'Cause it's Summer

Summertime is....heeeere. Yes, it's Summer, my time of year. So mad dogs (and Englishmen) can go out in the noon-day sun and enjoy themselves, as Smokey (pictured here) obviously does, leaning on our slopey lawn soakin' up the rays. Get that dog some Foster Grants, because he's squinting.

Another sure sign of Summer--I drove by the Military-Town's 3-plex today and they're showing "Spiderman 3," "Shrek 3," and "Pirates of the Caribbean 3" in their three theaters. Three three's is almost a full house, but it's still a pretty "iffy" hand.

K.'s home, and I'm doing freelance...I've managed to get a bunch of chores accomplished before her return. The bathtub's rust spots have been painted with a fine enamel paint. The big, heavy tile table has been repaired, and ready to be moved to the corner of the deck. The lawn is mowed, and a little bit of trimming of a side bush has stabilized the satellite reception--for now. And we have nice, neat pavers to climb the slope in front of the shed to the front door (I've been getting tired of the near-occasion of tripping on errant rockery), which Smokey manages to leap in a single bound. More wood needs to be cut (and a roof should be put on the crib to replace the tarp). The big rounds on the lawn need to be moved (rolled, really--they're much too heavy to lift) to a more flat area for some "bucking"next month. And we really should get on with putting a set of cupboard doors in front of the half-water heater (which is working like a champ).

The eagles are tending to the nesting duties a block away. The whales seem to have moved on--haven't heard/seen them in a couple of weeks, but we have a new, more frequent visitor: a hummingbird (who we've heard criss-crossing the property, sounding like a speeded-up version of George Jetson's car) makes frequent and thorough pit-stops to the new fuchsia hanging over the deck. Fu is fascinated by it when it appears, but for most of the time, she's content with travelling from sun-patch to sun-patch, punctuated by her inimitable squawling yowl for food. She's 22 (or 23). And she's dependable enough to take sojourns outside in the sun, while Smokey hovers near-by to make sure she stays out of trouble.

Movie-wise I haven't seen a thing--I'm conserving funds while still sending out resumes. There are signs of hope (or A sign of hope), and hopefully the log-jam will break soon.

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I have seen a couple of things on video:

The Pianist (Roman Polanski, 2002): I've been avoiding this like the plague, because when you get home the last thing you want to see is a "holocaust" movie. But since our current Net-flicks choices are "The Pianist" or "The Constant Gardener," its a bit easier to choose which of the two depressions you want to take on. We went with "Pianist," and I regret putting it off. Yes, it's about the Warsaw Ghetto. But it's also a terrific adventure/survival movie about a man used to the rarefied world of the arts being forced to make life and death choices in order to survive. That its a true story (about pianist Władysław Szpilman) makes it even more remarkable and a testament to one's will to live. But its also one of Roman Polanski's best films--a straight ahead artful telling of the tale without blandishments or Polanski's usual tendency to throw in some frivolous garbage that devalues the piece. Adrien Brody is simply amazing in it (but "Man Alone" movies tend to bring out the best in actors--anyone remember Dr. Hang S. Noor in "The Killing Fields?"), slowly losing the detached look in his eyes as his situation worsens and worsens. One can't help but flash on current events and how a populace can be fooled into thinking "But they wouldn't dare...." Give someone enough power, and they'll dare anything. With enough power, who's going to stop them? Well worth seeing so don't be scared by it.

Cars (John Lasseter, Joe Ranft, 2006) I finally checked out Pixar's "Cars"--I wasn't in too much of a hurry to see it because the critics called it a step downward for the studio. But they're wrong. Perhaps they were WANTING it to be a step downward, or they couldn't get into the anthropomorphization required to settle into the movie, but one can say that about all of Pixar's output. This one is just as charming, and the work done to bring everything to shimmering life is amazing--these folks jump the bar with every movie they make, and the rubberized moves of the various cars is pretty ingenious. The nostalgia for the open road that permeates the movie may be way over the heads of the kids in the audience, but "Cars" succeeds in telling its story well and charmingly so. And this time, Pixar throws in a bit more music and panache to make things work on more than a surface level. Well worth watching.

Little Children (Todd Field, 2006) One I've been wanting to see but avoiding. Again, bad decision. Todd Field has the spirit of Kubrick in him (Field, as an actor, worked on "Eyes Wide Shut" and Kubrick subjected him to "the drill" about his first film, "In the Bedroom"--"Why do you want to make that? What can you bring to it? How can you tell your story more compellingly? Is it worth doing, though?")--but Fields, is a far looser director, and with a much more sure sense of humor, though it was missing in "Bedroom." That razor-like humor helps in this story of a neighborhood not coping well with a convicted sex offender in their midst (he's a flasher). Everyone is on the critical edge of everyday panic and with an aversion to complacency, so everyone seems determined to see how far they can push the envelope before things come crashing around their ears. There is an air of clinical observation to the film that is cruel and humorous, though, for the characters portrayed, everything is of deadly earnest and has complex consequences. And its use of Will Lyman is brilliant. Uniformly the cast is excellent with Kate Winslet, Patrick Wilson (he had the least showy role in HBO's "Angels in America" as the closeted conservative), Jennifer Connelly (restrained and never better), and particularly Jackie Earle Haley as the flasher. Absent from movies for years, Haley now has a cadaverous look like he's being consumed from the inside, and his beady-eyed pressurized work keeps you on pins and needles. He and Winslet received the lion's share of accolades at awards-time last year, but the film itself should have received more attention...certainly more than "The Departed" did. Todd Field is a guy to watch.

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Am I going to the Seattle International Film Festival? Nah! I haven't gone in years, and I wouldn't go unless there was a program on Welles or Kubrick--one of my deep regrets is not attending the SIFF premiere of "Stanley Kubrick: A Life in Pictures" with a post-screening Q & A with his familt members. Oh, and there's a twinge that I didn't go see "OSS-117: Nest of Spies" last year--from the previews it looked like a hilarious deconstruction of the Terence Young James Bond films. But that's about it. I can't stand the lines. I can't stand the inconvenience--despite them constantly expanding the venues. And I can't stand the audiences. If a film doesn't fit the tightly constructed set of values held by the supposedly tolerant liberal SIFF audiences, the film is hissed and booed. I find that as annoying as talking during a movie. Laughter? Great. Tears? Sure! But the expression of your narrow political opinion...when you've bought a ticket? Go make a sign and picket outside, like the rest of the cranks. I mean, "boo/hiss" is pretty silent-movie era. Makes you wish there were crying rooms at SIFF.

The worst example from my many years of attendance was the premiere of "Blood Simple"--the first Coen brothers movie. There was a Q & A after the show, and one audience member shouted out "Why so much blood?" Joel Coen looked a little perplexed and said, "Gee, with that kind of injuring, it's what you'd expect, and, really, the story demanded it." "BULLSHIT!" shouted the questioner. Yeah. Whatever. Make your own damn movie. Premier it at SIFF, and I won't go see that, either.

The "Now I've Seen Everything" Dept. - Steven Spielberg, Junior Year

In which the author, having seen everything there is to see on the subject makes a capsule summary of each,* looking for trends and contributing what he calls an Ouvre-view.**

Subject: The Films of Steven Spielberg, Junior Year

The Lost World: Jurassic Park, 1997 After years of resisting efforts by studios to follow up one his blockbusters, Spielberg finally made a sequel to one of his movies. "The Lost World" would be the first. Partially, this was in gratitude to Universal Studios for allowing him to make "Schindler's List." But there was another more selfish reason Spielberg wanted to do the follow-up-- he wanted to be the first one to have a CGI T-Rex rampaging through an American city. "The Lost World" is a wierd hybrid of sources, starting with the original book's opening. Then, it follows Crichton's follow-up book, then Spielberg went on his own tangent bringing the dinosaurs to the U.S. He's aided by a great cast: Jeff Goldblum returns, and is joined by Julianne Moore, Pete Postlethwaite (his first of two movies for Spielberg), Arliss Howard and a pre-"West Wing" Richard Schiff. Only Vince Vaughn fails to register as a viable character. And...there's an annoying kid. Ultimately for all the technical advances, its a bit too much and unfocussed, except for a Rube Goldberg set-piece--taken directly from Crichton's book--involving three people in an articulated double RV, a precipitous cliff and two predatory T-Rex's stomping around outside.. It's a giddy nail-biter. And if Spielberg had stuck to that tone, instead of playing around with the satiric possibilities of Rex's in America, it would have been a far better movie.


Amistad, 1997 The story of the uprising aboard the slave-ship La Amistad had never been told before, but given Spielberg's clout post-"Schindler's List," what was once considered box-office poison now had greenlight potential. As with "The Color Purple," Spielberg's earnestness gets in the way of the story, which, if one merely gets the facts right, would make for compelling drama. Again, the cast assembled is amazing *** Anthony Hopkins, Morgan Feeman, and as the white knight of the story, new star Mathew McConaughey--who despite tamping down his snarky Southern man exuberance still feels anachronistic for the period. And as the focus of the story, male-model Djimon Houssou acquits himself well--an impressive start for greater things to come. Now, if only they'd left John Quincey Adams' exemplary summation unscored by John Williams it wouldn't feel so much like a lecture, which, unfortunately extends to the entire film. After "Amistad", Spielberg would take a year off before taking on his next subject..


Saving Private Ryan, 1999 Spielberg's first film for his newly-created entertainment studio, Dreamworks SKG. Spielberg begins with a bravura set-piece--the landing at Normandy on D-Day presented quite unlike any way its been portrayed. Spielberg perfectly conveys what it feels like to be a sitting duck as well as the arbitrariness of death in war. Folks quibble about the rest of the movie, but you can't deny the power of that sequence, visually and sonically.**** A uniformly fine cast with Tom Hanks, Ed Burns, Vin Diesel, Barry Pepper, Giovanni Ribisi, Matt Damon, with cameos by Ted Danson, Dennis Farina and up-and-comers Nathan Fillion and Paul Giamatti.***** Hanks' portrayal of a "Joe" who just wants to go home and does whatever he has to towards that end is well-reasoned--you have to believe that Hanks could deliver the devastating last line that slams home the coda of the film. It's one of the few war films to deal with the trauma of survivor's guilt and the brick wall that lies between life in war and life in peace. "Saving Private Ryan" raised awareness of the soldier's lot in the "good" war, and dispelled the notion that any war could be "good" for those on the line. For that alone, it should be regarded as one of the greatest of war films. After "Ryan," Spielberg would take another year-break from directing.


A.I.: Artificial Intelligence, 2001: The Kubrick-Spielberg love-child that nobody loved. Kubrick called it his "Pinocchio" movie, and quite rightly decided after years of development to hand it to Spielberg, which, after Kubrick's death, he was only too eager to complete. But in the transition from Kubrick outline to Spielberg screenplay there's a lot of gear-grinding going from cold fantasy to sentimentality. And unfortunately it suffers a fate that too many sci-fi movies suffer - it asks us to absorb too many concepts too fast, and the casual movie-goer has a hard time accepting global warming, robot love, and an ice-aged Earth inhabited by your PC's descendants. Throw in a Blue Fairy and a dying robot's last wish and the audience is in stitches. But...it dares to ask that question rarely asked (except by Hitchcock in "Vertigo") "What is love, really?" And the answer is "Love is what audiences didn't feel about this movie." Still, there's some definite mind-stretching going on here. And it gave Jude Law a star-making turn, at last. Plus, the kid is simply amazing. Spielberg would take another year off, and come back in 2003 with two new films.


Minority Report, 2003 Spielberg teams up with Tom Cruise on one of Philip K. Dick's high-concept sci-fi novels and manages to make a far more plausible future, but a less moody one, than that imagined in Ridley Scott's Dick adaptation, "Blade Runner." Spielberg went the Kubrick route and hired future conceptualists (rather than art directors) to imagine the Washington D.C. of the future, full of mag-lev cars, targeted advertising and pre-cognitives who direct the police to the scene of the crime before it occurs. Spielberg casts a noir pall over the whole scenario which succeeds in nullifying some of his star's more intense moments. Colin Farrell impresses in an edgy performance that bests Cruise in their one scene together. The story is not much. But the trappings of it make it worth seeing.


Catch Me if You Can, 2003 Spielberg, with a considerably lighter touch, tells the story of Frank Abignale Jr., who, shattered and adrift from his parents' divorce, gravitates to the edge of society and becomes an expert forger and jack of all professions. Leonardo DeCaprio is a hoot as a kid who just wants to belong somewhere, and Tom Hanks squashes any ego to play the flat-foot FBI guy who dogs his tail. Divorce is a subject close to Spielberg, and he must have been drawn to the story of a kid dealing with it...by doing anything he wants. There's some particularly good work by Christopher Walken and Jennifer Garner along the way.



The Terminal, 2004 What Spielberg accomplished with "Catch Me If You Can" was needed on "The Terminal," as, for some reason, its a return to heavy-handed direction. Maybe its because the film is so set-bound (A nearly scale jet terminal and concourse was constructed to exacting detail on a sound-stage and the majority of filming took place there), or maybe the director thought there was a bigger message there (a comment on the situation of illegal immigrants, perhaps? If so, it's buried under too much Spielberg-business) but the story of a Slavic visitor whose homeland goes to war and leaves him without a country and with invalid papers--thus making him incapable of leaving the terminal without being arrested and deported--overstays its visa. There is some nice work with the minimum-wage employees of the port who form a greek chorus and cheering section for Hanks' character. But the film goes astray with Catherine Zeta-Jones as a cute/clutzy stew. You just don't buy her as being so pathetic. Ultimately when all is revealed one gets the impression of a balloon encased in concrete. All the potential charm is squeezed out of it by Spielberg's leaden direction. Spielberg would again take a year break and then quickly produce another two films in a year.


The War of the Worlds, 2006 Spielberg and Cruise again. This time Spielberg was paying homage to the original Paramount film, as well as Welles' (Orson's) radio version, and the original Wells (H.G.)novel, while also drilling down on something that had been fascinating Spielberg since September 11th--the idea of American refugees. "War of the Worlds" delivers that image in spades. There were all sorts of gripes about the tripod walkers (its from the book!) and the way the story just sort of ends (IT'S FROM THE BOOK! ALRIGHT??!), but at least no one complained about not making the invaders "Martians" anymore. I found Spielberg's devotion to the predecessors admirable, and only once does he succumb to "Tom Cruise-Super Hero" mode, (Cruise is blessedly at his most restrained). Dakota Fanning is extraordinary, and to see the stars of the Paramount version at the end of the trail warmed my heart. The only section of the film that disappoints is the extended scenes in Tim Robbins' basement. Robbins' performance is over-the-top, and the sequence kills any momentum for the film. But all in all, its a great attempt to modernize the classic while staying true to its red roots. ******


Munich, 2006 The same year, Spielberg came out with this. It's the fictionalized story of a specific Mossad unit's hunting down of the perpetrators of the Munich Massacre at the '72 Olympics. It had been filmed once before as "Sword of Gideon" for Showtime, but Spielberg and his scripters ("Angels in America" author Tony Kushner and veteran scribe Eric Roth) pull out all the stops and consider the cost of revenge on the team-members and the future outcome of that mission. Brutal and completely cynical, "Munich" is a very mature telling of a spy story, with all the possibilities for compromise, double-dealings and betrayals--as well as the identification with the "other side" that a story of this type can lend itself to. Plus, there are all the set-pieces of assassinations that Spielberg winds up like lethal Swiss watches. It's a bit like "Mission: Impossible" with guilt, and there are images from this movie that you will never, ever get out of your head.

Ouvre-view: What's next for Spielberg? He's sticking to his pattern of doing a couple of movies a year in quick succession and then taking a couple years off--all the better to go to the office and produce, then go home and spend time with his very extended family. Unless things change radically--and they can with Spielberg, as he opted to direct "War of the Worlds" instead of "Memoirs of a Geisha"--he'll be doing a fourth Indiana Jones (that has had so many rejected scripts from so many talents that it had better be good!), a biography of Lincoln with Liam Neeson (based on Doris Kearn Godwin's work) which will be interesting if he can keep from turning Lincoln into one of those reverent Disneyland animatronics, shoot it fast, and show Abe's contrast to our current crop of politicians (for instance, Lincoln's propensity to put his political enemies into his cabinet rather than his cronies, all the better to keep an eye on them)--then, wraps it up with a space epic called "Interstellar"--all to be released in 2008. Spielberg is approaching the best of both worlds--he's working with some of the finest dramatists and authors available, while keeping his visual eye peeled for the striking image. If he has one weakness entering into his Senior Year, it is that constant desire to make Play-Mountains out of Mole-Hills. He can do anything he wants, with as much money as people can throw at him. But, Spielberg tends to work best with constraint...whether with time or budget, and that has a tendency to make him come up with better story-telling solutions than if he could do everything he wanted--a lesson learned from "Jaws" and "Raiders..." At least, he seems to know that--with his extended pre-production periods and his break-neck pace making movies these days. As for subject matter, his "light" films now carry darker nuances, while his more heavy subjects are benefitting from his more streamlined directorial style. Spielberg seems to have left his naivete behind, while keeping his sense of wonder...and outrage. Of all his contemporaries (Coppola, Lucas, Scorsese, DePalma), he has managed to broaden and deepen his technique and subject matter in a cinematic environment that goes for the quick buck, and least common denominator. Of all of them, Spielberg seems to be the one getting better and wiser, in an age of the dumbed down movie despite all the money and clout he has earned throughout his career. It will be fascinating to see what he does with it in the future.

The Films of Steven Spielberg, Freshnan Year (1971-1981)
The Films of Steven Spielberg, Sophomore Year(1982-1993)


* With any luck

** Ouvre: 1.the works of a writer, painter, or the like, taken as a whole.

*** One particular cast-member is a funny one: Darren Burrows who played "Ed," Cicely's aspiring film-maker and Spielberg student in "Northern Exposure"

**** I have a vivid memory of watching "Ryan" for the first time. Ten minutes in, I realized I was in pain, so I pulled my head out of the movie, and realized I was ducking down in my seat. To avoid the bullets. I straightened up to watch the rest of the movie, but I did it with respect.

***** I've heard this rumor that its Kevin Costner as the german soldier shot through his rifle sight. Sure looks like him.

******Update: 06/04/07 But, there’s more: One can see “The War of the Worlds” as the final part of a trilogy of films, just as Oliver Stone had a trilogy of Viet Nam films—all taking on different perspectives of that conflict. “Close Encounters” is “The Searchers” with E.T.’s instead of Commanche’s—little Barry is abducted and it’s his mother's quest to get him back. In “E.T.” one of the aliens is the one left stranded and he must find his own way home, just as Elliott must turn aside his selfishness and aid his alien-friend in doing so. In “War of the Worlds,” Tom Cruise is the “Ethan Edwards” character—self-centered, a deadbeat dad, another in a long-line of men with “Peter Pan” syndrome in Spielberg films. In his “search” he must get his family home and reunited with their mother. And his hanging-back from going inside that home is a direct reflection of the ending of “The Searchers” (In fact, I was half-way expecting Cruise to grip his arm at the end, but he didn’t)

100 Years of the Duke

Marion Morrison would have been 100 years old today.

Two stories to start--one certainly apochryphal, one probably true.

Story one: George Stevens was directing "The Greatest Story Ever Told" and in one of the egregious examples of "stunt-casting" that mars that movie is John Wayne as "The Centurion." Wayne was dressed improbably in Roman armor, and when Jesus "commends his spirit" and the heavens open, Wayne had one line, looking at the cross--"Surely this was the Son of God!" They did a take and Stevens wasn't satisfied. "It needs more, John! This is Jesus and he's just died...I need more awe...can you put more awe in it, John?" Take two: Wayne looks up at the cross and says...."Awww, surely this was the Son of God!"

Story two: Ward Bond was a member of director John Ford's stock company of players. He was in the great majority of Ford's movies playing many different roles. He was also, like Wayne and Walter Brennan, a vitriolic right-winger and anti-communist, who in the hey-day of the 50's red-scare would brow-beat members of cast and crew into signing loyalty oaths. A crew-member came up to Ford and complained bitterly about Bond's behavior. "Yeah!" Ford growled. "Bond's a son of a bitch, alright! But he's our son of a bitch." As in: "He's a jerk, but forgive him." As in "We've all got our faults." As in: "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone."

I love John Wayne. And I despise John Wayne. But I love John Wayne.

I love John Wayne movies, and admire greatly the performances of John Wayne in them. That George Stevens story is funny...and plays into the myth of Wayne being a poor actor...something Wayne was only too quick to contribute to. "I don't act. I re-act," he would say. It never hurts to lower expectations, I guess. But one need only look at how directors could only cast him against strong co-stars--if they didn't, Wayne would blow everybody away like a prairie mist. Wayne had to work with players wise with their own tricks before the camera--the Clifts, the Brennans, the O'Hara's, the Mitchums and Douglases and Holdens--or he'd walk all over them with a simple glare. All Wayne had to do to make his point was NOT look at an actor. Even sick and weak, Wayne in "The Shootist" had to be balanced with a cast top-heavy with strong actor-personas: Jimmy Stewart, Lauren Bacall, Richard Boone, Harry Morgan, Hugh O'Brian. They had to be--for Wayne's last film they were playing against Wayne and his legend. I'm completely unapologetic in saying that John Wayne was a master of his craft and the more I see of his work, the more I believe it.

I also think John Wayne was an immature man with a false sense of what being a man was: he was a bully, a bone-head, and a complete fake, espousing Great American Ideals, while holding to none of them personally. The actor who portrayed "America's Fighting Man" never joined the military, opting to stay out of World War II claiming marriage, and because he didn't want to go in "as a private" (and with most of Hollywood's leading men off to war, commission or no--it allowed a vacuum that Wayne was only too eager to fill--he feathered his nest very well during the war). John Wayne, American, was married three times and all three times his marriages were contentious, and rumored to be abusive. John Wayne, hero of the West, was never a rough and tumble cowboy, but a football player and actor who grew up in California, and lived a very priviledged life. It was all a charade. But I love him in those movies, and I can't get enough. A John Wayne movie can even bring a tear to my eye.*

I love John Wayne. And I despise John Wayne.

And Marion Morrison? Well, now, there's the mystery.

Because Marion Morrison of Winterset, Iowa, born 100 years ago today, was a football player who worked on John Ford's crew and did the occasional line on-camera until Raoul Walsh picked him to star in "The Big Trail" and changed his name to John Wayne. And though Marion Morrison appeared in many many films, his greatest role was as "John Wayne," actor and patriot--the persona that never really existed but was portrayed as if it did, an American Myth. And even that role I admire and wonder at--the performance of a lifetime--though the things said in that guise could be alarmingly knuckle-headed. God and Country, sure. But "the Indians shoulda got out the way...they were selfish," how retarded is that? Still, when the Harvard Lampoon invited him to accept their bogus "Brass Balls" award, Morrison went...as Wayne...and bowled them over with his, by-now, well-learned self-deprecating humor. It was a day to show up and not take anything too seriously. He got as many laughs as jeers from the Hah-vahd boys, and there's something great abou that. "Brass Balls," indeed.

And then there are the stories that keep popping up. New truths punctuating the Myth. How "John Wayne" would publicly rail against communists and want them to all go back to Russia...but when Carl Foreman, blacklisted writer-producer, came back from self-exile producing films in Europe, and encountered Morrison at a dinner party he was astonished when Wayne came over to his table and gushed and made a fuss over him in front of Foreman's kids...like they were old buddies. Effusive in his praise and admiration. By-gones. There's the rabble-rouser John Wayne who would carouse and whore on-set, but who won the admiration of that most judgemental of actresses, Katherine Hepburn. There's the Marion Morrison who got along famously with wildly liberal director Don Siegel (who would needle Wayne on "The Shootist" set by wearing a peace medallion) and send Siegel's mother in hospital fresh flowers every day. There's the Marion Morrison, who read black-listed author Marguerite Roberts' screenplay for "True Grit" and declared it "perfect." Marion Morrison had less bluster than "John Wayne" did.

I encounter those stories more and more and marvel at them. And marvel at how Marion Morrison maintained "John Wayne" all those years. How he became greater...improbably greater...than himself in that persona. How he "sold" the myths and made you believe. There's real artistry there...beyond the screen roles.

So, I marvel at Marion Morrison...at John Wayne...and the dichotomy, and the contradictions...the complications embodied there in the one man. And wonder what's Myth and what's Truth. A little bit of both, as we all are. Just bigger. Broader. In gifts, and in failings.

And I go on contemplating that as I watch him stride across the screen in that walk that made him look like he was balancing on a ledge...or maybe a tight-rope. And I smile and admire him, despite everything else, say what you will about him.

But he's our son of a bitch.
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* I'm not alone here. Director Jean Luc Godard hated everything about Wayne, but there's a moment in "The Searchers" that so moved Godard that it "filled him with love" for the actor.

27 Years Ago, the Earth Opened Up II

I was working an overnight shift at a Longview radio station. I'd been up for 18 hours. A call came in from DES that the volcano was erupting again, and our person stationed at DES was starting to panic. (My name's Friday. I carry a badge)

Those of us hanging around the radio station at 3 in the morning were a little alarmed at how Bucky at the Department of Emergency Services was handling the news that St. Helens was erupting again (and that the prevailing winds were bringing the ash our way this time), so we made a switch--Bucky would come in and handle the radio station, and I'd go to DES and man our little remote station there. While that was going on, Mark would hold down the fort 'til Bucky showed up.

I went over to DES, and found a beehive of activity. I stayed out of the way. I went over to the side-room where the Longview radio stations had their little ouposts and saw the other stations had people already there. Impressively, the rock station had their news director there, while the other one--the EBS station that only operated during the day--had the station owner's son who was friendly with local police. The two of them were talking when I walked in. I saw no need to interrupt them, so I sat down at our station and started to organize. The news director walked over and introduced himself. I waved at the other guy.

Every so often, we'd get a bulletin from DES and when the station would "swing" to my location I'd give them an update of the situation, which usually meant I'd find another way to say what I'd set 15 minutes before. The three radio stations were in a side-room with no windows, so it was easy to appear calm during all this--you couldn't see what was going on, and the only news you got was from the DES guys walking in and handing us a bulletin--one bulletin, we'd pass it around and share. By now, the sun had come up and all three stations were on the air, and it was interesting to hear what was going on from my radio station. There was a constant recap of what had happened, the repetition of what to do "in case..." and reports from various officials who would call in and pass along information--all with an underlying tone of urgency. By now, most of the on-air staff was there, and it was impressive to hear the number of people who got involved. Our news department had increased to two with our news director and one of the salesmen who had a background in news (Jon had pulled two coups during the previous week's eruption by getting Pres. Carter's attention when he came out for his visit--"Longview radio, Mr. President. Can we get a few words?" and the President ambled over to him and spoke for a few minutes--and, also talking his way onto one of the Huey helicopters combing the area during the initial blast). I felt slightly removed from it all at DES, but you got the impression that the falling ash was creating problems throughout the city and beyond.

Then the power started going out in pockets of the area. Ash was getting into transfer stations and gumming things up. The news director of the rock station threw down his head-phones and announced "We just lost power." Woh! That wasn't good. Then, fifteen minutes later, the EBS station went dead, and I was the only game in town. The activity in DES was starting to increase, you could hear shouting going on in the main room. The door opened and one of the officials handed the EBS guy a sheet of paper. He looked at it. "These are the evacuation routes!" he said. He just stood there, holding onto it like he had to. The news director looked at him. They both knew I was the only station still on the air. "Give it to him!" said the news director, and, chastised, EBS guy handed me the paper. I could then tell people where they could go in case the city needed to be evacuated. Nice of him to give it to me.

Things started to get interesting. From what I could hear, there seemed to be increased activity in the main room at DES. Monitoring the radio station, I suddenly heard Bucky yell, "We just lost po...!!" then crackle away to static. At the exact same instant, the power went out at DES, and everything went dark. "We just went dead, too" I announced to the room, and in the dark the voice of the news director said laconically, "Well...that's that." We'd reached the end of our broadcast day...at 10:30 in the morning without so much as the National Anthem.

I had a flashlight, so we could still read bulletins...but it'd only be for our own entertainment. The generators at DES kicked in for the main room's emergency power, but the radio-room was still dark. I'd been in that little room for nearly 8 hours, so I got up to stretch my legs and take a first look outside.

It was eerie. The sun had come up many hours before, but you'd never know it looking at the sky. It was dark outside, a thin slip of blue on the horizon being the only indication that it was actually day-time.

And it was raining mud. Without the eruption it would have been a rainy day in Longview-Kelso, but the addition of ash and dirt in the sky combined to make a slightly heavier, dirtier downpour. The cars in the parking lot were all grey with it. It was going to take a hell of a clean-up to deal with it all.

That's the end of my story--I was "spelled" at DES about 2 in the afternoon, clocking my work-day at the station at 30 hours. But the best story of the day wasn't mine. It was the radio station's.

It had lost power. I heard it go down. But the only part that had lost power was the studios. The transmitter, located miles away on a golf course, was still operating, sending out a signal with nothing on it. The station's engineer (who, ironically, had been let go the previous month) roared up in his jeep, and did two things: he drove the program director to the transmitter and created a simple microphone set-up--literally plugging him into the tranmitter--and allowing the station to continue broadcasting, and then he drove to the local auto parts dealership and bought several car batteries, and hooked the studios to them to make a temporary generator. Greg, the PD, had to be a one-man show for a little while, but if there was a man alive who could do it, it was Greg. Soon, the station was operational,too. There were little inconveniences--the lights on the phones weren't working so you had to keep punching lines to see if there was anyone on them--but for all the city knew the station was completely operational, and that was all that mattered. I heard all that from my little perch at DES, and it was an incredible show. But not that many people know that story--you'd think it would have made the local papers, but, hey, there was a volcano erupting next door.

But you know it now. And it was 27 years ago, today.

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What's the mountain doing today? Check out the web-cam right here. http://www.fs.fed.us/gpnf/volcanocams/msh/

27 Years Ago, The Earth Opened Up I

The anniversary of the Eruption of Mt. St. Helens came and went last Friday and I didn't even mention it--I was busy with Howard Ashman songs. (Ash-man? Hmmmm.) But it was a significant event in my life and I remember it vividly. At the time I worked at a small radio station in Longview, Washington, about 40 miles away from St. Helens as the crow flies. There had been a lot of seismic activity on the mountain, a bulge was starting to appear on its north face, and folks were expecting an eruption of some sorts, but unsure of exactly what that might consist of. Lava? Flying boulders? Poison gas? Certainly, a lot of ash of a sorts. Several teams of geologists and the Department of Emergency Services were nervous about it, and watched the twitching of their seismographs like they were tarot cards. And they got about the same accuracy of what the future would hold. They could only wait. And wait. And wait.

For those of us in town and the radio station, it was a waiting game, too. All that could be done was keep in contact with the DES, and keep an eye on the horizon. There was some small controversy in that, owing to one station-owner's being a crony of the local cops and the local state senator, the area's official emergency broadcast station was the only one that went silent at sundown.* Our station was on 24/7 and we loudly griped to anyone who cared that if the mountain erupted, it had better do it during the day if they wanted to use the EBS system effectively. No one paid us any mind. "Sour grapes" I'm sure they thought. But the waiting was a bother. The mountain was evacuated of residents just to be on the safe side--the famously curmudgeonly Harry Truman wouldn't budge, and he was allowed to stay--but, after weeks of being away, a lot of them started demanding to go home and collect some things they thought they'd need for an extended absence and that weekend, the Folks In Charge relented and let residents in the evacuation area to go back to their homes.

And of course, that was the weekend the Mountain blew. 27 years ago, last Friday.

57 people died. They were either fried, gassed, disintegrated by the shock-wave, or a combination of those and then buried just as quickly in the Earth's efficient fury. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

My sister claims that she heard it all the way in Seattle, 200 miles away. I don't doubt her. I do know that 40 miles away I didn't hear it. The cone of the blast was facing away from Longview, and the cloud of ash was carried by the winds to the northeast (that day), but I was awakened by a phone call telling me St. Helens had erupted. I only had to look out my front door to confirm it. A large cloud of boiling steam and ash was vaulting straight up out of the mountain, and the best way I remember it was that it looked like a roiling brain in the sky. It was truly a frightening sight--malevolent in its crusty look and potential for causing damage. I turned on the TV to a Portland, Oregon station where the anchor on duty was flusteringly trying to fill time while having no facts about what was transpiring. He did mention that Longview was "knee-deep in lava." From my vantage point--in the middle of Longview--I could confirm no sign of that (nor was there any, ever), but I see that guy on a local Seattle affiliate every so often, and I remember the "knee-deep in lava" speculation. This was before the home-video boom, but I wish I had a tape of that newscast to send to him--the jerk.

I worked as a disc-jockey and advertising producer at a Longview radio station, so I headed over there to see what was going on. The news director had been doing a Sunday morning public service interview program when he looked out the big windows facing the main street to see the mushroom cloud rising up. Thus endeth the interview. The news director could be a little panicky, but he held it together and did a formidable job of keeping information going at a time when people wanted information...fast. I checked in to see if there was anything to do, but was told to come back later in the day--I might be needed to spell people if the thing kept erupting for a long period of time.

My girlfriend (Hi, Sandra!) and I were heading to a rodeo her family was holding, and we were going to spend the day there. But it was pretty apparent it wasn't going to be a normal rodeo. For one thing, people kept looking at that cloud in the sky getting bigger and meaner all the time. Then there were the Huey helicopters--the ones with the rotor blades that make that percussive chop through the air--making an appearance every fifteen minutes or so in waves that brought to mind the attack on the village in "Apocalypse Now." Those frequent helicopter pass-overs spooked the horses, so before long it was decided that, between the nervous horses and their nervous riders, that the rodeo was going to be a short one. We headed across the river for lunch and some beer and noted the increased traffic going across the Toutle River bridge that connected the cities of Longview and Kelso. Folks were probably trying to get out of town, though there was no need--monitoring the newscasts there was no evacuation plans mentioned. A couple hours later we crossed that same bridge going back, but it was a complete different sight-- the river was jammed to a standstill with timber, whole logs sitting in the middle of the river not moving at all. Brave souls were risking life and limb trying to unsnarl the tangle and keep the river navigable...but one could imagine that wouldn't be a reality for days. This was timber blasted from the mountain and pushed into the river by a current of mud. It was just the opening salvo of what was to come...something I would see that night and never forget.

We went back to the radio station, and was told that river levels were rising. I was sent out in a news-car to drive around and follow the river...and if I saw any section starting to flood, radio it back to the station so they could start evacuating the residents. Pretty heady stuff. There were all sorts of rumors floating around. Bodies being found--folks killed not by the pyroclastic flow from the mountain, but from the toxic fumes that literally fried their lungs. Large sections of mud were collecting in nooks and crannies of the river that would change its course unless it was dredged--a process that began almost immediately. Today, you can see large, grassy, hummocky hills along I-5 in the area. Those hills are made up of volcanic ash dredged and piled up along the banks of the river.

I drove around the city that night, driving along the river-roads watching the water rise, but never crest. Parts of the area closer to the mountain had been evacuated, but the towns of Longview and Kelso were staying firm. There was no need to move...yet.

About 3 am, I drove back to the Toutle River Bridge, got out of the news-car and wandered over where a small crowd was watching the river as debris from the devastated area was still making its way down-stream. It was an eerie sight: in the white glare of the search-lights piercing the dark, you could see an endless parade of people's lives being washed away. Finally, a house in ruins came down the river on its way to the Columbia River. It was devastating to see that. Later that night, as if a furnace had turned off, the rumble of Mt. St. Helens died down--the volcano had stopped erupting. For awhile we could relax.

For those that survived, life went on. President Carter flew in to survey the damage (famously saying "The Moon looks like a golf-course compared to that"), and for awhile, it was exciting to be so near the Big News Story--"Volcano in the U.S.!" But, by the end of the week, things were settling down.

27 years ago today, I worked my daytime Saturday shift, finished, and stuck around to do some production work--which took me all day--then I was going to be working the evening shift, too. We'd gotten into a pattern where two people would be on the air: one at the station and one at DES. I was happy to work another shift--I wanted to record an air-check that I could use to cut down and use as a demo for the hunt for my next job. Who knew how long this one would last with a volcano next door? I had been awake 18 hours by now, as evening stretched into overnight, but I wasn't feeling sleepy or even tired. Mark, one of the other DJ's, came over to while away the time. Bucky, another announcer, was at DES. Another radio night-owl was there, too, as I recall. Here it was 3 am, and it was like it was daytime during the week with all the visitors in the control room.

Then, I got a panicky call from Bucky. The volcano was erupting again, a few hours shy of a solid week after its first eruption. A few minutes later, it was confirmed that the volcano had lit up again, and those of us at the station steeled ourselves for another day of coverage like last week's.

Bucky called again from the DES--this time, the ash was coming our way. He was starting to panic...

More tomorrow....

* There is a limited number of broadcast frequencies, and stations have a varying degree of power. The FCC regulates all this cross-talk in the ether by requiring some stations that have a conflict in frequency to "go dark" at approximately sunset, or at least, reduce power. The EBS station in Longview at the time was one of the stations that completely shut down approximately sunset.

S'up?

What's up? Well, not my satellite connection, for one thing. Ever since the tsunami we had over the weekend the connection's been dodgy at best. I'm taking time right now, before I go into town to do a couple of industrials at MediaAgents (today's sponsor) to briefly talk about the last week. I'm on K.'s lap-top (she's in Eugene through Memorial Day, tending to Iva Lee--nothing serious, Iva's changing doctors as hers is taking a year off--and K. is helping with the transition and visiting. She's a good and dutiful daughter) writing this, getting used to the KEYBOARD (That's where CAPS-LOCK is!! With the little green suitcase with the "A" in it!) and doing a life-update.

Well, despite a solid week of "I Want" songs by Howard Ashman, I still haven't found that "permanent" job. Still looking. I went down to Portland one day last week to talk to a studio down there. One of the things that K. and I have talked about in this search was the possibility of relocating, and Portland is a place I can see making a good life at. I've applied at an "old haunt," as well. On Tuesday, I stopped by Shoreline Community College to give a rather shaggy lecture on foley/effects work to Steve M.'s Post-Production class. Their assignment: Strip the audio off two movies and replace them with all-new stuff--voices, music, effects. A daunting task on any film, but this quarter they're tackling "Star Wars" and "Spaceballs"--one for serious, one for creative freedom/experimentation. By June, they should (SHOULD) be done and there'll be a special showing at the Crest Theater in North Seattle. I'd like to go to that. Two years ago, when I co-taught the class, the films were "The Great Escape" and "Chicken Run." The students did well that year, and they "got" it, which was gratifying to see. This crop is working on "The Holy Grail" of sound effects films and though my lecture was a bit rough, I think I did impart some history, precedence and encouragement. There seemed to be some class-angst about their decision to do everything "new"--not use "StarWars" sound effects currently available on the Internet. I said it was the tougher job, but the more rewarding job, plus once their audience gets used to the idea that everything will be new they'll see the movie with new eyes...well, ears. I think I also gave them the impression that if they "nail" the opening, they'll have an easier time of it. Anyway, I walked away encouraged. And its always great to see Steve.

This week, some freelance--not enough to pay the bills, but something, at least--chores tomorrow (involving chopping wood, mowing the lawn, weed-whacking and painting the bath-tub--well, not painting the bath-tub, more like a touch-up), and trying to get some writing in. There'll be a long-put-off nearly final segment to a series coming up and a look at where I was 27 years ago--it's got everything: action, intrigue, political chicanery...and a volcano! Oh, and the sun doesn't rise! Well, not really, but it seemed like it. Anyway, it's a good way to close out the first year of blogging.
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Song in me head: "Yes It Is" The Beatles (infact, this would make a great "Same Old Song" bit
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Hey, for the next Bond movie (no title yet), the same writers are working on it (Purvis and Wade, Paul Haggis) and they're choosing a director...Martin Campbell has been "iffy" about doing the next one...here are the candidates: Tony Scott (Top Gun, Days of Thunder, Deja Vu), Alex Proyas (The Crow, Dark City, I, Robot), Jonathon Mostow (U-571, Terminator 3), or Marc Forster (Monster's Ball,Finding Neverland, Stranger than Fiction). Marc Forster? That'd be GREAT!

Movie Review - "Spiderman 3"

Oh, What a Tangled Web We Weave....

I’ve always taken a jaundiced view of the Marveltm superheroestm as opposed to the DCtm variety. Where the spandex crowd from Detective Comicstm sprang from pulps and adventure fiction, Marvel’s were derived from Stan Lee’stm previous job--writing romance comics. Back when I picked up the occasional Marvel in the 60’s it was always apparent that they were soap operas with fights, and that it was only a short spidey-jump from “*SOB!* I forgot to have children!” to “*SOB!* I will be Spiderman…No More!” The Marvel Superheroestm are drama-queenstm. This was never more apparent than the ending of the first “Spidermantm” movie when Peter Parkertm walks away from the girl who’s just professed her love to him (and in a graveyard *SOB!*), because “with great power comes great responsibilitytm-okay I'll stop”(as with the soaps, this sentiment lasted until the next movie, which ended with them together—I guess responsibility ain’t so great, after all). “Spiderman” was a soap opera punctuated by brutal, ugly fist-fights (which don’t look so cool when not freeze-framed in pop-art patterns) I vividly recall reading the geek-reviews saying “Spiderman” is just like US!” Ri-ight. I’ll bet they didn’t have two gorgeous co-eds fighting over them in high school, as the comics character did. Where that movie worked was “Spidey” in action—especially in the ending where the camera followed him morphing into so many iconic poses favored by various artists over the years—Ditko, Romita, Kane, Andru, McFarlane. There, the true potential of a movie “Spiderman” paid off.

So, when the second movie, combining “Doc Ock/Spiderman…No More!/Mary Jane’s getting hitched,” came out, the screenplay (co-written by Alvin Sargent and Michael Chabon) practically sang. It was a perfect balance between character/melodrama/action and spectacle. In fact, “Spiderman II” is probably the best comic-book movie ever…and the most enjoyable since the first “Superman.” With the creators knowing what worked now, one anticipated “Spiderman III.”

Now, here it is—the most expensive movie ever made (supplanting even “Superman Returns”**) and what does it show for all that money being thrown around? A bit, actually. The cast is uniformly good given the material with James Franco finally relaxing and having fun with his role as Harry Osborne. Thomas Hayden Church takes his role as The Sandman VERY seriously—he acts like he’s in an Ibsen play—though the most effective performance is by the “Particle-Matter Generator” Gizmo that created the sequence of him first emerging and pulling himself together. Topher Grace makes the most of his non-CGI moments as Eddie Brock/Venom. And Bryce Dallas Howard (Opie’s kid), after looking like something the cat dragged in for M. Night Shamyalan’s movies, cleans up very nicely as Gwen Stacy, as that essential character of the comics finally shows up.*

There are welcome returns (from the grave, flashback-style) of Cliff Robertson and Willem Dafoe, and J.K. Simmons proves once again he’s the perfect embodiment of Daily Bugle Editor J. Jonah Jameson.

Now, for Tobey McGuire and Kirsten Dunst, here's the problem. For the third in the series the writers were obviously looking for something interesting for the two leads to do. "We'd left them in No.2 happily in love. So....let's shake that up a bit." In this one Peter is going bad (didn't Superman do that in his third movie?) and "MJ" is hitting acreer set-backs to star-dom. Spiderman's popularity is up, while hers is down. Wasn't this "A Star is Born?" Only Tobey is Judy Garland, and Kirsten is James Mason. Getting kinda sudsy there, isn't it? McGuire is allowed to cut loose as "Bad Peter" (under the influence of a "symbiote"--that's how they say it--from outer space. Kirsten Dunst gets to sing in an opening sequence that Sam Raimi stages like its right out of MGM. There are some great fights (some of them are more...dust-ups) that lacked the zanily ferocious wit of the ones in II, go on too long, and are marred by some too-intricate camera-work (or camera simulation) for the sake of too-intricate camera work. Finalley, the whole thing ends in another "Spidey's Gotta Save MJ" grudge-match with the web-head up against Sandman, Venom and Son-of-The-Goblin. It far overstays its welcome and ends in what seems like an interminable wallow.

Anything else wrong? YEAH! Too much Stan Lee screen-time! Stan's cameos are getting longer and longer to the point where he might as well have a running character as a street-sermonizer. Stan! Y'know that phrase "'Nuff said?" Mean it next time!! Oh! And have we managed to get EVERY member of Sam Raimi's family on-screen yet? Next movie, Spidey's going to be fighting The Nepotist!

There's an awful lot to enjoy in fits and starts, but you have to be a certifiable card-carrying true-believer to be completely satisfied with this movie. It's a case of the film-makers throwing as much webbing as they can on-screen and seeing what sticks. Unfortunately, not much. What was promising to be the best comics franchise in movies is making the same mistakes as all the others: Too many villains, too much "business" and "busy-ness," and not enough care for the strengths of the characters and what has been done before. They've attempted too much and accomplished too little...while spending as much money as possible.

"Nuff said.

"Spiderman 3" is a rental, and no, you're not going to miss any details on the small-screen--everything's moving so fast you can't see it on the BIG screen either--not even IMAX!

*Curiously, the two women’s roles are completely reversed in the translation from the comics to the screen. In the comics, Gwen is the sincere hometown knockout, while Mary Jane was the flighty supermodel (“Romance” comics, remember? With a little “Archie” thrown in)

** I'm wrong here. Incredibly, the second most expensive movie in history is "X-men 3: The Last Stand." Hell, "X-men 3" didn't even LOOK good!
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Post-Script: It's always alarming to see how well crap--even well-constructed crap--sells. Now, "Spidey3" is tearing up the box-office with enough momentum that it could very well become one of the "Largest Earning Films in History." In doing some research for an earlier post, I was alarmed to see what is now on the list of the "Big Boffo" films: "Shrek 2" is #3? It wasn't as good as "Shrek 1!" The second "Pirates of the Caribbean?" It was bad--not even fulfilling the promise of the first one, but it's at #6! "Independence Day" at 21? "Narnia" at 24? "Meet the Fockers?" At 29! ("Spidey 3" at the time of this writing is at #33).It's also interesting to note how sequels seem to fare better than the originals--as if their popular momentum has increased (something that might be attributable to more people seeing it initially on home-video than the theater)--certainly "Spiderman 3" bares that out even more than "2" did.

But one can't get too exercised about this: "Norbit" was the top box-office draw one weekend, after all. And as James Aubrey once said: "No one ever went broke under-estimating the intelligence of the American people" (I believe that was right after he green-lit "The Beverly Hillbillies" for CBS).

And one can always take comfort in the odd bit of cleverly-disguised bit of satiric commentary, as provided here by David Letterman the other night. It might take a while to load, but it's priceless.