Movie Review: "Pat and Mike"

I know it's a very old movie but old movies seem to speak to me in a way that newer films often don't. Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn paired up in this one. The interplay between them was excellent but one thing that slowed the picture down was the emphasis on sports scenes. Over and over again we watched Katharine Hepburn either charge to victory or else fumble up pathetically when her jinx of a boyfriend was around.

The boyfriend seemed to undermine her in subtle ways such as making her feel wrong and giving her unwanted advice. He put a lot of pressure on her and she would feel her confidence knocked right over. I was surprised that Katharine Hepburn who is known for her independent attitude (at least in her movie roles) played someone who was so dependent on this man's opinion of her. But she did.

I loved it when she chucked her suitcases out the train window and jumped off the train to stay in New York and have Mike (Spencer Tracy) take her on as her manager. She stood up to him and everyone else but she sure had trouble standing up to that boyfriend until he thought he caught her with Mike in a compromising situation, and stalked out of her life. And good riddance too!

Meanwhile she and her manager are falling for each other but in denial about it. He's plenty supportive, at first because he wants to make money off of her success but later on as he starts to care for her he encourages her for her own sake. Mike has his own blind spot: he is affronted when Pat fights off a pair of thugs who are about to beat him up. Even though he says he believes in a "5-0, 5-0" relationship between a man and a woman he wants her to be a "she" while he remains the "he."

However he seems to get over it and by the end, they have decided to give their growing love a chance to grow. And I was happy for them. It's a bit slow by today's standards but an interesting film and the two stars were lovers in real life, so you can feel the electricity. I recommend it.

Ashes to Ashes: A Ritual

Yesterday Bruce and I did not want to get up for a morning service so we decided to go to the Brooklyn UU church and take part in their new "Sunset Services." This is something new they are trying out and it is aimed at young people. So Bruce and I found that we were the oldest people in attendance.

The ritual reminded me of some of our reflections groups at BSEC when Kurt Johnson used to lead them. I remember one in particular where we were supposed to choose an object that had some symbolic meaning to us and lay it on a sort of altar while meditating. This seems to bring a focus to one's inner thoughts.

In last night's ritual we thought about the body, ashes, earth, decomposition, and without mentioning it too explicitly, death. We sang several hymns, one of which I remember. It went, "Brother, Sister, take your time, go slowly...simple things are holy." There was a bit more but this is what stood out in my mind. At the same time we watched a slide show of sonograms showing the fetus, hands, beach sand, etc. After singing hymns and doing readings (after each sentence the person reading the words came up and burned them in the chalice), we did "holy play" which consisted of touching, manipulating and playing with clay, sand and dirt. I liked the sand best and felt that I found a piece of bone in it that seemed like a treasure. Some of the young women took off their shoes and socks and walked and danced in the dirt pile, so they really got deeply involved in it.

We passed around the bowl of burnt words and each of us took some of the ashes. Some of this was tied in with the Christian ritual of Ash Wednesday but the woman running the worship said that often they simply put the ashes on your forehead for that ritual and you do not get to touch them. The ashes were stark black and soft and crumbly. I rubbed them between my fingers and they crumbled more and more and left a stain on my hand. They were very fragile, fragile as life.

Afterwards we went to a bowl of soapy water and washed up. Someone made a joke about footwashing and another person said that would be a whole other ritual. Actually I think I would enjoy that. It would be an experience I have not had. This was meaningful and yet part of it was just like being a kid playing in the sandbox again.

When it ended we just went home. I seem to be shy around much younger people. I don't know why that is. But it was a nice mellow experience. We were in a small chapel downstairs in the church, and a concert with Gregorian chanting was going on upstairs. The stained glass windows were very Christian but the ritual was earth-centered, and almost pagan.

I find I like more traditional services but once in a while something like this can be food for thought. Maybe food for the soul as well. It is certainly more nourishing than a place where we have to constantly struggle. That's for the workaday world, and should not be for the church or other spiritual experiences.

I also felt that it was easier for the younger people to do an exercise with the overtones of bodily limitations and death, because it seems far away to them, as if it will never happen. Whereas for us fifty-somethings, having already been brought face to face with mortality, it was harder to enter into a ritual like this in a playful mode, for I felt the reminder as I dug my hands through the decomposed plants and animals contained in the dirt. The song, "All we are is dust in the wind," seemed most appropriate.

In all, it was well worth going there and a little step back from everyday life that I think we both needed. We will keep on exploring there.

The Trip to College

We got up early Thursday morning to make the trip upstate for Jason's "Advantage Day" at college. I was nervous about possible snow since the weather reports were saying there would be at least two inches Thursday and Thursday night. We did get the snow as we were traveling up, a little past Kingston. From inside a bus, it was pretty, watching the snow sugarfrost the evergreens. The snow didn't slow the bus down all that much either.

I wasn't too pleased with the bus driver. There was something about him, some indefinable attitude, that rubbed me the wrong way. On the way up I wasn't sure what it was. He did let us off at the motel as we asked though we had to remind him several times beforehand.

The motel itself was a trip. It was like stepping back in time. No one was at the desk at first and we had to ring a buzzer. They had us pay in advance which is very unusual. Generally you pay at check out. I guess they have sometimes been stiffed and being a small place, can't handle that.

The room was all right but old fashioned. There was a color TV with cable stations but no VCR or DVD player. There was no hair dryer or coffee maker as you see in hotels now. But the worst part was that the toilet didn't flush. We had to call the owner in twice to fix it for us. And this was just for a one night stay and then up in the morning to get to the school.

Since it was snowing hard we were pretty much trapped in the room. Bruce got antsy and went out for a walk to see if he could make it into town and buy us any food, but he turned back because it was late and starting to get dark. We watched TV all afternoon and into the evening. Jason found a channel that showed old Star Trek episodes from Voyager and The Next Generation. We also watched an old episode of Gunsmoke that was pretty funny. Later stuff like "Crime Scene" and "Haunting" came on. The "Haunting" episodes were downright scary this time, with evil spirits inhabiting them. Jason got nervous and came over to stick close with me. He hasn't done that since he was little and there was a loud thunderstorm.

For dinner we ordered from The Pizza Factory. Prices were so reasonable that I was afraid the portions would be small. So we ordered more food than we normally would, and of course the portions turned out to be gigantic! I had chicken wings and a tossed salad, Jason had pizza, and Bruce had a chef salad, and then we still had huge mozzerella sticks and linguine with meat sauce to contend with.

In the morning, I was a little worried about whether the campus police would show up in time, so I asked some people at the breakfast whether they could drive us to the campus. The first family's car was too crowded but I found a young man who was with his father and they agreed to take us. We drove over together and sat with the father at the parents' orientation, while the kids took their tests.

We got a lot of information. I wrote some of it down but I couldn't keep up with it all. Anyhow I liked what I heard. They are strict on certain points so the students are unlikely to be total party animals. And they work on getting the students into activities that are an alternative to drinking.

We ate in the student dining hall for $5.75 a person. That was quite a deal. I had a nacho salad that was very tasty. Now I am aware that when parents are present they make a special effort to produce a good meal, but even so they had a salad bar and it seemed like pretty good food overall. We sat with a father and daughter who lived nearby, so she would be commuting. Of course the parents talked and the kids didn't say a word to each other. I am sure once we are not in the picture they will speak with each other much more easily.

After lunch they had advisement to set up a temporary schedule. As usual Jason scored low on the English part of the test and they wanted him to take a remedial English class. I butted in on that and said it was not necessary. He's always done badly on standardized tests yet he does fine in class and he got an 88 on the English Regents which is mostly essays. So I am positive that he could handle Freshman Composition, and he doesn't need an extra class to make his schedule even harder in the spring.

As it is he will have 17 credits but only 3 of the classes should be a ton of work. The others I think will be more reasonable.

When we left, we caught a ride into town with another family. Then began the only bad hour and a half of the trip. We hadn't known that the students were beginning a break and that there was a bus stop on campus used for student break time. So we saw a bus bound for New York but they refused to pick us up before going to the campus. By the time it came back down to the bus stop it was full and the driver said there was another bus right behind it. But as we were waiting the crowd of students was growing and the next bus took a different street and never even came to the bus stop!

The bus from Oneonta seemed to be our hope but it arrived in town and headed up to the campus. So of course that one filled up completely also. I called the bus company and asked for them to put on extra buses and to come directly to the town stop instead of going to the campus.

By the time a bus that had some seats arrived it was four and we had been standing in the cold for an hour. My toes were freezing. Bruce's hands were freezing too (he didn't have his gloves). When this bus opened up we saw it was the same driver we had on the way up. This time he confirmed my feeling that he wasn't a hell of a nice guy. First when he got out I asked if he was going to New York. He said he didn't know what was happening but HE was going home. How is that for an evasive answer! Then he asked someone to count how many people were waiting. He finished loading luggage on for people going to NYC (even though he wouldn't answer when I asked him), and then he made us wait longer while he took a head count. I said, there's no need, when the bus is full he'll know he can't take any more people.

He said, "I like to count and if you don't like it you can take the next bus." I said, we have been waiting for an hour, we were the first ones here, and we are getting on THIS bus. So Bruce and I gave our tickets and got on and then he started taking tickets from the other students and ignoring Jason who was holding out his ticket. I yelled, Jason, make sure he gets your ticket, and I said to the bus driver, let my son get on!

So he did but I had a feeling he was trying to be a real bastard and separate us. He also would not let on a kid who was going to Kingston even though he was stopping there. A royal asshole if you ask me. Then when we got to Woodstock he picked up a woman and made a big deal because her ticket was expired by a few weeks. Made her get off the bus at Kingston and buy a new ticket. Then another woman wanted to get on and he made her wait in the cold for a while. He was just a petty tyrant enjoying his little fiefdom and making people suffer.

Anyhow, at least Jason won't have to face him all the time, with any luck. I think Jason was quite excited about the campus and the upcoming classes. So this should be great for him. I'm happy, and happy we got to see it on one of it's not so beautiful days. Since it is in the Catskills, though, the campus is surrounded by mountains and the view is beautiful. That should be soothing to the mind as well.

The Seventh Veil

Another James Mason film I swoon for is "The Seventh Veil." It's mired in psychiatry that's two generations old and presents a facile solution to a deep seated problem. But it pulls me in and every time I watch it, I find more and more hidden meaning in it.

A warning to those who haven't seen the film: I'm going to reveal the ending. It's about a young pianist, Francesca, who tries to commit suicide in the belief that her hands have been badly injured and she will never be able to play again. When she's rescued, she is in a catatonic state and a psychiatrist is called in to treat her.

Using a narcotic-induced hypnosis, he gets her to recount the story of her life and the importance of her hands. She begins by telling him about an episode where she and a friend were caught out late and got into trouble. Francesca begs the headmistress not to cane her hands because she has to audition for a music scholarship that afternoon. The headmistress canes her anyway and she loses out on the scholarship.

Soon afterwards she is orphaned and goes to live with her second cousin Nicholas. Nicholas (played by James Mason) is domineering, sardonic and wants nothing more than to avoid the company of women. But when he discovers Francesca's talent he devotes himself to helping her develop it, at the cost of her freedom and social life. She practices for four or five hours every day under his watchful eye.

Nicholas sends her to a music college, where she finds a boyfriend, Peter. Peter is an American working his way through college by playing in a jazz club. He convinces Francesca to go dancing with him and after rebuffing him a few times she falls in love with him. Peter seems content to dally with her but he doesn't ask for her hand, so a 17-year old Francesca pops the question.

When she announces her engagement to Nicholas, he ignores it, orders her to go to bed and says to pack a bag because they are leaving for Paris in the morning. Francesca objects that she won't go because she is going to marry Peter, whereupon Nicholas slaps her and then coldly informs her that he is her legal guardian and she must obey him until she is 21. She doesn't see Peter for the next seven years, and he doesn't make any effort to stay in touch with her.

It's clear that although Nicholas is caustic and overbearing, he recognizes Francesca's talent and is devoted to helping her develop it. He is with her constantly, teaching her how to behave onstage and always admonishing her to take care of her hands.

The torch she has carried for Peter is extinguished when she finds him again and learns something that explains why he never tried hard to get in touch with her during all the years she was away. Then she meets Max, whom Nicholas has commissioned to paint her portrait. Max falls in love with her and asks her to go to Italy with him, but like Peter, he doesn't offer marriage. Still, she is determined to go with Max and get away from Nicholas's influence. She admits that Nicholas has an uncanny power over her.

Nicholas finally breaks out of his cold and rejecting shell when Francesca says she is going off with Max. At first he begs her not to leave, saying he can't be without her. Then, as she ignores him and plays Beethoven's Pathetique, he becomes irate, tells her she won't go because she belongs to him, and finally lashes out by striking her hands with his cane. Francesca runs away from him and leaves the house with Max who has just arrived. But as they drive away, escaping from Nicholas, they get into a car crash and Francesca's hands are burned in the accident. No matter how Max tries to assure her that her hands are only slightly injured and she will play the piano again, she doesn't believe him, and sneaks out of the hospital to jump off a bridge.

Max takes her away from the hospital against doctor's orders, and the psychiatrist tries to convince him to allow her to go back into treatment. Max refuses, and the psychiatrist visits Nicholas to try and persuade him to help. Nicholas, hearing the "Pathetique" played, knows his part in Francesca's despair, and smashes the recording. Thus he reveals the depth of his love for Francesca and his belief that she could never love a lame and embittered man such as him.

But when she is cured and put to the test, given the choice between Peter, Max and Nicholas, Francesca runs to Nicholas's arms.

Although Nicholas was a difficult character, I felt she made the right choice. Peter and Max were happy to accept her favors but they weren't offering her permanence. That might not matter as much today but in 1945 when the picture was released, their reluctance to marry her said a great deal. Nicholas never says a word but you can tell from his anger at the idea of Francesca living with Max that he is the honorable one who would marry her in a New York minute.

He was also the only one who sufficiently respected and nurtured her talent. Peter had talent of his own and wasn't going to concentrate on her. Max just wanted her to himself. Even though Nicholas was dominating and prickly, he was the one who was always there for her.

It seems the psychiatrist's work with Francesca gave Nicholas a benefit too as he was able to get in touch with his feelings and finally hold out his arms to the woman he loved, instead of bullying her and restricting her freedom. Oddly, Nicholas didn't seem to realize just how overbearing he was, and wondered aloud several times why Francesca was afraid of him. When he finally showed his gentle side, he won her over easily, as she'd been hoping for that all along.

The music in the film seemed to make a statement also. Nicholas was contemptuous of modern music such as jazz, and only recognized classical music as the genuine article. He was also the one man who could fully appreciate and complete Francesca. When it came to Peter, he was the "king of swing" and had a "modern" and cavalier attitude when it came to love. Nicholas took love so seriously, and was such a lamed and wounded soul, that he almost shut himself away from it forever.

I've probably revealed too much, but if not, I highly recommend this film.

Hello Again: James Mason and "Lolita"

It’s been over a year since I’ve written in this blog. I wanted it to be a dream journal at first but it evolved from there into writing exercises and memories. Now I’d like to revive it and use it for those purposes as well as book and movie reviews.

For a good while I’ve poured my energies into my blog on the Brooklyn Society for Ethical Culture and the problems with the governance there that have escalated over the last year and a half. If anyone is interested, take a look at http://www.brooklynethics.blogspot.com/.

Here, I want to keep it more personal and varied in topic.

My most recent craze has been collecting the films of the late James Mason. I “discovered” him almost two years ago when I attended a book discussion group at the library. The book we discussed was Lolita and we watched the 1962 film starring James Mason, Sue Lyon, Shelley Winters and Peter Sellers. I’d seen the movie before but this time I came away from it with a tremendous crush on James Mason.

First of all, I’ve read “Lolita” many times since I was a teenager myself. Even before I fully understood the story and the emotions behind it I was fascinated by Nabokov’s lush writing style. He made the story of a pathetically twisted man into what’s been described as the greatest love story of the 20th century.

James Mason gave a terrific performance and brought the warped soul of Humbert Humbert to life. He succeeded in making me feel sorry for the criminal, the despoiler of little girls. Although, certainly, Lolita was no innocent, and actively solicited his attentions, he was the adult and he should have shown restraint. And yet, except for the murder of Quilty, he comes off as if he is the victim of an underaged femme fatale who took advantage of him!

By the end, when she sent him away and remained loyal to her husband, even though they were living in deep poverty, Humbert was so pitiful that if he hadn’t rushed off to shoot Quilty I would have felt sorry for him.

At the book discussion, everyone was quick to condemn Humbert. I was the only one who had a word to say in his defense, although, admittedly, if I had a daughter and he put his hands on her, I might have shot him myself. But I remembered a situation when I was a teenager and at summer camp, that seemed related.

The summer I was fourteen, I attended a summer camp for “gifted” children. We had a great deal of freedom and chose our daily activities as if they were college classes. By the time we were senior campers at fourteen we had a number of free periods during the day during which we were unsupervised and could roam the campus at will.

A girl in my cabin, Laurie, had an affair with a 24 year old counselor. I don’t remember his name anymore. I do remember that we all knew about it, because she didn’t even understand that it should have remained hidden. When she had a pregnancy scare a couple of the counselors were going to sneak her into a nearby town for an abortion. Fortunately, she wasn’t pregnant after all, but her pregnancy scare was so well known that when we wrote our “last will and testament” to be read aloud on the final evening of camp, some witty person left Laurie “first period.” I remember laughing at that and seeing the camp director flush scarlet. Whether he knew the real implication or not is a mystery but he closed down the camp after that season and Laurie’s sleeping with a counselor may have been a good part of the reason.

The counselor, whatever his name was, was just as sleazy as Humbert. One night as we all sat on the hood of a truck, stargazing, he tried to fondle my breasts. At the time, I didn’t understand the implications of an adult fooling with an underaged girl, and my indignant objection was that I would tell Laurie on him for trying to cheat on her!

The point, though, is that Laurie didn’t believe she was being molested. She was flattered and thrilled that an attractive older man was paying her so much attention. Did she change her mind years later and decide she’d been violated? If so, she would certainly be justified. But if not, she may have been spared the psychological damage that goes with being a victim. If she maintained the illusion that she simply had a fling with an older man, then in her mind there would have been no offense against her, and she would not need therapy to cure her of the emotional wounds.

So my statement to the discussion group was, if Lolita didn’t view herself as a victim but saw herself as the seducer, she might not have been harmed. Since she wasn’t innocent to begin with (and was in fact cheating on Humbert with Clare Quilty all those years), he may have molested her but he did not steal her innocence. His crime was stealing her freedom, when he denied her the right to go out on dates and to parties like other teenagers.

But, if he’d granted permission, she just would have seen more of Quilty. So my conclusion was that although Humbert was mentally guilty of molesting Lolita, in fact he wasn’t the one who despoiled her, and he really just deprived her of extra time with the other pervert. Of course, this made me the pariah of the group as they were all ready to draw and quarter Humbert.

Ever since I saw “Lolita” that time, I became fascinated with James Mason and decided I had to see his other films as well. So I began collecting them, and joined a yahoo group devoted to James Mason fans. On that group I met a woman who is a devout James Mason fan, and she has sent me quite a few DVD’s of his various films, along with audio CD’s of James Mason reading Robert Browning’s poetry and excerpts from, you guessed it, “Lolita.”

I’ve now seen probably 20 or more James Mason films and will review them here, along with some books I’ve recently read. If there are any other James Mason fans reading this, the yahoo group is located at http://movies.groups.yahoo.com/group/jamesmasonclub/.