The Upcoming Animation Celebration

Film, Film, Film (1970), a short animated film by Soviet director
Fyodor Khitruk, was chosen as one of our 250 great animated short films.

During the past two months, I’ve been working with some friends on the IMDb Classic Film message board to create a list of 250 great animated short films.  It’s our follow-up to our 2009 list of 100 Important Directors of Animated Short Films.  Two days ago, we completed our new list and announced it on IMDb.  Now I’m preparing to share and explore the list here over the course of 21 days, an essay per day.

Our 21 Essays celebration of great animated shorts begins September 10.  The first essay will provide the entire list and then subsequent entries will approach the list thematically.  Naturally, there’ll be plenty of links to the films for all to enjoy.

After that series, I’m anticipating that the months of October, November, and December will be relatively quiet on 21 Essays.  I’ll return to a relaxed schedule of randomly selecting years in search of quality essay series.  Then, for Christmastide (December 25 to January 5), I hope to run a 21 Essays series on a Christmas topic, much like last year’s exploration of Christina Rossetti’s “In the Bleak Midwinter.”

After that…  well, we’ll see.  There are lots of possibilities.

© 2012 Lee Price

1812 and the Fairmount Water Works

1811-1815 Blogging, Part 5 of 5
Fairmount Water Works

In these long breaks between the signature 21 Essays series, I relax by considering possibilities for future series.  I spin the roulette wheel to pick a year (or set of years) and then brainstorm on some potential essay topics.  This time the wheel spins, gradually slows, then clicks to a stop, pointing at:  1811-1815. 

So here’s my fourth 1811-1815 series possibility:  21 essays on the Fairmount Water Works in Philadelphia.

The Fairmount Water Works in December 1984.
U.S. Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division.
Source:  Wikimedia Commons

Designed by Frederick Graff, the Fairmount Water Works was instantly acclaimed for both its state-of-the-art engineering and for its aesthetic beauty.  The engineering supplied clean water to the entire city through a giant new reservoir built on the top of Faire Mount, a hill directly behind the Water Works.  In order to create the inviting and attractive appearance of the Water Works, Graff proposed a Classical Revival exterior that created an oasis of Arcadian beauty amid the growing industrial city.  Tourists flocked to it.

Recently restored to feature an interpretive center and restaurant, the Fairmount Water Works are still a beautiful Philadelphia attraction… with one caveat.  Originally, the Water Works was designed to be the visual centerpiece of this section of the Schuylkill River.  However, with the construction of the enormous Philadelphia Museum of Art in the 1920s, the perfectly proportioned yet much smaller Fairmount Water Works was dwarfed.  To get the appropriate 19th century image, view the Water Works from across the Schuylkill River and mentally photoshop out the colossal museum towering above it.  If you squint just right, you’ll get a glimpse of Arcadia on the banks of the Schuylkill.

It would take a full 21 essays to begin to cover the science, architecture, and history of the Fairmount Water Works, one of Philadelphia’s most enduring institutions.  I’d even be following in the footsteps of Charles Dickens, who was mightily impressed by the Water Works during his 1842 visit to Philadelphia:  “The Water-Works, which are on a height near the city, are no less ornamental than useful, being tastefully laid out as a public garden, and kept in the best and neatest order.”

Fairmount Water Works, 1860-1910, from the Robert N. Dennis
Collection of Stereoscopic Views at the New York Public Library.
Source:  Wikimedia Commons

This is the last of my official 1811-1815 ideas (with no promises that I’ll necessarily be getting to any of them…).

Next year(s) up on the random year(s) generator:  1401-1425.  But you’ll need to be patient.  Our tour of the early 15th century must wait at least a month because I’m planning something special for 21 Essays in September.  More about that tomorrow…

© 2012 Lee Price

1811-1815 and the Austen Novels

1811-1815 blogging, part 4 of 5

Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, and Emma

In these long breaks between the signature 21 Essays series, I relax by considering possibilities for future series.  I spin the roulette wheel to pick a year (or set of years) and then brainstorm on some potential essay topics.  This time the wheel spins, gradually slows, then clicks to a stop, pointing at:  1811-1815. 

So here’s my fourth 1811-1815 series possibility:  21 essays on the Bennets, Dashwoods, and Woodhouses, along with their relatives, neighbors, friends, and foils.

First edition of
Sense and Sensibility.
Source:  Wikimedia Commons

During this brief period of 1811 to 1815, Jane Austen enjoyed the publication of most of her greatest works:  Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, Mansfield Park, and Emma.  This was the age of Austen.  Or maybe we’re still in the age of Austen—I imagine it was easier to ignore her in 1815 than it is to ignore her omnipresence today in the age of the Masterpiece Theater mini-series and Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.

“Jane Austen is worth reading all through—even her fragments are remarkable,” the American critic Edmund Wilson wrote to Vladimir Nabokov.  And it was through Nabokov that I learned that it was okay for boys to read Jane Austen.  In his Lectures on Literature, Nabokov walks his students through Mansfield Park, pointing them toward the precision details of her artistry.  While I was born too late to attend a Nabokov lecture, he still served as a literary mentor of mine and I’ll always appreciate that he led me to Austen.

For a 21 essays series, I could do a gallery of 21 characters brought to life by Austen.  They might include:  Elinor Dashwood, Marianne Dashwood, Fanny Dashwood, John Willoughby, Lucy Steele, Colonel Brandon, Elizabeth Bennet, Mr. Bennet, Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Darcy, Lydia Bennet, Charles Bingley, Caroline Bingley, George Wickham, William Collins, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Emma Woodhouse, George Knightley, Frank Churchill, Harriet Smith, and Henry Woodhouse.*  These characters should constitute a very impressive gallery of human behavior, circa 1800 (and today as well).

* Note:  You may notice that I’ve left out Mansfield Park from the character gallery above.  Unfortunately, Mansfield Park was the first Austen novel that I read and it just didn’t click with me.  Since then, I’ve loved everything else so I know that I need to return to it.  But until I do, I’m sticking with the three Austen novels from 1811-1815 that I genuinely treasure.

The Bennet family at home.  A Pride and Prejudiceillustration by Hugh Thomson,
circa 1894.
Source:  Wikimedia Commons

Tomorrow, I’ll propose the last of these 1811-1815 ideas (with no promises that I’ll necessarily be getting to any of them…).  But I’m wide open to other suggestions.  Any ideas for 1811-1815 places, books, poems, songs, paintings, or other cultural artifacts that might inspire a good 21 Essays series?

© 2012 Lee Price

1811-1815 and Goya's Disasters of War

1811-1815 blogging, part 3 of 5

The Disasters of War

In these long breaks between the signature 21 Essays series, I relax by considering possibilities for future series.  I spin the roulette wheel to pick a year (or set of years) and then brainstorm on some potential essay topics.  This time the wheel spins, gradually slows, then clicks to a stop, pointing at:  1811-1815. 

So here’s my third 1811-1815 series possibility:  21 essays on The Disasters of War.

The Disasters of War, plate 15:  "And It Can't Be Helped"
by Francisco Goya.
Source:  Wikimedia Commons

Thirty-five years after the death of the great Spanish painter Francisco Goya, his series of aquatint prints called The Disasters of War (Los desastres de la guerra) were published in 1863.  Goya had worked on these 82 prints between 1810 and 1820.  During those years, he was in his sixties and largely out of favor with the court where he had once enjoyed star status.  A serious illness had left him deaf.  His wife died in 1812.  And he observed his country being torn apart by war.

The Disasters of War are a cry of outrage at man’s inhumanity to man.  They are unflinching in their portrayals of war’s horror and ugliness.  There are no heroes.  The bodies of victims are mangled and dismembered.  Their killers are ordinary-looking people casually resorting to sadistic violence.  The very lack of sentimentality within the prints is what makes them such a powerful and pessimistic anti-war statement.

It’s difficult to imagine the amount of work that Goya must have expended on a work that he must have known was unpublishable.  Perhaps it was an artistic obsession that he knew he simply had to work through.  Or possibly he recorded these scenes for posterity—in the hope that someday people would see his depictions of atrocities and say, “Never again.”  The prints are available now for our meditation and they remain as sadly relevant as they were in Goya’s day.

The Disasters of War, plate 3:  "The Same Thing,"
by Francisco Goya.
Source:  Wikimedia Commons

Over the next two days, I’ll be proposing some more 1811-1815 ideas (with no promises that I’ll necessarily be getting to any of them…).  But I’m wide open to other suggestions.  Any ideas for 1811-1815 places, books, poems, songs, paintings, or other cultural artifacts that might inspire a good 21 Essays series?

© 2012 Lee Price

1811-1815 and Pennsylvania German Redware

1811-1815 blogging, part 2 of 5

Pennsylvania German Redware

In these long breaks between the signature 21 Essays series, I relax by considering possibilities for future series.  I spin the roulette wheel to pick a year (or set of years) and then brainstorm on some potential essay topics.  This time the wheel spins, gradually slows, then clicks to a stop, pointing at:  1811-1815. 

So here’s my second 1811-1815 series possibility:  21 essays on Pennsylvania German redware.

Dish made by Thomas Vickers and Son, West Whiteland
Township, Pennsylvania, c. 1805-1822.  Redware,
lead glaze, slip decoration.  Diameter:  7 1/16 inches.
From the collection of the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Pennsylvania German redware is beautiful.  German immigrants brought their pottery-making know-how with them when they crossed the Atlantic, and they found good clay here to continue to refine their craftsmanship.  They would frequently decorate it with slips (white liquid clay) or scratch designs through the glazing, a technique called sgraffitto.  The dominant color was red, the secondary color was yellow, and greens and other colors could be used for additional decoration.

Most of the redware was utilitarian.  The clay made handsome plates—often the plain ones are as ruggedly striking in appearance as the more ornately designed ones.  In addition, redware was used for beakers, bottles, pitchers, platters, pie plates, jars, and flower pots.  In a more relaxed vein, it made delightful children’s toys.

This period of 1811 to 1815 was a high point for Pennsylvania’s redware potters.  The best surviving pieces show an art that’s reached a high level of craftsmanship but hasn’t settled into either routine designs or baroque experimentation.  Nowadays, fine pieces of antique redware can fetch high prices at auction.  It’s come into vogue.  And modern potters continue to practice the craft, now using glazes without the original lead formula that you find on the old pieces (don’t eat off the antiques!).

My favorite collections of Pennsylvania German redware are on permanent exhibit at the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the Mercer Museum (Doylestown, PA).  I’m thinking that for a 21 Essays series I could simply pick out 21 favorite items from one of these collections and write an essay apiece.  It’s time to give these anonymous craftsmen their due.

Beaker:  Made in Montgomery
County, PA.  Artist/maker:
Unknown.  1800-1820.
From the collection of the
Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Over the next three days, I’ll be proposing some more 1811-1815 ideas (with no promises that I’ll necessarily be getting to any of them…).  But I’m wide open to other suggestions.  Any ideas for 1811-1815 places, books, poems, songs, paintings, or other cultural artifacts that might inspire a good 21 Essays series?

© 2012 Lee Price

1812 and the Academy of Natural Sciences

1812 blogging, part 1 of 5

Academy of Natural Sciences

In these long breaks between the signature 21 Essays series, I relax by considering possibilities for future series.  I spin the roulette wheel to pick a year (or set of years) and then brainstorm on some potential essay topics.  This time the wheel spins, gradually slows, then clicks to a stop, pointing at:  1811-1815. 

So here’s my first 1812 series possibility:  21 essays on the Academy of Natural Sciences.

From 1912:  The Academy of Natural Sciences on its 100th birthday.
Source:  Wikimedia Commons

Founded in 1812, the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia turned 200 this year.  Now renamed the Academy of Natural Sciences of Drexel University, this is a year of celebration for the venerable institution and they’ve fittingly rolled out a special exhibit and a marvelous book of wonders (see picture below).

Long before I moved to the Philadelphia area and visited the Academy for the first time, I read all about the Academy of Natural Sciences in my dinosaur books.  In my young mind, the Academy was a sacred place—the home of Joseph Leidy who identified America’s first dinosaur fossils, the exhibit hall of the first mounted dinosaur skeleton, and a learned society that claimed titans like Thomas Jefferson, Charles Darwin, Richard Owen, Georges Cuvier, Edward Drinker Cope, and Thomas Henry Huxley among its members.  (And those are just the fossil/evolution guys—I’m leaving out John James Audubon, William Bartram, Thomas Say, Alexander Wilson, John Edwards Holbrook, Thomas Nuttall, John Cassin etc. etc. etc. who trail blazed in other natural science arenas.)

I’m happy to have enjoyed many associations with the Academy during the past couple of decades.  My son served as a volunteer there for six years, I have friends among the staff, and my place of business has worked on the conservation treatment of some of their most remarkable collections.  But despite my familiarity with the Academy, it remains a privilege to walk through their doors.  It’s still sacred space to me.

Unfortunately, the clock is ticking down on their anniversary year…  If I’m going to get my act together and celebrate their 200th anniversary in the appropriate year, I’ve only got four months left to do it!  Maybe in November…  And if not in November, maybe they’ll understand a belated happy birthday card sometime early next year—an appreciation crammed with 21 essays on one of the world’s greatest science institutions.

Published this year, A Glorious Enterprise:
The Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia
and the Making of American Science
by Robert McCracken Peck and
Patricia Tyson Stroud.

Over the next four days, I’ll be proposing some more 1811-1815 ideas (with no promises that I’ll necessarily be getting to any of them…).  But I’m wide open to other suggestions.  Any ideas for 1811-1815 places, books, poems, songs, paintings, or other cultural artifacts that might inspire a good 21 Essays series?

© 2012 Lee Price

1965 Bonus List: Some Great Movies

1965 blogging, bonus list!

32 Great Movies from 1965

To conclude our festival of 1965, I’ve got a list of recommended movies.  This mini-list is excerpted from the “Doubling the Canon” list (as compiled by participants on the IMDb Classic Film message board) combined with the 2006 list from the They Shoot Pictures Don’t They? list of 1,000 great films.

The They Shoot Pictures list is a 1,000-movie canon of great films;  the “Doubling the Canon” list adds an additional 1,000 movies to the canon.  And now I’m excerpting the 1965 movies.

32 Great Movies from 1965

(Combined list, with They Shoot Pictures picks in caps and Doubling the Canon picks in lower case, all presented in alphabetical order.)

ALPHAVILLE (ALPHAVILLE, UNE ETRANGE AVENTURE DE LEMMY CAUTION) / Jean-Luc Godard

ART OF VISION, THE / Stan Brakhage

Bonheur, Le / Agnès Varda

Bunny Lake Is Missing / Otto Preminger

Charlie Brown Christmas, A / Bill Melendez

CHIMES AT MIDNIGHT / Orson Welles

Darling / John Schlesinger

DOCTOR ZHIVAGO / David Lean

Dot and the Line, The: A Romance in Lower Mathematics / Chuck Jones

Film / Alan Schneider

Fists in the Pocket (I Pugni in tasca) / Marco Bellocchio

For a Few Dollars More (Per qualche dollaro in più) / Sergio Leone

Guide / Vijay Anand, Tad Danielewski

Hand, The (Ruka) / Jirí Trnka

High Wind in Jamaica, A / Alexander Mackendrick

Hill, The / Sidney Lumet

JULIET OF THE SPIRITS (GIULIETTA DEGLI SPIRITI) / Federico Fellini

LOVES OF A BLONDE (LASKY JEDNE PLAVOVLASKY) / Milos Forman

NOT RECONCILED (NICHT VERSÖHNT ODER ES HILFT NUR GEWALT WO GEWALT HERRSCHT) / Jean-Marie Straub

Now / Santiago Álvarez

Ordinary Fascism (Obyknovennyy fashizm) / Mikhail Romm

PIERROT LE FOU / Jean-Luc Godard

RED BEARD (AKAHIGE) / Akira Kurosawa

REPULSION / Roman Polanski

Sandra (Vaghe stelle dell'Orsa...) / Luchino Visconti

SARAGOSSA MANUSCRIPT, THE (REKOPIS ZNALEZIONY W SARAGOSSIE) / Wojciech J. Has

Shop On Main Street, The (Obchod na korze) / Ján Kadár, Elmar Klos

Simon of the Desert (Simón del desierto) / Luis Buñuel

SOUND OF MUSIC, THE / Robert Wise

Three (Tri) / Aleksandar Petrovic

Tokyo Olympiad (Tôkyô orimpikku) / Kon Ichikawa

War Game, The / Peter Watkins

Here’s the full They Shoot Pictures list.  And here’s the  “Doubling the Canon” list.  Special thanks to the two masterminds behind these lists: Bill Georgaris who manages They Shoot Pictures and Angel Gonzalez Garcia who now leads the "Doubling the Canon" project.

I created and launched  “Doubling the Canon” project around half a dozen years ago, ran it for a few years, and then handed it off to Angel’s capable hands where it’s flourished since.

© 2012 Lee Price

1965 and James Bond

1965 blogging, part 5 of 5

James Bond opening credits

In these long breaks between the signature 21 Essays series, I relax by considering possibilities for future series.  I spin the roulette wheel to pick a year (or set of years) and then brainstorm on some potential essay topics.  This time the wheel spins, gradually slows, then clicks to a stop, pointing at:  1965. 

First, some suggestions from my Facebook page for some potential 1965 21 Essays material:  Ideas included The Spy Who Came in From the Cold, King Rat, and The Hill (thanks Robert!), Darling (thanks Rosemary!), and The Collector, Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!, Story of a Prostitute, Red Beard, Tattooed Life, Tokyo Olympiad, and Sword of the Beast (thanks Christianne!).  All great suggestions!  While I don’t plan on tackling any of these specific suggested topics, I definitely am looking forward to opportunities to write in-depth about directors Akira Kurosawa and William Wyler, and am intrigued by the possibility of delving into the works of director Seijun Suzuki and author John Le Carre.

And now here’s my fifth 1965 series possibility:  21 essays on James Bond opening credits and their songs.

From the opening credits:  Goldfinger (1964).

I suspect that no one above suggested James Bond because the actual 1965 Bond movie release—Thunderball—signaled something of a drop in franchise quality.  Nevertheless, 1965 was a year dominated by Bond because the series slipped off the screen and onto the radio for the first time.  Shirley Bassey’s “Goldfinger” was one of the biggest Top 40 hits of the year, creating an expectation that subsequent Bond movies would feature sensual opening credits choreographed to powerful hit pop songs.

My proposal is 21 essays on 21 James Bond opening credits and their songs.  Yes, I realize it’s not technically a 1965 topic but what year would be more appropriate?  In a classic one-two punch, Shirley Bassey and Tom Jones helped make 1965 the year of James Bond, both onscreen and off.

Shout out to Deborah Lipp (internationally respected James Bond expert, Mad Men blogger, and long-term cinephile friend):  Feel free to help out!

This is the last of my official 1965 ideas (with no promises that we’ll necessarily be getting to any of them…) but there’ll be one more bonus entry of great 1965 movies that’s been saved for last.  I hope to post it tomorrow.

Next year(s) up on the random year(s) generator:  1811-1815.  (Coming soon…)

© 2012 Lee Price

1965 and the Beatles

1965 blogging, part 4 of 5

Help!

In these long breaks between the signature 21 Essays series, I relax by considering possibilities for future series.  I spin the roulette wheel to pick a year (or set of years) and then brainstorm on some potential essay topics.  This time the wheel spins, gradually slows, then clicks to a stop, pointing at:  1965. 

So here’s my fourth 1965 series possibility:  21 essays on Help!, Richard Lester’s second movie with the Beatles.

John Lennon in foreground, partial George Harrison behind,
and Ringo in the distance in Help! (1965).

I’ve been resistant to proposing this particular series.  In many ways, I think Help! represents a brief slump for the Beatles as they looked for new direction—a bold direction which would blossom with the release of their album Rubber Soul in December 1965.  There’s so much great music from 1965 by other singers and groups… why go with an inferior Hard Day’s Night retread?

My reasons for embracing Help! are entirely personal, but that’s in keeping with the nature of these 21 Essays series.  I want these essays to be personal.  I was five when Help! was released.  Although I have no idea where or when I saw it, I know that it’s one of my first movie memories.  Then as a teenager, I revisited it at a midnight revival (very, very good memories!).  Finally, as an adult, I experienced a radical Proustian moment revisiting it.  Watching the Beatles cavort on some faraway beach, I suddenly realized how unbelievably young and happy they were (particularly one shot of John Lennon) at that moment of time.  Memories triggered of youth and a sense of time passed—the Beatles as my madeleine.

It’s one of the purposes of 21 Essays to make note of special moments like that.  For all its flaws, Help! has been the right movie at the right time for me on several occasions.  And, seriously, a slump that still produces songs like “Help!” “You’re Going to Lose that Girl,” “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away,” “The Night Before,” and “Ticket to Ride” has to be considered pretty impressive!

Tomorrow, I’ll propose the last of these 1965 ideas (with no promises that I’ll necessarily be getting to any of them…).    But I’m wide open to other suggestions.  Any ideas for 1965 movies, books, short stories, poems, songs, paintings, or other cultural artifacts that might inspire a good 21 Essays series?

© 2012 Lee Price

1965 and The Hand

1965 blogging, part 3 of 5

Ruka (The Hand)

In these long breaks between the signature 21 Essays series, I relax by considering possibilities for future series.  I spin the roulette wheel to pick a year (or set of years) and then brainstorm on some potential essay topics.  This time the wheel spins, gradually slows, then clicks to a stop, pointing at:  1965. 

So here’s my second 1965 series possibility:  21 essays on Ruka (The Hand), a short animated film by Jiří Trnka.

The Hand tells the artist what he should create in Jiri Trnka's Ruka.

Following fifteen very productive years creating some of the world’s most charming movies, Czech animation genius Jiří Trnka courageously vented his political frustrations in his art.  His final 18-minute short, Ruka (The Hand), is a very personal allegory of the artist versus the totalitarian state.  Trnka’s puppet animation remains as sweet as ever, but the story is bleak and there’s no happy ending.  The artist loses the struggle.  It was Trnka’s last movie and the state predictably attempted to destroy all copies.

While Ruka was Trnka’s favorite of his films and the one that has received the most critical attention, I actually don’t have a real favorite among his films—I love them all, from his Chekhov adaptation Story of the Bass Cello to his Shakespeare puppet feature A Midsummer Night’s Dream.  Because of my natural temperament, I probably even slightly prefer his folk tales and literary adaptations.  And yet I know that Ruka deserves to retain its place of honor. After all, it is Trnka’s final testament.

As I cover other years, I’m sure I’ll be mentioning other Trnka films.  He really is a favorite of mine.  And at some point, I’ll have to choose which one will work best as a platform to discuss his art.  Ruka would work, but I’d want to rein the essays back from being too political.  Although Ruka’s political statement is clear and eloquent, it’s the character touches that I love most about it.

Over the next two days, I’ll be proposing some more 1965 ideas (with no promises that I’ll necessarily be getting to any of them…).  But I’m wide open to other suggestions.  Any ideas for 1965 movies, books, short stories, poems, songs, paintings, or other cultural artifacts that might inspire a good 21 Essays series?

© 2012 Lee Price

1965 and Falstaff

1965 blogging, part 2 of 5

Chimes at Midnight

In these long breaks between the signature 21 Essays series, I relax by considering possibilities for future series.  I spin the roulette wheel to pick a year (or set of years) and then brainstorm on some potential essay topics.  This time the wheel spins, gradually slows, then clicks to a stop, pointing at:  1965. 

So here’s my second 1965 series possibility:  21 essays on Chimes at Midnight.

The end of Hotspur from Chimes at Midnight (1965).

Chimes at Midnight has a very secure spot among my all-time favorite movies, frequently making the cut when I’m asked for a top 10 favorites.  Chimes at Midnight was Welles’ third stab at translating Shakespeare to film. His 1948 Macbeth was flawed but interesting, his 1952 Othello was pretty great, and then along came the blow-out masterpiece of Chimes at Midnight in 1965.

Keith Baxter as Prince Hal.

Chimes at Midnight is the story of Falstaff and Prince Hal, stitched together  from passages in Shakespeare’s two Henry IV plays plus little bits from Henry V and The Merry Wives of Windsor.  The relatively unknown actor Keith Baxter masterfully holds the movie’s center as Prince Hal, nimbly and wittily responding to the imposing presences of John Gielgud as King Henry (IV) and Welles as Falstaff.  Most miraculously of all, Welles delivers a nearly wordless action scene for the Battle of Shrewsbury that is cinematically worthy of Shakespeare.

For an Orson Welles movie that’s received considerable critical praise, Chimes at Midnight remains frustratingly unknown.  It’s never received a mainstream video or DVD release in the United States.  My first viewing was of a copy of a Japanese-produced video with Japanese subtitles (thank you, Christianne!).  But even seen in an imperfect presentation, it’s magnificent—my favorite of Welles’ great movies.

My only hesitation at launching into a 21 Essays series is my need for good screen captures.  Ideally, I’d wait until a worthy DVD is released (Criterion?  Please???).  But if time drags on and no DVD comes to market, maybe I’ll just have to make do with whatever I can wrangle up.

Over the next three days, I’ll be proposing some more 1965 ideas (with no promises that I’ll necessarily be getting to any of them…).  But I’m wide open to other suggestions.  Any ideas for 1965 movies, books, short stories, poems, songs, paintings, or other cultural artifacts that might inspire a good 21 Essays series?

© 2012 Lee Price

1965 and Charlie Brown

1965 Blogging, Part 1 of 5
A Charlie Brown Christmas

In these long breaks between the signature 21 Essays series, I relax by considering possibilities for future series.  I spin the roulette wheel to pick a year (or set of years) and then brainstorm on some potential essay topics.  This time the wheel spins, gradually slows, then clicks to a stop, pointing at:  1965. 

So here’s my first 1965 series possibility:  12 essays on A Charlie Brown Christmas, which first aired on CBS on December 9, 1965.

Linus and Charlie Brown's Christmas tree.

Last year for Christmastide (the twelve days of Christmas beginning on December 25 and concluding on twelfth night, the evening of January 5), I ran 12 essays on Christina Rossetti’s lovely poem “In the Bleak Midwinter.”  I don’t have any definite plans for this upcoming Christmastide yet, but I’m always up for an expanded Christmas celebration.  Twelve days with the Peanuts gang could be good winter fun!

It might be fun to be more like Snoopy—to be free to dance on pianos and type novels on a doghouse roof.  Or like Linus—and have the poise to stand at center stage and eloquently share the meaning of Christmas. 

But most days I feel more like Charlie Brown.

On a 21 Essays series on A Charlie Brown Christmas, I could ask the big questions, like “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?” and “How can you say someone is great who’s never had his picture on bubblegum cards?” and “Do innkeeper’s wives have naturally curly hair?”  I could ask the judges to score Snoopy’s awesome ice skating routine.  I could challenge you to imagine a time when studio executives sincerely believed that Vince Guaraldi’s now ubiquitous score would be too sophisticated for a mass audience.  (What WERE they thinking???)

And most of all we could just consider how kids respond to Christmas.  I think kids like this are still with us today.

Over the next four days, I’ll be proposing some more 1965 ideas (with no promises that I’ll necessarily be getting to any of them…).  But I’m wide open to other suggestions.  Any ideas for 1965 movies, books, short stories, poems, songs, paintings, or other cultural artifacts that might inspire a good 21 Essays series?

© 2012 Lee Price