Friday, September 5, 2014

This talking picture business will never get off the ground!




I am a serious student of strange, especially late at night when I should be sleeping. It does something to my brain, I suppose. For some reason I got on the topic of the very first sound film, knowing it had nothing to do with Al Jolson and that racist monstrosity he made in 1927. The Jazz Singer was nothing but a sampler anyway, a weak silent film with a few songs patched in.

When I get into these topics, I find clips from film archives that are heavily watermarked, or whatever you call it when there are labels covering the picture and numbers spinning all over the place. It ruins them, really, but in this case I have no choice. This is from Huntley Archives, whatever that is, and it looks like a headless mannequin standing on a stage whirling around while singing in a voice like a mosquito. The whole thing sounds like it's on the wrong speed, with the male chorus sounding like munchkins. Somebody's idea of a sound experiment.




But this one is even older and freakier - Edison's first attempt to synchronize film with a wax cylinder recording. They've recreated the cylinder in a way which is quite plausible, but naturally you can't hear it here. Suffice it to say that it's squeaky. I'm convinced the synchronization is real, however, as I used to play the violin and know what to watch for in fingering and bowing. The men dancing together tells us a bit about Edison's sexual orientation. I think it turned him on, and, let's face it, he was the boss.

My favorite part is where the guy walks into the frame on the left - hey, maybe that's Edison! - and just sort of disappears. Time traveller? You decide.




Where do I get this stuff? I found lots of film shorts, mostly of singers, which were made years in advance of Jolson's notorious "first sound film". Here we have another strange Jewish singer, Eddie Cantor, also known as Old Banjo Eyes. He had a strange manner on-stage, a sort of skipping around that wasn't quite dancing. The film and sound seemed perfectly synchronized to me.




Some weird German thing. Here the sound was on a phonograph record, I suppose recorded at the same time that they filmed this poor cuss wailing his brains out.  I don't know how they got it all to come out at the same time. I also don't know who watched it, as it was 56 seconds long. I mean. . . you'd go to the theatre; you'd pay your money. . . you hired a babysitter and everything. . . and it's all over before you have a chance to sit down and get comfortable!




I love logos and headers and countdowns and intertitles and even end credits, when they're done stylishly. I like the wobbliness, unsteadiness of this, the flickering (for some reason the flickering really turns me on). This was a Bing Crosby short, and the fact that it was Mack Sennett tends to say it's late 1920s. Crosby looks shockingly young and his voice has not yet reached full bloom. I've lost track of the YouTube video, but if I find it, I'll giff him for sure.




This is from another film, but it will have to do. He sang very slowly in those days.




POST-POST POST: It struck me this morning as a bit weird that I was posting silent gifs about early sound film. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

I keep finding them, however - this one was made in the early '20s and represents a man reading a monologue by Dickens, but to me it looks like we're watching the old guy die.




Order The Glass Character from:

Thistledown Press 

Amazon.com

Chapters/Indigo.ca

Footlight Parade Redux: I can't wait to see it again!




And here are a few delicious gifs I made LAST time I saw it:











Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Taxidermy gone horribly wrong




This is a cheap sort of post, but I'll do it anyway. There are thousands of these pictures on the net, on hundreds of sites, and most of them are now examples of people TRYING to botch taxidermy and make it look funny. My personal favorites are motheaten, threadbare, cheaply-made-with-corners-cut, and perhaps sincere attempts to represent the spirit of the flyblown dead carcass of something.




Not everyone knows how to match the teeth to the animal. Maybe a set of human dentures was cheaper to find than actual polar bear teeth. Break out the Polident.




An awful lot of these, the ones I favor I mean, depict cats of various sorts, domestic or wild. I don't know what this one is. It's someone's idea of what a cat's face looks like. The measuring tape is a mystery to me.






I don't know exactly what it is about this one, but it creeps the bejeezus out of me. Some taxidermists, at least in the bad old days, liked to anthro - anthropo- anthropomorph- oh hell, they liked to give human traits to animals, so maybe that's what's going on here. Reminds me of Snagglepuss, or Snaggletooth, or whatever his name was. A definite Hanna-Barbera look.




Wrong size eyes.




Some of these, due to faulty or non-existent technique, perhaps from following a You, Too Can Be a Taxidermist! ad in the back of a comic book from 1940, may have shrunk with time, or with being shoved in the back of some nightmare closet to get it the hell away from you. A nice gift from Uncle Edgar who has a nice little hobby on the side, so he'll keep his hands to himself. My, how lifelike!






Meow, meow, meow.




I don't often favor the "deliberately cute" school of taxidermy, but there's something about this one. I think it's the zipper, combined with the Burt Lancaster facial expression.




This is a member of the Royal Family who stuck its paw in a lightsocket and became electrified. Obviously it used to be a corgi. Too bad we had to put it down, its eyes were too close together.




A good example of a "What-Is-It".


.

What scares me so much is that I think this guy really tried. Maybe it was even his dog. The fact you can see through its ear creeps me out even more. (Note the nose, or rather the absence of one.)




We can't possibly include them all, but this is a classic not to be missed. Either the donkey was in a bad way and had to run around on its hind legs, or the taxidermist lost the front legs, or lost interest, or else he just ran out of embalming fluid.






This isn't a replica of the subject of that great children's story, Misty of Chincoteague. This IS Misty of Chincoteague. I think I'm going to be sick.




For reasons unknown, this is my favorite. The tubular head, seamlike mouth and drainpipe neck are iconic, as is the stuffing pouring out of its nostrils.

Never was this a moose. Ever.



Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book
         It took me years to write, will you take a look. . .



Babycakes (a photo essay)



















Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book
         It took me years to write, will you take a look. . .


Tuesday, September 2, 2014

An almost normal life




A young woman sits in the waiting room of a psychiatrist’s office. She flips through old magazines full of celebrity diets and recipes for lavish desserts, uninterested.

“OK, Sandra, you can go in now.”



Into the throne room. The palace of no return. Or something like that. Since her bipolar diagnosis (and why is everyone suddenly bipolar? Wasn’t it multiple personality disorder a few years ago?), everything has been turned upside-down.




She is on five different medications, two of them to deal with side effects from the other three. These are (supposedly) working in tandem at relatively low levels which are (supposedly) easier on body and brain. Or at least that’s the theory, until the next one comes along.

“Sandra.”

“Dr. Turnstile.” (She has never quite gotten used to that name, which made her guffaw the first time she heard it.)

“So how are we doing these days.”

Not a question, but a statement, always in the plural.











“Oh, we’re. .  . just fine. But to tell you the truth, doctor, it could be better.”

“Feeling a touch of depression lately?” (He picks up his clipboard and begins to make notes.

“A touch. It’s been. . .I don’t know. Remember I told you about my brother?”

”The one who got married last year.”

“No, the other one. I mean. . .”

“Refresh my memory.”

“The one I’ve been talking about for the past five sessions.”




“I detect a note of irritability.” He makes another note.

“Yes, a note. He’s in jail now. Embezzlement. The guy is just too clever for his own good. He’s appealing, of course. I don’t mean that kind of appealing.”

“Explain.”

“Never mind, it’s just a lame joke.”

“So apart from your brother going to jail. . . “

“Oh, everything’s just hunky-dory.”




“I detect a note of sarcasm.”

“That’s because I’m lying. Everything isn’t hunky-dory. You remember my boy friend, Robert –“

“The accountant."

“Lawyer. We broke up. It was. . . I don’t know, pretty bad.”

“Are you taking your medication?

She blinks. “I wouldn’t dream of going off it.”




“Would you like me to raise the doseage on the Seroquel?”

"No.”

“The Lamotrigine?”

“No.”

“The lithium?”

“No.”



“Then let’s discuss non-medication-oriented strategies for managing the mild depression you seem to be experiencing right now.”

“Strategies.”

“Yes. You remember what I told you in our previous sessions. The principles of cognitive therapy indicate that feelings arise from thoughts. If thoughts are excessively negative, emotions will soon follow suit.”

“I always had a problem with that one.”

“Yes, I realize there has been some resistance to treatment. This must be overcome if you are to become truly well.”

Can I be truly well if I’m bipolar?”

“Not in the usual sense. But in a relative sense, as opposed to experiencing severe episodes, then it’s possible for someone with bipolar disorder to live an almost normal life."




“Almost normal. I see. So nut cases can only get so much better before they hit a wall.”

"Sandra, that is a completely irresponsible statement.”

“But I’m just sayin’. There’s only so far a bipolar can go. The chain is pretty short.”







“That’s why it is so imperative for you to adhere strictly to the principles of cognitive therapy.”

“You see, there’s where I can’t follow you. I find it hard to believe that every emotion is just an offshoot of a thought, and that every thought can be controlled.”

“Maybe not every thought. But people have more control than they think.”

“Do they now. Then I wonder why we even need medication.”




“Sandra, you know why. You have inherited a chemical imbalance of the brain which tends to trigger extreme mood swings, which in turn skews your thoughts toward the negative.”

“But the thoughts lead to the mood swings, don't they? I'm confused."

“There is no need to twist my words around."

“OK then, cognitive therapy. That means I’m supposed to reframe negative events – “

"Now you’re on the right track.”



“. . . Reframe negative events so that they become positive. Let’s see. So breaking up with Robert was really a good thing.”

“Yes, yes – continue – “

“No matter how much I loved him, I – I don’t know. I can’t think of anything.”

“How about this for an alternate hypothesis. There is a possibility that this breakup will free you to explore other possibilities. You’re young. There are other fish in the sea.”

“Other fish.”



“Maybe even better fish. Have you thought of that? And how about your brother? Can we shed a more positive light on his situation, which is, after all, self-created?"

“Oh, maybe he’ll turn his life around in jail. Have a religious conversion, write a book, marry some woman on the outside who’s willing to wait fifteen years until he gets out.”

“Again, the note of sarcasm.”

“Yeah, but I just can’t do this. This cognitive therapy, it implies we can control just about every thought, and thus every feeling that we have. We can just decide.”

“Yes, more than most people realize.”




“Isn’t this creating your own reality? Isn’t that what crazy people do?”

“Sandra, you are deliberately poking holes in the therapeutic process.”

“Poking holes. Doctor, I wish it were as simple as deciding how to feel.”

“But to a large extent, Sandra, it is. Cognitive therapy is, after all, the primary mode of treatment in modern therapeutic practice.”

"Then why have they stopped saying that about being gay?”




He looks disconcerted, puts down his clipboard.

“You know. They used to say being gay was something you could change if you just decided to. You know, made up your mind.”

“That was many years ago.” He shifts in his chair.

“In other words: yes, you might be attracted to men, but that’s a choice. You can choose something else, a girl in other words, any time you want to.”

“That’s very simplistic.” He is turning a shade of pink.




“But according to the principles of cognitive therapy, it should work. You should be able to change your feelings of attraction to men just by changing your thoughts. Am I right?”

”The DSM specifically states – “

“Forget the DSM. Say you’re gay. You want to be straight, or your mother wants you to be straight. Hell, let’s face it, even with the progress we’ve made, it’s still easier to be straight than gay. You don’t have to explain yourself all the time.  So, just change your thoughts about the subject and you won’t have those feelings any more! Think about girls instead. Finito. Problem solved.”

“We aren’t discussing sexual orientation now, Sandra.”

“Yes we are. Haven’t you been listening?”




Dr. Turnstile has the look of a fish sliding down a chute and landing helplessly in the ocean. It is imperative that they change the subject before he loses any more ground.

Sandra fixes him with her incandescent blue eyes.

“It just comes down to a decision. Am I right? But the thing is, doctor – you haven’t made that decision yet. Have you?”




A young woman sits in the waiting room of a psychiatrist’s office. She flips through an old magazine with screaming headlines about Lindsay Lohan’s latest arrest on the cover, bored.

“OK, Sandra, you can go in now.”