o my darlin

It's was really exciting to edit the latest edition of Clementine (an online journal of poetry and photography) with Becca. I love and admire all of the poets represented.

The issue features five previously unpublished poems by Tim Dlugos, whose collected poems, A Fast Life (edited by David Trinidad) is due from Nightboat Books in 2011. There are also three previously unpublished poems by Karl Tierney. A poet whose work I discovered in the excellent anthology Persistent Voices: An Anthology of Poets Lost to AIDS.

As always, we tried to represent many different voices. There are two great poems inspired by Curtis Mayfield by Rio Cortez. A Showgirls sestina by Jeffery Conway. Persona poems concerning Amy Winehouse by Kerri French. The subjects of the poems range from Vladmir Putin to video games.

All of the poems--by Jerome Murphy, Sarah Stickney, Charles Jensen, Matthew Hittinger, Jeffrey Allen, Michael Comstock, William Wright, Jenn Blair, Joe Eldridge, Nathan Vulgamott and Steve Westbrook--are smart and refreshing.

I am crazy about the Barbie photos of Russ Pedro and Brian Brown's evocative shots of rural Georgia.

Clementine is interested primarily in the idea of the persona, but we are rather loose with what we consider a "persona poem." Some in the issue are more literal about this than others. Becca and I are proud of what we put together and so happy to share the work of these artists.

the death of a nobody

Alfred Hitchcock's grandly entertaining Saboteur features one of his most exceptional showcases: a man hanging from the hand of the Statue of Liberty. Besides this scene, still great-looking today, there are many wonderful, offbeat moments in this film. Robert Cummings plays Barry Kane, an ordinary military aircraft worker, wrongly suspected of setting fire and killing a co-worker in his factory. On the run from authorities, Kane tries to solve the mystery of what happened, meeting up with some eccentric characters along the way. He finally finds himself embroiled with anti-American, fascist saboteurs, leading him all the way to a duel on top of the Statue of Liberty with his nemesis "Fry" (Norman Lloyd).

Saboteur was in production two weeks after Pearl Harbor and is one of the few, if not only, Hitchcock films to have so much political shading. The script was written by Peter Viertel, Joan Harrison, and Dorothy Parker. It can be assumed that Parker supplied much of the wit in the film. Especially in the dialogue-rich scene, which recalls Bride of Frankenstein, where Kane stumbles unto an old blind man's (Vaughan Glaser) house. Like many Hitchcock works, marginalized characters (here: the unmarried old blind man, a group of circus performers, a truck driver) end up being the most intelligent and compassionate in the picture. In Saboteur, it seems to be a statement on the value of the individual in America--something that separates the country from fascist ideology. The seemingly ordinary people--a matronly woman throwing a lavish party, a man with a small child and a swimming pool--end up being the most dangerous and deceiving. Most of this social commentary is quite obvious in the film. "The Death of a Nobody" becomes an ironic trope. And the movie moves very fast, up until the Statue of Liberty sequence, which effectively cuts between small scale (a stitch coming apart) to the grandiose (studio shots of the statue; the late Robert Boyle was associate art director). This is a slickly enjoyable film, very similar to The 39 Steps, and one of Hitchcock's most economical.

Here are some memorable shots.

fab ladies

I love.

topaz

Truth and fiction collide in Alfred Hitchcock's Topaz based upon a Leon Uris (Exodus) novel. A complicated tale of intrigue, the story (scripted by Vertigo's Samuel A. Taylor, after Hitchcock complained Uris's treatment was "unshootable") is loosely based on real-life "Sapphire" gang, a ring of Russian spies involved with Cuba at the height of the Cold War. The spy tale jets from Copenhagen where a Russian and his family are plucked, to D.C. where they are flown to live in anonymity and to supply the U.S. with information. In D.C., French intelligence agent, Andre Devereaux (Frederick Stafford), becomes embroiled with the intrigue. He follows leads in New York and Cuba and comes back to the states again. Cameras are traded, pictures taken and hidden, sometimes, at great human cost, film is sealed behind notebooks. The movie traces its labyrinth narrative by moving maze-like through rooms and small spaces (houses, flats, hotels, a greenhouse, an airplane lavatory, a secret room behind a pantry). Emphasizing the film's themes of displacement and betrayal, the movie never settles in one place for too long and the lengthy lineup of supporting characters, notably Devereaux's wife Nicole (Dany Robin), and his mistress Juanita (Karin Dor), are rarely who they seem to be to those around them. Once the ringleader of Topaz is revealed, his fate is further complicated by Hitchcock's three different endings (including a stylish though somewhat anticlimactic "duel" scene reviled by test audiences).

With Topaz, Hitchcock does something I can't recall him doing in any of his other films: meshing real-life footage (a grainy Castro rally and Soviet March) with his own work. Hitchcock is such a stylish, meticulous filmmaker that his films often lack the authenticity that this particular subject matter seems to warrant.

It's also a curious period piece, taking place in 1962. Movie audiences in 1969, confronted less with the Cold War and more with American social unrest and the war in Vietnam, were shunning many studio pictures, seeking out grittier pieces filmed on-location (Midnight Cowboy and Easy Rider among them). The picture, riddled with its stodgy '62 plot, its process shots and Hitch's studio gloss, is almost like a winsome goodbye letter to the decade.


For these reasons, Topaz is a bit of a Hitchcock oddity, and another marker in the decline at the end of his incredible oeuvre. Topaz often lags, primarily in the oddly unmoving third act. Devereaux is cooly distant: not a unique character nor a strong cinematic presence to be intimate with (as were the protagonists of most of Hitchcock's great works). Yet there is so much in Topaz that is fascinating. There is one magnificent overhead shot and an arresting use of color (a purple 'Rest in Peace' ribbon becomes symbolic when the color is worn by a fated character). The meticulous planning and thematic undercurrents of his scenes are often evident (the "china shop" opening and its suggestion of the film's fragile relationships). Common Hitchcock visual motifs of blood, the body, stairs, birds, and food are used to great effect. The music by Maurice Jarre is an interesting mix of the film's different cultural tones. I wonder, though, if the film would have had a bit more punch and thrill if scored by Bernard Herrmann. Edith Head's costumes are brilliantly alive throughout, and employ great use of Hitchcock's color symbolism.

Topaz was a box office disappointment and not one of Hitchcock's favorite directorial experiences. In retrospect, the source material--masculine, runaway bestseller spy intrigue populated with what he deemed as "cardboard characters"--was not conducive to Hitchcock's strengths. But even Hitchcock misfires are better than most any films out there.

-Jeffery Berg

barbara

Barbara Billingsley

I was the faceless Nanny
listening to the racket
of the Muppet Babies.
I stood at the mic,
recorded the voice: sorrow
contained out the kitchen window
on the blazing Technicolor lawn.
I lived in trivial roles:
Blonde with Hives
in So You Think You're Allergic.
Jive Lady. Saleswoman.
Customer in flowered hat.
Hat Check Girl.
Edna the Receptionist.
Dorothy the Secretary.
The Seamstress crossing the room
to hem Lana Turner's dress
in The Bad & the Beautiful.
Above my sternum
covered with pearls:
a surgical scar. I stood
in heels under the hot lights
with a cookie plate out.
Advising the homemaker
to dress up their role. Simply
the healer of Ward's bad moods.
Simply June in The Human Duplicators.
June Cleaver in Still the Beaver.


-Jeffery Berg


Originally published in October 2010's MiPOesias (on pg. 23)


1915 - 2010.

shoutouts

I'm so excited to see Blue Valentine. Here is Michelle Williams looking classic in Erdem at the London premiere. Love her leopard print heels! More pics here. Trailer here.

Jonathan Franzen's favorite fiction. An interesting, varied list.

Two poems by a friend, Angelo Nikolopoulos, in The Awl. "Going Garbo" is pretty much perfect.

New issue of Octopus.

if you have ghosts: shared cinematic experiences

I asked If You Have Ghosts to share some of his horror favorites. (They are all favorites of mine as well!).

Many of the films that impacted me at an early age were introduced by older cousins who did an amazing job not only in selecting which to introduce to an impressionable young person but made each viewing an event as well. Not all of those films were horror, but I was asked to write a list for Halloween / October so these are.

The theme of this list--aside from every film being great to watch at any time of year--is shared cinematic experiences. Whenever I show people these movies, they are usually accompanied by a story of the first time I saw them.

These are fairly obvious selections, but they hold up and I'm not trying to be hip about it. Also, not a “top” anything, just what I thought of first.

Dawn of the Dead (1978):

I could only hope to have somebody as badass and resourceful as Peter Washington (Ken Foree) around in an apocalyptic-survival scenario. Romero's zombie films attempt to make a cultural statement (this one on consumer culture making us all zombies) but are successful beyond that due to their quality. Horror, humor, a great score by Goblin--no question this would be on the list.

The Bride of Frankenstein (1935):

I love the original as well, but Bride is my favorite of the two. The atmosphere of the original Universal horror films was beautiful and holds up wonderfully. To think that there was a time when a movie could be marketed and fill theater seats simply by hinting that the "monster" would speak...

The Shining (1980):

One could watch this during a snowstorm at any time of the year and be horrified. I wonder if the audience is truly supposed to sympathize with the Torrance family, as I did not. For me, the saddest character death was that of Dick Hallorann (Scatman Crothers). He just went to the hotel to check up on everybody.

The Thing (1982):

Many consider Halloween to be John Carpenter's masterpiece, but I have never held it in such high regard. Certainly, it introduced an iconic mask and score, but as a horror film in its entirety, it is not so significant for me.

The true masterpiece in his career would come just a few years later with The Thing. Location, amazing practical effects, a cast interacting perfectly and absolutely convincingly given the story's scenario and a great score by Ennio Morricone. Not to mention Carpenter's films with Kurt Russell were his best. The blood-test scene still features one of the greatest uses of tension I have seen in any film, horror or otherwise.

An American Werewolf in London (1981):

I can only name two truly great werewolf movies and though I love the original The Wolf Man, I prefer this one. Great use of practical effects, intelligently selected and placed music cues and humor. The nightmare sequences and victim visits still have the ability to inspire a "What the Fuck!?" moment from new viewers.

Night of the Living Dead (1968):

Some things, you don't have to explain. This one is truly horrific and aside from films such as White Zombie, which introduced the Voodoo Zombie, was the first to introduce the type of zombie we all know today, the Living Dead, to a broad audience.

That's it for now. Time to load up on pumpkins, candy and head to the crafts store to make some hanging ghosts for the balcony.

Follow If You Have Ghosts on Twitter.