Euphoria

What follows is the libretto text for a comic operetta that I wrote in 1949, after the success of the chamber-opera A Day At Creed’s that my composer-friend Gordon Cyr and I created and (with two others) performed, first in our living room, then on the U.C. campus, and finally on Radio Station KPFA. (For that, see the libretto, published separately on this website under Writings of James Cahill--or, to hear the original radio performance, go to http://www.archive.org/details/C_1949_XX_XX).  The music for this new one, however, was never composed; Gordon was busy with other matters, such as getting his degree in the Music Department. He finished one song and a few sketches for others, but even those are now lost. I, meanwhile, was continuing to work in Creed’s Bookstore while working toward my own B.A., which I received (in Oriental Languages) in the summer of 1950. I was exposed daily to discussions about then-new theories of psychoanalysis, and was selling--and browsing--books by authors such as Karen Horney and Wilhelm Reich. It was natural, then, that I would choose psychoanalysis as the topic for satirical treatment in the new operetta. Rereading it, I still find it funny, and full of good rhymes--I had an ear for those back then. So, read it and (I hope) enjoy it. I will welcome written responses. If any composer wants to do music for it and arrange for a production, get in touch with me.

 

James Cahill, December 2011

 

EUPHORIA

A Comic Opera in Two Acts

With

Spoken Prologue and Epilogue

 

Music by Gordon Cyr

Libretto By James Cahill

 

PROLOGUE

Scene:  (before the curtain) the office of Dr. J. T. Paracelsus, famous psychoanalyst. Dr. P. Is seated at his desk, reading “The Psychoanalytic Theory of Neurosis.”  In a chair beside him is Miss Endor, a woman of about fifty, taking notes.  At the other side of the stage, lying on a couch, is a Patient who is saying in a nasal voice as the lights go up:

Pat.  An’ there I was with this thing coming after me down the hall, see, and I tried to open doors and they were all locked, and then I came to the end of the hall, and I opened a window and there was no fire escape, and this thing was getting closer, so I jumped out, and then I woke up.

Dr. P.  (looking up) Very interesting, very revealing. You have all that, Miss Endor? (she nods). Now, Mr. Pixley, if you would continue from where you left off last Tuesday – you had just entered your fourteenth year, as I recall. (Goes back to reading his book.)

Pat.  Awright, so I’m fourteen years old again, and we move to Pennsylvania, and the first day i go to school there I meet this girl named Doris, and ... (his voice trails off into a murmur, but he is assumed to go on talking.)

Miss E.  Doctor Paracelsus. (lays down notebook and pencil.)

Dr. P.  Yes, Miss Endor?  What, you aren’t taking notes? What if he should say something important?

Miss E.  I have something rather important to say myself.

Dr. P.  Surely it can wait until ---

Miss E.  No I’m sorry, it won’t wait.  I’ve just made a decision.  You’ll have to find another assistant, Doctor; I’m leaving.

Dr. P. Impossible! Why should you want to leave?  Surely I’m paying you enough.

Miss E.  I suppose you are; that’s not the reason. I’m going home – I’ve been with you long enough.

Dr. P.  Long enough for what?  You told me, when you took this job, that you wanted to learn from me.  What has changed your mind? You still have much to learn, and many students of psychoanalytic techniques would leap at the opportunity to observe in action the most famous, the most successful practitioner in the country.

Miss E.  You needn’t tell me of your fame and success – I’ve been with you, you remember, all the time you’ve acquired them.  You’re very sure of yourself, Doctor.  Hasn’t it ever occurred to you to wonder how you became famous and successful?  Do you think it was entirely through your own brilliance?

Dr. P.  What else?  No one could accomplish what I have without being brilliant.  I’m recognized in the profession as a man who never fails; who can be relied upon to send his patients away completely cured, mentally sound, emotionally stable—and in half the time anyone else would require.  Every one of my cases during the past three years has been history-making.

Miss E.  True enough; but these are the years I’ve been with you.  Who had heard of you before?

Dr. P.  (voice rising) Just what are you implying?  (realizes he’s speaking too loud, stops. A moment of complete silence; then:)

Pat.  (thinking Dr. P. was speaking to him. )  I wasn’t implying anything; I was just telling you about what happened to me on my seventeenth  birthday.

Dr. P.  Seventeen already?  Mr. Pixley, in order to discover the real nature of your peculiar neurosis, as I have explained before, I must have more complete information – details.  You have passed over the years between fourteen and seventeen very quickly.

Pat.  Not much happened then.

Dr. P.  You will please tell me everything which comes into your mind, and I shall judge what is important and what is not.

Pat.  Awright; but when I’m paying you twenty-five dollars an hour to talk to you, it just seems like I oughta be saying something important.

Dr. P.  No more remarks about my fee, if you please, Mr. Pixley, or I shall be forced to read to you once more the passage from Miss Horney’s book which explains how objections to the cost of psychoanalysis are likely to be based on a neurotic fear of becoming destitute.  Now, once more at fifteen, and in greater detail ...

 Pat  Awright; so I’m fifteen again, and we’ve just moved to Chicago, and one day I’m walking in the park, and ...(trails off again.)

Dr. P.   Now then, Miss Ender; were you suggesting, before we were interrupted, that you’ve contributed somehow to my success?

Miss E.   I may as well tell you the truth, Doctor, because you’ll find out soon enough anyway when I’m gone.  You haven’t helped your patients at all; I have.

Dr. P.  You?  My dear woman, has the observation of so many diseased minds finally unhinged yours?  What sort of therapy could you be capable of?  Your knowledge of analytic procedures is negligible, and all of it acquired through association with me.

Miss E.  What does that matter?  I haven’t used your techniques at all, but my own.

Dr. P. And what, may I ask, are your techniques?

Miss E.  They belong to a study older than psychology.  To use the common term, Doctor, I am a witch.

Dr. P  (voice rising) A witch! (again a moment of silence.)

Pat.  Which what?  Which girl, you mean?  Well, it was really both of them, only not at once, of course.

Dr. P. Ah—yes, Mr. Pixley, I’m sure. But would you repeat your last words, please; several phrases escaped me.

Pat.  I don’t know as I want to repeat  ‘em in front of the lady.  They were sort of risqué.

Dr. P.  Ah, so we have finally begun your sex life.

Pat.  Yeah – I was telling you about Ethyl and Maybelle and me, and the day we – look, Doctor, do I have to tell you everything?

Dr. P. If we are to clarify the causes of your acute ophidiophobia – morbid fear of poisonous snakes, that is – we must have a complete understanding of your past life, including, and perhaps most important of all, your sex life.

Pat.  But I don’t see what all this has to do with my being scared of poisonous snakes.  I’ve told you that I was bitten by a snake when I was six, and –

Dr. P.  Your explanation is much too simple to be the correct one.  A snake, Mr. Pixley, even under the most favourable conditions, is much more than just a snake.  To a child of six especially, it is a symbol, and a  very obvious one; probably it is a symbol to another snake as well, though on this score the evidence is fragmentary.  But if you had told me that the snake bit your mother, it could not be more obvious; and I detest simple diagnoses, they make such dull reading for my followers.  I suspect that your trouble is connected with a neurotogenic self-castration urge, but then again it may be a repressed enisophobia.

Pat.  What’s that?

Dr. P.  Fear of having committed an unpardonable sin; the serpent, of course representing the original sin of mankind.  Now then, if you will begin again at sixteen –

Pat.  Awright, so I’m sixteen years old, an’ I meet Ethyl in a movie theatre, and after the movie we ...(trails off.)

Dr. P.  Miss Endor, I believe you were telling me that you are a witch.  Offhand, I would ascribe your delusion to some sort of paranoic state, but it will require  further study.  Just how that this –uh—professional status enabled you to help my patients?

Miss E.  Very simply.  Along with what you had me administer to them—barbiturates, tranquillizers and the rest—I’ve put in some preparations of my own: love potions, hate potions, potions of forgetfulness, whatever was needed to solve their particular problems.

Dr. P.  (voice rising) Potions! All this time you’ve been upsetting my patients with...(stops; moment of silence.)

Pat.  Awright, so maybe it does upset your patience to have to listen to me, but when I’m paying you so much for it, you don’t have to talk to me like that.

Mr. P.  Mr. Pixley, again I detect a tone of dissatisfaction over my fee.  When you have engaged the outstanding psychoanalyst of the nation, you must expect him to be the most expensive as well.  I have had considerable experience in cases like yours; in fact, I cured an almost identical one last year.

Pat.  Somebody else who was afraid of snakes?

Dr. P.  Yes, and I removed his fear entirely.  By now he would have paid off my bill and would be leading a normal healthy life, were it not for a quite unpredictable accident which occurred as he was in the act of caressing a viper.  And now if you will continue...

Pat.  (uncertainly)   Awright.. So now I’m eighteen, and I’m beginning to wonder if there’s anything new left in life, an’ then I meet a girl named Olive, and one night we drive out into the country, an’...(trails off.)

Dr. P.  To get back to your sensational revelations, Miss Endor; now how can you be so certain that your efforts, and not mine, have benefited these people?

Miss E.  Oh, I don’t deny you’ve done them some good; they seem to believe in your methods, and believe themselves to be cured when you’re through with them.  That’s a help, but it’s not always enough.

Dr. P. You speak as if you consider psychoanalysis to be another form of faith-healing.

Miss. E.  So I do; and a very effective form, since you command as deep a faith as any mystic cult ever did.  It amazes me that you can flourish so in the midst of a civilization which takes pride in its “scientific method of thought” and its scepticism of untestable theories; but you seem to somehow.  Well, so much the better; it’s good for people to believe in something without rational reasons.  But what if you were to apply your methods to people who didn’t have faith in you-who’d never heard of psychoanalysis at all?  What would you achieve then? 

Dr. P.  So long as it is a human mind I am treating, the result will be the same.  Psychoanalysis is universal.

Miss E.  Oh? Then perhaps you would be willing to come with me and try it on some human minds in my homeland.

Dr. P.  Your homeland?  You told me you were from New Jersey.  Surely everyone there has heard of psychoanalysis.

Miss E.  I deceived you, doctor, my home is in Euphoria, a very small and ancient culture located near the headwaters of the Orinoco River in South America.  We’ve been cut off from the rest of the world for centuries.  I came away four years ago to find out what new developments had occurred in my profession.  When I learned that witchcraft and sorcery were no longer widely practiced, I looked about for their closest equivalent, and settled upon psychoanalysis.  So I became your assistant, forging the necessary credentials.

Dr. P.  Forging! Then you were never analyzed by Freud and Jung?

Miss E.  Never.

Dr. P.  And it wasn’t you who spilled the fateful drop of ink on one of Dr. Rorschach’s books?

Miss. E.  No.

Dr. P. Fantastic! And yet you challenge me to accompany you to Euphoria, to prove that my techniques are as effective on your Euphorians as on civilized people.

Miss E.  Exactly.  Do you accept?

Dr. P.  I don’t know why I shouldn’t; I’ve been considering a vacation, and South America is as good a place as any.  Yes, I’ll come with you.

Miss E.  Good; shall we leave immediately?  We can probably get reservations on a plane for tonight, and we need to buy clothing and equipment for a trip through the jungle.

Dr. P.  (sarcastically) wouldn’t it be simpler to travel on broomsticks?

Miss E.  If you like.  But they’re not comfortable for such distances.

Dr. P.  You’re totally mad!  Potions! Broomsticks! (He grabs his copy of “The Psychoanalytic Theory of Neurosis” and the two exit, leaving the patient running on unawares:)

Pat.  An’ there was Eileen and me on the couch, and before I knew it she’d grabbed my . . . (he is interrupted as this point by:)

 

 OVERTURE

Act 1.

Scene: a glade in the jungle at the foot of a mountain.  Tropical foliage.  At right rear, a cliff, and before it a ledge raised three feet or so above stage level; a ramp leads up to it. From this ledge a cave extends back into the cliff.  At left front in a large, low, flat boulder.  As the curtain rises, Eurphorians are revealed in attitudes.  They perform an exotic ballet.  Then one of them steps forward and sings:

Aria With Chorus.

Solo:                Come, our more enlightened brothers

                        With your harried, hurried lives,

                        All involved with one another’s

                        Boy friends, girl friends, husbands, wives –

           

                        Come, abandon your devotions;

                        To the overly-complex

                        And your misdirected notions

                        On the functioning of sex.

 

                        Come where no one is infected

                        With the urge to complicate,

                        Where emotions aren’t dissected,

                        Here in our Euphoric State.

 

Chorus:            Though our art may be rococo,

                        Yet our lives are not ornate,

                        Here upon the Orinoco,

                        Here in our Euphoric State.

 

Solo:                Here we lack the civilizing

                        Benefits that you possess—

                        Motion pictures, advertizing,

                        Radios and modern dress.

 

                        Here we have no daily papers

                        To provide us with our views,

                        Picture of the latest rapers,

                        Scandals and distorted news.

 

                        All these wonders you’ve invented,

                        Though we lack them, are not  missed;

                        So we live and die contented,

                        Unaware that they exist.

 

Chorus:            Though we live and die without them,

                        Yet our loss is not too great

                        Since we have not heard about them

                        Here in our Euphoric State.

 

(Leader of chorus goes to ledge, calls:) Mercuricromis!

 

(A man with a white beard, dressed in a white robe, comes out of the cave.)

 

Merc.  Who calls Mercuricromis, and wherefore?

 

Leader:  You know perfectly well who, and why.  We’ve come to find out what the weather will be, just as we do every morning.

 

Merc.  After lengthy deliberation, I have determined that today will be – sunny and warm!

                        (sounds of disappointment from Chorus.)

 

Leader.  Sunny again? We never have any interesting weather any more.  All the time sun, and in the rainy season the same old rain; nothing unexpected.  Enderonda used to give us whirlwinds and hailstorms and things.  And why haven’t we had an eclipse lately?

 

Merc.  I’ll listen to no more about Endoronda!  I’m your sorcerer now, and you’ll be satisfied with what weather I choose to give you; otherwise I shall refuse to give you any weather at all!

 

(Chorus draws back in fear, muttering.  Mercuricromis folds his arms triumphantly.  After a bit the Leader says:)

 

Leader.  But if there weren’t any weather, what would there be?  I mean....

 

Merc.  (unsure of himself)  Well—it would be – let’s see –

 

(Miss Endor and Paracelsus have entered, unnoticed.)

 

End.  You can stop the act now, Mercuricromis.  I’ve returned.

(Chorus rushes to her, saying “Endoronda! How glad we are to see you !  Make us a hailstorm, Endoronda! etc.)

 

End.  Be quiet, all of you, while I introduce to you Dr. Paracelsus, master of a new school of mystic art that’s flourishing now in  the outside world.  He’s come to practice it here.  Now, Mercuricromis, I’d be obliged if you’d pack up your things and vacate my cave.  The rest of you go to the village, and tell the king and queen that we’ve arrived, and that Doctor Paracelsus will see them at once.

 

(Exit Chorus. Mercuricromis disappears into the cave.)

Par.  (sitting down on the boulder).  Why such a hurry?  Why can’t we go to the village too, and meet your king there, and rest a bit before beginning?

 

End.  Because that isn’t the way a visiting sorcerer acts.  They must come to you.

 

Par.  (filled with an inner light).  Yes, you’re right!  They shall come to me for help, and I shall help them!  When I return to the United States I shall publish a monograph:  “A Psychoanalytic investigation Into Euphorian Cultural Patterns”  Anthropologists and Psychologists will fall together at my feet!  Who knows what unsuspected neuroses lie hidden in these unprobed minds?  The first I shall name “The Paracelsus Neurosis”, and the next –what shall I call the next—

 

(Mercuricromis comes from the cave, a sack over his back.)

 

Merc.  All right, Endoronda, you can have your cave.  I never liked it anyway—it’s damp, and my shoes mildewed. (He goes off.)

 

Par.  Who is that?

 

End.  Mercuricromis; he fancies himself as a sorcerer, but he can’t work the simplest charm without muffing it.

 

Par.  I shouldn’t have thought Euphoria would need two spell-casters.

 

End.  He only took over while I was gone; he won’t bother us now.  But you’d better unpack and prepare your setting, before the King and Queen arrive.

 

Par.  You know I don’t need a setting –except, of course a couch.  I can’t operate effectively without a couch.

 

End.  You’ll have to use your air mattress, I’m afraid; I haven’t anything suitable.

 

Par.  It will have to do.  While I’m blowing it up, perhaps you can tell me what it is I’m supposed to accomplish here in Euphoria.

 

(He busies himself with unpacking an air mattress from his luggage, puts it on the ledge and blows it up during Endoronda’s aria, stopping only to sing his parts.  Perhaps some humorous business, involving escaping air as he stops to sing, will suggest itself.)

 

End.  I want you to try your skill on a problem at which I’ve failed – a problem much simpler than most of those that afflict your patients in America, and one which existed long before theirs were invented: The problem of unrequited love.

 

Aria, Endoronda with Paracelsus.  Rather fast.

 

End.     After many long years of continued success

            As Euphoria’s practicing sorceress,

              Misfortune came into my path;

            The girl Coleoptera, the King’s only child,

            Developed a passion both fervent and wild

              For a youth who is named Tamorath.

 

                        As such affairs so often occur,

                        Though she loved him, he didn’t love her,

                          And looked with scorn

                           Upon her intense

                             Devotion;

 

Par.                  A simple case, it seems to me,

                        And easily solved by sorcery—

                          Why didn’t you give

                             The young man your usual

                              Potion?

 

End.                 I brewed a hundred different brews,

                        Recited many a mystic rune,

                          Called spirits from near and far;

                        But however strong the charms I’d use,

                        This strange young man was quite immune

                          To my magical repertoire!

 

Both:                                        A very curious case

                                                Of passion unrequited;

                                                The beauty of her face

                                                Left him quite unexcited.

                                                And all my/your magic art

                                                With failure now was blighted;

                                                The two remained apart

                                                And could not be united.

 

End.                 So after I failed in this circumstance tragic,

                        The people lost faith in the power of my magic

                          And scoffed at my old incantations;

                        At last I determined to travel afar

                        And add to the stock of my old repertoire

                          With the most up-to-date innovations.

 

                                    And so I came to the U.S. of A.

                                    And studied these sciences you purvey

                                    To see which one

                                      Would finally strike

                                        My fancy;

 

Par.                              And though it seems quite odd to me,

                                    You settled on psychotherapy

                                      As the modern equi-

                                        Valent of your nec-

                                          Romancy!

 

End.                 I vowed that I would not return

                        Until I had found a way to solve

                          The dilemma I’d left behind;

                        But  four years passed, and all I could learn

                        From you was how to further involve

                          The entanglements of the mind.

 

Both.                                        Your/my journey was in vain;

                                                You/I found out nothing more

                                                Than how to make a brain

                                                More tangled than before.

                                                Since each Euphorian has

                                                Lost faith in witch’s lore,

                                                You/I brought me/you back here as

                                                A modern sorcerer!

 

Par.  (putting the plug in the air mattress, as Endoronda carries her luggage back into the cave).  This is an unusual capacity for an analyst to assume, but I have no doubt that I’m equal to it.  It’s only a matter of discovering the underlying causes of the young man’s apathy toward the girl, and of her failure to attract him, and making them both conscious of these causes.  It is axiomatic in my profession that a proper understanding on the part of all concerned in a given problem is the key to its solution.

 

End.  (Reappearing) Whatever you say; it’s your show from now on.  But remember that you can’t take months about it as you usually do – Euphorians aren’t used to waiting that long.  There’s no need to stretch it out anyway—they won’t be paying you by the hour.  I’ll do what I can to help, but you’ll have to put on your best act to impress them.

 

Par.  I shall do nothing of the sort; I shall behave in my usual manner.

 

End.  That will do perfectly.  (Enter King and Queen)

 

King.  Welcome back to Euphoria, Endoronda.  We were afraid you’d settled permanently in the outside world and forgotten us. 

 

End.  Your majesties, may I present to you the renowned Dr. Paracelsus.  (Dr. P. bows stiffly.)

 

King.  You are welcome to Euphoria also, Doctor.  We had hoped Endoronda would return from your country better able to help our daughter, but we are even more  happy to see that she has brought you with her.

 

Par.  Your majesty, I shall not only help your daughter; I plan to improve  Euphoria in many ways.  As I see it, you have been deprived too long of the benefits of civilization; it is time you abandoned your primitive practices and belief in the supernatural.  Since Miss Endor refuses to adopt the blessings of enlightened thought, it is up to me to pass them on to you.

 

Recitative:                   For primitive religions

                                    At modern science’s feet

                                    Become, like passenger pigeons,

                                    Extinct and obsolete.

 

Trio: Paracelsus, King and Queen.

 

Par.                              I’ll modernize Euphoria;

                                    I’ll end the senseless ravages

                                      Of long-outdated

                                      Antiquated

                                    Blunderings of savages!

 

King.                            Our cultural traditions,

                                    Our customs and our ritual,

                                      Will not be missed;

                                      They just persist

                                    Because they’ve been habitual.

 

Queen.                        What fun to be converted!

                                    How dull to go on swallowing

                                      The same old blah

                                      That grandpapa

                                    Spent eighty years in following!

 

Par.                              For Truth is universal,

                                    And Science international!

                                      On every shore

                                      Its blessings pour,

                                    The triumph of the rational!

 

 

 

All:  (With appropriate changes for Paracelsus)

 

                                    The faith of our fathers

                                    When nobody bothers

                        To question it, gathers the dust of the past;

                                    We’re anxious to try a

                                    More modern Messiah –

                        And in Paracelsus we’ve found one at last!

 

Par.  As for this minor matter of your daughter and the young man, I shall demonstrate the validity of my techniques by disposing of that quickly.  Have them come to me, one at a time.

 

King.  Certainly, Doctor.  (the two start across the stage)

 

Queen.  Did you understand what he was talking about?

 

King.  Of course not, but I wouldn’t have thought him much of a sorcerer if I had.  (both go out).

 

End.  You certainly  sounded confident.

 

Par.  Why shouldn’t I be?  All of modern psychoanalytic science is at my disposal.  How can I fail!  Incidentally, I wonder whether you’ve considered fully the probable consequences of bringing me here.          

 

End.  What do you mean?

 

Par.  I mean, what will happen to you when they discover the vast superiority of the methods of analysis over those of witchcraft?

 

End.  Doctor Paracelsus, you’ll realize how much that possibility worries me when I tell you that I’m, just about to make up another potion, to have ready for use when you’ve exhausted your patience and gone home.

 

Par.  Pah!  Potions! Broomsticks! (begins to read P.T.O.N.)

 

(Endoronda disappears into the cave and begins to conjure.  Her voice may be heard clearly.  The stage gradually darkens, until the only light is a weird glimmer from within the cave, which waxes and wanes, with occasional bright flashes at suitable moments.  Paracelsus goes on reading by this light, completely absorbed.)

 

Endoronda conjures:  (chant, to musical background)

                        Spirits of the earth and air,

                        Spirits of black and spirits fair,

                        Arbaron, Elimigith,

                        Assimonem, Belamith,

                        Spirits of the sea and land,

                        Answer now to my command!

 

Voices:             We come, O Endoronda!

 

End.                 Though I may have failed before,

                        I would conjure yet once more

                        That I may, as I desire

                        Kindle up an amorous fire

                        In the persons who partake

                        Of the liquid I shall make!

 

Voices:             We hear, O Endoronda!

 

(Sounds of bubbling cauldron, and things dropping into it, with splashes.)

 

End.                 Cobra’s venom, scorpions’ tails,

                        Serutan, a jar of Mum,

                        Tongues of toads and shredded snails

                        And a wad of Spearmint gum—

                           Boil, boil, boil,

                          Simmer, seethe and moil,

                          For from this unsavoury stew

                          I’ll distil my witch’s brew!

 

                        Wings of moths and lizards’ legs,

                        Listerine and Jergens’ Lotion,

                        Roquefort cheese and rotten eggs,

                        Hadacol, that mystic potion –

                          Boil, boil, boil

                          To a loathsome oil –

                          For, from these ingredients rare

                          A magic philtre I’ll prepare!

 

(A great flash, smoke pours from the cave.  Lights up again.  Enter Tamorath.)

 

Tam.  Are you Doctor Paracelsus?  The King sent me here.

 

Par.  Yes, I am Paracelsus.  I thought we might have a little talk.

 

Tam.  What about?

 

Par.  About yourself.  Lie down here, and tell me all about yourself.

 

Tam.  (Lying on air mattress.)  Well, I was born on the eighteenth of January, nineteen –

 

Par.  No, no, we haven’t time now for all that.  Tell me:  what are your feelings toward this girl Coleoptera?

 

Tam.  She annoys me – she’s always following me around.

 

Par.  Ah, but most young men wouldn’t object to that; you must admit that your reaction is odd.  

 

Tam.  What’s odd about it, if I’m not in love with her?

 

Par. How do you know whether you are or not? Have you ever loved anyone?

 

Tam.  Well, no—except my mother, of course,  but –

 

Par.  Ah, very interesting, very revealing. Perhaps we have begun to understand already.  While I do not hold with the outdated theory of Freud that the Oedipus complex is the foundation of all masculine neurosis –

 

Tam.  (sitting up) Oedipus what?

 

Par.  Complex; but it’s nothing you would understand.  Tell me more about how you feel toward your mother.

 

Tam.  How I feel?  Well, just – (tries to get up, Paracelsus pushes him down.)

 

Par.  Ah, you may say “just”; but there’s more to it than that.  Of course you wouldn’t recognize the truth of this relationship  with your mother--it exists largely in your subconscious.  And yet, if you don’t emerge from this phase satisfactorily, it may prevent you from forming an erotic attachment to anyone else.  Tell me, how does your mother feel toward this girl Coleoptera?

 

Tam.  I don’t think I ever asked her, but she seems –

 

Par.  As I thought, you’ve been avoiding the problem.  Can’t you see that yourself?  But of course you can’t; that’s your whole trouble.

 

Tam.  I didn’t really know I had any trouble, I—

 

Par.  You certainly have, and a serious one, and our first task is to make you aware of it.  Have you never wondered why you don’t love anyone but your mother?

 

Tam.  (manages finally to get up, starts backing across stage).  No, I didn’t think I needed a reason...

 

Par.  (following him)  An irrational refusal to recognize one’s aberrations is characteristic of most cases.  Now, then, tell me more about –

 

Tam.  (turning)  Look – Coleoptera’s coming in a minute.  I’d better leave you alone with her.

 

Par.  Ah, you’re frightened of me.  That’s a good sign; your complacency is shaken.  (Exit Tamorath, rather furtively, no longer carefree.  Paracelsus calls after him:)  Come back later and we shall continue our talk.  And bring several of your most recent dreams.

 

(Endoronda comes out of the cave, carrying two bottles and several little vials.)

 

End.  In the  words of your poet, the charm’s wound up, I’ll put it out here to cool.  Did you learn anything from Tamorath?

 

Par.  Not much, but enough to clarify the situation somewhat.  The girl’s on her way here now.

 

End.  I’ll go back in and leave you with her.  I think I’ll nap a bit anyway; conjuring is more strenuous than you’d think.  (Goes back into cave.  Paracelsus settles down to read P.T.O.N)  (Enter Coleoptera.)

 

Col.  Are you Dr. Paracelsus, the new sorcerer?

 

Par.  I am Paracelsus; and you are Coleoptera.  Lie down here, please, and –

 

Col.  No, thanks, I’m not tired. (sits down). I suppose my parents have told you about me, and my unrewarding love life.  Do you really think, Doctor, that you can make him see how thoroughly desirable I am?

 

Par.  My dear girl, it isn’t merely a matter of your being attractive or not; there are deep-seated psychoneurotic manifestations – (pushes her down).

 

Col.  (popping up again)  You needn’t waste your incantations on me.  I don’t need them—he does.

 

Par.  Incantations!  My dear young woman, may I tell you that – (he is interrupted by the introductory music for:)

 

 

Aria, Coleoptera (rather like a bad popular song)

                       

                       

            I’m quite convinced that I’m beautiful,

            For modesty is such a lot of sham –

               It’s tommyrot

              To say I’m not

            When I so very obviously am;

 

                        Oh, how could anybody

                        Be so undiscerning

                          As not to recognize my charm?

                        Anybody else would

                        Be passionate and burning,

                          But he isn’t even luke-warm.

                                    It isn’t as if

                                    I were ordinary,

                                    For I’m the sort that everyone

                                    Wants to marry –

                        Oh, how could anybody

                        Be so very stupid

                             As not to recognize my charm?

 

            I’m well aware I’m intelligent,

            My wit’s the very opposite of dim;

                I have no doubt

                Or fear about

            By clear superiority to him;

 

                        Oh, how could anybody

                        Be so unobservant

                            As not to fall in love with me?

                        Anybody else would

                        Be amorous and fervent,

                                    But he isn’t able to see –

                                    It isn’t as if

                                    I were feeble-minded,

                                    For I’m so very well-endowed

                                    And he’s so blinded –

                        Oh, how could anybody

                        Be so very stupid

                           As not to fall in love with me?

 

Par.  But even if we grant all that for the moment, we still must explore your relations with your parents, particularly with your father.  Is your father fond of you?

 

Col.  Oh, yes; I’m an only child, and he’s always doted on me.

 

Par.  A common and dangerous situation.  Very likely he regards Tamorath as an unwelcome rival for your love.

 

Col.  Oh, that can’t be true; he likes Tamorath.

 

Par.  That’s easily explained.  So long as Tamorath refuses to marry you, your father is in no danger of losing you.  But if Tamorath were to change and want to take you away, your father’s hidden antagonism would rise to the surface, and might ruin everything again.

 

Col.  My goodness, that would be terrible!  Isn’t there any way we can prevent it?

 

Par.  No, it’s almost sure to happen.  When it does, though, I’ll see what I can do.  The first problem, of course, is to make Tamorath erotically attached to you.

 

Col.  You mean in love with me, I suppose.  Will you do it with a potion, like Endoronda does?

 

Par. No, I never – spies the bottles on the ledge.)  Wait, on second thought, I think I shall give you a potion, if that’s what you want.  (goes over and pours two little vials, one from each bottle.  (Aside:) One must, after all, adapt one’s methods to the cultural level of the patient.  (back to Coleoptera).  Miss  Endor prepared this under my direction.  Each part is to be taken by one of you, in  the usual manner.

 

Col.  Thank you, Doctor; I’ll go right now and try it.

 

Par.  Come back this afternoon, and we’ll continue our discussion.  (He sits down again and reads.  Coleoptera starts to go out, stops.)

 

Col.  (solus) One for me and one for Tamorath.  If only it works this time!  But it must – Dr.  Paracelsus seems so very competent.  But even if it should work, there’s still the danger he warned me about!  My father secretly hating Tamorath!.  Perhaps – of course!  Why should I drink a love potion, when I love him already?  The best thing to do, obviously, is to solve both problems at once.  I shall give one to Tamorath, to make him love me, and the other to my father, so that he will become as fond of Tamorath as I am.  Yes, that’s surely the best plan.  At any rate, it can’t do any harm. (exit.)

 

(Enter, rather furtively, Mercuricromis.)

 

Merc.  Doctor Paracelsus...

 

Par.  (looking up from P.T.O.N.) Ah, it’s you.

 

Merc.  I waited until I saw you were alone—if you have a few minutes, I’d like –

 

Par.  I understand perfectly.  Lie down here.  Now, why do you need my help?

 

Merc.  Probably Endoronda has  told you already...

 

Par.  What she has told me is of no value for diagnosis but that I can manage for myself.  I suspect you are troubled by feelings of inadequacy.

 

Merc.  (sitting up)  Yes, that’s it exactly – and well I might be, for I am, as a human being, totally inadequate.

 

Par.  Nonesense!  Many times in the past I’ve heard men make statements like that; and usually, when I had subjected them to analysis, their lack of confidence proved to be based on a simple fear of having lost their potency!  You are a bachelor, I take it?

 

Merc.  No – I’m married, but unhappily, in fact, that what you say may be true, for I’ve had no opportunity for many years to test whether or not I am potent.  To be best of my memory, I was once, but –

 

Par.  Well, then!  All we need do is give you a chance to prove to yourself that you are still as virile as ever.

 

Merc.  That’s all very well to talk about, but my wife –

 

Par.  Stop thinking about her--your trouble probably originates in guilt feelings arising from repressed desire for polygamous experience.  Forget about your wife – try someone new.

 

Merc.  But the difficulty is that no woman will have me as I am now, and from what you say, I won’t change until one does.  There’s no hope for me.

 

Par.  (aside)  Here’s another chance to use Miss Endor’s ridiculous mixtures, to give him confidence.  No doubt he believes in such nonsense.  (To Mercuricromis).  How does it happen that Miss Endor has never repaired your love life, as she claims to have done for others?

 

Merc.  It’s a long and complex story, and one I’d rather not tell. –

 

Par.  Never mind; the story, no doubt another revelation of her incompetence. It can wait until later, when we continue your treatment.  For now, I shall give you a potion of my own, so that you may possess any woman you desire, and thereby assert yourself, exercise your male aggressiveness.  You are filled now with repressed hostilities: against your wife, against society.  You must release them, let go, do what you want.  You must work your will on other people, indulge your desires, yield to your temptations.  Then you will be a new man.  (goes to pour vials of potion).  Here, I’ll give you several of these – use them all.  Choose yourself a woman, and slip some into her papaya juice, or whatever you drink here.  (Pours several vials of the potion.)

 

Merc.  (solus) Truly he is wonderful!  How insignificant are the spells of Endoronda beside these resounding utterances!  Already I feel us if my cure were begun.  As he says so magnificently, I shall be a new man!

 

Duet, Paracelsus and Mercuricromis:

 

Par.                  Hair upon the chest

                        May be hidden by a vest,

                        And a handsome face will always be

                        A surface thing at best;

 

Both.                   But Potency!  Potency!  Potency!

                           It is something you have got

                             Or have not

 

Merc.                          Every woman’s quite aware

                                      When it’s there;

 

Both.                            They’ll despise you if they doubt it,

                                    You’re a nobody without it,

                                      And will never get beyond your first affair.

                        But... (faster)

 

Par.                  If you can preserve your virility

                        From puberty unto senility,

                        You’ll have the adventures

                        That everyone censures

                        As lacking in proper gentility;

 

Merc.              Your life won’t be one of tranquillity,

                        And you may lose your respectability,

                        But you must sacrifice

                        The desire to be nice

                        If you’d work off your inner hostility.

 

Par.                              Obsession, psychoses,

                                    Repressions, neuroses,

                                    All sorts of complexes,

                                    Confusion of sexes,

Both.                              They all come about

                                      If you think you’re without

                                                Your Potency! Potency! Potency!

(Exit Mercuricromis.)

 

Par.      If they continue to come with such rapidity, I shall have the whole tribe adjusted in a week or so.  (Begins to read again.  Enter Tamorath, half running, glancing behind him.)

 

Par.      Ah, you’re back.  What’s wrong, is Coleoptera following you again?

 

Tam.    No, it’s not her this time, it’s her father.  Something odd is going on.

 

Par.      Why do you say that?  What has happened since you were here before?  Have you developed any insights into your relationships?

 

Tam.  I haven’t really had time to, even if I know what insights were.  I met Coleoptera, and she gave me something to drink, and I drank it; and then she started to make love to me again.

 

Par.  And what was your emotional response to that?

 

Tam.  Do you mean, how did I feel?  Sort of embarrassed, as I always do.  Then she went off crying,  and saying that something hadn’t worked.  What did she mean?

 

Par.  Don’t concern yourself over it; just leave everything to me, and in a few days... (Enter King.)

 

King.  Tamorath!  I’ve been looking everywhere for you.

 

Tam.  Look, if it’s about me and Coleoptera again, I wish you wouldn’t.  She’s a nice girl, but –

 

King.  It isn’t about her at all – I’ve changed my mind completely.  It was silly of me to try to interest you in my daughter, when she isn’t very interesting anyway, and wise of you not to want her, or any woman, for that matter.  After all, are they really necessary?

 

Duet, King and Tamorath:

 

King.                I won’t deny that women

                          Have their place;

                        They provide for propagation

                          Of the race.

                        But if you take away

                          The pretty face,

                        What’s left?  Nothing that’s really

                          Worth the chase.

Tam.                            They’ve always seemed

                                      The same to me,

                                    But I never dreamed

                                      That you’d agree –

 

King.                Their charms are temporary –

                          Soon they’ve passed;

                        And the ending of the honeymoon

                          Is fast;

                        And babies come, each meant to be

                          The last,

                        And you look upon your life

                          And are aghast.

 

Tam.                            I’ve always thought

                                      To be a father

                                    Would be a lot

                                      Of fuss and bother –

 

Both.                We men are a much superior lot –

                        We have intelligence, they have not –

                        We have muscles where they have fat –

                        We never bring forth a squalling brat –

 

King.  (Waltz Serenade)

 

                        Let’s get away from it all –

            Out yonder we’ll meander through the tangle of the jungle;

                        Nothing holds us in, no fence, no wall,

            A man can always wander if he’s single.

                        You and I, hand in hand,

                        Through our wide Euphorian land,

            Abandoning our stupid friends, who cannot understand –

                        Let’s go answer the call,

                        And get away from it all!

 

Tam.                I don’t quite see what you mean;

                                    You want me to go on a camping  trip?

 

King.                            Exactly, my boy, a camping trip!

           

Tam.                            But what about the Queen?

 

King.                We’ll go and leave her behind;

            We’ll leave her here forever, for I hate her silly chatter –

                        If I never see her, I don’t mind;

            I didn’t really love her when I met her.

                        Since we both think the same

                        Of this amatory game,

            Why should we stay around where life is flat and dull and tame?

                        If you’re so inclined,

                        We’ll go and leave them behind!

 

(Tamorath confused, King affectionate, as Paracelsus, standing to one side, begins to sing: 

 

Par.                              This turn of his affection

                                    Even I must find perplexing

                                    And unless it can be thwarted

                                    It may caused a bit of bother

                                    In a case of this complexion

                                    It is really rather vexing

                                    For one’ patient to be courted

                                    By the other patient’s father.

 

                                    But in spite of my perplexity,

                                    I’ll win out none the less;

                                    An additional complexity

                                    Won’t hinder my success.

                                    For homosexuality

                                    Is nothing much to cure;

                                    I’ll return him to normality

                                    Within a week for sure.

 

(He continues to sing the last four lines over and over as Tamorath enters with:)

 

Tam.                Things are occurring so terribly strange

                          I cannot understand them;

                        How can he possibly want to change

                          His plans as he had planned them?

                        After he’s tried for so long to arrange

                          My marriage with his daughter,

                        Now all of a sudden he’s arguing

                        She’s really completely uninteresting,

                          Just as I’ve always thought her.

 

(He repents this quietly as the King comes in with:)

 

King.                            What has come over me?

                                    Why do I say these things?

                              Always I’ve led an exemplary life;

                                    Why do I find this young

                                    Man so attractive and

                             Feel such an urge to be rid of my wife?

 

(As this becomes quite chaotic, Mercuricromis enters with the Queen and Coleoptera, one on each arm.  Paracelsus sees this, groans and lies down on the air mattress.)

 

Merc.              I’ve followed your advice,

                        Paracelsus, to the letter;

                        Or, to be more precise,

                        I have followed it twice,

                        Which I think is even better.

 

                                    For if keeping one

                                    Satisfied

                                 Will banish my repressions,

                                    It follows then

                                    That pleasing two

                                 Will fill me with aggressions.

                               

                                 I’m aggressive

                                 To excessive

                                     Degree –

                                 So virile

                                 That I fear I’ll

                                                Need three,

                                  Or six or eight

                                  To demonstrate

                                                My new-found potency –

                                  But two

                                  Will do

                                                Temporarily.

 

Queen and Col.           He has changed,

                                    We have changed,

                                    Everything is rearranged,

                                    We are all of us estranged

                                      From our natural connections;

                                                Please tell us,

                                                Paracelsus,

                                     What has altered our affections!

 

Par.  (sitting up)          What a mess!

                                    I confess

                                    I’m not meeting with success,

                                    And I simply cannot guess

                                      What has made this case so muddled;

                                         But I really

                                         Must conceal the

                                      Awkward fact that I’m befuddled.  (lie down again)

 

Queen. (going to King)            Something has come over me—

                                                I simply cannot help myself –

                                                  Forgive me, forgive me!

 

King.                                        It doesn’t matter anyway –

                                                I really don’t care what you do --

                                                  Believe me, believe me!

 

Queen. (aside)                        How terribly curious;

                                    I thought he’d be furious;

                                 Instead I discover he’s rather glad!

 

King (aside)                 I thought when we parted

                                    She’d be broken-hearted;

                                 But she doesn’t seem the least bit sad!

 

Col. (going to Tamorath)        I should be still in love with you,

                                                And yet this man attracts me so –

                                                  Forgive me, forgive me!

                                                At last you’ll stop annoying me;

                                                To tell the truth, these happenings

                                                   Relieve me, relieve me!

 

Col. (aside)                  Although I don’t love him,

                                    The very sight of him

                                 Affects me with feelings I cannot name!

                                   

Tam.                            Although I avoid her,

                                    I rather enjoyed her

                                 Persistent attentions, all the same!

 

(This falls naturally into a quartet, after which Mercuricromis enters with:)

 

 

 

Merc.             There’s really little cause

                        For becoming so upset;

                        It’s just that we are simple folk

                        And unaware as yet

                        Of the marvellous developments

                        Of this new art, Psychology;

                        We’ve all believed in silly things

                        Like witchcraft and astrology.

 

  (religiously)               If anyone can explain this,

                                    Paracelsus is the man!

                                    I suspect it all is part

                                    Of his very subtle plan!

                                     For we are only pawns

                                    In the hands of Paracelsus –

                                    We move as he directs,

                                    Do everything he tells us.

 

 

Trio:  King, Queen Coleoptera.           Though we know that something’s wrong

                                                            Deep down within our soul,

                                                            We’re being pushed along

                                                            By what we can’t control.

                                                            So let’s forget what was

                                                            And think about what is;

                                                            We needn’t fear, because

            (indicating Paracelsus)           The responsibility’s his.

                                     

(Tableau: Mercuricromis embraces Queen and Coleoptera; King attempts to embrace Tamorath, who repulses him; Paracelsus motionless on air mattress.  Enderonda from the cave, looking sleepy.)

 

End.     What in the world – (observes situation, sees empty bottles on ledge, bursts out laughing.)

 

Par.      It isn’t funny – these people of yours have all gone mad!

 

End.     Congratulations, Doctor, for I hardly would have thought

            That you’d so very quickly have them acting as they ought.

            Behold, Euphorian people, what Analysis hath wrought!

                        By following what he advised,

                        Already you are civilized!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Par.  (unwilling to admit he’s in a quandary.  Fast.)

 

            My

                        Dispassion-

                        Ate ration –

                        All clinical mind

                        Is not to

                        Be brought to

                        A state of this  kind,

            For reason is ever supreme;

                        The notion

                        That potions

                        Can ever succeed –

                        It surely

                        Is purely

                        For primitive breed,

            And not for humanity’s cream!

 

End.     You

                        Appear to

                        Adhere to

                        Your faith as before

                        And follow

                        Your hollow

                        Professional lore,

            Though it’s brought you to this sorry plight;

                        Abandon

                        Your planned-on

                        Success in this land –

                        Surrender

                        And tender

                        The case to my hand,

            And soon I shall set it aright.

 

Par.                              You forget Miss Endor,

                                    That I represent

                                    The forces of modern

                                    Enlightenment;

                                    And such a surrender

                                    Would be, in effect,

                                    Superstition’s defeat

                                    Of intellect!

 

 

End.     (to others, shrugging shoulders.)

             

            Doctor Paracelsus has the problem well in hand

            He says the case is working out precisely as he’d planned.

            Be patient with these happenings you cannot understand –

              They’re all a necessary part

              Of psychoanalytic art!

 

Ensemble (except End. And Paracelsus)

 

                        Yes, we are merely pawns

                        In the hands of Paracelsus;

                        We move as he directs,

                        Do everything he tells us.

                        So let’s forget what was

                        And think about what is;

                        We needn’t fear, because

                        The responsibility’s his!

 

(Endoronda begins to laugh again.  Curtain.)

 


 

Act II. 

 

Scene:  same as Act I.  Euphorians (including King, Queen, Tamorath and Coleoptera) are seen in moping attitudes.  They dance a bit, languidly, then stop in more weary attitudes.)

 

Lender of the Chorus (with choral background)

 

                        All the splendour of the scenery

                        Of the orchids and the greenery

                          Would formerly have brought us

                                    To a rapture unconfined;

                        But we’ve lost our taste for nature

                        Since we learned the nomenclature

                          That Paracelsus taught us

                                    For the mysteries of the mind.

 

                                                Can a pleasure be the same

                                                With a scientific name?

                                    No longer may we wander

                                    Through the forest as we did;

                                    Instead we sit and ponder

                                    The gyrations of our Id.

 

                        By the Orinoco’s torrent

                        In a lassitude abhorrent

                          We lean upon the rubber trees

                                    And hang our whirling heads;

                        When the monkeys cease their riot

                        And the parakeets are quiet

                                    We come back to realities

                                                And go off to our beds.

 

                                                            Truly ignorance is bliss

                                                            If knowledge leads to this!

                                    We are party to persecutions,

                                    We’re inflamed with inner fires,

                                    With our cranial convolutions

                                    Full of devious desires.

 

 

 

 

 

(They continue to recline dispiritedly.  Enter Mercuricromis.)

 

Merc.  (solus.)             Now that events have worked so to my advantage,

                                    I must act quickly and decisively.

                                    Paracelsus claims the mix-up he has caused

                                    Is only temporary, a transitional stage

                                    In the psychoanalytic cures he’s working.

                                    Moreover, Coleoptera, realizing

                                    That her attraction to me is unstable

                                    Refuses to allow me to consummate my conquest.

                                    But I, the virile and aggressive I,

                                    Will stabilize the situation in my own way,

                                    Which is to dispose at once of Paracelsus

                                    And seize power while the others are still

                                    In this state of bewilderment.  For, after all,

                                    I only follow his advice on self-assertion.

                                    I’m sure that he’d approve this course himself

                                    If he could view the matter objectively.

 

(To the others)  People of Euphoria!  (they arise) The truth about Paracelsus has become clear to me!  He claims to be helping us, but what has he done?  Made us more unsettled than ever before.  Why is he  doing this?  So as to control our  minds.  He is working to make us like his own people, dependent upon his professional services.  In the great tradition of his culture, he is creating a need so that he can satisfy it.  We have all heard the stories Endoronda and Paracelsus tell about the achievements of the outside world and its progressive techniques; but have we ever heard that it is happier because of them?  No.  And why?  It’s very simple.

 

Aria on Progress:        A curious phenomenon

                                    One cannot help but muse upon

                                      Where modern progress touches

                                    Is that, however great its speed

                                    Its goals persistently recede

                                      To just beyond its clutches.

 

            (The Ravenous Wolf of Progress

             Can Never Devour its Prey:

                 Whenever you think you’ve mastered the means,

                 The end has slipped away.)

 

                                    They mass-produce necessities

                                    So everyone can live at ease;

                                      But are they then contented?

                                    It’s just the other way about;

                                    New things that they can’t live without

                                      Are endlessly invented.

 

            (Biting the Bosom of Progress

             Is the Following Venomous Asp:       

                        To the end of time, man’s reach

                        Must always exceed his grasp.)

 

                                    Their Medicine becomes more sure

                                    Of its ability to cure

                                      Most anything it pleases;

                                    What happens then?  In several years

                                    From out of nowhere there appears

                                      A host of new diseases!

 

            (The stately Ship of Progress

             On the Following Reef is Wrecked:

                        The old Law of Compensation

                        Is certain to take effect.)

 

                                    And so this principle persists

                                    And makes their psychoanalysts

                                      Depended on and trusted;

                                   For every step that they advance,

                                  The people, by some curious chance,

                                    Become more maladjusted!

 

            (The Eccentric Wheel of Progress

             Must Ever be Made to Revolve:

                        By solving a problem you’ll create

                        A dozen more to solve.)

 

King.  Then the longer Paracelsus works his spells on us, the more disordered our minds will become!

 

Merc.  I’m sure of it!  Look at what’s happened to us since he arrived!

 

King.  If this is true, we must banish Paracelsus from Euphoria at once.

 

Merc.  That wouldn’t break the spells he’s already cast over us, or prevent him from casting more after he’s gone.  There’s only one way to handle this situation, and that’s the way our ancestors handled it.  On this very rock, before the Cave  of Sorcery (pointing), evil magicians once were put to death.  Let us bring him here and kill him!

 

King.  Do you really think that’s necessary?  No one has ever been killed in our time.

 

Merc.  That’s because the occasion has never arisen.  What our ancestors did, we must do!  At this  very moment he is in the village, teaching his evil doctrines to our children!  Shall we allow our children to become psychiatric patients?  For the future of Euphoria, come!

 

(They rush off to fast music, which continues through the Storm.  Endoronda has appeared at the entrance to the cave, and has heard this last bit.  She rushes back into the cave, reappears with a heavy old book, riffles frantically through the pages as she sings:)

 

End.     It is up to me to rescue him—

            I thought his pompous antics

            Would be amusing but harmless;

            And now my joke has led to this!

            I  knew he’d fail with Tamorath,

            But not that he’d involve so many others,

            Or succeed so well with Mercuricromis.

 

(She stops at a page, reads it.)

 

            Here’s one in archaic Euphorian

            I’ve never dared to try.

            “The Full-Scale Tempest, Allegro con Brio.”

            Well, it would seem to be

            What the predicament calls for. (She goes back into the cave.)

 

(The Euphorians rush in, carrying Paracelsus, who is still clutching “The Psychoanalytic Theory of Neurosis” and shouting, as they hold him on the altar-rock:)

 

Par:  Stop this nonsense! It’s all here in Chapter Six, you fools!  You’re Dramatizing your Insecurity Feelings!  You’re Making Me a Transference Symbol of Repressed Father Resentment Drives!  Acting Out your Psychodrama may in some cases by Therapeutically Effective, but is never a Satisfactory Substitute for Acquisition of Insight through Analytic Procedures!  I do not endorse the school which recommends Dramatization as a Means of Resolving Psychic Conflicts!  You must Verbalize them, Verbalize, Verbalize!  You must become Aware that it is not Me you are killing, but a Symbol of your Repressed Feelings of Rebellion against the Authority of a Superior Level of Civilization!  Stop this at once, Verbalize, Verbalize!

 

(Mercuricromis finally manages to stop this by holding his hand over Paracelsus’ mouth)

 

Merc.  (uneasily)  Gag him, quickly!  Who knows what further spells he may be casting upon us?

 

(The Euphorians tie a gag over Paracelsus’ mouth with great difficulty;  Mercuricromis produces a knife and begins to dance around the altar, while other Euphorians stand by swaying or stamping their feet to the music, which is rhythmic and savage.  The Euphorians are clearly awed by the shouting of Paracelsus, and wonder what it may portend.  Meanwhile, Endoronda has reappeared at the mouth of the cave, unnoticed in the excitement; she begins to fling powders into the air as she chants from the book:)

 

End.     Let all violent, perverse and aberrational

            Meteorological phenomena,

            The afflictions of our tropical environment,

            Occur in simultaneous intensity!

 

            Let the troposphere be mingled with the stratosphere,

            And both become tumultuous and turbulent!

            Let the nethermost foundation of the continent

            Be racked with seismological disturbances!

 

(A storm arises, and continues for some time.  The stage darkens, lightning flashes, an earthquake is indicated by stagehands shaking the scenery from behind, and, if the composer has his way, a stray Valkyrie passes through.  The Euphorians stop their dancing and are confused; they look at Paracelsus in fear, pointing, indicating they believe him to have caused the storm.  Then it does down, they and Mercuricromis are prostrate in postures of worship around the altar-rock, Endoronda standing motionless before the cave.  Paracelsus gets up from the altar, slowly and hesitantly, removes the gag from his mouth, looks around, sees Endoronda and comes over to her.)

 

Par.  Oof!  That was a narrow escape!  I believe they actually meant to kill me!  And if that storm hadn’t occurred just then—

 

End.  Be quiet and listen to me.  The people believe you caused that storm with all your shouting.

 

Par.  I caused it?  How preposterous.  Ignorant as they are, they can’t suppose that I, or anyone else, could produce a storm, which, as any intelligent person can tell them, is a natural phenomenon, the result of  an area of low atmospheric pressure occurring in the middle of –

 

End.  Be quiet, I tell you, if you want to save your life.   If you admit now that it wasn’t your doing, they’ll proceed with the execution, and you’ll still be the victim.  But for the moment they believe in you.

 

Par.  They seemed to believe in me before.

 

End.  In a way, they did; but, as you should know, there are two sorts of belief.  Your people have been educated to believe what they read and are told, but mine still depend chiefly upon what they see and feel and hear.  And that’s the sort they have now.  Quick, go over and start talking.  They’ll accept anything you tell them.

 

Par.  (going to Euphorians; still uncertainly, but putting up a front)  Arise, Euphorians! (they do so.)  You angered me, and you saw the result.  Will you dare to try it again?  

 

All.  No!  Don’t verbalize any more!

 

King.  We were wrong in doubting you.  But tell us; since you’re omnipotent, as we’ve just seen demonstrated so forcibly, why have you allowed our lives to become so disorderly?  Why have you seemed to create disturbances in us instead of removing them?

 

(Paracelsus turns to Endoronda for assistance.)       

 

End.  Remember, they’ll believe whatever you tell them.

 

Par.  (to Euphorians)  I’ve explained again and again that in the process of analysis you must pass through a number of emotional crises before you arrive at psychological soundness.  All that has happened was necessary.  But the time has now come for the culmination of your cures – the driving out of the neuroses!

 

(He turns to Endoronda for assurance; she nods her head.)

 

Par.      (To the King, pointing, quite fast, like an incantation:)

 

                        Your partial regression

                        To times adolescent

                        Revived obsolescent

                        Bivalent expression;

                        But now the compulsion

                        Which made you disparage   

                        The virtues of marriage

                        Your view with revulsion,

                                    And you’re cured, cured, cured!

 

(to Queen)       Romantic rejection

                        Of marital status

                        Produced a hiatus

                        In normal affection;

                        But now with maturing

                        You feel an aversion

                        Toward that excursion

                        You found so alluring

                                    And you’re cured, cured, cured!

 

(King and Queen rush together, embrace, sing:)

 

K. & Q.                         Oh, matrimonial comforts!

                                      We scorned you then,

                                      But now again

                                          We find you most inviting!

                                      Though lacking in

                                      The taste of sin

                                          And hardly so exciting,

                                              We choose the social peace you bring

                                              To pleasures of philandering!

 

Paracelsus.  (To Coleoptera, still as an incantation)

 

                        A father fixation

                        Quite common to meet with

                        Caused you to compete with

                        Your mother’s flirtation;

                        But now that your mother

                        Renounces her  lover

                        You’re free to recover

                        And marry another,

                           And you’re cured, cured, cured!

 

(To Tamorath) I’ve caused you to question

                        Your  normal behaviour

                        And so can enslave your

                        Desires by suggestion;

                        Your self-satisfaction

                        Is thus counteracted;

                        You find you’re attracted

                        To her by reaction,

                           And you’re cured, cured, cured!

 

(Coleoptera and Tamorath also rush together, embrace, sing:)

 

C. & T.             Oh, virginal condition!

                          We trusted in you

                          To continue;

                              Now desire is stronger –

                          We can’t endure

                          To be so pure

                              More than a moment longer!

                                    As soon as all this singing ends

                                    We’ll taste the raptures Love extends!

 

King.  At last!  He has succeeded where Endoronda could not!  He has a power greater than hers!

 

End. (coming over to them)  That would seem to be so; and I’ll probably never know why I failed with Tamorath.

 

Merc.  It’s easily explained, Endoronda; and since there’s no longer any reason for concealing the truth, I may as well reveal it.  (To Paracelsus). If I tell you the unhappy facts of the matter, perhaps you will be able to help me as you have the others.  To begin with, this woman (indicating Endoronda) is, and has been for twenty-odd years, my wife.

 

Par.  (astounded, to Endoronda) Is that true?

 

End.  Now that you bring it to my attention, I do recall that we were married.  After I had paired off everyone else in Euphoria satisfactorily, only he and I remained; and I had no choice, as our laws forbid celibacy.  However, since magic won’t work on anyone of witch’s blood, my potions were of no use in making my own marriage successful.  So I concentrated instead on forgetting it, through the mental disciplines practiced in my profession.

 

Merc.  But, although our marriage was unhappy, it was not without issue.  Some months after it took place, you bore a son.

 

End.  I did?  I seem to have forgotten that also.  Doubtless I considered it one of my minor achievements – we who engage in magic take no pride in accomplishments of which ordinary people are equally capable.  What became of the child?

 

Merc.  Since you took no interest in it, I secretly mixed it in among an especially prolific family of the village, trusting that they would fail to notice such a small addition to their number.   And so it proved; only I knew the truth, and the boy was brought up in the ordinary way.  You see him before you:  Tamorath!

 

Tam.  Mother! (goes as if to embrace her, then stops, looks guiltily at Paracelsus, steps back, saying:) Oh, I forgot.

 

End.  So that’s why my potions had no effect on him – he too is of witch’s blood!

 

Merc.  I’d hoped that by showing you to be fallible, I could supplant you as a sorcerer; but now I see that neither of us can compete with Paracelsus.

 

King.  Yes! Our choice is Paracelsus!  We can no longer be content with primitive practices and the outmoded language of witchcraft!  We must catch up with the outside world—we too must have a Psychoanalyst!

 

All (shouting) Yes!  Away with witches and sorcerers!  Paracelsus!  Psychoanalysis!

 

Par.  Although i am deeply moved by your conversation, and happy that you have at last seen the folly of the supernatural, it is quite impossible for me to remain here; my practice in the United States cannot be neglected.  My people need me, I cannot abandon them; without me and the fellow-workers who depend upon me for guidance, the whole country would soon become a vast asylum for the mentally deranged—

 

(He backs off to the side of the stage; the Euphorians surround him, singing:)

 

Chorus.            Stay, Paracelsus, stay!

                        We need you more than they!

                        Down with Witchcraft, down with Potions!

                        Down with all outmoded notions!

                        Only Science satisfies us!

                        Stay and psychoanalyze us!

 

(Paracelsus shies away from them, over to Endoronda)

 

Par.  Surely they can’t mean to keep me here!

 

End.  Ha!  Try and get away.  You’re surrounded by jungle – no one will lead you out.  You may as well make the best of it.  You’ll be a success here now, anyway; they have faith in you (laughs.)

 

Par.  This is preposterous!  I don’t want to be tribal sorcerer to a lot of ignorant – (Euphorians approach him threateningly)  Well, it is a good opportunity for research;  if I ever escape, I’ll publish a monograph that will electrify the scholarly world!

 

End.  Come along, Mercuricromis, let’s pack our things and be off.  They’ve no further use for us.  Besides, with everyone (except for course Paracelsus) happily married to everyone else, we’d be misfits here.  In the civilized world, on the other hand, we’ll conform to the common pattern—what they speak of there as being socially adjusted.  Goodbye, Paracelsus; take good care of my people.  You’ll answer their needs as well as I did.

 

Merc.  But why can’t we stay here?  Paracelsus can speak an incantation over us, and –

 

End.  Don’t argue, come along.  Where we’re going, you’ll find as many as you want just like him.

 

(They exit unobtrusively as Paracelsus looks after them in despair.  The Euphorians are still too fascinated with him to notice.)

 

King.  A new age dawns in Euphoria: an age of enlightenment!  Unhappiness will be unknown!

 

Par.  (brightening a bit as he sees the virtues of the situation).  You have seen only a minor sample of what my techniques can accomplish!  Great new revelations of their versatility await you!

 

Finale, Paracelsus and Euphorians:

  

Par.                              My predecessor seemed to find

                                    The treatment of the ailing mind

                                    Sufficient interest, and resigned

                                      All others to their neighbours;

                                    The modern psychoanalyst

                                    Feels obligated to assist

                                    His erring brothers, who have missed

                                       The point in all their labours.

                                                            We’re not content to linger

                                                              Only where psychoses lurk;

                                                            No, we must have our finger

                                                              Into every human work.

 

                                    Oh, bring me your mythology,

                                    Your folk-lore, your cosmology,

                                    Religion, eschatology—

                                      I’ll interpret them anew;

                                    And all that now seems sensible

                                    Will be incomprehensible.

                                      And useless when I’m through.

 

Chorus:                                    How silly of us, blundering

                                                  Through centuries, content

                                                To tell our myths, not wondering

                                                  Just what they really meant!

 

Par.                              Bring me your arts poetical –

                                    By methods theoretical

                                    And wholly un-aesthetical

                                        I’ll probe the poets’ lives;

                                    And all their ingenuity

                                    I’ll show to be fatuity

                                       And sublimated drives.

 

Chorus:                                    Alas, what blindness curses

                                                  The ignorant and rough!

                                                We only sang our verse

                                                  And thought that was enough!

 

Par.                              Your arts representational

                                    By means associational

                                    I’ll prove are derivational

                                       From simple sexual scrawls;

                                    For art is all reducible

                                    In the psychiatric crucible

                                       To lavatory walls.

 

Chorus:                                    We thought our art was beautiful

                                                  And wonder what you mean –

                                                We’ll try now to be dutiful

                                                  And see it as obscene.

 

Par.                              For the truth is that humanity

                                    From pagans to Christianity

                                    In its poor misguided vanity

                                       Has thought to see the light;

                                    But now psychoanalysis

                                    Dispels its mind-paralysis

                                       And sets it all aright!

 

Chorus:                                    Our primitive behaviour

                                                  Inspires us with disgust;

                                                Deliver us, our saviour!

                                                  In you alone we trust!

 

All  (devoutly, as a hymn)

 

                                    How have we been content to linger

                                    While modern progress passed us by,

                                       Satisfied to possess

                                       An illusion of happiness?

                                    Now Paracelsus will have a finger

                                    Into each Euphorian pie –

                                       Our golden age is come,

                                       A new millennium!

 

(They carry Paracelsus off the stage on their shoulders.  Curtain.)

 


 

Epilogue.

 

Scene:  the same as that of the Prologue, Paracelsus’ office; but in the chair which he occupied before, Miss Endor is now sitting, and beside her Mercuricromis, who is taking notes.  One side of the stage, separated from the rest by a screen, is dark.  Another patient is lying on the couch, and as the lights go up he is saying in an affected voice:)

 

Pat.  At the age of five I was taken by my mother to her analyst, who found that I was suffering from persecution feeling contracted at school, where I was in continual fear of being accosted by the little girls.  However, as the analyst was a follower of Wilhelm Reich, there was little he could do for one of my age without being quite improper.  He therefore recommended that my mother have me transferred to a school for boys only; but as it turned out, this was decidedly not a wise move, for no sooner had I arrived than...(etc.)

 

(Meanwhile, Miss Endor has listened patiently to some of this, then shaken her head sadly, arisen from her chair and gone behind the screen.  Lights go up there to reveal, on a table, a tripod and cauldron with alcohol stove under it; she lights the stove and begins to drop ingredients into the cauldron, chanting as she does so:)

 

End.                             Spirits of the earth and air,

                                    Spirits black and spirits fair –

 

Curtain  

What follows is the libretto text for a comic operetta that I wrote in 1949, after the success of the chamber-opera A Day At Creed’s that my composer-friend Gordon Cyr and I created and (with two others) performed, first in our living room, then on the U.C. campus, and finally on Radio Station KPFA. (For that, see the libretto, published separately on this website under Writings of James Cahill--or, to hear the original radio performance, go to http://www.archive.org/details/C_1949_XX_XX).  The music for this new one, however, was never composed; Gordon was busy with other matters, such as getting his degree in the Music Department. He finished one song and a few sketches for others, but even those are now lost. I, meanwhile, was continuing to work in Creed’s Bookstore while working toward my own B.A., which I received (in Oriental Languages) in the summer of 1950. I was exposed daily to discussions about then-new theories of psychoanalysis, and was selling--and browsing--books by authors such as Karen Horney and Wilhelm Reich. It was natural, then, that I would choose psychoanalysis as the topic for satirical treatment in the new operetta. Rereading it, I still find it funny, and full of good rhymes--I had an ear for those back then. So, read it and (I hope) enjoy it. I will welcome written responses. If any composer wants to do music for it and arrange for a production, get in touch with me.

 

James Cahill, December 2011

Movie Notes

Movie Notes

I have decided to put on my website, as one of my writings, the following set of notes on old movies that I take to be great or very good, for whatever interest they may be to readers. There are, of course, many “movie guides” etc. with thousands of entries and far more informed opinions about them--these are fewer and personal. They were written over the past three years to accompany a large set of DVDs and a few old VHSs of old movies making up a library that is the property of my twin boys--now sixteen, so no longer boys, young men--Julian and Benedict, who I want to see grow up as knowledgeable movie buffs, as an important part of their whole cultural package, to which I have tried to contribute as much as I could. We have watched some of these together on their evening visits with me, beginning with two French films--my favorite of all movies, Jean Renoir?s Rules of the Game, and Truffault?s Shoot the Piano Player (Jules et Jim belongs later in their lives.) Others have included Citizen Kane, Born Yesterday, and The Producers.

The Notes are divided into two parts, both arranged alphabetically by title:  great films in Main List, very good films in Secondary List. But the division is arbitrary in many cases, and needn?t be taken seriously. Some of my notes include personal comments, about old family matters; but these are not embarrassing, and it would be too much trouble to take them all out--just ignore them. I include information on who is the director when it seems to me important, and actors and actresses who come to mind. The plus or minus signs  (+ or -) at the beginning mean: there are or aren?t copies in their film library--only a few are still missing. Some are old VHSs that I still have in my library at Berkeley. There are lots of wrong spellings and other kinds of mistakes, but don?t bother to correct them--no claim for perfect, publishable accuracy is made. These are, as I say, for the interest of other old movie buffs, or those who aspire to buffdom. I have myself reached the point where it is rare for a really good film I haven?t seen to appear on TCM, Turner Classic Movies, the channel I watch most--mostly they are either old familiars or really awful clunkers--their Horror series must have its fans, but I am not among them, and I could do with a lot fewer War films.

So, here it is, for what it?s worth, my personal list of great and good movies.

James Cahill, 12/4/11

MoviesNotes for Cahill Family Library of Great Movies

For Julian and Ben, Christmas 2009 and After, from their Dad (These notes are to accompany a library of DVD and VHS movies.)

(Note: I’m not including any Chinese films because I know them less well than your mother, and leave the selection of those to her. I’m mostly leaving out animation films, which you know better than I do. And I’ve left out a few super-classics—Gone With the Wind—that are too familiar to need recommendations or commentary from me. Note also that the “Secondary List” is not easily distinguishable from the main list—no firm separation.)

 

+Adam’s Rib (1949, Hepburn + Tracy, Judy Holliday) One of the funniest of the great series of films Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy made together (they were in love part of that time, but he was married to an invalid wife—tragic story). You should see the others eventually (Pat and Mike, Woman of the Year, etc.) This one co-stars Judy Holliday—I will include her wonderful Born Yesterday also—and involves two married lawyers who represent opposite sides in a legal case. Guess who wins.

 

+ The African Queen (1951, John Huston, Bogart and Hepburn).

Shot on location in Africa. Wonderful interaction between two stars:

Bogart’s sleaziness vs. Hepburn’s missionary morality.  Exciting trip down river, very satisfying ending. A triumph for Bogart, playing another role quite different from anything before. Robert Morley appears in the early part.

 

+ All About Eve (1950. Joseph Mankiewicz, scriptwriter & director.) Bette Davis, Ann Bancroft, George Sanders. (Mankiewicz had a big part also in Citizen Kane, some say as much as Welles, or more, in the script.) A classic of dramatic rivalry in the theater world, great dialogue, brilliantly performed by everybody.

 

+ Annie Hall (1993, Woody Allen.) His best film, most people think; partly autobiographical, outlining his (real-life) breakup with Diane Keaton, who plays Annie Hall. The way she dresses was so influential that we spoke of the “Annie Hall look” in women’s clothes. Especially successful use of his talking-to-the-camera method. Funny bit about Marshall McCluhan in theater lobby near beginning; opens with Allen quoting great Groucho Marx line.

+L’Atalante (1934, Jean Vigo). Watch this when you are relaxed, not expecting excitement. Film as poetry: Vigo died young (made one other, Zero de Conduit). Young married couple on barge with old bum (the great Michel Simon). I remember sitting in Berkeley film archive watching this with your mother and with a very intelligent Chinese woman who asked: Why are we here? What’s so good about this? I found it hard to answer, but it’s on my list of greatest. My VCR isn’t the longest version—watch that on DVD if you can.

 

+L’Avenntura (Antonioni, 1960.) While watching this you will probably wonder, at some point: why did he include this one? What’s so good about it? Hard to explain; but it’s on just about everybody’s list of ten-greatest, or at least twenty-. Not to be watched for plot—there isn’t much—but as a work of film-making, pay attention to composition, cutting, transitions. Was startlingly new when it appeared.

 

+The Baker’s Wife (1938, Raimu and Charpin.) Way back when seeing foreign films was a new and rare experience, this was a favorite. Pretty much forgotten today. For Raimu and Charpin, see also the Pagnol trilogy. Very touching and funny, as the villagers set out to get the baker’s wife back so that they will have their morning bread again. Imagine how different this style of acting was from what we were used to in Hollywood in the 1930s! So going to a foreign film was a very special experience. (Later. Seeing this again, in the video I managed to find for you (not easy): watching the first part I began to wonder whether it belonged among the masterpieces—very talky, non-cinematic, like a filmed play. But then as it went on I was re-persuaded. Watch Raimu closely and see why Orson Welles called him “the greatest actor in the world.” Frenchmen talk with their faces, their hands, their bodies. He does it like nobody else can.)

 

+Battleship Potemkin (1925, Serge Eisenstein). I think this DVD belongs to your mother, but I found it here and include it because this is indeed a historically important film, which you should be familiar with. Scene on stairs is famous, ground-breaking for its powerful cinematic effect. There are other Russian films you should see, by Eisenstein and others; they aren’t among my personal favorites, but are important to film history. Eisenstein’s 1938 Alexander Nevsky has a great “battle on the ice” sequence with Prokofieff music, exciting.

+Beauty and the Beast (1946, Jean Cocteau). You will remember watching this, but it repays watching over & over. A visual masterwork—Christian Berard’s sets contribute a lot. Save it and show it to your children—all children should see it, over & over. Also adults.

 

+Blue Angel (1930, Josef von Sternberg.) The film that made Marlene Dietrich a star as the cabaret singer Lola Lola; but the real star is famous German actor Emil Jannings as the old professor. Heartbreaking, funny all at the same time. Her song (by Freddie Hollander, who came to Hollywood with von Sternberg & Dietrich to write music for many movies) her song, “Ich bin von Kopf bis Fuss aus Liebe angestellt”—I am from head to foot designed for love—I have on an audiodisk and can sing it all. (Later she sang a watered-down English version, “Falling in Love Again.”) Dietrich and von Sternberg went on to make movies together in Hollywood; good, but never again up to this. (Although Morocco, which I saw again recently, their first in Hollywood, is also quite fine, in spite of her being mismatched with Gary Cooper.)

 

+Born Yesterday (1950, Judy Holliday, Garson Kanin script.) Broderick Crawford as uncouth, rich junk dealer; Holliday as Billy Dawn starts out as his mistress, is tutored in English and general culture by William Holden. She is marvelous in her changing speech, from raucous Brooklynese to cultivated woman, and also in the way she becomes aware of social issues. Quite moving toward the end, when he takes her to the Lincoln Memorial etc. (Your emotional father can never see that, and hear the words written there, without his eyes tearing up.) Very satisfying all around.

 

+Bringing Up Baby (1938, Hepburn and Grant; Howard Hawks) One of the finest of the 1930s “screwball comedies” that have become classics. This one moves fast and has a complicated plot—a paleozoologist and a “madcap heiress” pursuing a loose leopard—with much more. If you like this genre, as I do, there are lots more. Katherine Hepburn was extremely versatile, does a comedy role here—she’s also great in Philadelphia Story, Holiday, both much worth watching.

 

+ Cabaret (1972, Bob Fosse). Very enjoyable, prize-winning semi-musical based on Christopher Isherwood’s account of living in Berlin just before Hitler. Joel Grey as the cabaret’s MC sets the tone; Liza Minnelli as Sally Bowles gives her best performance (if you want to realize how much can change in 33 years, compare her singing the title song with her mother’s singing “Over the Rainbow” in Wizard of Oz); Michael York, playing the Isherwood role, is one of the first to appear in a gay male role in a popular Hollywood film. Come to the Cabaret!

 

+Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1919, silent classic.) Earliest exploration of possibilities of film for surrealist effects; very influential. Conrad Veidt, famous actor of time. Evil hypnotist controls helpless victim—Great expressionist sets (distorted architecture etc.)

 

+ Casablanca (1942, Bogart and Bergman) What to say? Everybody’s favorite; virtually memorized by some. Free French vs. German occupiers in 2nd World War Algeria. Rick is cynical nightclub owner, but also has memories of affair in Paris with Bergman, who is now the lover of an eloquent spokesman for the Free World, Paul Henreid. Song (As Time Goes By), recalls all this. (Play it, Sam.) Claude Raines is wonderful (“Round up the usual suspects!”) Great ending. If you look carefully you see that Marcel Dalio, the Count in Rules of the Game, is Rick’s bartender. Peter Lorre and Sydney Greenstreet are back from Maltese Falcon. Bogie at his best. One of the films in which everything mysteriously went right; unrepeatable.

 

+ Cat On a Hot Tin Roof (1958, Paul Newman, Elizabeth Taylor). Powerful film version of Tennessee Wiliams play, with strong cast: these two, plus Burl Ives. He began as a folk singer (I used to play a disk of his songs for you two--) but went on to become an actor, and this is his best role. Long, engrossing, very satisfying ending, in which Newman and Ives, in the basement, come to an understanding and Ives accepts his impending death.

 

+ Children of Paradise (1945, Marcel Carne.) Three-hour epic film about 19th-century Parisian theater world, made (miraculously) under German occupation by great filmmakers. Jean-Louis Barrault as the mime Baptiste; Maria Casares (who is Death in Cocteau’s Orpheus—wonderful actress) as his wife; the mysterious and enchanting Arletty as Garance. You should see this over & over, memorize it. Improves your French, among other things. (Arletty tells him: “Mais l’amour, c’est si simple!”)

 

+ Chûshingura (1961, Inagaki). Monumental (3-1/2 hours long!) epic of 47 rônin (masterless samurai) who must avenge the death of their master. May seem to go on forever, especially in middle section; great ending is worth waiting for. And some moving moments in the long parts. In the end, a superb filming of a great, complex story, worth your time. Be patient with it.

 

+Citizen Kane (1941, Orson Welles). Welles’s great classic, his first movie, which he made (with regulars from his Mercury Theater, some of whom went on to be stars themselves, such as Joseph Cotten). Lots of film-making breakthrough innovations. Many critics think it the best film ever. Almost over-familiar (everybody knows now what “rosebud” is) but still powerful. It’s about William Randolph Hearst, of course, who did his best to ruin Welles’s career out of anger. (Later, 1/9/11: we watched it together this evening. It’s hard for me to imagine, now, what seeing Citizen Kane for the first time must be like—I think it hit you both hard, as it should. With me, it’s 70 years ago!)

+City Lights (1931, Chaplin.) One of two best Chaplins (with Gold Rush), famous for its unforgettable ending. Little tramp in nightclub with drunken rich man is very funny. Often on the edge of bathos; stops just short? Or goes over? You decide for yourselves.

 

+ Death In Venice (1971, Visconti). I haven’t seen this for quite a few years, but remember it as powerful, moving, brilliant. Thomas Mann’s novella about a composer (cf. Mahler) who goes to Venice to escape from his life in Germany, there finds himself drawn to a beautiful Italian boy, Tadzio. Opening shots of ship crossing the Adriatic toward Italy has Adagietto movement from Mahler’s 5th symphony as soundtrack—after seeing the film Sarah and I went back and played this (an old 78 record) and wept. Dirk Bogarde is wonderful. Scene of clowns singing and laughing wildly as plague sets in sticks in the mind. Also the final image of the beautiful boy. What a movie. Why is it never re-shown? (Later: watching this again, in the DVD I bought for you, I move it up from the secondary films to among the greats—slow but visually gorgeous, moving. Nothing I’ve seen Dirk Bogarde do elsewhere prepares one for this, his role of a lifetime.  Re-reading the Thomas Mann novella in Inverness made me want to watch it again. Be patient with it, be prepared to be deeply moved.

 

+ Diabolique (1955, Clouzot, with Simone Signoret.) Really great French thriller, builds slowly to shattering ending. We should watch this one together—I’d love to see it again, after years. The director is Henri-George Clouzot, after whom Peter Sellers must have taken his name, Inspector Clouzot, for the Pink Panther series?

 

- Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972, Luis Bunuel). I’m a Bunuel fan, and it’s hard to choose between his films; Viridiana would also be high on my list, and The Exterminating Angel (see below). This one is about people trying to have a dinner party. It gets nowhere, but with great surrealist scenes.

 

+ La Dolce Vita (1960, Fellini). I could write an essay on the effect this had on us when it came out, as an entertaining film that was also a powerful critique of a superficial society. From the opening (crucifix aloft) through famous scenes in fountain to bleak ending, an experience not to be forgotten.

 

+ Double Indemnity (1944, Billy Wilder.) Barbara Stanwyck, Fred MacMurray, Edward G. Robinson. Classic filming of James M. Cain novel, powerful in every way. Moves to inexorable conclusion, leaves us almost wishing good wouldn’t triumph, for once—but it does, helped by Robinson’s sharp investigation.

+Duck Soup (1933, Marx Brothers). One of their two best, along with Night At the Opera. Political satire; includes great broken-mirror sequence near end. Poor talentless Zeppo is still with them.

 

+ The Exterminating Angel (1962, Bunuel). This one is a comic-surreal drama about people at a dinner party who find it impossible to leave, but can’t understand why. Bitterly funny. (Later: I was able to order the disk along with Viridiana, so I’ve added that below.)

 

 

+ Fanny and Alexander (1983, Bergman). Bergman’s last important film, largely autobiographical, and an endless delight—convincing, moving, suspenseful, funny (uncle blows out candle with fart to amuse children.) Watch it all, patiently, ready to worry about F&J in jeopardy, confident it will all come out OK. This and Smiles of a Summer Night (see below) are the two most enjoyable of Bergman’s films, but you should see the others as important in the history of movies.

 

+Floating Weeds (1959, Yasujiro Ozu; also early version, 1934). I am a devotee of Ozu’s movies, along with Mizoguchi’s and Kurosawa’s; Ozu’s are for most people harder to like, more aimed at “Japanese taste.” They are very quiet family dramas, featuring pretty much the same people over and over. I have come to love them, and eventually will turn over to you some other DVDs and VCRs. I begin (for you) with this late work—1959—which is also in color, as most of his others aren’t, and has more plot. Also, one of the stars is the same Kyô Machiko who was the woman in Rashômon. You should enjoy this one (which features several other fine Japanese actors) and go on later to other Ozu films. (Later: I showed you, and now can give you, his early masterpiece Umarete wa mita keredo. . . or, I Was Born, But. .., as a wonderful father-and-sons film.)

+ Gay Divorcee (1934, Rogers & Astaire). One of two best (with Top Hat) of their great films. Finale, The Carioca, goes on for a long time, wonderful. Edward Everett Horton, gay Hollywood comic (everyone knew but pretended they didn’t) and Eric Blore (same) have more of their funny exchanges. R&A dancing is dazzling, with a refinement and elegance hard to match elsewhere. A recent book uses R&A films to characterize a whole era.

+The General (1926, Keaton). Keaton’s masterpiece, in most people’s opinion. Brilliant re-creation of Civil War scenes, besides being very funny. I saw it by chance long ago—walking by Museum of Modern Art in NYC and seeing a sign that it was being shown—and it started me on Keaton, and (partly a joke, partly real) on moving back to Berkeley, which had a great film program (Pauline Kael at that time) where one could see such things. As I’ve told you: the scene where Keaton, riding on the cowcatcher of a moving locomotive and holding a railroad tie, is confronted by another tie lying across the track and threatening to derail the train—his response (solution) elicited, not laughter but applause. This old VCR also includes The Playhouse and Cops, two of his best shorts.

+The Gold Rush (1924, Chaplin) One of the two best Chaplins (with City Lights) for my money. Exciting and funny at the same time. Watch him eating his shoes. Very satisfying ending.

 

+ Grand Illusion (1937, Jean Renoir). Renoir’s best-known film, thought by many to be his finest; with me it’s second-finest, as you know. Two French airmen in World War I, Pierre Fresnay (who is Marius in the Pagnol trilogy) and Jean Gabin (great French film idol—see him as Pepe le Moko in film of that name, or in Le Jour se Leve)—these two are downed and captured and sent to a German prison run by Eric von Stroheim, who feels affinity with Fresnay as a member of the upper class—etc., complex, strong plot. Actors who reappear in Rules of the Game—Dalio, Carette—seen here also.

 

+ Great Expectations (1946, David Lean). Wonderful filming of Dickens novel, with great cast. (For John Mills, see also Hobson’s Choice.) The way a literary-narrative movie should be, seldom is—nothing stuffy about it.  Finlay Currie is the old convict—he was in lots of good old films, including I Know Where I’m Going. Just about as good is the same director’s Oliver Twist (1948) with Alec Guinness as Fagin and Robert Newton as Bill Sykes.

 

+ Hamlet (1948. Olivier) This one you’ve seen, with me, but will want to see again some time. Great use of sets—a whole castle constructed for the movie. Some critics now find it less impressive than the more recent (1990) Kenneth Branagh version.

 

+ His Girl Friday (1940, Howard Hawks.) After script by Ben Hecht and Charles Lederer (made earlier as The Front Page), with Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell as newspaper editor and star reporter. The ultimate fast-talking comedy—hard to believe they could keep it up. Endless delights in plot twists, tricks, great ending. Poor Ralph Bellamy, who always played the guy who didn’t get the girl. (If you like this and want to see another fast-talking comedy with script by Hecht and Charles MacArthur, also directed by Howard Hawks and also with endless, delightful plot twists, watch Twentieth Century, 1934, in which the principals are Carol Lombard and John Barrymore, both at their best.)

+Ikiru  (1952, Kurosawa). Ikiru means “to live.” The great Takashi Shimura (the woodcutter in Rashômon , the leader of the 7 in Seven Samurai) is a minor bureaucrat who learns that he has cancer and can live only a few months; he determines to carry out one civic project before he goes. If you can finish this one without tears in your eyes, I disown you. Wonderfully bitter-ironic ending, as other bureaucrats figure out what he did, resolve to reform, and… You’ll see.

 

+ The Importance of Being Earnest (1952, British). Oscar Wilde’s play, full of witty dialogue and absurd plot developments, given a near-perfect performance by a team of actors including Michael Redgrave, Joan Greenwood (she of the sexy throaty voice, a favorite of mine) and Dame Edith Evans. Keep your ears sharpened to catch all the great lines as they go by. Margaret Rutherford (very funny) comes in near the end to reveal the secret.. .(Some time see her and Alistair Sim in Happiest Days of Your Life, about boys’ and girls’ schools that get mixed up. See also Belles of St. Trinians, with Sim, very funny. He’s Scrooge in the best of all Christmas Carols, and in other good movies.)

+Joan of Arc (1928, Carl Dreyer.) Also called The Passion of Joan of Arc. Silent masterwork by Danish director, starring a great actor, Renee Falconetti, who appeared only in this one film. Intensely moving, don’t watch casually. “Convinced the world that movies could be art,” says the jacket blurb, and it’s right. I remember my first seeing it; you will remember yours. (Seen again: this is of all films the most unlike any other. Some consider Falconetti’s performance to be the finest on film—it seems beyond human capacity.  The young priest sympathetic to Joan is Antonin Artaud, himself a famous actor, and promoter of a rather poisonous doctrine of a “theater of cruelty.”)

 

+Jules et Jim (1962, Truffaut) One of his two masterpieces, in my book, the other being Shoot the Piano Player. But watch his first success, The 400 Blows, which is also fine. The two friends here, one of them Oskar Werner who went on to make other films, are fine and endlessly entertaining, but the film is stolen by Jeanne Moreau as Catherine, the woman they both love. Comic-tragic ending, unforgettable. (I used to refer to you two, when you were little, as Jules et Ben.)

(Added note, later: Lots of movie buffs would insist on including Godard’s Breathless, 1959, on any list of important and influential movies—it’s supposed to have changed the way lots of film-makers work. Maybe so; it isn’t a favorite of mine, but you should see it and make up your own minds., Jean Paul Belmondo and Jean Seberg.)

 

+The Lady Eve (1941, Preston Sturges.) Barbara Stanwyck and Charles Coburn as con artists, Henry Fonda as their victim, in fast-moving, very enjoyable shipboard-and-after comedy.

 

+The Ladykillers (1955, Alec Guinness). You’ve seen this—Guinness brilliant, wonderful old woman (Katy Johnson), bizarre plot. Peter Sellers’s first movie role; Herbert Lom (who was the long-suffering boss of Inspector Clouzot in the Pink Panther movies). I have other Guinness films on DVD, will include them in later installments.

 

+ La Strada (1954), Fellini, with Giulietta Masina (his wife), Anthony Quinn, Richard Basehart. Simple story, great film. (Try sometime the follow-up Nights of Cabiria). Richard Basehart is a good actor who never made it to stardom—he is the narrator (“Call me Ishmael”) in Moby Dick, etc. Masina mugging, doing her Chaplinesque faces, is great to watch.

 

- Love Me Tonight (1932, Reuben Mamoulian, Maurice Chevalier, Jeannette McDonald.) Earliest really fine musical in the movies? And remarkably innovative, scarcely equaled afterwards. Didn’t bother with how to work music (songs) into story: everybody just sings, as if in an opera. Lubitch’s Merry Widow of 1934, with same Chevalier/McDonald pairing, also fine. History of musical in movies would be a great book subject---

 

+ The Maltese Falcon (1942, Bogart, John Huston) Based on the Dashiel Hammet novel about detective Sam Spade, set in San Francisco. Brings together for the first time these bad guys--Sydney Greenstreet, the fat man; Peter Lorre—some time see his old German film M—and Elisha Cook Jr. as the poor gunsel. Mary Astor, whom you’ll see again in Palm Beach Story. Everything goes right, down to the fine ending.

 

+ The Man Who Came to Dinner (1941, Monty Woolie). Based on a Kaufman-Hart play about an irascible character modeled on real-life critic Alexander Woolcott. Besides Woolie, there is Bette Davis, and Jimmy Durante in a part intended for (to represent, that is) Harpo Marx. Clash of over-sophisticated Broadway-radio culture with middle-class America. Monty Woolie made quite a few more, but was never so good again.

 

+ The Member of the Wedding (1952, Julie Harris). Carson McCullers (Southern novelist) story turned into sensitive, moving, complex movie. Julie Harris is way too old for the role, but still wonderful; also Ethel Waters, a singer here appearing for the first (only?) time in a film. Be patient with it.

 

+M. Hulot’s Holiday (1953, Jacques Tati) You know this one—Tati’s carrying-on of the silent comedy tradition in a world of sound. Lots of funny things. An old VCR, maybe not complete. I have somewhere the haunting song the girl plays on her phonograph in the upstairs room (Sur les toits de Paris, Over the Rooftops of Paris). Tati’s later ones are also very much worth seeing: Mon Oncle, Traffic, Play Time (Sarah’s favorite).

+Midsummer Night’s Dream (1935, Max Reinhardt). You know this very well. Unjustly criticized in its time (for using Hollywood actors in Shakespeare), neglected later, still not recognized; a favorite of mine. Great German director brings his famous staging of this play to Hollywood, works with strange group of actors who end up performing brilliantly, some of them (especially James Cagney). Mickey Rooney as Puck, wonderful I think—only his second film, he was quite young, Great fairy scenes with Oberon (Victor Jory) and Titania. Hard to find old VCR. A treasure—take care of it. (Later, 12/1/10: Saw again, in TCM’s Mickey Rooney festival, and even more it looks like a kind of masterpiece. For so many years it was derided because Hollywood actors supposedly couldn’t speak Shakespeare right. I think Shakespeare would have loved it—he was a theater guy, not a literature professor. Does anybody realize what an extraordinary coming together this was? Great play with great German director (and fine Hollywood one), Hollywood stars, and made at a time when the movies were just developing their full capacities, terrifically used here. Great Mendelssohn music arranged for the film by Eric Wolfgang Korngold, Nijinska coryeography—and it all comes together so well that when the two Brits who play Theseus and Hippolyta come back, speaking their proper Shakespeare, they seem out of place. (The S.F. gay independent filmmaker Kenneth Anger claimed that he was the little princeling.)

 

+ Much Ado About Nothing (1993, Kenneth Branagh.) As you know, one of you got his name from this one, which your mother and I saw shortly before. . Branagh is Benedick, his then-wife Emma Thompson is Beatrice; fine cast for the rest. All played out in a hilltop villa in Tuscany. Makes Shakespeare easy to follow and enjoy. I will give you the booklet with the screenplay later. (You might also see Branagh’s Henry V, and his Hamlet, both done to compete with older versions with Laurence Olivier. (We used to refer to Henry V as Hank Cinq, which only works when you say it aloud.)

 

- Nashville (1975, Robert Altman). Not easy to describe what’s great about this one, but it is. Totally innovative and brilliant techniques of editing, use of sound, loose narrative style. You will enjoy it for inclusion of some 1970s rock.

+ A Night At the Opera (1935, Marx Brothers.) One of their two funniest films (with Duck Soup). George S. Kaufman & Morrie Ryskind wrote the script. Famous scene in stateroom of ship; ending with Harpo swinging on ropes of opera stage, changing scenery behind singers.

 

+ Odd Man Out (Carol Reed, 1947). You’ve seen this one; a special favorite of mine. James Mason’s finest performance; also Robert Newton, briefly near beginning Cyril Cusack (an actor I like very much), and as Shell the street hustler—in one of his few films—F. J. McCormick, a famous actor with the Abbey Theatre, the Irish national theater in Dublin. Powerful, moving, brilliant acting. (Later: McCormick was in several other films, one called Hungry Hill, about Irish revolutionaries.)

 

+ Oliver Twist (1948, David Lean). Along with the same director’s Great Expectations, two years earlier, this is a great filming of a Dickens novel. Alec Guinness (minor character in other) here plays Fagin. Robert Newton—likeable British actor who rolled his eyes & hammed it up (see him as Long John Silver in a good Treasure Island) is Bill Sykes.

 

+ On the Waterfront (1954, Elia Kazan). One of the masterworks of American cinema; Brando’s best, along with A Streetcar Named Desire. Wonderful acting by a great team, powerful theme, very moving and satisfying ending. One can watch this one over and over without being bored. Famous scene with Brando and his brother in a taxi (“I coulda been somebody, I coulda been a contender…”) unforgettable.

 

+ Our Hospitality (1923. Keaton). You know this, of course. Story of feuding families in time of Civil War: northerner comes to South. Has great ending with waterfall, following on spectacular long sequence beginning when he is on a cliff ledge and ties a rope around his middle—Inventive genius. In old VCR together with Sherlock Jr. You may want to get better versions, DVDs, some day. (Later: we have these on DVD now.)

+Pagnol Trilogy (1931 Marius, 1932 Fanny, 1936 Cesar) Famous French classics by Marcel Pagnol known to all cultivated people; the most famous restaurant in the U.S., Chez Panisse in Berkeley, is named after a character in this. Wonderful actors all, especially Raimu (whom Orson Welles considered the greatest living actor—see also The Baker’s Wife.) Complex plot, shifting relationships, big issues of responsibility and devotion. Watch it when you are serious about watching—not casually. This four-disk DVD set was given me by Sarah, includes various related materials on fourth disk.

 

+ Paisan (1946, Roberto Rosselini). I put this in as my favorite of the Rosselini films, although there are others you should see such as Open City--and other Italian films, such as Pasolini’s Gospel According to St. Matthew, Neo-realist film about Jesus (with a crew of non-professional actors), De Sica’s The Bicycle Thief (which you’ve seen). Also Fellini, especially La Strada and La Dolce Vita. Paisan is made up of six short segments, all dealing with the end of the 2nd World War and the Americans in Italy. Segments made earlier (black soldier meets little boy, Jewish chaplain visits monastery etc.) are still in the old romantic manner; others, notably the one about the woman trying to get across the battle lines in a city to be with her lover, are in the neo-realist manner—Rosselini changed midway. Especially powerful (for me shattering) is the last segment about U.S. soldiers teaming up with guerillas in the Po marshes to fight—hopelessly—against the last of the German occupation forces, after the war is in fact over. Completely new in style—filmed as if it were a documentary, of something really happening. I still find it hard to watch, since I know how it will end.

 

+ Pandora’s Box (Pabst, 1928, Louise Brooks) Great German director sees how to use wonderful American actress, as Hollywood couldn’t, produces this classic about woman who leads men to their doom with sex. Same story as the Alban Berg opera Lulu, which you must see whenever you have a chance. (Get to know both his Wozzek and Lulu, deeply moving works).

 

+ Panique (1946, Michel Simon). This is an old filming of a novel by George Simenon, starring the great Michel Simon, with an ending that breaks all the rules and packs all the more wallop. Remade in 1983 under the title Monsieur Hire, but with a crucial plot change that for me ruins it. This is a rare VCR, not available now—take care of it. (Michel Simon: see him in L’Atalante, also two fine Jean Renoir films, Boudu Saved from Drowning and La Chienne, both of which could be on this list. His last movie role was as a railroad repairman in Burt Lancaster’s The Train, listed below.)

 

+ The Petrified Forest (1936. Bogart etc.). Even more than Bogart, the interaction between Bette Davis and Leslie Howard is especially fine in this movie; both are at their best. Based on a Robt. Sherwood play, in which Bogie and Howard starred. Howard is terrific on the subject of poetry and creativity.

 

+ Philadelphia Story (1940, Hepburn and Grant). Based on a successful Broadway play by Philip Barry, this is a near-perfect movie, with endless delights. Intricate plot, with lots of twists and turns. Even the little girl, performing for the magazine reporters, is very funny.  Old-timer Charlie Ruggles returns in a minor part. Very satisfying ending.

+ The Producers (1968, Mel Brooks) Great performances by Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder. Reworked recently into very successful Broadway play, and also a musical, by Brooks himself; neither of these nearly so good as the original. Lots of Jewish jokes—“Springtime for Hitler” sequence is one, really.

 

+ Pygmalion (1938, Leslie Howard and Wendy Hiller). With all respect to My Fair Lady (which is a musical derived from this), this is the real thing—true to the G.B. Shaw play (he also wrote the filmscript), brilliant performance by Hiller—her transformation is wonderful to watch—and iisten to.

 

+Rashômon (1950, Kurosawa) The first Japanese film to be successful abroad; was a knockout sensation. I fell in love with Machiko Kyô, the woman in it, and tried to meet her in Japan—never made it. People used to argue about the “message” of the film—you decide. Hint: it isn’t (like the Pirandello play Right You Are If You Think You Are) that there is no real truth; rather, I think, that each person needs to construct the truth so that he/she is central to resolving the problem. Everyone kills the man in his/her version. . .

 

+ Red Shoes (1948, Powell-Pressburger, Moira Shearer). Everybody’s favorite ballet film, important for integrating film & dance as never before. See also their Tales of Hoffman, 1951, in which the famous Offenbach score is conducted by Sir Thomas Beecham. Both films give us glimpses of my favorite ballet dancer (I was never really a buff, and this is an unconventional choice) Leonide Massine. My memory of the most riveting moment in ballet—I ushered for seasons of the Ballet Russe and Ballet Theater in S.F.—was/is of him dancing the Miller’s Dance at the end of The Three-Cornered Hat (great de Falla music, Picasso sets.) No film of that, alas. (Later, seeing Red Shoes again, in newly restored, visually much finer version: I realize that I enjoy the ballet and Massine, but don’t really like the rest of the film that much—overblown plot, unconvincing.)

 

+Rules of the Game (1939, Jean Renoir). I needn’t write about this, since I gave you a long introduction over dinner recently, and you will have seen it by the time you read this. My favorite film.

 

+Seven Samurai (1954, Kurosawa.) Classic chambara (sword-fighting) epic, but much more than that. Takashi Shimura (cf. Ikiru, Rashomon etc.) rounds up out-of-work samurai to protect villagers against bandits. The great swordsman, seen first in a disastrous bout with a stupid opponent, is a favorite of mine. Remade in Hollywood as a western with Yul Brynner! Not remotely as good. Battle scenes are terrifically convincing.

 

+ Sherlock Jr. (1924. Keaton) Another masterpiece of Buster, and one you know. Great scene of his escaping from thieves’ house by diving through window; incredible chase on handlebars of motorcycle, etc. Also brilliantly inventive play on cinema, in which he enters screen. Watch the cueball! (I could add The Navigator and others—you know them, and can have my copies when you want them.)

+ Shoot the Piano Player (1960, Truffaut). The other, along with Jules et Jim, of my favorite Truffaut films. The American expatriate singer-actor Charles Aznavour plays a former concert pianist who has sunk to playing popular music in a low-class café. His girlfriend wants him to go back to serious music, but through his lowlife brother he becomes involved with gangsters—with an ending I won’t give away, but it’s marvelous. Truffaut showing what he’s taken from Hollywood B-pictures, superbly. (I remember taking Sarah to this film, and she became as attached to it as I, and used to have the piano music he plays on her telephone answering machine. Now she tells me it’s her favorite film.) (Later: she now says it’s Jacques Tati’s Traffic.)

+Singin’ In the Rain (1951, Gene Kelly) Best of the many MGM musicals of the 40s-50s. We saw a stage version in Vancouver. Scenes of old silent movies, and the coming of sound, are very funny. Wonderful dance sequences. Donald O’Connor, so agile and good here, put on too much weight and retired. (If you especially like this and want to see another fine musical, watch The Band Wagon (1953) with Fred Astaire and Cyd Charisse. Enjoy the “Triplets” number near the end! An American In Paris, with Gene Kelly, Leslie Caron, Oscar Levant, Gershwin music, is also fine.

+ Smiles of a Summer Night (1955, Ingmar Bergman.) My favorite of Bergman’s films (although you should see the others too). Funny, moving, brilliant. Harriet Anderson especially good. Scene of moving bed is a delight. I will give you the screenplay book. Stephen Sondheim made a musical of it, A Little Night Music—the aging actress near the beginning sings “Send In the Clowns.” (Later: seen again: this is really a masterpiece. As the critic on TCM said, much of the dialogue and plot belong as well to a tragedy—it’s a very serious comedy. At one point—when you hear a shot from the garden house—you are afraid it’s going to end tragically, but . . .

 

+Some Like It Hot (1959, Billy Wilder.) We started watching this, never got to the best parts. Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon as musicians who dress like women to escape gangsters and join an all-girls orchestra featuring Marilyn Monroe. Lemmon has great lines. Very funny plays on gender issues. Rich playboy who falls for Lemmon is old movie comic Joe E. Brown (I saw his movies as a young boy going to Saturday matinees)—he makes a great come-back, and reportedly thought up the famous last line of the movie himself. What an ending!

 

+ Sounder (1972, Cicely Tyson.) The best of the all-black films, I think, and deeply moving. Boy who is son of sharecropper in 1930s tries to escape from the situation he’s been born into, with much (but not all) of white society against him. Tyson is wonderful.

 

+ Stagecoach (1939. John Ford.) Another from the “miraculous year” 1939, and John Ford’s early masterwork. Use of familiar Western scenery—distant stone buttes, flat desert with sagebrush—started here (more or less.) First great John Wayne appearance. Many strengths, strong performances—even John Carradine is good (he was a ham actor usually). A pleasure to watch.

 

+Story of the Last Chrysanthemum (19  , Mizoguchi). Zangiku Monogatari in Japanese. See my Responses and Reminiscences no. 19 on my website: Discovering Mizoguchi (and Movies) for the story of what this film means to me. Masterpiece; hard to find; a miracle that I found a DVD of it for you (made in Korea!) Take care of it! The great Hanayagi Shôtarô, whom I met and talked with in Tokyo in 1946, stars in it. Notice long takes: it opens with one, in the kabuki theater; also, shortly afterwards, a long one in which the young actor and his maid walk along a canal. A tear-jerker—the ending is almost too much: he rides in triumph through the canals in Osaka, while his love—well, you’ll see. Wonderful sequences of kabuki performances. (Later: the Korean DVD turned out not to have English subtitles; I still don’t have a good DVD of this.)

 

+ A Streetcar Named Desire (1951, Elia Kazan.) Classic filming of Tennessee Williams play, with Marlon Brando and Vivian Leigh, also Karl Malden, in wonderful performances. Brando’s reputation rests largely on this, along with On the Waterfront. Powerful, heart-wrenching scenes. Vivian Leigh, who was also Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With the Wind, is very moving.

 

+ Sunrise (1927, F. W. Murnau). The great German director Murnau was brought to Hollywood and given funding and facilities to make a major movie, and he made a masterpiece. Be patient with it—it will seem very old-fashioned. But the visuals are wonderful, and it ends up being very moving. A married couple living on the shore of a lake visit the big city across the lake, and the man is seduced by its glamour and decides to kill his wife on the way back. He repents, during a storm, and saves her. The movie wasn’t a commercial success, and Murnau was never allowed to make another. Huge loss.

 

+ Sunset Boulevard (1950, Billy Wilder). Gloria Swanson and Erich von Stroheim, two stars from the silent era, are brought back as an aging star and her butler, encountered by William Holden, down on his luck. Terrific plot, wonderful scenes with Swanson. Hollywood at its best, looking at itself.

 

+ The Third Man (1949, Carol Reed, Graham Greene story, Orson Welles). Great thriller, a classic. Joseph Cotton as Western-novel writer who comes to Vienna to find out about his old friend Harry Lime’s death. Anton Karas plays the entire score, his own composition, on the zither. Exciting, moving, provocative. Welles contributed some of the dialogue himself, including his lines up in the ferris wheel. Chase through sewers. Can be seen over & over without being boring.

 

+ Threepenny Opera (1931, G. W. Pabst). I tried showing this to you two and your mother several years ago, before we went to see the local production of the Kurt Weill-Berthold Brecht work, and it was disaster—“why are you showing us this old thing?” But it’s a kind of masterpiece, with the original cast (Lotte Lenya etc.), and a great German filmmaker making the work into an expressionist film. Hitler’s people tried to destroy all copies because of its leftist content, but one survived and we have it. I think it’s the original Fritz Busch singing the “Mack the Knife” ballad at the beginning, but I’m not sure.

+To Kill a Mockingbird (1962, Gregory Peck) You’ve seen this, but must remember it; everybody enjoys seeing it again, it never wears thin. Moving, unsentimental. Gregory Peck is ideal father (sorry I fell short). First screen appearance of Robert Duvall, fine actor, is when he appears from behind a door, near the end, as the reclusive Bo.

+ Top Hat (1935, Astaire and Rogers.) One of the two best (with Gay Divorcee) of their films. Absurd plot, but who cares. An elegance that can scarcely be matched elsewhere, not just in dance. See their other films too when you can, especially Flying Down to Rio.

 

- Topsy-Turvy (2000, Mike Leigh.) Fine “period piece” about Gilbert and Sullivan, their conflicts and their achievements. Very funny sequences showing the preparation and production of The Mikado. All actors unknown to me, but just right in their roles. See it especially if you become (as I hope you will) big G&S fans. (Later: I will include this in your library, but after watching it again I revoke my recommendation that you watch it—until, that is, you are much older and more tolerant of long, talky movies. One has to almost have Mikado and other G&S by heart, and enjoy looking at Victorian interiors and listening to lots of talk about the financial troubles of the d’Oyly Carte company etc., to enjoy this.)

+ Touch of Evil (1958, Orson Welles’s masterwork of film noir.)

This is a 108 min. VCR; later a fuller, 111-minute reconstruction was issued on DVD. Powerful, dark film in which Welles plays a corrupt police official in a Mexican border town. Famous long opening shot. Marlene Dietrich appears briefly, memorably. (Later, seen again: this really is a masterpiece, strong in all ways. The longer version is definitely better.)

 

+ Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948, John Huston). Stars his father Walter Huston (fine actor), Humphrey Bogart, Tim Holt Jr. (who also stars in Orson Welles’s second almost-masterwork, hurt by bad studio editing, The Magnificent Ambersons.) Three prospectors after gold in mountains of Mexico. Ironic, bitter, brilliant. John Huston appears several times at the beginning as the rich American who gives Bogart coins. Long film, but no waste.

 

+ Trouble in Paradise (1932, Ernst Lubitsch). Top-flight example of thirties sophisticated comedy. Opening scene, with Herbert Marshall and Miriam Hopkins as con artists fooling each other, then realizing the truth, falling in love and forming a team, is brilliant. They really could write dialogue in those days! This was one of the first, and most influential, of the great Hollywood comedies.

 

- Twelve Angry Men (1957, Sydney Lumet, Henry Fonda.) I don’t include many movies with ethical/moral messages, but this one is so convincing and true, so unsentimentalized (as against Capra’s preachy films), that I put it among the greats. The actors are all terrific, with Henry Fonda at the center but also Lee J. Cobb, Ed Begley, E. J. Marshall, others. Shows what the American theater and film industry is capable of when it has the right direction. Henry Fonda, it must have been out of personal conviction, played men with strong moral fiber over & over: The Grapes of Wrath (you should see that), The Male Animal (which will be on my secondary list), The Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge (fine film after Ambrose Bierce story), others. (Later: you told me you’d seen this one at school. Good choice by teacher.)

 

+ 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968, Stanley Kubrick, starring Keir Dullea and HAL. No need to write about this either. The interiors he sees near the end allude to Kubrick’s later films, The Shining and Barry Lyndon—curious case of director planting clues to his future productions.

+ Walkabout (Nicholas Roeg, 1971) I started showing this to you once, and was stopped by your mother—she was right, it was too strong for you then. But a powerful, wonderful film, unrecognized today, hard to see. Two children abandoned to die by their father in the Australian outback, rescued by young aborigine who is undergoing manhood ritual called Walkabout, making his way across hostile terrain, surviving somehow. (Later: I see that this has now been recognized, with a Criterion edition just out.)

 

+W. C. Fields Classics. Five films, on DVDs! International House (1933, not so great); It’s a Gift (1934, wonderful, with great scene in which he tries to sleep on back porch; You Can’t Cheat An Honest Man (1939, OK, see the bit near the beginning in which he doubletalks a circus customer out of his change—but also dull stuff with Charley McCarthy); My Little Chickadee (1940, with Mae West—I don’t think she holds up well in later times, and this isn’t one of the best); The Bank Dick (1940), with some good bits, quite a lot that’s dull—watch it when you’re feeling very tolerant, with low expectations.

 

(- Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, 1966, Mike Nichols, with Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, George Segal and Sandy Dennis. I put this one in parentheses and won’t buy you a DVD; you should put off watching it until you are much older and more experienced. Then you will find it a powerful, disturbing experience, two hours of unrelenting tension, with Taylor and Burton terrific, reflecting their real-life disturbed-couple relationship. Edward Albee play—some critic (braving the flack he would get) pointed out around this time that the most powerful & highly-praised dramas on Broadway were by writers—Albee, Tennessee Williams, William Inge—who were all male homosexuals: did this affect their portrayals of bisexual relationships? I’m inclined to believe that it did, but leave it for you to see their plays (& films made from them) and decide for yourselves.

 

- The Wizard of Oz (1939, Victor Fleming.) No need to write about this: everybody’s favorite, ground-breaking classic, endless delights. (1939 was an amazing year: also very big that year was Gone With the Wind, which I don’t include although it properly belongs here—not really a favorite of mine, tiresome after a while.)

 

+ Woman of the Year (1942, Hepburn and Tracy). First, and one of the best, of their films together; very funny. She is a world-famous political expert, he is a sports expert; they don’t understand each other’s areas, and marry. Not just funny, some depths.

 

+Yojimbo (1942, Kurosawa) Starring Toshiro Mifune, also with Tatsuya Nakadai. Wonderful film of samurai-for-hire who comes into village with two warring factions, finishes them both off. Nobody but Your Old Father knows what was the real inspiration for it—learned from Kurosawa (through friend, Audie Bock): it was Dashiel Hammett’s early novel Red Harvest (which you should read) in which his anti-hero the Continental Op similarly goes into a factory town dominated by two powerful gangs, cleans them up, walks off at the end. A bloody masterpiece. Kurosawa’s film followed by another, Sanjûrô, good but not quite as good. (Although it has the memorable moment in which Mifune, seated at lunch, catches a flying bug with his chopsticks. They copied this in the first of the Karate Kid movies.)

 

+ You Can’t Take It With You (1938, Frank Capra).

A film that grows better as time goes on, while Capra’s more famous ones, the movies everybody loves (It’s a Wonderful Life, Meet John Doe, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington) become harder to watch, too moralizing, too slanted, with resolutions that don’t really resolve the conflicts—an “everything will turn out OK” attitude. This one, based on a Kaufman & Hart play, holds up, even though the ending is pretty contrived. See them all and make your own judgments.

 

 

SECONDARY LIST

(Not quite classics, but very good in their way)

(Later note: this separation into classics and secondary list doesn’t seem very firm, on later consideration; maybe they should all just be listed together. Some of those below just as fine as those above.)

+Arsenic and Old Lace (1944, Frank Capra, Cary Grant). Comedy classic, based on a Broadway play—the two old aunts were originally in that, repeat their roles in the movie. One surprise after another. Raymond Massey and Peter Lorre, toward the end, playing Boris Karloff and Peter Lorre—very funny. (Don’t watch with your mother—she dislikes Cary Grant, especially in this kind of role.)

+ The Asphalt Jungle (1950, John Huston). Another fine heist film, a classic of film noir. Sterling Hayden, in a fine role here, was wonderfully brought back as the general off his rocker in Dr. Strangelove. Sam Jaffe (see below, The Scarlet Empress) has a good role here as the planner of the robbery.

+  Atlantic City (1980, Louis Malle.) Burt Lancaster, Susan Sarandon. Malle, Lancaster, Sarandon, all favorites of mine; here they come together for a film full of pleasures. Lancaster as aging gangster-bodyguard reduced to demeaning attentions to bedridden woman; Sarandon and her juvenile-delinquent brother mess up his life but bring him to a great pseudo-comeback moment. Young hippies (Sarandon’s brother and his girlfriend) very funny, almost too close to real thing (I was in Bay Area in 1960s-70s!) for comfort.

 

+ The Awful Truth (1937, Cary Grant, Irene Dunne) Screwball comedy, very funny as I remember it.

 

+ Bad Day at Black Rock (1955, Spencer Tracy). Very satisfying film, with unusual plot, good performances. Tracy late in his life, still as fine as ever. In a way this belongs to the genre of Red Harvest, Yôjimbô etc.: single guy goes into town with troubles, finds out what they are, cleans them up, leaves at end.

 

+Beat the Devil (1954, John Huston). A very enjoyable romp involving a big crew of extraordinary people—Huston, Truman Capote (who co-wrote the script), Bogart, the Italian star Gina Lollobrigida, Jennifer Jones (who had all but retired from filmmaking to marry a rich man, but came back to play a funny role as a woman who tells lies all the time), and a marvelous team of mock-bad-guys, led by Robert Morley and Peter Lorre. All getting together in an Italian seaside town to make this very funny and engrossing film. They are after uranium in Africa; final scenes show the outcome. This is a film that those who know it love, but that never attracted enough attention, is nearly forgotten.

 

+ Bonnie and Clyde (1967,  Arthur Penn.) Powerful and innovative film. I remember seeing it for the first time, saying: Terrific, but I hope they don’t make any more like it. (Combination of jazzy music and bloody carnage is attractive to wrong kind of people.) Arthur Penn is very interesting—some time see also his Mickey One (1965), surprisingly experimental for a Hollywood film, intermittently interesting.

 

+ Bread and Chocolate (Franco Brusati, 1974.) Bitterly comic, deeply affecting (for me, back when I saw it several times) film about poor Italian who crosses into Switzerland, tries to “integrate,” fails.  As powerful an argument as I know against racial/ethnic prejudice, the unconscious kind—besides being very funny. Director & actors otherwise unknown to me; it dropped like a bomb.

 

+ Breakfast At Tiffany’s (1961, Audrey Hepburn). Seeing this again recently I realize that my memory of it was all wrong—it isn’t all charm, lovely A.H. singing “Moon River” etc.—it’s complex, with much that’s dark. Watch this when you are older. We could do without Mickey Rooney as a comical Japanese. Some bits moving, some only intelligible if you lived through the 1950s-60s. After Truman Capote novel.

 

+ The Bridge on the River Kwai (1951, David Lean.) Alec Guinness, Jack Hawkins, others; Sessue Hayakawa, old silent-era Hollywood actor, returns as commander of prison camp. Long, engrossing film. Alec Guinness at his best. Smash ending in all senses.

 

+ La Chienne (1931, Jean Renoir.) The great Michel Simon as a poor bank clerk captivated by wrong-kind-of-woman, gets his revenge. Fritz Lang remade this in Hollywood as Scarlet Street, with Edward G. Robinson.

 

+ Chimes At Midnight (1966, Orson Welles). Welles’s Falstaff movie, put together from parts of several plays, especially Henry V and VI. Jeanne Moreau is fine in it. Made on a shoestring in Europe, when Welles was pretty much shut out of Hollywood. Rough, low-budget, but with enough fine things in it to be worth seeing more than once.

 

- Chinatown (1974, Roman Polanski.) Jack Nicholson, Fay Dunaway. Uses formula and style of old L.A. private-eye novels (Chandler etc.) for film that ends up surprisingly moving. Nicholson and Dunaway at their best, John Huston as awful exploiter bad-guy, powerful if hard-to-bear ending.

 

- Claire’s Knee (1971, Eric Rohmer). I put in this one as representing Rohmer’s series of “Six Moral Tales” and his other films, which I myself like very much, while Godard-lovers find them too literary and un-cinematic. See a few when you can, form your own opinions.

 

+ A Clockwork Orange (1971, Kubrick, after Anthony Burgess novel. Malcolm MacDowell.) A thoroughly nasty movie, which you should see but (I hope) dislke, as I do. Appeals to S&M types; one of Sarah’s highschool teachers took his students to it (we later had to go and give him a talking-to). But powerful in its way. If it leads to your reading Burgess, so much the better. He invented a clever futuristic language for it.

 

+ Close To Eden (1992, Russian). Very funny film, about Mongolian family living on the steppe and Russian truckdriver who upsets their lives. Beautiful scenery also. Great moments: they get the TV working and there is Richard Nixon, dimly.  Old grandma pops bubbles in plastic wrap. Your mother and I saw this and loved it. Tricky beginning (tricks you).

 

+ Cocoanuts (1929, Marx Brothers’ first film) I put it in as a period piece, revealing the Brothers for the first time doing one of their stage successes for the movies, in a film that still has a lot of the stage-set character. Terrible “juvenile” crooner, singing “And I’ll be there with you/When my dream comes true.” But great Harpo sequences, Groucho with Margaret Dumont, etc.

 

+ Cradle Will Rock (1999, Tim Robbins). ). Not a great movie, but a good one, about a great subject, the arts & drama program under the WPA (government sponsorship during Depression) in the 1930s, with Orson Welles and his associate John Houseman as principal characters, and a remarkable (and historically true) performance of composer Marc Blitztein’s leftist opera as climax. Worth watching for that. The parts about Diego Rivera and Nelson Rockefeller are also based in fact.

 

+ Cyrano de Bergerac (1990, Gerard Depardieu). You know the play, and I think we watched some, at least, of the old Jose Ferrer version. This is much better, I think, and in French, so you can practice your French while watching the sub-titles. Great play, fine filming of it.

 

- Dersu Uzula (1975, Kurosawa). I have an old VCR of this in Berkeley, will bring it back, with others. Co-produced with a Russian film company? as I remember. Old forest man, met by explorer mapping uncharted area of Siberia, who teaches him things he needs to know, such as (wonderful segment) how to survive out there overnight w/o shelter. Rather depressing ending.

 

- Desire (1936, Marlene Dietrich, Gary Cooper.) Not great; I put it in only to advise you strongly to watch it, when you have a chance, to see how Dietrich near the beginning steals a valuable string of pearls—that’s really good. Rest is OK only.

 

+ Dog Day Afternoon (1975, Sydney Lumet) You know this, we watched it together. Based on a real event! Al Pacino better (for my money) than ever after.

 

+ Dr.Strangelove (Stanley Kubrick, 1964). Brilliantly bizarre political satire created at that time in the 1960s when it looked, for a brief moment, as though the good guys were going to take over the world by discrediting the rest. Peter Sellers is terrific, playing three parts; George C. Scott and others likewise. Keenan Wynn machine-gunning a Coke machine to get change to phone the president to save the world—typical great moment.

 

+ A  Face in the Crowd (1957, Elia Kazan.) After Bud Schulberg novel. Andy Griffith is here used by a fine director to play his one terrific part; later he turns into just what this movie caricatures.  Patricia Neal fine as always. (She was married to your favorite author Raoul Dahl.) The trick that catches him up near the end had a real-life basis, a host on a popular children’s program who was caught by a microphone left on when he thought it was off, saying “That’ll fix the little bastards!”

 

+ The Fallen Idol (1948, Carol Reed). Fine filming of Graham Greene story, told in large part from boy’s point of view. Stars Ralph Richardson, least known of the three great English actors of his generation (others were Laurence Olivier, John Gielgud)—watch for him in other films. Heart-breaking ending. (A third Carol Reed film included in this collection of his is one I haven’t seen. Later: Now I have; it’s a British wartime film to raise spirits, about civilians who go into the army and become soldiers, OK but not up to the other two.)

 

- Frankenstein, Dracula, Bride of Frankenstein. You know these, I don’t need to write about them. “Classics” of their kind—Elsa Lanchester as the monster’s bride is especially memorable, in her brief role. (She was Charles Laughton’s wife, appeared in a variety of roles over the years.)

 

+ Gigi (1958, Leslie Caron). If you don’t go to this expecting depths and are happy with charm & refinement, this one is a pleasure. Maurice Chevalier, fine songs. See Caron also in Lili (1953), another charmer, with Mel Ferrer as the puppeteer, again good songs. See her also in An American in Paris (1951), fine musical with Gershwin music. And, if you want a revelation of how good Caron really was as an actress, see the British film The Small Back Room (1949)—this was an eye-opener to me when I saw it recently. Hollywood never gave her so good a serious part.

 

+ Gosford Park (2001,Robert Altman) Critics didn’t like this, and it’s easy to see why—over-long, over-complex, too self-absorbed. But be patient, watch it some time. Those who wrote about all the derivations missed the one I think especially important: from Jean Renoir’s Rules of the Game. Not remotely as absorbing, but still—give it a chance.

+ The Graduate (1967), - Little Big Man (1970), - Tootsie (1982--all Dustin Hoffman.) No need to say anything about these, I think you know them all. All with great moments: reluctant sex with Mrs. Robinson, tricking Custer into his Last Stand, Tootsie “comes out” on live TV. To say he’s an actor of great versatility hardly does him justice. (See also Midnight Cowboy below).

+The Great Dictator (1940, Chaplin). With all its well-recognized flaws and weaknesses (including unconvincing ending) this has a lot that is very funny—Jack Oakie is an ideal Mussolini figure, Chaplin funny as Jewish barber, scene where they choose lots by swallowing (cookies?) with a coin in one, Great Dictator moving from room to room where people spring into action to avoid wasting his time. Worth watching.

 

- Groundhog Day (1993, Bill Murray). This enjoyable film is here to stand in for other Bill Murray films—he’s a favorite of mine—you two are more fond of Ghostbusters (1984) than I am, and there are others. I enjoyed Lost in Translation (2003) but your mother found things to object to in it.  Bill Murray takes me back to the great early days of Saturday Night Live.

 

- Hangover Square (1945, Laird Cregar). Cregar was a strange actor in problematic health, made few films, this was his last. Fine score by Bernard Herrmann, whose piano concerto Cregar plays at the end (as George Harvey Bone, was it?) as his house burns around him. I can still hear it. Another that has few admirers today.

 

- Hobson’s Choice (1954, Laughton). Very funny, very satisfying: shrewd daughter (Brenda de Banzie) overcomes overbearing father (Laughton—object-lesson in kind of father not to be). John Mills, versatile, all-purpose actor, wonderful as low-class bootmaker: his first appearance is out of trapdoor in floor. Laughton’s drunken scene is classic.

 

+ Holiday (1938, George Cukor). Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant again in another filming of a Philip Barry play, not quite up to Philadelphia Story, but then, what is? Great fun, some depths. Effective use of setting, a multi-storied house.

 

+ I Know Where I’m Going (1945m Michael Powell.) Simple story but engaging, great local color (Scottish seacoast), quiet drama, satisfying ending. Wendy Hiller terrific again (as she is as Lisa Dolittle in Pygmalion); watch for Finlay Currie, who turns up as the likeable old guy in movie after movie. (He’s the fugitive in Great Expectations.)

 

+ The Informer (1935, John Ford). Powerful drama about drunken Irishman, during Irish Rebellion, who needs to get out of the country, commits dishonest act to get it, suffers for it. Victor McLaglen, usually just a secondary character (see him some time with John Wayne in The Quiet Man), stars here, at his best. (If you have a chance—a rare one—see John Ford’s 1957 movie The Rising of the Moon, three short stories played by Abbey Theater players, strong Irish dialect; in the third, an Irish policeman gives up his chance to make a lot of money by turning in a fugitive—as though Ford is compensating for his portrayal of a renegade Irishman twenty years earlier. See this anyway, to celebrate the Irish part of your ancestry.)

 

+ Inherit the Wind (1960). Terrific courtroom drama, based on real event, in which Clarence Darrow (Spencer Tracy) defends a teacher who taught evolution (!) against Wm. Jennings Bryant, the great orator (Frederick March). Powerful.

 

 

+ The In-laws (1979, Peter Falk, Alan Arkin). You know this one—we watched it together, and I gave you the DVD I bought after seeing it for the first time. Another gem of Jewish humor, two very skilled comics at their best, plus a good scriptwriter—the interaction between them is what the movie is about. Should be more like this.

 

+ The Innocents (1961, Deborah Kerr.) Haunting (more ways than one), remarkably successful filming of Henry James’s great ghost story “The Turn of the Screw”—read that before or after you watch the movie, either way, but both. Be ready for a disturbing ending. If I’m still around after you see it, we can discuss the central question: did all this really happy outside her head, or only in it?

 

- Intimate Lighting (1965, Czech film.) About cellist who returns to old home town to play in concert, bringing his girlfriend, stays for weekend, meets old friends etc. Subtle film with depths, aimed especially at those who enjoy classical music played well. Wonderful bit in which he and three amateurs try to play—a Beethoven Quartet is it? Ending is priceless. I have an old VCR. Forgotten by most, well remembered by old Dad.

+ It Happened One Night (1934, Frank Capra) One of the best of the “zany” comedies of the 30s, was a huge success in its time, has become a classic. Clark Gable & Claudette Colbert, both at their best. Satisfying ending..

 

+ Judgment at Nuremberg (1961, Stanley Kramer). Long, uneven, but in the end satisfying and moving quasi-historical account of real situation, with Spencer Tracy outstanding among remarkable cast of fine actors (Burt Lancaster, Montgomery Clift, Marlene Dietrich, Judy Garland etc.) taking unusual roles and showing their versatility. Powerful ending.

 

+ Key Largo (1948, John Huston). Based on Maxwell Anderson play, brings Bogie & Edward G. Robinson together again (as they had often been in 1930s gangster flicks). Watch Claire Trevor, who won a well-deserved Oscar for her performance as discarded gangster’s moll. High drama at its best.

 

- King Lear (Date? Olivier). This is actually a British TV production, which I have on a VCR. When Olivier was old, they wanted to get his performance of Lear down while they could, and organized this, with fine actors supporting him. He was so weak that when he carries Cordelia at the end, they had to put wires to hold her up. But very fine anyway. There’s a 1971 film by Peter Brook with Paul Scofield in the title role, quite fine.

 

+ Last Tango in Paris (1973, Bertolucci, with Marlon Brando, Maria Schneider.) I put in this one a bit reluctantly—not a film to be recommending to growing boys—but it can’t be left out of any list of really important & influential films.

 

+ Lawrence of Arabia (1962, David Lean). Semi-fictionalized account of real person, who became famous from book he wrote, book written about him by newspaperman. A long, long movie, with two major stars: the desert, and Peter O’Toole, who was never as good again. (His blue eyes and the yellow-tan of the desert make up the dominant color scheme.) If you can sit through it, it’s worth it—moving, satisfying in many ways. Music stays with you. Fine supporting cast.

 

(+ Limelight (1952, Chaplin). Chaplin’s last, and I put it in parentheses—you may not be able to watch all of it, long and sentimental; Chaplin, who went through most of his career not talking, talks much too much here, preaches. Last scene, comedy act with Buster Keaton, worth waiting for. I bought a cheap, pirated DVD with Chinese subtitles!)

 

- Love in the Afternoon (1957, Billy Wilder, with Maurice Chevalier, Audrey Hepburn, Gary Cooper. Very good script, good performances, weakened only by having Cooper, looking old & tired, as romantic hero—Wilder wanted Cary Grant, who would have made a much more satisfying movie out of it. Still, watch it for the very funny bits. Hepburn is a delight.

 

+ The Magnficent Ambersons (1942, Orson Welles.) Welles’s second film, which probably would have been the equal of his Citizen Kane if his studio hadn’t recut and heavily shortened it (while he was away in Mexico making a government documentary), not saving the cut-out parts.. One of the tragedies of filmdom: people dream of finding a complete copy somewhere. Many of his stock players appear again, also Tim Holt (who has a lead role also in The Treasure of the Sierra Madre). Based on a novel by Booth Tarkington, then a popular novelist. Fine story, complex plot, fine performances, all-but-great film: doesn’t quite all hang together, because of cutting.

 

+ The Male Animal (1942, Eliot Nugent & James Thurber script). I put this in as an old favorite, still not bad when re-watched recently. It’s worth seeing just for the ending, when Henry Fonda at last reads the letter by Vanzetti which has everyone worked up (subversive literature?) Funny football rally etc.; Jack Carson is very good. Keep your expectations modest—not a masterpiece.

 

+ The Man Who Would Be King (1975, John Huston). Entertaining adventure movie based on story by Kipling (who appears in the film) about two British soldiers of fortune, Sean O’Connery and Michael Caine, who set off across the Hindu Kush to Kafiristan to conquer a kingdom. Fantastic but fun.

 

+ Mary Poppins (1964, Julie Andrews, Dick Van Dyck, etc.) You know this one very well, but it has to be on the list—you can always see it again. (Sarah saw it 8-1/2 times.) Great performances, great songs, ranging from very funny to very moving (the old woman in the square while Julie Andrews sings “Feed the Birds.”) Ed Wynn, old movie comedian, comes back briefly. Chimney-sweep number hard to beat. It’s supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!

 

+ Midnight Cowboy (1969, Dustin Hoffman, Jon Voight). Controversial when it came out, because of “unacceptable language” and theme, it comes off now as deeply moving, original. Hoffman’s versatility as Ratso Rizzo is quite amazing. My eyes tear up at the ending. A side of New York life not often shown. (Voight scarcely continued—he changed so as to be barely recognizable—he was the bad guy in Holes, 2003, the young people’s film you will remember.)

 

+ The Miracle Worker (1962. Arthur Penn) Ann Bancroft, Patty Duke. A film one can see again just for the great moment when something breaks through in Helen Keller’s brain (she is deaf and blind) and she connects a word (water) with the thing she feels with her hands, and begins to mouth the word. The two principals are both terrific—as Ann Bancroft nearly always is. Some dull stuff, clumsy bits, but enough that is very moving to make them worth sitting through. Inspirational in the best (non-kitschy) sense.

 

+ Moby Dick (1956, John Huston). Good try at filming this great epic novel, held back by, among other things, their need to put in a star as Captain Ahab—Gregory Peck, good as he is in other things, just doesn’t make it. Who could have? The old Walter Huston, but he was too old by then. (Lionel Barrymore did it in a 1930 version, not very good.) The narrator Ishmael is Richard Basehart, a fine, versatile actor who never made it into stardom (remember him in La Strada?) The whale is their real star, and it’s impressive—they constructed it full-size, with motors inside etc.—they kept losing whales in storms while filming it. Still, impressive & moving. (Seen again: Gregory Peck is more impressive than I remembred.)

 

+ National Velvet (1944, Elizabeth Taylor, Mickey Rooney). No need to write about this, you know it. Watch it again some time for nostalgia, and some of the old excitement. Taylor at her finest, also Rooney; actress named Anne Revere won well-deserved prize playing Taylor’s mother.

 

+ The Night of the  Iguana (1964, John Huston). After a Tennessee Williams play. Richard Burton fine as alcoholic priest-tourguide with busload of women in rural Mexico. Ava Gardner and Deborah Kerr both just as they should be. Many memorable things—I’ve seen it several times, never bored. Sue Lyons (she of Lolita) as teenage temptress.

+ Nobody’s Fool (1994, Paul Newman). Shows how a complex and engrossing novel about personal relationships can be turned into a deeply moving film: characters who matter to you, funny situations and surprises, satisfying developments. Fine casting, with Susan Sarandon proving again what a versatile and fine actor she is, and Newman at his best, which is way up there. Watch that toilet seat!

 

+ Notorious  (1946, Hitchcock.) Nothing special to say about it; fine, exciting spy drama. Later: seen again, still nothing much to say, except that the filmscript is by Ben Hecht, an old favorite author of mine. He was also author of (among many others) Specter of the Rose (below) and, with Charles Lederer, the marvelous firmscript for His Girl Friday (above).

 

+ Orpheus (Jean Cocteau, 1949) I put Cocteau’s Beauty and the Beast in the top category, this in the secondary, but it’s a haunting and moving film that you should certainly see. Turns traditional story of how Orpheus goes into the underworld to try to bring back his beloved Euridice after her death into contemporary scene with Jean Marais (he who was Beast under all the makeup) as the Poet. Highly original imagery, for instance, going through mirrors. Death is played by the Spanish actress Maria Casares who was Jean Louis Barrault’s wife in the great Les Enfants du Paradis. (Her only other movie, which I also have in DVD, is Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne.) Music for much of it is Dance of the Blessed Spirits from Gluck’s opera Orpheus. And so forth--lots to remember. If you see this once it will stay with you forever.

 

 

- Out of the Past (1947, Jacques Tourneur, Robert Mitchum. Fine film noir,  Mitchum at his best, as man trying to escape his past but can’t. I could also include The Blue Dahlia, 1946, with Alan Ladd; not quite so strong, even though the script is by Raymond Chandler. Just as the screwball comedy genre dominated much of 1930s Hollywood film, the film noir dominated much of the 1940s. Watch a few of these, then watch what Truffaut did with the genre in Shoot the Piano Player, 1960: instructive cross-cultural process.

 

+Palm Beach Story (1942, Preston Sturges) Especially funny among Preston Sturges’s sophisticated comedies, with Claudette Colbert, later the old crooner Rudy Vallee and Mary Astor (also in The Maltese Falcon). Complicated but enjoyable plot, crazy ending. You will want to watch other Preston Sturges films as well.

 

+ Panic In the Streets (1950, Elia Kazan). Fine thriller, in which medical officer Richard Widmark pursues two fugitives (Walter Jack Palance, Zero Mostel!) who may be carrying the plague in New Orleans. I showed this to you—watch it again some time.

 

+ Paper Moon (1973). A real charmer, in which con man Ryan O’Neal has to take on his maybe-daughter Addie (played by his real daughter Tatum) in swindling recently-widowed women. .. Madeleine Kahn also fine. (Hard to see this without remembering how badly Tatum turned out—no real acting career, drugs, etc.) The song Paper Moon was a favorite of mine in the recording by Lionel Hampton—I can sing it for you.

 

+ The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (1969), after Muriel Spark short novel, brilliantly acted by Maggie Smith. Admired but self-centered and self-serving teacher gives her girl students what prove to be poisonous and destructive ideas while purporting to help them grow up, using herself as model.

 

+The Quiet Man (1952, John Ford). You should watch this one just to celebrate your part-Irish heritage: very enjoyable film set in Ireland, full of Irish sounds and scenes and lore. John Wayne and Victor MacLaglen at their best, Maureen O’Hara (who was Jane to Weismuller’s Tarzan) also fine. Very funny bits, very beautiful scenery (seaside horserace) and terrific ending with fistfight that goes on and on.

 

+ Rebel Without a Cause (1955. Nicholas Ray, James Dean.) We watched this together, you know it. Dean’s other fine film is East of Eden, worth watching.  Jim Backus, his father in Rebel, was an old all-purpose actor, seldom credited, who was the voice of Looney Tunes characters (as I remember—he also did Mr. Magoo.)

 

+ Red River (1948, Howard Hawks.) I’m not a great fan of westerns, but this one stands out. John Wayne vs. Montgomery Clift sounds strange, but works.  Great scenery.  (Try also some time: The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, John Ford, 1962, a film with flaws and too much simplistic stuff and caricature—Andy Devine as town marshal, John Carradine as orator for bad guys--but some very good things, worth seeing.) Watch also, some time, Hawks’s Rio Bravo, with another unlikely pairing, Wayne with Dean Martin—and again it turns out to work pretty well.

 

+ Rififi (1955, Jules Dassin). You’ve seen the great robbery scene from this, and some of the rest. Best caper movie made, in my view (although The Asphalt Jungle is up there); stars wonderful Jean Servais. Bitter, moving ending (you remember it). Jules Dassin  who directed, himself plays one of the gangsters, the one who makes the mistake that brings them down—we see him tied to a pillar in his last scene. (Some time, for fun, watch his Never on Sunday—he married the Greek actress Melina Mercouri who stars in it.)

 

+ Roman Holiday (1953, Audrey Hepburn, Gregory Peck). Winning story (by Dalton Trumbo, who was blacklisted in Hollywood for “being a Communist,” so that it had to be credited to someone else), ideally cast, filmed with elegance and charm—a winner. Little jokes maybe missed first time, caught when seen again. Ending is just right. Hepburn a delight—everybody of my generation who wasn’t gay was in love with her (maybe they were too.)

 

- La Ronde (Max Ophuls, 1950). A movie with very special virtues: no high drama, not even deep characterizations; rather, a work of consistent elegance, a kind of formal perfection. Great cast, with Anton Walbrook presiding. Watch for Jean Louis Barrault (the wonderful mime in Les Enfants du Paradis) as The Poet. This may be a movie you will enjoy more when you are older.

 

+The Scarlet Empress (1934, von Sternberg, Dietrich). The director and sultry star who began with The Blue Angel and made a number of films in Hollywood—this is one of them, and a crazy creation, pseudo-history, silly plot but extraordinary visuals. A somewhat schlocky artist of the time named Artzybasheff was (I remember reading) brought in to design the palace, with bizarre sculptures all over. Her mad husband, the Grand Duke Peter, is played by Sam Jaffe, a Jewish character actor who appeared over & over in Hollywood movies without ever becoming famous. When Michael Rennie in The Day the Earth Stood Still meets an earthly scientist who convinces him that humans are worth saving, that’s Sam Jaffe. When they made Gunga Din they tried and failed to get Sabu the Elephant Boy to play the “regimental waterboy” of the title, who goes around in a loincloth and turban and saves them all by blowing his bugle; so who did they get? Sam Jaffe. When Ronald Coleman in Lost Horizon finally meets the 800-year-old lama who created Shangri-la, who is it? Right. He had a major role in The Asphalt Jungle (good caper film). He’s a phenomenon. And the movie is worth seeing, at least once, just for its visuals and its craziness.

 

+ Secondhand Lions (2003, Michael Caine, Robert Duvall.) I put in this very good film as a stand-in for all the very good young people’s films we’ve seen, and which you may want to watch again some day. They include Stand By Me (1986), The Mighty (1998), Holes (2003), and others I will add as I think of them, or you can add yourselves from memory.

 

+ Shadow of a Doubt (1943, Hitchcock.) One of the best of Hitchcock’s thrillers, with Joseph Cotton (watch also for Hume Cronyn, fine Broadway actor, seldom seen in movies.) Short of classic, but fine, enjoyable.

 

+ Sleeper (1971, Woody Allen). This may be the funniest of Allen’s comedy movies (but see also Annie Hall), a futuristic fantasy with lots of great sight gags etc. See also his Love and Death.

 

+Specter of the Rose (1946, Ben Hecht.) Michael Chekhov—famous actor of time, I don’t know of any other movies he was in—Judith Anderson, two young people as ballet dancers, one of them mad. Fine musical score by George Antheil. Lionel Standish, an actor I like, as gravel-voiced poet. If you knew Ben Hecht (he used to be a favorite author of mine) you would recognize this is pure Ben Hecht schlock, but highly engaging schlock. For this and the following (State Secret) there are probably only two or three living enthusiasts, one of them your aged father. (Later: I see that Michael Chekhov appeared as a doctor in Spellbound.)

 

+State Secret (1950) Douglas Fairbanks Jr., Glynis Johns, Jack Hawkins. Very entertaining thriller, hard to find. They made up a whole language specially for this film, with its own vocabulary & syntax; to hear Glynis Johns (and her sister in the film) singing “I Want to Buy a Paper Doll” in this language is very funny. Good ending, with the bad guy, Prime Minister Jack Hawkins, out of office, saying “If you hear of a good Poli Sci professorship open in the U.S. . . . “.

 

- The Sting (1973, Paul Newman, Robert Redford.) I don’t need to recommend this—you know it, also the other one they made,  Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. The con games in The Sting can all be found spelled out in a great old book, The Big Con (don’t remember author). For another enjoyable con-game movie with a good ending, some time watch A Big Hand for the Little Lady (1956, Joanne Woodward, Henry Fonda).

 

+ Strangers On a Train (1951, Hitchcock.) I’m not as great a Hitchcock fan as some, but this one is powerful, based on a subtly perverse Patricia Highsmith novel and with a terrific performance by Robert Wagner. We could have done without the merry-go-round at the end: Hitchcock at his most manipulative.

 

- Sullivan’s Travels (1942, Preston Sturges). Wonderful film, still rings true, relevant, moving. Hollywood looking at itself. Veronica Lake was a kind of popular joke in her time—hair falling sideways over forehead—but is pretty good here. (Later: she was really a good actress-she made two good movies with Alan Ladd, The Glass Key and Brighton Rock. Also she’s in The Confidential Agent with Charles Boyer.)

 

+ Tampopo (1985, Jûzô Itami). A very funny, even brilliant movie about a noodle shop and a John-Wayne-imitator type who helps the owner, a woman, make a success of it.  Old master of ramen-bowl-eating teaching young disciple how it’s done, a parody of Japanese rituals like the tea ceremony, really right on. Itami made other good films (The Funeral is one) and ended his life tragically, maybe murdered by the Japanese gangs who didn’t like his films making fun of them: they probably pushed him off a high building to look like a “suicide.”

 

+The Train (1964. Burt Lancaster). You two will remember how I showed you, when you were much younger, Burt Lancaster’s two early swashbuckler-action films, The Crimson Pirate and The Flame and the Arrow. I’ve always admired him, enjoyed his films. This is a late and especially exciting one, about a French Resistance fighter during the Nazi occupation of France who sets out to foil the Germans’ taking of a trainload of French paintings to Germany. Great cast, including Jeanne Moreau and Michel Simon (his last film). The middle section, in which supporters switch station signs etc., may drag a bit, but be patient, wait for a great ending.

 

+Les Triplettes de Belleville (2002, Sylvain Chomet). Canadian animator makes brilliant film in old way—hand-drawn animation. Maybe not a masterpiece, but very fine, original—I include it partly because of your interest in hand-drawn animation. Ending, with three old women, is bizarre and funny.

 

+Unfaithfully Yours (1948, Preston Sturges). Very funny, neglected film. Rex Harrison as symphony orchestra conductor believes his wife is unfaithful to him, and while conducting pieces of music, lets his thoughts run (as inspired by the music) to ways of dealing with this, including killing her. Other Sturges films so often shown; this one virtually never.

 

+ Viridiana (1961, Luis Bunuel). Anti-morality tale typical of Bunuel, in which innocent girl in convent is corrupted by visit to uncle (Fernando Rey). Many memorable scenes: she tries to save dog from passing merchant who mistreats him; tramps she takes into her house hold banquet while she’s gone and strike Last Supper pose. This & Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie are my favorites, but see other Bunuel also.

 

+ The Winslow Boy (1999, David Mamet). Long—be patient—but in the end very moving & satisfying film based on Terence Rattigan play about boy wrongly accused in school of stealing, father who believes in him and won’t give in. Made before (1948), also fine, but I like later one. If I chose a series of father-and-son films to watch with you two, this would be in it. (Great moment: when lawyer decides to take on the case, just when everybody is thinking he’s persuaded the boy’s guilty.)

 

+ Winterset (1936, Maxwell Anderson play; Burgess Meredith, Margot.) I saw this early in my life, never forgot it. Finally got a poor-quality--blurry--DVD, watched it again. Based loosely on the Sacco-Vanzetti case; Burgess Meredith, wonderful actor who created the role on Broadway, then came to Hollywood for the movie, his first. He is the son of the wrongly-convicted man (like Vanzetti) trying to right this wrong. The judge who condemned his father to death has gone mad and is roaming the streets. Takes place mostly under the Brooklyn Bridge--the stage-set is re-created in the movie. One of the finest of the early play-to-movie productions. Liberals of that time still believed that Sacco & Vanzetti weren’t guilty, felt strongly about it--see The Male Animal above.

 

+ Witness For the Prosecution (1951, Billy Wilder.) Great cast—Dietrich, Lawton, others—in great courtroom suspense drama, with tricks you won’t forget.

 

+ Wonder Man (1945, Danny Kaye) The best of his? You know it, we watched it twice? I have several more of his, but none quite comes up to this.  His wife Sylvia Fine wrote his great scat songs for him.

 

Addendum:

- Brewster McCloud (1970, Robert Altman). Weird movie, made by Altman after Nashville and around same time as Mash, about boy who is preparing to be first human to fly, inside Houston astrodome, with support from guardian angel Sally Kellerman, but is seduced by Shelley Duvall (her first movie) and . . . All I can say is, if you have a chance to see it, grab it. And be ready for a wild ride.

 

Also added two fine Billy Wilder comedies, both made from successful Broadway plays:

 

+ Sabrina (Billy Wilder, 1954.) Audrey Hepburn, Humphrey Bogart, William Holden. Comedy of class distinctions: she is chauffeur’s daughter, romanced by two brothers in employer’s family. Lots of fun, good ending.

 

+ The Seven-year Itch (Billy Wilder, 1955). Marilyn Monroe, Tom Ewell. The title refers to the joke/myth that husbands, after seven years of marriage, develop an itch to stop being faithful (if they ever were.) Monroe moves into upstairs apartment while Ewell, whose wife is away for the summer, fantasizes about what could happen—and what does. Movie had o be made less sexy than Broadway play because of censors, but still has much charm, and shows MM at her best.

Didn’t quite make it, but see: two jazz films:

- Paris Blues (1961), Paul Newman, Sydney Poitier, Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington score, etc. This could have been a masterpiece; falls short as movie, but very much worth seeing for jazz sequences. Same true of:

Blues in the Night (1941). I remembered this, and especially the title song, from seeing it as a teen-ager, watched it recently with great anticipation but eventual disappointment: starts out as if it’s going to be a great film, goes flat after a while. Watch it some time anyway.

 

The Theory Of Literati Painting In China (Section of Doctoral Dissertation)

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