buddy Matt Carr, photog supreme, bemoaned the lack of portrait-taking opportunities afforded him at Cannes this year, thus soft-soaping me into sort-of sitting for him. Stern result is below the fold.

New skill sets.

After setting up this blog in haste, and then setting aside the login details, and then freaking out all weekend in an attempt to figure them out/get them back, well, here I am. I imagine my ineptitude in this respect must have something to do with my having a "print mentality."

Ahem.

I'll be posting like mad shortly, as this blog will be one of possibly several outlets for which I'll be covering Cannes. The reorganization of staff at Premiere coming at this particular time put even more of a whammy on my head than it might have otherwise, but I thought I'd best get myself out there anyway. Stay in the game, as it were (Jeff Wells will be proud of me, I trust), although what I'd like more than anything at the moment is a bit of a rest. I'll give it to myself soon enough. But for now, keep watching.

First, though, I post to thank everyone who rang in with compliments, concern, and coverage in the wake of my termination. I felt a little like Tom Sawyer at his own funeral...except far more moved, and incredibly grateful. The comments thread on my penultimate post at the Premiere blog "In The Company of Glenn" (whose archives I hope to move here in the near future) not only brought tears to my eyes, it helped clarify some issues for my own self, and steel some resolve. And the kind words I've received in e-mails have also been more than encouraging. I'm particularly grateful for the concern evinced by a couple of people to whom I actually haven't been at all kind to in the polemic heat of the battling blogosphere. To say I'm blown away is an understatement. I only hope that in my lifetime I can be even half as gracious as these folks have been to me.

Here is a screen cap that's part of a project that would have been a massive pre-Cannes post but is gonna have to wait. Some of you might guess the film. And some might be able to guess the project, which as it happens pertains to a work of literature rather than celluloid. It'll get done. There's quite a bit left to be done.

Let's go.

As Steve Albini used to say.

Well. Aren't we all cozy here.

Over at the site known as "In the Company of Glenn," I was contemplating posting an entry that I would give the dual title of "Which Way Is Up?/A Delicate Balance." And then I realized: I'm under no obligation to do any such thing. I can just set up camp at my own blog, once I create it and title it.

Sure, I'll miss the title "In the Company of Glenn." It was moderately clever. And yet. "Some Came Running"...in a way, it has to do with my own heart a little more...

The above screen cap is, of course, Mr. Dean Martin in the immortal Minnelli film. The cap below, poor Michel Piccoli trying to emulate DIno in Godard's Contempt.

Consider this space the drunken boat we stand in, trying to pull either and/or both of these figures out of the water. Not to be loopy, or maudlin, or anything. Just a fancy way of saying...let's hang, my friends.