THE BLUE ANGEL

FILM: THE BLUE ANGEL (1930)

After 80 years, this German film still hits its emotional target in a big way. Despite our modern sophistication, director von Sternberg gets to our universal vulnerability, being fools for love. If you say you’ve never been in this position, you’re in denial.

Based on the novel, “Professor Unrat” (Professor Garbage) by Heinrich Mann, the classic film takes us to a heartbreaking and all-too-familiar place in this cautionary tale of a pompous, prim professor who falls down the proverbial rabbit hole.

Professor Rath, is employed at a ‘gymnasium’ or boys’ high school in a small town. Although he is strict, his students find ways to disobey him and laugh at him behind his back. He discovers that one of his boys has picture postcards of an entertainer called Lola Lola. The obviously lurid singer is plying her trade in their very town! He must rescue his students from the clutches of this destroyer of young boys! He goes to the sleazy club to confront the hussy. Rath, instead, falls hopelessly in love with Lola, and as she sings “Falling in Love Again” directly to him, he changes from a disapproving academic to a puddle of Jello. Soon he proposes and Lola accepts. It all goes downhill as Rath must quit his teaching post and go on the road with Lola and her troupe. Now he is selling the very postcards that shocked him to her audiences. He must take on unflattering roles in the nightclub appearances. He is a broken, humiliated man. Lola is no angel and there is no love lost between them. This is a brilliant film, perhaps one of the best ever made.

The portrayal of Rath by Emil Jannings is breathtaking, Marlene Dietrich is at her stunningly gritty best as Lola, the direction is flawless, the subtitles are in keeping with the American slang of the day and the tragic storyline is timeless. If you don’t get to see “The Blue Angel,” at least go to YouTube to see the classic rendition of “Falling in Love Again” by Dietrich, offered in English and German. Wow!

FALLEN HERO: JOE PATERNO

ESSAY: FALLEN HERO – JOE PATERNO

I must offer the disclaimer that football is my least favorite sport; in fact on a scale of “How Much Do You Hate Sports?” football is by far at the top of the list. It is a mystery to me why spectators would pay such attention and money to watch padded men crash into each other. The blaring coverage is another reason to avoid this sport. The problem is, I can’t really get away from it. Years ago, I made a pact with my husband to get him to leave the house on the weekends if he could listen to sports in the car. I detest this sport most of all; it’s something I can’t tune out when it’s on the radio. It is surround sound that permeates my brain and causes me physical distress. I find it particularly odious in traffic jams.

With the purchase of a second television 30 years ago, I was freed from this non-stop sports barrage, at least at home. I just don’t get this virulently male obsession with all things relating to sports. And I really don’t understand team loyalty. How can you devote your heart to a specific professional sports team when management is always buying and selling the players? My husband used to be a Brooklyn Dodgers fan. He still wears the hat. BUT, he has been a Yankees’ fan since the team left Brooklyn. It makes no sense to me. One season blends into the next. Football and baseball overlap. There is no peace in our household.

I approach the controversy regarding Joe Paterno/Penn State with an obvious bias against the idea of physical games, marathons and contests. I truly hate sports of any kind and this is brought about by living with a sports addict. It’s personal.

I can look at the firing of this coach of coaches, this legendary figure spanning many decades, in an objective manner. I am out of the loop. From what I can ascertain, if sports is a religion, then Joe Paterno is the Pope.

We have to examine hierarchy in the context of religion. It is blasphemous to defy the Pope. His word is law throughout the faith. We have to assume (or at least hope) that this figure is of the highest moral and spiritual character. The office is larger than the man. Everyone says that Paterno is the most powerful man in the state of Pennsylvania. If he says he reported abuse to his ‘superior’ it’s clearly insuffient. He’s just another old boy in the old boy’s club. He’s the Pope. Everything else is on paper.

It’s hard for me to believe but football is part of an educational institution. As such, the coach is an educator. An educator has the responsibility to report abuse. It’s a legal responsibility. We’re glad when a teacher learns of abuse in a student’s home and contacts authorities. The students who were sexually abused were not Paterno’s students but his assistant was committing these crimes as a paid and very public representative of Penn State. There’s no question that Sandusky will be going to jail. He should have been stopped a decade ago. A revered coach decided not to rock the boat. After all, he made his report and felt he did his duty. He may have done his duty to the university, but in doing so, he was part of a cover up. We know that Sundusky just kept on raping little boys. He wasn’t going to give up the mechanism he’d devoted years to creating in the guise of philanthropy and sportsmanship.

It amazes me that Joe Paterno’s firing is now creating spirited demonstrations in his behalf on the campus. Their protectionism of this man under the circumstances is really alarming. We have to be more careful to whom we offer homage.

ESSAY: SHACKLED: DR. CONRAD MURRAY

SHACKLED: DR. CONRAD MURRAY

In a world in which we seldom see justice, it was gratifying to see Dr. Conrad Murray judged guilty and led off in handcuffs to the Los Angeles County jail. The lines have blurred lately between right and wrong for some of us and those who actually know the difference and choose to do the right thing are usually considered saps. I was actually certain that Dr. Murray would be acquitted; it’s the new way of the world! We have come to expect that a jury will go so far to look for “reasonable doubt” that “doubt” of any degree becomes the normative process for formulating a verdict. This is ludicrous and obviously guilty parties are free to do whatever they please without punishment, a la Casey Anthony and O.J. Simpson. The reason that this verdict was a guilty one is the direct result of what has been called an intelligent jury by analysts. It’s almost a miracle that the defense and the prosecution agreed to seat this particular group. Usually, the lowest common denominator is selected. Thus, the group can be easily swayed and unable to draw the inferences vital to a circumstantial case. Most of us are reluctant to do jury service and the pool of the willing is awfully shallow.

Getting back to Conrad Murray, it was crystal clear that the man abandoned all sense of propriety and professionalism when he agreed to give an obviously addicted man a totally inappropriate substance in an inappropriate way. His reason? The patient begged for it. The person in question was the best-known performer on the planet. If Murray turned him down, he’d have to relinquish the keys to the kingdom. The doctor was acutely intoxicated not by Propofol but by the nexus to celebrity, his own financial windfall and his massive ego. He left questions of morality and medical ethics at the doorstep on Carolwood Drive. Imagine going to your primary care physician and begging for morphine or opium. You know the answer and you don’t ask.

With the invitation to be Michael Jackson’s personal physician, Dr. Murray understood the hiring as a promotion of his usual self image as a medical saint to that of God. Jackson was ensnaring him for a specific purpose; Murray understood the ‘tribute’ in a much different way. Anyone can be carried away by the prospect of breathing the rarified air of the elite and, at first blush, answering in the affirmative. Didn’t he question why Jackson was promising him the moon? I would be dazzled and puff with pride. It’s normal human behavior. His folly was to learn after the fact that he was to be a drug procurer and administrator and to go along with it.

It is generally known that Dr. Conrad Murray will not do any significant or even ANY jail time after his sentencing. It’s a fiscal decision by the State of California that non-violent felons are not currently being incarcerated. There’s no room and no money. That’s reality. The handcuffs are symbolic. Maybe he’ll do home confinement. What’s really imperative is that this physician never practices medicine again. He is licensed in Texas, California, Hawaii and Nevada. His licenses must be revoked!

FILM: “NIAGARA”

FILM: “NIAGARA” – 1953
I was only six when “Niagara” was released and I don’t think my parents would have taken me to see this film. In the prim, proper early 50s, this had to be a shocking, lurid movie, thanks to the overtly sexual, sensual and gorgeous Marilyn Monroe. The camera lingered on her hour-glass figure, her red, promising mouth and the simmering prospect of sinfulness that came from within. Her genius was to present all of her attributes with an air of mystery and a vulnerability that kept away the censors and kept her from being hated by every woman on the planet.

It is a contradiction to present such a noir piece in Technicolor. Given that one of the plot details focuses on the colored lights projected on the falls each night, I guess it was a conscious decision to veer away from what would have had more impact in black and white.

Watching this film on Turner Classic Movies (second time) was so suspenseful that I found that by the conclusion, I could feel my heart beating rapidly. This was without a single car chase.

The plot, revealed in vague exposition, not flashbacks, is that a Korean vet with what was then called “battle fatigue” requiring some psychological hospitalization when he came back, is released and meets up with the spectacular Rose in a beer hall in Chicago. We don’t know why she married him, but the happy couple moved to the hinterlands and he followed his past career in ranching. She was bored by this pastoral life and starts to stray and meets the love of her life. The jealous, overprotective, unpredictable husband keeps tabs on her. He knows that she is almost hypnotized by a particular popular song. She often hums and sings it. This makes her husband furious, knowing that the song evokes a strong yearning for another man. He is correct. They wind up at Niagara Falls, ostensibly at her suggestion, and the tortured husband agrees to it in order to have a trip alone with the woman he can’t live without. It’s a trap; The irresistible wife has convinced her lover to do away with her husband at the popular honeymoon destination.

Shot on location at the Falls, the film takes on a reality that makes it totally compelling. I suppose they had to turn away actual tourists during the shoot, but I’m sure it really boosted business upon release of the movie. The ‘Maid of the Mist’ figured prominently in the tense drama.

“Niagara” is a fine glimpse into the styles and mores of the 50s. I loved every second of it.

There are fine performances by Marilyn Monroe, Joseph Cotten, Jean Peters, excellent cinematography and direction and a first-rate plot.

FICTION: SAINT MAYBE

FICTION: SAINT MAYBE/Anne Tyler – Ivy/Ballantine – 1991

If you like trips through the seventies and eighties in the Baltimore area, this could be the book for you. On the other hand, if you dislike saintly protagonists, stay away. Although this novel is very readable, it took me a long time to finish. As a compulsive reader, I was surprised at my apathy. Maybe this was just too escapist, maybe it made me nervous that anyone could be so virtuous, maybe I couldn’t relate to the story line. It was gratifying for me to complete the reading this morning, not because I needed to know the ending but as a tribute to my own perseverance, since I never bought into the premise.

We fist meet Ian Bedloe as a young teen in the 1970s. He is ordinary and he is kind of dull, with a middle-class family doing ordinary things. It is never stated that this is a suburban community near Baltimore, but the trappings or the ‘burbs are evident. We see life through Ian’s eyes and it’s pretty dull. Enter Lucy.

Lucy is kind of a hot number, previously married and with two children, who announces to Ian’s family that she and Ian’s brother, Danny, are about to be married. Danny is Ian’s older brother, but Danny and Lucy seem pretty young. The whole family is apprehensive about this upcoming marriage, but the couple ties the knot. Ian can’t make up his mind about Lucy: she is certainly attractive and Ian struggles with his own feelings and asking himself difficult questions. When Lucy announces that she is pregnant and then gives birth to Daphne, Ian is certain that Lucy had been pregnant with another man’s child. Ian becomes more and more morose about this baby’s provenance. He is certain his brother has been deceived. It is unclear whether his own jealousy is involved, but Ian determines that he must tell his brother about his fears. Danny is so upset by the theory that he commits suicide. Shortly thereafter, Lucy, now burdened with three young children and with no means of support, opts for drugs and kills herself. Ian feels responsible and is dripping with guilt.

He happens upon the Church of the Second Chance and meets Reverend Emmett. This is a small, fundamentalist Church. The pastor is delighted to be of assistance to this poor, guilt-ridden boy. His counsel is that Ian must raise the three children. It is the only right thing to do. He urges Ian to join the church and Ian does so with his whole heart and soul. He never sees anything wrong with this ultra-fervent congregation and the author never puts any doubt in Ian’s mind. I found this a bit of a letdown as the story unfolded.

The majority of the book deals with the trials of raising three children and moving through their lives into adulthood.

It’s an improbable tale of just what constitutes the right thing to do. Clearly, most of us don’t have Ian’s qualities, nor do we want them.

ESSAY: tHE SMOKER’S HIDEOUT

ESSAY: THE SMOKER’S HIDEOUT

Is home really the place they’ll take you when there’s nowhere else to go? Maybe, but apparently with strings. After twenty years in my cooperative apartment without complaint of any kind, I got an ominous call from the president of our board of directors. With the tone of a disapproving headmaster, I was told that he was conveying a complaint: a neighbor was complaining about the smell of cigarette smoke in the lobby. In fact there had been more than one complaint. This transgression created an ‘unpleasant’ odor in the non-ventilated common area. I immediately went into panic mode. Could I be evicted? No. The building never established a policy about smoking. I’d lived here for years. What could I do to mask the smoke? I examined the few sprays I had on hand. Not great. I looked under the door and saw daylight. Aha! The stripping was insufficient! I cut up pieces of cardboard and affixed them to the bottom of my door. I went to the lobby constantly, sniffing the air and finding nothing foul. I then remembered that my air conditioner had an “exhaust” feature. The lever wouldn’t slide. My super suggested an exhaust fan and I trotted off to Home Depot without success. I found one online and ordered it. The next week will be torture for me as I wait for this implement.

Meanwhile, I am in the stratosphere of paranoia. I try to look at each neighbor and try to make eye contact. Who has made the complaint? Since there are two complaints, is there a conspiracy against me? I am trying to think like a detective, eliminating fellow and sister smokers in the building, crossing off long-time residents and suspecting new apartment owners. They are all young! They have children! I now have divined that due to maternal instincts, this or these complainer(s) has/have to be female. I don’t think a nanny made a complaint to the board. So, this is a young woman with at least one child. The devastating odor of cigarette smoke is afflicting their health for about 90 seconds a day as they wait for the elevator. Oh, horrors! How about when they take their babies outside? If they choose to raise their children in a major city they are also choosing the constant fumes on the street. What hypocrisy!

FILM: CONVICTION

FILM: CONVICTION/ 2010 – Fox Searchlight

This film offers an array of Hollywood’s elite: Hilary Swank, Minnie Driver, Melissa Leo, Juliette Lewis and Sam Rockwell, under the direction of Tony Goldwin. Despite a treatment of a true story, something is missing for me. That something is that I just don’t care about or even like the two leading characters portrayed by Swank and Rockwell,playing Betty Anne Waters and her brother Kenny.

What interested me most about the film was its setting: Ayer, Massachusetts. Northwest of Boston, this gritty working-class New England town seemed to be portrayed believably. I could feel the dysfunction of the Waters family in the interspersed childhood scenes and the inevitability of the early adult scenes. As two of nine siblings, young Betty Anne and Kenny bonded and looked out for each other as the children were neglected and committed petty crimes. When we see them as young adults, Betty Anne is fulfilling her destiny, getting married and having children while bartending. Her brother is a hot-headed petty criminal who has also married and has had a daughter.

Kenny is a likely suspect when a neighbor is brutally murdered in the early eighties. An ambitious cop (Melissa Leo) arrests him and he is convicted of murder and is sentenced to life imprisonment. Since Kenny is such a macho mess, I easily could have believed he was guilty. Now the sister, a drab mother of two, convinced of her brother’s innocence, hatches her far-fetched plan: she will become a lawyer and prove that her brother is not guilty. Just one slight problem: she is a high school dropout. This is where this real-life story breaks down. We know she will eventually become an attorney, we know she will sacrifice her life and her family and go through hell to accomplish this feat. With her law degree in hand she works with Barry Scheck of the Innocence Project. Heroically, Betty Anne plows forward despite stonewalling from police, the courts and the state’s attorney general’s office to get the original DNA from the scene of the murder. She finally gets it and gets a sample from her brother. He’s not the killer. With some more uphill battles for Waters and Scheck, they finally exonerate Kenny. Gee, what a surprise! To find out the REAL ending of this saga, you’ll have to do a little research.

I must say that Swank was rather dull in this film and didn’t match up to the driven Betty Anne Waters. What I didn’t see was WHY the character was so passionate about saving her brother. We learn that Betty Anne has no desire to practice law beyond freeing her brother. This is most curious and unexplained. She just returns to working at the Ayer bar.

Juliette Lewis would have knocked this role out of the park for me. She has much more texture, subtlety and emotion in her repertoire.