Let the record show that it was 67 degrees today and every window in my apartment was open.
Let it also show that despite having known Nate for five years - we met on February 12, 2012 at Globehopper when I first heard the Richmanian Ramblers - it was only today that I first ate his bagels, a mission accomplished by being first in line with Mac at the new Blue Bee Cidery.
Let it show that our walk from Blue Bee to the Byrd was tropical-like, if not downright beachy, and that the theater was surprisingly full for an afternoon matinee at this late stage of the holiday madness (I know a guy who went to three holiday parties today alone) when everyone there probably had something else they should've been doing.
Not Mac - who'd never seen this classic all the way through - nor me, that much was clear. Our misfortune was sitting next to a couple of women who believed that we'd rather hear them belting out the musical numbers than hear the actors doing a far better job.
Let it show that when you have seen a film, say "White Christmas," every year since you were a child, it's not enough to sit back and enjoy (always a relative term when applied to the torn and spring-popping Byrd seats) the familiar plot and dazzling mid-century visuals of VistaVision (reddest reds you've ever seen).
Curiosity seeker that I am, I must see something new.
Accomplished:
1. In the final scene, how had I never noticed the tenth anniversary sign on the cake (Happy 10th anniversary 151st Division)? The 10 candles, always, but the sign? Not once.
2. Pre-safety match usage was rampant. Bing strikes a match for his pipe on his shoe, with his fingernail, probably with his teeth in a scene that got left on the cutting room floor. 1954 was pre-safety concerns, clearly.
Let it show that walking back to Scott's Addition marveling at the still-balmy air when sunset was only minutes away, our conversation turned prescient when raindrops suddenly hit us, followed by major northerly wind gusts and an immediate and significant drop in temperature.
Frankly, we never should have brought the subject up.
Let it show that I wouldn't have missed tonight's 10th anniversary celebration of the Silent Music Revival at Gallery 5, or the opportunity to introduce a recent conversational partner to one of my long-time favorite events, despite not being up to dinner out beforehand.
The lost weekend - don't ask.
Let it show that lots of my people were there - the film prof, the filmmaker, the woman at the Byrd I'd told about the event months ago, the Turkish pop songstress - and on time, which is more than I can say for some of the newer fans.
Creator Jameson always says 8 sharp! on the invitation because he means it, kids. Take note for the future (April, in case you weren't paying attention).
He had, of course, picked a terrific holiday present for the crowd with Russian director Ladislas Starevich's 1913 black and white "Night Before Christmas," and nothing like the Clement Moore poem we know.
The herky-jerky antics of the peasant village as well as the editing (and brief bits of early stop-motion animation) couldn't have been better suited to Rattlemouth's odd time signatures and global beats ensuring that their improvised soundtrack nailed the madcap action.
Instead of Moore's sugary take on Christmas Eve, we had a witch whose cottage was known for "entertaining willing visitors" and a hirsute demon with a tongue that presaged that of Gene Simmons, along with dry humping and homo-erotica, men stuffed in bags and a young and solidly-built peasant beauty looking for the man who truly loved her.
She claimed she wanted shoes like the tsarina's, but what she really wanted was a man willing to go to great lengths to get them for her to show his love.
Let the record show that I saw two holiday classic films today, and they both came down to love stories. Because the best things really do happen when you're dancing...or entertaining willing visitors.
Before you can say Merry Christmas, you're a goner. I know it must be true because I saw it on the big screen. Twice in one festive day.
Showing posts with label white christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label white christmas. Show all posts
Monday, December 19, 2016
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Playing Old Maid
Sometimes once isn't enough.
Today began and ended in a theater with yard bird in between, because what better day for it than Sunday supper?
It was cold and windy when I walked to Movieland for my annual viewing of "White Christmas," arriving early enough to score a prime seat before the masses showed up. Plenty of people seemed to be newbies to the Movies and Mimosas concept (no previews, folks), showing up as much as 10 minutes into it and bumbling around in the dark looking for seats.
Many of them chose to sing along despite the fact that the crowd had come to hear the film, not them. Next to me was a much older woman who giggled at much of the movie's corny humor as if she were hearing it for the first time in a while. It was adorable.
In one of those overlap moments between film and real life, I spotted an army blanket on a cot in the medical tent scene, reminding me that just a few days ago, I'd ridden with my Dad in his ancient truck atop his folded up army blanket on the passenger side. It's probably the same army blanket we used to make a tent out of in the back yard as kids.
Then there were the charming 1954 period details: fishnets with seams, a match striker on a table, men's sock garters. A more stylish time in every way. I recall as a kid that the scene where the general rolls his own cigarette seemed so old-fashioned but of course now plenty of people do it.
I could say everything old is new again except I feel quite certain we'll never return to a time where people dress for dinner, spend so much time traveling on trains or use "gay" to mean cheerful and lively. Too bad, really.
It was while reading the Sunday paper in the living room and trying to catch the last of the day's sun through my south-facing windows that I decided on tonight's plan: dinner and a movie (again). Kind of like a date with myself.
My dinner destination was a no-brainer because Sunday is fried chicken night at Sasion, a short walk from home. I have to admit I was surprised when I walked in to find things very low-key with only four people at the bar.
On the speakers was Bob Marley, appropriate because the Wailers were playing at the John Marshall ballroom tonight. Sure, there's only one original Wailer remaining at this point, but eventually he'll be gone and then there'll be none, yet I bet someone will still tour under that name. And isn't one original better than none?
Soccer was on the TV, the bartender already knew my order, asking only light or dark (duh, dark) and letting me know that tonight's sides were cole slaw (peppery) and a biscuit with honey butter. Sign me up.
The bartender was refilling my water glass when I commented on how peaceful it was tonight. "For now," she laughed. "I never know with Sundays whether it'll be busy at 5 or 8:30." No doubt the holidays further skew any prognosticating.
I didn't quite qualify for the clean plate club, mainly because although I'm a biscuit hound, these weren't really my kind of biscuits. They were more of the refrigerator, flaky style while I prefer a more traditional dense and floury biscuit like the kind my Richmond grandmother made.
But I'm also a firm believer in the no biscuit left behind movement and given that the guy to my right had finished his in about three bites, I leaned over and asked if he'd want my remainder.
His eyes lit up asking if I was sure. "Seriously? I was just going to order another biscuit," he said. Only problem was his friend looked envious, so I explained to friend that the offer had been extended to the closest person and he was entitled to half. Both were thrilled with any additional biscuit forthcoming.
After collecting the car, I returned to the Criterion to see "The Homesman," Tommy Lee Jones' latest directorial and acting endeavor. As usual, he's playing an ornery old SOB, in this case one who elects to help spinster-to-be Hillary Swank cart three mentally ill women from the Nebraska territory back to the relative civilization of Iowa.
Shot to make the territory and plains look like the most monochromatic and least welcoming place on earth, the film follows the quintet's journey from west to east through Indian territory, snowstorms and days without food.
I'll admit I haven't seen enough westerns to have a qualified opinion about them (both versions of "True Grit" and "No Country for Old Men" and not much else), but this one was atypical, I feel sure. Swank played a most unusual woman for the time (1850s): unmarried, a landowner who farms and not too proud to propose to (and be turned down by) multiple men in hopes of finding a partner and companionship.
Boy, if living on the frontier was tough, try being a spinster.
Hearing multiple men tell her she was too bossy and too plain ("plain as a pail" one phrased it) to marry was heart-wrenching. Remind me never to propose to a man for fear of how he might respond.
And maybe all westerns have a lot of plot twists and sudden mood changes, but I doubt it. This one was full of surprises and unsettling scenes coming out of nowhere. Yet there were moments of humor to leaven things. Add in Oscar-worthy performances by Jones and Swank and it turned out to be a most enjoyable night of cinema even without popcorn.
Walking out of the theater beside the couple who'd been sitting near me, the woman said, "Makes you glad you're not a spinster, doesn't it?"
Oh, contraire, my dear. I am an unmarried woman past the usual age for marrying who is considered unlikely to marry. Some would even say I'm bossy.
On the plus side, that's what gives me license to offer my honey-buttered biscuits to strangers.
I'm just glad he didn't turn me down.
Today began and ended in a theater with yard bird in between, because what better day for it than Sunday supper?
It was cold and windy when I walked to Movieland for my annual viewing of "White Christmas," arriving early enough to score a prime seat before the masses showed up. Plenty of people seemed to be newbies to the Movies and Mimosas concept (no previews, folks), showing up as much as 10 minutes into it and bumbling around in the dark looking for seats.
Many of them chose to sing along despite the fact that the crowd had come to hear the film, not them. Next to me was a much older woman who giggled at much of the movie's corny humor as if she were hearing it for the first time in a while. It was adorable.
In one of those overlap moments between film and real life, I spotted an army blanket on a cot in the medical tent scene, reminding me that just a few days ago, I'd ridden with my Dad in his ancient truck atop his folded up army blanket on the passenger side. It's probably the same army blanket we used to make a tent out of in the back yard as kids.
Then there were the charming 1954 period details: fishnets with seams, a match striker on a table, men's sock garters. A more stylish time in every way. I recall as a kid that the scene where the general rolls his own cigarette seemed so old-fashioned but of course now plenty of people do it.
I could say everything old is new again except I feel quite certain we'll never return to a time where people dress for dinner, spend so much time traveling on trains or use "gay" to mean cheerful and lively. Too bad, really.
It was while reading the Sunday paper in the living room and trying to catch the last of the day's sun through my south-facing windows that I decided on tonight's plan: dinner and a movie (again). Kind of like a date with myself.
My dinner destination was a no-brainer because Sunday is fried chicken night at Sasion, a short walk from home. I have to admit I was surprised when I walked in to find things very low-key with only four people at the bar.
On the speakers was Bob Marley, appropriate because the Wailers were playing at the John Marshall ballroom tonight. Sure, there's only one original Wailer remaining at this point, but eventually he'll be gone and then there'll be none, yet I bet someone will still tour under that name. And isn't one original better than none?
Soccer was on the TV, the bartender already knew my order, asking only light or dark (duh, dark) and letting me know that tonight's sides were cole slaw (peppery) and a biscuit with honey butter. Sign me up.
The bartender was refilling my water glass when I commented on how peaceful it was tonight. "For now," she laughed. "I never know with Sundays whether it'll be busy at 5 or 8:30." No doubt the holidays further skew any prognosticating.
I didn't quite qualify for the clean plate club, mainly because although I'm a biscuit hound, these weren't really my kind of biscuits. They were more of the refrigerator, flaky style while I prefer a more traditional dense and floury biscuit like the kind my Richmond grandmother made.
But I'm also a firm believer in the no biscuit left behind movement and given that the guy to my right had finished his in about three bites, I leaned over and asked if he'd want my remainder.
His eyes lit up asking if I was sure. "Seriously? I was just going to order another biscuit," he said. Only problem was his friend looked envious, so I explained to friend that the offer had been extended to the closest person and he was entitled to half. Both were thrilled with any additional biscuit forthcoming.
After collecting the car, I returned to the Criterion to see "The Homesman," Tommy Lee Jones' latest directorial and acting endeavor. As usual, he's playing an ornery old SOB, in this case one who elects to help spinster-to-be Hillary Swank cart three mentally ill women from the Nebraska territory back to the relative civilization of Iowa.
Shot to make the territory and plains look like the most monochromatic and least welcoming place on earth, the film follows the quintet's journey from west to east through Indian territory, snowstorms and days without food.
I'll admit I haven't seen enough westerns to have a qualified opinion about them (both versions of "True Grit" and "No Country for Old Men" and not much else), but this one was atypical, I feel sure. Swank played a most unusual woman for the time (1850s): unmarried, a landowner who farms and not too proud to propose to (and be turned down by) multiple men in hopes of finding a partner and companionship.
Boy, if living on the frontier was tough, try being a spinster.
Hearing multiple men tell her she was too bossy and too plain ("plain as a pail" one phrased it) to marry was heart-wrenching. Remind me never to propose to a man for fear of how he might respond.
And maybe all westerns have a lot of plot twists and sudden mood changes, but I doubt it. This one was full of surprises and unsettling scenes coming out of nowhere. Yet there were moments of humor to leaven things. Add in Oscar-worthy performances by Jones and Swank and it turned out to be a most enjoyable night of cinema even without popcorn.
Walking out of the theater beside the couple who'd been sitting near me, the woman said, "Makes you glad you're not a spinster, doesn't it?"
Oh, contraire, my dear. I am an unmarried woman past the usual age for marrying who is considered unlikely to marry. Some would even say I'm bossy.
On the plus side, that's what gives me license to offer my honey-buttered biscuits to strangers.
I'm just glad he didn't turn me down.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
I'm Dreaming of Enough Bathrooms
Bob: Have you ever figured out women?
Phil: They're smarter than we are and they have longer hair.
A friend wanted to take me to see "White Christmas" today at the Empire Theater and it was impossible for me to pass up a chance to see someone I knew, a former actor-turned-restaurateur-turned-actor, do musical theater.
Of course I'm talking abut Barry Pruitt, the original owner of Davis and Main and the recent seller of White Dog. My best memories of White Dog are of late evenings with Barry belting out Sinatra and show tunes to whomever was at the bar, so I'd be the first to acknowledge that he had a great voice.
Barry was playing the General Waverly character and acquitted himself admirably in a production full of big dance numbers, frequent costume changes and classic Irving Berlin songs.
At the big Christmas Eve finale when it finally starts snowing at the inn, the audience got to share the experience as fake snow was blown out over us during the singalong to "White Christmas." Truth be told, I was a fake snow virgin before today; it falls prettily enough, but it doesn't amount to much.
During the singalong, I kept my singing to myself (my grandmother used to tell me that I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, so I know better than to inflict my singing on others), but the older woman next to me had a beautiful voice and was belting it out.
As a theater lover, I was happy to see that the show was all but sold out, happy except at intermission when the bathroom lines were so long that I knew I had no chance of using them. Giving up on bodily functions, I opted for a piece of coconut cake instead, courtesy of Rostov's Coffee.
The white-haired gentleman who sold it to me advised me to eat quickly and then leaned in and said, "Really you have four to five minutes once they call you back in." No doubt that would be so that the bathroom goers had a fighting chance of seeing the opening number of the second act.
Inadequate bathrooms aside, the production was very sweet, even if it bore very little resemblance to the classic holiday movie of the same name. Fortunately, when they didn't use the original snappy 50s dialog, they made up something almost as clever.
Betty: Let's just say that Bob wasn't the man I thought he was.
Judy: What man ever is?
Some lines are timeless...and always get a big laugh.
Phil: They're smarter than we are and they have longer hair.
A friend wanted to take me to see "White Christmas" today at the Empire Theater and it was impossible for me to pass up a chance to see someone I knew, a former actor-turned-restaurateur-turned-actor, do musical theater.
Of course I'm talking abut Barry Pruitt, the original owner of Davis and Main and the recent seller of White Dog. My best memories of White Dog are of late evenings with Barry belting out Sinatra and show tunes to whomever was at the bar, so I'd be the first to acknowledge that he had a great voice.
Barry was playing the General Waverly character and acquitted himself admirably in a production full of big dance numbers, frequent costume changes and classic Irving Berlin songs.
At the big Christmas Eve finale when it finally starts snowing at the inn, the audience got to share the experience as fake snow was blown out over us during the singalong to "White Christmas." Truth be told, I was a fake snow virgin before today; it falls prettily enough, but it doesn't amount to much.
During the singalong, I kept my singing to myself (my grandmother used to tell me that I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, so I know better than to inflict my singing on others), but the older woman next to me had a beautiful voice and was belting it out.
As a theater lover, I was happy to see that the show was all but sold out, happy except at intermission when the bathroom lines were so long that I knew I had no chance of using them. Giving up on bodily functions, I opted for a piece of coconut cake instead, courtesy of Rostov's Coffee.
The white-haired gentleman who sold it to me advised me to eat quickly and then leaned in and said, "Really you have four to five minutes once they call you back in." No doubt that would be so that the bathroom goers had a fighting chance of seeing the opening number of the second act.
Inadequate bathrooms aside, the production was very sweet, even if it bore very little resemblance to the classic holiday movie of the same name. Fortunately, when they didn't use the original snappy 50s dialog, they made up something almost as clever.
Betty: Let's just say that Bob wasn't the man I thought he was.
Judy: What man ever is?
Some lines are timeless...and always get a big laugh.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
I'm Dreaming Of White Christmas
And no, not necessarily an actual white Christmas, but of seeing "White Christmas" on the big screen.
This is a movie I've probably seen every holiday since I was a kid, but always on a TV screen, which is most assuredly not the best way to enjoy a 1950s musical.
So I was delighted to see it being offered for this weekend's Movies & Mimosas feature at Movieland.
Although part of the pleasure of this movie is its holiday theme, what I most look forward to about it is the dancing and Danny Kaye's incredibly malleable face and body.
The man is the original Gumby and displays his physicality superbly.
Even the scenes where he's not talking, just watching his face is entertainment enough.
And watching him dance is a revelation; his body arcs and sways effortlessly while Bing Crosby stiffly tries to keep up.
Seeing it on the big screen for the first time, I was able to note details I'd never been aware of before.
It's a wonderfully dated film, with a quaint reference to the Department of War rather than of Defense.
There's also a reference to a character being out of the country - in Alaska; but then, the movie was made four years before Alaska's statehood was approved.
But, at its heart, "White Christmas" is a love story with all the expected trials and tribulations of ultimately winning the love of one's life.
And, as we well know, the course of true love never does run smoothly.
But it's a pleasure to watch the inspired singing and dancing that leads to the fade-out kiss...on a big screen.
This is a movie I've probably seen every holiday since I was a kid, but always on a TV screen, which is most assuredly not the best way to enjoy a 1950s musical.
So I was delighted to see it being offered for this weekend's Movies & Mimosas feature at Movieland.
Although part of the pleasure of this movie is its holiday theme, what I most look forward to about it is the dancing and Danny Kaye's incredibly malleable face and body.
The man is the original Gumby and displays his physicality superbly.
Even the scenes where he's not talking, just watching his face is entertainment enough.
And watching him dance is a revelation; his body arcs and sways effortlessly while Bing Crosby stiffly tries to keep up.
Seeing it on the big screen for the first time, I was able to note details I'd never been aware of before.
It's a wonderfully dated film, with a quaint reference to the Department of War rather than of Defense.
There's also a reference to a character being out of the country - in Alaska; but then, the movie was made four years before Alaska's statehood was approved.
But, at its heart, "White Christmas" is a love story with all the expected trials and tribulations of ultimately winning the love of one's life.
And, as we well know, the course of true love never does run smoothly.
But it's a pleasure to watch the inspired singing and dancing that leads to the fade-out kiss...on a big screen.
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