I’m taking the evening off to help my husband celebrate his birthday! Have a great Halloween!
Elinor Glyn, who forever changed the popular culture landscape by ballyhooing the concept of It, was born on 17 October 1864.
A QUOTE: “Everything that I write will be signed with my name.”
SOME WORKS: Beyond the Rocks; Three Weeks; Three Things; Love’s Blindness; ‘It’ and Other Stories
“Both of the inventors of the visual glamour, Eickemeyer and Genthe, came from the ranks of the art photographers, that cadre of aesthetically ambitious cameramen and-women who in the 1890s organized into an international community intent on fighting the slapdash amateurism of the mass of Kodak-wielding weekend shutterbugs, the routine posing and eclectic composition of the professional portrait studio, and the condescension of a fine arts critical establishment that denigrated photography as a mechanical craft.”-STILL American Silent Motion Picture Photography, by David S. Shields
“I’ve given my memoirs far more thought than any of my marriages. You can’t divorce a book.”-Gloria Swanson
The anti-heroine of my work in progress is bossy!
She insists on looking like Jean Acker. I can’t say I blame her.
This gallery contains 12 photos.
One of my writing specialties is silent cinema. It’s actually one of the great loves of my life, and so is Buster Keaton. Last night, The Chef and I had the rare treat of seeing Steamboat Bill, Jr. (1928) on the big screen. The show was held in the ballroom of the stunning Cincinnati Music Hall. Clark Wilson provided musical accompaniment on the Hall’s restored “The Mighty Wurlitzer”. This is my favourite Keaton production. I have watched it at least 20 times, but always in the privacy of my home. The joy of experiencing a silent movie whilst surrounded by hundreds of spontaneously laughing people seeing it for the first time is energetic and awe-inspiring. Buster, who made his film debut 96 years ago, would certainly be proud and humbled. It was a wonderful evening to be a cinema buff and writer.
“The first thing I did in the studio was to want to tear that camera to pieces. I had to know how that film got into the cutting room, what you did to it in there, how you projected it, how you finally got the picture together, how you made things match. The technical part of pictures is what interested me. Material was the last thing in the world I thought about. You only had to turn me loose on the set and I’d have material in two minutes, because I’d been doing it all my life.”-Buster Keaton
Ain’t no party like a Gatsby party T-shirt [courtesy Skreened]
This is my contribution to The Mary Astor Blogathon. Since I write about classic films in real life, I am thrilled to be able to share a review with my dear ASPL readers. Thanks to Ruth of Silver Screenings and Dorian of Tales of the Easily Distracted for creating and hosting this delightful event.
Don’t let the melodramatic plot fool you. At its heart, and despite its classification, Red Dust (1932) is a sexy, scandalous, brilliant comedy. The dialogue is superb, fast-paced, irreverent, and witty. It’s punchy, and it flows with that rat-a-tat-tat quality so indicative of 1930s American cinema and our collective national psyche as aggressive, plucky go-getters. In many ways, it is a drawing-room comedy without the drawing-room, one transferred to an unlikely setting with its essence preserved: the comedy of manners element is very much in play as characters of different backgrounds, classes, and mores run verbal roughshod over each another. The slight plot of the film, resting comfortably on a triangle, and nicely augmented by the twin pillars of the Madonna-Whore argument and the fish-out-of-water gambit, gets the job done without going out of its way to be innovative. The real thrill is in the writing, the chemistry and playing of the cast, and the speed and leanness of the production. Nothing in the running time of 83 minutes is wasted, including your attention.
A rubber plantation during monsoon season is a dreadful place. When it is not raining, the red earth spreads viciously like a plague of locusts. There are beasts, tigers, quite literally outside the gates, where they roar from the shadows into the long hours of the night. Hungry eyes pierce the darkness. Watching. Socialization is limited, the work is hard, the crops are unpredictable, and women are scarce. Pleasures are few, and are taken as they come: without questions or expectations. Prayers are useless, and so is remorse. Continue reading
There are no voices here, just 86-year-old moving images. A frayed, preserved receipt from a beautiful and warm world long gone. Memories turned to history.