SCREENING OUT THE TURKEYS

I don’t walk out on movies. As I grow older and count my time as more precious than ever before, I’ve begun to question the wisdom of this masochistic credo, but nevertheless, once I start watching a film, I’m there till the bitter end.

I don’t observe the same code of ethics when I’m viewing a film on DVD . If a movie doesn’t grab me in the first twenty minutes, or if it seems egregiously awful in the first five minutes, I’ll stop. I recently tried out two intriguing titles but came to the same conclusion about both of them. First was a direct-to-video feature written and directed by Michael Caleo, whose writing credits include episodes of The Sopranos and Rescue Me . It’s called The Last Time and it stars Michael Keaton, Brendan Fraser and Amber Valletta. The film received a desultory theatrical release here in L.A. , but for all intents and purposes went straight to DVD , and it looked like it might have some promise.

My first tip-off that something was wrong was when it became abundantly clear that its supposed New York setting was bogus. There’s something about the light in New York City that’s impossible to recreate anywhere else–-certainly not in Louisiana , where this was shot. But the kiss of death for this modest film was that I guessed its central plot twist halfway through…and as my wife can tell you, figuring those things out is not one of my specialties. There didn’t seem to be much point in continuing after that.

I had higher hopes for a Mexican import recently released by Facets Video called My Dear Tom Mix. This bucolic 1991 film, written and directed by Carlos Garcia Agraz, takes place in a small village in Mexico during the 1920s. The central character is an elderly woman who is beginning to lose her grip on reality. She finds solace and comfort in writing letters to her hero, cowboy star Tom Mix, and genuinely believes that he will come to rescue the village when it is beset by thieves.

If the real Tom Mix had ever made a film as slow and uneventful as this one, he would have been booed off the screen. Though while well meaning and genteel, My Dear Tom Mix didn’t seem to be worth slogging through after I reached the one hour mark.

I remain ever optimistic; I’ll give almost anything a try. But the clock is always ticking.

SILLIER THAN EVER

Reviewers of DVD releases, especially online, tend to be harshly critical and demanding. Most of them are savvy film buffs who hold the video companies to a very high standard, as they should. But now that I am involved in the production of DVDs, I’ve become more forgiving as I see the daunting number of pitfalls that lie between good intentions and great results.

You wouldn’t think there was anything terribly complicated in taking a master copy of a movie off the shelf and reproducing it. I can’t begin to explain how many problems can arise along that path. Last December, upon release of the four latest entries in the Walt Disney Treasures series, I discovered to my dismay that while exceptional new digital masters had been made for some of the Silly Symphonies cartoons, someone used older versions when authoring the discs. What’s more, after the folks at Sparkhill, with whom I work, slaved over a series of replica main titles for the black & white shorts in this series (since the originals were destroyed fifty years ago), they were somehow never attached to the actual films for DVD mastering! This can only be ascribed to “human error,” and should have been caught before the product was finalized.

At least one sharp-eyed viewer also noticed a subtle edit in the 1932 cartoon The Night Before Christmas. It consists of a seven-second cameo appearance by Amos and Andy in toy form, participating in a parade of Santa Claus’s goodies. This footage was removed at some point, for the sake of political correctness, but no one in the Disney archives could identify when, nor could they locate the missing material. Fortunately, I remembered that this was one of the first Disney cartoons donated by Walt himself to the Museum of Modern Art Film Library , decades ago. I’d seen the 35mm Technicolor nitrate print projected there on more than one occasion. Luckily for us, archivist Peter Williamson at MoMA was willing and able to help out. The fragile print was copied, then integrated into the Disney video master and color-corrected so that the addition would be seamless.

Now, finally, the good news: anyone who purchased the More Silly Symphonies, Volume 2 DVD set can obtain replacement discs with all of these errors corrected. Simply call 1-800-723-4763 in the U.S. or 1-888-877-2843 in Canada . You will receive replacement discs, not replacement packaging, so please hold on to your current packaging. I am glad that the folks at Walt Disney Home Video committed itself to set things right in this manner...and they have put safeguards in place to see that this kind of problem doesn’t occur on the next three Walt Disney Treasures coming out in December.

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ICONS OF COMEDY

Time capsule: I actually remember wringers like
the one at left, but I never saw a washing
machine like this except in old movies.
Buckwheat, Alfalfa and Spanky are trying
one out in Canned Fishing (1938)

In my last home-page column I invited you to share your memories of iconic images from two-reel comedies that you never encountered in real life. I’ve received a number of lively responses from people who, like me, grew up on a steady diet of Laurel and Hardy, The Little Rascals, The Three Stooges, and their contemporary cousins, animated cartoons. Among the items most frequently mentioned have been a dumbwaiter, familiar in many homes of the early 20th century but almost forgotten now…a transom, standard design function for office buildings, but a rarity today (although I still use the expression “over the transom” to refer to material that comes to me unsolicited)…and that old comedy standby, castor oil. I, for one, feel grateful that I never had to swallow a spoonful of that apparently vile-tasting liquid, as did so many sickly kids in Our Gang comedies and elsewhere. Come to think of it, I never ever saw a mustard plaster, either.

Mike Schlesinger writes, “ Well, there's the always reliable heavily-bandaged foot, due to gout that inevitably gets stepped on, the sign that reads NEXT WEEK: EAST LYNNE (even saw that recently in a Krazy Kat cartoon), the bomb that looks like a cannonball with a fuse...and what dog catcher ever used a butterfly net?”

David Murdoch says, “ Here's one for your cartoon staple list: train berths. Especially that old lady in her nightie (though it's day) hiding in her berth that shouts ‘Masher!’ while clubbing her victim with an umbrella or parasol. Others use corsets with obligatory jingle bells. I grew up long, long after trains were used as main transportation, so I've always pictured riding (sleeping) in a curtained berth. I've seen them in comedies (Some Like it Hot, The Palm Beach Story , Harold Lloyd); somebody falls out of one, into one, can't reach it, or can't find that funky hook ladder. But those bottom bunks...talk about hazardous to your temple! My question: why an umbrella on a train in the first place? In case the weather in those always-too-tight, never-find-a-seat-unless-you're-Cary Grant dining cars, looks like rain?”

Silent-comedy maven Brent Walker shares some interesting thoughts: “Anyone who’s seen a few Keystone comedies knows that the streets of Edendale were lined with loose bricks circa 1914, which made for handy spontaneous throwing objects (despite the fact that, because of earthquakes, most houses here were built with wood and stucco, not bricks).

“Growing up in Southern California , I did encounter cactus, but I too have never seen alum used in real life. I took it to be a cooking ingredient (at least Charlie Hall is selling it in his grocery store in Laurel and Hardy’s Tit for Tat), yet I've never seen a recipe that includes it. And seltzer bottles: every household had one handy in the 1920's and 1930's, which seems to back up the fact that there were a lot of alcoholics in those days--at least in Hollywood.

“How about gags that depend upon premises that modern technology has eliminated? A relatively recent example is Play It Again, Sam, with the running gag of Tony Roberts constantly calling his office to give them a new number where he can be reached. Of course he would have a cell phone today, and even by the 1980's would have had a pager, making this bit from 1972 a gag of antiquity (joining the goat gland gag from Buster Keaton’s Cops).
Bradley King adds, “One of them you mentioned was alum, and you asked what it really was. I can tell you that when I was a child, in the 60s, my mother had powdered alum in the house for heaven knows what. I was prone to the occasional canker sore, and my mother would apply some alum to the sore to stem its growth and speed healing. It produced a burning sensation that I still remember with horror. I don't know if this folk remedy really worked, but it certainly encouraged me not to complain about a sore in my mouth.”

My daughter still retains a certain fascination for the concept of a record player, and the idea that one can place a needle onto the surface of a vinyl disc and hear the result. (I realize, too, that a popular colloquialism has been rendered meaningless to an entire generation; how is a young person to know what you’re talking about when you say someone sounds like a broken record?) We live in an age of electronic marvels which get the job done but don’t allow us to see the cause-and-effect relationship between the button we push and the result we get. Jessie also loved watching me thread my 16mm projector, for the same reason. No one who has held a strip of 16mm or 35mm film in his hands can fail to be impressed by the relationship of one frame to the next, in a way that video can’t duplicate. Seeing is believing.

This is just one reason I enjoy watching films of the past: to be transported back in time and see how people dressed, how they traveled, how they behaved. Every film is an unwitting mirror of its time.

____________

I recently had a series of happy encounters with some nonagenarian friends...and I hope you’ll indulge me if I name-drop. First, I had lunch with a hero of mine, the great radio dramatist, essayist, and screenwriter Norman Corwin. At the age of 97 he has just been “re-upped” by the Annenberg School of Journalism at USC, where he will serve as Writer in Residence. This means that he will be employed into his 100th year. Isn’t that marvelous? (As I gave Norman my arm to help him from his car to a restaurant entrance, he said he felt like someone playing the part of an old man, when in fact he is one. If so, he’s only old in years, not in spirit.)

I can’t think of a more valuable resource than Norman , not only because of his vast experience in every conceivable medium of expression, but because the man is incapable of uttering an ungraceful phrase. He was the subject of a documentary short, On a Note of Triumph: The Golden Age of Norman Corwin, that won last year’s Academy Award. However, that film only scratches the surface of his seventy-year career and personal achievements. He’s happy to talk about former glories, but Norman is not one to live in the past. He is politically aware and actively engaged, so a conversation with him is always lively and stimulating.

Adrian Booth Brian poses happily with her favorite 90th birthday gift, a signed photo from Judi Dench

The following day, my wife Alice and I paid our respects to Adrian Booth Bryan on her 90 th birthday. This charming lady has obviously found the fountain of youth, and it’s a great kick to chat with someone who worked with everybody from W.C. Fields to Buster Keaton. She credits her faith with bringing her to this advanced age. Her favorite birthday gift: a framed, signed photo from her favorite actress, Judi Dench (whose inscription read, “To an Angel at 90”).

The next day, I chatted with my long-time friend Gloria Stuart, who, like Norman , recently turned 97 and can’t quite believe it. She still works every day on her limited-edition art books, setting type and preparing illustrations for her newest project. Earlier editions of her books are in such prestigious collections as the Getty Museum , the Huntington Library, and the Library of Congress.

And, believe it or not, the very next day Alice ran into the indestructible Norman Lloyd, age 92, as erudite and charming as ever.

Film devotee and director Curtis Hanson gave Norman a terrific part in his movie In Her Shoes the year before last. When asked if he realized that he was directing someone who had worked with Chaplin, Hitchcock, and Jean Renoir, Curtis replied with a smile that Norman never let him forget.

These people are my role models; they’re still vital and active, living in the present tense, but happy to share their memories.