Sauced Silverscreen: Show Boat (1951) & Guinness Draught

Okay, this is becoming a thing, so I'm just going to make it an official feature. Welcome to Sauced Silverscreen. This is where I watch a movie, usually made prior to 1990 (not always), while drinking and provide you a synopsis, usually snarky. Tonight's feature is the 1951 musical, Show Boat.

Funny story. I recorded the 1936 version of this movie (which is based on a stage production) and then erased it when it was not the 1951 version I was expecting. As it turns out, these two versions are incredibly different. The 1936 film is closer to the stage, darker, but certain roles are expanded in the 1951 production. So, now that I've erased it, I have to go back and find it to compare the two. So, this will be the first installment of Showboat.

Lolita (1962)

I have a series of books and films saved on Goodreads and Netflix, respectively, that, while not exactly my cup of tea, are listed because you're supposed to see them. For whatever reason, these pieces of work have been added to the echelons of "must experience." I just recently watched A Streetcar Named Desire and, one day in the near future, I'm going to read some Hemingway. Lolita is one of these "musts". I watched the 1962 Stanley Kubrick production, considered, I believe, the best adaptation of the 1955 novel of the same name. And, while I can't say I was eager to watch a movie about a middle-aged professor's obsession for a teenage girl, it was on the list and it wasn't as terrible as I was fearing.

Hysterical Women

Have you read The Yellow Wallpaper? By Charlotte Perkins Gilman? If not you can read the short story here or listen to the Suspense radio play, starring Agnes Moorehead. This short story is the chilling journal of a woman suffering from "hysterics", forced by her doctor husband to undergo a "rest cure" in a country home for the Summer and her subsequent descent into madness. Kept shut up in the house with little to no mental stimulation, our narrator writes, in secret, of her boredom, malaise, and the strange wallpaper of her prison, I mean, bedroom. Imagination, paranoia, and eventually a complete disconnect from reality follow. It is an early example of feminist literature and a prime example of an unreliable narrator. It is this unreliability that makes The Yellow Wallpaper so terrifying, in my opinion.  The audience can never quite be sure if the wife, our narrator, is driven mad by the neglectful and perhaps nefarious dealings of her husband or if her madness is inevitable and her paranoia merely a symptom of the disease.

This uncertainty is one of my favorite elements in a good suspense, the eerie of not knowing. Daphne du Maurier's My Cousin Rachel is another great example of this. In this novel, young Phillip, the ward of his older cousin, Ambrose, leads the comfortable life of confirmed bachelorhood. But Ambrose, while wintering in Italy for his health, makes the acquaintance of a long lost cousin, Rachel. Much to Phillip's dismay they marry and in the year or so following, Ambrose writes of his joy, then his failing health, and, at last, his suspicion of Rachel. Ambrose passes away and Rachel comes to England with his possessions, to return them to the estate, which Phillip has now inherited. Phillip, mistrustful of this woman, welcomes her to the estate and is surprised to find her beautiful and charming. Any misgivings he had of her are easily explained away by the brain tumor which caused his cousin's passing. Phillip's love for Cousin Rachel blossoms but is made uneasy by little occurrences - a missing note from Ambrose about Rachel's extravagances, an unsigned will leaving the estate to Rachel and her progeny, and a certain "healthful" tea Rachel gave to Ambrose to ease his pain when he was ill, made from a poisonous plant. To this day, after many read-throughs and movie-sittings, I cannot tell you if Rachel killed Ambrose or not. And that uncertainty is what keeps me coming back for more.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love a straight-forward, moustache-twirling, scheming bad guy too. As in the film Gaslight, where our heroine is driven to mental instability by the underhanded plotting of her husband. By making noises in the attic and dimming the gaslights when she is the only one at home, evil-husband convinces his wife that she is going out of her mind and, of course, insanity has always run in the family. When she finally breaks, he'll have her committed and inherit her vast fortune all for himself. Muahahahahaha. He even goes so far as to rent the house next door to complete his evil plan. Which really, is all unnecessary because this story is set in the late 1800s/early 1900s and he would pretty much have control of her fortune anyway. Just saying.

It's About Us

It's been a few months, about time for me to harp on women's issues again.

Have you seen The Color Purple? Don't worry, neither had I but you should, you totally should. Don't get me wrong, this movie is a challenge to watch and is emotionally taxing but you'll be a better person for having seen it.

The Tea Rose

This isn't a review, snarky movie reviews are my deal. If you want a review, check out A Reader of Fictions review here. But I had one of the strangest experiences reading Jennifer Donnelly's The Tea Rose and I've got to write about it.

So, this book is massive. Not literally, I mean it is also fairly hefty size-wise but the story itself is vast. It covers a little over a decade and recounts everything from docker strikes in the East End of London to dining with the Astors in New York, from Jack the Ripper to stock takeovers. I don't want to give too much away, I'm going to do my best to not include too many spoilers but it will be inevitable. If you plan on reading this book you may want to wait to read this post.

We named the dog Indiana

Take a moment today to read about John Fairfax. And, when you've finished reading about his absolutely fascinating life, let's have a moment of silence for our mundane existence. I'm sorry, I'm assuming again. Perhaps you also have "attempted suicide-by-jaguar" and "afterward [were] apprenticed to a pirate." If so, I applaud you. I have not lived quite so awesomely.

Reading about John Fairfax reminds me of Dana and Ginger Lamb. This newlywed couple left the coast of Southern California in a 16 ft. canoe in 1933 and sailed along the Californian, Mexican, Guatemalan, and Costa Rican coasts before crossing the Panama Canal in 1936. Enchanted Vagabonds chronicles this adventure and I highly recommend it. During the 1940s, they disappeared again, this time into Mexico and Central America, looking for the lost city of a tribe of Mayans that is said to have disappeared into the jungle to escape the Conquistadors. The Quest for the Lost City is considered to be the more controversial of their trips and many claim much of it is fabricated. I choose to believe in it because, frankly, it's a great story and even if it didn't happen I don't feel cheated or lied to by it.

If I weren't so absolutely terrified by the idea of bugs that could kill me and if I were not so fully aware of my own physical limitations, I would be tempted to be an adventurer. Are there people that still do this?

Tour: The Niche

Welcome to The Niche. The new writing room. To make myself come up here and work I decided to gather around me all the things that inspire me. 

The desk is an antique. It belonged to my great-great-grandmother and matches a dresser in our bedroom. It's quite beat up and does not have the width for a normal office chair but I love it. Buddy Holly keeps threatening to replace it with a proper computer desk and I won't let him. I will chain myself to this desk if I have to.

The oriental rug I got from Church. 

My Japanese calligraphy set and dishes.
There's a second dish off to the left.  

My Chinese tea cup.
This was bought from the tea house at the Summer Palace in Beijing.

I have no idea how to justify these trinkets. They were given to me and I love them.
The dog is carved from wood, my grandmother made it for my dollhouse,
styled after our family's golden retriever.

My Anastasia music box.

My parents gave us this frame.

I've never changed the original paper advertisement out of it.

My Japanese prints. A friend from Kobe gave them to me.

Fountains Abbey, Ripon, England - my favorite spot in the world.

My motto.

I set up two cork-boards to pin ideas too. But they were pretty bland, so I made them pretty.

The postcard is from the Opera Populaire,
better known as the opera belonging to one Phantom.

 Snur collected X-Men cards when we were kids. I don't know where they are now but, before they disappeared, I pilfered two cards. One is Domino and, of course, my idol, Shadowcat. 

All that's missing is a couch. And then the writing...of course.

Church Politics

It is said that money and sex are the two leading causes of divorce. I would venture that they are the driving impulses for more than marital discord. The cynic in me would even go so far as to say that sex and money, not love, are what makes the world go round. That aside, examples of the divisive nature of money and sex are to be found anywhere. In my own life, money is making itself most prevalent at Church. Yay.

Church Politics are a delicate thing. Mostly because they aren't supposed to be there. We're supposed to work together, buttress our sisters and brothers, and work for the good of all. But we're still us and history is riddled with the sad trippings-up of Church. All of Paul's letters were written to struggling Churches, the Nicene creed was written to straighten out a few grievous misunderstandings, the division of the Orthodox and Catholic Churches lies in the politics surrounding the papacy, the Reformation was a wonderful mix of Church politics and state politics, America - fled to because of good ol' Church politics. And, just now, my Church is steeped in politics and divided due to a lack of money (maybe better than an abundance of sex? Maybe not, maybe everyone would be less uptight then...). I understand human nature, the need to survive, protect, and flock but this divided camps thing is getting old. Petty backbiting and gossip are beneath us and particularly disheartening from the perspective of one who sits between the camps, unable and unwilling to take sides. Maybe this goes back to my last post but I kind of wonder when we, as the human race, are going to grow up.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go have chocolate cake for breakfast because that's the grown up thing to do.

Sunday in New York

Another favorite movie during this crisp Autumn time is Sunday in New York. This 1963 sex comedy stars Jane Fonda as Eileen, who has taken a leave of absence from work to visit her brother in New York after being thrown over by boyfriend, Russ. The crux of the break up was Eileen's resistance to premarital relations and Russ isn't the first beau she's lost to her old-fashioned ideals. Eileen is convinced she's the last 22-year old virgin on Earth. Eileen's brother Adam, a philandering airline pilot, swears he himself is as virtuous and that her suppositions of commonplace immorality are all wrong. In the course of her first Sunday visiting, Eileen meet-cutes Mike (Rod Taylor) on a 5th Avenue bus. They spend the afternoon together and, after getting caught in a downpour, make a run back to brother Adam's apartment to dry off and have some hot drinks. It is during their afternoon's conversation that Eileen finds the negligee of one of Adam's girlfriends in the closet and she realizes his lie to her. Fired up by her brother's betrayal and tried of being protected, Eileen makes a pass at Mike, which he gladly accepts, until he realizes this is her first rod-eo (cowboy). Cut to the pair in bathrobes, Eileen on the couch crying and Mike stalking around the apartment, smoking like a chimney. A girl has to start somewhere but it's not going to be with him. While recovering from their failed seduction and Mike waxing eloquent that Eileen's a nice girl and should stay that way, Russ (boyfriend) appears and eagerly proposes to his berobed love, before turning to Mike and greeting him as Adam, presuming him to be Eileen's brother. Well, the ruse would work just fine, but, of course, actual-Adam now appears and has to be played off as a friend to fake-Adam-Mike. Actual-Adam is quick to pick up on the situation and none too happy at the idea of his sister alone in the apartment with a strange man. Farce ensues as the trio struggles with how to tell Russ about the mistaken identities without losing the marriage proposal.

The King's Speech

I'm not always the last on the bandwagon but, when I am, I wait a year. I wanted to see The King's Speech when it came out in theatres - Colin Firth, Helena Bonham Carter, AND Edward VIII? Yes, please! I read the memoirs of the Duke of Windsor (the title Edward VIII was given after abdicating) in undergrad and wrote a paper on the abdication. It is fascinating to me on multiple levels. So, a movie that deals with the abdication and George VI's ascent to the throne was high on my list. But going to the movies is expensive these days and, thus, I have just now got around to seeing it on Netflix. So anyway, if you are late like I am and four Oscar awards aren't enough to convince you, please let my obviously-more-important-than-the-Academy opinion sway you as to this movie's merit.