Monday, July 30, 2007

Ingmar Bergman 1918-2007


I grow weary of memorials. Now Ingmar Bergman. Bergman died today on Faro Island. He was 89. This morning I was on a soundstage watching a scene I wrote playing between a woman who may be crazy, or may be experiencing the direct intervention in her life of a God she doesn’t think exists. She has an angel, or, as the angel describes himself, “Maybe a really clever aneurysm.” In the scene she is surrounded by death and fear and she thinks the end is near. She asks the angel to stay with her. The angel says he can’t. Whatever happens, she will have to face it by herself.

Am I saying my writing is on a level with Bergman’s? Nope. I’m just saying I wouldn’t be sitting on a soundstage watching actors perform something I wrote if it wasn’t for Bergman being in my head. And Fellini. And Truffaut. And all the other genuine masters who came before and now are gone.

Tack så mycket.

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Excelsior, you fat head!



Happy Jean Shepherd's Birthday

Monday, July 23, 2007

Raymond Chandler (1888 - 1959)

It's the birthday of crime novelist Raymond Chandler, born in Chicago, Illinois (1888). He's known for his novels about the private detective Philip Marlowe such as The Big Sleep (1939) and The Long Goodbye (1954). He started out writing second-rate poetry and essays, but couldn't get much published, so he gave up and took a bookkeeping class, got a job at a bank, and went on to become a wealthy oil company executive.

He lost his job when the stock market crashed in 1929. So at the age of 45 he began writing for pulp fiction magazines, which paid about a penny a word.

Chandler was one of the first detective novelists to become known for the quality of his prose, and he became famous for his metaphors. In one novel he wrote, "She smelled the way the Taj Mahal looked by moonlight." In another he wrote, "She gave me a smile I could feel in my hip pocket."

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Edward Hopper 1882-1967


It's the birthday of the painter Edward Hopper, born in Nyack, New York (1882). By the time he was 12, he was already six feet tall. He was skinny, gangly, made fun of by his classmates, painfully shy, and spent much of his time alone drawing.

After he finished art school, he took a trip to Paris and spent almost all of his time there alone, reading or painting. In Paris, he realized that he had fallen in love with light. He said the light in Paris was unlike anything he'd ever seen before. He tried to recreate it in his paintings.

He came back to New York and got a job as an illustrator at an ad agency. He hated the job. In his spare time, he drove around and painted train stations and gas stations and corner saloons. He'd sold only one painting by the time he was 40, but his first major exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art in 1933 made him famous—paintings with titles such as "Houses by the Railroad," "Room in Brooklyn," "Roofs of Washington Square," "Cold Storage Plant," "Lonely House," and "Girl on Bridge."

He'd also been an illustrator for business magazines, and he became one of the first American painters to paint office scenes. Several of his paintings show office managers surrounded by gorgeous, buxom secretaries, or people working late at the office, sitting at desks high above the city.

He lived and worked in the same walkup apartment in Washington Square from 1913 until 1967. He ate almost every meal of his adult life in a diner. He never rode in a taxi. He loved the theater, but he always sat in the cheap seats. He never had any children with his wife, and he never included a single child in any of his paintings. The closest he came was a painting called "New York Pavements," showing a nun pushing a baby carriage. His painting "Four Lane Road" is his only painting that shows people actually communicating: a woman is yelling at a man.

Edward Hopper said, "Maybe I am slightly inhuman ... All I ever wanted to do was to paint sunlight on the side of a house."

Saturday, July 07, 2007

Bernard Gordon 1918-2007

"The present danger has ended"

I’m going to try to get out of work early enough on Tuesday to go to a memorial for Bernard Gordon at the Writers Guild.

When I was a kid on Long Island, Bernard Gordon scared the be-jesus out of me. Twice. I saw two movies he contributed to at The Westbury Theater. One was Earth vs. the Flying Saucers the other was Day of the Triffids. The first scene of the latter freaked me out so much I made my parents take me home on the spot...and then begged them to let me go back the next night to see the rest of the picture. So, at a very early age, Bernard Gordon was one of the writers who got into my head and stayed there.

At the time I saw those two movies, Bernard Gordon’s name didn’t appear in the credits of either. He was a blacklisted writer, working under pseudonyms or with no credit at all. It was only a few years ago that I learned he had anything to do with the two movies in question.

Bernard Gordon passed away earlier this year, you’ll find his full obituary by clicking the title of this post.

I admire him for scaring me as a kid, for nudging me toward the career I have, and for having the courage of his convictions. But mostly for telling Elia Kazan to go fuck himself.

Click Here To Find Out How This Thing Got Started.