So now I know what the 6th century looks like when re-imagined through the swinging '60s.
The VMFA was showing "Camelot" as part of their 60 films in 60 days, so I joined the boomer crowd to see the knights of the round table get groovy.
Don't get me wrong, the movie has some great songs and "If Ever I Would Leave You" has to be one of the most romantic songs ever written.
But let's face it, while Richard Harris and Vanessa Redgrave are fine actors, singing not so much. But at least they were singing, as opposed to Franco Nero who played Lancelot and had his voice dubbed.
Like all good old-school musicals, it began with the overture (and the word "overture" on the screen), teasing us to the Lerner and Lowe songs that were ahead.
In short, there's simply not
A more congenial spot
For happily-ever-aftering
Than here in Camelot
Jumping into the story, it quickly became apparent that this film had been made in 1967. King Arthur wore a furry vest and giant belt buckle that would have looked right at home on Sonny Bono and Guenevere's hairdo was straight out of a '60s Glamour magazine.
Later on, Arthur wears what can only be described as a multi-color Nehru jacket.
Fashion aside, there was humor, too.
When Lancelot sets out from France to join the round table, he brings along a manservant who cooks dinner for him along the way.
And by cooking dinner, I mean he has meat on a stick over an open fire, pulls leaves off a nearby bush to sprinkle on and is, get this, wearing a chef's toque blanche while doing it.
Besides the fact that I seriously doubt that there were toques in the 6th century, there's the whole matter of woodland cooking wearing one. Hysterical.
But there wasn't a lot of humor in the movie and we were told why by a VMFA educator before the film started.
Although the play "Camelot" had come out in 1960 and been a favorite of JFK, by the time they made the film in 1967, he was dead and the country's mood was different, so a lot of the frivolity of the play was excised.
Luckily, they left in the frolicking from "The Lusty Month of May," where the court gathers flowers, eats berries and chases girls, because, according to Arthur, "Civilizations should have a few gentle hobbies."
During intermission, I spoke to the man nearest me, cracking wise about how very '60s everything looked. I'm pretty sure women weren't teasing their hair in the middle ages.
He appeared dumbfounded. "You ruined it for me!" he laughed. "That hadn't occurred to me but you're exactly right! Hell, I had facial hair just like Arthur when I was 17! Everything is so '60s looking."
How could you have lived through it and not recognize it when you see it, sir?
The woman on the other side of me chimed in, asking if I knew about the grand romance that had come out of this film.
Sure didn't.
Seems in 1967, Redgrave had been recently dumped by her husband and then fell in love with Nero on this film. She said they were together for years, had a son, separated and had other relationships but got back together and married in 2006.
Whoa. So unlike in the movie, Lancelot did get Guenevere in the end.
Oh, no, not in springtime
Summer, winter or fall
No, never could I leave you at all
I guess he couldn't. It's so romantic to hear that happily-ever-aftering doesn't just happen in the movies.
Showing posts with label hollywood costume. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hollywood costume. Show all posts
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Friday, November 22, 2013
Steal This Twilight
The clothing was the same, but the companionship was different.
I joined friends for another tour through the VMFA's "Hollywood Costume" exhibit, their first, my second, but this time on Thursday when the museum is open later and more people were bound to be there.
What was most interesting on this visit was the generational differences I saw.
Boomer-looking types seemed impressed by Indiana Jones' distressed leather jacket, made to look weathered with mineral oil and dirt rubbed into it and requiring ten jackets in total throughout the filming.
Millennials seemed far more taken with Matt Damon's "Bourne Ultimatum" ensemble, innocuous in style and color, but requiring 25 jackets to get through the rigorous filming.
Since I haven't seen either movie, my interest shifted to costumes from films I had seen.
Like the elaborate lavender dress with cloth flowers that Barbra Streisand wore in "Funny Girl."
Marilyn Monroe's exquisitely beaded dress from "Some Like It Hot," a movie I only saw for the first time in 2010, despite it being made in 1959.
With its nearly nude color on a curvy body like Marilyn's, it must have been a knockout, especially in a film with men dressed as women for contrast.
One thing that struck all of us as we looked at the men's costumes in the show was how much shorter a lot of the actors were than we thought; people like Mel Gibson, Stallone, Brad Pitt, Johnny Depp don't even reach six feet.
It was clear, though, from the John Wayne model that he was not vertically-challenged.
The videos in the exhibit were illuminating, too, like Meryl Streep talking about how costume designer Ann Roth got her wish with "Mamma Mia" because she finally got to dress Streep in a sexy manner.
And, you know, looking at the array of Streep costumes in the show - "The French Lieutenant's Woman," "Out of Africa," "The Iron Lady," she had a good point.
All of us agreed that DeNiro's costume from 1994's "Mary Shelley's Frankenstein" was the most sculptural item in the show, resembling as it did, a massive metal figure.
One of the males in our group fell in love with Joseph Fiennes' leather jacket? doublet? from "Shakespeare in Love," a marvel of intricate stitching and fitted like a glove to the actor's upper body.
Looking at the ornamented and enormously heavy dresses women of that era wore, it hardly seems fair men got way with boots, breeches and a doublet.
Luckily we'd corrected that by the time of Sharon Stone's white crepe suit from "Basic Instinct," with its short skirt and absence of underwear.
Far easier to maneuver in.
By the time we finished going through the exhibit, everyone had a different favorite costume, but some shared wishes for the displays, mainly more information.
How much did that Batman suit weigh? For that matter, how much did that dress from "Elizabeth" Cate Blanchett wore weigh? How did Tobey Maguire get that Spiderman suit on and how tough were bathroom breaks?
Inquiring minds wanted to know, but it was time to go our separate ways.
Not sure what their plans were, but I had a date at Ipanema where their "Steal this Wine" list assured me interesting choices at affordable prices.
Bartender Gabe greeted me with a "Where the hell have you been?" and a high five while I waited to see if my date would show.
He encouraged me to go ahead and order a bottle of wine, saying it would be a measure of my date's character to see how he reacted to me ordering wine when he was running late.
Lo and behold, there on the wine list was 2012 Occhipinti SP68, the Nero d'Avola and Frappato blend I'd had my last night in Rome, here.
Earthy and tasting of raspberries, it was everything I remembered from my Roman holiday finale.
Feminine and elegant. Delicate with lots of finesse. A bio-dynamic wine made by a talented, groovy woman.
Even better, it was right here in Richmond and I could drink it on this side of the Atlantic with a witty and talented man who'd asked me out tonight.
Score.
While the Ipanema crowd buzzed around us, we got into the quirky Treveri Brut Rose I'd recently had, the wall of sound with thick Scottish accents that is the Twilight Sad and how to woo a woman with the sound of an ocean.
So far, he was doing really well.
With a soundtrack that segued from Jefferson Airplane to emo, we got into flower arranging, right brain versus left brain and squirrel traps.
Eventually, Gabe was gracious enough to bring us a bottle of 2011 Edmunds St. John "Fenuaghty Vineyard" Syrah, which server Jessica, whom I know as the violinist in Zac Hryciak and the Junglebeat, had recommended to me for its black pepper notes and which caught my date's eye for its maker, one of California's Rhone Rangers.
So while the girl with the bright red hair (and fake boobs) and her almost completely-tattooed companion took the stools next to us, we savored a lovely wine and mad flirting.
I don't have an Ann Roth to dress me in sexy clothing, but the companionship was outstanding anyway.
No telling what might have happened if I'd worn a wool crepe suit and no underwear.
Nah, not my style.
I joined friends for another tour through the VMFA's "Hollywood Costume" exhibit, their first, my second, but this time on Thursday when the museum is open later and more people were bound to be there.
What was most interesting on this visit was the generational differences I saw.
Boomer-looking types seemed impressed by Indiana Jones' distressed leather jacket, made to look weathered with mineral oil and dirt rubbed into it and requiring ten jackets in total throughout the filming.
Millennials seemed far more taken with Matt Damon's "Bourne Ultimatum" ensemble, innocuous in style and color, but requiring 25 jackets to get through the rigorous filming.
Since I haven't seen either movie, my interest shifted to costumes from films I had seen.
Like the elaborate lavender dress with cloth flowers that Barbra Streisand wore in "Funny Girl."
Marilyn Monroe's exquisitely beaded dress from "Some Like It Hot," a movie I only saw for the first time in 2010, despite it being made in 1959.
With its nearly nude color on a curvy body like Marilyn's, it must have been a knockout, especially in a film with men dressed as women for contrast.
One thing that struck all of us as we looked at the men's costumes in the show was how much shorter a lot of the actors were than we thought; people like Mel Gibson, Stallone, Brad Pitt, Johnny Depp don't even reach six feet.
It was clear, though, from the John Wayne model that he was not vertically-challenged.
The videos in the exhibit were illuminating, too, like Meryl Streep talking about how costume designer Ann Roth got her wish with "Mamma Mia" because she finally got to dress Streep in a sexy manner.
And, you know, looking at the array of Streep costumes in the show - "The French Lieutenant's Woman," "Out of Africa," "The Iron Lady," she had a good point.
All of us agreed that DeNiro's costume from 1994's "Mary Shelley's Frankenstein" was the most sculptural item in the show, resembling as it did, a massive metal figure.
One of the males in our group fell in love with Joseph Fiennes' leather jacket? doublet? from "Shakespeare in Love," a marvel of intricate stitching and fitted like a glove to the actor's upper body.
Looking at the ornamented and enormously heavy dresses women of that era wore, it hardly seems fair men got way with boots, breeches and a doublet.
Luckily we'd corrected that by the time of Sharon Stone's white crepe suit from "Basic Instinct," with its short skirt and absence of underwear.
Far easier to maneuver in.
By the time we finished going through the exhibit, everyone had a different favorite costume, but some shared wishes for the displays, mainly more information.
How much did that Batman suit weigh? For that matter, how much did that dress from "Elizabeth" Cate Blanchett wore weigh? How did Tobey Maguire get that Spiderman suit on and how tough were bathroom breaks?
Inquiring minds wanted to know, but it was time to go our separate ways.
Not sure what their plans were, but I had a date at Ipanema where their "Steal this Wine" list assured me interesting choices at affordable prices.
Bartender Gabe greeted me with a "Where the hell have you been?" and a high five while I waited to see if my date would show.
He encouraged me to go ahead and order a bottle of wine, saying it would be a measure of my date's character to see how he reacted to me ordering wine when he was running late.
Lo and behold, there on the wine list was 2012 Occhipinti SP68, the Nero d'Avola and Frappato blend I'd had my last night in Rome, here.
Earthy and tasting of raspberries, it was everything I remembered from my Roman holiday finale.
Feminine and elegant. Delicate with lots of finesse. A bio-dynamic wine made by a talented, groovy woman.
Even better, it was right here in Richmond and I could drink it on this side of the Atlantic with a witty and talented man who'd asked me out tonight.
Score.
While the Ipanema crowd buzzed around us, we got into the quirky Treveri Brut Rose I'd recently had, the wall of sound with thick Scottish accents that is the Twilight Sad and how to woo a woman with the sound of an ocean.
So far, he was doing really well.
With a soundtrack that segued from Jefferson Airplane to emo, we got into flower arranging, right brain versus left brain and squirrel traps.
Eventually, Gabe was gracious enough to bring us a bottle of 2011 Edmunds St. John "Fenuaghty Vineyard" Syrah, which server Jessica, whom I know as the violinist in Zac Hryciak and the Junglebeat, had recommended to me for its black pepper notes and which caught my date's eye for its maker, one of California's Rhone Rangers.
So while the girl with the bright red hair (and fake boobs) and her almost completely-tattooed companion took the stools next to us, we savored a lovely wine and mad flirting.
I don't have an Ann Roth to dress me in sexy clothing, but the companionship was outstanding anyway.
No telling what might have happened if I'd worn a wool crepe suit and no underwear.
Nah, not my style.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Femme Fatales and Pork Chops
I don't care what you expect or what they think. Tonight I'm gonna dance and dance.
And with that and a couple of bonnets, Scarlett O'Hara was represented in the "Hollywood Costume" show at VMFA.
I met a fellow movie-lover to take in the new exhibit, not sure how much would resonate with me since I don't go to blockbuster movies for the most part.
Although I'd never seen the 1934 version of "Cleopatra" with Claudette Colbert, I recognized her elaborate green satin dress right away.
That's because when I was at Amuse last Friday, the two female bartenders were discussing the exhibit and raving about that dress.
One said if she could have any dress from the show, it would be that one.
"But where would you wear it?" the other asked practically.
"Doesn't matter, I'd find a place," she'd said, leading me to wonder about the marvels of said dress.
Even my male companion commented on what a magnificent dress it was, if that tells you anything.
Impressive in a different kind of way was the dress from "Samson and Delilah," which had a coat and train of real peacock feathers.
Somehow, I feel certain that that's not environmentally correct anymore.
I found the wedding dress from "Camelot" to be very much of its time, 1967, with its finely crocheted, almost spider web-like, over-dress with tiny shells sewed on.
Any hippie chick of the era would have given her right arm to have worn such a thing while it seemed highly unlikely for the 6th century.
Just goes to show, costumes are as much about the period in which they're made as the period they represent.
Scarlett O'Hara's black mourning bonnet was there, the one she was wearing when Rhett Butler bid to dance with her and she agreed, scandalizing the refined women of Atlanta.
Tonight I wouldn't mind dancing with Abe Lincoln himself!
I saw Marilyn Monroe's dress from "The Seven Year Itch," and listened as a woman and her friend scrutinized the accompanying shoes.
"Those would be hard shoes to walk in," one said. Honey, I wanted to say, all she had to do was stand over a subway grate, so walking was not really an issue.
There was a whole section on femme fatales (a nickname my friend Holmes has used on me for years), those sultry and seductive women of questionable morals who seduce men and inevitably come to a bad end.
That's where I saw costumes like that of Annette Benning in "Bugsy," where she wore a dress with nine pounds of beads sewn on it.
Nine pounds!
I have one cocktail dress with beads sewn on and it's the heaviest dress to wear, so I can only imagine what a full-length beaded dress must feel like on.
It was fascinating to read that Austin Powers' suits were modeled on George Harrison's because he was considered quite a dandy at the time.
Didn't recall that.
Despite it being a Tuesday, there were plenty of other people seeing the show and by the time we finished, there was only an hour before closing time.
Quick like Rocky (his red, white and blue boxing trunks were in the show) running up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum, we hurried up to Amuse for a drink and to discuss what we'd seen.
As soon as the bartender saw me, she asked if I wanted an absinthe and scurried to the kitchen to retrieve the drip so I could enjoy some Trinity, my new favorite absinthe.
We spent the next hour talking about the exhibit, mainly how we'd have liked to have seen more technical information about what we saw.
Like how much did those dresses from "Shakespeare in Love" and "Dangerous Liaisons" or that "Batman" costume weigh, because they looked like they were heavy as armor.
Eventually we had to table our discussion because the lovely green fairy of Trinity was gone and the museum was closing down.
After a change of clothes to evening attire, not green satin of course, I headed to Acacia to meet a friend for dinner.
It seemed quite civilized when we arrived but soon became a madhouse with one gigantic party and a host of smaller tables arriving to claim their reservations.
Stay calm and order wine, that's my rule.
Friend is a non-drinker, but I can't say the same so I ordered a half bottle of Karine Lauverjat Sancerre 2012, with a honeysuckle nose (oh, for the halcyon summer days of honeysuckle) and a beautiful, long finish.
Wine Guy came by to see how I liked it, noting, "That's a favorite of the Mrs," a supreme compliment considering she's a wine rep.
Friend and I debated over the menu as the room began to fill up, trying to decide whether or not to go with the prix fixe menu.
Once we confirmed that, it was just a matter of choosing our courses, no easy feat given the options.
I eventually went with roasted beet salad with creamy goat cheese and balsamic vinaigrette followed by a pan-roasted Berkshire pork chop with country mustard sauce, macaroni and Gruyere cheese and garlic-braised broccolini.
Make no mistake, this was a superb pork chop, thickly cut, flavorful because it came from a Berkshire and worthy of picking up the bone and gnawing off every last scrap of meat.
My friend teased me as I sucked the remaining meat off the bone, but there was also envy in his voice.
But it wasn't the pork chop of Fred and Wilma, the pigs who'd supplied the toe-curling pork chops I'd had last month and which set the standard for all pork in my life going forward.
No, those chops had come from a small farm in Culpeper and had come from a Berkshire named Fred and a Tamworth named Wilma and, good god, the result was pig like you've never put in your mouth.
Reality check. Tonight's chop was excellent and even caused my friend to admit, "You out-ordered me tonight," which was saying something since he got the lump crab cake, or, more accurately, crab ball, a round of lump crab meat held together with a whistle, a prayer and some lemon juice and absent any filler.
Neither of us had much to complain about, although he did point out what a noisy room it always is, so I guess he did.
I always notice it most when I go to the bathroom which is the only place where you can reliably hear the music over the din of diners.
We watched fascinated as our bartender shook a cocktail shaker as if in slow motion, something neither of us had ever seen. Usually cocktail shaking is so vigorous.
Nope, he explained, not when making a vodka martini which requires a minimum of combining so as not to make the vodka cloudy.
And here we thought he was just showing off slo-mo style.
For dessert, I chose the milk chocolate cremeux with, be still my heart, salted caramel ice cream and chocolate streusel scattered about while Friend had a local apple streusel with brown sugar ice cream.
The individually-arranged slices of apples spiraling around inside his crust were a thing of beauty, but he couldn't convince me that my chocolate and salted caramel wasn't the superior dessert, at least for me.
Stuffed to the gills, we sat there talking while I finished my wine.
He's just started Doris Kearns Goodwin's "No Ordinary Time: Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt," and we talked about the appeal of a glimpse inside a long-term relationship.
I laid out the reasons why he, a long-time music-lover, needs to see the documentary, "Muscle Shoals," leading to a discussion of old-school R & B and why we like it.
We geeked out talking about research, something the two of us enjoy and feel we excel at, despite the boring connotation to it.
That's okay. Even a boring researcher can put on a beaded dress and dance and dance when asked.
Especially if someone were to bid on me.
And with that and a couple of bonnets, Scarlett O'Hara was represented in the "Hollywood Costume" show at VMFA.
I met a fellow movie-lover to take in the new exhibit, not sure how much would resonate with me since I don't go to blockbuster movies for the most part.
Although I'd never seen the 1934 version of "Cleopatra" with Claudette Colbert, I recognized her elaborate green satin dress right away.
That's because when I was at Amuse last Friday, the two female bartenders were discussing the exhibit and raving about that dress.
One said if she could have any dress from the show, it would be that one.
"But where would you wear it?" the other asked practically.
"Doesn't matter, I'd find a place," she'd said, leading me to wonder about the marvels of said dress.
Even my male companion commented on what a magnificent dress it was, if that tells you anything.
Impressive in a different kind of way was the dress from "Samson and Delilah," which had a coat and train of real peacock feathers.
Somehow, I feel certain that that's not environmentally correct anymore.
I found the wedding dress from "Camelot" to be very much of its time, 1967, with its finely crocheted, almost spider web-like, over-dress with tiny shells sewed on.
Any hippie chick of the era would have given her right arm to have worn such a thing while it seemed highly unlikely for the 6th century.
Just goes to show, costumes are as much about the period in which they're made as the period they represent.
Scarlett O'Hara's black mourning bonnet was there, the one she was wearing when Rhett Butler bid to dance with her and she agreed, scandalizing the refined women of Atlanta.
Tonight I wouldn't mind dancing with Abe Lincoln himself!
I saw Marilyn Monroe's dress from "The Seven Year Itch," and listened as a woman and her friend scrutinized the accompanying shoes.
"Those would be hard shoes to walk in," one said. Honey, I wanted to say, all she had to do was stand over a subway grate, so walking was not really an issue.
There was a whole section on femme fatales (a nickname my friend Holmes has used on me for years), those sultry and seductive women of questionable morals who seduce men and inevitably come to a bad end.
That's where I saw costumes like that of Annette Benning in "Bugsy," where she wore a dress with nine pounds of beads sewn on it.
Nine pounds!
I have one cocktail dress with beads sewn on and it's the heaviest dress to wear, so I can only imagine what a full-length beaded dress must feel like on.
It was fascinating to read that Austin Powers' suits were modeled on George Harrison's because he was considered quite a dandy at the time.
Didn't recall that.
Despite it being a Tuesday, there were plenty of other people seeing the show and by the time we finished, there was only an hour before closing time.
Quick like Rocky (his red, white and blue boxing trunks were in the show) running up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum, we hurried up to Amuse for a drink and to discuss what we'd seen.
As soon as the bartender saw me, she asked if I wanted an absinthe and scurried to the kitchen to retrieve the drip so I could enjoy some Trinity, my new favorite absinthe.
We spent the next hour talking about the exhibit, mainly how we'd have liked to have seen more technical information about what we saw.
Like how much did those dresses from "Shakespeare in Love" and "Dangerous Liaisons" or that "Batman" costume weigh, because they looked like they were heavy as armor.
Eventually we had to table our discussion because the lovely green fairy of Trinity was gone and the museum was closing down.
After a change of clothes to evening attire, not green satin of course, I headed to Acacia to meet a friend for dinner.
It seemed quite civilized when we arrived but soon became a madhouse with one gigantic party and a host of smaller tables arriving to claim their reservations.
Stay calm and order wine, that's my rule.
Friend is a non-drinker, but I can't say the same so I ordered a half bottle of Karine Lauverjat Sancerre 2012, with a honeysuckle nose (oh, for the halcyon summer days of honeysuckle) and a beautiful, long finish.
Wine Guy came by to see how I liked it, noting, "That's a favorite of the Mrs," a supreme compliment considering she's a wine rep.
Friend and I debated over the menu as the room began to fill up, trying to decide whether or not to go with the prix fixe menu.
Once we confirmed that, it was just a matter of choosing our courses, no easy feat given the options.
I eventually went with roasted beet salad with creamy goat cheese and balsamic vinaigrette followed by a pan-roasted Berkshire pork chop with country mustard sauce, macaroni and Gruyere cheese and garlic-braised broccolini.
Make no mistake, this was a superb pork chop, thickly cut, flavorful because it came from a Berkshire and worthy of picking up the bone and gnawing off every last scrap of meat.
My friend teased me as I sucked the remaining meat off the bone, but there was also envy in his voice.
But it wasn't the pork chop of Fred and Wilma, the pigs who'd supplied the toe-curling pork chops I'd had last month and which set the standard for all pork in my life going forward.
No, those chops had come from a small farm in Culpeper and had come from a Berkshire named Fred and a Tamworth named Wilma and, good god, the result was pig like you've never put in your mouth.
Reality check. Tonight's chop was excellent and even caused my friend to admit, "You out-ordered me tonight," which was saying something since he got the lump crab cake, or, more accurately, crab ball, a round of lump crab meat held together with a whistle, a prayer and some lemon juice and absent any filler.
Neither of us had much to complain about, although he did point out what a noisy room it always is, so I guess he did.
I always notice it most when I go to the bathroom which is the only place where you can reliably hear the music over the din of diners.
We watched fascinated as our bartender shook a cocktail shaker as if in slow motion, something neither of us had ever seen. Usually cocktail shaking is so vigorous.
Nope, he explained, not when making a vodka martini which requires a minimum of combining so as not to make the vodka cloudy.
And here we thought he was just showing off slo-mo style.
For dessert, I chose the milk chocolate cremeux with, be still my heart, salted caramel ice cream and chocolate streusel scattered about while Friend had a local apple streusel with brown sugar ice cream.
The individually-arranged slices of apples spiraling around inside his crust were a thing of beauty, but he couldn't convince me that my chocolate and salted caramel wasn't the superior dessert, at least for me.
Stuffed to the gills, we sat there talking while I finished my wine.
He's just started Doris Kearns Goodwin's "No Ordinary Time: Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt," and we talked about the appeal of a glimpse inside a long-term relationship.
I laid out the reasons why he, a long-time music-lover, needs to see the documentary, "Muscle Shoals," leading to a discussion of old-school R & B and why we like it.
We geeked out talking about research, something the two of us enjoy and feel we excel at, despite the boring connotation to it.
That's okay. Even a boring researcher can put on a beaded dress and dance and dance when asked.
Especially if someone were to bid on me.
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