The sewer scene in Les Miserables and the movie The Taking of Pelham 1, 2, 3 really are the same story -- life underground when there is a great city above. For Victor Hugo, it's Paris of 1832. For director Joseph Sargent, it's New York of 1974. The main question is, will any of their characters ever see the light of day again.
Tuesday, September 3, 2024
Tuesday, August 13, 2024
In defense of loneliness
The Streets of London is a folky tune by Ralph McTell with delicate guitar and smoky vocals evocative of Donovan or Bob Dylan. First recorded in 1969, it reeks of that decade's lingering sadnesses and melancholic pursuits of social justice. If you're old enough, you'll remember this song even if you're only hearing it now for the first time.
Its basic lyrical premise is to dissuade an unnamed listener from feeling lonely by pointing out at all the people who are truly lonely, out on the streets of London.
It led me to this thought: I wonder if our device-driven world has deprived us too completely of loneliness. Force feeding us togetherness. Unrelentingly pushing information. Virtually drowning us.
Perhaps we'd be better off if we could once again sit in a crowded cafe too late into an evening, alone and alone in our thoughts, listening to that bloke on stage gently walking his guitar, telling us not to cry by telling us how better off we've got it than those people. It's a strange longing, but not without some merit.
It's here if you want to listen to a version of it.
Monday, July 15, 2024
I dreamed I saw St. Augustine
What days are these that political violence reemerges in our midst. Heinous, the violence. January 6th condemnable, July 13th condemnable. This violence must be condemned. By all parties. And the gun. Always the gun. Americans and their guns.
How did we get here? For whatever reason, I think of 1968, when the veritable world must have seemed to be collapsing. The Vietnam War churning through ever more American lives, Hue and Tet in January. King then Kennedy killed within two short months of each other by June, and cities aflame in rage and fear.
There is fear now too ... Trump as a kind of Caesar, set out to destroy the Republic and all its restraints on the accumulation of power once power is bestowed on him. But that is a future state of affairs. And as we know, the future is unknown. The current state of affairs is now.
America, never so healthy, wealthy or powerful, tearing itself apart. How so ever did we get here?
Tuesday, July 9, 2024
Please note.
A note recently written to a women’s college alumnae class secretary about getting older:
Your job must be tough too. For some reason, I have a baseball analogy in my head: an outfielder standing alone in the outfield of an empty stadium, catching fly balls during practice. Very methodical and routine and (perhaps) lonely, with one sharp twist every time -- each ball always has the same message scrawled on it ... "So and so has died. Please note."
Wednesday, June 5, 2024
The Stranger
"Mother died today. Or was it yesterday. I don't remember." These words start The Stranger by Albert Camus. So I recollect. As it turns out, the internet tells me I'm essentially right. It was most likely was the Penguin translation of the 1980s that I'm recalling.
I have thought about these words for many a decade whence I first read them. And on June 3rd of this year, if I had posted this then, they would have been accurate to me.
This whole little tale, those few sentences you have just read, is an odd compilation of the impression that literature left on the mind of a young man, the passage of time from that impression to the moment described therein, and a retrospective telescope back through time from that moment to that long ago initial impression.
Or in my case, Mother died today. Or was it yesterday. I don't remember.
Friday, May 31, 2024
Thursday, May 23, 2024
Holocaust Commemoration, 2024
Earlier in May, the city of Cambridge held its annual Holocaust Commemoration hosted by Brian Corr and the Cambridge Peace Commission.
This year was a particularly harrowing one given the explosive mix of the world's events: the war in Gaza and the rise of right-wing authoritarianism and fascism in this country and around the globe. Brian made it clear that this ceremony was to remember events of 1930s and '40s Europe and was not an opportunity to editorialize on our current topics du jour, no matter how pressing or upsetting they may be. The speaker was the 100-year-old Esther Adler, who grew up in Breslau but fled the Nazis in 1938 to Palestine. Her amazing story and her redolent humor filled the room. It's not often that you hear a gathering of Jewish people laugh at the mention of Kristallnacht, but that is what happened. It's also worth noting that this is an interfaith event, with rabbis, pastors and imams all present.
I was asked to introduce the poem Bashert which is read aloud every year. Here are the brief comments I made before we began. It is a truncated version of my comments from the 2019 event, which I also posted in this blog.
As part of tonight's commemoration, we read Bashert. "Bashert" is written by Irene Klepfisz and it means something like "destiny" in Yiddish.
Klepfisz tells us the fate of many people, propelled by random chance or simply a desire to survive.
These were people she presumably knew, and they come alive for us because we know them too, in our memories, in our lives and in ourselves.
We say about the Holocaust that we should "Never Forget." Tonight, we remember many things:
- We remember all communities that have faced or face repression or persecution or genocide, wherever and whoever they may be.
- We remember our own commitment to confronting intolerance and our recommitment to one common humanity.
- And we remember our admiration for the human spirit ... its profound ability to resist and be resilient ... but also its deep ability for caring and kindness.
This is a responsive reading ...
Wednesday, May 8, 2024
My movie list
I am a fan of film noir, and have been for a long time. Perhaps it's the atmospherics or the long shadows - or maybe the tough guys and dames on the streets of some long beleaguered city. Whatever the reason, I've been knocking away at a strong number of them over the past few years, and so I tallied a list.
As for directors, there's lots of Henry Hathaway and Alfred Hitchcock with some Carol Reed, Jules Dassin and Fritz Lang thrown in for good measure.
On the actors side, James Mason has become a fan favorite, followed closely by Ray Milland and Robert Donat.
And of course let's not forget the best Holmes-Watson pairing of them all, Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce.
Anyway, it's all just fun stuff from long ago.
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