Birth of a Notion

Thursday, October 17, 2013

The Short, Unhappy Life of Sylvia Plath

I was speaking with a friend about the movie "Sylvia," which made its debut on this day in 2003. My friend said he thought it was a good movie but depressing.

Well, of course, it was depressing. It was about Sylvia Plath, a writer of poems and short stories who suffered from depression and reportedly attempted to kill herself a few times before she finally succeeded in 1963.

The movie account could not help but be depressing. To tell the story of her life without being depressing would be like trying to tell the story of Richard Nixon without mentioning Watergate.

It was a knowledgeable and reverent movie. It just wasn't much fun, and it didn't have any wisdom to share about Plath's death.

Like many creative types, Plath was a disturbed person. In the movie about Plath's life, Gwyneth Paltrow, in the title role, spoke of how her life changed radically when, long before she turned 10, she lost her father.

While it is tragic for a young girl to lose a parent, it couldn't have been too much of a surprise. Otto Plath was in his 50s (and suffering from undiagnosed diabetes), a fact that wasn't mentioned in the movie.

Anyway, whether she did actually try to kill herself before she finally did in February 1963, it is pretty clear that she was unstable throughout her adult life.

All of which made for a challenging part for Paltrow to play. She never really had the chance to show any warmth — or, for that matter, humor. Nothing that would have made her seem more human.

Nevertheless, I felt Paltrow rose to the occasion, giving a suitably haunting performance. She even resembled Plath — well, sorta.

There were similarities in their lives as well as their faces. Paltrow lost her own father around the time she was making "Sylvia." She was much older than Plath when she lost her father, but she was the same age when she made the film that Plath was when she killed herself.

Like Plath, Paltrow has two children. And her mother, Blythe Danner, played her mother in the movie. That was a nice touch.

Daniel Craig probably would not have been my first choice to play Plath's husband, Ted Hughes. But his performance did manage to restore credibility to Plath's charges when they were running low on the empathy meter.

For those who are unfamiliar with the story, Hughes' role in Plath's death remains murky at best. It is known that he was unfaithful in the year leading up to Plath's suicide, and the couple had separated months before Plath succeeded in killing herself. To my knowledge, it has never been established how much of a part those events played.

Feminists who survived Plath tended to believe Hughes was involved in or contributed to her death in some way. There were even attempts to alter Plath's grave marker by eliminating the Hughes surname.

(For his part, Hughes was said to be devastated by Plath's death. Reportedly, he wrote to a friend that Plath's death meant the end of his own life — yet he outlived her by more than 35 years.)

Most women who must confront infidelity in their marriage manage to survive it; some even thrive. With Plath's history, though, it is not inconceivable that her husband's affair would be the thing to push her over the edge.

I thought Paltrow was effective with what she was given — which was a character who was always unhappy.

Now, back to the resemblance of Paltrow to Plath.

As I have mentioned here before, I am a big fan of historical movies, but I am kind of picky. If I know what the subject of the movie looked like in life, I expect the actor or actress portraying that person to be close to matching my mental image.

I have long thought that Paltrow was one of the most beautiful actresses of her generation; earlier this year, PEOPLE magazine apparently agreed with me when it named her the most beautiful woman of 2013.

Plath was, by no means, an ugly woman, but I don't think she was quite the beauty that Paltrow is.

The pictures I've seen of Plath are not unpleasant. I simply find her a bit plain, especially when compared to Paltrow.

(Reminds me of conversations I used to have with a co–worker. She told me that she had been told by others that she looked like Julia Roberts. I always smiled and said nothing when she said that to me. I never saw the resemblance.)

Yet Paltrow managed to look quite a bit like Plath (whose actual picture you can see to the left). Some folks have said there was a strong resemblance to begin with, and maybe there was, but I never really saw it, at least until I saw the movie. Then I did.

I don't know what Plath sounded like when she spoke, though. When I saw Oliver Stone's "Nixon," I was a bit put off at first by the fact that Anthony Hopkins neither looked nor sounded like Richard Nixon. I was young when Nixon was president, but I do have a vivid memory of how he looked and sounded.

Even so Hopkins managed to capture Nixon's personality, and I think that may be what Paltrow did with Plath. She may have looked a bit like Plath, she may even have sounded like her, too, although Plath, like many writers, seems to have shunned the spotlight, preferring to let her writing speak for itself.

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Telling the Story of the Boston Strangler

Film critic Roger Ebert wrote that "The Boston Strangler," which premiered on this day in 1968, "requires a judgment not only on the quality of the film (very good), but also on its moral and ethical implications."

And, as a journalist, I agree. The Boston Strangler case was terrifying for the people in the Boston area and disturbing for everyone else. A film account needed to be faithful to the known facts, to promote knowledge instead of fear — but, as Ebert pointed out, "real events [were] being offered as entertainment." In my opinion, the movie was a clear attempt to capitalize on emotion, a tactic that has been used more frequently in the years that have passed, presumably because it was mildly successful in 1968 (the movie earned more than four times what it cost to make it).

Ebert felt the movie was a "deliberate exploitation of the tragedy of Albert DeSalvo and his victims." And that, I think, is a legitimate complaint.

But one of the things I have learned is that the truth is often up for grabs, especially in the movies. Then as now, people wanted easy, satisfying answers like the ones they saw on TV shows like Perry Mason (today I suppose it would be Law & Order), even if the facts have to be manipulated.

And the DeSalvo case was loaded with inconsistencies and other factual issues.

Ebert complained that the movie wasn't as "beneficial and ... educational" as its defenders claimed, but he seemed to buy the basic premise, that Albert DeSalvo (played in the movie by Tony Curtis) was, in fact, responsible for killing 13 women in the early 1960s.

And he never stated how the movie could have been educational.

It is important to remember that the crimes and DeSalvo's arrest and conviction — and the premiere of the movie about the case — all occurred in the 1960s. That was at least a quarter of a century before most people ever heard of DNA evidence. Until then, physical evidence linking DeSalvo to the killings was tenuous. It was only through a confession he gave after being arrested on a rape charge that he became a suspect.

In fact, DeSalvo was never convicted of any of the Boston Strangler killings. He was convicted of a series of rapes. Henry Fonda gave his usual stellar performance as the investigator who interrogated DeSalvo and obtained his confession to the crimes, and Ebert had praise for him. Curtis, too. Ebert wrote that Curtis "acts better than he has in a decade."

But his complaints didn't really address the fact that the story seemed to have been written to fit a particular worldview. In that way, I have always likened it to the Warren Commission report on the Kennedy assassination — which is ironic, I suppose, since one of the Boston Strangler's victims was killed the day after the assassination.

The Warren Commission has been accused of overlooking or glossing over some things that didn't fit a preconceived conclusion. I have my own thoughts on that, and that is another discussion for another time, but I definitely believe that the Boston Strangler case was that way.

Of course, if the technology to obtain the necessary evidence didn't exist 50 years ago, there wasn't much that could be done about it. But even after that technology became available, there were questions about the cases that remained unanswered.

Ultimately, DNA evidence did link DeSalvo to at least one of the victims, but there were too many variations for one killer to be responsible for all, some continue to say. There was a wide disparity in the ages of the victims (the youngest was 19, the oldest was 85), they belonged to different demographic groups and occupied different social positions, and the methods of killing weren't the same. Some were strangled, some were stabbed, some were beaten.

Even now, suspicions persist that more than one killer was involved — or that DeSalvo was not involved.

But, at the time, apparently there was a widespread belief that the killings were the work of one man. The justice system — and then Hollywood — encouraged that conclusion.

In telling the story, the movie utilized a split–screen technique that was popular at the time — and continues to be used today.

It is a technique that can be easily misused or overused, but sometimes it can be effective, which was what I thought of its use in this movie.

The story was that DeSalvo had a split personality — the homicidal one and the devoted family man. Neither, apparently, was aware of the other's existence, and the split–screen technique was probably the best way to illustrate that.

It was also a powerful method for showing the growing fear and tension in the city.

Forty–five years after its debut, it remains a potent drama, but I urge first–time viewers to watch it with more than a grain of salt. Legally, the case of the Boston Strangler may be closed — or practically closed — but there are probably as many issues surrounding whether DeSalvo acted alone — or whether he was even involved at all — as there are with Lee Harvey Oswald.

Monday, October 14, 2013

When Hollywood Acknowledged Rape

Sarah Tobias (Jodie Foster): You don't understand how I feel! I'm standing there with my pants down and my crotch hung out for the world to see, and three guys are sticking it to me, a bunch of other guys are yelling and clapping, and you're standing there telling me that that's the best you can do. Well, if that's the best you could do, then your best sucks!

Thirty years ago, in 1983, the story of a woman who was raped repeatedly by a group of men while others looked on and cheered in a Massachusetts bar made national headlines.

I guess it was around that time that the pendulum on attitudes about rape in this country began to swing in a different direction. Before 1983, the prevailing attitude held that a woman brought such an attack on herself through her behavior and/or what she was wearing. (Actually, that continued to be the prevailing attitude after 1983, too — and, in some places, it remains the prevailing attitude, but not as many.)

It took five years, but the Massachusetts case forced Hollywood to deal with rape in a more direct manner than it ever really had before. Hence, "The Accused" premiered on this day in 1988. It wasn't a literal history of the 1983 case. Rather, it was a fictionalized account — and it was a story that, by 1988, movie audiences were ready to see.

Jodie Foster starred as the victim of a gang rape. The story that emerged was one of a young woman who had argued with her boyfriend, dressed provocatively, took some drugs and danced and flirted in a bar. This was the justification for three men raping her on a pinball machine (in real life, as I recall, it was a pool table).

The attorney who was assigned to the case (Kelly McGillis) wasn't happy about the assignment and wanted to drop it. Eventually, she entered a plea bargain that called for the rapists to serve some jail time for "reckless endangerment" — her thinking was that a defense attorney could use Foster's history against her and wind up getting all the attackers acquitted of a rape charge — but it wasn't enough for Foster's character, who felt cheated of the opportunity to tell her story in court.

At that point, Foster's character began to really engage in some reckless behavior. She plowed into a pickup truck — turned out the driver was one of the witnesses to the rape, and he propositioned her. She wound up in the hospital because of the collision, but she came out of it determined to bring charges against her rapists and those who had encouraged them.

And she persuaded McGillis' character to pursue justice with her.

"Mr. Paulsen has told you that the testimony of Sarah Tobias is nothing. Sarah Tobias was raped, but that is nothing. She was cut and bruised and terrorized, but that is nothing. All of it happened in front of a howling crowd, and that is nothing. Well, it may be nothing to Mr. Paulsen, but it is not nothing to Sarah Tobias, and I don't believe it is nothing to you. Next, Mr. Paulsen tried to convince you that Kenneth Joyce was the only one in that room who knew that Sarah Tobias was being raped — the only one!

"Now you watched Kenneth Joyce. How did he strike you? Did he seem especially sensitive, especially observant? Did he seem so remarkable that you said to yourselves, 'Of course! This man would notice things other people wouldn't.' Do you believe that Kenneth Joyce saw something in that room that those three men didn't see?"

Kathryn Murphy (Kelly McGillis)

So McGillis brought charges of "criminal solicitation" against the witnesses who had cheered and encouraged the assault. It was a clever ploy, reminiscent of cases in the 1960s when murder charges weren't likely to succeed in most Deep South jurisdictions, and the best strategy for federal litigators was to charge participants with civil rights violations.

Kathryn Murphy: Listen again ... "A person is guilty of criminal solicitation if he commands, induces, entreats or otherwise persuades another person to commit a felony ..."

Paul Rudolph (Carmen Argenziano): You can read it to me until you're blue in the face, I am not gonna let you prosecute a bunch of spectators ...

Kathryn Murphy: They're not spectators. They solicited the rape.

Paul Rudolph: Do you really want to ask a jury to lock up a bunch of people for clapping and cheering?

Kathryn Murphy: Clapping? Cheering? Pushing? Goading? Getting the rape going and keeping it going!

Nearly two years ago, I wrote about a 1982 movie called "The Seduction," and the marketing of that movie tells you everything you really need to know about attitudes toward sexual assault and stalking roughly six years before "The Accused" hit the theaters.

I don't think anyone was killed in "The Seduction," but stalking was a prominent theme — even though I don't think the term was in use at that time — and implied in it was the threat of violence, even death. It was billed as an "erotic thriller," which is ironic, given that most women who have been stalked would say there was nothing erotic about it.

The same thinking has been applied to rape for generations. Truly awful behavior by men has been enabled by others who said the victim asked for it, or something similar. That attitude clearly influenced the initial treatment of Sarah Tobias' case in "The Accused." She had a checkered past, and the prosecution chose to pursue reckless endangerment instead of sexual assault in large part because of concern that the defense would pick away at her history, resulting, as I say, in acquittals.

Unfortunately, that probably was a realistic treatment of the deals that lawyers made all the time in those days. I covered the police and court beats for awhile, and I saw my share of deals being made. I knew what motivated lawyers then, and I am sure it motivates them now — the desire to win or, at least, to not lose or be perceived as having lost.

I could understand when I covered the police and the courts how ordinary people, unaccustomed to dealing with the legal system, could be confused, angry and frustrated by the routine maneuverings. And Sarah Tobias was frustrated when McGillis struck a deal to make sure the defendants would get some jail time. To McGillis, it was a victory to get something instead of nothing.

But it was obviously more than that to Sarah Tobias. She had been violated multiple times in front of a room full of strangers. She wanted a jury to hear her story, to know what she had suffered and to impose what she believed was an appropriate sentence.

I thought the movie was well done, and Foster won a much–deserved Best Actress Oscar for her performance. More than that, I thought "The Accused" was one of those significant movies that actually has an influence on cultural attitudes.

It made an important contribution to our growth as a nation.

Friday, October 11, 2013

Man Against Nature

I suppose there were two names that hovered over John Sturges' project, "The Old Man and the Sea," which premiered on this day in 1958 — Ernest Hemingway, who wrote the original novella, and Spencer Tracy, a much–beloved actor, possibly the most beloved of his generation, who played the Old Man in the movie.

Little needs to be said of either, I suppose. Hemingway has been admired for decades for his writing style, so accessible to ordinary readers, in no small part because he continued to follow the style rules of the Kansas City Star, the newspaper for which he worked as a teenager — "Use short sentences. Use short first paragraphs. Use vigorous English. Be positive, not negative."

(I find that credible. I spent many years working for newspapers, all of which followed Associated Press style religiously. I haven't written for a newspaper in quite awhile, but I still write in AP style. It's a part of me now.)

Anyway, I guess that accounts, at least in part, for the popularity of the book — although I wouldn't underestimate the story and the brilliant character study of the Old Man, whose name in the book was Santiago.

And what can one say of Tracy? He was a legend nominated for Best Actor nine times — an accomplishment in that category that has been matched only by Sir Laurence Olivier.

In the movie Tracy was called Santiago by The Boy, but my memory is that most of the time he was simply called the Old Man. It's been awhile since I read the book, but in Hemingway's novel, I believe he was referred to as Santiago more often. He was still called the Old Man but not as frequently.

Well, anyway.

Both the book and the movie told the story of the Old Man's solitary battle with a marlin. The Old Man was a Cuban fisherman who had gone 84 days without landing a fish and had gained a reputation for being extremely unlucky. Because of this, the Boy had been forbidden to go fishing with the Old Man and was encouraged instead to go fishing with the more successful fishermen from the village.

(By the way, the Boy had a name in the book, too, and it may have been mentioned a time or two in the movie, but I don't remember for certain.)

The Boy continued to visit the Old Man, though. He brought him food and talked about baseball with him.

Early on the 85th day, the Old Man once again set off in pursuit of a fish, and the rest of the movie was really more of a character study than a telling of his battle with an enormous marlin. Still, the battle played an important role. After hooking the marlin, the Old Man was dragged farther into the Gulf Stream in the next two days and nights than he ever intended to go.

On the third day, the marlin was visibly tiring, and the Old Man was practically delirious. He managed to pull the fish close enough that he could stab it and end its life, but he called it "brother" even as he did so.

Ever since I first saw the movie, I have marveled at how calm the seas were. There were hardly any waves for Santiago to face. He was able to devote all his attention to his struggle with the marlin. I don't remember now if that condition was mentioned in the book — or if it was a by–product of filming on a Hollywood set.

Nevertheless, an epic struggle it was. For Santiago, it was his ultimate test as a man — and, after he won it, he pondered the price the magnificent fish would bring as he turned his boat for home. In the book, though, during his battle with the fish, the Old Man had decided that the marlin had proven himself, and no one would be worthy of eating him.

That was not a problem because sharks were drawn to the carcass by the blood in the water, and they devoured most of it even though Santiago tried valiantly to fight them off. He lost his harpoon in the process and tried to fashion a makeshift harpoon by tying his knife to an oar, but that, too, was lost.

When the sharks had been repelled, though, the Old Man spoke to what was left of the fish, even though it could not hear him (and would not have understood him if it could). He explained that he had gone out farther to sea than he had intended, and he apologized to the marlin.

Only a skeleton remained when the Old Man finally returned to shore. Exhausted, he collapsed in his bed in his modest shack and fell into a deep sleep. While he slept, a group of fishermen congregated around the boat and looked at the skeleton.

In the years since I first saw "The Old Man and the Sea," it occurred to me that it was reminiscent, at times, of two other movies.

It reminded me of "Jaws," obviously, because of the role other sharks played in the story — although they weren't the focal point of the story (and the shark footage was real — no mechanical sharks were used in the '50s).

And it reminded me of "Cast Away" — a story of a man struggling against the elements (and talking to an object that was incapable of responding).

Tracy was nominated for Best Actor, but he lost the Oscar to David Niven. The other nominees were Paul Newman, Sidney Poitier and Tony Curtis — pretty formidable lineup.

I always thought Tracy was ideal for the role. I doubt that anyone else could have been plausible in it.

Hemingway's book, a Pulitzer Prize winner in 1953, was well received, coming on the heels of what may have been his most disappointing work. It was also his last book to be published in his lifetime.

Most of the time, writers aren't particularly pleased with movie adaptations of their work, but my understanding is that Hemingway was pleased with this movie. Leland Hayward, the producer, reported that Hemingway was even complimentary of Tracy — and the two of them were known to have argued.

Sturges, however, was not as pleased with the final product. TIME reported he called it "technically the sloppiest picture I have ever made."

We should all be so sloppy.

Thursday, October 10, 2013

On the Road With U2

On this day 25 years ago, U2 released its "Rattle and Hum" record, the double album soundtrack for the movie by the same name — which wasn't released in the United States until the next month.

Critics were mixed in their reactions, but the album was quite successful, and, as far as I was concerned, there was no secret behind its success. U2 was a rising force in popular music at that time, and its power was best observed when it fed from the energy of the live audience.

The original concept was to document U2's tour of the United States in 1987. As a result, songs that were recorded in the last 25 years are not to be found on the album or in the movie.

But many of their best songs are to be found on it — like "Desire," "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For," and "Pride (In the Name of Love)" — along with cover versions of songs like "Helter Skelter" and "All Along the Watchtower" and a duet with B.B. King that produced a smash hit, "When Love Comes to Town."

It became one of my favorite albums when I bought it.

But my favorite track on the album probably received little airplay when the album was released. "Bullet the Blue Sky" may have been a little too long for most radio stations, at 5:37, and it was never released as a single, anyway. For a disc jockey to play it, the DJ had to know it was there and play it directly from the album.

In my experience, most DJs did not know it was there. I discovered it when I got the album.

For several years, I worked with a young man who was a devoted U2 follower. He had all their albums on CD — and, I confess, I copied some tracks from him.

I've still got 'em, and I listen to 'em from time to time.

And I have a CD of "Rattle and Hum" that I play frequently. Not all the way through. Just certain tracks.

I always listen to "Bullet the Blue Sky," and I often listen to "God Part II," which was something of a sequel to John Lennon's "God" and refers to another Lennon song, "Instant Karma," in its lyrics.

(Yesterday, by the way, would have been Lennon's 73rd birthday. I always wondered if that figured in the timing of the album's release, given the regard that Bono and the rest of the band have for Lennon.)

Wednesday, October 09, 2013

A Remake By Another Name

Most movie remakes are, to borrow from Yogi Berra, like deja vu all over again.

And "Mogambo," which was released 60 years ago today, was no exception.

Many years ago, I was watching a movie from the early 1930s on the late, late show called "Red Dust." I had never heard of it before, but I saw it in the listings, noticed that Clark Gable was in it, and decided to watch it.

When I did, I had the feeling that I had seen and heard the story before — and I had. It was, essentially, the same story with only a few deviations. The first movie was set in Indochina, the second was set in Africa, but darn near everything else was the same.

Well, except for one big thing. "Red Dust" had more energy, more sizzle. In spite of the improvements in filmmaking that had occurred in a couple of decades, "Mogambo" lacked something. "Red Dust" made "Mogambo" seem tame.

In "Red Dust," Gable was the overseer of a rubber plantation. In "Mogambo," he was a safari leader.

In both, he was the center of attention from two women, a primary love interest (Jean Harlow in the first, Ava Gardner in the second) and a married woman as a secondary love interest (Mary Astor in the first, Grace Kelly in the second).

Frankly, it was kind of disappointing. I mean, I would have expected this kind of setting with Gable, Gardner and Kelly — and director John Ford behind the camera — to be a cinematic slam dunk, but it really wasn't. Not compared to what it could have been.

Everything turned out the way viewers probably secretly hoped they would — Gable wound up with Gardner, and Kelly remained with her husband. The movie might have been made in Africa, but it was a Hollywood production.

In real life, I've been told, Gable and Kelly had an off–screen relationship that fizzled when their age difference (Gable was more than 28 years older) became too great to ignore.

On screen, though, the sparks — such as they were — were between Gable and Gardner, not Kelly.

I've often wondered if the so–called Hays Code was the reason "Mogambo" was so uninspiring, at least when compared to "Red Dust." The Hays Code imposed restrictions that would seem prudish compared to modern movie standards. "Red Dust" was made in the early days of the Hays Code, when movies could still get away with things they wouldn't be able to get away with for decades.

Perhaps that isn't fair. "Mogambo" did have some things going for it — it was shot on location, for one thing. "Red Dust" wasn't filmed in Indochina — it was filmed on a studio backlot in Hollywood, as I understand it — but Americans wouldn't be familiar with Indochina for another 35 years so it really didn't matter. I'm sure the studio heads figured no one would know the difference, and they were probably right.

Most Americans probably weren't too familiar with Africa, either, in 1953, but they likely had more of an idea of what Africa should look like than they did of Indochina.

Whether they did or not, what they got in "Mogambo" was the real thing, and the cinematography really was remarkable for its time. At the Academy Awards, though, Gardner and Kelly were rewarded with nominations, but the technical aspects were entirely overlooked.

And that, I think, is a shame. Gardner (nominated for Best Actress) and Kelly (nominated for Best Supporting Actress) were good, but I've seen both perform better. Gable wasn't nominated at all, and I have no problem with that. His role in "Mogambo" wasn't one of his best performances.

The material in "Mogambo" wasn't terrible — but neither was it great, and, while I have heard some people describe Gardner's performance as the best of her career, I'm inclined to think that several other performances were better.

I've always felt that Kelly was a rare mix of beauty and talent. There was a vulnerability to her performances that was very appealing, and I thought that vulnerability may never have been so striking as it was when Kelly played the young and lusty Linda of "Mogambo." Her character projected a cool reserve, but there was a smoldering sensuality beneath it.

I guess you could say that about all the roles she played — especially her roles in Hitchcock movies, which always seemed to bring out that quality in her performances.

It was still early in her career, though, and Kelly played a character that was a lot like the one she played a year earlier in "High Noon." She didn't begin to show her range as an actress until a year later, when she made "The Country Girl," for which she received her only Oscar.

I guess the biggest problem I had with "Mogambo" was that it never really made up its mind whether it was going to be a love story or an adventure movie. Ford seemed to want to make "Mogambo" a story worthy of Hemingway — and there were plenty of jungle scenes — but the star power of the cast seemed to pull him back to the love triangle.

In the end, I guess you could say the love triangle won. Again, this is a Hollywood production we're talking about.

But sometimes I think it was more of an adventure story. That's the real problem with remakes.

Tuesday, October 08, 2013

A Real History Lesson

Twenty years ago today, I was baffled by the timing of the debut of "Gettysburg."

1993 was a good year for the movie to come out. You see, as a student of American history, I knew that the actual battle occurred 130 years earlier — in July of 1863 — and the famous address that Abraham Lincoln gave at the dedication of the Gettysburg cemetery was in November of that year.

But the movie made its debut in October, which has no connection to the Battle of Gettysburg at all.

That's quibbling, I suppose, because, other than the timing of the release of the movie, I have few complaints about it. I was already familiar with the story of that three–day battle, and the movie was faithful to the events.

I've been studying American history nearly all my life. I don't remember now whether I gravitated to a study of history on my own or if someone influential in my life introduced me to it and encouraged my interest in it. Maybe it was the stories of heroism and valor that drew me to history.

There were plenty of those at Gettysburg.

Over the years, I have grown excited about the release of a movie that was about some dramatic time in history, but most of the time I have been disappointed. For whatever reason, many filmmakers seem to feel a need to embellish stories that need no embellishment.

Not so with director Ronald Maxwell's "Gettysburg." That was a wise decision. The Battle of Gettysburg needed nothing added to it. It was the bloodiest battle of the American Civil War. There was plenty of drama to be found in that fact.

But it was once you went beneath the surface that you found the real drama, and Maxwell touched all the right buttons.

The film focused on the most noteworthy figures from that battle — Robert E. Lee (played by Martin Sheen), James Longstreet (Tom Berenger), Joshua Chamberlain (Jeff Daniels) — whose individual stories told the bigger story of the battle.

I remember when I first saw this movie — on cable — and decided, after I had seen it, to give a tape of it to Mom for Christmas. After she saw it, she asked me if the Chamberlain character had really existed, and I told her he had.

Chamberlain was a college professor from Maine whose unorthodox battle strategies produced an astonishing Union victory on Little Round Top — and may well have altered the course of both the battle and the war.

I'll never forget the look on Mom's face when I explained to her that the Chamberlain story, as presented in "Gettysburg," was absolutely true. None of it was made up.

Mom probably heard the story of Chamberlain and his bayonet charge on the second day of the battle, but it slipped her mind. She knew about Pickett's Charge, of course. Everyone — or nearly everyone — has read about that in their history books.

But the odds against Pickett's Charge were quite long — the Union had captured the high ground much earlier in the battle, and the Confederates who executed the charge had to cross an open field for more than a mile. They were sitting ducks for a barrage of Union fire. By the time of the charge, the outcome was already known.

It was different the day before at Little Round Top. The Union held the high ground then, too, but it was reeling from some setbacks, and the Confederates had a real opportunity to succeed with a flanking maneuver. Chamberlain's troops held off the Confederates as long as possible, then, with ammunition running low, Chamberlain ordered the charge.

As I say, had it not been for Chamberlain, the battle and the war might have been lost, and history would have been changed.

"Gettysburg" was the kind of historical movie I'd like to see more frequently — a good, solid history lesson delivered by a top–notch cast and a director who understands that the story alone is worth the price of admission.

Discovering Shakespeare

I guess just about everyone knows the story of "Romeo and Juliet," Shakespeare's tale of star–crossed lovers from feuding families.

I don't know how many movies have been made of that play over the years — four or five, perhaps? And there was a period of time there, spanning about five or six years, when public TV aired about half a dozen of Shakespeare's plays per year. I don't remember specifically, but I'm certain that "Romeo and Juliet" must have been one of them.

My point is that there have been lots of versions of that play available — in fact, I think a new one is slated to premiere later this week — so if you're a fan of the Bard and you want to see "Romeo and Juliet," there is no shortage of productions from which to choose.

I've seen a few of the productions that have been preserved on film and/or video tape, and I think I would recommend director Franco Zeffirelli's movie, which made its debut on this date in 1968.

That probably was the first version I ever saw, and I saw it in school. My sixth–grade English teacher showed it to us, but she only had us for about an hour each day and the movie was nearly two hours and 20 minutes long so my memory is that she showed it to us over a period of three days, and on the third day, we discussed the movie after its conclusion.

One of the things I appreciated — although I probably didn't realize it at the time — was the fact that Zeffirelli cast actors to play Romeo and Juliet who really were teenagers — just as Shakespeare intended. They were believable.

I didn't understand everything in the play (I think it was the first time I ever saw a Shakespeare play, and it was a challenge just to understand 16th–century dialogue), but I could comprehend enough to know that these were supposed to be two very young people, folks who were close to my age, not my parents' ages.

Later on in life, I recall seeing other movie versions of the play and being struck by how old the stars were. It really prevented me from fully appreciating the story.

But Olivia Hussey, who played Juliet, was a little bit older than the Juliet of the play — but only by a year or two, not a decade or two like some of her predecessors. Likewise, Leonard Whiting, who played Romeo, was perhaps a year or two older than the Romeo in the play, but, again, most of the Romeos who came before him were much older. Sir Laurence Olivier provided the narration.

By and large, sixth–graders are an immature bunch. I say that knowing that, although I was probably more serious than most of my peers at that age, I had my immature side, too.

And my memory is that we all giggled at the mushy stuff ... you know, the kissing scenes and scenes where more of Hussey's breasts could be observed — oh–so fleetingly — than usual.

Such a thing is normal for boys of that age, I guess. For girls, too, I suppose, but I was never an adolescent girl. I remember that Hussey inspired a lot of conversations among the boys on the playground during the days we watched that movie — then our attention shifted to something else.

I don't remember any conversations about the realistic nature of the casting, but I do remember thinking about it — even if I wasn't old enough to think — or communicate — in terms like realism.

Nor do I remember how the post—movie discussion went. A roomful of 12–year–olds probably didn't offer too many deep insights.

And my teacher probably felt frustrated. I am a teacher now, and I know how it feels to plan a lesson and really believe that you've found a way to make it fun and interesting and meaningful for your students — only to discover that it falls far short of your expectations.

I don't know where that teacher is now. If I could, though, I would thank her for opening up the world of Shakespeare to my young eyes and ears.

Her efforts were not in vain.

Monday, October 07, 2013

Living in an Alice B. Toklas Recipe

Guru (Louis Gottlieb): Do you know yourself?

Harold Fine (Peter Sellers): I'm trying to know myself.

Guru: You will know yourself when you stop trying.

Harold Fine: I'm trying to stop trying.

My mother was a huge fan of Peter Sellers.

Mostly, though, I think she liked his work in primarily British films from the 1950s and, especially, his performances in the Pink Panther movies. She also liked him in "Being There," Sellers' last film to be released in his lifetime.

I don't know if she ever watched "Dr. Strangelove." We never talked about it — even though it is one of my favorite movies.

Nor did we ever talk about "I Love You, Alice B. Toklas," which is also one of my favorite movies. It made its theatrical debut 45 years ago today.

It's a bit dated now. I mean, the whole thing revolved around the generation gap and the rest of it just expanded from there.

In the many years that have passed since 1968, I think many people have concluded that there was no more of a generation gap then than at any other time. Sure, the generation gap exists. It always has. The older generation has never really understood the younger generation and vice versa. It just got a lot more attention in 1968, when young people were protesting a war in which many were being compelled to fight by their elders.

Sellers played a character named Harold Fine, a 35–year–old lawyer (a square, to use the lingo of the times — and to use Harold's very own self–description — and a bit of a nebbish). He was living a very establishment kind of life with an establishment kind of fiancee and an establishment set of Jewish parents.

Nothing exciting ever seemed to happen to him. It was a very buttoned–down kind of life.

Until Leigh Taylor–Young (in her first film role) came on the scene.

Harold: I've got pot, I've got acid, I've got LSD cubes, I've got ... I've got this thing here ... I'm probably the hippest guy around here. I'm so hip, it hurts!

Familiar only to viewers of TV's Peyton Place, Taylor–Young probably was the perfect choice to play Nancy, a free–spirited and previously unknown young thing who was decidedly not establishment.

A better–known actress might not have been able to pull it off, but Taylor–Young's relative anonymity worked in her favor. Audiences could focus on the character and not the actress.

And she was quite a character. After spending a night at Sellers' place and waking up after he had left for work, she made a batch of marijuana–laced brownies for him — thus inspiring the title.

Sellers' character was inspired to abandon his square lifestyle and pursue love or inner peace or whatever the young and the restless of 1968 were pursuing when the movie hit the theaters.

I didn't see it when it was in theaters. I saw it many years later when I was in college, but I'm sure my reaction would have been the same if I had seen it on a big screen. I thought it was a wonderful, even sympathetic, satire of the counterculture of the late '60s.

As I say, it is quite dated now, but it is still entertaining, thanks mostly to Sellers' knack for comedic timing. That was a big reason why, I believe, "I Love You, Alice B. Toklas" avoided the fate of most social satires of the day, which tended to portray hippies as a threat, and instead made the young people of 1968 seem simply goofy but, essentially, harmless.

Lassie Is 70 (That's 490 in Dog Years)

It's hard for me to imagine a time when Lassie wasn't synonymous with the ultimate in a loving, devoted pet — and, as a result, the butt of jokes in which Lassie was some kind of superdog whose bark could be interpreted by its humans (i.e., "What's that you say, Lassie? Timmy fell down the well and broke his left leg in two places?") — but there was such a time.

I know that because the very first Lassie movie made its debut on this day 70 years ago. It stands to reason then that, before this day in 1943, no one knew who Lassie was.

In fact, she was never who moviegoers thought. Lassie was played by a male dog named Pal, and subsequent Lassies were played by Pal's descendants.

The adults in the movie were fairly well known to movie audiences in 1943.

Two movie veterans, Donald Crisp ("Mutiny on the Bounty," "The Life of Emile Zola," "Jezebel," "Wuthering Heights," "Knute Rockne, All–American," "How Green Was My Valley") and Elsa Lanchester ("The Private Life of Henry VIII," "The Bride of Frankenstein," "David Copperfield," "Sullivan's Travels"), played Roddy McDowall's parents.

Nigel Bruce, who played Dr. Watson in many Sherlock Holmes movies (and was featured in "Rebecca," Alfred Hitchcock's first American film), played Elizabeth Taylor's grandfather.

For viewers in the 21st century, "Lassie Come Home" isn't of interest only because it is the origin of the Lassie franchise.

It was practically the screen debuts of two youngsters who went on to have successful movie careers as adults — McDowall and Taylor.

I always thought it was easier to recognize McDowall in "Lassie Come Home" than Taylor. He was four years older and and had already appeared in several movies, including a Best Picture winner, and his face had taken on some of the characteristics that made it so recognizable as an adult. His voice did not yet sound like it would when he was grown up, though. It still had kind of a squeaky, boyish quality (come to think of it, didn't McDowall's voice continue to have kind of a squeaky, boyish quality when he was an adult?).

Most of the time, though, Taylor looked like any other 11–year–old girl. She was pretty in the way that 11–year–old girls usually are, but I doubt that very many people could look at her in "Lassie Come Home," which was only her second film, and see in her face the young woman who would win so many hearts later in her life. Yet there were times when the camera caught her face at a certain angle, and you could see the beautiful woman she would become in just a few short years.

Taylor's voice was already there. Well, perhaps not the same as it would be in her more adult roles, but she certainly sounded a lot like she would in seven years when she played Spencer Tracy's daughter in "Father of the Bride" — or even the next year, when she appeared in "National Velvet."