One of those stories where I had to check the date to know it wasn't the April Fool's Day edition. John Lennon wanted to do a Lord of the Rings movie with the Beatles. Seriously.
I now have incredibly mixed feelings. I mean, I completely understand J.R.R. Tolkien's thinking--not wanting his artistic vision compromised by a couple of kids whom he probably considered the One Direction of his era. I would have felt the same way.
But at the same time, I don't think I'm ever going to fully forgive him for killing my chance to see Ringo Starr as Sam Gamgee. That's better than the casting in the Jackson movie.
Oh, well, at least we'll always have this. (As someone who has the scene they're doing memorized back to front, I must inform you that, contrary to what the uploader claims, George Harrison is not, in fact, cursing out some random audience member. He's actually saying "Look you," which, in Shakespearean English, is exactly the same as beginning a sentence with an impatient "Look..."
Edit: I totally should have entitled this post "Get Back, Frodo."
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Sunday, November 25, 2012
". . .and I've been working like a dog."
I don't write diary entries enough, or things of the sort. I've been looking at this comp assignment of mine up, down and sideways for three days now, and I can't seem to see a way to make it work.
Also, I admit, I take extended breaks to do research on The Beatles.
But what are The Beatles, really? I love their music, but that's not what's making me do all this research, because I honestly can't tell you, for instance, whether Ringo's an excellent drummer or not. (All I'm aware of is that he's my favorite, and that he would continue to be my favorite even if it turned out he didn't know which end of the drumstick to hold.) It's the drama that intrigues me; all the individual characteristics of everyone bristling against each other. Not just the Fab Four, but their wives, their managers; each a conflicting character study. I guess I'm just fascinated by plain old people.
So why don't I write about my own family more? That's the thing that's killing me. Because I don't want to be a transcriber. I did that, when I was younger; tried to write down conversations as they came. All I got were hurt fingers. Either I want to write down everything, or I shut down and I don't write anything at all. I should be more of an open book. Starting…now.
Anyway, yesterday Clair and I made some tea and watched A Hard Day's Night. Great movie, and fascinating because back then people had a completely different concept of the "vehicle for hot young stars" film. It's a comedy, and it's a British comedy, which means the humor is all slap and bite and disjointed bits of oddness. From what I've read about John Lennon, that sort of thing suited him just fine; he's utterly believable as the guy who responds to an older man's rebuke by leaning in and saying snidely, "Give us a kiss." I assume that the screenwriter was capitalizing on the Beatle's popularity with the younger generation by pitting them against their elders, among which he himself numbered one.This dynamic gets an interesting reversal in the film's rather vestigial plot, which sees Paul looking after his "grandfather"--a "clean"-looking old fellow with a sneer that could break glass, who defies his appearance by repeatedly running off to try and meet women.
Oddly enough, Paul McCartney--he of the charming face and the left-handed bass--puts up a minimal presence even under these circumstances, and the other three Beatles steal his show. John, always the character, is just as much at home dunking toy boats in a bathtub as he is sassing his elders (in the same scene, even), while George, the quiet one, manages to nearly equal John's sarcasm with a few well-placed eyebrows and some laconic use of Liverpool slang (what does he think of a new line of shirts they've asked him to advertise? "Grotty!")
But it's Ringo Starr who stands out for his portrayal as the sad-sack of the group, by turns embittered and resigned, with an abrupt laugh that serves him equally well as he a) makes a lame joke that his bandmates politely ignore and b) gets asked a standard "girlfriend" question by an interviewer (with the implication apparently being, "Girlfriend? Me?") Despite receiving--in a touch taken right from the band's real-life experience in America--more fanmail than the others, he refuses to believe that any of the screaming girls who pursue his buddies might harbor an interest in him. When a young lady in a train car beckons, he first looks dumbfounded and then gestures at George, as if to say, "Nah, you must be looking for him." It's interesting to see that the standard "Ringo as the expendable Beatle" joke isn't some recent development, but actually a carry-over from the band's early days, quite possibly originated by Ringo himself. It should be noted that the real-life Ringo, like his counterpart in the film, has been alternately encouraging and fighting against this perception for years.
However, these observations must be put to a halt, as I'm unfortunately not supposed to be writing an essay about Ringo Starr. I'm supposed to be writing about education, and I can't see my way around it.
Also, I admit, I take extended breaks to do research on The Beatles.
But what are The Beatles, really? I love their music, but that's not what's making me do all this research, because I honestly can't tell you, for instance, whether Ringo's an excellent drummer or not. (All I'm aware of is that he's my favorite, and that he would continue to be my favorite even if it turned out he didn't know which end of the drumstick to hold.) It's the drama that intrigues me; all the individual characteristics of everyone bristling against each other. Not just the Fab Four, but their wives, their managers; each a conflicting character study. I guess I'm just fascinated by plain old people.
So why don't I write about my own family more? That's the thing that's killing me. Because I don't want to be a transcriber. I did that, when I was younger; tried to write down conversations as they came. All I got were hurt fingers. Either I want to write down everything, or I shut down and I don't write anything at all. I should be more of an open book. Starting…now.
Anyway, yesterday Clair and I made some tea and watched A Hard Day's Night. Great movie, and fascinating because back then people had a completely different concept of the "vehicle for hot young stars" film. It's a comedy, and it's a British comedy, which means the humor is all slap and bite and disjointed bits of oddness. From what I've read about John Lennon, that sort of thing suited him just fine; he's utterly believable as the guy who responds to an older man's rebuke by leaning in and saying snidely, "Give us a kiss." I assume that the screenwriter was capitalizing on the Beatle's popularity with the younger generation by pitting them against their elders, among which he himself numbered one.This dynamic gets an interesting reversal in the film's rather vestigial plot, which sees Paul looking after his "grandfather"--a "clean"-looking old fellow with a sneer that could break glass, who defies his appearance by repeatedly running off to try and meet women.
Oddly enough, Paul McCartney--he of the charming face and the left-handed bass--puts up a minimal presence even under these circumstances, and the other three Beatles steal his show. John, always the character, is just as much at home dunking toy boats in a bathtub as he is sassing his elders (in the same scene, even), while George, the quiet one, manages to nearly equal John's sarcasm with a few well-placed eyebrows and some laconic use of Liverpool slang (what does he think of a new line of shirts they've asked him to advertise? "Grotty!")
But it's Ringo Starr who stands out for his portrayal as the sad-sack of the group, by turns embittered and resigned, with an abrupt laugh that serves him equally well as he a) makes a lame joke that his bandmates politely ignore and b) gets asked a standard "girlfriend" question by an interviewer (with the implication apparently being, "Girlfriend? Me?") Despite receiving--in a touch taken right from the band's real-life experience in America--more fanmail than the others, he refuses to believe that any of the screaming girls who pursue his buddies might harbor an interest in him. When a young lady in a train car beckons, he first looks dumbfounded and then gestures at George, as if to say, "Nah, you must be looking for him." It's interesting to see that the standard "Ringo as the expendable Beatle" joke isn't some recent development, but actually a carry-over from the band's early days, quite possibly originated by Ringo himself. It should be noted that the real-life Ringo, like his counterpart in the film, has been alternately encouraging and fighting against this perception for years.
However, these observations must be put to a halt, as I'm unfortunately not supposed to be writing an essay about Ringo Starr. I'm supposed to be writing about education, and I can't see my way around it.
Monday, November 12, 2012
In Defense of Knockoffs
Shortly after I posted my assessment of the show Elementary, Clair gave it a look and spent the rest of the day seething with righteous anger. Unlike me, she wasn't looking hard for something to like, and, also unlike me, she's a diehard fan of Sherlock. And truly, I admit, Elementary is forgettable even as ordinary crime shows go and bears little relationship to its supposed source material. If I watch the next episode, I'll do so with a tepid eye.
But I just have this weird, writerly fascination with knockoffs.
As an author, I forbid myself to write a knockoff. If I reach for something remotely similar to something else, this little voice inside me goes, "Uh-uh-uh, don't touch that dial." But I love looking at other people's. I wade through the darkest marshes of the fanfiction world. When I like something I take a look at every incarnation available.
Knockoff items, too, I love. I used to own a Winnie the Pooh notepad bearing the legend (all in lowercase, no punctuation), "felicity is possess your friendship i cant forget your lovely smile and beautiful eyes". Fairly certain Disney didn't sanction that one, but it's way superior, with that strange word "felicity", to all those misattributed Pooh quotes you see floating around.
Maybe it's the word "knockoff" that I like. It's too bad I don't let myself write knockoffs. If I'd been on the writing staff of Elementary, I feel that I would have made magic.
Alicia in Terra Mirabili
As if the Lewis Carroll classic Alice's Adventures in Wonderland were not strange enough already, I just found the whole thing translated into Latin. Carroll, a college professor at a time when Latin was a staple of schoolboy knowledge, would certainly have approved.
Like Alice encountering Jabberwocky for the first time, I don't completely understand it, but I'm charmed by what I do understand. In particular, the translator's take on "The Mouse's Tale" (you know, the poem shaped like a mouse's tail--"Fury said to a mouse / That he met in the house...") can only be explained by a stroke of genius. Besides the fact that the English rhyme is transformed into a flawless Roman jingle, the mouse's canine nemesis is re-christened Nero.
Like Alice encountering Jabberwocky for the first time, I don't completely understand it, but I'm charmed by what I do understand. In particular, the translator's take on "The Mouse's Tale" (you know, the poem shaped like a mouse's tail--"Fury said to a mouse / That he met in the house...") can only be explained by a stroke of genius. Besides the fact that the English rhyme is transformed into a flawless Roman jingle, the mouse's canine nemesis is re-christened Nero.
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