Backyard Ashes

‘Casablanca’ has slipped a rung in the list of the greatest movies ever made.  ‘Backyard Ashes!’ Bergman’s ‘The Seventh Seal’ has got nothing on it.  That chess game is dead boring by comparison. The drama! The pathos! The barbecue! The googley! It has everything!  And it has more!  
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‘Citizen Kane,’ move over.  This is an instant classic.  ‘Last Year at Marienbad’ is so last century. Why bother? [Confession: I thought that at the time.] But before cinema history is revised let’s go back to the beginning.
Blue ticket in hand I set out from the Ack-comedy on the 370 bus which wound about to Coogee Bay Road where I dismounted and walked around the corner to the Randwick Ritz, an Art Deco picture palace.  Leaving the wind and the rain behind I flashed the receipt on my iPhone and entered.  The password was ‘Cinema 2, on the right.’
The Best and Brightest showcase, unanswered emails, summer projects, the Machiavelli exhibit, the British International Studies Association conference paper, the remaining 400 pages of James Joyce’s ‘Ulysses,’ the Prague utopian presentation PowerPoint, mysteries of the slate roof, all of these fell behind in a thrice. The lights went off and the magic started.  
After some initial stereotypes to set up the people, the place, and the tensions, time flew by all too quickly.  There was so much snorting and guffawing I am sure I missed some imperishable dialogue. A fellow nearby slid off his chair laughing.  At the end several patrons seemed unable to move, paralytic with amusement.  
Shades of Big Merv, the key in the wicket, Dennis the Mo, Richie, body line, to say nothing of the specter of BRADMAN which hangs over it all with Wilma and Mack.  Best for last, that ball from Seven-Eleven.  
Oh, and the cat!  
If only Roger Ebert could see this.  He’d love it for what it is: Warm, witty, wise, and wonderful. Just like Wagga Wagga.
I do feel sorry for the professional critics who have to find fault with it, e.g. ‘rough around the edges,’ ‘a cast that combines professionals with some amateurs inevitably…‘ Here’s a perfect example: ‘Wearing its heart and hopes on its sleeve may help patch over the repetition and derivation that monopolises the movie; however, the passion of the production can’t conceal the standard and less-so elements,’ says one reviewer on ArtsHub giving it a measly two stars from five. But wait, ‘repetition and derivation that monopolises the movie,’ what does that mean? How can ‘derivation’ ‘monopolise’ anything. Is this Monash English? Only a self-described film critic can answer that. This Einstein also finds the references to cricket in a movie about cricket to be annoying. Go figure. I know what Spock would say…. [In this case, Spock is one of the cricket players.]
Such reviews are as infantile and self-obsessed as 90% of posts on Trip Advisor. This film is a GEM.

Grover Cleveland: A Biography of the President Whose Uncompromising Honesty and Integrity Failed America in a Time of Crisis (1968) by Rexford Tugwell.

After reading the condescending remarks about William Jennings Bryan’s lack of presidential intellect it was amusing to read this study of two-term president Cleveland who was Bryan’s exact contemporary. Bryan got by with the Bible for reading, Cleveland’s horizon did extend even that far. He never read a book and never opened an atlas. Never left the United States, and only made one trip around the country when president. For a politician he was nearly anti-social.

Continue readingGrover Cleveland: A Biography of the President Whose Uncompromising Honesty and Integrity Failed America in a Time of Crisis (1968) by Rexford Tugwell.”

Dido and Aeneas

We festivaled again last night: ‘DIdo and Aeneas’ at the Lyric Theatre in Star City (wasn’t that the name of the Soviet space exploration site) Casino.
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Before show time we walked around looking at the glitz, and there is a lot of it. But mostly what strikes the observer is the ranks of ATMs for quick cash! They are everywhere by the ranks, well not quite everywhere, none in the bog. (Probably next time.)
http://www.sydneyfestival.org.au/2014/Music/Dido-Aeneas/
We entrained from old Macdonaldtown Station, rather than Newtown, seeking as always a new sensation, and then took the tram from Central Station, all on our blue tickets! Smooth sailing, oops, smooth railing is more accurate.
Time came take out seats and the show began, and what a show! The water tank at the beginning was beguiling, fascinating, confusing, metaphorical, and appropriate. I am sure if Henry Purcell (1659-1695) could have done in his day, he would have. He loved a show himself. The combination of dance, opera, drama, and some slap-schtick worked for us.
It took a moment to realize that Dido and Aeneas had two representatives on stage, a singer and a dancer. Purists fainted at that I am sure. But I recalled Luis Buñel once cast three women as a single character in a film, saying he wanted to make the character complex and he could not decide which of the actresses could do that best, so he used all three!
The energy, the spectacle, the wit, the movement, the pathos, the drama, and that water tank were all good.
By the way, the program notes, which are all too often as banal as sports talk, are very cogent about the aim of the production — to balance the three major components of drama, dance, and song — and to return to Virgil’s story of exile and the synthesis of love and hate. And most of all, of course, the choice of Aeneas to accept his duty, his fate and leave Dido for Rome.
Pedants note, The Aeneid has always left me cold from my first effort to read it in college to a couple of repeated attempts including an audio version bellowed out by Simon Callow, who always seem to bellow even when whispering, something about voice projection. While I enjoyed this show, it did not inspire me to try Virgil again.

Custer’s Last Stand

Death on the Greasy Grass (2013) by C. M. Wendelboe. Recommended.
This title is part of a series called ‘Spirit Road’ set in Montana among the contemporary Lakota, Cheyenne, and Crow peoples and the Europeans and Asians who now populate that part of the world. The protagonists are an FBI Agent Emmanual Tanno a Lakota by birth and his long time friend and fishing buddy Police Chief Willie Deer Slayer, a Crow. It is a police procedural set among rolling pastures of a thousand acres, cowboy bunk houses, horse auctions, and the Big Sky of Montana. Once seen there is nothing else to call it but Big Sky.
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When an artifacts dealer is killed by accident in a re-enactment of Custer’s Last Stand at the Little Big Horn which the victorious Sioux called the Battle on the Greasy Grass, there is more to it than at first meets the eye. Manny comes from an ancient line of Sioux Spirit Walkers, but as a modern and educated man he rejects all that tribal mumbo-jumbo, and yet … he sometimes sees things that others, not even Willie standing right there with him, do not see.
The plot is convoluted enough to retain interest, and the drunken sot Sam Star Dancer is full of surprises. Aspiring senator Wilson Eagle Cloud is too good to be true, or is he? As beautiful as Cheona Star Dancer is, the closer Manny gets to her the more he senses the glacial, calculating cold in her being. Jim Hawkins is a world class bully, and the elusive Carson Degas is a murderous thug. All in all a nice cast of prospects and suspects to keep any investigator investigating.
Willie’s shooting is an appealing human drama as is the vexation of his fiancée and Manny’s wife with all those damn guns these crazy Indians have.
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The spirit mysticism fades from the story in the last one hundred pages and the final shoot out seems by-the-numbers.
I found the first fifty pages tedious before the action started, and I was annoyed that so many of the characters had the same mannerisms, dutifully described, like chin-pointing or sucking chewing tobacco in the same way. That seemed to me to be the padding of an insecure author. But once the characters were in place and events began to move, these annoyances were less distracting. I never did quite understand what the early interspersed chapters from June 1876 had to do with the story. Nonetheless, I will certainly read another in this series.

The Ordeal of Woodrow Wilson by Herbert Hoover (1958)

This is a book about a president by a former president. It is unique and must reading for presidentialistas. It is all the more distinctive since Wilson was a Democrat and Hoover a Republican.
Could it happen again? Would a Republican Bush write a tribute to a Democrat Kennedy? Or a Democrat Clinton to a Republican Reagan?
The ordeal is the war and the peace of the Great War 1914-1917, though it only concerns the American participation in the War 1917-1918. Hoover was enmeshed in Europe from 1914 on in organizing food aid for first Belgium and then France, and from November 1918 onward for all of Europe as far east as the Volga River in Russia. It was colossal undertaking that just got bigger.
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Hoover worked for Wilson in several capacities, directly and indirectly in these years and some of the work was very intense, urgent, and truly life-and-death. I have traced some of Hoover’s astonishing humanitarian efforts in the review of the Hoover presidential library elsewhere on this blog.
The book was written forty years after the events it describes when Hoover was in his twilight years.
There is no indication that Hoover kept a diary at the time but he certainly kept copious files. In addition to the papers he himself had, Hoover also consulted reams of declassified official files to which he had easy access and he was assiduous.
There is no doubt that Hoover had a great admiration and respect for Wilson, as an intellect, as a moral champion, as a tenacious reformer, as a titan for work, as a man of personal rectitude, and more. He writes in glowing terms of Wilson in nearly each chapter.
The book compiles a great deal of detail on the points it touches. We read about the pounds of wheat in a shipment, or the number of delegates seated around the table at a committee meeting. It rehearses the arguments made in dark days when much of Europe was starving to death between 1917-1919. It produces an anatomy of the enduring antagonism between the French and Germans, the racial hatreds among the Balkan peoples, territorial ambitions of every country involved with the Treaty of Versailles. I certainly found some of that eye-opening.
Yet there is no insight whatever into the subject Wilson. In fact, apart from some laudatory paragraphs at the beginning and end of each chapter, Wilson only appears in the book to support Hoover, to agree with Hoover, to praise Hoover, to ask for Hoover’s help, etc. More than anything else it reads like a log of their business dealings from Hoover’s side.
Robert Lansing, Secretary of State for Wilson, appears here to be the absolutely straight arrow he is seen as in others studies of the time. I stress this because he has sometimes been belittled in Wilson’s shadow. Jack Pershing seems to have been the very man for the hour; when he spoke everyone listened. The rank of general ratified what he already was, a leader. In these pages Georges Clemenceau certainly lives up to his reputation as the Tiger, completely unyielding, hoping to destroy in the peace every German who survived the war. Winston Churchill is preoccupied with retaining the British Empire, despite espousing Wilson’s Fourteen Points. Colonel Edward House is constantly moving here and there though he holds no position, except as Wilson’s friend, a very small club that.
There are a few striking anecdotes. During the Armistice and the never-ending peace talks, American army officers, numbering a thousand or more, were sent all over Europe to keep track of the American food aid flooding across Europe. Long after they had been recalled Hoover got a personal letter from a lieutenant at a railway station in East Prussia who was still recording the train cars going past, asking if he could please get a new winter coat, apologizing for contacting Hoover directly but doing so because no one in the chain of command, long since disbanded unbeknownst to him, had replied to his previous requests. Upon checking Hoover found this dutiful lieutenant from that dreary East Prussian train depot had been telegraphing data to an empty office in Paris for eight months. Hoover made sure this forgotten man was recalled immediately and treated him to a luxurious few days in Paris before sending him to his unit to be demobilized.
Of greater moment are Hoover’s descriptions of the negotiations in Paris. More than ninety governments were represented in one way or another, each anxious to retain every foot of territory and every citizen it claimed, each ready to take more territory and citizens with a list of historic grievances to support expansion, each proclaiming Wilson’s Fourteen Points while violating them, none willing to make a single concession, each distrustful of all the others. What an atmosphere! Moreover, many delegations were even more deeply divided internally. The newly created Republic of Banat (look it up) had a fractious delegation of twelve who each insisted on going around en bloc because not one of them trusted another out of sight. To put one of them on a committee meant putting all twelve on. In other cases there were two or three rival delegations each claiming to represent, say, Osteria. Which one speaks for Osteria?
Rufus T. Firefly of ‘Duck Soup’ would be the straight man here. An ordeal indeed for any sane, rational man trying to do the right thing in such a ninety-ring circus.
Hoover defends Wilson from the common charge of being a hopelessly naive idealist with a compelling and convincing list of the material achievements Wilson made in Europe starting with ending the war, saving tens of millions of starving people, undermining the tide of communism, displacing some murderous tyrants who had risen from the ashes in Eastern Europe, establishing the International Court of Justice at the Hague, creating the International Labor Organization in Geneva, and founding the League of Nations which in turn did much forgotten good and paved the way for the United Nations and the international organizations that exist today.
But most of all Hoover credits Wilson with inserting into the vocabulary of international relations the language of rights, conscience, liberation and freedom that did not exist prior to his oratory. One might say that Wilson translated the emancipatory rhetoric of the the King James Bible into statesmanship, supplanting the existing language of gunboats, maps, spheres on influence, mandates, concessions, and survey lines. That Wilsonian rhetoric remains today. spoken by people with no knowledge or interest in the man Woodrow Wilson.
It is not an easy book to read for many chapters consist of quotation after quotation from speeches, committee reports, newspaper articles, diplomatic assessments, letters, and telegrams strung together with a few transitional remarks from Hoover. In hindsight Hoover has no second thoughts and no feel for the human drama all around him in those meeting rooms. But what raw material for novelist! Bring on Frank Moorhouse of ‘Grand Days,’ Georges Simenon of ‘The President,’ or George-Marc Benamou of ‘The Ghost of Munich.’
I hesitated to read this book since I found the Herbert Hoover in retirement portrayed the biography I have already read of him so bitter and unforgiving I supposed this book would be merely a record of that. Only a few asides did I perceive that rancor, primed to see it as I was. It would probably not trouble most readers who were not aware of Hoover’s ripened bile.
The forward by Senator Mark Hatfield adds little to the book.

Mariette in Ecstasy

Ron Hansen, Mariette in Ecstasy (1991). A novel that is recommended for adults, especially we sinners.
A short novel from a Nebraska writer that is partly a meditation on faith in the unseen and partly a study of human jealousy, envy, and love wrought in a spare prose that gives as much prominence to the sway of grass in the breeze as the characters in 60,000 unadorned words.
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Mariette, a young postulant in a convent, is more religious, more faithful, more devout, more self-sacrificing than seems humanly possible. Several of the sisters conclude she has been touched by the hand of grace, while others suppose that she is an attention-seeking fraud.
A cult of Mariette begins and in the end it seems best to expel her. She is disruptive in punishing herself, in passing sleepless nights in prayer, in doing the work or two…
When confronted by skeptics, cynics, and disbelievers she submits to their depredations with a beatific smile.
Yet the skeptics, the cynics, the disbelievers, and the conservatives who expel her do so to preserve the delicate balance of convent community. No cardboard villains they.
The reader is left to wonder what the truth is about Mariette, or to wonder if the truth matters at all.
Perhaps Mariette is a saint and this is how saints are now reviled.
The time in the very early 1900s and the place seems to be Canada. But neither of those is important. The only reality is inside the convent.

Hoover Presidential Library – Recommended

I read a biography of Hoover (reviewed elsewhere on this blog) and found the man in retirement shown there to be unsympathetic and unimpressive. However that experience bore unexpected fruit. Having driven by the exit for the Hoover Library more than once on I-80 I decided to have a look next time. The time came in November 2013.
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To anticipate the conclusion, I found the Hoover presented there far more interesting and complex than that sullen ex-president I had read about. I left with no doubt that Hoover was a great man (defined as someone who does things few others possibly could) and that his great deeds were done before he became president.
He took the oath of office in March 1929 and The Great Depression started with a cataclysm in November of that year. Yes, he tried to stem it and ameliorate it but with little Congressional co-operation (which FDR later enjoyed). He got run over by History.

What great things did he do earlier? He was in England when World War I started and was one of the principal organizers of a boat-lift to evacuate about 15,000 Americans from Great Britain. There he, and the world, found the seed of his genius. He was a dynamic and innovative organizer.

He then led a food relief program in 1914-1917 for Belgium (the neutrality of which had been ignored by the belligerents), negotiating with American, French, German, and Belgium governments to import food to Antwerp throughout the war. When the United States ended neutrality and entered the war, Hoover’s program expanded to France. At times the program was giving a hot lunch to three million people a day!

In order to attract the donations to support it, he identified himself closely with the program and poured in his own money (made out of mining in Australia), encouraging others to do so as well. They did, the Astors, Rockefellers, Vanderbilts, and their kind. Most of the money he raised from private donors. He asked millionaires for millions, and got it.

At the time and later this program elicited such an outpouring of thanks that it still reverberates. He made millions of friends for himself and for the United States.

When the United States entered the war, President Wilson asked Hoover to look after food at home. He did. There were meatless Mondays, milk-less Tuesdays, flour-less Wednesday, and so on, to conserve food (and so free manpower for war work and the army). He advocated the use of cooking oil in place of lard (used in packing cartridges). It was the patriotic duty on the home front to be ‘With Hoover’ in these practices. He was on the radio, in the newspapers, on the stump explaining why this was to be done. He was whirlwind.

When the war ended he went back to Europe to oversee European-wide food relief for France, Germany, Belgium, Austria and more. He was akin to a one-man Marshall Plan, raising money with one hand and ladling out soup with the other. His double effort in Europe saved millions of lives, earning the amity of a generation. Few other presidents made so many friends for the USA.

When Calvin Coolidge succeeded to the presidency, he appointed Hoover Secretary of Commerce. The whirlwind increased its speed! He was soon called the Secretary for Everything. Here he is at his desk in the museum.
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But this cartoon from the explanatory video conveys much more. Click it and see for yourself.
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He promoted vaccines for children, and raised the money from private donors to support it. He also drove a national program for standardization of everything from screw heads to milk bottles, arguing that the lack of standardization was crippling the economy and destroying private life because it consumed untold time and money. On one side of town milk bottles were one shape and size and on the other side they were different. He set up committees with governors and simply would not leave the room until they agreed on a plan to reduce expensive and time consuming variations.

So many of the standards we assume today, he made into reality. Too bad his like is not with us today to impose standards on the IT world.

In 1927 the Mississippi River flooded, killing scores and displacing thousands. President Coolidge recognized it as a national disaster and he sent one man to deal with it: Herbert Hoover. The next day tent cities and field kitchens sprouted along the shores, and hundreds of thousands of American slept on Hoover cots and ate a Hoover lunch (soup and bread). These were the first Hoovervilles. Here he was a one-man FEMA (look it up).

In 1928 Hoover walked into the Republican nomination and defeated Democrat Al Smith, a Tammany Hall wet who did not hold even the Solid South, such was Hoover’s command.

Then the freight train of HISTORY roared into view …..

The Hoover Library, the smallest of the Presidential Libraries, is wonderful.
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The presentations are multi-media with plenty of buttons and bells for kids. It includes artifacts from his life, like European mails bags full of letters of thanks, and newspaper cartoons. It pulls no punches about the Depression and his inability to cope with it. Once again the National Parks Department sets the standard for conveying history briefly but in a compelling manner even to a jaded cynic with a made-up mind.

The two room house he was born in is on the grounds. From this modest beginning….
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Pel goes West

Krimienologists take note. Mark Hebden, Pel among the Pueblos (1987). Recommended.
I read some Pel books in the 1980s and then moved on. It is a pleasure now to renew acquaintance with the irascible Chief Inspector Pel, the scourge of wrong doers on his patch of Burgundy. Clapping villains in irons was the greatest pleasure of his miserable life, that is, until he met the subsequent Madame Pel….
Hebden wrote a score of these titles and his daughter took over when he passed away.
In this entry Pel is in full flight, literally, since a particularly complicated murder takes him our of Burgundy. Shudder. But at least not to the sink of iniquity, Paris. But rather to Mexico City! For a man who had never left Burgundy it was a terrible experience. It got worse when he tried to eat!
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Worse still when the inquiry stretched on and he feared he had not brought enough cigarettes. Though ever dutiful to Madame Pel’s injunctions, he did try to quit, several times a day.
I loved the Mexican detective Barribal who knew what to do and how to do it, though not the way Per would. Certainly not!
Meanwhile back in God’s country, Burgundy, the team gets on with nabbing some pretty tricky villains.
Along the way I found out a little about the Emperor Maximillan’s ill-fated time in Mexico, and the intricacies of auto insurance in France.