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Friday, November 11, 2005

Galapagos Introduces Sara Silverman... Not Catholic so she needn't feel guilt for her thoughts

On Wednesday, November 9th, they actually took two little 35mm projectors and showed her movie. It was a free screening so I can't complain that they only played the secondary soundtrack, which means you couldn't hear the words to the songs.

(Gene Stavis explained: "Undoubtedly they were playing the optical track and were unable to synch the digital tracks which are common today. Or, perhaps, the equipment they used was of an older type which does not properly reproduce a more modern red track.")

It has a great escalating opening from a drab apartment room to the big stage.

"American Airlines: First through the towers."
Ron Jeremy keeps his pinky out "'cause he's classy."

She takes cluelessness to the level of high art. As a narcissist, she has also mastered the art of expressing heartless compassion.

Despite her obvious capacity for empathy, she has one weakness, the desire for a pretty jewel that is only found on the tailbone of ethiopian babies.

We make fun of people we're not afraid of.

"I'm not racist, I speak facts. You can't smell yourself..."

And now, I keep returning to the following issue.... What is pornography?
Hem haw, I KNOW it when I see it.
She doesn't, thank heavens! A&E were cast from paradise not because they were naked but because they KNEW they were naked.
In other comedian news: Apologies to Robert Shapiro for my mistaking him for his brother, Rick on Monday by the 6th Ave Bus stop... SORRY! Jeez.

Then there's the wit & wisdom of the Drew Blood...

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

From the point of view of Cupid, David Souter (GHW Bush USSC nominee, 1990) and Harriet Miers (GW Bush USSC nominee, 2005) were a match made in heaven.

On to other matters.

Oh, vote!

In very local news, the New York County District 60 voting machine at the Sirovich Center accepted four choices for Mayor.

I discovered this today at 10:00 AM while considering a vote for the "Rent Too High" party candidate for the position of Public Advocate. He was actually one of the candidates bunched in for Mayor.

The levers should lock after the maximum number have been pulled. They did for all the other choices.

I only voted for one Mayor, but I could have voted for four! I was actually inarticulately upset by this but did manage to convey the discovery to the pollers.

My getting upset tends to help no one, unless it is my intention to achieve the opposite result.

In more general local news, say good-bye to mechanical voting machines.

Do you suppose this evening will bring any election result surprises? I do not.

And thank you, New York 1, for last week's full week profile on "Top" Independent Party Member Fred Newman. What was the connection again?

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Oedipus was a detective in search of himself.

How could Harriet Miers know her path was his as she led her search committee toward the next Supreme Court Nominee?

How could I know how similar to Jackie Mason I would feel in expressing that parallel?

Is a "how could you" question answerable or rhetorical, asked by someone making a point?

Yet I ask it.

-- How could you? I can't even look at you. Don't let it happen again.

Sunday, October 2nd from 5PM to 6PM at the Bryat Park Book Fair, continued.

As for my Book Fair report, following Art Spiegelman in the New York Times Book Review tent was Pamela Paul to personally introduce us to her new book, "Pornified."

If you sense a kinetic energy in your hotel room, then perhaps it's because, sniff-sniff, it's been pornified!

In case I was not already alarmed by my potential comments about a hundred million dollar industry, following Pamela Paul and a summer camp break with Christopher Lehman-Haupt, was author Ariel Levy, introducing her new, red book, Female Chauvinist Pigs, describing her undercover work during the spring break shoot of a show called "Girls Gone Wild." (This show, immortalized by Larry David in a Curb Your Enthusiasm episode, is mostly comprised of minimally solicited public-breast-bearing "reality" clips. In syndication, perhaps it should rerun as "Girls Went Wild.")

If I add anything to the self-perceptions of the "wild" ones whose body displays were freely offered to cameras in those episodes -- especially to those who masturbated –- it is this suggestion; rather than being victimized in retrospect, consider the respect you offered to a 100 million dollar industry and its customers by mooning them.

Perhaps there are times when the act of observing something does NOT change it. Let voyeurs watch. The power to change in their observation is negligible compared with a scientist looking for an electron through a microscope.

Yes, bodies are fascinating, ever-surprising in their breath-taking beauty, and worthy of time spent looking at them.

No, I haven't seen March of the Penguins, but I'll bet we benefit by observing them, too.

If pornography is images of people who prepare and present themselves and others in various displays of sexual arousal then, yes, the world is pornified.

But what is pornography? The knowledge of it, like the knowledge Adam and Eve acquired about being naked in the Garden of Eden, was contained in the definition; "I KNOW it when I see it."

The standard has become what a community/planet will tolerate.

Perhaps for sexual arousal to be pornographic a measure of self-hatred is required.

Pamela Paul's featured video description was of “sheiks” clenching Abu Ghraib prison photos as they surrounded the military-garbed woman they held responsible.

In this video after a suggested decapitation they drench the woman with their self generated kinetic fluids.

“Masturbatable,” perhaps with self-hatred. Consider, in response to the blinding rage "generatable" from the previous near-dada description, how powerful emotions (i.e., hate, love...) readily couple with physical feelings of sexual (reproductive) arousal.

-- Don't just stand there, do something.

-- I can't. It's on film; it already happened.

-- How could you? I can't even look at you. Don't let it happen again.

Monday, October 03, 2005

To write one of these MD posts I like to have some kind of general interest update to share.

I just returned from a day of jury duty in 2d Dept. Federal Court, and no I wasn't picked but I was among the first called to join a panel seated within a beautiful courtroom jury box after watching a hypnotizing video projection. I didn't catch the video title but it was directed by Jody E. George of the Federal Judicial Center and screened in double projection with capital-letter-captioning, white on black.

"We're going to show you a film. What the film does is give you a brief idea of what it's like to do jury service here in Federal Court."

Yes, it cast a spell upon all, turning random individuals into prospective jurors.

Only by the judge saying these magic words, "You are excused," may the juror spell be broken, and he did to me, so I missed out on determing the controversy raised by Ralph Lauren suing Jordache and the United States Polo Association for trademark infringement of the double horse logo, which I confess I cannot picture.

The judge conducted the voir dire of the jurors as the eight attorneys and two rows of interested observers sat with senses on alert.

"Do you rent or own where you live?"

In addition to clearly establishing the trial schedule, Judge George B. Daniels asked other probative questions, and unearthed amazing coincidences. (i.e. My husband is a partner in the plaintiff's firm, I'm friends with one of the defense attorneys (waves exchanged) and I just submitted an opposition brief to your honor on another matter., or -- I provided fringes for Lauren clothes, I met him often and yes, he was very good to me., -- Or, most generally, my attorney suffered a psychotic episode and was disbarred during my med mal trial.)

A jury of eight was quickly, impressively, and admirably had.

I went for lunch to the corner dim sum place and ran into the owner of a sea food restaurant, "Up the River," in Westley near Mystic. He and I struck up a conversation because I couldn't help noticing that his shirt had a bright polo insignia of a man on a horse swinging a mallet. Now there's an original trademark for a polo shirt.

Look, if you invest, time, money and effort in some(any)thing, then you should have at least the modicum of self-interest (and intelligence) to create a defendable ownership stake in it...

The jury service waiting time after lunch was an opportunity to read the daily free paper, "AM New York." A brief article within it speculated about the identity of Bush's next supreme court nominee. Will it be his former personal attorney?

Again, if you, the term-limit-public-servant, have a choice discretion, you may also wish to factor self-interest into the equation.

Suddenly here appears a general header for everything I write:

Dear gentle reader, I don't readily access past sensory observations as readily as I access the internet so an additional purpose served by this writing is to refresh my memory.

Furthermore, my undercover expose' tone (like I'm a spy on the "Girls Gone Wild" shoot) is a reverberation from what I enjoyed yesterday afternoon when I attended -- and forgive me because any literature distributed at the event had run out by the time I arrived at 5PM -- some kind of book fair at the park (Bryant) behind The New York Public Library.

Multiple tents were up, plus a carousel! One tent had a waiting line extending throughout half the park, because a panel discussion by New York Times Op Ed writers was soon to ensue within.

Another little tent was wide open for seating. I heard the buzz word, Heidegger, and asked a distinctively tee-shirted attendant. She said that speaking in there was Harry Frankfurt (I am only now realizing that the City of Frankfurt is his surname) reading from his philosophical treatise "On Bullshit." (on dancer on donner on prancer...).

The word "Bullshit" still has its punch as a period, a conversation stopper, or at least, as an argument starter.

Mr. Frankfurt's primary observation is that the bullshiter simply doesn't care if what he says is the truth in contrast with Iago, that liar, who does.

He concluded by reading from his treatise what I will paraphrase as follows: Our general acceptance of bullshit means that we, yearning for its substitute, discern and respect sincerity. A person whose expression holds the ring of truth, from being true to him or herself, is the final exemplar of bullshit, because in truth, no matter how true to ourselves we sincerely are, reality exists apart from our perception and expression of it.

I agree, even as I, with all my sensory caveats, seek clarifying expressions of reality.

That little reading tent was like The New York Times Book Review, Live, and I kept getting up, and then sat back down after they announced the next author.

I knew of Harry Frankfurt's book, as well as Pamela Paul's Pornified and Ariel Levy's Female Chauvenist Pigs from the past year's New York Times Book Review. And the novel The Mad Cook of Pymatuning was read by its author, Christopher Lehman-Haupt, a reviewer of books for the New York Times.

As for the Target Logo appearing within the New York Times banner behind these authors in the little tent, although it remains unclear what the "Target" trademark represents, I am familiar with it because its trademark holders, whoever they are, had bought out an entire New Yorker issue’s ad space for red and black graphics, making that issue so obviously a collector’s item that I promptly threw it away.

Also appearing within the tent was the amazing Art Spiegelman. He followed Mr. Frankfurt and I sat down in disbelief immediately upon hearing his name as I greatly admired Maus and enjoyed his attention-grabbing New Yorker Covers. He crucified the Easter Bunny over some tax forms and illustrated the slurp kiss between two people who would more likely share an employer/employee relationship, among other covers suggestive of George Grosz paintings. Mr. Spiegelman did the black on black World Trade Center cover in the wake of their demolition. What better person to do the cover? Not only does his family live two blocks from the calamitous site but his is wife the cover editor for the New Yorker. After his presentation he went to sign copies of his "graphic novel," In the Shadow of No Towers.

I am sorry to only now think of asking him, does he have any update on the activities of his fellow Raw comic book artist, Mark Beyer?

I must go now. MORE LATER...

tail-end notes...

Supposedly you could get your book appraised from professional booksellers at this fair; someone showed me multiple hardcover first edition copies of On The Road. No, I could not imagine what they were worth and thanked him for letting me look at them.

Somehow, the idea that buying a 15 dollar N.Y.T. tote bag would entitle one to enter an area of, and fill the bag with, gently used books was vaguely annoying.

Oh, thank you for telling me about the book fair.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Movie making consists of capturing and communicating an experience not otherwise safely available to our senses, at least not in this lifetime. One such experience is a visit to Vegas.

Vegas is infinitely trashable.

I've never been to Vegas, and movies that use it as a backdrop lessen my desire to visit... Bugsy, The Godfather Part II, Casino, Leaving Las Vegas, the Tristan Isolde segment of Aria, Oceans 11, and The Cooler. Any others?

Yet Vegas inspires a degree of greatness in those films.

Monday, August 22, 2005

As he does most every day Jackie Mason on August 18th, 2005 presented himself on the Broadway stage, making observations and asking people, challenging them with the question, "Do you understand this?"

Thanks to an attorney friend at 13th Street Rep, I finally saw Jackie Mason.

I wanted his take on current events, and will probably get that by tuning into his comcast radio show. My favorite observation was a pure joke about job discrimination and fat people... fat people can't get a job. Fat people are starving to death. Do you understand this?

He criticises to improve. Would he if he didn't care? No. He loves this country.

He uses dirty words because he recognized the audience was comprised of a lower class of people.

Change the station if the abusive words offend.

For those of you no longer satisfied with verbal abuse, consider a friend who attended a warrior workshop at the Catskills Nevely and came back with a limp and a bandaged knee.

It was a workshop where martial arts experts (physical, versus verbal, comedians) suprise-attacked and hospitalized many.

Now THAT's abuse.

As for those of you prefering the beauty of the ethereal, listen to Jackie Mason's singing voice...

Thursday, June 02, 2005

"Under-promise and over-deliver," is one of the kernels of powerful advice imparted to B. Keith Fulton, an executive at Verizon and graduate of New York Law School, by the speaker he introduced, the Chairman of the Board and Chief Executive Officer of Time Warner, Inc., Richard D. Parsons.

Dick Parsons appeared before a group of people at New York Law School last evening (Wednesday). As Time Warner's CEO he earned in 2004, according to Forbes, not including stock options, $13,245,165.00. He is a great spokesperson for the concerns of a company whose soul is in both (journalistic) media content providing and (journalistic) media content CREATION. Create, then distribute! Look for reruns of CNN news episodes in syndication.

Prior to spinning off their music business to Warner Music Group because the music business is too substantially afflicted by the ability of people to pirate peer to peer, Time Warner Inc. was the world's largest copyright owner.

Before fielding questions, Mr. Parsons spoke of two of his concerns, journalistic confidentiality and intellectual property protection.

He felt compelled to consider the first concern because two nights ago Mark Felt identified himself as the 1970's media informant, "Deep Throat." It's safe to say we wouldn't be where we are today if it weren't for his help in bringing Gerald Ford to power.

Jump to the 21st century when journalists Judith Miller, Matt Cooper and Time Warner, Inc. as Matt's employer, are threatened with prison and fined, respectively, for not revealing to a Grand jury the source that leaked the CIA status of Valerie Plame. Identifying a CIA agent is a violation of the Intelligence Identities Protection Act, since another country might hear CIA as synonymous with SPY! While we recognize as protected confidential communication between certain parties such as priests, spouses, doctors, lawyers, the shield protecting communication between journalist and confidential informant is in question. Forty-nine states have a shield law but the Federal Government does not. The First Amendment right that protected Woodward, Bernstein and the Washington Post arguably protects Miller, Cooper and Time Warner from revealing the identity of their government informant source.

The U.S. Supreme Court is next in line to determine this controversy, if they rise to the writ.

New York Law School Q&A Moderator, Michael Botein, announced plenty of time for questions. I was one of five people who had the opportunity to ask during the program. During the reception Mr. Parsons stayed to answer others.

The journalists' government source committed a felony by breaching CIA cover. I questioned the distinction between a reporting that endangered the wife of U.S. Diplomat and non-CIA agent Joseph Wilson. (Mr. Wilson was critical of US reasons supporting the starting of a second gulf war.) versus the first amendment protection of free speech during Watergate.

Mr. Parsons clarified his concern that the dialogues of inquiry into the identity of a journalist’s information source must be made before the public, not in some place behind closed doors resembling a star chamber. Furthermore, the objective of the press is to inform the public. The Federal investigation forced reporters to reveal their source in private.

I believe Mr. Parsons was referring to a Grand Jury investigation, which is secret and one-sided, involving not the accused but only a potential prosecutor seeking indictment of a crime. Reporters' objectivity would be compromised if they could be compelled to cooperate therein.

(U.S.V.P. Chief of Staff Lewis Libby, the government leak source, waived his right to confidentiality and Time Magazine's Matt Cooper testified before the Grand Jury in August of 2004.)

Dupes no more. In other news, we're in The Digital Age. This led into the second concern that Mr. Parson shared last night.

Do you remember the beauty of diminished copy quality? Black and White contrast became gray. Pure sound became hiss-filled. Xeroxes of xeroxes became pockmarked as text widened and lost crispness. Those copies were of a pre-Digital Age.

Technology today gives the public the capability to reduce media content to electronic impulses that can be moved around and recreated almost perfectly. Perfect copies, distributed to one or one billion, stretch the rights of intellectual property ownership. Here's another controversy for the courts to determine. In 1984 The Supreme Court found that Sony's sale to consumers of its Betamax was not an infringement, being merely the instrument of potential infringement, as well as of other lawful uses such as fair use and time-shifting (Sony was the defendant with exposure and ability to pay substantial damages.). Today, intentions of software programmers will face renewed Supreme Court scrutiny.

Where do rights of property owners stop and rights of casual users begin?

Mr. Parsons just got back from China. 95% of China's media content is pirated. They neither have nor enforce copyright laws, thus in China there is a barren creative community. China used to be by far the most developed cultural country. (I love those carved ivory chess sets.) Today artists there can't make a living. All their invention is stolen from them. Creativity atrophied because there is no legal protection afforded to the creators of intellectual property.

Do you remember the incentives arising from ownership? There are always those with the creative urge (I'm one.), but for it to be part of a vibrant thriving community/industry, we need enforceable laws to let us know where we are and how we are protected. If not, we may as well abandon the field and go be farmers.

We need more laws. The last person to ask a question, Bob Mendez, included this reminder: laws inspire creativity (like those athlete artists on the playing field who win while abiding by the rules of the game). Throughout the term of our agreement to abide by laws we become increasingly creative in how we do so.

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

I contributed songs to a series of 10 new one act plays called "Love Bites" which ran at the Neighborhood Playhouse tonight, Tuesday, May 17th, and last night. At first I thought the title referred to computer bytes because I remembered going to the Neighborhood Playhouse to see a reading of a musical about the love affairs of the computer dependent, among whom I count myself. No. These are hickeys, plain and simple, and I can't tell you how much I enjoyed introducing each one with a song.

Patricia Watt produced the series and Steve Ditmyer directed it. Steve picked out the songs from a collection I assembled for the occasion. We chose "Absotively Posilutely (Through with Love)" to open and close the evening. That's the Keely Smith/Louie Prima style song that Owen Kalt and I wrote for our musical adaptation of "Next Stop Greenwich Village" in 1993.

On the first night, the show opened with the one man dream play, "Hymie's Angel" written and performed by Jamie Lorenzo. You could see him grow from his experiences in Hell's Kitchen as he relived them with us.

Dan Calloway sang "Never Too Sure," (1980) a kind of catch-all song about distant memory recognition relationships... "Haven't I seen you somewhere? Haven't we met before?" That introduced Craig Pospisil's devastatingly blunt inner monologues of four people misreading one another. Basically, although they yearn elsewhere, the two men give into the wills of their women companions. It establishes hell on earth for all, and in addition was a great acting vehicle for Jamie Bennett, Danny Cleary, Jane Petrov and Darcie Siciliano.

The play that promised to make the whole evening superficially obscene turned out to difuse itself into a subject worthy of awareness; and if you already examined the subject (I believe John Giorno has...), then this play would be a compendium of redundancy, since everthing anyone could imagine was imagined and/or assembled for us from modern art history by playwright David Brandon Harris. The characters were likeable, especially the bad Russian painter who spoke the word as a multispectrum woof: "Piss." I played incidental music (Doomy, Colonial Williamsburg and an instrumental Mountain Casino) during that. Dan introduced "Piss" with an excerpt from the aptly titled song "Golden Age," (1997) which includes the lines, "That stream is mine." and "Please put it away!" Stephanie Rose directed with all her heart. It featured Colette Bryce, Dan Callaway, Ben Hersey, Gregory Korostishevsky and Marina Kotovnikov.

The transfiguring "Almond Eyes" introduced "Rewind," a play by Renee Flemings about gameplaying childhood sweethearts who grow up to be parting lovers. Given that there is a real gun in the boy's house, it confirms the black girl's mother's quote that white people are scary. Erica Ash and Michale McEachran shared chemistry in the roles.

Darcy Siciliano sang the early song, a last minute inclusion, "Resume" (1979) to open the young man/older woman conversational exchange of hopes and dreams called "The Keeper of My Dignity." It could indeed be called The Keeper of My House, because the boy's family occupies the older woman's home and learns, and is nearly sucked into, all the past curses therein.

The next night opened with Craig Pospisil's "Whatever." He described it as a spinoff of Poe's Raven, but it seems to be about a needy, dependent woman (perhaps Megan Bryne) exerting her dominance over her inquisitive reality-checking friend (perhaps Cassandra Seidenfeld). They both recently lost boyfriends. They both stay in for the night.

Darcy sang an ominous "I Love You Much," (1979) introducing the monologue "Rebound" by Georgia Metz, performed by Helen Lantry which had attributed celebrity status to a descendent of Calvin Coolidge. The casual sex convincingly degenerates into anger.

"Never Too Sure," as a duet this time between Darcy and David Macaluso, opened Con Chapman's "Welcome to Endive." There's a long standing mountain restaurant in Danbury Connecticut called Ondine. Same restaurant? It was a full meal for three couples without the food featuring Margot Avery, God Engle, Barbara Halas, Christine Pedi and Joseph Schommer.

"Good Way to Be" opened Father Figure. Make no mistake, the truth can make you damned (A well-adjusted husband admits to his wife his approval of his childhood abuse by his father.). However, the instinctive protection a mother affords to her unborn child is what keeps us, the human race, alive over time. Thanks, mom. Michael Patterson and Colette Bryce played the husband and wife.

We used the "I've Come to Know Them" part of the song "Love them Both" (1997), changing the line "I've come to love them both," to "I've come to know the truth" as the opener for Bruce Jay Friedman's economical play The Trial, a powerful confrontation showing the triumph of the pure at heart. (His characterization of God in his play, "Steambath," made a lasting impression on me. ) Stephen Bradbury and Paul Haller saw themselves as interchangable in playing the two roles.

Singer David Macaluso's opera training allowed me to play a big piano accompaniment to the last song.

Sunday, May 15, 2005

I did go out this weekend. I saw on Saturday "Music from a Sparkling Planet." It had a poignant production beautifully acted and staged at The Amateur Comedy Club, directed with all the non-sequitor challenges surmounted by Scott Glascock, whom I know as a fellow Lamb. This play explains why playwright Douglas Carter Beane wrote the screenplay for the upcoming Bewitched. It also alerts us to the volatility of the late baby boomers who had their deepest relationships with television. The bursting optimism of fictitious TV personality Tamara Tomorrow is stimulating. What will the future bring? There's a Manhattan public access guy who always says what Tamara says in the play, "I'll see You in the Future!" Anyway, as we learn about her past in the play, we observe three mid-life crisis fellows uncover her present whereabouts.

Oh Brave New World!

I didn't live in Phillie where Mr. Beane's fabulous construct is set. The days of neighborhood networks are past; well, we have Manhattan Neighborhood Network, but not those cartoons in syndication... I'm sure we do somewhere.

Do I regret that the highlight of my youth was the films or TV shows that I saw?

I currently also demand unrestricted access to foreign broadcasts.

The other highlight on Sunday was a film that followed the Arlene Grocery Picture Show Screening of "Songs from Prepare to Meet Your Maker #10." What followed was a film called "Farming with Stanley." It's an impressively paced family documentary about a fascinating topic, tobacco, a sticky big leaf plant with tar residue. I want to buy a pack of camels.

There is a feeling of Deja Vu about this film. I spoke with someone about this, perhaps the filmmaker, once before, probably at Anthology during the Dolemite event, and basically repeated the exact questions I asked today. Anyway, I'm glad David Hollander scheduled the two films back to back because it reminds me, I should really considered going to Philip Morris for PTMYM funding.

There was a Camel cigarette photograph, backlit for barroom placement, of a woman, complexion blue as death, with smoke escaping from her face, which caught my eye during our performances at SideWalk.

My noticing and remembering this ad better than a conversation I might have had two months ago is an indication of my late baby boomer status, where an artistic represention, even a Camel Cigarette poster, competes for the sum total of my human experience.

So the farming film is a reminder of how people commerce in the miracles of nature outside of the big cities. Obsessive drudgery is a trap for all, is all I have to say.

Please note, I'm feeling particularly self-centered and down on myself of late because of my abject failure as a husband.

Monday, March 14, 2005

Apparently, arts conventions begin with suites at a hotel, and eventually grow to move to the armory. The organizer, i.e., "divafair," rents the suites and subdivides them into exhibition booths, nice ones at that, with bathrooms... On Sunday, after a walk through the incongrous new Irish Hunger Excavation Site overlooking the majestic Hudson River (Does a speck of ancient construction exist within Battery Park City? I suppose everything there has to be new since it is built upon WTC landfill.), I went to the Embassy Suites Hotel. It is indeed filled with two room suites attached by a hallway that overlooks the lobby atrium, kind of a mini Time Square Marriott Marquis without the wrap around and the 50 floors. This one has six. The third and fourth floor were occupied from March 10th-13th, with the various digital video galleries who joined the divafair. That's, the digital video fair, and the winner is, from the curator of Williamsburg's First Two International Surrealist Film Festivals, who is ever partial to Wago Kreider's "Marvelous Creatures:"

Ivan Toth Depena's video, "Incidental Antinomies," which, for purposes of stimulating the memories of others who may have seen it, may be called "Trees Lit By Street Lamps."

Second Prize: Nomad, by Eva Koch

Alexandre Castonguay converted a Brownie Camera and used its lens. Honorable mention...

And it is always a pleasure to see further incendiary material from the Dada Changed My Life crew... What happened in Fallujah???

The fair was a tribute to the work of Bruce Nauman.

Saturday, February 05, 2005

Was that Rudy Ray Moore on the phone?

From Dave Hollander: that was indeed, rudy ray. thanks for films peter and very nice to meet you. i look forward to watching what you gave us.
On Wednesday, January 26th, Dave Hollander screened a DVD of “Dolemite,” at Anthology, not without first calling Rudy Ray and amplifying his permission and blessing over the P.A.

Rudy Ray is Dolemite. Is the 2005 Sundance’s “Hustle and Flow” a remake?

I learned a lesson in independent filmmaking from the directing. In framing your photoplay, use plenty of light with a mostly stationary camera observing the action from angles mostly unavailable to those seated in the audience of a stage play.

After an hour seated, neck craned, in the front row with Orin Buck, who invited me to this free alcohol/film submission event of which the screening of Dolemite was the centerpiece, I left to enjoy Steve Espinola, Jordan Corbin and Jon Berger at SideWalk. I left Orin, who wanted to vault at the opening credits, enthralled. I wonder how it ended. Well, for all, I hope, for the cast was exceedingly likeable. I stayed long enough to catch Rudy’s titanic rap. That was somehow a toast that gave birth to rap and hip hop. Jon Berger knew about Rudy Ray, as someone others reference. This was all news to me.

I repeat here that the film that comes foremost to mind at the mention of black seventies cinema is Ossie Davis’s, “Cotton Comes to Harlem.” (February 5, 2005, Why didn’t he direct more? He leaves behind a great legacy.)

From Orin: 1/29/2005 1:28:39 PM EST
I'm sorry to say that several people did not end happily -- the other black guy who tried to take over the club died in a hail of bullets. The mayor, after having an angry phonecall in the nude which grossed out the delicate members of the audience in the back, died trying to leave town, shot by the black FBI guy off the wing of his private jet. All in all, I think you were there for the most culturally revealing parts.

Reply . 1/29/2005 2:30:37 PM Eastern Standard Time
Yes, I thought as much. Shot from a jet. Watch out for that... When there is a battle between the bad and the not so bad, some will die. When there is a battle between the good and the not so good, some will live. Rudy Ray is famous for his toasts. I'm glad I caught his titanic rap.

The 80’s rappers owe, from the 70’s, Rudy Ray Moore, who owes, from the 60’s up until the present day, singer songwriter Steve Depass.

Yours truly,

Mantan Moreland.