Archives for November 2005

Thanksgiving 2004:

To be sure, the one thing a new friend can never do for you is say I knew you when, and I find it rather sad that there are so few people in my life who can speak those words. None of my closest friends in Manhattan knew me when: we didn’t meet until after I’d figured out who I was and what I wanted to become. On the other hand, the friends of our youth present their own problems. They are part of the train of memories that we all pull behind us, the one that grows longer with each passing day, and for that reason harder to pull….

(If it’s new to you, read the whole thing here.)

– Eugene O’Neill’s total earnings in 1922, the year in which The Hairy Ape and Anna Christie were both running on Broadway: $44,000

– The same amount in today’s dollars, courtesy of Inflation Calculator: $455,461.84

(Source: Library of America, Eugene O’Neill: Complete Plays)

“Excess on occasion is exhilarating. It prevents moderation from acquiring the deadening effect of habit.”

W. Somerset Maugham, The Summing Up

– “There are very few men and women, I suspect, who cooked and marketed their way through the past war without losing forever some of the nonchalant extravagance of the Twenties. They will feel, until their final days on earth, a kind of culinary caution: butter, no matter how unlimited, is a precious substance not lightly to be wasted; meats, too, and eggs, and all the far-brought spices of the world, take on a new significance, having once been so rare. And that is good, for there can be no more shameful carelessness than with the food we eat for life itself. When we exist without thought or thanksgiving we are not men, but beasts.”

M.F.K. Fisher, How to Cook a Wolf

– “Gratitude is a fruit of great cultivation; you do not find it among gross people.”

Samuel Johnson, Tour to the Hebrides

– “Gratitude is the most exquisite form of courtesy.”

Jacques Maritain, Reflections on America

Here’s my list of recommended Broadway and off-Broadway shows, updated each Thursday. In all cases, I either gave these shows strongly favorable reviews in The Wall Street Journal when they opened or saw and liked them some time in the past year (or both). For more information, click on the title.

Warning: Broadway shows marked with an asterisk were sold out, or nearly so, last week.

BROADWAY:

– Avenue Q* (musical, R, adult subject matter, strong language, one show-stopping scene of puppet-on-puppet sex, reviewed here)

– Chicago* (musical, R, adult subject matter, sexual content, fairly strong language)

– Dirty Rotten Scoundrels* (musical, R, extremely vulgar, reviewed here)

– Doubt* (drama, PG-13, adult subject matter, implicit sexual content, reviewed here)

– The Light in the Piazza (musical, PG-13, adult subject matter and a brief bedroom scene, closes Mar. 26, reviewed here)

– Sweeney Todd* (musical, R, adult situations, strong language, reviewed here)

– The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee* (musical, PG-13, mostly family-friendly but contains a smattering of strong language and a production number about an unwanted erection, reviewed here)

– The Woman in White* (musical, PG, adult subject matter, reviewed here)

OFF BROADWAY:

– Orson’s Shadow (drama, PG-13, adult subject matter, very strong language, closes Dec. 31, reviewed here)

– Slava’s Snowshow (performance art, G, child-friendly, reviewed here)

CLOSING SOON:

– Absurd Person Singular (comedy, PG, adult subject matter, closes Dec. 18, reviewed here)

– Bach in Leipzig (comedy, G, too complicated for any but the brightest children to follow, closes Dec. 18, reviewed here)

– Hamlet (drama, PG, adult subject matter, closes Dec. 11, reviewed here)

– See What I Wanna See (musical, R, adult subject matter, explicit sexual situations, strong language, closes Dec. 4, reviewed here)

This is my favorite moment from Citizen Kane:

A fellow will remember a lot of things you wouldn’t think he’d remember. You take me. One day, back in 1896, I was crossing over to Jersey on the ferry, and as we pulled out, there was another ferry pulling in, and on it there was a girl waiting to get off. A white dress she had on. She was carrying a white parasol. I only saw her for one second. She didn’t see me at all, but I’ll bet a month hasn’t gone by since that I haven’t thought of that girl.

I’m old enough to have memories like that, isolated flashes of recollection that light up the darkness of the past so intensely that you catch your breath. What’s more, I’ve found that the younger I was when the remembered event occurred, the more exact is my recollection today. Not long ago I ran across a CD reissue of a record I hadn’t heard in thirty years, the 1955 J.J. Johnson-Kai Winding performance of Let’s Get Away From It All, and I realized as I listened that I remembered the entire arrangement note for note, all the way from the intro to the shout chorus.

Much the same thing happened last night as I watched The Carol Burnett Show: A Reunion on Bravo. I was barely in my teens when I saw the skit in which Tim Conway played a maladroit dentist who injected himself repeatedly with novocaine while attempting to pull one of Harvey Korman’s teeth. I only saw it once–maybe twice–but when I viewed it again for the first time in decades, I was astonished to find that my recall of the skit was all but total.

I’m sure this says something about the receptivity of young minds, but I wonder if perhaps it might also tell us something equally important about the nature of art. Here is James Stewart, speaking to a British Film Institute interviewer in 1972:

I’m beginning to believe that, in films, what everyone is striving for is to produce moments–not a performance, not a characterization, not something where you get into the part–you produce moments that create a feeling of believability to what you’re doing….

I was making a Western in British Columbia and we were on the Columbia Icefields. It was raining and there was heavy mist around, so we couldn’t shoot, so we were all huddled around a fire. Suddenly, out of the mist, came a man, and he was not a young man. He had a beard–it wasn’t exactly a beard, he just hadn’t shaved for a while–and he was a miner type, he was dressed like a miner. He came closer to us and he said, “Which one of you is Stewart?”

“I am.”

He came over and looked at me and said, “Oh, yeah. Yeah. I recognize ya. Well, I heard you was here, and I thought I’d come up and say hello. I’ve seen a lot of your picture shows, but I think the one I liked best–you were in this room and your girlfriend was in the next room and there were fireflies outside, and you recited a piece of poetry to her. I thought that was a nice thing for you to do.”

And I remembered exactly the moment, exactly the film, who was in it, who directed it, and I also realized that that picture had been released twenty years before. That man made a tremendous impression on me. To think that I had been part of creating a moment that this man had liked and had remembered for twenty years. I’ll never forget it. That’s what I mean by the moment.

I know what he means–now. I’ve become Mr. Bernstein in Citizen Kane, a middle-aged man with a head full of fireflies, perfectly remembered pinpoints of laughter and sorrow, ecstasy and humiliation, that crowd my consciousness without warning. Would that I also had a few flashes of life-changing insight tucked into my album of mental snapshots, but I guess that’s not how memory works. No doubt I, too, will be thinking of Tim Conway when I’m on my deathbed, or the way Van Cliburn played “The Star-Spangled Banner” when I heard him give a recital at the Kansas City Municipal Auditorium in 1978, or the shy smile on the face of a pretty girl I once met by arrangement in a bookstore, not knowing what she looked like until the very moment of our meeting. I’ll bet a month hasn’t gone by since that I haven’t thought of that girl.

I’m in The Wall Street Journal today with a piece about Jelly Roll Morton: The Complete Library of Congress Recordings by Alan Lomax, a newly released box set from Rounder Records:

“When I was down on the Gulf Coast, in nineteen-four, I missed goin’ to the St. Louis Exposition to get in a piano contest….”

To the jazz aficionado, those prefatory words, spoken in a careworn Creole accent, are as evocative of a lost world as “You don’t know about me, without you have read a book by the name of ‘The Adventures of Tom Sawyer,’ but that ain’t no matter.” Jelly Roll Morton said them on May 23, 1938, sitting at a grand piano in the Coolidge Auditorium of the Library of Congress in Washington, sipping whiskey and softly vamping away at a tune of his own composition called “Alabama Bound.” Sitting nearby, discreetly manipulating two portable disc recorders, was Alan Lomax, a young musicologist employed by the Library of Congress who had had the brilliant idea of inviting Morton to talk about the origins of jazz.

Now Rounder Records has released Morton’s recorded reminiscences in an unabridged form for the first time on an eight-CD set called “Jelly Roll Morton: The Complete Library of Congress Recordings by Alan Lomax.” It is to jazz what the autobiography of Benjamin Franklin is to American history–only more fun….

No link. To read the whole thing, buy a copy of this morning’s paper, or go here to subscribe to the Online Journal. It’s a steal.

– Advance paid to William Faulkner by Smith & Cape in 1929 for The Sound and the Fury: $200

– The same amount in today’s dollars, courtesy of Inflation Calculator: $2,160.94

(Source: Jay Parini, One Matchless Time: A Life of William Faulkner)