01 October 2014

October!


"I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers."— L.M. Montgomery

So am I. October is my favourite month by far. The weather gets cooler, the leaves turn orange and red, pumpkins arrive, and although the days are shorter, the nights are alive with loads of things to do (in New York, the theatre and other events seem to kick into high gear this time of year). And, of course, Halloween and all the fun that entails. I look forward to taking a walk through Central Park with the leaves crunching under foot on a crisp day. And I'll be making a trip to New England, the perfect place to be in October. Welcome, October. I'm so happy you're here.

30 September 2014

Bon Anniversaire, Marion

Marion Cotillard by Studio Harcourt Paris (1999)

Today is the birthday of my favourite modern actress, Marion Cotillard. From her film roles to her advertisements for Dior, I just adore everything she does. Which is why I am so excited to see her in conversation this weekend at the New York Film Festival where she'll be promoting her new film, Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne’s Two Days, One Night.

Last night I attended a festival talk with another French favourite, Mathieu Amalric, who was intelligent, funny, and charming. He spoke for more than an hour about the directors he's worked with and his own filmmaking process. Absolutely wonderful. Now all I want to do is watch French cinema. 

25 September 2014

Bookshelf

The always delightful Alice White and friend.

I've managed to plow through a stack of books over the course of the last few months (one upside of insomnia) and am now looking at just four left on my nightstand (one of which is The Goldfinch so it will be a while before I need to get some new books). In writing up my recent reads, I realized that they're almost all British. Hmm. Will have to broaden my horizons. But for now, I bring you another instalment of Bookshelf.

Flavia de Luce, an 11-year old with a passion for chemistry (especially poisons), lives with her two older sisters and widowed father in their old family estate in the English countryside. One day their rather dull 1950s life is interrupted by the discovery of a dead bird with a postage stamp on his beak outside their door followed by Flavia witnessing a strange man die in their garden. Unwilling to leave the mystery to the local authorities, Flavia sets out on her bike to solve it herself. Wise beyond her years and completely endearing, Flavia is a wonderful young sleuth. The first in a series, I’m looking forward to reading more of Flavia’s adventures.

Frog Music—Emma Donoghue
During a heat wave and smallpox epidemic in 1876 San Francisco, French dancer Blanche Beunon witnesses the murder of her cross-dressing friend, the frog catcher Jenny Bonnet. Convinced that her “fancy man,” Arthur Deneve, whom she has left, and his ever-present friend, Ernest, are responsible, Blanche sets out to prove who killed Jenny while also attempting to find her own baby son whom she gave away. Donoghue does a wonderful job of bringing San Francisco to life, from the teeming streets of Chinatown to the nearly deserted outskirts of the city. And while Blanche can try the patience of the reader, Jenny imbues the story with energy whenever she appears.

Maggie Hope is in Scotland, training new recruits while recovering from her undercover mission in Berlin. Suffering from what Churchill calls the Black Dog (depression), she adopts an abandoned tabby and decides to go to Glasgow to see her friend, Sarah, perform in La Sylphide. But when two members of the dance troupe suddenly die and Sarah falls gravely ill, Maggie becomes determined to find an answer and save her friend’s life. Inter cut with Maggie’s story is that of her mother, awaiting her execution for treason, and Japan’s planned attack on Pearl Harbor, which Churchill gets winds of early on. I really enjoy the Maggie Hope series but have to admit that this was my least favourite of the books. Let's hope the next one has more Maggie and fewer story lines (although a guest appearance by Ian Fleming was fun).

Down the Garden Path—Beverley Nichols
A noted author of everything from children’s books to newspaper columns, Beverley Nichols was an avid gardener who wrote a trilogy about his gardens at Allways, his cottage in Cambridgeshire. Down the Garden Path is the first and perhaps most loved of the books. Filled with the trials and tribulations of creating the gardens including having flowers in the winter, turning a field into a wood, and failing at a rock garden, it's a humorous and engaging account. Along the way Nichols makes witty observations about the people he encounters, often with his claws out, and makes confessions: “I would rather be made bankrupt by a bulb merchant than by a chorus girl.” A must read for gardening fans.

The Quick—Lauren Owen 
In Victorian England, introverted poet James Norbury moves to London where he finds lodgings with a member of the aristocracy. When his letters to his sister, Charlotte, in Oxford suddenly cease, she comes to the city to find out what happened to him. What she uncovers is an underworld of nefarious goings-on and creatures of the night with all trails leading to the Aegolius Club whose members have blood on their minds. After a wonderful opening chapter, the book slows down for a while before a sudden plot twist picks up the pace and leaves the reader on edge. I really liked the direction in which the story went and that the author presented main characters who were often unlikeable. I just wish it had been a wee bit smaller.

Love Nina: A Nanny Writes Home—Nina Stibbe 
In 1982, 20-year old Nina Stibbe moved to London from her small town near Leicestershire to work as a nanny to Sam and Will Frears whose mother was Kay Wilmers, deputy editor of the London Review of Books. Nina wrote regular letters back home to her sister, Vic, with observations about life in London and little, everyday details about the boys, her employer, and the guests who frequented the house including their neighbour and regular dinner companion, Alan Bennett. Included in her stories is the cat that no one really likes, her cooking that often gets criticized (turkey mince!), and the abuse experienced by the family car. After a while, Nina becomes a part of the family, continuing to live at the house even after she goes to university. A charming read that brought back some memories for this former au pair.

21 September 2014

Hidden Gardens


Recently I've taken to walking over to the Church of St Luke in the Field on the weekends to sit in their gardens. An Episcopal church originally founded in 1820, St. Luke's in the Field shares its block of Hudson Street in the West Village with an elementary school, St. Luke's School, along with a series of lovely gardens.  

Hidden behind tall brick walls is a series of six gardens, all connected by paths that allow you to stroll from one to the next. There’s a lawn, maple and cherry trees, a rose garden, and even a contemplation corner with pink, purple, and white flowers. It’s a wonderful retreat from the bustle of the city where cell phones are discouraged but where one can sit and read or ponder for as long as one wishes.




My favourite though is the Barrow Street Garden, which isn't perfectly manicured (a plus in my mind) and is filled with a wide variety of flowers from hydrangeas and roses to petunias and Lantana. It's also home to a multitude of birds and butterflies (and, unfortunately, bees). Just today, I watched a hummingbird drink from a butterfly tree (can you spot him in the photo?) as monarch butterflies flitted by. I also got to hang out with dozens of little sparrows, who I adore. These guys have no fear, hopping down right next to you.


At times, living in the city only adds to the stress that's already in our lives. That's why places such as these are so important; even in the midst of concrete and taxis, one needs a bit of nature and quiet to calm the nerves and lift the spirits.

All photos by Michele.

17 September 2014

Night Nurse


If you’re in the mood for some pre-code Hollywood fun (and who isn’t), then Night Nurse (1931) is the film for you. Directed by William Wellman (whose work I just realized I’ve written about a lot), Night Nurse is fast, slightly shocking (in a 1930s sort of way), and highly entertaining.

Lora Hart (Barbara Stanwyck) wants to become a trainee nurse but is turned away from the hospital for not having a high school diploma. After bumping into the chief of staff, Dr. Arthur Bell (Charles Winninger), on her way out (shades of another Stanwyck pre-code film, Baby Face, comes to mind in this scene), she gets her wish. Accepted into the program, she’s paired up with the gum chewing Maloney (Joan Blondell) who shows her the ropes around the hospital. The two become roommates and friends.


One night a gunshot victim, Mortie (Ben Lyon), comes into the hospital. He turns out to be a bootlegger and convinces Lora not to report him to the police. Charmed by the smooth-talking criminal, she agrees. Later he sends her a bottle of rye with thanks to his “pal” and when she and Maloney graduate, his is the largest floral bouquet in the room.

Now certified, Maloney gets Lora the night shift taking care of two little girls, Desney (Betty Jane Graham) and Nanny (Marcia Mae Jones) Ritchey, who Lora met when they were treated for malnutrition and anaemia at the hospital. Now back home with their mother in a Fifth Avenue mansion, the girls’ condition has worsened. Before leaving Maloney, who has the day shift, warns Lora that there’s something “screwy” going on in the house.

The two girls, who had met Lora at the hospital, tell her that they used to have another sister but she got run over and that their dead father had been a nice man. But Nick the chauffeur? He scares them. They also complain that they’re always hungry.


After the children go to sleep, Lora learns that nightly parties go on in the house and that Mrs. Ritchey routinely passes out drunk. Lora is assaulted by one of the party goers and nearly raped before she’s rescued by Nick the chauffeur (Clark Gable). Later, when he asks her to pump the stomach of Mrs. Ritchey and she refuses, they struggle, and he knocks her out.

The next day she confronts Dr. Milton Ranger (Ralf Harolde), the man treating the girls, about what’s going on in the house, and he tells her to “let it go.” She quits and reports her suspicions to Dr. Bell who doesn’t feel comfortable interfering with another doctor’s case. He advises her to get her job back and try to find evidence so she can swear out a warrant.

Apologizing profusely to Ranger, she’s reinstated and returns to find Nanny dreadfully weak. Unable to get Mrs. Ritchey to respond to her pleas to help her children or to get Dr. Bell on the phone, Lora resorts to trying a milk bath, an old wives’ remedy that the housekeeper, Mrs. Maxwell (Blanche Friderici), keeps insisting saved her sister’s child. Mortie, who happens to be making a delivery to the mansion, goes on a milk run for her. While waiting to see if it’s working, Mrs. Maxwell, who’s been drinking, tells Lora that Nick is really Mrs. Ritchey’s boyfriend, and that he’s trying to murder the girls so he can marry their mother and get their trust fund.

The bath doesn’t help but Dr. Bell shows up (Mortie tracked him down) and is examining Nanny when Nick tries to stop him. Once again, Mortie comes to the rescue, threatening Nick with a concealed weapon and sitting guard outside the room while Lora offers up her own blood for a transfusion that saves Nanny.


The following day, Mortie gives Lora a lift downtown so she can give her evidence to the police. When she mentions her concerns about Nick, Mortie tells her that he told a couple of guys that he “didn’t like Nick so good.” The closing scene is of an ambulance pulling up to the hospital with the body of a man dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform.

Like any good pre-code film, Night Nurse is filled with characters with questionable morals. Lora is sympathetic to and ends up with a bootlegger. Mrs. Ritchey is a drunk and negligent mother. Dr. Ranger appears to have a cocaine problem. And violence (Nick seems to have killed the girls’ other sister, Lora is almost raped) is met with violence (Nick’s death) seemingly without any final condemnation from anyone.

Naturally there’s dialogue filled with witty wisecracks, most of which are delivered by the delightful Joan Blondell who always excelled at playing the best friend in films and tended to get the best lines too.

“I thought the hospital would burn down before I could get into it. Now I have to watch myself with matches.”

“Keep away from interns. They’re like cancer: the disease is known but not the cure.”

(To Mortie): “Oh, you make any joint look like a speakeasy.”

And then there’s the question of clothing or rather the lack of. The general rule in this film appears to be, when in doubt, have the female leads get undressed. Stanwyck and Blondell remove their clothes constantly throughout the film—when they’re trying on their uniforms, when they’re going to bed, when they’re getting ready for work. Except for an early scene in which one of the interns walks in on Stanwyck (“You can't show me a thing I ain't seen. I just got out of the delivery room.”), the two women are always alone, away from prying eyes except for those of the viewer.

One of the most enjoyable aspects of the film is the relationship between Lora and Maloney. There’s no backstabbing or jealousy between these two. Instead they’re friends and colleagues who have each other’s back. Even the swipes Maloney makes at Mortie, Lora’s love interest, are good-natured. The dark-haired Stanwyck and the blonde Blondell visually make a striking duo on screen and their banter comes off sounding natural.



Stanwyck plays Lora as a street-smart working girl with a soft spot for children. While her maternal feelings shouldn’t be brushed aside, Stanwyck is at her strongest when she shows off her tough cookie persona, standing up to Nick and slapping one of the party goers. When she tries to get Mrs. Ritchey to help her children and the drunken woman passes out, Stanwyck looks down at her, shakes her head and says, “you mother,” before dumping a champagne bucket of water on her.

And then there’s Gable. Oh, Mr. Gable. In this, one of his first roles, Gable is young, handsome, and dangerous. Far from the charming rogue movie goers would come to love, Gable is a brute here. The only thing that takes away from Gable's performance is when he announces, “I’m Nick, the chauffeur.” It’s suppose to be filled with menace yet today the lines just come off as a bit comical. It doesn't matter because Gable simply oozes sex appeal. It’s no wonder that he would soon become a box office star.

Even though the attractive Gable is in the second half of the film, it’s the first half, set in the hospital, that’s the most interesting with its shots of the maternity ward and Lora at her first surgery. It also has one of the film's best known scenes when Lora and Maloney sneak back to their room after missing curfew. Stripping down to their slips, they are getting ready to turn in when Lora finds a skeleton in her bed (a trick played by one of the interns). Her screams bring the head nurse to the room who, realizing that they’ve been out, punishes them both with extra shifts. Lora, unwilling to sleep in a bed recently occupied by a skeleton, climbs into bed with Maloney instead. Now that’s a pre-code film.

10 September 2014

Remembering Olive


On September 10, 1920 Olive Thomas died after having mistakenly drank a solution of bichloride of mercury five days earlier. It was a terrible way for anyone to go and in Olive's case, marked an abrupt end to a blossoming career as a screen star. Already popular with filmgoers at the time of her death, we can only speculate on the other films she would have made and if she would have made the change over to talkies (of all the unanswered Olive Thomas questions, one at the top of my list is what did her voice sound like?). 

Unfortunately too many people today only remember Olive for the way she died (and most of the articles/books out there are filled with rumours and false information). I think we should remember her for what she was, a beautiful and vivacious woman who lit up the screen whenever she walked in front of the camera. 

Never seen an Olive Thomas film? You can watch The Flapper, one of her best known films, here.

09 September 2014

Brassaï at Night

"Morris column in the fog, Avenue de l''Observatoire" Brassaï (1934)

Today is the birthday of Gyula Halasz, better known as the photographer Brassaï. Born on September 9, 1899 in Brasso, Romania (then part of Hungary), he spent a year in Paris as a child when his father, a professor of French literature, taught at the Sorbonne. Moving back to the city that would become his permanent home in 1924, he worked as a journalist, spending his spare time painting and drawing. His first foray into photography came when he began working for Minotaure, an art magazine, and was asked to photograph artist studios. He was disinterested in the medium at first but had his mind changed by a fellow Hungarian, photographer André Kertész.

Now going by the name Brassaï (taken from his hometown), he became a popular photographer, often hired by major magazines. Yet regardless of his assignments, his fascination was with his adopted city at night. Walking the streets alone, Brassaï managed to capture the after-hour life of the City of Lights like no one else. In his images we see an empty bridge, a car's headlight cutting a beam across the street, an iconic Morris column covered with notices. And we witness the creatures of the night: the gamblers and prostitutes, late night revellers and lovers. As Brassaï once wrote, “Night in a large city brings out of its den an entire population that lives its entire life completely under the cover of darkness.”

"Pair of lovers, Place d'Italie" Brassaï (1930)

In 1933 he published many of these images in Paris de Nuit, a book that is still in print today. Flipping through its pages or another of his books, The Secret Paris of the 30’s, one is immediately swept back into the past, his photographs so real that you can almost smell the dirty streets. So on this occasion of the anniversary of his birth, let’s remember Brassaï by taking a look at a few more of his images of Paris at night.

"Prostitutes at a bar, Boulevard Rochechouart, Montmartre" Brassaï (1932). One of my favourites. 
And I love how he photographed the same woman more than once (see below).

"A prostitute playing Russian billiards, Boulevard Rochechouart" Brassaï (1932)

"Lovers in a Small Cafe, Near the Place d'Italie" Brassaï (1932)

"Le Pont Neuf" Brassaï  (1932)

To see more of Brassaï's photos, I recommend getting a copy of The Secret Paris of the 30's. It's been a favourite since college and is still in print

LinkWithin

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...