tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13934499052959726712024-03-13T09:20:41.996-07:00Gee Whiz, G ManLife, nostalgia, pop culture and anything else.Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-65816855172898958742020-07-05T12:57:00.000-07:002020-07-05T12:58:00.056-07:00"Jazz Summer"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DWoIXdmMgsQ/VYrIad8vdpI/AAAAAAAADo0/fxlWx0-AJWo/s1600/jazz__do_it__by_ezeqquiel.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DWoIXdmMgsQ/VYrIad8vdpI/AAAAAAAADo0/fxlWx0-AJWo/s400/jazz__do_it__by_ezeqquiel.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">There is an episode of TV’s <i>Who’s The Boss?</i>, where Tony convinces Angela’s hip mother Mona to invite her straight-laced daughter to a jazz club in an effort to loosen her up. That plan works <i>too</i> well, as Angela can’t get enough of her new lifestyle of all-night bohemian parties with people who are unaware that the day has two twelve o’clocks. There is that moment where she wears this "morning after" glow, mind still floating in the reverie of having found her true being. That moment came to mind when I felt EXACTLY the same way after stumbling into work on the Monday morning after the first weekend spent at the jazz festival. The seeds had been sewn, the new world was born, and there was no recourse.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It was the summer of 1995. There I was, 9 AM in the basement warehouse, with such a happy head space that I didn’t know I was still wearing sunglasses! This was the first taste of the new life that was evolving for me, all because of an ad in Sam The Record Man.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Although I’ve loved jazz since I was a kid (with adolescent Saturday nights spent twiddling the radio knobs for the CFCA big band program while my peers were out somewhere drinking and fornicating), it wasn't until the early 1990s when I had seriously started to explore the music. My friends and I had tired of the “classic rock” format, and sought other forms of music to define ourselves. Whereas they found new plateaus in the burgeoning alternative rock scene, I instead went back to the roots: first to blues, then to its close cousin, jazz. At first, it was tough being a jazz fan in a small town. You had to take whatever slim pickings were available in delete bins, garage sales, thrift shops or fleetingly on the radio. (More on that in a future post.) That changed, upon moving to the big city for school.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In the first two-thirds of my three-year course in broadcasting, I hadn’t fully taken advantage of all that the city offered, and largely confined my spare time to record stores or rep cinemas. Sure, I had cherished friends in college, but in those hours outside of school and work, I was still searching for something else. In the summer months at the end of the second school year, the time seemed right for change. Those hot nights and weekends were devoted to the jazz world I’d been enamoured of. It was more than just the music: it was also the way of life and state of mind that it represented. I think too, that my brother’s sudden death the previous December instilled the realization that life is too precious a gift to waste, and one had to get out and take full advantage of it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k_UL3uHBWbk/Vw0yAlWfQUI/AAAAAAAADuw/J9QvjvsWyPQoVt8uNB58WvLLuP5HkA9OA/s1600/wish.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k_UL3uHBWbk/Vw0yAlWfQUI/AAAAAAAADuw/J9QvjvsWyPQoVt8uNB58WvLLuP5HkA9OA/s320/wish.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The mid-1990s was a perfect time to be a jazz fan. CDs were more affordable, and countless back catalogue recordings were being issued to disc for the first time. There was a renewed mainstream interest in the music thanks to the so-called Young Lions (players like Joshua Redman, Roy Hargrove, et al) who brought a new vitality, and a new young audience, to the form. Even those who enjoyed the most extreme forms of “alternative music” would support the new avant garde jazz scene (David S. Ware, Fred Frith, etc.). And in the years before CJRT rebranded to JAZZ-FM, one’s favourite music was still generously showcased on college radio shows throughout the day. Speciality TV channels like Bravo had an impressive catalogue of programming. Plus, with a recovering economy, a lot of Canada Council grant money supported independent music venues and recordings. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In other words, there was a bottomless pit of jazz new and old for discovery. I wanted to bask in it as much as possible, and find some like-minded comrades in the process. This task began inconspicuously enough, with a visit to the jazz department of Sam The Record Man, and viewing an ad for volunteers at the DuMaurier Jazz Festival. It seemed like a perfect way to get inaugurated into the jazz scene. Since I worked weekdays during the summer, I had volunteered for shifts on the two weekends that bookended the festival.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The final weekend, spent hanging around the volunteer headquarters, came with the revelation that there were other people with the same ambitions, to start the same kind of "jazz crowd" I was. A handful of us had formed a little community, resulting in subsequent nights on the town, house parties, and the forging of lifelong friendships. Because of the festival, our lives had changed significantly: especially for me, as through “a friend of a friend”, I would soon meet Susan, the love of my life.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My life has undergone several major changes, just due to the right alchemy of things in the air at the time. The summer of 1995 was one of these. This is the first of many blog posts to be published in the next few weeks, commemorating the 25th anniversary of that “jazz summer”, with reminisces of the scene, and reviews of music that I had discovered at the time- which charted a path to a new consciousness, and (to coin a phrase from the “Who’s The Boss” theme song)... a brand new life.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">This post originally appeared in 2015, in honour of its 20th anniversary. Alas, a busy work schedule hampered my time to follow up with all those articles. Now, for year 25, with the world upside down, it appears that time is all we have, so those pieces will finally be written. The prospective 25th anniversary reunion of "The Jazz Club" will have to be re-scheduled on, I dunno, the 26th? For now, while the world heals, we'll pour a glass of wine and silently relive those memories of the music, the laughter and the lives that all changed in one summer.</div>Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-12519825223271240982020-05-06T22:31:00.002-07:002020-05-07T12:56:25.529-07:00Judge Colt, The Wolf Man And Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LBiBs7bcQ6M/XrOZWWGzQyI/AAAAAAAAEiY/mMgQc_6UgUgq4B2vRiUoRs6PndXuWwHFACEwYBhgL/s1600/jcno1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1214" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LBiBs7bcQ6M/XrOZWWGzQyI/AAAAAAAAEiY/mMgQc_6UgUgq4B2vRiUoRs6PndXuWwHFACEwYBhgL/s400/jcno1.jpg" width="262" /></a></div>
In her lifetime, my mother had relationships with (as far as I knew) three different men named Bob.<br />
<br />
No, not at the same time!<br />
<br />
Tonight’s post involves Bob #2, whom my mother courted briefly when I was 14.<br />
<br />
Bob #2 had a stocky build that could have intimidated an introvert like me, but he also had a gentle, quiet disposition, evidenced by his soft blue eyes and tight-lipped smile. I never heard him raise his voice, and for that matter, never heard him laugh out loud, either. Despite his low-key mannerisms, he was quite colourful.<br />
<br />
He drove a rickety pickup truck that was one loose rivet from a “This could be you” warning in a highway safety film. He lived on one side of a two-story house that was partitioned in the middle of the main floor by a door-sized piece of Styrofoam. His elderly mother lived on the other side. A flannel blanket for a curtain covered his living room window. His kitchen was basically a workshop, where counters were adorned with wrenches and screwdrivers instead of strainers and can openers, save for the dish rack where cups and plates waited in vain to be cleaned. Sometimes, much to his chagrin, his mother would come over and do his dishes for him. One assumed she didn’t walk through the Styrofoam.<br />
<br />
His drink of choice was rye and coke, which he always stirred with the little wooden pencil in his flannel shirt pocket. Always. Whenever he’d pour a new shot, we would offer him a spoon or a swizzle stick. Nope. The HB still came out. If pencils hadn’t been composed of graphite, he’d have had lead poisoning.<br />
<br />
Bob #2 had these lamb chop sideburns, which prompted me to nickname him Wolf Man. I didn’t intend to be spiteful. This was another of my ill-fated teenaged attempts at hiding awkwardness with humour. My demeanour would be taken the wrong way… but no wonder! Even so, in a few weeks, off went the lamb chops. (In the age our tale unfolds, the day’s fashion trends included leg warmers, purple hair and neon. Birdtown on the other hand, was still a decade or two behind the times. Sideburns and brown corduroy were still “in”. Even at this remove, you could still find hippies playing guitars downtown.)<br />
<br />
By the way, these paragraphs weren’t meant as a putdown. I really did like the guy. These eccentric traits I found kind of endearing. The rebels and the oddballs of my native Birdtown always fascinated me. Anyone who shook up the town’s <i>broomstick-derriered</i> status quo was okay in my books.<br />
<br />
Bob #2 and I shared common interests- some only became apparent after I knew him. He enjoyed watching westerns, serials, Tarzan and Hercules movies, which were then plentiful on WUTV, Channel 29 from Buffalo. (Readers of a certain vintage in Southern Ontario or Western New York will elicit pleasant sighs at memories of their retro programming, especially their weekends of kaiju and kung fu movies. WUTV originally played on our cable 9, until it was bumped off our VHF dial for the French Channel, and emigrated way up to cable 19, which you needed a converter to see. For years, I was deprived of WUTV, because my mother was convinced a converter would bugger up her television. But, the rest of this story belongs in a future blog post all its own.) The time with Bob #2 predates my full-fledged cinephilia. In another five or ten years, we would have had much more to discuss.<br />
<br />
Instead, we had bonded over another medium that told stories and created worlds within a frame: comic books!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mojmGMqdY0M/XrOZgh8_ydI/AAAAAAAAEic/NiwxT_Mgn-0WhfgESohOUWiZNCEJ_rFjACEwYBhgL/s1600/rio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1132" data-original-width="812" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mojmGMqdY0M/XrOZgh8_ydI/AAAAAAAAEic/NiwxT_Mgn-0WhfgESohOUWiZNCEJ_rFjACEwYBhgL/s320/rio.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="229" /></a>Bob had been a serious comic collector for about three decades, and stopped buying new books around the mid-1970s. He still enjoyed the medium, and would pull stuff out of his collection to re-read. It was shocking to me then that he had no interest in long-underwear superheroes. His archive was deprived of obvious things like Spiderman or Superman. Rather, his collection focused on genres that existed in the margins to the current mainstream: westerns, action-adventure (jungle, sword and sorcery), and Disney! Instead of the usual Marvel or DC banners that infiltrated most others’ collections, his would consist of titles from Dell or its sister company, Gold Key.<br />
<br />
I was already a Gold Key fan, thanks to their runs of <i>Star Trek</i> and <i>The Twilight Zone</i>; among their many adaptations of TV show properties, from the 1960s to the imprint’s demise in the early 1980s. Gold Key’s appeal was also for their eye-catching painted covers, and the other enticing titles that I had discovered when Woolworth’s used to sell assortments of Gold Key’s in grab bag collections of three or ten. (This too deserves its own post some day, but I’ll briefly mention that <i>UFO Flying Saucer</i>, <i>True Ghost Stories</i>, and <i>Space Family Robinson</i> were among those discoveries.)<br />
<br />
It was through Bob though, that I first got a taste of Dell’s long-running, serpentine <i>Four-Color Comics</i>, its series of one-off movie adaptations called <i>Movie Classics</i>, and a similar run by Gold Key, informally titled <i>Movie Comics</i>. Through these adaptations, I was already familiar with the stories of <i>Rio Conchos</i> and <i>The Dirty Dozen</i> long before I had seen the movies they were based on.<br />
<br />
My parents divorced when I was very young. I still saw my father once a week or more, but I have no experience of living in a household with a patriarchal figure. If I was ever subconsciously seeking a “surrogate father” in my mother’s boyfriends, I had no longer sought such a role when Bob #2 entered the picture. By then, I was older, and had learned to live without a father figure. Additionally, several months before she began dating Bob #2, my mother’s boyfriend Frank died suddenly, just days before Christmas. I think Frank was and remained her true love. Admittedly, it felt weird seeing different men around the house for several months afterwards, but I accepted that she rightfully was trying to get on with her life, and sought new companionship. As a result, I had no expectations of Bob #2 being “my new dad”, anymore than he expected me to be a surrogate son. He was a man of few words, but I’d like to think that during his brief courtship with my mother, he recognized a bit of his younger self in me.<br />
<br />
One Sunday afternoon, he volunteered to drive me in his rickety pickup to a couple of flea markets around the county. In both cases, he would stand around with a Styrofoam cup of coffee and chat with people, while I checked out the tables at whatever halls or church basements we infiltrated. That day’s haul was just a couple of <i>Family Circus</i> paperbacks, but it’s about the thrill of the hunt, which any collector knows, and surely he did. My memory of this afternoon persists, because it was one way in which we silently bonded over this same passion.<br />
<br />
Quite often when he came over, he would bring me a stack of comics from his collection. With one handful, he would say, “These ones, I want back." And with another handful, “These ones, I don't care what you do with them.” Some titles I recognized from the “grab bag” days (he dropped off almost complete runs of <i>The Jungle Twins</i> and <i>Brothers Of The Spear</i>), while other short-run series were unfamiliar to me. (One such title I recall was <i>The Scarecrow</i>, from the “want back” pile. which I read and gave back the same night.)<br />
<br />
Perhaps his aversion to long-underwear superheroes influenced my own. In another two or three years, I would stop collecting comic books once my interest switched to film history. Further, superhero stories had become increasingly stupid and juvenile. Otherwise, a small town comic collector had few other options than Archie. (The blossoming independent and direct market worlds were out of reach.) In the later days of collecting, I slavishly bought the long-underwear stuff because “they will be worth something one day”. I’d read an issue once, shrug, and pack it away. Instead, anything I dug from the archives for re-reading was stuff considered by fellow collectors to be disposable and of little worth: westerns, crime, science fiction, action-adventure, and even some horror, published by Gold Key and Charlton. They spoke to me more. (This too is deserving of a post all its own some day.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rUG7qApn-Sc/XrOZTx4jvUI/AAAAAAAAEic/riSI_LHUDKY9XjxWdQ4fBV7hYHvpGWU8QCEwYBhgL/s1600/jc2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="404" height="318" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rUG7qApn-Sc/XrOZTx4jvUI/AAAAAAAAEic/riSI_LHUDKY9XjxWdQ4fBV7hYHvpGWU8QCEwYBhgL/s320/jc2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
And among those that would get constant rotation was a title run I was introduced to, thanks to Bob: the short-lived western series, <i>Judge Colt</i>, published by Gold Key in 1969-70. (He had three of its four-issue run; I’d eventually track down the stray issue years later.)<br />
<br />
I’ve always loved western movies of any stripe: from the tough 1960s revisionist westerns to the 1930s singing cowboys. Western comic books that still existed in the 1970s and 80s were still very much stuck in the 50s, largely because the majority of them were reprints from previous decades. They still adhered to the squeaky-clean “white hats vs. black hats” mentality, and had little room for the moral ambiguity to be found in, for example, DC’s Jonah Hex character.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dIDszwyfVGk/XrOZVSHdnuI/AAAAAAAAEiQ/Idg-9XEBfgsI5XjrdoG5XDkmb5wCgiMcACEwYBhgL/s1600/jc7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="399" height="303" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dIDszwyfVGk/XrOZVSHdnuI/AAAAAAAAEiQ/Idg-9XEBfgsI5XjrdoG5XDkmb5wCgiMcACEwYBhgL/s320/jc7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<i>Judge Colt</i>, on the other hand, was an interesting bridge between the 1950s wholesomeness and the “new” western. To paraphrase a joke made by Henny Youngman around the time, “In the adult western, the cowboy still kisses his horse, only now he worries about it."<br />
<br />
Technically, many western comic book heroes were superheroes in cowboy hats, whose amazing superpowers included larger than life stunts or tricky gunplay. In that sense, the Judge Colt series finds our hero in similar slam-bang adventures, but it had a far more psychological edge than, say, The Rawhide Kid. In fact, western comics had far too many “kids”: Billy The Kid, Kid Colt Outlaw, etc. Judge Colt differed from the rest in age alone. He was middle-aged; hot youth was replaced with greying temples, and world-weary disposition.<br />
<br />
Our hero, Judge Mark Colt, the much-feared “hanging judge”, rides the frontier to find the killers who gunned down his wife Maria, who was a bystander during a holdup. In between the usual western adventure tropes, exists a brooding story of haunted love, as Maria still figuratively exists in the present through omnipresent photographs, flashbacks and Colt’s own nights of self-reflection.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OKK9srPSGO8/XrOZUd09bjI/AAAAAAAAEiM/CHLzErdFCJIF4WQKwtweCl_cJk8-btwJwCEwYBhgL/s1600/jc5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="388" data-original-width="408" height="304" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OKK9srPSGO8/XrOZUd09bjI/AAAAAAAAEiM/CHLzErdFCJIF4WQKwtweCl_cJk8-btwJwCEwYBhgL/s320/jc5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Despite that he is feared for his equal proficiency with guns and ropes, Colt has an interesting Achilles heel, in that his body shakes after every gunfight. He is revealed as flawed, nakedly human, and significantly less than impervious. Colt is often morally conflicted and full of self-doubt. In his constant internal monologues, he questions if his actions are any less morally reprehensible than those of the crooks he sends to the gallows.<br />
<br />
I’ve no information as to why <i>Judge Colt</i> only ran four issues. Perhaps this character was too offbeat for its audience, or perhaps he was shelved after poor sales, even though it offered the same quota of action and adventure as its six-gun competition. It would have been interesting to see his character develop in future editions, although perhaps its formula would have been too repetitive after a while. Eventually, Mark Colt would have to find all of Maria’s killers, otherwise try the patience of their readers. Comic book miniseries were more common a decade after <i>Judge Colt</i> ceased publication. A planned twelve-issue run would have best suited this story arc, and kept it fresh.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HQfIG8951po/XrOZU-BlNrI/AAAAAAAAEic/2V8L97o3pGsgkbue2eOdDTxC58LLFqASACEwYBhgL/s1600/jc6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="796" height="190" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HQfIG8951po/XrOZU-BlNrI/AAAAAAAAEic/2V8L97o3pGsgkbue2eOdDTxC58LLFqASACEwYBhgL/s400/jc6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
If you’re a collector, any of these books are worth having, although perhaps the fourth issue is the most interesting. In “Trial By Fury”, Judge Colt investigates a series o<span style="text-align: center;">f murders that are made to look like accidents, and discovers that each of the men in these so-called “accidents” are victims of a long-held revenge plot. At this revelation, Colt can only compare the killer’s actions to his own dubious mission to avenge Maria’s death. It is exactly this kind of smart writing and introspection that sets Colt apart from the usual six-gun comics.</span><br />
<br />
It is tempting to say that Judge Colt had to happen so that Jonah Hex could appear, but its short run suggests that he likely didn’t inspire what was to come. The series only exists as an interesting footnote in Gold Key’s publishing history, or the history of western heroes. Still, his character seems a necessary stepping-stone between the squeaky clean 1950s cowboys and the moral ambiguity of Jonah Hex.<br />
<br />
My mother’s courtship with Bob #2 lasted briefly, and in a few ways I was the catalyst for their separation. As time unfolded, they appeared to have less in common with each other than he did with me! After they split up, there were still some comics from the “want back” pile left at my mother’s place, although as time progressed I could no longer remember which was which.<br />
<br />
I would occasionally see Bob #2 around town, like at a yard sale the following summer, where he bought another dish tray. I couldn’t help but chuckle. But as time passed, and as faces begin to fade, I would wonder what became of him. Only years later did I learn that he passed away, still in his 50s. I’ve no idea whether he still lived alone, or if he had any heirs.<br />
<br />
But still, in the years after the brief time I knew him, I would revisit the stash of funny books in my mother’s basement, and he would soon enter my thoughts. I would skip over any titles featuring someone in a cape, and go for the stuff from that alternate four-colour universe that he turned me onto, and silently thank him. And especially for <i>Judge Colt</i>. He was the jewel of the lot.Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-53852120832419250732017-01-20T15:32:00.000-08:002017-01-20T15:32:01.241-08:00Pulp Show 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MlVRamIF6dI/WIKd3qrMBlI/AAAAAAAAD1Y/O6z80WO9CO4zX3DHR8wTLDtz7EK8aItWQCLcB/s1600/fps-s_poster_2017c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MlVRamIF6dI/WIKd3qrMBlI/AAAAAAAAD1Y/O6z80WO9CO4zX3DHR8wTLDtz7EK8aItWQCLcB/s1600/fps-s_poster_2017c.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Starting to save the quarters for this year's Fantastic Pulps Show & Sale!<br />
<br />
From the website of Girasol Collectables:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"A small but terrific show featuring a variety of pulp and pulp related items.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>25 dealers’ tables crammed with vintage pulp, pulp reprints,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>vintage paperbacks and posters as well as other ephemera.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Plus a half-hour pulp magazine cover slide show. A great time for both</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>serious pulp collectors as well as the casually interested.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Lots of great stuff to see!"</i></div>
Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-91439891931115662442017-01-20T15:14:00.000-08:002017-01-20T15:14:25.523-08:00My Goodness This Blog Has Been Inactive<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-98j9D2sXtgY/WIKW6-V77uI/AAAAAAAADzQ/0FS71Tej1UARhOrpZ-qjKet1rzJZDwqtwCLcB/s1600/driversapt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-98j9D2sXtgY/WIKW6-V77uI/AAAAAAAADzQ/0FS71Tej1UARhOrpZ-qjKet1rzJZDwqtwCLcB/s400/driversapt.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hi there. Heh-heh.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've lost count now. Which number of apologia is this to make amends for inactive blog posting?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What a year. 2016 was the time I had pledged to make a fresh new start, and that didn't happen for a multitude of reasons. I then resolved to start 2017 with a clean slate and renewed sense of purpose, albeit a little late. Since December 28, I was laid up with a cold, and therefore everything in my current roster had to be pushed back several weeks. I'm still getting caught up on celebrating the holidays with relatives!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As noted on my sister blog <a href="http://mountunwatched.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Mount Unwatched</a> (itself dormant also due to reasons above), Honest Ed's closed for good on December 31. With it, went most of the adjacent businesses on Markham St. <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 18.48px;">Favourite haunts such as Suspect Video, The Beguiling, and Butler's Pantry have shuttered, or are dispersing to other locations, all in the name of "progress". Just what we need: more overpriced condos, more frozen yogurt places. Yippee! And so, culturally, last year, was like watching the slow but certain death of a loved one. Perhaps the cessation of that lifeblood is what has inspired me more to continue what I used to do, to keep that culture alive!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 18.48px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 18.48px;">Thanks for taking the trip with us. More real soon.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-23036659356627581752016-10-25T04:42:00.001-07:002016-10-25T07:10:36.143-07:00The Old Book & Paper Show<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5f-0v9YrEQY/WA9EgJUSTxI/AAAAAAAADyM/EXqJU6WCEzcarBrJBXh_-rqH86BCMRSQwCEw/s1600/8ef9bfff4f712838f3669fe1210a7213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5f-0v9YrEQY/WA9EgJUSTxI/AAAAAAAADyM/EXqJU6WCEzcarBrJBXh_-rqH86BCMRSQwCEw/s320/8ef9bfff4f712838f3669fe1210a7213.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
The 2016 edition of The Old Book & Paper Show happened two days ago at Wychwood Barns. This was my second visit to the show, and it seemed that this year there were more postcard vendors than last. Otherwise, you still had exhibitors of books, magazines, comics, memorabilia, photographs, etc.<br />
<br />
The man with the boxes of cheap paperbacks was there again this year, and I came away with the following from his table. Most of these are prime "Gee Whiz G-Man" material to be read and reviewed for this blog in the future:<br />
<br />
Jerry Sohl: <i>The Time Dissolver</i><br />
Roger Fuller: <i>Burke’s Law - Who Killed Madcap Millicent?</i><br />
Paul Brickhill: <i>Escape or Die</i><br />
Sax Rohmer: <i>Nude In Mink</i><br />
John Buchan: <i>Mountain Meadow</i><br />
Cornell Woolrich: <i>Deadline at Dawn</i><br />
Dorothy B. Hughes: <i>Ride the Pink Horse</i><br />
Sax Rohmer: <i>Return of Sumuru</i><br />
Dorothy B. Hughes: <i>The Bamboo Blonde</i><br />
Edgar Wallace: <i>The Clue of the New Pin</i><br />
Peter Cheyney: <i>The Stars Are Dark</i><br />
Jack Webb: <i>The Bad Blonde</i><br />
Elizabeth Sax Rohmer: <i>Bianca in Black</i><br />
William P. McGivern: <i>The Crooked Frame</i><br />
Sax Rohmer: <i>The Fire Goddess</i><br />
William P. McGivern: <i>Killer on the Turnpike</i>Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-16575532662370613682016-05-16T18:29:00.001-07:002021-03-01T18:38:59.754-08:00Sunday Night Movie Corner #1<b style="font-style: italic;">Films viewed the week of April 10: </b><i>three-fourths of this week's offerings are prime examples of those racy Italian movies we used to sneak downstairs to watch on Saturday nights at 2AM on CFMT Channel 47, for all their biological delights, even if they weren't dubbed in English. And since we've still exploring the deep well of British genre films after being inspired by the amazing book </i>Offbeat! <i>two years ago, we also checked out a trademark horror anthology film from Amicus.</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f9bh9zqr-sw/VyFreIpHyBI/AAAAAAAADvA/6Q5PdHcqrVwg_IwwAnRRQATt269nq1tHwCLcB/s1600/Peter-Cushing-From-Beyond-the-Grave.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f9bh9zqr-sw/VyFreIpHyBI/AAAAAAAADvA/6Q5PdHcqrVwg_IwwAnRRQATt269nq1tHwCLcB/s1600/Peter-Cushing-From-Beyond-the-Grave.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>From Beyond the Grave</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
(1974; Kevin Connor) The final horror anthology from Amicus Productions (<i>The House That Dripped Blood</i>; <i>Tales From The Crypt</i>; <i>Vault of Horror</i>) features tales of terror revolving around items found in Peter Cushing's antique shop (appropriately entitled Temptations) and is great fun for a Saturday night. In "The Gatecrasher", a man holds a seance after purchasing a mirror, which summons an evil spirit who appears in the mirror reflection and demands that the man "feeds" the apparition by killing for it. David Warner is very good as the man torn between good and evil, carrying out the spirit's bidding. And what an ending! In "The Elemental" Margaret Leighton is great fun as an eccentric medium (aren't they all?) named Madame Orloff (a nod to Franco?) who is called upon by a stuffy businessman (Ian Carmichael) who purchases a snuff box and now has an Elemental in his home, wreaking havoc for him and his wife (Nyree Dawn Porter). When a writer (Ian Ogilvy) purchases a door in (guess) "The Door", and props it up in his home, he and his wife (Lesley-Anne Down) discover that it opens to another room occupied by an occultist who attempts to get into the outside world and trap the couple in this other dimension. Intriguingly, the resolution of these tales (including the wraparound story of a hapless individual who attempts to rob the old curiosity shop) depends on whether or not the storekeeper has somehow been cheated in the purchase of the goods. I've saved the second tale ("An Act of Kindness") for the last, because it's the best: an elaborate, deliberately paced story of just desserts, as a man (Ian Bannen) regales fabricated tales of his own military (experiences behind a service medal from the shop) to a war veteran (Donald Pleasence, excellent in a subtle role) now selling matches on the street. His relationship with the veteran (and his daughter, played by the actor's real-life daughter, the eerily beautiful, perfectly cast Angela Pleasence) becomes more complex and bizarre, resulting in a revenge plot against the man's nagging wife (Diana Dors, who scores with little screen time) and ingrate son... but not without a price. Although he is perhaps best remembered today for the Amicus Edgar Rice Burroughs adaptations, <i>The People That Time Forgot</i>, <i>At The Earth's Core</i>; <i>The Land That Time Forgot</i>, and for the Rory Calhoun cult classic <i>Motel Hell, </i>former editor Kevin Connor acquits himself very well in his directorial debut, in the exceptionally well-edited climax of "The Door", and with clever use of cinematic space and depth in marvellous mirror effects in "The Gatecrasher". (Warner DVD)<br />
<br />
<b>Lover Boy</b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-535DTnhCyC4/VyF8-wXaUbI/AAAAAAAADvk/y1yHRkbl-MMJMDNbw6w5UHv-TdmnE4YGACLcB/s1600/515BFCHiqzL.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-535DTnhCyC4/VyF8-wXaUbI/AAAAAAAADvk/y1yHRkbl-MMJMDNbw6w5UHv-TdmnE4YGACLcB/s320/515BFCHiqzL.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
(1975; Franco Martinelli AKA- Marino Girolami) Other than the attribute of the delightful Edwige Fenech in very low-cut dresses (when wearing anything at all, that is), there's not much to say about this bland sex comedy. When a businessman learns that his father's new wife is flying in for a visit, he dismissively sends his dorky ten-year-old son to attend to her. Upon learning that grandpa's new bride is the much younger, and scintillating, Ms. Fenech, the kid has suddenly forgotten about his tomboy girlfriend, and before long his mopey guitar-playing older brother, and their horny dad are also vying for her attention. This is a typical middle 70s racy Italian comedy, with cartoonish acting (no doubt aided by the dubbing) and questionable attempt to make adultery look like so much fun, indifferently directed hack work by Marino Girolami (best remembered for <i>Zombie Holocaust</i>, and for conceiving fellow filmmaker Enzo Castellari). Of some novelty value is the score by Enrico Simonetti, which belongs in a better movie. Edwige is lovely to look at, as always, but this affair (with endless shots of these goons ogling her cleavage) gets tiresome really fast. (Shoarma Digital)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kUYyWQd7uSg/VyF8kesHMoI/AAAAAAAADvs/jlvm60-gn1Q1PNY58w6AZZgGDE6qQ7CNQCKgB/s1600/MV5BMTgyNjg3MzQzNl5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMTU5NDcxMw%2540%2540._V1_.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kUYyWQd7uSg/VyF8kesHMoI/AAAAAAAADvs/jlvm60-gn1Q1PNY58w6AZZgGDE6qQ7CNQCKgB/s320/MV5BMTgyNjg3MzQzNl5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMTU5NDcxMw%2540%2540._V1_.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<b>The Cricket</b><br />
(1980; Alberto Lattuada) The title refers to the nickname given the waif-like character played by Clio Goldsmith, whose entrance into and departure from these debauched relationships bookends this fascinating drama, but the story arc is really about the hapless chanteuse Wilma (played by Virna Lisi) who befriends Cricket (her one fan), acting as a chambermaid in a hotel she is performing at. In about ten minutes of screen time, they are ejected from the hotel, and hit the road together. Soon they meet a man (Tony Franciosa) and turn his rundown gas station-restaurant-hotel complex into a lucrative business. When he and Wilma marry, the former singer sends for her daughter, in the hopes that they can have a normal family life. But happiness proves elusive in this neon-lit morality play, as sexual curiosity and repression leads to tragedy. As with <i>Stay As You Are,</i> a previous film by Alberto Lattuada (whose six-year career includes <i>Variety Lights</i>, co-directed with Federico Fellini), this straddles between an arthouse aesthetic and exploitation film elements, but has a uniquely bluesy poetry. Even when it veers into melodrama in the final half hour, this remains a thoroughly compelling, complex study of good people who screw up; characters whose sexual liberation leads to doom. Highly recommended! Check it out! (Mya Communications)<br />
<br />
<b>Perversion Story</b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UKXQi67SHZM/VyF8_H5uF2I/AAAAAAAADv0/UQfj4IukDKQSpX3GBFC4k5IvGaYF7FZigCKgB/s1600/perversion_story_dvd_cover_01-720x483.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UKXQi67SHZM/VyF8_H5uF2I/AAAAAAAADv0/UQfj4IukDKQSpX3GBFC4k5IvGaYF7FZigCKgB/s320/perversion_story_dvd_cover_01-720x483.jpg" width="223" /></a></b></div>
(1969; Lucio Fulci)<i> </i>This sensational title (admittedly no better than its alternate,<i> One on Top of the Other</i>) masks a pretty good <i>giallo </i>inspired by <i>Vertigo</i> (with its San Francisco setting a potential nod to its source), yet set amongst a swinging 60s milieu. A fledgling doctor (Jean Sorel), who is married to an ailing asthmatic (Marisa Mell), and has a mistress on the side (Elsa Martinelli), finds himself in more twisted situations after his wife dies, and encounters an exotic dancer who resembles her. Despite the different coloured eyes and hair, he is convinced she is his late wife. While Lucio Fulci's direction is somewhat ham-fisted, the bright cinematography and jazzy soundtrack by Riz Ortolani (featured on a bonus CD in the Severin Films DVD release) uplift a sometimes plodding narrative. The climax is genuinely suspenseful as our hero is sentenced to die in the gas chamber for murder. John Ireland is good in a small role as the detective investigating this bizarre puzzle. (Severin Films)</div>
Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-35829823732975427142016-05-08T06:57:00.003-07:002016-05-08T08:40:02.688-07:00The Late Night Files: Snicker Theater<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ku2-6zT6Eow/Vy874rYmHRI/AAAAAAAADwY/NtsmDxqRogU2K34LQ15-DuF2ggjsKZmXQCLcB/s1600/Snicker%2BTheatre%2B%25281987%2529-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ku2-6zT6Eow/Vy874rYmHRI/AAAAAAAADwY/NtsmDxqRogU2K34LQ15-DuF2ggjsKZmXQCLcB/s320/Snicker%2BTheatre%2B%25281987%2529-2.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Snicker Theater </i>was a syndicated program that aired in 1987 on WNBC (Channel 4) in New York City, as well as other markets. In a formula that anticipated <i>Mystery Science Theater 3000</i> by a couple of years (albeit with much more low-rent production values), hosts Barry Kilbrick and Pat Mulligan (playing, respectively, Barry and Pat) would poke fun at cheesy movies, hence the title <i>Snicker Theater</i>. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DoJRYx_XFLo/Vy874lixfeI/AAAAAAAADwk/6RJSAr9Jhv8tnJq1-Goc5YMr5NkmK2IjgCKgB/s1600/Snicker%2BTheatre%2B%25281987%2529-3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DoJRYx_XFLo/Vy874lixfeI/AAAAAAAADwk/6RJSAr9Jhv8tnJq1-Goc5YMr5NkmK2IjgCKgB/s320/Snicker%2BTheatre%2B%25281987%2529-3.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Saul Fischer by way of E-gor's Chamber of TV Horror Hosts, continues: </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>No horror make-up, just a low-rent living room/basement set with an AWFULLY cheap-looking sofa, upon which "Barry" & "Pat" sat and watched cheesy videos, pausing every few minutes before and after the commercial breaks to make fun of the flicks... and make fun of each other, too. These two guys hosted as well as co-produced and co-wrote the show, and, as I recall, most of it was amusing. The character of "Barry" ran a bowling alley while poor "Pat" worked "down at the toxic dump" (shades of The Simpsons). </i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D57bMlSaWmE/Vy8748vrxVI/AAAAAAAADwk/RXwn09S8RqI3fLCi_-NDNXafHjIWCXibQCKgB/s1600/Snicker%2BTheatre%2B%25281987%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D57bMlSaWmE/Vy8748vrxVI/AAAAAAAADwk/RXwn09S8RqI3fLCi_-NDNXafHjIWCXibQCKgB/s320/Snicker%2BTheatre%2B%25281987%2529.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>In a typical episode, they got up and literally hopped off the set to eat at (the offscreen) Bernie's All-You-Can-Eat Frog Leg Emporium, as the movie continued playing. They returned several minutes later, gastrointestinally-challenged, and saw their mistake -- but wisely decided not to bother rewinding the video to see what they had missed (but the audience had endured). </i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>In the same episode, they had pizza delivered by a well-endowed blonde (another cast member), and ended up dancing with her around the set. It ended with them trying to leave the set for a much-needed "case" of cold beers, then Barry's too-short microphone cord that was trailing behind him got hopelessly caught in the closing door, as Pat cracks up with the offscreen crew, all of this visible under the closing credits. Lydia Finzi played the girl who delivered the pizza (Domino's!). The films they showed were low budgeters like Superargo vs. Diabolicus, Trinity and Sartana, etc. It was filmed in Hollywood, CA.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LaC8_1eXE7A/Vy874TgEozI/AAAAAAAADwM/ph-kpE9fJd8KXvuwDqVSsb_w-I9tJAlKgCKgB/s1600/SNICKER%2BTHEATER%2BDUDES.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LaC8_1eXE7A/Vy874TgEozI/AAAAAAAADwM/ph-kpE9fJd8KXvuwDqVSsb_w-I9tJAlKgCKgB/s320/SNICKER%2BTHEATER%2BDUDES.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
++++</div>
<br />
Later, the show's producer, Dan Brenner, took over hosting duties for the rest of its brief run. (And because this show was produced in the same studio as <i>The People's Court</i>, Brenner apparently used the same dressing room as Judge Wapner!)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Once again, in my hobby of perusing old TV listings, I have the reaction of: "The things I know now that I wish I knew then." Talk about missed opportunities. <i>Snicker Theater</i> was also picked up locally. CFPL (former CBC affiliate Channel 10 from London, Ontario) aired it on Sunday nights at midnight, from September, 1988 to August, 1989. The roster consisted of low-budget Italian genre films that remain hard to find today, even for Euro-genre enthusiasts like yours truly. And yet, at the time I was completely oblivious to the program. Why? Because this nerd would instead be spending late night Sunday nights watching or taping French and silent films on CBLFT! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qPXsAtud5CQ/Vy874Sp5maI/AAAAAAAADwk/RcPp4Kvd_VEv6iEz_47KulERcU43fekQwCKgB/s1600/SNICKER%2BTHEATER%2BDUDES-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qPXsAtud5CQ/Vy874Sp5maI/AAAAAAAADwk/RcPp4Kvd_VEv6iEz_47KulERcU43fekQwCKgB/s320/SNICKER%2BTHEATER%2BDUDES-1.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Here is a listing of the films seen on <i>Snicker Theater</i>, as shown on CFPL, Sunday nights at midnight, in 1988-89 (as listed in <i>Starweek</i>):</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
09-18-88<span style="white-space: pre;"> t</span>itle not listed</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
09-25-88<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Who Killed the Prosecutor and Why?</b> (1972) Lou Castel</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
10-02-88<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>The Trojan War</b> (1962) Steve Reeves, John Drew Barrymore</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
10-09-88<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>title not listed</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
10-16-88<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Night of Hate</b> (1973) Anita Ekberg, Tomas Milian</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
10-23-88<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Mafia Vs. Ninja</b> (1984) Alexander Lou, Silvio Azzolini</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
10-30-88<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>The Red Sheik</b> (1973) Channing Pollock</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
11-06-88<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Robin Hood, Arrow, Beans and Karate</b> (1976) Alan Steel</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
11-13-88<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>title not listed</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
11-20-88<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Jesse and Lester, Two Brothers</b> (1975) Richard Harrison</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
11-27-88<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>No Graves on Boot Hill</b> (1969) K. Wood, P. White, C. Hill</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
12-04-88<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Shoot Joe and Shoot Again</b> (1972) Richard Harrison</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
12-11-88<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Io Semiramide </b>(1962) Yvonne Furneaux, John Ericson</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
12-18-88<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>How To Win a Billion and Get Away With It</b> (1966) Ray Danton, Edmond Purdom</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
12-25-88<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Seven Golden Women Against 2-07</b> (1967) Mickey Hargitay, Luciana Paoli</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
01-01-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>28 Minutes for 3 Million Dollars </b>(1967) Richard Harrison, Claudio Biava</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
01-08-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Crime Story</b> (1968) Stan Cooper, Helga Line</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
01-15-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Who Killed the Prosecutor and Why?</b> (1972) Lou Castel</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
01-22-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>The Trojan War</b> (1962) Steve Reeves, John Drew Barrymore</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
01-29-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Eyes Behind The Stars </b>(1978) Martin Balsam, Nathalie Delon</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
02-05-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Night of Hate </b>(1973) Anita Ekberg, Tomas Milian</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
02-12-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Mafia Vs. Ninja</b> (1984) Alexander Lou, Silvio Azzolini</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
02-19-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>The Red Sheik </b>(1973) Channing Pollock</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
02-26-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Robin Hood, Arrow, Beans and Karate</b> (1976) Alan Steel</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
03-05-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>For a Book of Dollars</b> (1973) Lincoln Tate</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
03-12-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Caesar the Conqueror</b> (1960) Cameron Mitchell, Rik Battaglia</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
03-19-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Gun Shy Piluk</b> (1968) Edmond Purdom</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
03-26-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Hot Diamonds in Cold Blood</b> (1968) Richard Harrison</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
04-02-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Electra One</b> (1968) George Martin, Vivi Bach</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
04-09-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Trinity and Sartana</b> (1972) Robert Widmark</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
04-16-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Beautiful But Dangerous</b> (1955) Gina Lollobrigida, Vittorio Gassman</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
04-23-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Superargo Vs. Diabolicus</b> (1968) Ken Wood, Gerard Tichy</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
04-30-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>No Graves on Boot Hill</b> (1969) Ken Wood, Craig Hill</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
05-07-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Eyes Behind The Stars</b> (1978) Martin Balsam, Nathalie Delon</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
05-14-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>The Red Sheik</b> (1973) Channing Pollock</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
05-21-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>The Trojan War</b> (1962) Steve Reeves, John Drew Barrymore</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
05-28-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Mafia Vs. Ninja</b> (1984) Alexander Lou, Silvio Azzolini</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
06-04-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Jesse and Lester, Two Brothers </b>(1975) Richard Harrison</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
06-11-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>No Graves on Boot Hill</b> (1969) Ken Wood, Craig Hill</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
06-18-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Shoot Joe and Shoot Again</b> (1972) Richard Harrison</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
06-25-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>How To Win a Billion and Get Away With It</b> (1966) Ray Danton, Edmond Purdom</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
07-02-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>28 Minutes for 3 Million Dollars</b> (1967) Richard Harrison, Claudio Biava</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
07-09-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Crime Story</b> (1968) Stan Cooper, Helga Line</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
07-16-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Who Killed the Prosecutor and Why?</b> (1972) Lou Castel</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
07-23-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>The Trojan War</b> (1962) Steve Reeves, John Drew Barrymore</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
07-30-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Seven Golden Women Against 2-07</b> (1967) Mickey Hargitay, Luciana Paoli</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
08-06-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>The Red Sheik</b> (1973) Channing Pollock</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
08-13-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Robin Hood, Arrow, Beans and Karate</b> (1976) Alan Steel</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
08-20-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Hot Diamonds in Cold Blood </b>(1968) Richard Harrison</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
08-27-89<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Electra One</b> (1968) George Martin, Vivi Bach</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/9-nm-uvetsc" width="420"></iframe>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/dIb_0HJh338" width="420"></iframe>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/e7Z648qLx0Y" width="420"></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-73116043924996055922016-05-03T13:40:00.002-07:002020-04-04T11:36:41.557-07:00Fantastic Pulps Show and Sale... this Saturday!<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7eTiKKjKpng/VykLwmjIIQI/AAAAAAAADv8/nASL8Q5XR-EoXo8vykYodznYvNAmBL4lQCLcB/s1600/fps-s_poster_2016b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7eTiKKjKpng/VykLwmjIIQI/AAAAAAAADv8/nASL8Q5XR-EoXo8vykYodznYvNAmBL4lQCLcB/s1600/fps-s_poster_2016b.jpg" /></a>I can barely stand the suspense. Always great fun and amazing finds to be had at the <i>Fantastic Pulps Show & Sale,</i> which occurs one Saturday every year in the basement of the Lillian H. Smith Branch of the Toronto Public Library. The 20th (!) annual show for 2016 happens this Saturday!<br />
<br />
A definite highlight in my year-round tradition of spelunking for nostalgic treasures of yore, this sale always gives me a big Cheshire Cat grin.<br />
<br />
Check it out!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.girasolcollectables.com/fantastic-pulps-show.html" target="_blank">Click here to learn more.</a>Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-18654190928910117062016-04-24T12:41:00.000-07:002016-04-24T12:56:35.164-07:00List-O-ManiaI've always been an avid list maker. A list of films I've watched, and a list of films I want to watch (itself running 30-plus pages) are the most durable ones I've created (and still in progress). When I go book shopping, I often carry around a little black book containing numerous checklists, often of authors' works, so I don't accidentally buy something twice (as I am wont to do with my elusive memory).<br />
<br />
What inspired me to write this post though, were the lists I used to keep, about a year after I graduated from college. Every month, I would make a new list of films to see or books to read, over the following 30 days. The titles would easily fill one-and-a-half sides of a three-ringed 8 & 1/2 by 11" piece of lined paper. Because I wasn't working in my chosen field, and was suffering from cabin fever, these particular lists were a ploy to inspire me out of a creative slump.<br />
<br />
However, as life and work got in the way, it was unsurprising to find that when those four weeks elapsed, many of the film or book titles didn't have little check marks beside them. I didn't consider that as an indication of failure. It mattered more that these lists inspired me to organize my thoughts, and to continue learning about the things I was passionate about.<br />
<br />
Flash forward to the present day. Those 30-day lists made during those turbulent times have frequently appeared in my mind. Why? Perhaps because all these years later, I am in a similar rut, and my subconscious has dredged up these images as a reminder of how to re-establish some order.<br />
<br />
In a recent private journal entry, I made a little list summarizing all of the projects (websites, blogs, articles, etc.) that I've started and thereby abandoned over the past three years. I won't bore you with the details here, but suffice it to say, the items in this list are all over the place... just like my brain. The reason for this lack of cohesion may stem from my lack of publishing anything for over three years. Whatever the pros and cons of doing a magazine, it at least brought some order to my life outside of the nine-to-five grind.<br />
<br />
But of all the projects I've started and stopped over the past few years, you know what one I've missed the most? This one right here. Time to do something about that.<br />
<br />
Okay, now to start this list. This month is nearly over, so let's make it a "to-do" list from April 24 to May 31, just to add some leeway while I get back into the groove. Here we go...<br />
<br />
(click of pen)Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-61106641301355934172014-08-01T14:18:00.000-07:002014-08-05T14:19:10.622-07:00Saturday Nights and "C Jam Blues"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bgvdohT-L6Y/U-FJDn_D3nI/AAAAAAAADi8/QlrkPCi_PYo/s1600/folder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bgvdohT-L6Y/U-FJDn_D3nI/AAAAAAAADi8/QlrkPCi_PYo/s1600/folder.jpg" height="198" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="p1">
The last two years spent in Birdtown was also when I really started getting into jazz. In a small town, you took whatever you found, even if it wasn't necessarily the best representation of the genre. Well, one Saturday afternoon in the fall, I hit pay dirt. I bought a handful of jazz LPs at a yard sale from some hip people in Port Dover. A couple of Keith Jarrett's, and <i>Miles Davis At the Blackhawk</i> were among the titles from that haul, but the prize of the lot was <i>Charles Mingus at Carnegie Hall</i>. This 1970s live album has only two songs, one on each side: which I likewise recorded to a C-60 cassette. (In those days, I would usually play an LP just once- when I made a tape of it, so I could listen to the music wherever I went.)</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
The last two years spent in Birdtown were also in the height of a recession. The economic downturn brought out the worst in everybody- even in a small town "where nothing ever happens" there were rashes of car thefts and store robberies. As a result, I was always nervous when I worked the Saturday night shift at the convenience store. One already had enough to worry about, with the drunken weirdos from the neighbouring apartment buildings raising hell, never mind all this other shit! Well, once 11 PM rolled around, and I could lock the doors to Fort Apache, elated that I survived another Saturday night unharmed, my 11:01 ritual began. On the ubiquitous Realistic tape recorder-player would go Side A of <i>Mingus at Carnegie Hall</i>: a rousing 24-minute rendition of Ellington's "C Jam Blues". This would be playing full blast while I performed my closing duties (counting the float, putting money in the safe, filling the coolers, etc.). The wall of sound by saxophonists Charles McPherson, John Handy, George Adams, Roland Kirk and Hamiet Bluiett remains one of the most joyfully raucous things I've ever heard: long lines of honks and squeals like an 18-wheeler and a freight train having a love child. Mingus' sound was often eccentric, and this track especially seemed the perfect soundtrack to clean out one's headspace after several hours of the usual assortment of bizarre Damon Runyon characters from the neighbourhood; and in light of the potential occupational hazards, it also made one glad to be alive.</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
But you don't have to take <i>my</i> word for it. <a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xiiqkf_charles-mingus-c-jam-blues-1-2_music" target="_blank">Here's a sample to hear for yourself!</a></div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-88972513111472940252014-07-30T14:12:00.000-07:002014-08-05T14:19:37.612-07:006AM ReflectionsIn the final two years I lived in my hometown before moving to Toronto, I worked two jobs. One of them was doing early morning and weekend shifts at the convenience store up the street from my mother's house. The early morning part, however, didn't last that entire duration, despite my boss' good intentions, as it became apparent that the only signs of life in the store at 6AM were me, my Thelonious Monk cassette, and maybe the milkman. Oh, and this. It seemed every morning at a certain time, a squirrel would run down the telephone pole by the curb, and a bird would always stop and look into the glass of the front door. Always thought it was quite touching to observe patterns of nature such as these, which would have gone unnoticed otherwise. Was an even greater experience if it was scored with the opening flute part of Monk's "Reflections".Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-63823769811268902842014-07-29T14:11:00.000-07:002014-08-05T14:20:21.438-07:00A Moment of ZenOne day in the summer of 2007, after I had driven my father to and from his sister's funeral in London, Ontario (because the poor man's back was hurting too much for him to drive himself), I started thinking about the past, as one often does in times like this, and took a drive around Norfolk County to pass by old haunts on my way back to the big bad city of Toronto. As dusk emerged, I had found myself on the four corners of Main St. in Delhi, beside the law enforcement office where my dad worked until he retired. This location was special to me due to the memories had at the Delhi Harvest Fest, which occurs every year on Main Street, right outside the office's front door. Sometimes too, we'd hang out in the office before or after the festival each year. On this 2007 night while I was sitting in the rental car reminiscing, as the sun nestled behind the trees, and the buildings were silhouetted by the magenta sky, there wasn't another soul on the street. The only sounds came from the car radio- Tillsonburg's easy listening station 101 FM, chosen because this was what my dad would always have playing in the office and his jeep (and for all I know, they were probably playing the same Frank Mills songs). Then as now, I was moved by this mixture of image and sound: the world seemed at peace. We easily forget how much deceptively simple moments like this mean to us, and for that matter, we easily ignore the beauty of such daily rhythms of nature, because we're too caught up in our own routines. Lately, during many times of stress, my subconscious mind has suddenly recalled this image, and with it, that feeling of peace I had at that moment. It is this image (and all it implies) that I need to have more of in my life right now.Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-13866042263997477532014-06-16T14:48:00.000-07:002014-06-16T14:50:44.588-07:00JEB LOY NICHOLS: Now Then (Bongo Beat; 2006)<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Kkc7hRQya_w/U59kaa4brcI/AAAAAAAADe4/Zbv9SVlzTzU/s1600/jebloynichols.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Kkc7hRQya_w/U59kaa4brcI/AAAAAAAADe4/Zbv9SVlzTzU/s1600/jebloynichols.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a><i>Track Listing:</i> 1) Sometimes Shooting Stars (2:56); 2) Really Together (3:23); 3) Lelah Mae (2:46); 4) Painted My Dream House Blue (3:26); 5) Bad Fruit (2:31); 6) Let's Make It Up (2:49); 7) Morning Love (3:13); 8) Black Water Road (3:25); 9) Don't Dance With Me (3:26); 10) Ever Feel Like Leaving (3:20); 11) When Did You Stop Loving Me (3:54); 12) Sweet Tough and Terrible (3:47); 13) Love Me Too (2:59)<br />
<br />
<i>Collective Personnel: </i>Jeb Loy Nichols (guitar, vocals); Shaila Prospere (vocal duet on "Really Together"); Dan Penn (vocal on "Ever Feel Like Leaving"); Tony Crow, Clayton Ivey (keyboards); Jennifer Carr (piano); Terry Baker (drums); Simeon Baker, Wayne Nunes, Andy Hamill (bass); Tony Williams, Mark Nevers (guitar); Paul Burch (guitar, bass, vibes); Fiona Hibbert (harp); Rebecca Hollweg, Loraine Morley, Roy Cousins, Struggle, Knowledge (backing vocals); Lloyd Barry, George Chambers (horns); Nashville String Machine (strings); Lloyd Barry (arranger- strings and horns)<br />
<br />
"What kind of music is this?" said I, holding up the CD. "He's a white Al Green," replied the record seller. Good enough for me.<br />
<br />
One of the detriments of diving for cheap records is that you're unlikely to keep abreast of new music. To be sure, there is probably a lot out there today that I would enjoy, but I have difficulty in learning about it. So for me, finding a fairly recent record of this magnitude is a godsend. The man selling this for a pittance surely undercharged himself. I've listened to this album in its entirety four or five times in the past twenty-four hours, and now I think I've stopped blubbering enough to able to write a proper review. Also, let me say that this album clocks in at a mere forty-one minutes. At last, an artist who decides not to fill a CD with eighty minutes of music just because they can. This collection of thirteen songs is just enough to keep you wanting more- indeed, after several spins, I just can't get enough of it.<br />
<br />
Some have called this album a combination of country, reggae and soul. I'm not sure of the reggae aspect, but the other descriptions surely apply. This melange is not revolutionary, yet quietly unique. The songs are beautifully understated cries for love which recall the soul singers of yore, as well as haunting snapshots of rural life that befit any high lonesome epic. Nichols' lyrics are clever metaphors emphasizing the regrets, uncertainties and yearnings of their protagonists, who constantly surrender to fate and others' acceptance (or not).<br />
<br />
And despite the large cast of musicians assembled in the personnel above, especially with horns and strings, the sound never feels overproduced or cluttered. If anything, Nichols' words are carefully, subtly coloured by the instrumentation-- it happily plays in the meadows of these isolated landscapes of verse. "Bad Fruit", a lamentation of an unhappy familial history ("seems like only bad fruits grows on my family tree" an appropriate metaphor) is accompanied by the sparse phrasing of an electric piano.<br />
<br />
The instrumentation mostly offers an interesting counterpoint to the somber lyrics. The bouncy horn section in "Morning Love" (one of the best tracks) properly offsets the verse of a man pleading for the affection of an indifferent other. Likewise, the blackly humourous lyric "If you ever feel like leaving, take me with you" in the tenth track is subtly bracketed by mournful brass. In most of these songs, the characters are happy to hang on to whatever they have to get by. As heard in "Let's Make It Up", another song with jaunty horns, "there's nothing for me on that train out of town".<br />
<br />
The feel of this album is timeless: perhaps only a number like "Sweet Tough and Terrible" (opening disarmingly with Nichols thanking his bandmates, making this feel like a live session) feels like it was taken from the early 1970's, with its strings evocative of an Al Green record, and thumping bass line recalling Sly Stone's THERE'S A RIOT GOING ON.<br />
<br />
Despite the sadness in the lyrics, HERE NOW is absolutely beautiful to listen to. The production is sharp, colourful and never baroque. (Another highlight is the marvellous duet in "Really Together" in which two people decide to give their indecisive relationship a shot.) Each song is a masterpiece of mixed emotions, perfectly reflecting the unrequited desires in the prose, and accentuated by the conflicting tones in words and music. A phrase in the final song, "Could you find it in your heart to love me too?", is emblematic of the yearning for affection that permeates most of these tracks. But my answer to that question is yes, indeed.<br />
<br />
<i>Rating:</i> *****/5<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>(Note: this review first appeared in my long-abandoned, barely started blog of record reviews. Since I'd like to commence with music reviews as well on </i>Gee Whiz G Man<i>, I've ported it to this new home.)</i>Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-84375869288732247832014-02-05T08:41:00.002-08:002014-02-05T08:42:24.580-08:00The Late Night Files: Jim Cook on WJET<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Remember sneaking downstairs as a kid to watch TV in the middle of the night? You'd have the volume way down low so your parents wouldn't hear you, because you were supposed to be sleeping. But forbidden fruit always tasted better, and what subterranean delicacies awaited you in those witching hours. In those days of thirteen channels, when VCRs were still a luxury (if they had been invented yet), local stations would come alive after midnight, especially on weekends. Old movies and TV shows, discarded by the media zeitgeist once something new came along, were resurrected, and often presented by a host. It was a cry of rebellion, to be awake when "normal people" slumbered, and experiencing some renegade entertainment banished from the popular eye. It was an intimate feeling of communion that other like-minded strangers were simultaneously sharing this piece of neglected culture with you. There was a mystery, an allure, as one never knew what to expect. There was an urgency too, as one could miss out on something unique, never to be repeated. All of this is lost in our current age of late night infomercials, and everything on-demand. <i>The Late Night Files </i>is a semi-regular column highlighting some of the shows that offered us surrogate companionship in the golden age of the late, late show.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
+++<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-92xLmPA43ac/UurBWtQddhI/AAAAAAAADXE/N-RWGO7Q8zI/s1600/cook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-92xLmPA43ac/UurBWtQddhI/AAAAAAAADXE/N-RWGO7Q8zI/s1600/cook.jpg" height="320" width="137" /></a></div>
From roughly 1981 to 1985, WJET (Erie PA's ABC affiliate) offered a double-bill of horror films on Saturday nights (often procured from the AIP or Independent-International catalogs), hosted by local DJ Jim Cook (pictured, right). The first incarnation of the program was entitled <i>The Late, Great Horror Show</i>.<br />
<br />
Ian Eastman, writing for <a href="http://myweb.wvnet.edu/e-gor/tvhorrorhosts/" target="_blank">E-gor's Chamber of TV Horror Hosts</a>, remembers:<br />
<br />
"Although it shared a lot of the trappings of other horror shows (including a really funky orange and yellow dungeon set) it had a sensibility all its own. Jim didn't wear fright makeup or a costume. He was just a "regular guy" laughing at the movies with the audience (Oh yea... and hawking lots of pizza! Pizza Hut was the main sponsor). The double feature show was broadcast live and featured a really crazy cast of guest stars. The theme music was "Night on Disco Mountain" from the <i>Saturday Night Fever</i> soundtrack. The closing music was a really screwed up version of "Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead" from a kiddy novelty album. SIR ROBERT GHOUL-LEY, a more traditional type of host in makeup, filled in when Jim was away. In 1982 the show was replaced by syndicated episodes of <i>Elvira's Movie Macabre</i>."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
Mr. Eastman continues:<br />
<br />
"Jim went on to host <i>Video Rock</i>, a half-hour music show, but was back in 1984 with <i>The Just Right for Late Night Horror Show</i>. The production values were a lot lower on this version of the show. The original dungeon set and props had been destroyed so the show was produced in the WJET lunch room! The show was prerecorded -- the original was LIVE -- so Jim's snide comments about the film were always showing up in the wrong places! I don't think this version of the show even lasted a year. But (sigh) it was still better than late-night infomercials!"<br />
<br />
I became aware of Jim Cook in the fall of 1984, when we finally had a converter for the television (after spending two years convincing my mother that the set wasn't going to blow up on account of it), because WJET was on Channel 20 in our cable system. (I don't know why it never occurred to me previously to watch it via rabbit ears on my little TV upstairs.) Although Jim was hosting <i>Video Rock</i> at 1:30 AM, after <i>Elvira's Movie Macabre</i>, I do recall that the telecast of Elvira's show, featuring <i>So Sad About Gloria, </i>began with a brief shot-in-studio segment, that perhaps featured Jim introducing the Macabre Movie for the night. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Later in the year, WJET reverted to the double feature format, and the show was re-christened with a new name, as cited above. And yes, this program was <i>really</i> lo-fi. The production values largely consisted of Jim in a sparse, poorly lit room, reading from a clipboard. Because each film was in a 90-minute time slot, which included commercials and his inserts, the movies were obviously trimmed to fit the schedule, but we didn't mind these things so much. In the days of the late, late show, it was the entire package that mattered more. Jim was a fun, hip personality who made the overall late night experience lively and endearing.<br />
<br />
In the spring of 1985, the program switched to Friday nights, by Jim's own on-camera admission, "for ratings". Alas, just as the summer holidays began, <i>The Just Right for Late Horror Show</i> quietly slipped from the broadcast band. WJET would continue to show movies on Friday or Saturday nights, but without any host.<br />
<br />
Here is a great Youtube compendium of vintage Jim Cook clips from the original<i> Late Great Horror Show</i>.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<center>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/DBn3GRUgPUE" width="420"></iframe>
</center>
<br />
<br />
<center style="text-align: left;">
And another:</center>
<br />
<br />
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/BKjbv7FhigA?rel=0" width="420"></iframe>
</center>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
God bless <i>savedittube</i> for keeping their VCR on!<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Thanks to the miracle of online newspaper archives, what follows is a listing of films shown on Jim Cook's show from 1981 to 1985. This is not comprehensive, as sometimes the daily television listings didn't extend late enough to include the second films. In many cases, the title of the film was not even mentioned in the listing, so we've omitted those dates as well. Listing for <i>Elvira's Movie Macabre</i> are included, also depending on the conditions noted beforehand.</div>
<b><br /></b>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>-1981-</b><br />
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Nov 14: </i>(11:30) And Now the Screaming Starts / (1:30) Graveyard of Horror</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Nov 21: (</i>11:30) The Raven</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Nov 28: </i>(11:30) Destroy All Planets - (1:30) Night of the Blood Beast</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Dec 5: </i>(11:30) The Vampire / (1:00) A Bucket of Blood</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Dec 12: </i>(11:30) Terror in the Crypt / (1:30) The Screaming Skull</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Dec 19: </i>(11:30) The Conqueror Worm / (1:30) Phantom from 10,000 Leagues</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Dec 26: </i>(11:30) Frankenstein Conquers the World / (1:30) Demon Planet</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>-1982-</b><o:p></o:p><br />
<b><br /></b></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>Jan 2:</i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>(11:30) Assignment Terror /
(1:30) The Spider<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>Jan 9: </i>(11:30) Gamera Vs. Monster X /
(1:30) Amazing Transparent Man<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>Jan 16: </i>(11:30) Magic Serpent / (1:30) Day
The World Ended<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>Jan 23: </i>(11:30) The Eye Creatures / (1:30)
Burn Witch Burn<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>Jan 30: </i>(11:30) The Terror / (1:30) The
Giant Gila Monster<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>Feb 6: </i>(11:30) Dracula Vs. Frankenstein<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>Feb 13: </i>(11:30) Night of the Blood Monster /
(1:10) Castle of the Living Dead<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>Feb 20: </i>(11:30) War Gods of the Deep /
(1:10) Track of the Vampire<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>Feb 27: </i>(11:30) Frankenstein’s Bloody Terror
/ (1:10) Attack of the Giant Leeches<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>Mar 6: </i>(11:30) Doomsday Machine / (1:10)
Last Man on Earth<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>Mar 13: </i>(11:30) Reptilicus / (1:20) The
Astounding She Monster<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>Mar 20: </i>(11:30) The Pit and the Pendulum /
(1:00) Terror From the Year 5000<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>Mar 27:</i> (11:30) Journey To the Seventh Planet
/ (1:00) Attack of the Puppet People<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>Apr 3: </i>(11:30) Black Sunday / (1:00)
Return of the Giant Majin<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>Apr 10:</i> (11:30) The Incredible Two Headed
Transplant / (1:20) The Phantom Planet<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>Apr 17:</i> (11:30) Maneater of Hydra / (1:20)
The Brain that Wouldn’t Die<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>Apr 24:</i> (11:30) Curse of the Swamp Creature
/ (1:00) Dementia 13<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>May 1:</i> (11:30) Godzilla Vs. The Smog Monster
/ (1:00) Conquest of the Planet of the Apes<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>May 8:</i> (11:30) Attack of the Mushroom People
/ (1:00) And Now the Screaming Starts<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>May 15:</i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>(11:30) Return of the Giant Monsters / (1:00) Graveyard of Horror<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>May 22:</i> (11:30) Planet of Blood / (1:10)
Terror in the Wax Museum<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>May 29: </i>(11:30) The Oblong Box / (1:20) War
of the Monsters<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>June 5: </i>(11:30) Masque of the Red Death /
(1:20) The Killer Shrews<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>June 12:</i> (11:30) Beware the Blob / (1:20) Night
of the Witches<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>June 19:</i> (11:30) Die Monster Die / (1:20)
Attack of the Monsters<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.0in 81.0pt 1.5in;">
<i>June 26:</i> (11:30) Black Sabbath / (1:05) Night
of the Blood Beast<br />
<i>July 3: </i>(11:30) Yog - Monster From Space /
(1:05) Vampire Circus<br />
<i>July 10:</i> (11:30) Destroy All Monsters / (1:05) A Bucket of Blood<br />
<i>July 17:</i> (11:30) The Angry Red Planet / (1:05) Terror in the Crypt<br />
<i>July 24:</i> (11:30) The Conqueror Worm / (1:30) Goliath Vs. the Vampires<br />
<i>July 31:</i> (11:30) The Demon Planet / (1:30) The Screaming Skull<br />
<i>Aug 7: </i>(11:30) Frankenstein Conquers the World / (1:30) Assignment Terror<br />
<i>Aug 14:</i> (11:30) Gamera Vs. Monster X / (1:30) The Eye Creatures<br />
<i>Aug 21:</i> (11:30) The Terror / (1:30) The Beast With a Million Eyes<br />
<i>Aug 28:</i> (11:30) Castle of the Living Dead / (1:30) War Gods of the Deep<br />
<i>Sept 4:</i> (11:30) Track of the Vampire / (1:30) Attack of the Monsters<br />
<i>Sept 11:</i> (11:30) The Amazing Transparent Man / (1:30) The Magic Serpent<br />
<i>Sept 18:</i> (12:00) Attack of the Giant Leeches / (1:50) Journey to the Seventh Planet<br />
<i>Sept 25: </i>(11:30) The Raven / (1:50) Burn, Witch, Burn<br />
<i>Oct 2: </i>(11:30) Terror From the Year 5000 / (1:50) Last Man on Earth<br />
<i>Oct 9: </i>(11:30) Attack of the Puppet People / (1:00) Black Sunday<br />
<i>Oct 16:</i> (11:30) Night of the Blood Monster<br />
<i>Oct 23:</i> (11:30) Dracula Vs. Frankenstein<br />
<i>Oct 30:</i> (11:30) The Mummy's Tomb / (12:40) Doomsday Machine<br />
<i>Nov 6:</i> (11:30) Dracula / (1:00) Baron Blood<br />
<i>Nov 13: </i>(11:30) Bride of Frankenstein / (1:00) The House That Dripped Blood<br />
<i>Nov 20: </i>(11:30) The Invisible Man<br />
<i>Nov 27:</i> (11:30) Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man<br />
<i>Dec. 4:</i> (11:30) The Oblong Box<br />
<i>Dec. 11: </i>(11:30) The Incredible Two-Headed Transplant / (1:15) The Giant Gila Monster<br />
<i>Dec. 18: </i>(11:30) Masque of the Red Death<br />
<i>Dec. 25: </i>(11:30) Maneater of Hydra<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>-1983-</b></div>
<b><br /></b>
<i>Jan. 8: </i>(11:30) Planet of Blood / (1:00) Dementia 13<br />
<i>Jan 15:</i> (11:30) The Undefeated<br />
<i>Jan. 22: </i>(11:30) Demon Planet<br />
<i>Jan. 29: </i>(11:30) Black Sabbath<br />
<i>Feb. 12: </i>(11:30) The Wolf Man / (1:30) Frankenstein's Bloody Terror<br />
<i>Feb 19: </i>(11:30) title not listed / (1:30) The Black Cat<br />
<i>Mar 5:</i> (11:30) They Shoot Horses, Don't They?<br />
<i>Mar 12: </i>(11:30) Journey Into Darkness / (1:30) Frankenstein's Bloody Terror<br />
<i>Mar 19: </i>(11:30) A Minute to Pray, A Second To Die / (1:30) title not listed<br />
<i>Mar 26: </i>(11:30) Shalako (1:30) Tomb of Ligeia<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>-from here onwards, until further notice, the 11:30 slot was </i>Elvira's Movie Macabre<i>, and the 1:30 slot was Jim Cook hosting </i>Video Rock<i>-</i><br />
<i><br />
Apr 16:</i> (11:30) Dr. Black, Mr. Hyde<br />
<i>Apr 23: </i>(11:30) Blood on Satan's Claw<br />
<i>Apr 30: </i>(11:30) The Devil's Wedding Night<br />
<i>May 7: </i>(11:30) The Day It Came To Earth<br />
<i>May 14: </i>(11:30) Crucible of Horror<br />
<i>May 28: </i>(11:30) Silent Night, Bloody Night<br />
<i>June 11: </i>(11:30) Blood Bath<br />
<i>July 2: </i>(11:30) Alien Contamination<br />
<i>July 23: </i>(11:30) Capture of Bigfoot<br />
<i>Dec 31: </i>pre-empted by Dick Clark's Rockin New Years Eve<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>-1984-</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<i>Feb 11, 18:</i> pre-empted by Olympics<br />
<i>Mar 31: </i>(11:30) Capture of Bigfoot<br />
<i>Apr 7: </i>(11:30) Frankenstein's Castle of Freaks<br />
<i>Apr 21: </i>(11:30) Crucible of Horror<br />
<i>May 26: </i>(11:30) Attack of the Killer Tomatoes<br />
<i>June 2: </i>(11:30) Schizoid<br />
<i>June 9: </i>(11:30) Inn of the Damned<br />
<i>June 16: </i>(11:30) Blood Bath<br />
<i>June 23: </i>(11:30) Dr. Heckll and Mr. Hype<br />
<i>June 30: </i>(11:30) Tombs of the Blind Dead<br />
<i>July 7: </i>(11:30) Alien Contamination<br />
<i>July 14:</i> (11:30) New Years Evil<br />
<i>July 21:</i> (11:30) The Godsend<br />
<i>July 28: </i>(11:30) Monstroid<br />
<i>Aug 4:</i> pre empted by Olympics<br />
<i>Aug 11:</i> pre empted by World Music Festival<br />
<i>Aug 18: </i>(11:30) Monstroid<br />
<i>Aug 25: </i>(11:30) Kiss Daddy Goodbye<br />
<i>Sept 1: </i>(11:30) Pigs<br />
<i>Sept 8: </i>(11:30) Mark of the Devil<br />
<i>Sept 15: </i>(11:30) So Sad About Gloria<br />
<i>Sept 22: </i>(11:30) The Human Duplicators<br />
<i>Sept 29: </i>(11:30) Night of the Zombies<br />
<i>Oct 6: </i>(12:00) Capture of Bigfoot<br />
<i>Oct 13: </i>(11:30) Frankenstein's Castle of Freaks<br />
<i>Oct 20:</i> (11:30) Inn of the Damned<br />
<i>Oct 27:</i> (11:30) Attack of the Killer Tomatoes<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>-from here onwards, Jim Cook was back to host the double feature format-</i></div>
<br />
<i>Nov 17: </i>(11:30) Gamera Vs. Monster X / (1:00) Assignment Terror<br />
<i>Nov 24: </i>(11:30) War of the Monsters / (1:00) Graveyard of Horror<br />
<i>Dec 1: </i>(11:30) Frankenstein Conquers the World (1:00) And Now the Screaming Starts<br />
<i>Dec 8: </i>(11:30) Reptilicus (1:00) The Conqueror Worm<br />
<i>Dec 15: </i>(11:30) Destroy All Monsters / (1:00) The Raven<br />
<i>Dec 22: </i>(11:30) Yog, Monster from Space / (1:00) War Gods of the Deep<br />
<i>Dec 29: </i>(11:30) The Magic Serpent (1:00) Goliath Vs. The Vampires<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>-1985-</b><br />
<b><br /></b></div>
<i>Jan 5: </i>(11:30) Journey to the Seventh Planet / (1:00) Track of the Vampire<br />
<i>Jan 12: </i>(11:30) Doomsday Machine (1:00) A Bucket of Blood<br />
<i>Jan 19: </i>(11:30) The Eye Creatures / (1:00) The Amazing Transparent Man<br />
<i>Jan 26: </i>(11:30) The Angry Red Planet<br />
<i>Feb 2: </i>(11:30) Godzilla Vs. The Smog Monster<br />
<i>Feb 9: </i>(11:30) Attack of the Mushroom People<br />
<i>Feb 16: </i>(11:30) Return of the Giant Monsters<br />
<i>Mar 2: </i>(11:30) The Crimson Cult<br />
<i>Mar 9: </i>(11:30) Frankenstein's Bloody Terror<br />
<i>Mar 16: </i>(11:30) Baron Blood<br />
<i>Mar 23: </i>(11:30) The Oblong Box<br />
<i>Mar 30: </i>(11:30) Tales of Terror<br />
<br />
<i>-from here, the schedule moved to Friday nights, by Jim's own admission, for ratings!-</i><br />
<i><br />
Apr 5:</i> (11:30) The Terror / (1:00) Equinox<br />
<i>Apr 12: (</i>11:30) Tomb of Ligeia / (1:00) Dementia 13<br />
<i>Apr 19: </i>(11:30) Circus of Fear / (1:30) Black Sunday<br />
<i>Apr 26: </i>(12:00) Night of the Witches / (1:30) The Brain That Wouldn't Die<br />
<i>May 3: </i>(12:00) The House That Dripped Blood<br />
<i>May 10: </i>(12:00) The Pit and the Pendulum / (1:30) Attack of the Puppet People<br />
<i>May 17: </i>(12:00) Return of the Giant Majin<br />
<i>May 24:</i> (12:00) The Incredible Two Headed Transplant<br />
<i>May 31: </i>(12:00) Masque of the Red Death / (1:30) Maneater of Hydra<br />
<i>June 7: </i>(12:00) Planet of Blood<br />
<i>June 14: </i>(12:30) Return of the Giant Monsters / (2:30) Tales of Terror<br />
<i>June 21: </i>(12:00) Attack of the Mushroom People<br />
<i>June 28: </i>(12:00) Baron Blood / (1:50) Circus of Fear</div>Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-42646770053070809152014-02-04T09:08:00.000-08:002014-02-04T11:26:03.073-08:00A Love Letter in 78 RPM<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gIj_QP-cWiE/UupPYUf1QxI/AAAAAAAADWk/_DKvWqeCTtY/s1600/78rpm-12-harry-lauder-roaming-in-the-gloaming-nanny-d-1277-31687-p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gIj_QP-cWiE/UupPYUf1QxI/AAAAAAAADWk/_DKvWqeCTtY/s1600/78rpm-12-harry-lauder-roaming-in-the-gloaming-nanny-d-1277-31687-p.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
One night, when I was about fifteen, while looking at my father's stereo in his apartment, I had remarked that his record player had "just two speeds". Mr. Subtlety Himself responded, "Well, who wants to listen to pissin' 78's?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I, ever the complacent one, said nothing, preferring to keep my then-pastime of collecting and listening to 78 RPM records part of my secret world that was sequestered from the rest of humankind. Collecting these ten-inch pieces of shellac was an extension of my ongoing appreciation of, forgive me, "old music". </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Somewhere in my pre-teen years I became hooked on big band sounds through hearing them on the radio (leading to my lifelong love of jazz). When I was old enough to be home alone without a babysitter on Saturday nights while my mother went out boozing, I would often tune into the big band show on CFCA 105FM which began in the early evening and went well into the wee hours. Although Glenn Miller was a personal favourite, these young ears otherwise couldn't decipher between a Tommy Dorsey or a Harry James: it was the overall sound, ambiance and mood that appealed to me. My tastes would soon extend beyond swing, into what would be classified as popular music of the 1930s to the 1950s.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Lkx2lFx_1ag/UuqYN8AtsUI/AAAAAAAADW0/bczoFtbo0lM/s1600/mmVvMlakr7LZeobyvtuM6Uw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Lkx2lFx_1ag/UuqYN8AtsUI/AAAAAAAADW0/bczoFtbo0lM/s1600/mmVvMlakr7LZeobyvtuM6Uw.jpg" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Other than a couple of Beatles 45s and Jerry Lee Lewis' "Breathless" on 78, I never had a rock and roll album until I was eighteen. As an example of how much of a Luddite I was, here are some LPs I got for Christmas during my teen years, procured from the cheap bins at Woolworth's: The Glenn Miller Story; Enoch Light and the Light Brigade; Al Hirt. When we were required to do an "all about me" project for my Grade 9 French class, my mother suggested that I should tell about my love of Glenn Miller and big band music. I instantly vetoed that idea, stating that my classmates would think I was nuts if they read that. (In hindsight, I wished I <i>had</i> put it in, just to scare the shit out of them.) Yes, while my peers were listening to "Tom Sawyer" and "Highway To Hell", I was learning the lyrics to "Have You Got Any Gum Chum" by The Crew Chiefs, or "Just To Be With You" by Eddie Fisher.<br />
<br />
While there were plenty of these vintage sounds to be heard on the radio or on 33 RPM, I also became interested in 78s upon seeing a stash of them in my friend Todd's father's record collection, thinking they looked cool, and added these to my "search" list in those Saturday morning yard sale journeys. In the summer before I was to begin Grade 10, I spent an entire week's worth of allowance money on a small standalone record player, bought from a yard sale by my mother's friend Rae (the resale queen, who was always making a buck with buying and selling). It had four speeds: 33, 45, 16... <i>and 78! </i>All right!<br />
<br />
My two "big hauls" of 78s were also performed during these eight weeks away from school. The first was when I spent another entire week's worth of allowance money on an album containing ten 78s in its paper sleeves, found at an antique shop in the sticks. (I even got to choose which platters out of dozens to fill it with!) Later in the season, my former Grade Five Teacher, and fellow yard sale freak, had a sale of his own. (Noticing a pattern here?) In his garage was a huge wine box full of 78s, marked with the sign, "Free for the taking!" I grabbed them all, and boy was it fun trying to balance a heavy box of records on my ten speed back home... downhill!<br />
<br />
Although I collected 78s and comic books foremost because I enjoyed them, my secondary reason for doing so was for their future increasing value. One afternoon, while browsing through an antiques price guide in the "reference only" section of the public library, I was tickled pink to discover a listing for a Sir Harry Lauder side, which I owned. Its estimated value? Ten bucks! Woohoo! In a haphazard attempt to preserve these records for posterity, I had also made paper sleeves to hold them in, from a huge roll of newsprint I had acquired some time before.</div>
<br />
What about these sounds possibly appealed to this young man who was conceived decades after they were in vogue? A lot of this stuff was already out of style before my parents would have even graduated high school! As mentioned elsewhere on this blog, I've always been enamoured of "old things": architectural art deco design, the look of antique cars, and of course, old movies, TV shows, and books. Perhaps the adoration simply resulted from seeing much of this still around in my hometown during those influential years, and consequently, they still felt "in the present". The older generation, who came of age when all of this was new, was still the dominant workforce, and continued to keep it alive. For instance, a favourite downtown newsstand-novelty store, with its trademark creaky wooden floors, still managed by the same owner after forty years, constantly had this type of music playing from the store's PA system.<br />
<br />
A greater truth, perhaps, is that the chief appeal of these sounds was the nostalgia they instilled in me. However, nostalgia is a selective process, where one solely recalls the good things of a past era. The time our parents referred to as "the good old days", from which this music originated, was also rife with economic hardship and war. These sounds took me back to what I nonetheless believed to be simpler times, full of the same virtue, hope and old-fashioned values evoked in their melodies.<br />
<br />
One's teenaged years encounter numerous psychological and physical changes as they advance, and likewise, one's tastes change with the same rapidity. Although I still enjoy that music to this day, it wasn't long before my concentration shifted to paperbacks (<a href="http://geewhizgman.blogspot.com/2013/07/second-time-around.html" target="_blank">previously discussed here</a>) and eventually, film.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gh97lZnbBcs/UvEc166nnSI/AAAAAAAADXU/mubxYDitwQY/s1600/victrola.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gh97lZnbBcs/UvEc166nnSI/AAAAAAAADXU/mubxYDitwQY/s1600/victrola.jpg" height="243" width="320" /></a>In time, that yard sale record player drew its last breath, and when I finally started listening to comparatively modern music, I had purchased a stereo including a record player with only (gasp!) two speeds. The 78s, once a significant part of my youth, were unplayed for years, until I decided to include them in my own yard sale during my early 20s. They sat on the driveway in a box which had I marked with tongue in cheek, "Free to a good home". The fellow who picked them up told me that in his country house he had a windup Victrola to play them on, so yes- to a good home they went!<br />
<br />
Oh. And what, you may ask, was the first rock and roll LP (if you could call it that) I bought at eighteen? The soundtrack for<i> Saturday Night Fever</i>.Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-38030058702744563292013-12-27T10:44:00.000-08:002013-12-27T10:48:58.962-08:00Winter Hibernation: Reading Pile #1Here is a list of books I plan to read while we're snowed in this winter. The subtitle of this entry (Pile #1) is not superfluous, as there is another pile of magazines and pulp-related stuff I also intend to get through, and will list here at a future date. Reviews of what I've read will be added to this blog, or to <a href="http://www.screening-room.ca/">The Eclectic Screening Room</a>, if I ever get that thing started again.<br />
<br />
The list (in no particular order):<br />
Curtis Harrington: <i>Nice Guys Don't Work in Hollywood</i><br />
John Szpunar: <i>Xerox Ferox- The Wild World of the Horror Film Fanzine</i><br />
André Bazin: <i>The Cinema of Cruelty</i><br />
Peter Rainer: <i>Rainer on Film</i><br />
Michael Helms: <i>Fatal Visions- The Wonder Years</i><br />
Peter Biskind: <em>My Lunches With Orson- Conversations Between Henry Jaglom and Orson Welles</em><br />
James M. Cain: <i>The Cocktail Waitress</i><br />
John Hamilton: <i>Beasts in the Cellar- The Exploitation Film Career of Tony Tenser</i><br />
<br />Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-9638124245645736182013-10-10T17:59:00.001-07:002013-10-11T09:14:48.219-07:00Earl, Part One<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S6YTng-3eRg/UldNXEhNr3I/AAAAAAAADQU/m05HiWmm62k/s1600/beer-plastic-cups-main_0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S6YTng-3eRg/UldNXEhNr3I/AAAAAAAADQU/m05HiWmm62k/s1600/beer-plastic-cups-main_0.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<i>For
the rest of the year, this blog will intermittently feature pieces
that will serve as testing grounds for a longer format project I'm
working on, featuring my experiences as a youth in 1983, for future
publication in book form. This is one of them.</i>
<br />
<i><br /></i>
"Earl"
was born on Saturday, September 17, 1983. He was 56 years old and
unemployed. As for the "real" Earl who inspired this
creation, I have no idea of his life story. It was during the Delhi Harvest Fest, a weekend-long celebration of the year's tobacco
harvest (the area's best known crop). My father was a member of the
Lions at the time: they had a food booth down on the main street
right by the big beer tent. On that Saturday, I was helping out at
the stand, taking people's orders and running cash. In
mid-afternoon, I took a break, and wandered into the tent. (Even
though they served beer, kids could still go in there during the
daytime.) The joy of finally getting out to do something that day
made me less introverted than usual, and I was nodding "hello"
to people as I went in. The only one to return my nod was Earl, who
was sitting at one of the picnic tables inside, drinking one of the
several beers I would see with him that afternoon.
<br />
<br />
This
guy was probably in his fifties, with short grey hair, chipmunk face
when he laughed, plaid red flannel shirt, blue work pants, blue
trenchcoat and a sharp pair of slip-on leather shoes. Why was it that
all the boozers back in the day always wore nice shoes? I guess they
still had dignity, one way or another. While I was standing over at
the roulette wheel, still keeping an eye on this fellow (then as now,
I was fascinated by "character" people), Earl had asked Al
the bartender to buy him a beer. Al said no. Earl replied, "Well
I bought you one three years ago."
<br />
<br />
I'm
not sure who else heard this remark, but I laughed my ass off over
it, and still spent most of the weekend convulsed in laughter at the
mere thought of it. That night, I was with my father, his new wife
and several of their cronies to see the Elvis impersonator, Glenn
Bowles, at an event put on by the Lions. At one moment when everyone
else but me in our party was up dancing, I had my head in my arms on
the table still laughing. People sitting nearby turned to smile at
me. They thought I was laughing at the woman with the huge rear end
on the dance floor who was making a spectacle of herself gyrating all
over the place. Nope. I was still thinking of Earl's comment.
<br />
<br />
Anyway,
back to that afternoon. I learned that his name was Earl because Al's
wife Judy (who was running the roulette wheel) called him by name to
tell him to sit down and drink his beer or else she'd have the boys
throw him out. At that remark, Earl proceeded to dance around, snap
his fingers on one hand (beer in the other), and sing. Looked good on
the drill sergeant. Another time I had seen Earl with a beer, and
asked him, "Where'd you get the money for that?" His
response: "Bummed it." Later that afternoon, I had seen him
sitting on a picnic table outside the tent looking much more serious
than before. As far as I know, that was the last time I ever saw
Earl- however, at the next two Harvest Fests, while still working at the food booth,
I may have seen him. In 1984, he may have been eating a hot dog in the tent; and in
1985 he may have asked me personally if they were serving beer in the
tent next door. If either gentleman was indeed Earl, he obviously
didn't remember me from that afternoon in 1983, but I certainly
didn't forget him. And if he had, he certainly wouldn't have known
how much of a mythical figure he would have become in my own creative
output during those two years.
<br />
<br />
This
brief encounter was all the inspiration needed to give birth to
Earl's fictional counterpart- with much creative license of course.
"Real life" Earl's visage, wardrobe and love of beer
(especially paid for by someone else) were imbued into the character
of Earl Taylor. After spending some weeks thinking about it, the
script for the very first "Earl" adventure began at about
11 PM of Thanksgiving Sunday, when I was supposed to have had my rear
end in bed before the big car ride commencing in a few hours. Tough
turtle soup- creativity doesn't work 9 to 5. In fact, some of our
greatest ideas come during that semi-conscious midnight state of
delirium when inhibition and reason are tossed aside for whimsy.
<br />
<br />
The
result was a comedy-drama set during that very same Harvest Fest
weekend, combining the previously mentioned "Earl"
vignettes with my own experiences, and -you guessed it- a lot of
creative license. I had even written in my father and myself as minor
characters. Within about two pages of script (things move fast in a
Greg Woods Joint), Earl Taylor loses his job, his car and his
girlfriend, and is threatened with eviction if he doesn't cough up
some rent money pronto. Screenwriting 101 would dictate that Earl
would spend the rest of the story trying to make rent and win back
some of his self-respect. This scenario would have none of that- Earl
simply didn't give a shit. All he cared about was who he could con
next for a free beer. The story arc then was just a series of
vignettes in which Earl and his pal Walt blurred from one party to
the next on this boozy weekend. In more responsible hands, this would
be a realistic look at an alcoholic whose only motivation is the next
drink. To a naive fifteen year-old scriptwriter however, this story
was about defiance.
<br />
<br />
Perhaps
to my young eyes, Earl was a Chaplin for the modern age. In this
sense, he was an outlaw figure who resisted authority in any fashion:
cops, employers, and especially landladies- forsaking all
responsibility for pleasure and spontaneous freewheeling adventure.
Earl Taylor was conceived at the height of another economic
recession, and for me, in some cockeyed way, he represented the
freedom that most people wouldn't have dared.
<br />
<br />
This, and subsequent stories, chronicled the adventures of Earl and his pals raising hell on the mean streets of Delhi: boozing, gambling and bringing institutions to their knees. My
conservative mother knew about the "I bought you one three years
ago" story, and that I was writing all these "Earl"
stories, but she was less than thrilled that I was making a hero out
of "some drunk that you met". (During the Christmas season
of 1983, I had even made a 1984 "Earl" calendar, with a
different picture for every month depicting our hero in some zany
misadventure. No, this calendar didn't display in the kitchen.)
<br />
<br />
<i>(to be continued...)</i>Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-6310430962052445862013-08-23T15:46:00.001-07:002013-08-23T19:11:26.398-07:00Lee Van Cleef<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>For the rest of the year, this blog will intermittently feature pieces serving as testing grounds for a longer format project I'm working on, featuring my experiences as a youth in 1983, for future publication in book form. This is one of them.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_ARWXSvaDuc/UeDSFrCSpOI/AAAAAAAADGE/wtnO4N8FPmg/s1600/For_A_Few_Dollars_More_wallpapers_21399.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_ARWXSvaDuc/UeDSFrCSpOI/AAAAAAAADGE/wtnO4N8FPmg/s400/For_A_Few_Dollars_More_wallpapers_21399.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<i><br /></i>
It was thirty years ago... or more precisely, Friday, April 22, 1983, that yours truly discovered Lee Van Cleef. <i>For a Few Dollars More</i> played on the <i>CBS Late Night Movie </i>(remember that?). I had seen it a year earlier, on the same late night show, but half-remembered it due to the wavering states of consciousness attained in those days when I was still developing my stamina to stay up for the late movie.<br />
<br />
What had prompted me to watch it again on this night (other than that I loved westerns, especially stories about bounty hunters) was the opening scene where the man in black cunningly tracks down and dispatches of a wanted man hiding in a hotel room, and even apologizes to the lady in the bathtub for the disturbance! ("Pardon me, ma'am!") The actor playing the man in black was Lee Van Cleef, previously only known to me as "that guy with the moustache", who was appearing in a string of Midas Muffler commercials airing on Ontario TV stations at that time. (Because they were locally produced, I had wondered at the time if he was Canadian.)<br />
<br />
<i>For A Few Dollars More </i>began a new career for Lee Van Cleef, and appropriately, this was the film to make me a lifelong fan. After spending over a decade playing villainous supporting roles in numerous westerns and action films, he was largely forgotten until director Sergio Leone offered him the second lead, in the second of his unofficial "Dollars"spaghetti western trilogy, featuring top-billed Clint Eastwood as The Man With No Name. The film showed the world that Lee Van Cleef was a capable leading man, and made him an international star.<br />
<br />
His performance as the black-clad Colonel Douglas Mortimer was Oscar-caliber: rising to the challenge of a role that required nuances of humour, wisdom and wistfulness. Although he would not resume the role in the many spaghetti westerns that he would soon make as a lead actor, he would use some of the character's trademarks that became his signature: the moustache, the black clothes, flat hat, cross-draw holster, and of course, a pipe. Because the movie opens with a scene of Mortimer instead of The Man With No Name, I had thought that Van Cleef was the star, not Eastwood. No matter- he steals the film. He had tremendous presence, charisma and vitality. But simply, this cat was cool!<br />
<br />
Additionally, LVC's visage was so striking: once seen, never forgotten. His piercing eyes, high cheekbones, hawk nose and dry voice made him appropriate for all those innumerable villains he played on the big and small screens in the 1950s. Even after his star-making performance for Sergio Leone, he would still sometimes play bad guys (his next role was, after all, "The Bad" in <i>The Good The Bad and the Ugly</i>), yet I preferred his heroes. Although in interviews, Van Cleef would say that playing a villain allowed him more chances to be creative than as a straight leading man, I think, however, his good guys showed his maturity as an actor.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I0mdd3fTftA/UeDSxvG8XMI/AAAAAAAADGM/zdtQ4Ptz2mQ/s1600/lee-van-cleef.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I0mdd3fTftA/UeDSxvG8XMI/AAAAAAAADGM/zdtQ4Ptz2mQ/s320/lee-van-cleef.jpg" width="256" /></a>Because of his unconventional screen presence, LVC was seldom cast as a romantic lead, or as a classically noble hero. Rather, his unusual look added greatly to roles as flawed anti-heroes: people who were as tough and gruff as the villains, and also did bad things, but for the right reasons. In addition to the sly humour that he brought to his roles, I think his talent was best used in those complex moments where the characters are conflicted between good and evil: witness his haunted expression at the end of <i>Beyond The Law</i>, or during the revelation in the last quarter of <i>Death Rides a Horse</i>. These are moments of craft!<br />
<br />
That late night April viewing of <i>For a Few Dollars More</i> made me a Van Cleef fan, but the subsequent months made LVC my hero, at just the right time when yours truly needed one. In my teenaged years, I was mostly a loner, since my high school friends and I didn't necessarily hang out after class. Marching to the beat of my own drum came with a dear price: being almost always alone made me easy prey to get picked on. (In a sense, my lifestyle as an outsider without romance or camaraderie drew parallels to the western heroes I admired.) Things were also difficult at home: my grandmother had passed away earlier in the year, and my mother had lost her job from Loblaws (coincidentally, on the very weekend that I had viewed <i>For a Few Dollars More</i>). There was further friction between my divorced parents when my father planned to remarry in August, and each was using me to get back at the other.<br />
<br />
It appears blatantly obvious now that I was put in the middle of this psychological tug of war, but if I was aware of it at the time, I did nothing about it. My traditional reaction towards most things was to remain passive: perhaps a subconscious behaviour to avoid thinking of my helplessness to change things. At the same time, however, I was looking for something to believe in. As the summer months unfolded, the cathode ray tube provided a friend, as I trundled through the stations in the wee hours, and found more movies with Lee Van Cleef.<br />
<br />
In fact, the ensuing twelve months proved a great time to be a "Vancleefian", as a lot of the actor's films played on television: <i>The Magnificent Seven Ride</i>, <i>The Tin Star</i>, <i>The Return of Sabata</i>, <i>Death Rides a Horse</i>, <i>Kid Vengeance</i>, <i>The Hard Way</i>, <i>The Young Lions</i>, <i>Barquero</i>, <i>Take a Hard Ride</i>, and <i>High Noon</i> (his first movie appearance)... and this was just simply what could be seen in those pre-VCR, pre-converter days with only twelve channels to choose from!<br />
<br />
His films even played on the French station- and yes, I watched them, despite my ongoing difficulty to follow the language in spoken form. As such, <i>The Return of Sabata </i>in French was difficult to understand, but I still enjoyed this live-action cartoon, and even dubbed in another tongue, Van Cleef still emerged super cool as the western gambler with all kinds of James Bond-like gadgets. I particularly loved his derringer with the four rotating cylinders, both on the barrel <i>and </i>the handle! (Admittedly, after seeing it again years later in English, the film still didn't make much sense, but never mind.)<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UqwsrZDT-Rs/UhdxMCy3I6I/AAAAAAAADLo/aTAu1z7JnNM/s1600/lvc-ros.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UqwsrZDT-Rs/UhdxMCy3I6I/AAAAAAAADLo/aTAu1z7JnNM/s1600/lvc-ros.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"><b>ABOVE:</b> Lee Van Cleef and derringer in <b>The Return of Sabata</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The more films I saw with LVC as a lead actor, the more I became influenced by his tough-as-nails, yet dryly humourous characters, which I attribute in no small part to helping me get out of my shell. Mind you, the graduation from wallflower to self-confident, assertive and outgoing was a two-year process, however it was in summer months of 1983, where this change had begun. It was without coincidence, I think, that vacation from school began and ended with viewings of <i>The Magnificent Seven Ride</i>.<br />
<br />
In this fourth and final instalment of the <i>Magnificent Seven</i> franchise, Van Cleef has a turn at the role of Chris, originated by Yul Brynner in the 1960 classic. The viewer now finds the do-gooding mercenary acting as a town marshall, attempting to settle down in a frontier that has become more tame than his earlier years. Circumstances force Chris to put together a new brand of fighters to save a border town of women and children from a bunch of bandidos. In this flick, LVC's character is gruff as hell, unforgiving and unrepentant, but is seen to have a heart beneath his exterior.<br />
<br />
Van Cleef's admirers seldom consider this as one of his best vehicles (I've seen this movie far too many times to merely dismiss it), but his interpretation of Chris is another part of the unique western hero that he was forging for himself in those post-Sergio Leone projects. These characters were often good people, even though he didn't necessarily do anyone any favours. His protagonists were more cynical, and far less righteous than the squeaky clean cowboy heroes of Saturday matinees in previous decades.<br />
<br />
This was a cowboy hero for a different, and less moral age, however the presentation was essentially the same: the persona was more significant than the films. The B-westerns of the 1930s and 1940s were often formula vehicles for Roy Rogers, Gene Autry and all the rest: inexpensive products to keep alive the archetypal stars. Time would make their faces far more memorable than the titles of their movies. The films of Lee Van Cleef's prolific period as leading man were B westerns for a new age, largely existing to keep alive <i>his </i>persona for a different era. The matinee western heroes of less complicated times told viewers to listen to their mother, help those in need, and drink Ovaltine; this unlikely protagonist for a complex age had a different set of values. Lee Van Cleef's films instilled the belief that it was okay to be different: stand up for what you belief in, even if it isn't necessarily the status quo; be proud, walk tall. <i>The Magnificent Seven Ride</i> may have been just a vehicle to most, but it succeeded all the same in delivering those messages, and they were exactly what this teenaged introvert needed to hear at the time.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kdLBpx1Wzog/UheTmiLk2iI/AAAAAAAADL4/fZRTegR1Y2o/s1600/TheMagnificentSevenRide-Still1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kdLBpx1Wzog/UheTmiLk2iI/AAAAAAAADL4/fZRTegR1Y2o/s400/TheMagnificentSevenRide-Still1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>ABOVE: </b>Lee Van Cleef and Stefanie Powers in<br />
<b>The Magnificent Seven Ride!</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And as if the boob tube hadn't provided enough content for a Van Cleef fix, I would further write up synopses for non-existent movies that the actor could "star" in. Thirty years on, I still remember some of these stories I dreamed up, and won't embarrass myself further to describe them, except one. Because his former co-star Clint Eastwood had a series of movies as Dirty Harry (<i>Sudden Impact</i> was a box office smash at the time), I felt that LVC too should have a cop franchise. Thus, I conjured up some gritty, New York-lensed scenarios in which he played a police detective. Jeff Bridges as his partner? Teri Copley as a prostitute? Okay, then.<br />
<br />
During this period, I used to go to this store called Second Time Around (<a href="http://geewhizgman.blogspot.com/2013/07/second-time-around.html" target="_blank">which I've chronicled more fully elsewhere</a>), run by John and his wife Paulette, to buy old western paperbacks. John and I would often talk about western movies: once I had mentioned that I was a huge LVC fan, he then revealed that on the side, he was doing a woodcarving project for a Mister Jim Flett, a stuntman and sometime actor, who had once doubled for Lee Van Cleef! John had mentioned me to Mr. Flett the next time that he was in town, and he in turn wanted to invite me out for coffee- but they didn't have any contact information for me at the store. Mr. Flett had instead left for me an autographed picture of himself, as "Black Bart", the persona for his quick-draw artist act that was appearing at shopping centres and fairs. In the photo, one could see the resemblance to LVC, with the moustache and sharp features. I no longer have the photo, sadly: that was too many moves ago. However you too can see the likeness, in this 1984 Mother's Pizza commercial, spoofing <i>High Noon, </i>where Mr. Flett plays one of the desperadoes seated in the background.<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/q62LXDMhHps?rel=0" width="420"></iframe></center>
<br />
<br />
A quarter-century later, I learned more of the Flett-Van Cleef connection. At the time, LVC was making public appearances on behalf of the Midas Muffler campaign: the gimmick was that Mr. Flett, dressed in the same clothes as Van Cleef, would ride in a horse up to the stage, disappear behind it, and then, ta-dah!, Mr. Van Cleef would come out from behind the curtain. In real life, Van Cleef <i>hated</i> horses: apparently, in his years as a leading man, it was even written in his contracts how much screen time could be devoted to riding the nags. I didn't know this back in 1983, and it was probably just as well. In our youthful days of hero worship, we can't envision our idols as anything less than the larger-than-life icons we have cast.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N1vGTMAC4bU/UhKZ4IisnwI/AAAAAAAADLY/32M30B8l6Nc/s1600/master8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="295" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N1vGTMAC4bU/UhKZ4IisnwI/AAAAAAAADLY/32M30B8l6Nc/s400/master8.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
During this already fruitful time to be a card-carrying Van Cleef fan, the 58-year-old actor also appeared in an action-adventure TV series, at the start of 1984. In <i>The Master</i>, he played an aging ninja master, who shows the ropes to a young drifter during their adventures on the road to find Lee's long-lost daughter. Careful not to upset my iron-clad image of the man, this lad pretended not to notice that a lot of LVC's stunts were doubled by somebody with a bald wig, and let the illusion of filmmaking convince me that it really <i>was </i>my hero doing all those acrobatics. Even in those days, I may have admit that this series was cornball, but still... man, was it cool to see my favourite actor having a prime-time series on a major network! The show was cancelled after 13 episodes; it was however very popular at the time. (Seen today on out-of-print videocassettes, the series is still quite fun.)<br />
<br />
Yet, the more one studied his work, Lee Van Cleef appeared as less of an impervious superhero. He was missing a tip of a finger from a carpentry mishap; and a 1959 car accident had him walking with a limp for the rest of his life. Consequently, his unusual screen presence had a surprising honesty in being so brashly human, flaws and all, without ego or pretensions.<br />
<br />
Perhaps because he was merely grateful to be working after a considerable lay-off, he wasn't afraid to take on projects that appeared embarrassing or unworthy of him. This "take me as I am" approach to his craft added another nakedly human shade to the screen characters we so commonly attribute as being so larger than life. He may have been a "star" to a certain degree, but he still had his instincts of a character actor.<br />
<br />
It has never been fully explained why his career never achieved the superstardom he deserved after the promise shown in <i>For a Few Dollars More</i>. He certainly had the talent, charisma and masculinity of his contemporaries, like Clint Eastwood and Charles Bronson, who also achieved leading man status in Europe. However, while they succeeded in bringing that level of stardom to their homeland, Lee Van Cleef largely still found employment in Europe, in films of diminishing size and quality.<br />
<br />
During the early 1980s, PBS broadcast a weekly hour-long series entitled <i>Six Gun Heroes</i>, hosted by former matinee cowboy Sunset Carson, which showed B-westerns from the 30s and 40s. The program's theme song was "Ride Off In the Sunset", by country singer Bill Anderson (from his album,<i> Love and Other Sad Stories</i>). The show used the refrain "He would ride off to the sunset / No goodbyes, just so long for a while" for the appropriate amount of melancholic nostalgia. But listened to as a whole, the song is really a bittersweet valentine to the Saturday matinee cowboys, as a man sees his childhood hero now old and frail, considerably less dynamic than his onscreen image from years ago. This tune is a lament for the things that are not preserved outside of a child's innocent gaze.<br />
<br />
When I think back to those months of discovering Lee Van Cleef, those memories are often scored by this song- not just because I was also watching <i>Sun Gun Heroes</i> at the same time, but also the lyrics precisely capture that same feeling I have in looking back at my own childhood hero. Our joyful nostalgia is tinged with sadness, because adults cannot relive youthful experiences that were unfettered by judgment and grades of quality. These memories are also disheartening because they recall a great promise that unfortunately was underused.<br />
<br />
Thirty years later, however, I still don't think anything less of Lee Van Cleef's talent or screen presence. As we get older, we care less about larger-than-life heroes, and are instead merely happy to see parts of ourselves inside them. My adult eyes may notice the seams showing in some of these productions, but they also are humbled by those human qualities he gave to his roles. It is refreshing to revisit many of Lee Van Cleef's films for this reason, and also that even when our adult priorities have changed, he can still be our hero.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ldgkpZNiEhM/UhfNNK5hiKI/AAAAAAAADMQ/htBIcbKc1D8/s1600/Et-pour-une-poignee-de-dollars-For-a-Few-Dollars-More-Clin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ldgkpZNiEhM/UhfNNK5hiKI/AAAAAAAADMQ/htBIcbKc1D8/s1600/Et-pour-une-poignee-de-dollars-For-a-Few-Dollars-More-Clin.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-39575161135278597752013-08-12T21:15:00.000-07:002013-08-13T07:23:32.377-07:00Shadow Comics and Shmay Dray<div class="p1">
<i>For the rest of the year, this blog will intermittently feature pieces serving as testing grounds for a longer format project I'm working on, featuring my experiences as a youth in 1983, for future publication in book form. This is one of them.</i></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7F_dnUZQMc0/Ugk5mQBqOaI/AAAAAAAADKg/Kwq8jF0h1BI/s1600/sbs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7F_dnUZQMc0/Ugk5mQBqOaI/AAAAAAAADKg/Kwq8jF0h1BI/s400/sbs.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="160" /></a></div>
After the A&P supermarket moved to the mall on the outskirts of town in the 1970s, its original downtown building was re-used for many businesses over the years- including a bus depot, bingo hall, arcade and taxi office. The more durable enterprises at this address consisted of a pharmacy later in that same decade (as a temporary location while the permanent address had fire damage repairs), and as a T-shirt printing factory in the 1990s (after all those years, still retaining the old supermarket's separate entrance and exit doors).<br />
<br />
For a relative blip in the life of that structure, one day per week in the spring of 1983, it was the <i>Simcoe Sales Barn</i>, a bazaar featuring two aisles full of at least two dozen different vendors at the tables. In the height of the recession, this proved a popular place for discount retail, where one could find good deals on shoes, dry goods, various household items, and gifts (there was even a deli counter in the back). For a few assorted teenaged nerds, however, it also provided the closest thing that Birdtown ever had resembling a comic book shop… if only for three months.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Specialty shops are always great for having back issues of titles. In the 80s, they became even more beneficial for two reasons. As the decade began, some publishers released titles only for the direct market (even Marvel had some titles under this strategy), meaning via subscription or for sale in comic book shops. This avoided the usual newsstand routine where unsold magazines would be returned to the companies once the new issues came out, thus causing greater loss and overhead. 1983 was especially a game changing year, as an unprecedented number of independent labels began publishing, thus competing with such juggernauts as Marvel and DC for consumers' hard earned allowance money. Rarely, if ever, did any of these titles make it to regular circulation. To be part of these new trends, one had to live in an urban centre large enough to accommodate a comic book shop. The Birdtown contingent of comic book fans were among the many towns or rural areas who were out of luck to peruse anything less mainstream than Archie, Captain America or Batman. Therefore, for us, the <i>Simcoe Sales Barn </i>was a welcome reprieve.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u-yQm3lUG2U/UglCPneA5PI/AAAAAAAADLI/8v1l2ziHYTc/s1600/comxi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u-yQm3lUG2U/UglCPneA5PI/AAAAAAAADLI/8v1l2ziHYTc/s320/comxi.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
It was great to access a lot of titles that were hidden from our small town's circulation, and just as importantly, to find a lot of old comics, some dating back to the 1960s. (Otherwise, one could only find back issues at garage sales or flea markets.) I first became aware of the place through a friend during March Break, and promptly went downtown to check it out once I finished my catalogue route. In my first visit, I had picked up two of Mike Kaluta's series of <i>The Shadow</i> (especially elating for this long-time fan of the durable pulp character), and mint copies of the first three issues of<i> Captain Canuck </i>(published in the mid-70s by Richard Comely, who after a hiatus resumed the series with issue number four in 1979, when I began reading it). Afterwards I had informed some like-minded friends about the stand, and before long, everyone I knew (and them some) who collected comics were weekly customers. <i>Simcoe Sales Barn </i>was first open on Wednesdays, then halfway through its lifespan, shifted to Fridays so it could legally stay open later. (Even today, few businesses downtown stay open midweek past 6 PM.) Some friends of mine would go shopping during their school lunch period so that they could get dibs on the new stock, but I preferred to go after the 3:05 bell, so I could hang out longer- especially when the barn switched to Fridays.<br />
<br />
<div class="p1">
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8j9LQzJreZg/Ugk5gSw9mmI/AAAAAAAADKY/d9A9Llvwzv4/s1600/shmay.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="92" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8j9LQzJreZg/Ugk5gSw9mmI/AAAAAAAADKY/d9A9Llvwzv4/s320/shmay.jpeg" width="320" /></a>The two men responsible for bringing us these weekly treasures were Leo and Peter, business partners from far away Toronto who jointly ran a store in the city's north end, entitled <i>The Shmay Dray Shoppe</i>. The two entrepreneurs and their wares were as colourful as their namesake. Their tables were also full of socks and other knick knacks for sale, but unquestionably their money was made from the comic book nerds (myself included) hungrily raiding their numerous white long boxes. There was an odd, surrogate fraternity among the people who rubbed shoulders at their stand every week and would occasionally fill the air with "Hey, look what I found!" At least for me, there was also a surrogate friendship that evolved with the men who ran the stand. Leo was the more personable of the two: a comical, portly man whose white moustache and wavy hair to match suggested that he was older than his trusty companion Peter, a lantern-jawed, dark-haired, bespectacled gravelly-voiced man, who was nice but often solemn. One cool part of their business was that you could request certain issues of titles for them to bring down next time if they had them. In addition to a list of direct sales titles that eluded us, I would also ask for any more old <i>Shadow</i>-related books they had in the archives.<br />
<br />
It never occurred to me to ask how on Earth two men from Toronto found out about this out-of-the-way venue, but perhaps Birdtown <i>wasn't </i>so off the mark for these well-travelled entrepreneurs. Through the week, in addition to running the store, they would also "go to market" (an ambiguous term I interpreted to mean going to wholesalers to stock up on their goods), and would also do business in other venues similar to ours. It was a hell of a way to make a living, no question, with the long hours (and money) spent on traveling, but there was something adventuresome about it that appealed to my teenaged mind. I was fascinated by the life of the drifter, romanticized not only in the western novels I loved, but also the good ole boy movies in vogue at the time. (After spending some time on the road last decade touring my fanzine, I can attest that it is a gruelling but exciting vocation.)<br />
<br />
What also made this weekly venture fun, was that Leo and Peter were <i>characters.</i> There was Peter always bugging Leo to get him coffee or make him a sandwich, and then there was Leo the born showman, God bless him, wearing socks on his ears while smoking a cigarette in order to attract sales. They fit right in with the rest of the Sales Barn's quirky charm. The Mexican family that ran the deli counter would play guitars and sing during downtime: once I offered to bring in my harmonica and join them; they seemed delighted at this idea, and sadly, I never followed up. Indeed, the vendors were as offbeat as a lot of the merchandise for sale. I had bought other things at the Sales Barn than just comics, yet the only one that remains in my mind thirty years on is this souvenir tabloid that reprinted the original 1922 newspaper clippings pertaining to the discovery of King Tut's tomb. (Regretfully, that went away in a yard sale many moons ago.)<br />
<br />
To puritanical eyes, the <i>Simcoe Sales Barn </i>was nothing but a junk store. My mother especially was less than thrilled with my weekly jaunts there, and would use my hobby as an excuse for my poor grades. (This was false- I studied and did my homework, albeit without passion, since I considered school useless in preparing me for my probable future of working in a cannery.) She even told me once that she had gone by the place with some of her friends, and said aloud, disparagingly, "I know where my kid is!" This statement I think revealed more about her than me, but that is another story.<br />
<br />
She may have seen this as yet another way for me to fritter away my allowance on comic books, but there was much more to it than that. <i>This place was magic!</i> There was an ambiance here that I really dug. After a few weeks, an interesting little community evolved, as vendors and customers became familiar to one another. A kinship was felt among the people before and behind the booths, and it was far less superficial than merely the vendors putting the touch on people to part with their money. There was an unspoken solidarity- all of us were just trying to get by! Being there gave one the confidence to take on those economic hard times with a fortuitous joy of life, where we didn't have much, but rejoiced in what we did.<br />
<br />
As the weeks went on, Leo and I especially became close, as Peter became increasingly absent from the venue, attending to other parts of their business. Leo would invite me to sit down, and we'd shoot the breeze or tell off-colour jokes (Leo never laughed out loud- he'd always just smirk and shake his head while holding a cigarette in the air). We had even discussed my working for him, as the summer months loomed, and that Peter likely wouldn't be around.<br />
<br />
And then, it ended.<br />
<br />
Without any warning or reason, our routine Friday trek was met with the shocking discovery that the barn was empty, locked up and in darkness. This sudden departure was abrupt even to me, who hates long goodbyes. Some time in the fall, <i>Simcoe Sales Barn</i> reopened in the same location, but things just weren't the same. Only half the space was filled, and this time a lot of it really was junk. (If memory serves, the King Tut books were still for sale.) Few of the original vendors returned - an East Indian gentleman and I nodded recognition to one another. No Leo. No Peter. Consequently, the traffic was practically non-existent. In short order, this place closed with as little fanfare as its predecessor.<br />
<br />
In hindsight, this microcosm reveals itself as the first of several times in my life where I've been blessed to be part of a wonderful world where the unique ambiance and friendships evolve out of just the right coalescence of things that happened to be in the air at the time. Those moments end just as quickly when just one of the ingredients is subtracted, and any attempts to recreate that magic with other parts results in disappointment. In many ways, this place was a life lesson to a young man; even today, it isn't hard to remember that euphoric feeling which lived there. I hope some of my anonymous fellow travelers can recall it too.</div>
</div>
Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-47896933806579825402013-07-30T20:00:00.000-07:002013-10-11T09:06:51.280-07:00Remembering Jay Scott: Twenty Years Later<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XIyleI47l60/UfgMfzPNTGI/AAAAAAAADIw/75-lamPDqsY/s1600/63f4c0a398a07a3dfb262210.L.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XIyleI47l60/UfgMfzPNTGI/AAAAAAAADIw/75-lamPDqsY/s1600/63f4c0a398a07a3dfb262210.L.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
My introduction to Jay Scott came rather late in his career, and in a medium other than the one which made him famous. Although I had been aware of his tenure as a newspaper film critic at <i>The Globe and Mai</i>l, it was really only in the early 1990s, when I truly “discovered” him- but on television, not in print. At that time, he was also the host of TVOntario’s <i>Film Internationa</i>l, which broadcast every Friday night. His insightful introductions made me another of his many fans, and in short order, I too began reading his film reviews in the <i>Globe'</i>s Enterainment section. Jay Scott had become my literary hero.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
From 1977 to his untimely death in 1993 (20 years ago today) at the age of 43, he was one of the most influential film writers of his time. He was the rare critic to win the respect of readers, programmers and filmmakers alike, to say nothing of fellow writers. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
People read his words for their insight, dry humour and dazzling, intoxicating style: his breathtaking, paragraph-long sentences were whirlwinds of thoughts on the human condition, references to pop culture, somehow all grafted into a film review. Even more impressive is that he managed to adapt this stream of thought into a deeply personal, conversational tone that further endeared the reader. But he made writing fun; he was a brilliant scholar who still had the wide-eyed, childlike joy of discovery. His infectious tone inspired countless readers to investigate films with marginalized distribution, and his voice was also powerful enough that even distributors would be incited to capitalize on his enthusiasm. In one famous incident, Jean-Jacques Beineix's new-wave classic <i>Diva</i> was nearly dumped by its distributors until Jay Scott's raves became instrumental in its becoming a major art house cult classic in the 1980s.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Of all his virtues, perhaps Jay Scott's greatest gift was to show that the film reviewed, no matter how obscure, was part of the larger canvas of our collective pop culture. References to literature, painting (Rabelais was a favourite), fashion and, of course, other films (Fassbinder was a favourite), would be woven into the fabric of his reviews to give the films a greater context.<br />
<br />
With his motorcycles, leather and earring, Scott created for himself a colourful, hip persona that lived outside his words. He transformed amazingly well to television- it was a delight for viewers to see that on camera he was as much the warm, wickedly funny and insightful human being that was communicated between the lines of his columns. Even more impressively, as the host and writer of <i>Film International</i>, he didn't have to compromise his prose or his tastes; neither were "dumbed down" for mass appeal. His onscreen introductions were as full of the nuance as his printed work, and the programming extrapolated on his written agenda to raise awareness to films that otherwise wouldn't find their rightful audiences. He didn't have to pander to the lowest common denominator- he rightfully assumed that the foreign-language and independent works that he showcased would also have appeal to viewers that lived in smaller cities or towns and couldn't access them otherwise. To his mind, high art was for everyone- it didn't have to be relegated to closet admiration by a chosen few.<br />
<br />
The early 1990s was a great period to be a Jay Scott fan, as one could enjoy his work in more than one medium. I will be indebted to <i>Film International </i>for introducing me to the works of Aki Kaurismaki, Paul Cox, Luis Bunuel, Margarethe Von Trotta and several others: it opened the door to a different world of cinema that I could only read about in my limited small-town resources.<br />
<br />
But still, these were troubling times too, as his health began to decline. Although he never kept his AIDS-related illness a secret, it seemed however that we were still going to have Jay Scott for a while longer, as he was always working. In addition to his <i>Globe</i> reviews and television appearances, he also wrote book reviews, longer arts-related pieces for other publications, and published a book on artist Helen Hardin. However, in 1992, we began to worry when he appeared ever more frail than his already thin frame. Our concerns escalated when a month's worth of programming was guest-hosted by Kay Armatage (one hoped it was because he was on assignment elsewhere). In the spring of 1993, <i>Film International</i> had a couple of programs devoted to cinema about AIDS, including the independent feature <i>Parting Glances</i>, and the short <i>Dead Boys Club</i>.<br />
<br />
Even so, because Jay Scott was still in the public eye, his death in the summer of 1993 came as a huge shock. (He was even writing a book review on the day of his passing.) A huge outpour of tributes would follow in the next few weeks, not just from fellow journalists who loved his craft, but from filmmakers, and especially from fans. It seemed that everyone mourned the loss of not just a titan in film writing, but also a literary giant (as his finely crafted reviews were indeed works of art) and most of all, everyone felt they had lost a close friend, whether or not they personally knew the man- so intimate was his style with everyone.<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Jay Scott’s passing was at a pivotal point in my life- just one month before I moved back to Toronto for the second and last time, to study broadcasting in college. In previous months, not fully aware of his condition, I had wondered if somewhere down the road our paths would cross, as we would both work in media, but his career ended before mine ever began.<br />
<br />
In the months after his death, I vigilantly collected any tributes I could find in print, or on television. <i>Film International</i> devoted six weeks of programming to guest hosts like David Overbey, or TVO producer Risa Shuman, who knew the man and shared some of their memories. In October, The Bloor Cinema had a double-bill in his memory (which I attended)- Coline Serrau's <i>Pourquoi Pas </i>and naturally, a Fassbinder film (<i>Veronika Voss</i>). And of course, like many writers, I attempted to copy his style in the many film reviews I was writing for myself at the time.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Of the many Jay Scott stories that were shared after his death, my favourite was by David Overbey who went to visit his friend in the hospital, just one day before he passed. Scott was flat on his back in bed smoking. Overbey commented on the cigarette, and asked if the nursing staff knew he was smoking in his room. Scott replied that they probably did, as they should have been able to smell it. Overbey asked, "Have they said anything to you?" Scott replied, "Well what are they going to do, say, 'Mr. Scott, you're in big trouble?". Even in these final moments, Jay Scott had his dark sense of humour, valiantly laughing at death, and continuing to live his life as he saw fit.</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Our culture has a strange fascination with celebrities who died prematurely, from Jimmy Dean to Jimmy Morrison. I'm not alone in that- Jay Scott was mine. This morbid fascination continued until my brother's sudden death in late 1994. I couldn't handle it any more- I wanted to think about life more. And for that reason, I had forgotten about Jay Scott for several years. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--lJebes3sUA/UfgNZ65AqbI/AAAAAAAADI4/wFcHQIf-TOQ/s1600/jay-scott.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="269" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--lJebes3sUA/UfgNZ65AqbI/AAAAAAAADI4/wFcHQIf-TOQ/s320/jay-scott.jpg" width="320" /></a>Someone once wrote that Jay Scott's period (1977 to 1993) as a critic was during a time when cinema was the least interesting. That may be true, but we were blessed to have him, as one needs a trustworthy writer like him to point out the works that got lost in the juggernaut of the Blockbuster Era. It is a pity he wasn't writing during the 1960s when international cinema exploded (and to paraphrase Susan Sontag, a new masterpiece came out every few weeks), and "cinephilia" was on high (where critics like Pauline Kael and Andrew Sarris became Pop Stars). It is equally unfortunate that he died just before the indie boom of the mid-1990s: one wonders what his reactions would have been to the <i>Three Colors </i>trilogy or a little thing called <i>Pulp Fiction</i>. </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
Indeed, twenty years after his death, no real testament of his legacy exists in present form. Google searches reveal little of his work. It is a pity that no-one thought to comprehensively reprint his review columns in book form every couple of years like the several volumes accorded Pauline Kael or John Simon. Sadly, the <i>Globe</i> hasn't made an online archive of his work, no doubt contributing to the dearth of online discussion about Jay Scott.<br />
<br />
Samples of his work were only collected twice- for <i>Midnight Matinees</i> in 1986, and the posthumous release, <i>Great Scott!</i>, published in 1994. Both are long out of print, but can easily be found for sale used online or at second-hand bookstores. For the Jay Scott fan (or for someone who just wants to discover him), these are both worth having.<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<i>Midnight Matinees</i> may be the superior volume, as it also includes some longer-format pieces, including his brilliant articles on the career of Rainer Werner Fassbinder, and the Canadian Tax Shelter era. The titles selected for the section of film reviews better reflect Scott’s popular image, of championing lesser-known “art house” pictures, and creating a greater awareness of them. <i>Great Scott!</i>, on the other hand, has more reviews of mainstream titles than obscurities, but this book is also necessary in understanding Jay Scott. His forte was to bring lesser-known films into public view, but make no mistake: he was not a cultural snob. He saw the worth in everything: popular and “niche” films could be praised or damned in equal measure. Because <i>Great Scott!</i> collects samples of his work from his entire run at the <i>Globe</i>, from 1978's <i>The Big Fix</i> to 1993's <i>Jurassic Park</i>, it is also an entertaining, satisfying collection that creates a synthesis of his consistently great style throughout the years.<br />
<br />
When Jay Scott left this world, the Internet was still a few years away from becoming the dominant medium. He had managed to move effortlessly from print to television without having to sacrifice his style, and one wonders if he would have adapted to the electronic age with equal ease. Would have he embraced it like film critic Roger Ebert with his own website, blog, and Twitter account? Would he continue to have a voice that stood apart from the countless online movie blogs?<br />
<br />
Cinema and media distribution has changed significantly in the past twenty years. In this current climate of mega-billion-dollar superhero franchises that continue to eclipse smaller works that demand our attention, we need someone like a Jay Scott again to chart a course. When film criticism (or entertainment journalism in general) is being squeezed out for celebrity scandal trash, and newspapers are endangered species, would he have become a trailblazer in the new medium, or would he, now 63, be chuckling to himself and thinking of calling it a career?<br />
<br />
I'm tired of griping about the present. I'm simply grateful that some of Jay Scott is still with us. I'll be cracking open his books with some red wine. It'll be good reuniting with an old friend. Good night, and thank you.</div>
</div>
Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-16111569432473365112013-07-20T07:53:00.002-07:002013-07-20T07:59:06.599-07:00Richard Matheson: NOW YOU SEE IT....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DSJysuT0ZC8/Uem8-_ZPxvI/AAAAAAAADIE/ViTHV7imPeA/s1600/nowyouseeit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DSJysuT0ZC8/Uem8-_ZPxvI/AAAAAAAADIE/ViTHV7imPeA/s400/nowyouseeit.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
<span style="text-align: justify;">The 1994 novel by the recently-deceased author and screenwriter Richard Matheson shows him still at the top of his game in spinning a yarn of fantasy and suspense. This tale of deceit and illusion is told in first person by Emil Delacorte, an octogenarian former magician, despite that our "narrator" is unable to move or speak due to a stroke.</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> In the years since his misfortune, his legacy as </span><i style="text-align: justify;">The Great Delacorte</i><span style="text-align: justify;"> has been carried on by his son Maximilian. As this novel begins, however, Max is having trouble sustaining his career in changing times (the story is set in 1980), and is pressured by his agent Harry to start "modernizing" his traditional, old-fashioned magic show by playing cheesy Vegas lounges and adding a little sex to the act. Max's second wife, the cold calculating Cassandra (who is also sleeping with Harry), her cloddish brother Brian, and his agent, are all in some ways manipulating Max's life and career. The illusionist uses his talent and a little Grand Guignol to stage an elaborate revenge plot in order to regain control. This story takes place almost entirely in a single location, The Magic Room, a chamber in the Delacorte mansion which acts as a shrine to the elder magician's legacy, replete with set props that figure into this labyrinthine tale. Emil spends most of his invalid days sequestered in the corner of the room, gazing at the many props and pictures, to remind him of his legacy. In this instance, he is also an unwilling voyeur to all of the ensuing carnage, and is helpless to intervene (much like the reader, who only ever sees this tale from his vantage point). Naturally the scheme doesn't work out as planned (or does it?), as each new chapter commences with one new twist or double cross, and the reader constantly wonders who is the true puppetmaster of this plot. One is exhausted by the end (as much as Emil of course), and by its deliberate prose endlessly foreshadowing that "you haven't seen anything yet", complimenting the stage patter of a showman. Matheson's bouncy rhythm adds to the dark comedy, as does the inclusion of the bumbling Sheriff Plum, who shares our wonderment in what the hell is going on. This funhouse of a novel escalates into a horrific climax, even more excruciating in that the reader is a helpless spectator, much like the audience at a stage performance, and like Emil, whose agile mind is trapped in a useless body. It is to Matheson's credit that this story also depicts a vivid portrait of a stroke victim. Even though things don't always appear as they seem, and that characters don't stay dead, this virtuoso act is made credible as we see the flawed, venomous characters amidst the smoke and mirrors. </span><i style="text-align: justify;">Now You See It....</i><span style="text-align: justify;"> is a compulsively readable tale of a fantastic revenge plot that is also an interesting study of a magician's vernacular, and the mechanics involved for an elaborate stage act. And what a show Emil, Max and Matheson have put on for us.</span>Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-23424968577766716322013-07-15T15:26:00.001-07:002021-03-01T18:38:22.949-08:00Sunday Night Movie Corner #0<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Welcome to Sunday Night Movie Corner. This column is an attempt to force myself back into regular film writing, with capsule reviews of every movie that the G Man has seen within the past seven days. If the spirit inspires me enough to write a longer, more detailed review, it will be featured at one of my other blogs, <a href="http://unreelinginthedark.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">Unreeling in the Dark</a> or <a href="http://made-for-tv-movies.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">TV Movies of the Week</a>. Enjoy!</i><br />
<b style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></b>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_7qw6HeakW0/UeSHTTStLiI/AAAAAAAADHc/dqulU7y0FSo/s1600/dave5.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_7qw6HeakW0/UeSHTTStLiI/AAAAAAAADHc/dqulU7y0FSo/s400/dave5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>ABOVE: </b>The Dave Clark 5 in <b>Get Yourself a College Girl </b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b style="text-align: justify;"><i>This week:</i> </b><span style="text-align: justify;">Casa G-Man unspooled some teen and-or counterculture films from the 1960's. I've always had a soft spot for these kinds of pictures: even if they are square, egregiously squeaky-clean or outdated, I love them anyway. At the very least they are fascinating time capsules of a youth that we didn't have, and that probably didn't exist, but that we romanticize about anyway.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: justify;">+++</span></div>
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span>
<b>The Girls on the Beach</b><br />
(1965, William Witney)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NFKNCVoq3W4/UeRc8AdJoJI/AAAAAAAADHQ/6WbFTcplq4c/s1600/the-girls-on-the-beach-movie-poster-1965-1020209597.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NFKNCVoq3W4/UeRc8AdJoJI/AAAAAAAADHQ/6WbFTcplq4c/s320/the-girls-on-the-beach-movie-poster-1965-1020209597.jpg" width="205" /></a></div>
All one really demands of a beach party movie are some cute girls and boys frolicking on the beach, some dumb jokes, some musical numbers (incidental to the plot or otherwise), and maybe, just maybe, some basic film grammar or storytelling? The familiar premise, featuring the girls of Alpha Beta needing to raise ten grand in two weeks to save their fraternity, is serviceable enough, but the heavy subplot, where some preppy twerps pretend that they know the Beatles in order to make it with the girls, becomes its major undoing. This astonishingly cruel joke takes its toll, as the girls plan a fundraising concert with The Fab Four as headliners! In the meantime, Lesley Gore sings -no, lipsyncs- three numbers ("Leave Me Alone," "It's Gotta Be You," "I Don't Want to Be a Loser"), The Beach Boys feature "Girls on the Beach", "Lonely Sea" and "Little Honda", including a sequence on the beach with crummy day for night. The okay cast (including the ubiquitous blond beach movie beefcake Aron Kincaid) benefits from amusing cameos by Dick Miller as a smartass waiter, and Bruno VeSota as a telegraph officer. Director William Witney has made dozens of B-movies and serials, and knows how to tell a story with little means, but one senses that his creative input ended once the film was in the can, and less experienced hands assembled it. The movie feels unfinished as the impending Beatles lawsuit is shrugged off, and lacks a satisfying climax where the boys get kicked in the nuts (or in those more wholesome times, slapped on the cheek), and its comic timing is awry, as in the scene where the girls wonder aloud if they're being spied on is followed by a shot of someone ogling them with a telescope not one, but three shots later. With the girls so active in raising money through beauty pageants, crossword contests and bake-offs, one wonders how these dorky boys ever thought they'd have the time to make it with them.<br />
<br />
<b>Beach Ball</b><br />
(1965, Lennie Weinrib)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MHKOAwKtH7U/UeSOmPu1qcI/AAAAAAAADHw/J66mgKIs7VY/s1600/beach_ball.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MHKOAwKtH7U/UeSOmPu1qcI/AAAAAAAADHw/J66mgKIs7VY/s320/beach_ball.jpg" width="206" /></a></div>
Edd ("Kookie") Byrnes must keep the instruments of his band The Wrigglers from being repossessed, so he tugs at the heartstrings of finance committee member Chris Noel to obtain a loan. That plan backfires once she discovers it's to keep his evil rock and roll band afloat, and he must wheel and deal to keep ahead of the repo man before their big gig at a car show. This amusing fluff has a pretty good joke at its core, which is to make squares cool: Chris and the other equally prim and proper girls on the finance committee who nonetheless decide to tag along with the boys to learn how to be hip, and even the uptight bespectacled collection agent gets, uh, liberated by Edd's randy beach bunnies. This mild good time also features The Hondells ("My Buddy Seat"), The Four Seasons ("Dawn") and the Righteous Brothers ("Baby What You Want Me To Do"), and The Supremes, just before they hit the big time, entertaining at the car show with "Come To The Beach Ball With Me" and "Surfer Boy". Chris Noel (whose career of beach movies and biker epics epitomized the light <i>and</i> dark aspects of the 1960s) is appealing in a role requiring her to be both bookishly reserved and a hip happening chick. The cast includes Aron Kincaid (again!) and Don Edmonds (later the director of <i>Ilsa </i>movies!) among Byrne's friends. Best of all is Anna Lavelle as one of Kookie's beach girls: she was a natural talent whose career never took off- this was her only substantial role. Dick Miller is one of the two cops who show up repeatedly, and chase The Wrigglers all over the car show before their big act. This movie is two for two this week where guys have to go in drag to get out of a tight spot. Director Lennie Weinrib was a former comic who later became the voice of Scrappy Doo, Fred Flinstone, Yogi Bear and many cartoon characters. As a director he's no auteur (as seen in the overemphasis on running chase scenes in silent film speed), but did make two other teen pics that warrant investigation: <i>Wild Wild Winter</i> (featuring much of this film's cast), and <i>Out of Sight</i>.<br />
<br />
<b>Get Yourself A College Girl</b><br />
(1964, Sidney Miller)<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QFI_bFCI5Ys/UeSOmBxmlzI/AAAAAAAADH0/F-i2FwsKtoM/s1600/Get_Yourself_A_College_Girl_%25281964%2529.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QFI_bFCI5Ys/UeSOmBxmlzI/AAAAAAAADH0/F-i2FwsKtoM/s320/Get_Yourself_A_College_Girl_%25281964%2529.jpg" width="208" /></a>Here's another film that should've ended with the girl kicking the guy in the groin. The ravishing former Miss America Mary Ann Mobley makes an appealing film debut in this innocuous comedy of manners, as Theresa, who pays for her college tuition as a songwriter of randy rock and roll lyrics that upset the geriatric board of directors at Wyndham Girl's College. In order to keep her academic good standing and save the college's ultra-conservative reputation, she agrees to avoid any further scandal while in Sun Valley with her girlfriends during the Christmas break. But that's so hard when her publicist Chad Everett tries to get her noticed, resulting in a silly scandal with the senator, who is the grandson of the Wyndham lineage. This Sam Katzman quickie was made to cash in on the Watusi craze, but when the fad died out even before the ever reliable "Jungle Sam" managed to rush this into theaters for a quick buck, its original Watusi-themed title was dropped, and the dance-themed angle was largely brushed over, save for one scene where the senator happens onto some gyrating Watusi-ing college kids at a dance, and his reaction shots are intercut with stock footage of African tribal dance. On the surface, this sequence is tasteless, but it precisely sums up the xenophobia of the white family unit who felt the influence of black-oriented music was a threat to their children. This is a film made by and about old fogeys who didn't understand the young generation. There is some fun to be had with Ms. Mobley's female co-stars: Chris Noel is a college ballet instructor who puts on a rock and roll 45 as soon as the board member leaves her class; Nancy Sinatra spends most of their winter getaway in bed with her husband (lucky guy). Of all these square 60s movies attempting to be hip, this film probably has the most eclectic musical lineup. First-billed (over the actors!) Dave Clark Five ("Whenever You're Around"; "Thinking Of You Baby"), The Standells ("Bony Maronie", "The Swim") and The Animals ("Blue Feeling", "Around and Around") perform some great rock numbers; Stan Getz and Astrud Gilberto do their bossa nova hit "The Girl From Ipanema"; and the Jimmy Smith Trio contributes some great R&B jazz with "Comin' Home Johnny" and "The Sermon". This flick isn't a lost classic, but it's good fun, with better production values than one usually associates with this genre.</div>
Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-14720767602239819632013-07-14T15:29:00.000-07:002013-07-18T10:27:19.106-07:00Second Time Around<i>For the rest of the year, this blog will intermittently feature pieces serving as testing grounds for a longer format project I'm working on, featuring my experiences as a youth in 1983, for future publication in book form. This is one of them.</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2RnSkJWYhCY/UeQkeBzLhcI/AAAAAAAADG0/XmKXyel56es/s1600/2nd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="290" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2RnSkJWYhCY/UeQkeBzLhcI/AAAAAAAADG0/XmKXyel56es/s400/2nd.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>ABOVE: </b>"Second Time Around" was located in the center storefront<br />
of this historic building, as it looks today.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My friend Todd had called me one morning in the summer to give a heads up about some old comic books that were for sale in a new second-hand store downtown. This call came in the twilight years of my avid comic book collecting, before my interests switched to film (appropriately enough, another media that told stories within a frame). In addition to haunting the town's variety stores for the new issues, I would act like a bounty hunter on my steed, The 10-Speed Medalist, on Saturday mornings, dutifully searching for old comics at garage sales. (Friday nights were often spent carefully planning a route for the following morning, based upon whatever sales were listed in the newspaper classifieds.) But I especially wanted to find stuff <i>cheap</i>!<br />
<br />
After I tethered my horse and sauntered inside this store, appropriately called "Second Time Around", I discovered that they were selling a stack of old <i>Classics Illustrated</i> issues from the 1950s... and not for as cheap as I was used to paying at yard sales. The prices weren't unreasonable mind you, but more than what my five-dollar-a-week budget would allow, especially since it had to cover old and new comics. Anyway, I told the lady I would think about it, and left. I returned later that day... not for the comic books, but for something else that caught my eye.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qcxh8VXeEQw/UeCKnCP8KfI/AAAAAAAADF0/hxQUSmixgWw/s1600/267940941.0.m.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qcxh8VXeEQw/UeCKnCP8KfI/AAAAAAAADF0/hxQUSmixgWw/s1600/267940941.0.m.jpg" /></a></div>
Among the two or three bookcases of used paperbacks for sale was a copy of <i>Bounty Man Kildoon</i>, a western novel by Robert Eagle. The eponymous hero of this story was a bounty hunter who collected his money by bringing in the severed heads of the desperadoes on the "Wanted" posters. I had gravitated towards this book because during this period I was positively mad about western movies, especially those about bounty hunters (having recently been enamoured of Lee Van Cleef in <i>For a Few Dollars More</i>). At around this time, my garage sale routes included western paperbacks in their searches. This particular 25-cent purchase began what would become a past time and (hopefully) a friendship that would last almost two years.<br />
<br />
"Second Time Around" was owned and operated by John and Paulette, a married couple who also had two boys a few years younger than me. Much of their inventory consisted of second-hand clothing sold on consignment, which took up the first half of the store (mostly all that was visible from the sidewalk). In addition, they would sell antiques, as well as the second-hand staples of knick-knacks, LPs, and -you guessed it- paperback novels.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qeJ_6Uf-cEg/UeQYoDdiCOI/AAAAAAAADGc/UimSfAGl0Nw/s1600/emptyland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qeJ_6Uf-cEg/UeQYoDdiCOI/AAAAAAAADGc/UimSfAGl0Nw/s320/emptyland.jpg" width="190" /></a></div>
For the rest of the store's remaining months, I would often drop by after school or on Saturdays to look for western paperbacks, and later, crime novels (when my tastes began to include hard-boiled fiction). Although Louis L'Amour, Max Brand and Zane Grey were the most common authors I would buy, I would also sample anything that looked interesting or was the basis for a movie (such as Clay Fisher's <i>The Tall Men</i>, which was adapted to a Clark Gable movie I had seen on TV at the time).<br />
<br />
In time, I discovered there was a rival customer for their westerns: we were known to each other, but never met (perhaps he only visited during school hours). An older gentleman who lived at the hotel down the street would also buy novels, and sell them back after reading them with his huge magnifying glass. He would also complain to them that I never brought back whatever I removed from the store. No, anything I acquired was in a plastic bag slung over the bed post, the same place where Dennis the Menace kept his toy pistol. Admittedly, I wasn't reading the novels with nearly the ravenous pace: it mattered more to me at the time that the stuff was in my possession, so I had an instantly accessible library to read at my leisure.<br />
<br />
<span class="dropbox"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P-lO6__fUbM/UeQlAtJT3gI/AAAAAAAADG8/jqi9s66Tfrw/s320/blackbart.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>ABOVE: </b>A 1983 photo in<br />"The Ottawa Citizen"<br />accompanying an article<br />on "Black Bart"</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span>
For at least a year, the storeowners never knew my name: I preferred to liken myself to "The Man With No Name" in spaghetti westerns, which I often alluded to in conversations with John about western movies. When I mentioned that I was a huge Lee Van Cleef fan, John replied that on the side he was doing a woodworking project for a Mr. Jim Flett, who had done stunts for the actor. In addition to doing stunts and bit parts for television, Mr. Flett was also at the time appearing at shopping centres as a quick draw artist under the name of Black Bart. The next time he appeared at "Second Time Around", he had learned about me, and wanted to invite me out for a coffee, but they had no contact information for me. As a consolation prize, Mr. Flett left an autographed picture for me the next time I visited the store. (Sadly, that photo is now lost- that was too many moves ago.)<br />
<br />
I had always loved "old stuff": the design of antique cars, appliances and architecture; the sounds of big band music (something else to alienate me from my rock and roll loving peers); and of course, old movies and TV shows. The time spent at "Second Time Around" merely crystallized that adoration, plus an adherence to old-fashioned values. The store opened at the height of the 1980s' recession, and its clientele was largely blue-collar workers who had become disenfranchised by the economic downturn, and would have a few more dollars in their pockets thanks to buying or selling used goods. Here was a life lesson not being told in school: these were impressionable, vivid snapshots of townsfolk just doing whatever they needed to get by. The people and the overheard conversations gave me a glimpse of the real world out there, largely masked by the shell I had been living in.<br />
<br />
Indeed, "Second Time Around" wasn't just a nostalgic trip down memory lane, it was also a reflection of a lifestyle. While their store inventory represented remnants from what was collectively considered "the good old days", John and Paulette adhered to an old-fashioned value system of family and spirituality, which I found touching. (These qualities are especially eroding today, as family time often consists of everyone singularly playing with their gadgets.) As time progressed, I saw that John especially was becoming more openly spiritual, as he often played Christian rock in the store, and was more judicious of what would be for sale (after sorting through a recently acquired box full of paperbacks, the horror novels went into the trash).<br />
<br />
Nostalgia is a selective process: when we think of "the good old days", we blind ourselves to the hardships experienced along the way. While I have nothing but the fondest memories of John, Paulette, and the many hours there, I do not wish to time portal back to this period. In 1983 especially, life was a nightmare: at school, I was the social outcast (by circumstance <i>and </i>design); domestic strife was compounded with my grandmother's death, my mother's losing her job and resentment over my father's remarrying. This era was a painful time, though necessarily so, as I was changing as a person (although only in hindsight was I aware of this). At the time I had no real close friends -never truly hung out with anyone after school hours- and consequently had no-one I could really confide in (not even at home, since there were enough problems). However, I was slowly coming out of my shell, and in some ways "Second Time Around" helped me with this.<br />
<br />
They instilled within me a feeling of self-worth that I otherwise lacked. Indirectly, I learned that it was okay to march to a different drummer than that of my peers, and to appreciate others' individuality. At the same time, people were beginning to cease their hostilities towards me, as they likewise accepted that I was different. (Maybe it was simply called "maturity".)<br />
<br />
Early in 1985, "Second Time Around" suddenly closed without any advanced notice. It re-opened around Easter weekend with the same name and inventory, however this time run by an older couple. The new owners were nice people, but the vibe wasn't the same. This new incarnation would also close in a short time. Oddly enough, I never saw John or Paulette again- not even around town, despite seeing their names in the paper every now and then. One summer however, I believed to have seen him drive by my house in his beat-up hatchback, while Christian music played out the open windows.<br />
<br />
In a sense, this transitional period where I learned to become more extroverted lasted in exactly the same timeframe as the existence of this second-hand store. In that year-and-a-half, John became a surrogate "big brother": even though our talks never went below a surface level, I'm sure he would've been responsive if ever I wanted to discuss personal things in my life. It was simply that he accepted me as a human being during those times is for what I will be eternally grateful. Thinking of their sudden departure recalls the theme song from Sunset Carson's PBS series,<i> Six Gun Heroes</i>, which we watched at the time: "No goodbyes / Just so long for a while". In that sense, this time <i>was</i> like living in a western movie.Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1393449905295972671.post-25439545452847502432013-07-12T13:08:00.001-07:002013-07-18T10:26:30.418-07:00Nostalgia Isn't What It Used To Be<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6aiZM36Kp-k/UeBXi4-ZyeI/AAAAAAAADFE/GstUzoVePt8/s1600/james_mason_new_4a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="278" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6aiZM36Kp-k/UeBXi4-ZyeI/AAAAAAAADFE/GstUzoVePt8/s400/james_mason_new_4a.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>ABOVE:</b> James Mason in <b>A Star Is Born</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Last night, while flipping channels, I had caught a few minutes of a standup act on The Comedy Network's <i>Just For Laughs. </i>The fellow onstage did a spot-on impersonation of James Mason. He positively nailed the actor's rhythm of speech and identifiable voice. The theatre was silent, save for a few polite titters. No, the audience wasn't a tough crowd- it was simply that the people didn't know who he was! (One assumes that those few who giggled were among the minority who got the joke.)<br />
<br />
Now, come on. James Mason had a movie career spanning nearly fifty years- he worked right up until his death in 1984. Among his prolific output were the cinema classics <i>Odd Man Out</i>, <i>Julius Caesar</i>, and the 1954 version of <i>A Star Is Born</i> (in which, for my money, he stole the film from Judy Garland). Even if the audience consisted of people in the 30 to 40 range, had no one watched reruns of his later films when they were younger? <i>The Verdict</i>? <i>Heaven Can Wait</i>? Anybody?<br />
<br />
With each generation, pieces of past pop culture understandably slip away to make way for the new. But James Mason? It's not like he's doing Ish Kabibble!<br />
<br />
This sorry incident reminded me of an article I read a few years back about the writers of TV's <i>Saturday Night Live</i> being instructed to limit their pop cultural references to things of the past five years. Sheesh! My youth's pop culture contained allusions to things that were forty or fifty years old. And even if we hadn't seen, say, <i>Casablanca</i> or Laurel & Hardy firsthand, they had so much been imbued into our cultural baggage that we still understood references like "Play it again, Sam!" or "Here's another fine mess you've gotten me into."<br />
<br />
In this information age, one has more access to knowledge than any other time in history. Why then, is this generation's cultural baggage so small? At the risk of sounding like an old fart, I don't want to just blame it on today's youth: it could be oversimplifying to say that they don't care. Is this generation really apathetic about anything from before it was born, or is the media controlling its ignorance? As Sir Francis Bacon said, "Knowledge is power...."<br />
<br />
Oh. And after that, the comedian did a Clint Eastwood impersonation to thunderous applause.Greg Woodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07781308526267978337noreply@blogger.com0