By Dennis Hartley
Now playing, on the nightly news! The scariest screen couple since…
Ray and Martha!
Sid and Nancy!
George and Martha!
Frank and Dorothy!
Rafe and Sunny!
Barnabas and Victoria!
Raymond and Connie!
It’s…Ted & Carly: The Movie!
Rated R for Really? I’m not sure whether to laugh, or to flee in terror.
By Dennis Hartley
(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on April 23, 2016)
While the line dividing politics from show-biz has always been tenuous, the White House meeting between Elvis Aaron Presley and Richard Milhous Nixon in 1970 remains one of the more surreal moments in United States presidential history. From Smithsonian.com:
Around noon, Elvis arrived at the White House with Schilling and bodyguard Sonny West, who’d just arrived from Memphis. Arrayed in a purple velvet suit with a huge gold belt buckle and amber sunglasses, Elvis came bearing a gift—a Colt .45 pistol mounted in a display case that Elvis had plucked off the wall of his Los Angeles mansion.
Which the Secret Service confiscated before Krogh escorted Elvis—without his entourage—to meet Nixon.
“When he first walked into the Oval Office, he seemed a little awe-struck,” Krogh recalls, “but he quickly warmed to the situation.”
While White House photographer Ollie Atkins snapped photographs, the president and the King shook hands. Then Elvis showed off his police badges.
Nixon’s famous taping system had not yet been installed, so the conversation wasn’t recorded. But Krogh took notes: “Presley indicated that he thought the Beatles had been a real force for anti-American spirit. The President then indicated that those who use drugs are also those in the vanguard of anti-American protest.”
“I’m on your side,” Elvis told Nixon, adding that he’d been studying the drug culture and Communist brainwashing. Then he asked the president for a badge from the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs.
“Can we get him a badge?” Nixon asked Krogh.
Krogh said he could, and Nixon ordered it done.
Elvis was ecstatic. “In a surprising, spontaneous gesture,” Krogh wrote, Elvis “put his left arm around the President and hugged him.”
I’ll bet you thought E was going to say, “Thank ya, sir…thankyahveramuch.” Amirite?
He very well may have, but since there is no verbatim transcript, it’s up for conjecture. Which brings us to Liza Johnson’s featherweight yet passably entertaining Elvis & Nixon.
Co-writers Joey Sagal (who, interestingly, played an Elvis-like character for the premiere run of Steve Martin’s play Picasso at the Lapin Agile), Hanala Sagal, and Cary Elwes frame their screenplay with the most oft-recounted anecdotal lore surrounding the meet, shored up by a fair amount of creative license. Of course, this device (nowadays referred to as “fan fiction”) is nothing new. There have been a number of such explorations done on both figures; at least one featuring them together (the 1997 TV film Elvis Meets Nixon).
What makes this romp eminently watchable are its two leads: Michael Shannon (as Elvis) and Kevin Spacey (as Nixon). While this is far from a career highlight for either, they both have the chops to rise above the uneven script and carry the day. It does take a bit of acclimation to accept the hulking Shannon as Elvis; but he is subtle enough as a character actor to convincingly transform himself into The King, despite the fact that has no physical resemblance to his real-life counterpart (neither does Spacey, for that matter, but he utilizes his gift for voice mimicry to really capture Nixon to a tee).
The film is farcical in tone, but there are brief flashes of pathos. In a scene recalling De Niro’s “who am I?” dressing room soliloquy in Raging Bull, Shannon gazes into a mirror and laments about how disassociated he feels from “Elvis” the legend. It’s a genuinely touching moment. Spacey gets to flex his instrument in a monologue where he reflects to Elvis on their commonalities; how both men rose up from humble roots to achieve greatness (yes, I know…depends on how you define “greatness”).
It’s based on historical fact, but not don’t expect any new revelations. You may forget what you’ve just watched by the time you get back to your car, but political junkies will get some laughs. There are stretches where the film threatens to morph into a glorified SNL sketch, but at a short running time of 87 minutes, it’s over before you know it. If only I could say the same for the 2016 election…
By Dennis Hartley
RIP Prince 1958-2016
Do I believe in God, do I believe in me?
Some people want to die so they can be free
I said life is just a game, we’re all just the same
Do you want to play?
2016…the year the music died. Or at least it’s starting to feel that way. It’s all too much.
What can you say about Prince Rogers Nelson? If anyone could be labelled the “American David Bowie”, I’d wager this ever-evolving musical chameleon comes damn close. He was a true iconoclast. He was an amazingly gifted songwriter, vocalist and musician who could effortlessly segue from funk to rock, soul to psychedelia, R&B to jazz, hip-hop to techno…you name it. It’s as if he was created by a mad scientist who wanted to see what happens if you take DNA from Sly Stone, Paul McCartney, James Brown, Todd Rundgren, Jimi Hendrix, Stevie Wonder-and toss it all into a super collider.
His foray into cinema was more of a bumpy ride. Still, I have a soft spot for his semi-autobiographical 1984 vehicle, Purple Rain. While it is uneven from a narrative standpoint, the soundtrack is genius, a truly superlative song cycle in Prince’s canon. His 1986 “vanity project” Under the Cherry Moon, however, kind of put the kibosh on his acting career. It challenges Ishtar for title of Most Critically Drubbed Film of All Time. Still, its critics-to-audience score ratio on Rotten Tomatoes tells an interesting story. Only 25% of the critics “liked” it…but the audience score is 69%. As one critic wrote: “Strictly for Prince fans — but then again I am one.” Ditto. Obviously, he struck a chord.
(*sigh*) It’s getting crowded up there. Now George can thank him for this heartfelt solo:
Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince.
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.
###
UPDATE: Wow. On CNN tonight, even Stevie Wonder was at a loss for words:
(from Newsmax)
Stevie Wonder Thursday described Prince as “a great musician, a great producer, great song writer” — and was nearly overcome with emotion when asked to perform something that reminded him of the music icon who died at age 57.
“I think I would probably break down if I do a song right now,” Wonder told Anderson Cooper on CNN in during an interview from his Los Angeles home.
Prince, who was pronounced dead after collapsing in his Minnesota home, once described Wonder, 65, as a role model and an inspiration. “He was incredible,” Wonder told Cooper. “I’m just glad I was able to say to him I love you the last time I saw him.”
The performers had appeared together on several occasions, including the BET Awards in 2006 and in Paris four years later.
“The times we did jam together were amazing,” Wonder said.
He described Prince as “someone who allowed himself to be himself and encouraged others to be themselves.
“He was very free — and to do what he did without fear was a wonderful thing because it’s always great. It is always great when we don’t allow fear to put our dreams to sleep — and he didn’t.”
Wonder cited 1984’s “Purple Rain” as his favorite — “the whole album was incredible” — adding that Prince “was able to mix the blessing of life of God and, yet, the marriage of sex and passion.
He had fun doing it,” Wonder said. “It is rare for me that I can feel with every single breath how he just passionately loved music.”
By Dennis Hartley
Thank god he caught it in time:
(from Rolling Stone)
Joe Walsh will not be performing at a July 18th concert he was initially scheduled to perform in Cleveland, OH. In a statement he released on Wednesday, Walsh said the event was billed to him as a benefit for the families of veterans, but after he discovered it was part of the Republican National Convention, he made the announcement that he is withdrawing from the show.
“It was my understanding that I was playing a concert which was a nonpartisan event to benefit the families of American veterans on Monday, July 18 in Cleveland. The admat I approved said this specifically,” the singer said in the statement. “Today it was announced that this event is, in fact, a launch for the Republican National Convention.”
[…]
“I am very concerned about the rampant vitriol, fear-mongering and bullying coming from the current Republican campaigns,” he continued. “It is both isolationist and spiteful. I cannot in good conscience endorse the Republican party in any way. I will look at doing a veteran related benefit concert later this year.”
As some guy who somehow ended up in the White House once said, “Fool me once, shame on…shame on you. Fool me…you can’t get fooled again.” Or something to that effect. Anyway…way to go, Joe!
By Dennis Hartley
(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on April 16, 2016)
My pebble on the beach is gettin’ washed away I’ve given everything that was mine to give And now I’ll turn around and find That there’s no time to live
-from “No Time to Live” by Traffic (Winwood/Capaldi)
The life of horn player/vocalist Chet Baker is a tragedian’s dream; a classic tale of a talented artist who peaked early, then promptly set about self-destructing. Sort of the Montgomery Clift of jazz, he was graced by the gods with an otherworldly physical beauty and a gift for expressing his art. By age 24 he had already gigged with Stan Getz, Charlie Parker and Gerry Mulligan. He began chasing the dragon in the 1950s, leading to jail time and a career slide. There are conflicting versions of the circumstances that led to a brutal beating in 1968, but the resultant injuries to his mouth impaired his playing abilities. While he never kicked the substance abuse, he eventually got his mojo back, and enjoyed a resurgence of his career in his final decade (he was only 58 when he died).
Baker has a mystique that has inspired filmmakers over the years. Jess Franco’s 1969 cult film Venus in Furs (my review) was seeded by a conversation the director once had with Baker (the protagonist is a haunted jazz trumpeter, who falls in love with a woman who may or may not exist). Bruce Weber’s beautifully photographed 1988 documentary Let’s Get Lost is a heartbreaking portrait of Baker toward the end of his life. Which brings us to writer-director Robert Budreau’s Born to Be Blue (limited release and pay-per-view).
Budreau’s film is a highly stylized “re-imagining” of the jazzman’s slow, painful professional comeback that followed in the wake of the beating that virtually destroyed his embouchure. In a super-meta opening scene, Chet (Ethan Hawke) is on a movie set, working out a scene for a biopic about himself, with his co-star Jane (Carmen Ejogo). An off camera romance ensues, with Jane pulling triple duty as lover, muse and drug counselor; trying to keep him off the junk as he struggles against the odds to regain his playing chops with a fractured jaw. Along the way, the couple takes a road trip to Chet’s boyhood home in Oklahoma, where he introduces Jane to his parents (Janet Laine-Green and Stephen McHattie) and feebly attempts to patch things up with his estranged father.
Jane isn’t the only person in Chet’s orbit who find themselves fulfilling a caretaker’s role; his long-time manager (Callum Keith Rennie), musical mentor Dizzy Gillespie (Kevin Hanchard), and his parole officer (Tony Nappo), continue to prop him up, against their better judgement (you know what they say: “Never trust a junkie.”). How much of this aspect of Baker’s life is being “re-imagined” here is up for debate; but it’s interesting to observe that in Weber’s 1988 documentary, even Baker himself admits (in so many words) that he knew he was a natural-born charmer, and he was never afraid to exploit it.
While the “junkie/alcoholic (musician, artist, writer, or poet) with God-given talent and a maddening gift for self-destruction” narrative is a cliché, Budreau’s film is bolstered by a very strong performance from Hawke; it’s an immersive portrayal that ranks among his best. Supporting performances are excellent as well. Overall, the film is moody, highly atmospheric, and evocative of the time period, with striking cinematography (by Steve Cosens). The dearth of original Baker music is glaring (copyright issues?), but Kevin Turcotte’s faux-Chet trumpet provides a reasonable facsimile thereof. Hawke does his own singing; very convincingly capturing Chet Baker’s essence (if not his exact tonality).
By Dennis Hartley
Forget O.J. Simpson. This will surely be the new Trial of the Century:
(from NPR)
A jury trial is now set for a lawsuit that says members of Led Zeppelin plagiarized a key element of the best-selling song “Stairway to Heaven.” The estate of Randy Wolfe, the late guitarist of the band Spirit, initially filed the federal lawsuit two years ago.
On Friday, U.S District Judge R. Gary Klausner ruled that there’s enough evidence to move ahead with a trial to decide whether Led Zeppelin and guitarist Jimmy Page unfairly appropriated the guitar line from the Spirit song “Taurus,” which Wolfe — performing as Randy California — wrote years before “Stairway to Heaven” was released in 1971.
The lawsuit was filed with a Philadelphia court back in 2014, the same year Led Zeppelin released a newly remastered version of “Stairway to Heaven.” A year later, the venue was changed to California, to the same court that recently ruled in favor of the estate of Marvin Gaye in its copyright infringement lawsuit over the 2013 hit “Blurred Lines,” by Pharrell Williams and Robin Thicke.
Among the claims in the lawsuit against Led Zeppelin: that the band perpetrated a “falsification of Rock n’ Roll History.” In his order, Klausner finds that claim “inventive—yet legally baseless,” saying that he diligently sought out anything that might support the theory.
Klausner also removed Led Zeppelin bassist John Paul Jones from the suit, along with music publishers Super Hype and Warmer Music. That leaves Robert Plant and Jimmy Page as the leading defendants in the case.
Pagey and Percy, rockin’ the docket? Talk about a witch hunt…
Live from Jimmy’s house
That’s the story of rock ‘n’ roll, man…stealing riffs! After all, there’s only 7 major chords. Look at how many classic songs Buddy Holly was able to write using just three of them (A, E, & D). And even Buddy did a little creative “borrowing”, way back in the 1950s:
https://youtu.be/AyTtFNGzFsE
…sounds awfully close to an earlier Bo Diddley song:
…which was hijacked again over 30 years later, by George Michael:
Another classic example…starting with Neil Diamond in 1967:
…which obviously influenced:
…and re-emerged later as:
Perhaps this is all best summed up by one of my favorite 70s bands:
So endeth the lesson.
By Dennis Hartley
(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on April 9, 2016)
It’s been said that many who fancy themselves singers can’t “hear” their own true voice (ever been to a Karaoke bar?). Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder; but in the ears, not so much. Off key is off key, and unfortunately for wealthy arts patron Marguerite Dumont (Catherine Frot) this is Paris in the 20s, and Auto-Tune is many decades hence.
Her heart is in the right place, though. In fact music is her driving passion, and in the opening of writer-director Xavier Giannoli’s eponymous drama, we witness a gathering of aristocrats (and a few party-crashers) that has converged on Marguerite’s sprawling estate for a charity fundraiser. Marguerite has invited a number of accomplished musicians to perform. The biggest buzz surrounds the headliner-Marguerite herself, who has prepared one of her favorite Soprano pieces to regale her guests with. However, she’s holding off until her husband Georges (Andre Marcon) arrives; it seems he has car issues.
It turns out that Georges has frequent trouble with the car; weirdly enough this occurs every time Marguerite gives a recital at their home (although the significance of this “coincidence” has never occurred to the unflappably enthusiastic Marguerite). As the guests are getting impatient, the show must go on…and so Marguerite takes center stage.
When Marguerite begins to sing, erm, how can I put this politely…well, let’s just say she is no Edith Piaf. OK, full disclosure: Her caterwauling could decalcify your spinal column at 100 paces. She’s godawful. But…she’s so enthusiastically godawful that she is at once oddly endearing. We assume this, because nobody has ever told her how utterly horrifying her singing is; neither her guests (who in fact give her a standing O) nor her longtime butler (Denis Mpunga), nor husband (aside from those “problems” with the car).
Two of the “party-crashers” I referred to earlier are an ambitious young journalist and his pal, an avant-garde provocateur, who are intrigued by the inexplicably sycophantic cocoon of “admirers” that enables Marguerite to remain cheerfully oblivious to her atonal warbling. Do they do this out of kindness? Or are they being ironic? Perhaps there’s something the young men are “missing”? The pair decides to conduct a sort of social experiment. If they can coax Marguerite out of her hermetic bubble, into a real public performance, she might prove to be a true phenomenon. Stranger things have happened.
What ensues is a sometimes uneasy cross between The Producers and The Dinner Game. The saving grace is Frot’s brave and moving performance; she’s sweet, funny and heartbreaking all at once. Michel Fau is another standout as a fading opera singer who is reluctantly recruited into playing Henry Higgins to Marguerite’s Eliza Doolittle (his characterization also recalls the exasperated singing coach who is hired to tutor Orson Welles’ tone-deaf wife in Citizen Kane). While there are many amusing moments, this is not a lighthearted romp; the odious, uniquely human capacity to cruelly exploit others for personal gain is on full display. Then again, you know what they say: “That’s show biz!”
By Dennis Hartley
We have our first nominee for Best Short Film of 2016:
Sweet!
By Dennis Hartley
Thank the Lord Vishnu this isn’t your father’s Georgia. Or is it?
(from The Guardian)
Administrators at an elementary school in Georgia are making changes to yoga practices for students, after parents complained such practices encouraged non-Christian beliefs.
Bullard elementary, in Cobb County, is one of a number of schools across the US and in Georgia to offer yoga and other mindfulness practices rooted in Hinduism and Buddhism as stress management methods for students.
Some parents at Bullard, however, felt the introduction of yoga was akin to pushing Hinduism on their children, the Atlanta Journal-Constitution reported.
“No prayer in schools. Some don’t even say the pledge [of allegiance], yet they’re pushing ideology on our students,” one mother, Susan Jaramillo, told 11Alive, an NBC affiliate. “Some of those things are religious practices that we don’t want our children doing in our schools.”
Really, Georgia? Seriously? Wait…it gets even more absurd:
Bullard is now making changes to how students go about the practice. When they go through the yoga moves, they will not say “namaste” or put their hands by their hearts, because the term and gesture are derived from Hindu custom.
Students will also no longer be allowed to color mandalas, spiritual symbols in Hinduism and Buddhism.
Oy. OK. First off, let’s examine the etymology of the word namaste:
(from the Urban Dictionary)
…an ancient Sanskrit greeting still in everyday use in India and especially on the trail in the Nepal Himalaya. Translated roughly, it means “I bow to the God within you”, or “The Spirit within me salutes the Spirit in you” – a knowing that we are all made from the same One Divine Consciousness.
That seems fairly benign. Like “hello”, or “good morning”. No…wait:
(from All Experts)
There is agreement among etymologists that Goodbye, Good morning, Good afternoon, etc. all derive from the word ‘God’; (Goodbye specifically from ‘God be with you’.) and times of the day inserted accordingly; All these greeting and parting expressions are found in earliest literature; recorded as early as 1200 in Layamon’s ‘Chronicle of Britain).
OK, that tears it. I demand that homeroom teachers immediately stop greeting their students with “good morning, class”. Because this is obviously pushing some kind of Christian agenda. I’m offended.
Wasn’t that a silly stretch on my part? I agree. Namaste. Peace out.
UPDATE: Oh, Georgia…just when I thought you were incorrigible:
(from the Washington Post)
Georgia Gov. Nathan Deal (R) on Monday vetoed a controversial religious liberties bill that had provoked outrage from Hollywood, sports leagues and corporations for what critics said was its discrimination against gay and transgender people.
“I do not think we have to discriminate against anyone to protect the faith-based community in Georgia, which I and my family have been a part of for generations,” Deal said at a news conference announcing his decision.
Deal’s decision comes two weeks after the state legislature passed a bill aimed at shoring up the rights of religious organizations to refuse services that clash with their faith, particularly with regard to same-sex marriage. Deal, who had already expressed discomfort with the measure, came under enormous pressure to veto the bill after the National Football League suggested it might pass over Atlanta for future Super Bowls, and leading Hollywood figures threatened to pull production from the state.
The decision drew immediate praise from gay rights groups.
[…]
Social conservatives, however, accused Deal of flinching in the face of liberal opposition. Among those who immediately expressed disappointment via Twitter was Russell Moore, president of the Ethics & Religious Liberty Commission at the Southern Baptist Convention.
GA Gov. @NathanDeal veto of religious liberty protection is shameful.
— Russell Moore (@drmoore) March 28, 2016
By Dennis Hartley
Just because Blockbuster and Hollywood Video are kaput, don’t think that you are off the hook. You scofflaws know who you are:
A North Carolina man faces a court date after a bizarre arrest for not returning a 15-year-old VHS rental, but he may receive a little help from the movie’s star.
James Meyers said he was pulled over on Tuesday morning for a broken taillight, but later learned that there was a warrant out for his arrest because he had not returned a copy of “Freddy Got Fingered” he rented in late 2001.
The 37-year-old single dad told the Daily News that cops allowed him to continue driving his daughter to school, but was later handcuffed and taken into custody when he met up with police that afternoon.
Luckily for him, this lawless ne’er-do-well has a guardian angel:
[Tom] Green, who is currently on a stand-up comedy tour in Australia, told the Daily News that he is happy to support fans of his film, which was the subject of terrible reviews and currently has an 11% rating on Rotten Tomatoes.
The 44-year-old comedian, who said that Rotten Tomatoes is “in the business of hating on art,” said that he could put in a good word with the court or even help out financially as long as the outcome doesn’t involve an outrageous sum.
Goddam movie critics. Always hating on art. Insufferable snobs.
Apparently, this has happened before, back in 2014:
Kayla Finley, 27, had visited a police station to report a crime, only to find a warrant for her arrest had been issued in 2005, when she was 18.
Ms Finley had rented a VHS copy of romantic comedy Monster In Law, starring Jennifer Lopez and Jane Fonda.
According to local television station Fox Carolina, Ms Finley was “shocked and disgusted” at the arrest.
Police said several warning letters about the overdue video were sent to Ms Finley, but she had since changed address.
[…]
Monster In Law, released in 2005 and directed by Robert Luketic, was mostly panned by critics.
So there are 3 lessons we have learned today:
Class dismissed.