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THE OTHER STUFF

Whatever doesn't fit elsewhere.

THE BIG ONES

12/5/2019

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​We who read widely have our great loves over our lifetimes, writers and books that somehow form the basis of our lives. Mine would include the Tarzan novels by Edgar Rice Burroughs, Ernest Thompson Seton’s “Biography of a Grizzly,” “The Little Prince,” “The Once and Future King,” “The Lord of the Rings,” Olaf Stapledon’s “Last and First Men” and “Star Maker,” the writings of William Faulkner, Emily Bronte, J.D. Salinger, Arthur C. Clarke, Theodore Sturgeon, Patrick White, Iris Murdoch, Ross Macdonald, Neal Stephenson, Michael Wehunt, Adam Nevill, John Langan, and oh so many more. Some of these may be merely childhood romances, if such love affairs can be considered mere. Some are lifelong friends who have sustained me and continue to do so. Some are new loves, and as with all such one doesn’t yet know exactly how time will sort them out and how they will fit into one’s life, which is of course one reason they are so exciting.
          And then there are those few works that stand apart, whose magnificence break through the canopy of greatness and soar to amazing heights, works that ravish me, amaze me, terrify me, thrill me to the depths of my soul. You probably have a few like that as well. For me they would be “Moby-Dick” by Herman Melville, “Absalom, Absalom!” by William Faulkner, “Gravity’s Rainbow” by Thomas Pynchon, and “One Hundred Years of Solitude” by Gabriel García Márquez. The first two grew out of my high school and college years, and the latter two I encountered as a somewhat mature adult. Each one could be considered the Great American Novel, as long as we let that label embrace the Southern Hemisphere as well as the Northern.
          It is no accident, I think, that all are American.

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GROWING UP READING

11/3/2019

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Introduction: A Facebook friend just asked for examples of works we read as a child that had influenced us. I realized I couldn’t answer in 10 words or less, and I elected to crib passages from my unpublished memoire “To Hell in a Handbasket and Enjoying the Ride." So herewith, wiouth further ado:

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THE REDDENING BY ADAM NEVILL

11/3/2019

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In a recent first gush of excitement I listed Adam Nevill’s “The Reddening” along with John Langan’s “The Fisherman” and Michael Wehunt’s “Greener Pastures” as what I consider the finest achievements in the field of horror in at least the last decade. Now that I have slept on the matter a few days I have not changed my opinion. The two novels and Wehunt’s collection of shorter pieces are fine indeed. In fact, if I toss out the label horror I consider them among the finest new fiction.

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THE WITCH

10/27/2019

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A strange movie. When I first watched it, I greatly admired the care taken with it, the historical accuracy in set and costume design, dialogue that sounded perfect for the 17th century New England, and characterizations both in writing and performance that made you believe that these people actually are living at that time. But I can’t say that I enjoyed it or liked the finished product much at all. The mindset and attitudes of the characters and the circumstances in which they lived oppressed and depressed me too deeply. Too claustrophobic, you might say.
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But people whose opinions I deeply respect had liked the movie hugely. As is my wont when that happens, I felt the need to take another, possibly more than one, look. I decided to purchase a copy on Blu-ray when the price went down so that I could watch it when I felt like it and without any time constraints.
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“A GHOST STORY” REVISITIED

10/20/2019

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When I first watched “A Ghost Story” just over 2 years ago I found myself more bemused than amused. My experience was somewhere between fascination and boredom. (Odd how the one can fall into the other so quickly, especially if there is a hypnotic effect.) But (and I know no other way to say this) it continued to haunt me. I took that as a good sign. I knew I’d be watching it again.

And I did, last evening.

The title might lead you to think this a horror movie. It’s anything but. However, if you find meditations about the vastness of the Universe, or perhaps better Time and Space, and the insignificance of human life measured against that, perhaps for you this will be a horror movie.

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FOLLOWING FINCHER: A LOVE STORY

10/13/2019

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I do love David Fincher. What follows is more a love letter to him than a detailed critical analysis. That being said, I would not love him so much had his work not satisfied some critical creature lurking in my brain. That detailed analysis I will leave to someone with more time and knowledge than I have, and certainly there is a lot in Fincher’s work deserving such attention. Some of that I 
​mention as I move along, and some of it is implied. He is an artist, and he creates works of art. For me, art first must entertain, interest, engage me. In that Fincher succeeds to a degree matched by only a few of his peers. As you will see, in some cases it took me more than one viewing to recognize the brilliance within a particular work. But loving his work as I do, that was an easy and always rewarding undertaking.

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Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker  &  Rain

10/8/2019

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​I had been vaguely aware of Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker but I had never experienced any of her dance work. Until last night, that is. I put on my new Blu-ray of her remarkable piece “Rain” and I was transported. Ten dancers, 3 of them men, the other 7 women. Music by Steve Reich, “Music for 18 Musicians,” some 70 minutes of it. Non-stop dancing

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THE WINNERS OF THE JONATHAN AWARD FOR BEST-LOVED MOVIES OF ALL TIME ARE . . .

10/4/2019

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STUDYING A PHOTOGRAPH

10/2/2019

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(Photograph Copyright 2009 by Andrew Moore)
The photograph we are looking at is Plate 20 in Andrew Moore’s “Blue Alabama.” When I first look at it I see a simple photo taken from a hallway through open double-doors onto a porch where four people are seated in conversation. On the floor is a golden retriever, possibly keeping an eye on the photographer in the hallway. It must be summertime, for the people are wearing shorts. Beyond the porch is the green of the yard, echoing the bit of green I see from a plant on the porch. An attractive portrayal of a peaceful moment.

But every time I return to the picture I find myself moved more deeply by the photograph. It seems more complicated than I first thought. Carefully composed and filled with stillness, it seems to contain movement and life.

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REFLECTIONS UPON READING “THE RITUAL” BY ADAM NEVILL

9/16/2019

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The set-up is simple. Four college friends some 15 years later get together for a camping trip in the wilds of northern Sweden and become lost in an ancient forest. The fears and difficulties in being lost widen cracks in the men’s friendships, those cracks making them even more susceptible to the rigors of being lost. And there seems to be Something out there in the dark.

Here I will not address that Something or even the question of whether it is real or a manifestation of their fears. My focus is on the matter of being lost, possibly hopelessly lost, in the woods.

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