Category Archives: Cinematics

What The Woody Allen Scandal Means For Me, A Very Important Writer

Surely no one wished to be in Woody Allen’s shoes when Dylan Farrow’s new accusations came to light earlier this week. But I assure you, gentle reader, neither did you wish to be me, a Very Important Writer, at that moment. For the news sent me into the kind of turgid self-examination and moral reassessment known only to Very Important Writers, the men to whom the world looks for guidance.

As you are no doubt wondering, how does an allegation of pedophilia make me, a Very Important Writer, feel? As shocking as it may sound to you, this is not a question I could answer immediately.

Foremost on my mind when hearing of Dylan Farrow’s tale of unconscionable sexual abuse and violation of trust was, of course, how would I enjoy Woody Allen’s films again? Could I restrict my enjoyment to one viewing of Annie Hall while sitting on an uncomfortable chair as penance? Would it be more prudent of me to watch his more difficult films such as Interiors instead? It was a quandary not to be considered lightly, and a burden that only I, a Very Important Writer, should be asked to bear.

You can be sure that when I, a Very Important Writer, heard this news, it caused me to pace about my brownstone, lost in the recesses of my Very Important Thoughts. The walls of my humble $3.5 million home soon grew too confining. I phoned up a Very Important Writer friend of mine, but he was busy preparing for the Bread Loaf Conference, and of course also preoccupied pondering the same questions about Woody Allen’s work as I. Could we ever enjoy Allen’s films again, he wondered, and if so what would be a respectable time to wait to do so? We reassured each other that we, two Very Important Writers, should be able to solve these dilemmas in our own due time.

Hoping to clear my head, I took a stroll around my colorful Brooklyn neighborhood, peering in the window of the antique shops and the coffee shops and the charming bistro that used to be a laundromat. I stopped at my favorite watering hole and sipped a 12-year-old scotch while exchanging pleasantries about a local sports team with the ruddy-faced barkeep. I sought solace in a delightful ethnic snack from a food cart while trying out snatches of Catalan I learned during one torrid summer in Barcelona. I believe I made myself understood, for all the deficiencies in my accent, and the considerable drawback that the delightful ethnic snack’s vendor was not from anywhere near Catalonia.

And as I ran across these people, I tried not to burden them with my own burden. To do so would have been unfair, for it is a burden they could not possibly have understood, no matter how much my soul yearned to cry out, You do not understand the grief Dylan Farrow’s lost childhood has caused me, a Very Important Writer.

I returned to my home, which began to seem very much like a prison to me. A prison with an ample garden and vintage pressed tin ceilings, but a prison nonetheless. The latest issue of The New Yorker was waiting in my mailbox, but it gave me no succor, despite a fascinating feature on the oldest bookbinder in Northampton. Nor did I find any relief in a sojourn through an advance reader’s copy of Franzen’s latest, The Tepids of Winona.

Alas, it is only in work that a Very Important Writer can find peace. We are much like the ant in that sense, or the miner, or the humble mechanic who toils on my Audi. And so I resolved to document my inner turmoil, because I wanted you, gentle reader, to know that even I, a Very Important Writer, can not answer every question. I must press forward nonetheless, though I can think of no person who has been hurt more by what Dylan Farrow was subjected to than I, a Very Important Writer.

¡Charlie Cubeta y la Fábrica de Chocolate!

My kid loves to watch movies in Spanish. Not Spanish language movies, but movies she’s already committed to memory with the Spanish audio track turned on. And now that she’s learning to read, she likes to see the Spanish subtitles, too.

I can’t tell you exactly why she likes to do this, but like most of her weirdness, it’s probably my fault. For years, I would bug my wife with questions about how to say this, that, and the other thing in Spanish. As an alternate means to expand my vocabulary, one meant to prevent my wife from murdering me, I began to watch Simpsons DVDs with the Spanish audio track on and Spanish subtitles. This was where I learned such valuable words as chuleta, salchicha, and trasero.

I’m sure my kid saw me doing this at some point in her formative years, because when she was very little, “Simpsons” was her catch-all word for “cartoons.” Now, she now gets really annoyed if she’s watching a DVD only to discover it doesn’t have a Spanish language track. Between DVDs, DVRs, and OnDemand, she lives in a world that denies her nothing. Healthy!

As I am still learning Spanish myself, I’ve been encouraging this curious proclivity of hers. The Harry Potter films are the ones she likes to watch in Spanish most often. (This is how I learned that cicatriz is scar and varita is wand; “muggle” is still “muggle.”) But last night, she asked to watch Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory in Spanish. To call this an experience would be a gross understatement.

Here are some highlights of the bilingual discoveries I made while viewing this classic film en español.

  • Willy Wonka’s Spanish subtitles translated “scrumdiddlyumptious” as “rechupeteanchus.” The audio had a completely different nonsense word that I couldn’t discern because I was laughing too hard.
  • The lyrics to the songs were all rewritten and performed anew. Grandpa Joe’s big number, “I’ve Got a Golden Ticket,” became a tune called “Tengo un billeto de oro.”
  • Charlie Bucket = Charlie Cubeta
  • Augustus Gloop = Augustus Gluton
  • Veruca Salt has a different name, too, but I couldn’t make it out. Also, I distinctly heard her introduce herself to Willy Wonka as Veronica Something, even though Wonka immediately uses Veruca when addressing her.

One thing that suffers in the translation is Willy Wonka himself. As far as I’m concerned, Gene Wilder is responsible for everything great about this movie, and removing his voice from the equation robs the film of some of that greatness.

However, there is one scene in the Spanish version that stands alone. It doesn’t surpass the original, but rather tears a whole in its reality and creates a new, terrifying universe unto itself.

I am speaking of the ultra-creepy boat scene. I will not attempt to capture exactly why this is so much more unsettling in Spanish. It defies explanation, and is something you need to experience. Think this scared the crap out of you before? That’s nothing compared to this. Once I saw it, my life was transformed, and now yours will be, too.

A Life in Felt

This weekend, I went to the Museum of the Moving Image in Astoria for the first time. I’ve lived in the New York area my whole life, in the city itself for 16 years, and in Queens for 5, and yet never been there before. Shame on me, for it is awesome. Where else could you see some of the oldest movie cameras ever built and an actual Yoda from The Empire Strikes Back, and make a video flipbook of yourself doing the herky-jerky dance from Mr. Show? (After doing this, I neglected to purchase it, so double-shame on me.)

The main reason I went there is for a new exhibit about Jim Henson that runs through January 2012. And if you live anywhere near NYC and don’t go see it between now and then, shame on you, for it too is awesome. (If you want a sneak peek, peep this preview from Gothamist.)

The greatest thing about the show is how it has artifacts from Henson’s career/creative output going all the way back to the 1950s. You can see just how early his odd, unique vision took shape, in everything from little doodles to the first puppets he made. You also see how much work he did for commercials and industrial films in the 1960s. These ads look positively deranged now, so I can’t imagine what they looked like to an audience that was still grappling with the idea of the Beatles.

While he was making these ads to pay the bills, he was desperately trying to find a more creative outlet for his vision. The exhibit is filled with prototypes and proposals for different shows (of the TV and live variety) that never came to fruition. (One of them inexplicably involves Johnny Carson, I’m almost positive without Johnny’s knowledge.) Even knowing that he would become enormously successful in the future, these stabs in the dark are almost heartbreaking to view.

The thing that stood out for me while viewing the exhibit was how Jim Henson managed something almost impossible: life-affirming anarchy. A “no rules” attitude is usually associated with nihilism, and yet Henson managed to convey a positive outlook on life while also creating universes in which things constantly blew up and gotten eaten.

He strikes me as a more mischievous version of Charles Schulz, another person who made positive art with a dark undercurrent. And also like Schulz, Henson managed to license his creations for every product imaginable yet never really “sell out”. They were both so resolutely anti-cynical that it was nearly impossible for their creations to be corrupted, even when rendered in other forms. Although from what I know about Schulz, he seems to have been a much darker, more damaged individual than Henson, who was a workaholic but appeared to have his head and life together. (If you know about Henson’s life than I do, feel free to not correct me.)

The Muppets were a stealth influence on me, one that I didn’t quite get or remember until I was older. When I was a kid, there were two items I asked my grampa to tape for me and watched at his house constantly, almost as much as Charlie Brown specials. One was a Channel 5 airing of The Muppet Movie, which holds up pretty well I think. (The Steve Martin cameo in particular is fantastic.)

The other was a Muppets 30th anniversary special that aired in 1986. Aside from containing some rare, weird clips from the Muppets’ early days (like a DC-area kids show called Sam and Friends and appearances by Rowlf on a Jimmy Dean variety show), the special itself has some amazingly elaborate set pieces. Like an entire ballroom filled with basically every Muppet ever, all of them interacting with each other. There’s also some truly touching moments in it. I’ve watched it and been moved to tears more than once (and only been drunk a few of those times).

This is the first part of that special; not digitized by me, as my copy has been watched so many times the VHS tape is practically transparent. The other parts are easily found on the YouTubes and more than worth your time. As is the MOMI exhibit. Go yesterday.