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Tuesday, November 09, 2004

I am my own grandpa.

As one of my songs runs through my head, I realize that I am a spokesperson for people in my position, including myself.
I'm my target audience.
I exist on two levels, as the creator of my universe, and as a character within it.

Saturday, September 11, 2004

My Ebay,
by Peter Dizozza

Ebay provides a recreational auction environment where sellers meet bidding buyers and guarantee their profit by lodging it within the shipping cost. Shipping fifteen pounds across the country costs $1.30 by non-priority USPS mail in a makeshift folded cardboard box. Shipping cost charged? $15.00. There is absolutely no problem with that and is more telling of my jaded tone. Better to get beyond that to the content herein, filtered through my sieve-like brain, as I grasp experiences trickling like sand through my fingers.
MAY 2006 NOTE: The above suggestion of a mere $1.30 for shipping is a great example of me drawing a conclusion from insufficient data... The $1.30 stamped on the package that I wrote about then was for "insuring" the package, and was in addition to the shipping postage which runs around $10.00. PD
Ebay listings last 60 days, and those ebay-constructed webpage addresses run for, well, not pages, but for maybe a thousand characters.

(At the computer I can check my statements written longhand. It’s not a thousand…Here’s an address link to a silly page that fails to include as a selling point the redemptive aspect of poor Pasolini’s last film, Salo.

Payments through “Ebay” are easiest made through Paypal. I already established a Paypal account for my CD sales through Amazon. My ebay adventure began when my wife, Diana, asked for Mr. Magoo in Egypt. It lives in her memory although I haven’t found it. “Tut Tut Magoo” it is not.

I browsed Ebay. I understood its concept. Friends used it to sell electronics surplus, Sears catalogues and cigars.

When I clicked “browse” for Magoo, a raincoat attired UPA plastic movable parts Magoo doll appeared, from 1958, my birthyear. Wow, that’s adorable. I’ll bid 20. It sold for 100. OK.

The first Magoo film feature from 1959, Magoo’s Arabian Nights (my shorter title) went to me for 35 dollars plus 15 dollars shipping. Color faded, 16mm, on two spools, ready to spill, sold by kinneman. A cute film, surprisingly involved, he’s Aladdin’s lamp making uncle. The music is subtle and the graphics are unique and pleasingly psychedelic, or rather kaleidoscopic (1959), and not entirely without blue. (Color film loses blue with age. Cold temperature slows the loss. Though silver nitrate film holds color, it is often more valuable melted down. For 50 dollars, no buyer should expect either Magoo’s or Pasolini’s “1001 Arabian Nights” to be a silver nitrate 16mm print.)

Unspooling Magoo, I recalled pre-VHS (pre-1980) private film dissemination, in the form of 16mm optical sound prints. The animated Magoo film must have been shot from cells onto film bearing width of 35 millimeters, about four times the area of the “amateur” format of 16mm film. It ran in theatres at 24 frames per second, as does the smaller 16mm film. US TVs scan 30 frames per second so every few cinema frames are blurred in their TV transfer. Please clarify.

Then consider the phenomenon of optical sound. The sound is etched on the side of the film, often in patterns resembling record grooves. In addition to smoothly flickering frames, the projector lights decode sound.

So for 50 dollars I bought an old rental print of Magoo’s first and only movie screen feature. Magoo was an Academy Awards favorite. Columbia Pictures proudly released his films. I know, he is not a real person. Although the depicting of a man infirm, or challenged, and unapologetically at that, may have fallen into disfavor, his cartoons are benign. Anyone attempting to bring harm upon Magoo brings harm upon himself, and I think we can learn from that.

Ever incongruous, my ebay adventure continues.

Next on Ebay I bought three pruning shears, two for a penny with a cell phone antenna enhancer thrown in, and a third with a special Japanese blade for 15 dollars plus (A "Corona Razor Tooth"). That third one broke sooner, piece by piece until at last the entire blade was gone. I’m referring to mini 7 inch folding saws. I love to prune. During the summer I trimmed expansive hedges that hadn’t been pruned in 30 years and their thick sprouts extended to 10 yards to catch a space of sun. Through long hours of continuous pruning I became physically invigorated, especially from the smell of spruce.

Exploring a midlife career change to that of an arborist resulted in subsequent ebay purchases. I bought a 100-foot spool of white vinyl rope with flecks of gold thrown in, to throw up the trees to climb them and remove their dead branches. Last winter was particularly harsh, but those majestic evergreens refused to die, completely. Actually, pruning is a basic Dizozza issue. I regularly bite my nails and shred my cuticles. In fact, I’m falling behind. Excuse me.

The inevitable result of constant self-pruning is going too bloody far in an attempt to achieve smooth perfection. Did you read my pruning story from the 1980’s. Like the spruce, “I leave to others the job of pruning me.”

An ebay search for army cots began after our visit to the Shabby Chic Shop of Soho. Online, I bought two cots, one useless, the other simply used, plus an army pup tent, which is great, and a hammock tent, which may be missing something to secure it to the trees. I’ve yet to confirm.

I gradually discovered that anything one can imagine is available on ebay, and chances are that only an hour is left to bid on it. My wife, Diana, requested a white furby with pink ears. It was something she needed. Through the bidding process I found myself the winner of two. Ah, the serendipity. Two furbies are better than one. To be more life-source-specific, in searching the online animal shelter for a pet, remember to get two. Cats keep each other alert. Two cats are better than one. Two cats together have fun!

However, for security conscious readers choosing between a ferocious watchdog and a Sloman Home Alarm System, I have this to add: A Furby is a sensor motion detector empowered by four batteries, and when all is still, it turns itself off.

In addition to providing guaranteed intruder trepidation, a furby does seem to learn from its awakenings. Furbies develop a rhythm to their response and they will talk with one another. 1999 was their year. I think Hasbro bought them from Tiger (a toy manufacturer from China) just to shut them up. Actually, one hears the mechanics as they move. Can you imagine the next generation, true baby robots that you can even send to school for improvements? “I’d like my furby to become an authority on Home Economics, and I’m willing to pay the cost of tuition.” Little does the mechanical robot’s parent suspect that classes consist of a software download.

Following these uncharacteristically tangible acquisitions, many sending us into the great outdoors, I retreated to the browsing of ebay’s outrageous sales of celluloid.

Home screening received an additional boost when, during the summer, I performed at an open mike at the Player’s Club. One of the fellows there was comedian Bob Greenberg. In describing my “Golf Wars,” I referred to Martin and Lewis and Laurel and Hardy. He said he was one of the Sons of the Desert, a group of aspiring comedians who collectively assist in the appreciation of Laurel and Hardy and other teams like Bud and Lou, the Stooges, the Marx Brothers and the Ritz Brothers. I expressed curiosity about the Ritz Brothers, and the next day he emailed me an invite to see one of their moments in film history, a version of “The Three Musketeers” with Don Ameche. I dropped by the screening location, could not stay, but glimpsed the setting, a residential loft.

I said to the 16mm projectionist/curator, “I’ll bring over Magoo’s Arabian Nights if you’d like.”

He said, “I have it.” He has everything in 16mm. He assembles movie soundtracks; actually symphonic scores, from the discs and tapes or whatever on which they were recorded and from which they were transferred to their films. Complete scores by Max Steiner, Alex North and Alfred Newman, including parts not in the films, he transferred to audio CDs, lovingly packaged.

During the next film night he showed Zanuck’s Wilson, just in time for the Republican National Convention. The following timely political issues arose before us.

No Wilson’s League of Nations membership for the United States. Dispute over a concept that mutated into the United Nations continues. We report to no mortal. I think John S. Hall said it best on Russell Simmons’ Poetry Central. We do what we want “until God or the aliens come along…” John inhabits male thought patterns. I almost miss the joke, and isn’t that what acting is all about, ever since the days of Robert DeNiro and his filmmaking obsessed friend, Martin Scorsese! So here we are, in 2004, unaccountable to anyone but ourselves, because, basically, and here’s that feel good refrain, “America Kicks Ass.”

I blame feel-good movies for securing our need for the addictive feel-good charge.

“Wilson” is a Technicolor film from 1944. The same writer, Lamar Trotti, scripted both it and Zanuck’s Razor’s Edge (in which occur hallucinatory moments between Clifton Webb and Gene Tierney.). Diana was touched by President Wilson’s expressions of love, his willingness to sacrifice career for love. He didn’t have to, reelected for a second term, but he seemed to be so inclined.

The presidential lead actor embodying Woodrow Wilson also played the writer in a Warner Brothers film, “The Sea Wolf.”

And there was much posturing. The “Wilson” cast carried themselves at least as well as did Daryl Zanuck in his day-to-day regimen.

Off to ebay. A bookseller sent for a dollar, three dollars shipping, the Mosley Zanuck Bio book, Hollywood’s Last Tycoon.

I’m enjoying it. It’s used. Its former book owner must have been a heavy smoker, ah, the memories triggered by its imbedded stink, first edition, 1984, stamped “not for resale.” Hm. “Not for Resale?” Perhaps it received that stamp when in England where a first sale doctrine applies, or doesn’t apply. I never remember which. (It doesn’t apply… In England when you resell your copy of the copyrighted item you pay a resale royalty to the copyright owner.)

16mm films for sale on ebay embraces (or does it reject?), the first sale doctrine (Ebay sellers are embracing it!). Bootlegged 16mm was a black market before video proliferation (1980). In 2004 what could be sillier than buying a degenerating color print of Powell/Pressburger’s “The Red Shoes” when you can scan through a vibrant 35mm transfer to DVD that you bought for 20 dollars?

I lost on “The Red Shoes,” always a blessing in disguise, for we are but stewards of what we possess. I took, instead, responsibility for ownership of an old faded “flat” print of a widescreen masterwork entitled “Oliver!”(exclamation point) on four big spools needing to be wound on reels for a savings of five dollars. Spend the five.

As a result of my attention being redrawn toward “Oliver, exclamation point,” a film I enjoy watching over and over again, I learned:

n That director Roman Polanski is refilming the Dickens book.
n That the practice of attractive peers seducing runaways into slavery is timeless, meaning timely, for it is still happens, to a more frightful extent, today.
n That the film’s morality repartee is spot-on ambiguous. (Witness the sublime lunacy level achieved in its last three shots. As Jack Wild’s Artful Dodger does his Lewis-Carroll-Alice-Pose for a crocodile-innocent Ron Moody, the camera turns to catch their infinite dance into the sunset, transitioning into the arrival of a carriage to the white house and the close-up apron strings embrace of Mark Lester by his Uncle’s wife? The End!
n That I am an extoller of the film’s cinema-craft, and
n That the flat cropping of the 2:1 wide screen canvas was actually done with some finesse.

Viewing Oliver! stimulates a concern, a life’s purpose. I see it as an end in itself, an achievement of vision. Musical theatre is a distillation of stories oft told. Musicals go through many stages of development. We begin a hundred years ago with Dicken’s source material. We wind up with exaggerated childish platitudes, “I’d do anything,” sung by children! We get integrated choreography, detailed continuity, plenty of medium shots with evocative detail, long shots with breathtaking detail, the butchers, the elevated train. The song, “consider yourself” is the vehicle for displaying every aspect of 19th century commerce in London. “Oliver!” has, as far as I can tell, two major sets, one of London’s main streets, by the Thames, and through the alley to the other, a spectacular swamp decaying group of tenement buildings. They are visually connected. Every inch of them is used.

The director loves medium and long shots. He gives no close-up for the end of “As Long as He Needs Me.” Carol Reed is a dispassionate observer. He’s a director who shows where things are. He went into the City of Post war Vienna and preserved its squalor in “The Third Man.” Here, in Oliver, he created the city. He also went to a Tavington Square Circle row of white houses for the “Who Will Buy?” segment. It is “the ordered world.” I imagine Sherlock Holms living in one of those town houses, Henry Higgins in another and of course, Oliver Twist’s gentleman uncle a few doors down.

My Michael Douglas Blog is called that because in its first post I thought it worthwhile to observe that Michael Douglas, the actor/producer returned to his family in the film, “Traffic,” but went with one of the other cast members in real life.

I think it also worthwhile to observe that the director of Oliver, which tells the story of a foundling saved by his uncle, is Carol Reed, castmember Oliver Reed’s uncle. Actually such oddities delight and fill me with faith in the serendipitous.

Oliver! is a lesson in filmmaking. Learn from it. Watching it after so many years made me want to see more. The medium was becoming the message, when it is really merely the delivery tool…

In my enthusiasm for 16mm films I ordered what turned out to be another Romulus Production, Moulin Rouge. Black and White. That’s the John Huston film that won best color cinematography. I haven’t seen it but it came, the only good news is that the color didn’t fade to pink. Descriptions don’t necessarily include what’s missing. A Black and White print -- (shhh) of a Technicolor film.

By the way, favorite recent filmmaking is Larry David’s Curb Your Enthusiasm, and the Christopher Guest films. They grew from Robert Altman’s Mash.

Looking for another "Oliver!" I saw a few minutes of Little Shop of Horrors on TV. The lyrics, the concept, the creative film directing are great. Howard Ashman revived the musical. We are in his debt. He wrote The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast.

My other recent dose of entertainer entertainment was through meeting Spats Donovan, Hooch Houlihan, Dennis, I don’t know his exact name, but he is a spot-on impressionist with a singing voice to match. I played piano for his “Let’s Be Frank” at the 13th Street Repertory Theatre. I subbed for Aya Misoshoru, his amazing pianist, arranger, music director. Patrick Jude did a dead-on older Frank Sinatra impression, Jim Davidson was Dean Martin, everyone is great. They re-enact scenes from Robin and the Seven Hoods.

Oh dear. I wound of bidding a winning a copy of that.

The Laurel and Hardy Bohemian Girl, is a mysterious filming of a light opera. In search of antagonistic lyrics for my song, Living in Freedom (Again) I included the line, “Bohemian girl bring your sunshine to me,” and, yes, I bidded on a copy of that as well.

So a little Ebay goes a long way.

Oh, one of my colleagues here just ordered a fisherman’s spear gun so he can reenact those silent film scenes from the James Bond Horror film, Thunderball. It’s OK. I hear he eats his catch, the creatures from the black lagoon.

"We must bless and not curse."

I hope you enjoyed your glimpse into My Ebay.

Let’s collaborate on creating new treasures!

Peter Dizozza

Wednesday, July 07, 2004

Okay, late baby-boomers, and you know how crazy we are, another brilliant contemporary, lost!

Eric Douglas was friends with my friend, Jessica, some 20 years ago. It was always a pleasure to spend time with him. He was warm, energetic, helpful, funny and crazy. Parents found him suprisingly rude and this was on Candlewood Isle which, back then, was, well, a community most indulgent of the pranks of those late baby boomers. You'd think he'd have fit right in, but by then the 1970's were already a fading memory.

His awareness of a legend was compounded by his resemblance to it. His father's personality performance risks compounded the length and depth of the shadow over Eric. A man who follows his own code, sets his own standards, reveals his vulnerability as Van Gogh, how can you possibly live up to that without first buying the rights to One Flew Over the ... ???

There is seething anger and the feeling of alien presence in the appearance of Kirk Douglas in studio films of the 1940s. The man who put Kubrick behind a 70mm movie camera, who sang The Sheik of Araby with Hoagy Carmichael, so much more... Condolances to this liberating individual and his wonderful family.

I feel another example of: I lost touch with him and he probably could have used some friends.

He lived less than 20 blocks away.

Being once pro-choice on mental health I described the loss of Keith Feibush in uninvolved surface-terms of choice.

Well, I lost touch with him, too, indulging him... Another loss.

The full life.

Maybe all lifespans are the same length.

For some people, time moves faster than for others.

Friday, July 02, 2004

The Glagolitic Storm

It's all Janecek on WKCR. He turns 150 tomorrow.

Friday, June 18, 2004

The 1935 MGM film, Mad Love, is in syndication on TCM, Turner's Classic Movies Station. It was on this morning -- what a great way to start the day.

Cinema VII has a film library, too, The Big Tip Off with Richard Conte, a great Wire Service episode with George Brent (Forbidden Ground), Bob Hope with Judy Garland, Betty Hutton and Lana Turner recording a disc for the WWII boys (and girls) overseas, the scat jazzy white girls color short film, Big Sister Blues, I can't believe this stuff is in my brain...The Burl Ives Bluebeard TV episode, Mr. Walkie Talkie (a friendly Korean War comedy), One Half of the great WPA film, One Third of a Nation, and the bright silver nitrate print of Anthony Eisley's Lightningbolt with those maniacal Cinema VII edits...

It also administers the entire creative catalogue of films, shows and songs by Peter Dizozza.

Sunday, May 23, 2004

"They rejected the perfection. Entire crops were lost."

So we'll see how far we get here. Tony Hightower set up the cable I still pay 134 for today, and he did that a short time before Keyspan, formerly BUG, imploded the twin Greenpoint gas towers and those idiot paradise-seekers imploded the World Trade Towers, and as the second group of ruptured towers fell I was hooked back on tv, blessed in that the cable had not been severed. The alternative would have been no cable, no more hightower antenna, no more reception tv until, maybe, now when it is again possible to trade cable for rabbit ears.

Cable also gives us roadrunner internet connection which Tony needed. Tony was unemployed at the time, so that's how this apartment got cable. What I mean is, getting cable is a job. Much has changed in these years since, but I still have the overblown cable which means, while not seeing the whole thing, I can rewatch sizeable chunks of the Matrix Reloaded.

My sequel is The Matrix Rewritten, and in that I'll show what persistence achieves on a shoestring. Those brothers did, too, with Gina Gershon in Bound. I forgot that but thanks to quick internet, I looked up "matrix," with the internet movie database, the only website for film info I can think of off the top of my head, obviously introduced to me by Mr. Hightower, my actions being a function of info received.

By the way, my most recent selfquote of any personal resonance is simply, and I finger-wrote it in an arbitrary date page of my visor while listening to the beautiful NY Composer's Circle music at the 2nd Presbyterian Church,
"My writing is so crazy that I am in effect not a real person."

I read The New Yorker Magazine's Nellie McKay review. To summarize, 'cause my copy's gone now, she's playing the crazy card... Her anger's a generous muse... That brings me to my stingy safe-haven entrapment. Come appreciate my wealth of creative work, let it empower you. Alas, I'm too much in the way, having fun. What a mess, and I have so much talent, so much to offer...

These brothers made films. I would call them major cinema achievements. Yet my search, my surf, my safe-search-off search, stopped at the left-his-wife-for-a-dominatrix-and-explored-his-feminine side tattling. Oh.

Is a Matrix Reconciliation around the corner? Maybe the Ilsa exploration will be fruitful for all. Say, who's getting hungry for another bite of forbidden fruit?

Ah, the brothers are 7 to 9 years younger than I am.

Mr. Hightower's blogger is accessible at

Now back to the paradox at hand. Oh, it's late...

Peter Dizozza

Monday, April 19, 2004

Amir Motlagh created Dino Aldino.
His most recent film is called Pumpkin Little

Hi, Before I lose your email in the compuserve autopurge, let's see, too. The pope watched breakdancing, I think, during his public convalesence.

Your film is a world unto itself. I basically love it.

My love of film would include you creating a breakdance segment that actually adds to the intensity of the breakdancer. I am fond of film segments, as the number of films increases. something like the dna molecule from which you can create the entire being.

The last scene of the old wb 42nd street was on tv. it's the song with new york images, ending with the producer sitting on the stage door steps outside, his energy sapped.

Busby Berkely also shot babes on broadway. a few minutes of that may elicit actual horror at how much continuous camera movement he forced upon the mgm cast. That realtime continuity of ensemble movement deserves dogma applause.

I never saw a cassavetes movie. His performances are so memorable and, although often portraying him as corrupted, also relatable. all i know of john... rosmary's baby, a depiction of the problems that arise when perfectly assembled (by bob evans) talents (polanski and abominably perfect cast) function full force, ignoring all concerns for protecting their audience from the void,
and the depalma sequel to Carrie with music by john williams... The Fury, cassavetes head floating to the floor after his explosion.

godard filmed breathless. i was bored by contempt. i never saw weekend. i didn't follow the politics in sympathy for the devil, only the discovery of how the rolling stones evolved the famous song from their best album.

truffaut wrote breathless and filmed 400 blows... somehow bertolucci continued truffauts alterego growing up in last tango...

romer? marienbad? who made claire's knee?

fassbinder hollywood style film, marriage of maria braun has unforgettably funny moments. i don't know if i've grown out of it. poor hanna shygulla, so wonderful a person, is he showing her corrupted, i think so, she is germany... are you familiar with any of this?

Are you writing scripts?

yours truly, Peter Dizozza
In a message dated 4/4/2004 4:47:12 PM Eastern Daylight Time, writes:

Peter, very impressionistic meta mail. Um lets see, where to begin. Yes they are Philopino, well the main character Mike anyway. This film is very specific to location and linked directly to a suburbian immigrant experience. When i was growing up, this was the route of many good kids, and only some regained their composures. Not only was this for asian americans, but iranian americans, and so fourth. These groups usually didn;t associate with the prevalent white experiece(surfers,rockers,skateboarders etc..) and so found exceptence in ethnic, and more urban culture(hip-hop..etc) and so breakdancing in the early ninties in the most suburbian of places immerged. And a few people embraced that form and associated themselves with that lifestyle. At the same time, with the influx of all these races grouping, many started to click together and call themselves crews and party together. This is universal, but really a southern california phenominon. Party Crews, Tagging Crews and then just plan Street Gangs. Lots of Philopino Gangs, Vietnamese Gangs and the rest followed suit. Racial tensions was prevelent between white, black, mexican, and the rest(asian, afgan, middle eastern) and these new groups had become the new minority as they felt everyone was against them. Of course not all the kids went that route, but i still cant tell what gets you there, and the circumstance that takes you the other route, which in this case is usually typified as the "ideal student". The typical sterotype of asians being smart etc......

So with that context, when i came back to my Mom's house one weekend, i ran into Mike. ANd i was shocked that he still breakdanced(as i did in my youth with him) let alone applying to Grad school ,and when i saw that he was in a way a father figure, a mentor to kids that are at the same age as most kids getting involved with gangs i had to shoot it. There situation is like a commune, as opposed to the aggressive, more egotistical days of breakdancing. Its rather beautiful.

As for the the film itself. One thing you might of noticed is that the music is not in anyway hip-hop or the music they would dance to. This was a consious way of pulling it past the cliche and putting the situation out of the Urban home for which the form of breakdancing emerged. The openiing scenes are with his girlfriend, and i felt it was a very intimite and naturally action. Though this film is a doc, i shot some sequences to look like a narrative fiction, so as create a tension between persepctions. The shots are slow, and very rudimentary, so as not to add to much tricks to the pace of life. HIs voice over is also very specific, as he drops names of his youth, and nobody would know what he is talking about, but that intimacy, and very specific experience was what i was trying to get at. It doesn't really matter who for example "John" is, what you can sense his being and influence on Mike. This contrasts the general and sterotypical eight grade stories and puts his story into context. Mike started breakdancing in 8th grade, and in a way that has been the one stable through line in his life, and is a large aspect of his life. So decisions we make when where young, no matter how we might deny them, rearrange our life in ways beyond a certain control.

Now another thing i wanted to stress, was this new, post modern character of self. This group breakdances and they play guitar together, and so this was impossibly five, ten years ago. Breakdancers never played rock and hip-hop was all encompassing. The same with people who like heavy-metal, or indie rock, never do that, or this. Those lines have recently dissapatted. Identity is not the same for the youth as it was. That to me is very interesting.

As for the the sequences with 8th grade stories, the shots where in a way suppose to resemble the way we sat in our parents car, as they drove the same routes everday, and how the eyes wander around. The breakdancing sequences in those shots are from Mikes 8th grade and i will tell you something else, i myself am in the film. You just have to find me. And no, my brother is not in the film as i am an only child, and who the fuck knows what that means.

The reason Peter, that i didn't have more breakdancing was because i didn't want this to be a showcase for the dancing. I could have shoot and edited there best moves, instead of the ones i chose which are not the most gracefull but shots that are practice, struggle, persistence which drives there obsession.

In your other email you said those other films reminded you of Mean Streets in a way. That along with ALice Doesnt Live Here are the only two films i really love of Martin Scorsese. Mean Streets was in a way a complete ripoff of my favorite American film maker, the late great John Cassavettes(the man was brilliant). The other filmmakers i really like are French in origin, Godard, Truffant, Romer(My Night at Mauds), and Fassbinder(crazy, productive workhorse) and a few others. I rarely watch movies these days, i have to get over that.

Well, sorry for the length of this letter, i really don't know if its cohesive since i'm to lazy to read it. I think i got some things out, but skipped around quite a bit and for the grammar and spelling, God awful. But if you have any thing else to ask, or comment on, or wonder about, please feel free.

This electronic age is amazing Peter. I have never met you, we live on the other side of the country, different ages, experiences, and i have your CD, you have my films, and there is dialogue. Truly amazing.



>Subject: Re: Two films, a half hour.
>Date: Sun, 4 Apr 2004 12:37:11 EDT
>The camera didn't often move, the frame was set and action sometimes crossed
>its path. It allowed for brilliant composition and an odd way, a real way, of
>seeing the world through the limitations of our periphery. The world is of a
>group of people that I can not readily identify. Asian in that they're
>hawaiian or from the phillipine's originally? The opening scene with the film
>going out of synch was disorienting, the sound seemed to improve when it went out
>of synch. The crossover for when a group of friends becomes a gang, and the
>distinction of heirarchy, I suppose, that causes some to act on the will of the
>leader, and the possibility of market domination, that was a memorable and sad
>depiction, a degeneration of neighborhood. Those houses always look so
>innocent. I would love some more breakdancing segments, what was there was
>beautiful and the shooting of them, with the ending showing the sluggish breakdancer,
>was cool and aloof. I'm a fan of Robert Marshall's recent fast shutter speed
>camera choreography (is that who filmed "Chicago?), you could create
>something both flashy and seemingly incidental that will send the movie into the realm
>of musical cinema. Frederick Weisman has a musically choreographed way of
>documenting the deranged world of titicut follies. These are first thoughts.
>It's daylight savings time here. I like hearing people's memories of eighth
>grade with the still graphic design. This film assembles of wealth of beautiful
>images. Enhance my viewing experience. Tell me your thoughts of
>this...Thank you. Is your brother in the film? In a message dated 4/3/2004 6:40:50 PM
>Eastern Daylight Time, writes:
>>Thanks for the watching Peter.
>> Please reply about the DVD of Pumkin Little when you watch that, as that is
>>my essential style when i'm completely behind the camera, like the film
>>Still Lover. I would like to know if you find similiarites between all the
>> amir
Hi, Amir,

I saw the two Motlagh films, Dino Adino and Love @ 11:47. They are well made and they had a realism that transcended the notion that you might actually be in them. It looks so much in the first one like the filmmaker is behind the camera.

The split screen of the second worked well. The right screen showed the fixed idea, either the cracker box or the foooot, or her... I realize there is a film with four pictures by the Leaving Las Vegas filmmaker... I think I saw some of it. Was there a film called Wicked in the 70's that employed that device?

Although both your films are location specific time capsules, they are expressing an ageless condition that one is always in danger of slipping into.

Now that we've met Dino, his character can appear more interactively elsewhere.

These films were very likeable and watchable. Not having watched those mtv reel documentaries, what were they called?, my only frame of reference was Martin Scorsese's basic film, Mean Streets. You have a similar willingness to observe unpleasant things happening to basically likeable people. There is an element of humor prevailing.

Thank you. I look forward to screening these at the next opportunity.

Ah, "Shipping the Satellite." The content could be humerous and outlandish and the people who performed it on that one occasion are great. I hope to one day have a listenable recording. peter

In a message dated 4/2/2004 10:37:15 PM Eastern Standard Time, writes:

Hi Peter, I listened to your CD a few times, and low and behold, i woke up singing lyrics from it. Here is my impressions.

Subversively Poppy. ALmost seems to have a little punk rock asethic, mixed with musical theater and Frank Zappa. Very mixed refreneces and intellegent. It also has a sweetness that is very evident. The production was very good, mininal, but that helps i think. It is a unique concept albumn.

The only thing that i(my opinion is worthless) didn't like was the bonus tracks, as i thought adding the live performances only took away from the the tightness and listenability of the rest of the albumn.

Another thing that really impressed me was the way the albumn works as a whole. It goes through all the tracks as one and doesn't get tiring at all.

Overall, this work is very impressive. Keep up the work, as i know from your site, you will do just that.

amir motlagh

>Subject: Re: an offer you might refuse
>Date: Thu, 1 Apr 2004 10:24:18 EST
>Dear Amir, I also have the tape you sent The WAH Center. I look forward to
>seeing it and the dvd this weekend. Thank you! Peter In a message dated
>3/31/2004 7:02:19 PM Eastern Standard Time, writes:
>>Hi Peter,
>> Got your CD. Am excited to listen to it. I sent you out a DVD as well,
>>though you got the one before the packaging, sorry, but at least its numbered.

Tuesday, March 23, 2004

Has storytelling ever been more palatable?

These Dan Brown debunking books offer interesting concepts which vaporize, somehow, at the end. I read Angels and Demons and The DaVinci Code, and I found, on our common hall radiator, a copy of his Deception point which I'm currently reading.

Here's what I remember of the first two: The lead character was able to successfully parachute from an ascending helecopter into the Tiber river. That description is too delightful for words. Also, the story imploded into its plot -- I'm thinking of the Angels and Demons illuminati conspiracy. By revealing it as a hoax, enacted virtually solo, the author is one step from admitting that it is the product of his own imagination. And does he, perhaps, pander to my desire to say, "Leaders protect us from their own attacks."

The DaVinci Code leaves behind no memory except the feeling that I couldn't put it down until I had finished it. I kept thinking he was going to say something interesting. He must have. Oh, the grail's underneath I.M. Pei's glass pyramid. The buried apocraphal writings tell the true history of the outrageous behaviouralist, Christ. Oh, that's right, Christ's progeny are uniting still, they are the real sangreal, that most precious sacred blood.... Oh yes, Matthew's Gospel, first paragraph, establishes Jesus descending through Joseph from the house of David, and in the second paragraph describes Mary's immaculate conception.

Both books are written to occur within 24 hour segments, which enhances their urgency. I suppose part of my disbelief and awe arises from that achievement. Also, the wind is described blowing an increasingly familiar crew over a glacier in the page I've reached in Deception Point and I enjoy that too.

The theme of books left on the common lobby radiator seems to be the arctic. The last one I found there was Smilla's Sense of Snow. That one revealed a tendency toward leaving us in the snow near a living meteor, comparable to the realization of a dead end in the foreign film (pre Todd Graff reworked) version of "Vanishing."

I remember an Aristotelian requirement for tragedy being that it occurs within 24 hours.

In other news of pop culture:

The movie, 2010, was on TV. HAL the computer, by cooperating with orders, is redeemed. 2010 was released in 1984.

Winged Migration was on the Starz channel. Those geese are stars! One species travelling earth's 12,500 miles, reveals the true meaning of the term, "Bi-Polar."

Coming soon, the new TV show, "Soul Search" tm...

Sunday, February 01, 2004

The Turner Classic Movie Cable Station broadcasted the 1941 WB film, Dive Bombers
What about the smoking? Everyone in the film connects with a cigarette. Shockingly technicolor footage makes sense when the support of the us airforce is so apparent. The footage is authentic. The comraderie plays almost romantically. As always, Alexis Smith bears the brunt of female intervention. I'm not sure if she has any better outcome than in leaving the men to their own concerns, our concerns, our country's..., and turning for masculine attention to THE MARINES.

The airforce G tests have increased dramatically, but then, so have the physiques, thanks to what, less smoking?

The film's other female appearance is comic relief as one of the wives attempts to get her alimony and finding her husband in the sick room; eventually he must remain there after he's exposed there to someone with measles. His language-comedian friend has dinner with his wife, meeting her at the familiar apartment housing development she need only mention by name, the parker towers? Her outfits anticipate Marisa Tomei's in MCVinny.

According to the fine headline review of this film, which considers Flynn's possibly traitorous involvement, was it therefore not San Diego but rather Pennsicola Florida where the authentic air/naval base footage was shot?

A performance of Warner Publishing's "What's New" plays in the background during one of the neglect-the-woman-but-attend-to-their-lipstick-dispenser scenes. It is a beautiful green enameled gold lipstick dispenser.

My Diana attributes incremental technological advancements of the last 60 years to the alien visitation at Roswell. How else can we explain the computer chip?

Another good early airplane film, released eight years earlier in the wild 1930s when it was Howard Hughes running air traffic control: Flying Down to Rio.

Thursday, January 29, 2004

“Not all the costume changes in the world will matter if the messenger has squandered his treasure by altering his message to suit the convenience of the audience." Edward T. Oakes.