Hey y'all...been travelling across the country and had the highest and most profoundly unrealistic hopes of keeping you informed all the way. But as it turns out, time is a tricky beast. I seemed to consistently run out, fall behind, fall further behind, lose sleep, break the speed limit, have rushed coffee, 7-11 tuna and check into hotels at midnight. Didn't leave a lot of room for the errant typing I'm presently attempting, much less actual writing.
As a quick patch - and with a better entry to follow - here are some slideshows from various points on the trip. The path followed was: Vegas, Moab, Silverthorne, Ogallala, Omaha, St. Louis, Chicago, Toledo, Utica. Soon to be in Leek, Staffordshire, but that's something else entirely.
Photos!
LAS VEGAS, Sept. 5th, 2009
HOOVER DAM, Sept. 6th, 2009
TRAVELLING, NV/UT Sept. 7, 2009
ARCHES NATIONAL PARK, Sept. 8, 2009 (despite the date on the slide show)
I don't know what to think of the last blog entry, so let's move on.
I've been remiss re: posts; as so often happens, things less enjoyable get in the way.
THINGS LESS ENJOYABLE: A Brief History
I was laid off back in April. I worked for a reasonably prominent medical software company and cannot fault them for letting me go. I was a good worker, a hard worker, I received a scintillating performance review two weeks before getting the can...but I didn't have credentials. And this is something required in today's medical community. I lacked motivation regarding those required credentials, and it had something to do with my hatred of reading patient charts (my job, auditing and merging). So many terrible things happen to people, it keeps my own self-pity in check (most of the time).
In frantic pursuit of a job, I acquired another quickly, but had to go through the motions required of anyone touching medical records...background checks, fingerprinting, blood tests, vaccinations. Takes a long time. And by the time the two months of tests had passed, I no longer wanted the job. It dawned on me that staring at ER documents 12 hours a day just might drive me mad. Not that I haven't been a little bent already. It surprises me when I hear someone has been working in medical records for decades. They evidently have the best psychic defenses in the world (that or beware, because they're the most burned-out, not-caring crispy critters you'll meet). Not I.
At this point, it occurred to me that I may as well go with the gypsy mythos that's grown around me (long story, to be expanded upon another time in another fit of self-interest)...why not travel? I'm pretty sure I could always get some sort of under-the-table work. Might be dangerous, but shit: what's life if it isn't for living? I'm tired of the quotidian.
Thus in a frenzy of self-doubt and panic, I turned down the job (cementing their bad opinion of the company I originally worked for)...I arranged to see my family I haven't visited in ages, and put out feelers to friends in far-off places. The first person I thought of, a dear friend and good human being, wrote back positively.
And so here I am, 11 days from leaving California. It breaks my heart. I've never been so homesick - and haven't even left! But this will be good for me. I often think of the anime show "Kino's Journey", where her habit is to stay in a town no more than three days. Rationale being that after three days you begin to become attached. I can only agree. Though with me, it's perhaps more like three years.
"A smooth master of knowing when to disappear"
Another friend is presently going through a similar and yet much more convulsive move, and I'm always curious to find out how he is and what's happening. I need this parallel, I think, as things progress. Selfish, but there you have it.
As far as this blog is concerned, you will suddenly be lambasted with photos, videos, music, travel....I leave on September 4th.
THE PLAN GOES AS FOLLOWS:
Leaving for Las Vegas early Sept. 5th. Arriving for brunch. Staying for two days.
Leaving for Utah early Sept. 7. Arriving at hotel that night. Staying in Utah for two days...thinking Arches, Salt Lake/flats and Dinosaur Monument.
Leaving Utah the 9th and heading through Nebraska, which will be a LONG drive. Staying in Omaha with a friend, 1 day.
Leaving the 10th/11th and heading to Chicago, staying with a friend there for a day or two, ideally...though it may be a hotel and quick dinner with friends ^^ they're busy people!
Veering to St. Louis to visit a friend I've yet to meet.
Off to New York to see family. Staying in NY for two months.
Off to the UK to stay with a friend. Planning on taking trains to many of the surrounding cities and perhaps staying a weekend on this shore or that (this country or that - already have plans to visit Bourdeaux), if cost isn't prohibitive. Will certainly lurk about London. Thinking of visiting Edinburgh, though people have warned me off it and recommended Glasgow - they're forgetting I'm from the US and anything will do. It's all new and exciting.
A little overly so. Panic attacks, bad dreams, worry, stress. A constant slow low-level insomnia that hasn't stopped for a month. But I feel as though once I'm out there on the road, the excitement and glee will more than bandage all that.
In the spirit of things, I'm working on a mix (it's a long one!). It's a farewell to old loves, to friends, and a greeting to the new...and a maintaining of what I can.
"hello and goodbye and hello again" coming soon, would that it could be put off a bit....
I've been packing/storing/selling/donating all my things, as I'm movin' away and ne'er comin' back. Or something like that. I've decided to run like the skinniest slat-ribbed rat you ever did see from the sinking ship that is California. For a while. A breather. I need a rest.
So, in the spirit of shedding an old skin, I've been going through all my stored papers and sorting what's important from what isn't - 8 boxes of paper so far thrown out or awaiting a shredder. But in the midst of these piles of mouldering dusty notes, I've found a wealth of old journal entries.
Now let me tell you, I was a journal-writing fool when I was a kid. Not a day went by without something being scratched in a notebook. And I found a very odd bit of writing today, front and back of the sheet have competely different tones, and I scratch my head a bit, trying to remember what it was like. I'll transcribe here, all misspellings from the original retained.
Page 2: "3/16/83 Breakfast - small bowl of Raisan Bran or 1/2 grapefruit Shower - 6:30 Dressed - 6:45 Blow-dry hair - 6:50 Homework together - 7:00 Sneaks + Jacket - 7:10 Catch Bus - 7:25 Locker - 7:35 Mrs. Mercier - 7:42 (about) Look at Paul - 7:42-8:45 Mr. Wilbur - (look at Paul) 8:48-9:30 Mrs. Chykowski - Math - talk to Jody about P + J - look at Paul - talk to Paul Band - look at Tim Foster, the drummer 1st period lunch - look at Eric Reber 2nd period lunch - look at Eric V., Richard C. 6th Period - (health) look at DJ Gym - hope that we'll be playing with the boys Music - look at Chris Drake Rush to bus falsely bump into Jim Go home and dream about next day."
Really. I guess this goes to remind me that children are crazy. Or at least I was. And hyper-sexed. That much I remember. Instinct cranks it up! Fascination with sex and drugs begins early, early, early. I can remember boys asking me if I was a virgin when 10 years old...I had no idea what they were talking about, thought it was bad, and so misjudged and said "No!" with a horrified face.
Hilarity ensued.
I vaguely remember Chris Drake being my first kiss, even if it was just a peck on the cheek and a flower. Ah, memories.
I walked home today with a bleeding Achille's heel and an incipient bad burn. There were flecks of the beach's fool's gold in the spot rubbed raw by my shoe - this was noted after limping across a four-way stop two blocks from home and bravely looking down the back of my lower leg. But oddly, today was the most beautiful I've seen Long Beach...it presented an alluring face, reminding me of why I'm loathe to leave.
Walking to the bluffs, I felt my shoe chafing, but paid it little mind. The cloud cover was sporadic and pleasant; chilly with a light wind, maybe 68 degrees? Watching the kites floating in the sky, I thought about some decisions that need to be made. But to be honest, I didn't much want to think on them and so let the music float me away as I walked. The beach was clean - the city had come like a thief in the night and taken all the garbage. The water glowed turquoise, a rare sight at any time, and those millions of speckles of pyrite made the sand look as though it had been touched up by a Bond girl make-up artist. It glowed and shimmered, reminding me of my old flower-shopgirl gig and the champagne roses we'd spray with gold glitter for proms and weddings. One abusively red tomato sat perfectly amongst the strands of washed-up bladder kelp - I have no idea why. As I walked, I passed a tall black man playing a cornet in the sand...didn't recognize the tune, but it was a little mournful, and provided an interesting dissonance with what was playing on my iPod. On my way back later, he would play "My country, 'tis of thee"...fair enough, with the 4th creeping up and all. An ironic harmony, as I chose to listen to Hugh Masekela's eponymous album today.
"Masekela" was a revelation for me. I found it on a ¿Revolución, No? jag; was in an absolutely torrid love affair with the site. It is most certainly one of my favorite albums; a desert island pick, as it were. And the man is so f***ing cool. You listen to "Head Peepin'" and tell me the man wasn't hip as they come. "You can snort and smoke and pop and shoot, and you dig your LSD, but baby did you peep into your head last night?" Brilliant brass player, but with a frosty sound...less like South Africa and more like New York. This album bounces back and forth between cool instrumental licks and powerful revolutionary protest tracks. Here's the song "Blues For Huey" - any time I hear it, I can instantly transport back to a northern city, in the late fall, grey, rainy, cold, face upturned, leaves swirling, that dancing piano and smooth trumpet making me close my eyes in enjoyment.
In what seemed to be a natural progression, brainpan heated by the sun, and giddy from how pretty everything was, I moved on to the compilation "Hugh Masekela/From The Vaults Of Chisa", on which Masekela pulls little-known tracks from the Chisa years 1965-1975. The first track is the previously unreleased and amazing "Afro Beat Blues" by Ojah with Hugh Masekela, a heavy funk-ridden song. I was desperate to find more Masekela albums and had wound my way up through LA traffic to Amoeba, thinking I had a pretty good chance for an instant fix there. This cd stood out prominently in all its militant-looking yellow and black, and featuring a favored image of him. I didn't realize until home that it was actually a compilation of other musicians he'd worked with as a producer. Doesn't matter, as it's wonderful. It led me straight into the wonderful arms of Letta Mbulu.
"Letta" is an album so little-known it makes me sad. She's an amazing, volcanic talent - strong voice that over the years became strong enough to nearly cut. Both she and Masekela were expats from South Africa residing in the US; both were taken under the guidance (and friendship) of Harry Belafonte, among many others. Listening to Letta Mbulu is such a phenomenon for me; I want to write in glowing terms but find the words failing me. "Letta" has highs and lows, but the highs keep you coming back for another fix. The first track I ever heard by Mbulu was Mahlalela (Lazy Bones), remixed on the ¿Revolución, No? site as an add-on to the "Masekela" download. Then, on the Chisa comp, four of her best tracks from "Letta" are presented (including the original "Mahlalela"). Awesome stuff. The song is included in the YouTube "vid" here:
Anyhow, it's time to wrap up. I may go on further and explore Letta's work with Cannonball Adderley's label, or perhaps acquire a few albums by Miriam Makeba. If so, I'll certainly let you know! Another walk on another day.
Out again in the sun today, really trying to make a go of it. As I've mentioned to a friend, I'll be brown as a nut and fit as a lass. Echoes of Daffy Duck. Today's walk was a bit more pensive. I've started having migraines sans the actual migraine part...just the auras, or, to be more realistic, hallucinations. Two (and a half, one tried to pick up speed but couldn't get off the runway) in three days. I gather "ocular migraines" are much preferable to their kin, but it still has me a little down. They start small, as if you stared in the sun for too long, but get bigger and bigger and it always ends with my vision being too skewed to even walk, much less read or (god forbid) drive. I recently live in horror of one of these bad boys catching me on a long stretch of traffic-ridden freeway.
The beach was cleaned up, not so disgusting as the other day...and instead of a trash skip having overturned, today it looked as though the local fruit stand had taken a dip. There were oranges and lemons rolling in the sand, and an entire split watermelon with a spray of distressingly meaty-looking chunks sprayed around a goodly 12 feet or so. It looked so much like a smashed animal I had to count on logic to provide me with the disturbing intelligence that seagulls would be all over the pieces if they were actual meat. It looked as though someone had tried to play the summer watermelon smashing game, but hadn't bothered with the follow-up. Some young teens were excitedly digging in the sand, which worries me occasionally - I wonder if they have a critter who haplessly wandered into their clutches. But not today. They were building a sand castle and there were several excited invites to join in. Oh, yes, that would have looked just fine. Social mores aside, I was too tired to handle the yelling. Smiled and moved on, to find more fruit playing in the sun and sand.
Today's soundtrack was a little off, not really what I'd consider "summer" music, but I'd had an urge since last night:
I began with the eponymous Liquid Liquid album, which is zippy enough: percussion-laden and exciting in a low-key way. I located it on emusic shortly after careful consideration of the $50 OOP cd on ebay. Listening reminded me of my trip to London last October, during which a friend and I would "meet" in Starbucks each morning and go over my day's plans. One a.m., he suggested I visit the Rough Trade West shop near Portobello. I walked from my hotel, spurning the tube, so it took a while - and was tired once I got there. I picked and plucked from the racks, trying to decide what I wanted, and decided upon a cd reissue of the post-punk album "Memory Span" by the Lines, entirely due to their song "White Night" (which is wonderfully sleazy). While making the purchase, the gent behind the counter looked at me quizzically and asked why this cd in particular had picked up in popularity, and I could only shrug...I knew it had been posted on a friend's blog not too long ago, but wasn't sure that would have a world-wide sales trend effect despite the immense popularity of his blog. Shrug. Then we began talking about Liquid Liquid. He told me they'd recently played in London, and inferred that some bands should let it lie. But I would have loved to see them back in the day. Nearly everyone who has ever seen sunlight (and those who haven't) know this band if only because they provided the bass sample for the song "White Lines" via their tune "Cavern". My personal favorite from the album is "Out", a funky beat-ridden track that I would've gleefully danced to in clubs, drink in hand.
It seemed natural enough to follow up one New York Noise act with another, so I turned on Lizzy Mercier Descloux's 1979 album "Press Colour". She continues to be one of my absolute favorites. Review after review states how she wasn't all that talented, but I beg to differ. You can play your brains out, but you either have it or you don't. And she most certainly HAD it. "Hard-Boiled Babe" will always be one of my most-played tracks. To be honest, I was introduced to both Liquid Liquid and LMD via the brilliant New York Noise compilation from Soul Jazz Records (so forlorn about not going there while in London). I'm a slow beginner, but catch up fast. And thanks to Lizzy I then hopped on the ZE/Mutant Disco train. Excellent snowball effect!
If I'd walked further today, the next album might have been Essential Logic's "Fanfare In The Garden" - I think it's the finger cymbal sound in EL's "Love Eternal" that transfers so readily from those used by Lizzy.
Funny: hadn't realized until now that I located all three of these albums on emusic. Do listen to the samples provided; I think you might get hooked. As for me, I'm off for a cuppa joe and some reading. Enough sun for one day.
...or, if not righteous, perhaps one could take a slightly cynical look at one of the next lines of lyrics from "Righteous Life" (found on Sergio Mendes and Brasil '66's LP "Stillness"): but no one else notices destiny except the free. And as I walked the beach once again today, I could only but acknowledge that I'm crazy-free at the moment, up to my ass in freedom; but destiny? Not so sure I could see that if it poked me with a sharp stick.
The beach had a different aspect today; it looked as though a garbage skip had turned over offshore. All manner of things moving along the shoreline, from used (or unused? who can tell after a while?) condoms to styrofoam pieces (do people still use that stuff?) to hairspray cans (again, huh?). A few empty bottles that once contained guarana and caffeine energy drinks rolled about. And look at that, an old fishline complete with hook whispering past my ankle, creepy as hell. But the condition of the beach ddn't get me down too much - I made a silent resolution to contact the city about it and mentally moved on. Doesn't seem to have stopped many other people either: lots of kids playing in the mucked-up water, and fit-types jogging the sand away. An oh-so urban feel today, like "what can you do when you can't get out of the city on a hot sunny day" - you make due with what you have, and enjoy yourself.
And so, today's soundtrack was a little different.
The Funky 16 Corners, which I purchased from emusic, is a grand compilation of little-known funk songs, all excellent. My personal favorite is "What About You (In The World Today)":
"How'd you get that hole in your shoe?" "By looking for a job that you know wasn't there."
The funk comp was followed by one of my more subtle favorites, the aforementioned "Stillness" by Sergio Mendes and Brasil '66. I agree with allmusic's review, which states it's the "great sleeper album of Sergio Mendes' first A&M period". Lani Hall really captured me here, even if she left the album mid-production. I went on to acquire her "Sundown Lady" lp - it didn't please me as much, but is still thoroughly anjoyable. Mendes rendition of "For What It's Worth" is still one of my favorite covers (please check out the link for a quick listen)...I originally heard it on the Mojo Cub Dancefloor Jazz compilations, and that in turn prompted me to get this full album. Comps have been very good to me.
I suppose if I'd walked a little further, I might have started listening to the Mojo mixes or Roots of Chicha...but hey, we have a whole summer ahead of us!
Today I took a walk. A silly walk. One that was surely too long...but the clouds were out and it's such a rarity in Los Angeles, I felt I should take advantage. For the last 11 years, I've thought that sooner or later I'd head on the sandy journey from Long Beach to Seal Beach, and today seemed an excellent time. Out of work and out of patience...a long stroll would do me fine. And I can't help feeling that I'm saying goodbye to the LA area soon. No maudlin feeling to it, but suddenly think it's time to do a few things I've always meant to do. A little naive as it turns out, as you can't walk from Long Beach to Seal Beach...at least not via the shore! Any map might have told me this, but I'm fond of flying by the seat of my pants. So I walked to the very end of Ocean Blvd., which unhappily ends in a huge marina. Suppose I could have taken a swim to the other shore, while dodging yachts and sailboats. About this time, the clouds became fickle and Catalina-bound...and left me in the harsh sun. And for the first time ever, I cared not a whit what people thought of me - sun umbrella out and proudly carried! Good thing too. As it is I'm burned; can't imagine the blistered mess that might have occurred otherwise. Funny how a pleasant stroll can turn into a test of endurance.
At any rate, beside the mild irritation at not reaching my goal, and the concern for my skin's health, I listened to some fabulous summer music. For sunny days, for walking along shorelines, for drinking margaritas under an umbrella, for reading a book in the backyard, for having friends over in the hazy mosquito-filled twilight...I recommend:
Thievery Corporation's "Babylon Rewound" , a remix album of "The Richest Man In Babylon". This was acquired from emusic - a curiosity pick - and am quite happy with it. I still feel emusic is under-accessed. Start with the editors' picks and then lose control from there. Last time I visited the site, it was for a Slim Gaillard fix.
And by various artists, the "Achilifunk - Gypsy Soul 1969-1979" comp . Amazing! This was referred to me by another great friend, and the blog upon which I found it is one of those, "Where the hell did the day go?!?" sites. The music-curious could get lost in the spiraling snowball effect.
Believe me, great music to get sunburned to ^^ And these blogs/sites are ALL stunning. Please check them out.
A few friends and I were watching "The Cat Returns", which is a constant favorite in the dvd collection. While some Ghibli fans deride it for being too simplistic, I think it's quite charming. I see it as a continuation of "Whisper of the Heart"; to me, it's the story that the young girl finally writes about the Baron (to see a Ghibli filmography, go here). There's a ceremonial parade scene in Cat Returns, where the Cat King arrives to thank Haru for saving his son. In the procession, a cat stately stands there playing a flute with a basket on its head.
There's also a later scene in which a similar (or the same) cat is in the King's orchestra.
I've seen similar images in plenty of other places, and know the basket is a cultural reference; but, this particular night, not knowing what the hell it meant became irksome. So I googled "basket flute Japanese" and found this site.
Mystery solved!
To quote the site: "The origin of the shakuhachi, according to one theory, has been traced back as far as ancient Egypt and is presumed to have migrated through India and China before entering Japan in the Sixth Century. Its popularity, however, was short-lived and it wasn't until the Thirteenth Century that it was revived by the Fuke sect of Buddhism which sought to replace sutra chanting with sui zen or "blowing zen." Not until the Edo Period (1603-1867) did this instrument reach its final and most decisive phase of development. During this era, marked by the disintegration of feudal Japan, the shakuhachi was favored by swelling numbers of uprooted samurai warriors (ronin) who joined the ranks of itinerant preachers known as komuso ("Priests of Emptiness and Nothingness"). The komuso wore large baskets (tengai) over their heads to symbolize their detachment from the world. Violent clan struggles which marked the late Sixteenth Century forced some of the komuso to organize themselves into a society for self-protection. Members of the Fukeshu sought to deceive the shogun -- Japan's supreme warlord -- with forged documents giving them exclusive rights to play the shakuhachi and to solicit alms with it. In return for this privilege they agreed to spy on the activities of other ronin. Legend has it that these komuso, forbidden to carry their revered swords, redesigned the shakuhachi from the root of the bamboo making it longer and stouter for use as a club as well as an instrument for spiritual attainment."
At any rate, The Cat Returns is a fun film; it's perhaps the only anime film I prefer to watch with English dubbing, as the actors seem perfect (for instance, Peter Boyle playing Muta, or Cary Elwes playing the Baron). Charming and perhaps every little girl's dream. A visit to the Cat Kingdom? Sign me up!
And finally, Muta ever-so reminds me of Shazbutt. I miss her attitude:
To repeat myself in a few different venues: I saw Alain Corneau speak last night; he presented Police Python 357 starring the reasonably yummy and yet oh-so-French Yves Montand. And he said something (well, quite a few things) that interested me. Someone asked him how he felt watching his film on a large screen for the first time in x amount of years. His answer? "I wasn't there" (i.e., he didn't watch it with us). The reason? He states he rarely watches his films in theaters, 1) because he might look at this old film and say "My god, that was a good film, I've become much worse" or 2) he would watch it and wonder how he could have made something so terrible. These are his fears, and so he won't watch them.
As an aside, apparently Simone Signoret was aggravated by all the make-up and furs, and wanted to look natural, whilst he needed someone who looked the part of a bourgeois woman with a summer home and three cars. She was also quite perturbed by the way her character commits suicide in the film, and long negotiations between director and actress began. Granted, after the screening, a discussion ensued regarding Corneau's use of the "fantastique"...where men throw acid on their faces to avoid recognition; where a woman who's ill and can hardly leave her bed somehow manages to wrangle her legs enough to desperately drive to someone's house and beg them to kill her. Where the main character, in the end, blasts through a scene any modern-day action film director would be proud of.
Apparently he wrote the script in a rather feverish five days. The film was shot in 8 weeks with a "typical crew" of about 40 people. The amazing soundtrack is by Georges Delerue, and quite surprising for the time it was made; as Corneau says, it is full of discord and chorus.
Corneau was asked why he is so interested in loss of identity as a theme, and he said that noir isn't noir without that loss. You shouldn't be able to pinpoint who is good, or bad. If you can, it isn't a noir film.
Boy, I've been paraphrasing the hell out of poor Monsieur Corneau. Anyways...! Here is the LACMA link if anyone is interested in catching the rest of the French Crime Wave shows; and hey, give me a call if you're going! ^^
May 29 7:30 PM Série Noire May 29 9:30 PM The Clockmaker May 30 7:30 PM Police Python 357 June 5 7:30 PM Bob le flambeur June 5 9:20 PM Le Doulos June 6 7:30 PM Touchez pas au Grisbi June 6 9:10 PM Rififi June 12 7:30 PM Le cercle rouge June 13 7:30 PM Purple Noon June 13 9:35 PM Elevator to the Gallows June 19 7:30 PM Classe tous risques June 19 9:20 PM Garde à vue June 20 7:30 PM Coup de torchon June 20 9:45 PM Shoot the Piano Player
This entry is meant as an antidote to the Oshima entry, but it's giving me guff.
As my friends have been hearing ad nauseum, I’ve been watching too many Japanese films from the 60’s. There aren’t a lot of positive female role models to be found; if there’s a film without a beating, humiliation, murder and/or rape, it’s because everyone’s too busy trying to defeat the giant monster. That's a sweeping statement, I know...but I can't even feel guily about it right now.
Thusly, I’ve decided to write about one of the more clever and charming animated shows to come out in recent years: Azumanga Daioh. A friend (a male friend no less) introduced me to the series; I watched several shows and then intended to purchase the dvd boxed set. Years later, I’ve finally gotten around to it!
The show is about school. And girls. And girls in school. It manages to touch on a lot of teen (and pre-teen) issues without going anywhere too dark…and yet doesn’t soften the subject matter either. It becomes almost sentimental at times, but manages to avoid it through the rather eccentric characters, who, while unique, also remind us of people we knew. Or were. Pile on this some very nice animation and an exceptionally charming soundtrack, and I have to say this is something that shouldn’t be missed. The show manages to remain somewhat timeless through anime flairs and school uniforms, and the subject matter never becomes dated. And if you went to school, ever… the show will speak to you.
TECHNICALLY
I may as well begin with a slightly technical approach. My aforementioned friend insisted I wouldn’t be able to find anything like what he had bootlegged – and so, of course, I had to prove him wrong. Which admittedly, was easy enough to do years later. The shows he’d copied had since gone from English-dub-only to a wonderful Japanese language w/English subtitles version (the Class Album boxed set). And it’s marvelous! Not only do you get excellent translations of what characters are saying, but it also translates titles, signs, and any newspaper, poster and random print in the background. Unlike many subtitled films, you feel you’re in on the mise-en-scène jokes. For instance, when the two female teachers (to be discussed later) go out drinking, and one has to carry the other down the alley, the sign in the background says “Please sort your trash.” It’s little things like this that an audience misses when they rely on (sometimes dubious) translation. The show itself is also filled with cultural references and nigh training sessions for the uninitiated. Highly useful for someone intending to visit or live in Japan. I've learned more spoken Japanese from this show than from any cd or book.
And now, on to the characters.
SAKAKI
Sakaki is one of many high school archetypes, the huge girl who scares everyone simply because she’s more developed. She’s taller than anyone in the class, her hair longer, her breasts are bigger, she’s more athletic (despite not belonging to any teams), and in the beginning, people assume she’s a rough, getting into fights outside school (they see the bandages on her hands). Sakaki is a terrifically sweet person and has a vivid imagination that often runs away with her. She’s very shy, quiet and monosyllabic, and it’s especially touching as she begins to enter the group of friends. Everyone thinks she’s cool, but you get the impression she’d rather not be noticed at all. She's always surprised and modest when someone invites her along on an outing...it's nearly heartbreaking. She’s an interesting play on all the poetic romantic stuff we know, with her long hair and quiet manner, and yet is indeed terribly cool.
Sakaki is terribly embarrassed of her large breasts. There’s one entertaining discussion in an early show where Osaka states that Sakaki is an American because her breasts are so huge, and that Tomo is Japanese because hers are so small. This is an ongoing concern for all girls, and women, everywhere…hell, I’m 38 and still feel bad when someone points out another woman with (what I perceive to be) a nicer chest. But when you’re a maturing girl, the fact you have breasts at all can be quite traumatizing; people around you suddenly treat you differently, sexually. Dependent upon whether you start developing early or late, that spins off into its own sets of stressors and trauma as people tease you about being too big (if you started early) or being too small (if you started late, if at all). And bras are a challenge for a little while. I remember the exact turning point for me: walking down a school hall one day in a white blouse, and a boy took me to the side and told me my nipples were visible through the shirt. It hadn’t occurred to me that this might be an issue until that very moment. Rest of day spent with book clutched at chest. And I wore bras from then onward.
KAORIN
One must follow the note on Sakaki with Kaorin. Kaorin is another character easy to identify with. In school, it’s common for both girls and boys to have crushes on peers of the same sex…it might be because of a perceived “coolness” or for other reasons, and isn’t always acted on, but is there nonetheless. Kaorin is a great play on this. She admires Sakaki from afar at first, spouting about how cool she is: “Kakkoii!”
I think Kaorin goes a little beyond the typical girl-girl crushy stuff where you practice kissing each other because you’re learning how to kiss boys (supposedly), and may be a baby lesbian in development - which is a lovely inclusion for a children’s cartoon. She adores Sakaki, and in true crush style, freaks out whenever she misses the chance to see her, get a photo, attend a sleepover, etc. There are some very cute ultra-gay fantasies including showers of petals and rainbows in the back while she and Sakaki dance together, ride a horse together, walk together...in one episode about New Year dreams, she has a fantasy-dream where Sakaki rides in on a horse and saves her from bandits, with Sakaki in the traditional male role and Kaorin gleefully clutching her; so happy! - until her mother wakes her.
KIMURA
The male teacher who’s “fond” of his female students is a problem most girls have to face. I myself went to a school with a rather infamous coach who was overly fond of wrapping girls ankles and giving them "massages". All in the name of sports, of course. This character is brilliantly inserted into the show via Kimura-sensei, the classic lit professor. Much like in any school, he hasn’t done enough to cause real trouble, but everyone knows about his proclivities. The teachers feel they have to put up with him (to a point) and the students, while a little clueless, know enough to realize he’s a bit creepy and start to hypothesize about his personal life (in one episode, the girls suppose he’s a killer who's hiding bodies in the bushes). There’s great shock and perturbation when it’s discovered he has a beautiful and kind wife…no one can quite put it together. This temporarily gains him renewed sympathy and trust from a few of the girls. They finally come to the conclusion that his wife is an unfortunate person with bad judgement and is to be pitied. No one is quite sure how to report him, or whether he’s done anything to truly warrant it (or whether he is indeed a bad person) so he slides by time and time again.
In the end, inside and outside cartoons, the problematic male teacher is a rite of passage for every young woman. I gather from male friends that there's a sort of polar parallel in "the female teacher who was my first time (or who should have been)".
NYAMO and YUKARI
Yukari is the English teacher. She's self-involved and lazy (to the point of having all the same people from her first year class in her second year class because she doesn't want to learn new names); she's a risk-taker, a gambler, a drinker and a loudmouth. Nyamo Kurosawa is the girls’ Physical Education teacher, and is perceived to be inutterably cool by most of the students. She’s very sensitive to the needs of the students and supportive whenever she can be.
Nyamo's amiable rivalry with Yukari is evident at the school, and the girls sometimes wonder about what their relationship could possibly be. Nyamo is prone to admit mistakes, and follows through on promises. This of course provides the “straight man” for Yukari-chan, who is loud, excitable, fun-loving and duplicitous. She’s deeply envious of Nyamo’s popularity among the students and tries to throw a wrench in the works whenever she can (as long as the results are to her advantage). She’s another person the girls have to weigh, deciding what her motivations are and whether they (should) like her. She and Nyamo were peers at the same school, and this lends to their weary acceptance of one another - in this way, foreshadowing Tomo and Yomi's relationship. Nyamo and Yukari add a slightly more adult, if no less immature, flavor to certain stories...and point out that, despite being older, women still have many of the same problems the girls do themselves. Some things never change.
OSAKA
"Osaka" is the spaciest of space cadets. Another type we can all remember from school (and in fact I may have fit into this category). She is sweet and soft-voiced, and prone to believe or hypothesize the most outstanding things. She's intelligent, and can be quite clever at times - or is she clever all the time, and it's us who doesn't get it? Osaka (who gained her nickname because she's a new student from, well, Osaka) has a goal to improve herself, to be more aware, to learn more, to be more like her idols. To "get it together". In reality, she falls asleep often; everywhere, in fact. She's easily distracted and muses on strange things. To be honest, this character is a little too close to me to be fair about ^^ I remember having a boyfriend in early college who called me...hm-mmm, Space Girl? Something like that. He wasn't too fond of the art thing either. Which is fine, as he in turn taught me exactly what I didn't want in men. A call out to all men! Appreciate your artistic spacey girls!
YOMI
Yomi is the other character I'd identify with most...wish I could say it was Sakaki and Chiyo-chan, but nope. Yomi is very studious and serious; she's generally classified in the show as being second in smarts after Chiyo. She's tall, reasonably athletic and has a good shape, but is constantly worried about being fat (something she's relentlessly teased about by Tomo). She seems to me to be the Velma of the show, bright, quick on the uptake, but not as cool as Sakaki, as smart as Chiyo or as sporty as Kagura. I think this is a pretty typical stance for most students; not everyone can be the best at something. Being surrounded by talented and/or attractive peers can be devastating. But she holds herself well - she's strong and is the one who keeps everybody else balanced. Yomi's there to provide support and common sense when the others can't. She and Tomo have been together since the beginning of grade school, although you discover it's not necessarily because of friendship that they still interact. Tomo aggravates Yomi to no end with her skittish fantasies and ennui, but in the end, they're indulgent toward each other. It might be the glasses that make me identify so solidly with her.
TOMO
Tomo is described in the show as being the class wildcat idiot, which isn't too far off. She's the perfect expression of those people who are ruled by their chemistry, off-the-charts energy and twitchiness, lack of patience and focus. She too has a strong fantasy-life, invariably having dreams in which she is somehow better than everyone else. She's insanely competitive even though she excels at nothing. However, her energy lends itself to the others and can be infectious...and deep down, she is kind and can (rarely) have moments of insight. Tomo and Yomi are inextricably linked throughout the series, Tomo relentlessly teasing and aggravating; Yomi frustrated and angry. As I mentioned, we see an early version of Nyamo and Yukari in these two.
Tomo reminds me of almost all the boys in school: legs bobbing at 200 bobs a minute, shaking the desks with energy, joking, teasing, doing malicious things without really thinking about it because they're so bored or frustrated. Except, in an odd play on the type, not only is she a girl, but she likes to think of herself as a particularly cute girl as well. Her fantasies regularly showcase her in bikinis and haute couture, or better yet, as manga-style superheroes (and she seems to have a fixation on Lupin). Tomo is that jittery up-the-wall friend you always hoped you'd see on the playground because they always came up with the best games. And later, the friend who'd con you into going to a college frat party and leave without you.
KAGURA
Kagura is a later addition to the main cast - she's introduced early on, but you don't get to really meet her until the second year. Kagura is the physical type who's struggling in school. She excels at sports and is the best on the swim team - she feels strongly competitive with Sakaki, who beat her in a race the first year, and in fact is in the running with Sakaki for being the coolest girl in school (and also the one with the biggest chest). While they could have fallen completely for the "dumb jock" stereotype, the show manages to develop her character with those facets we miss when we slap labels around. Although I must admit one of my favorite moments is when she, Tomo and Osaka form the "Knuckleheads" to spite Yomi, who won't show them her schoolwork. They play the stupidity up a bit in that segment! Kagura is good-natured and means well, although this doesn't always work out to the advantage of everyone involved, as she has the empathy of a brick.
CHIYO
And finally we get to Chiyo-chan ^^ Chiyo could be said to be the main character...I feel she's far and away the eye of the show. Chiyo is a 10 year-old prodigy who's receiving higher schooling. She's mature for her age, and yet is still a little girl at heart. Ten is right on that cusp between jumping rope and your first menstrual cycle, and she's an excellent representation if this. Chiyo is a peace-maker and organizer. At times she's shown seeing her grade school friends in the street, and she feels the difference and mourns her childhood just a little. But she brushes herself off and realizes she's off to better - or at least different - things. Chiyo worries terribly about dragging her class down in some ways. She's hyper-aware of her small size and poor performance in sports. She looks at her grown friends and can't wait to grow up. Chiyo is the smartest in her class, and the most responsible. Her family is quite wealthy; the house is nearly a mansion. These things might work to a person's disadvantage, but Chiyo is a sparkling individual. She always sees the best in her friends, although at times her age doesn't allow her to see the bigger picture.
It is very touching how she worries that she and the others will grow apart after school is over. It reminds me of similar concerns as grade school moves to junior high; your classes are shuffled, another whole school of kids is mixed with the people you knew and your best friend is in a different lunch period. Times like this, one finds new friends and perhaps grows out of old. You're aware of the changes but can't help it. Circumstance. And certainly when high school ends and college begins, that's a true test of friendship. So her worries seem valid, but in the end, unnecessary.
KAWAII and NON-HUMAN CHARACTERS
There are other characters in the show nearly as important as the humans: Tadakichi-san, Chiyo's dog; Kamineko, the evil stray cat forever cutting Sakaki up; Nekokoneko, the absurdly cute kitten-on-cat plushie; and "Father", which is a very surreal addition to the show, a stuffed cat Sakaki dreams is Chiyo's father. He occurs quite randomly, more often than not floating through the background or shown as a stuffed toy on a shelf. These characters add a sense of the fantastic to the show (for instance, Kamineko bolting 100 miles per minute around an alley, Father inviting Sakaki in for tomatoes, or Tadakichi-san running across a field of multicolored clouds), and an opportunity for more development of the girls personalities (as Sakaki bonds with Tadakichi-san, or Chiyo throws her kawaii Nekokoneko towel over the fence to dry). Animals, live and stuffed, make up a huge portion of the show.
Boy oh boy, I've gone on too much - but this was a hard post to write. I could either create a concise summary of the show and feel I'd cheated you, or do what I've done, which is to go on ad nauseum about something other than Oshima ;) No matter how much I write, I don't feel it lends any strength to the show, which is plenty strong on its own. If you have a chance, watch it.
On an ending note, here's some group shots - these more than anything express the distinct and sometimes eccentric comeraderie of the characters:
I'm ruefully acquainting myself with Nagisa Oshima's filmography.
LACMA has been presenting the retrospective "In The Realm Of Oshima"...an amazing opportunity to see some very rare films. However, I must admit that watching ten films by Oshima in eight days (I missed three last week) has been brutal.
Today I've seen his "100 Years Of Japanese Cinema" and so must revise and review the blog entry I'd originally intended. There's no pretense to my having the writing skill a true movie reviewer would require; I have a passion for film, but it's scattered, erratic; my knowledge regarding Japanese film is thin ice, and my knowledge of Japanese history laughable. I can pretend to understand certain references, metaphors and allegories, but it's unlikely to be well-informed understanding. What you're getting here are responses from the belly, first impressions, immediate reactions.
I started with Boy, which at the time felt quite heavy to me. Little did I know it would almost seem a light-hearted romp compared to some of the other films. Oshima infuses the blackest humor, which I enjoy. And I can handle mind-numbing cynicism and critique of the social milieu. I might agree with him. He's taken ideas that I can feel in my gut, and expressed them so eloquently they're hard to deny. I don't agree with what he does to his female characters, but we'll come to that in the blow-by-blow.
Regarding Boy: a respected friend recommended it, stating it was one of his favorite films. I can see how it would be. It contains a melange of emotional detritus, real thought, not much in the way of sentimentality. [Perhaps this is what's difficult for me when watching these films: they are too real. People make bizarre decisions, sometimes amazingly cruel and whimsical. They base their actions on love or fidelity to family or an ideal, no matter how absurd or contrary. And sometimes they do things for no reason at all, hard bloody things, just to do them. Perhaps to feel, or perhaps because they're so numb they can't perceive consequence anymore. Vengeance is petty and violent, sympathy tends to be punished. Love is crushed under heel.] In Boy (based on a true story), he is torn between escaping (the "grandparents" fantasy always there in his head somewhere) and that familial feeling we all have, much more realistic, of "I dislike you, but I must care for you, you are family". It smacks of adult children who abuse invalid parents. So he returns to crooked and abusive parents who need him for their con, and who (supposedly) can't sustain themselves without him. The con consists of being "hit" by cars and forcing the perturbed motorists to settle in cash to avoid a lawsuit or arrest. He fakes the accidents (even though he is regularly injured in reality) and his parents collect the money. He feels some real love for his little brother, and those moments between the two are touching, and a surprising gift and respite. Oshima has a knack for subtle side-stories, like flash fiction. While walking the streets alone, Boy watches another young boy beaten and bullied by two teens in an alley; when he finally moves in to show sympathy, the beaten boy in turn throws him into the mud. Humiliation begets humiliation.
The Sun's Burial is the film that laid out the true landscape of what I was in for. It shows you people numbed and crazed by slum living, their choices making no sense to anyone not existing there at that moment. It reminds me of books I've read on internment camp behavior, where empathy is annihilated and the survival instinct takes over. In this film, any vague kindness (you have to look for it) or show of mercy is viciously attacked and snuffed out. I want to call Hanako the main character. She's a young slum-dwelling prostitute running a scam. The film rotates around her actions which are seemingly mindless and vengeful...but it comes back to survival of the fittest. If the other people involved with her hadn't tried to pull cons of their own, essentially manipulating her - which is DEEPLY resented - things may not have occurred as they do. Or maybe it would have played out exactly the same way. She burns everything to the ground, a devastation of bitterness, jealousy and child-like wrath. Honestly, despite the despicable and demonic nature of Hanako, I see a ray of hope in her that I don't see in many of Oshima's other female characters. She at least gets up and frantically tries to claw her way out of the pit.
Oh, this was a doozy, as idealism attacks idealism, layered with the personal goals and self-interest of the participants. This film reminded me of a discussion I had with someone regarding non-profits and personal interests: everyone has a goal, and it may not fit cleanly within the larger ideology. The film spews a dog's breakfast of misunderstandings, suspicions and dogma onto the screen, not to make you believe or understand them, but to point them out in glaring relief. They're highlighted with supreme pessimism. It's a seething mass of philosophies and social intrigues. As an aside, I first recognized Oshima's incredible faithfulness to a particular cast while watching this film (notably actors like Kei Sato, Atsuko Kaku and Rokko Toura). You see the same faces again and again...which can be good or bad, depending. It distracts somewhat, perhaps more-so when glutting yourself during an unhealthy binge as I've been doing. These films were never meant to be viewed so closely together.
No YouTube reults for this one, which is a shame. Much like Boy, it has a sympathetic resonance some of the other films deeply lack. Oshima chooses the subject of a poor family living in a bad area; the characters are good people with slightly warped ethics - warped only because they can't exist any other way. The mother is ill and can't work, so the son takes the homing pigeons she'd purchased for his mentally challenged younger sister and sells them on the street for food money...trusting the pigeons will return in a few days. He doesn't feel right doing this and neither does the mother. But needs must as the devil drives. The film winds up being a statement on naive social sympathies, and misunderstanding motivations. It also has those earmarks of "no one comes out happy in the end". The well-to-do girl who sympathizes with the boy has her innocent ideals dashed when she realizes he's pulling a con (albeit a very small con). The boy - because the deception is discovered - can get neither a good job, nor can he attend school as he has to take care of his mother. I believe the phrase "class alienation" is much-used in reviews. Yet it manages to maintain some hope at the end, regardless of the biting title. And as a side story adding despondent flavor, the mentally challenged sister likes to draw the dead animals she finds in their neighborhood. The drawings are memorable, and one in particular (of a contorted rat) seemed to draw a pitying gasp from the audience.
Right around here is when I seriously started having problems with Oshima. Not because I disliked it, per se, but because I couldn't possibly understand. Each review I've read refers to his disappointment with and criticism of post-war Japan - the Sakurada family being the representation. It was unfortunate that I watched the film solely at face value, but points to Oshima for making it work either way. Although it's a difficult trip without the uber-intellectual platform to stand on. This film takes a difficult family and places it in a new realm of epic insidiousness. All the philandering and warped youth, hopeless women, mental illness and violence...it happens regardless of war. WWII in this particular film is simply a catalyst for certain scenarios. It's a bitter view of familial relations (and of Japan, as it turns out). The grandfather's incessant adultery means he has children by nearly every woman attached to the family, so there are hints of incest as the children become attracted to each other. The film begins with a sour look at one of these relationships, and the rest of the film tracks this path loosely via flashbacks and vignettes. The end is not surprising; weakness and madness reign.
Three Resurrected Drunkards aka Kaette kita yopparai, 1968
Ok, I can't say enough about this film. I adored it from beginning to end. What this says about me, I'm not sure. Three students on a "last fling" from school visit the beach and have their clothes stolen, only to be replaced by Korean uniforms. Thus begins a whirlwind of misunderstandings and evasions. I was delighted to discover that the three charming young men in the film are the gents who perform the title music...three members of the Folk Crusaders, a Japanese psych-folk band. An interesting choice for Oshima, but brilliant. You care for them in that pat-pat-pat-let's-get-you-home-to-your-mum way. It is a quirky and humorous film. But still dark. They're mistaken for stowaway Koreans; the Koreans who stole their clothes need to kill the Japanese boys in their clothes to stop the ongoing search; the beautiful Korean girl who helps them has a boorish husband who whores her out to Korean stowaways. There's a fascinating documentarian scene where the boys walk down city streets asking people if they're Japanese and the bulk of answers are "No, I'm Korean". This movie was certainly taking a hard look at xenophobia, and has a hard end. There's also rampant references to Vietnam, and especially a focus on the South Vietnamese General Nguyen Ngoc Loan executing a Viet Cong officer with a shot to the head which is an infamous and incriminating picture from Vietnam, although it has come to light the execution may have been warranted. I've read several variants of the story. At the time Three Resurrected Drunkards was made, that photo was the seminal representation of things gone wrong. This film could be considered an excellent example as well; even when the boys are given their second chance (a little tongue-in-cheek, that), nothing turns out right. I've included two separate YouTube clips below...I liked it that much. I gather from The Auteurs site that not everyone is as enthralled as I.
Personally, I felt this film should have been shown first (it was part of a double-feature with Three Resurrected Drunkards). On the other hand, many people may have left before Drunkards and that would have been a crying shame. Sing A Song Of Sex is not only looking at alienated youth and oppressed sexuality, but again is making a strong statement about Japanese xenophobia and the history of post-war Japan. The final scene was amazing, as old Japan tries to speak and reason with new Japan. However, it's a hard film. How many times have I said that in this entry? I should count. Out of the ten I saw, this was the most difficult. The film "begins" with a senseless act. There's no thought or remorse. A decision is made and you never know why. Someone dies. And the rest of the film stems from there. It is chock-full of unexplained acts. But in reality it isn't as though people turn to you and give graphic explanations or rationales for why they do something. And I found that refreshing, although the actions taken in the film could be quite repulsive (rapes aplenty in this one, even if some are imagined). The boys move from typical teenage responses to a more sociopathic level. Oshima overlaps several concerns, including the Japanese-Korean relationship, a critical look at Japan's youth, and the shallow nod given by many to protest and idealism....I found the protest-parody scene to be vicously accurate.
What a visually stunning film, and a piece of cruel period erotica not to be missed. It includes a breathtaking score by Ryuichi Sakamoto. And, if you read the article linked above, I have an argument to make. Upon first viewing, you say to yourself "Huh?" - this isn't the Oshima I've come to expect (the latter part of this day's double-feature, The Catch, would more than make up for that). However, I have two points to make. One: while it seems as though he is in fact creating a movie of the type he once despised, look at it through Oshima's allegorical lens: he has taken his infamous rape scenes and moved them one rung higher. I quibble a bit about a young man prettier than a girl (played by the surreal-looking Ryuhei Matsuda) gaining the vengeance that I would have liked to see the earlier of Oshima's female characters get, but that is neither here nor there. To refocus, Two: it aggravates me when people expect a director to langorously clutch the same ideals for four decades. That would bore either him or everyone else. People grow and change, thank god. Regardless of whether you feel this is worthy of being an "Oshima" (as he becomes his own definition), it is a striking and worthy piece. As is sadly typical, a few people walked out during the sex scene. Whether it was because it was sex, or because it was anal sex between two men...I try not to judge other than to ask how you could possibly leave such a beautiful film. I'm also trying to decide if Oshima was having a little fun at our expense, as his years have indeed been filled with revealing the skittering undersides of rocks. That he is giving homosexuality that same level of taboo, as it were...and pointing his finger at us to say, "You idiots."
Ah well, couldn't find a video for this either. A shame. This was the last Oshima film I watched; it was presented about ten minutes after Taboo, and I haven't heard a worse grinding of mental gears in a long time. You're swooning from the intoxicating beauty and violence of Taboo, and suddenly watching a black American GI with his leg still in a trap being marched to a tiny isolated Japanese village. I must admit that this film was an excellent choice as the last of the series. It sums up so many of the qualities I've come to look for in Oshima's earlier work. It reminds me of Elevator to the Gallows for some reason, perhaps in a "things can only get worse" way. You can tell immediately that nothing good is going to happen to that soldier, as all the villagers' personal faults, flaws and scandals are blamed on him. He is considered an ill omen, bad luck. This is a dark scrutiny of mob mentality and the ease of rationalizing violence (which, come to think of it, has been another running theme). Oshima does not dwell on certain subjects as you'd expect in contemporary cinema - there's no long running shot of the soldier's festering leg, no weepy lingering hold on the still form of the child at the bottom of the cliff. I think more than anything, the director reviles sentimentality and wants no part of it. But he's a HUGE fan of manipulation.
Nagisa Oshima's 100 Years of Japanese Cinema
Technically, I'm breaking my own rule here and placing this outside of my personal chronology. I saw this before Taboo. However, it seems a fine way to wrap up this entry. Regarding 100 Years of Japanese Cinema, here is a good article (one in a series of four) entitled, "His Will On Film" written by Rob Nelson. Regardless of Oshima's take on the history of Japanese film, I would like to see every example in his documentary. And, in fact, found a site that has a complete or near-complete listing. During the film, he says quite clearly that Japan has been too dependent upon Japan, and that once they break free of those conventions, Japanese cinema will be allowed to evolve. And here's the point where I can relate this film back to comments made about Taboo. It was certainly this sort of statement which made people arch an eyebrow at samurai and cherry blossoms. There was a small uncomfortable laugh that ran through the audience when he states how he dislikes being associated with La Nouvelle Vague. More interesting still that LACMA has decided to pointedly have a celebration of Nouvelle Vague directors once the Oshima retro is completed. Clever on the part of the museum's film program coordinator, and hopefully it will create an intelligent and curious contrast.
“My hatred for Japanese cinema includes absolutely all of it."
I have a scanner with a very small bed. I've been unpacking books. While staring at mounds of cloth-bound this 'n that - my collection - the two separate subjects finally clicked.
So today, my tiny scanner presents to you an Old Chestnut. One of my earliest acquisitions and still one of my favorites. The book itself is interesting enough: the large 1894 published guide for New York at the World's Columbia Exposition (1893). Many fascinating presentations (I'm particularly fond of the epic-scaled obsessiveness with which the canned fruit was arranged, towering in a heap). Walls of wool, botanical gardens, inventions, an Iroquois longhouse and a woolly mammoth...but what caught my eye, in truth, was the following.
REPORT ON THE CHARITIES AND CORRECTIONS EXHIBIT: EXHIBIT CLASSED IN LIBERAL ARTS DEPARTMENT, BUT INSTALLED IN THE ANTHROPOLOGICAL BUILDING
A special effort was made by the exposition authorities to secure from all the States exhibits of the methods employed in their charitable, penal, correctional and reformatory institutions, and a special bureau was formed for that purpose in the liberal arts department. New York's board heartily supported the idea and obtained the co-operation of the State Board of Charities. The latter, under the personal supervision of their secretary, Dr. Charles S. Hoyt, prepared a systematic statement of the laws and conditions governing the work in New York, and tabulated charts of results obtained and developments noted, supplemented by models of the best institutions in the State. The Board of General Managers on their part defrayed all expenses connected with the exhibit. As a tangible and graphic representation of the results of many years of liberal expenditure of public money and of the labors of earnest, able and devoted men and women, it possessed a special interest for our own citizens and gave to visitors from other States and countries an impressive conception of the charitable munificence of New York. It is much to be regretted that the installation of the exhibit from New York was so poorly arranged by the exposition director in charge. Scattered about the Anthropological Building in several different places, in accordance with the exposition idea of a comparative exhibit by States and countries of similar subjects, the display lost a great deal of its impressiveness. The paucity of material rendered the "comparative" display in this department a total failure from a scientific standpoint, and the State displays suffered correspondingly in effect because of this fractional arrangement. Much of the confusion was probably due to the indifferent attitude of the exposition officials toward the liberal arts department in the construction period of the fair, and the very late date and consequent hurry in which the Anthropological Building was completed and the exhibits installed.
Among the most noteworthy exhibits from New York in this department were the Rochester Industrial School, containing a full representation of the studies pursued and work done in the institution; the model of the Elmira Reformatory; model of the Utica insane asylum; model of the Letchworth Poorhouse, and splendid series of forty-two statistical charts tabulating volumes of information.
The Letchworth Poorhouse especially attracted wide attention. It was designed by the Hon. Wm. P. Letchworth, of Buffalo, who has been for many years a member of the State Board of Charities, and has made poorhouse architecture a study for twenty years. The objects attained in the model are perfect sanitation, convenience and economy in administration, protection against fire, and a proper classification of the inmates according to their peculiar physical and mental condition, and a complete separation of the sexes. The model on exhibition provided for the accomodation of eighty persons. It is a matter of congratulation that the State was enabled to show a building which virtually represented the experience of the world, and will prove a model for similar instituions in this and other countries.
The following extract from the current annual report of the State Board of Charities will summarize the scope and character of the exhibit:
NEW YORK STATE CHARITABLE EXHIBIT AT THE WORLD'S COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION
"At the request of the Managers of the State of New York at the World's Columbian Exposition, held in Chicago in 1893, this board prepared exhibits of the penal, charitable, eleemosynary, correctional and reformatory work of the State, which were forwarded to Chicago early in the year, and assigned space in connection with similar exhibits from other States and countries at the exposition. These exhibits, in accordance with instructions issued by the bureau of charities and correction, approved by the director general of the exposition, then in course of preparation and referred to in the last annual report of the board, were as follows:
"1. A map of the State, designating in block characters the location of all its penal, charitable, eleemosynary, correctional and reformatory institutions.
"2. A directory of the penal, charitable, eleemosynary, correctional and reformatory institutions of this State, showing the object and the purposes of such instututions and their classification by county.
"3. A set of statistical charts, forty-two in number, relating to crime, pauperism, insanity, immigration, etc., with the annual expenditures therefor, and the value of the property of all kinds in the State, held for penal, charitable, correctional and reformatory purposes, October 1, 1892.
"4. A complete set of the annual and special reports of this board, with copies of circulars, blanks, forms, tables, etc., issued from time to time in the prosecution of its work.
"5. Photographic books or albums of various charitable, correctional and reformatory institutions of the State, with the history, objects and purposes, government and management, receipts and expenditures, and the number of beneficiaries of such institutions, prepared, at the request of the board, by their respective managers.
"6. A model of an approved plan for poorhouses, which special reference to separation of the sexes and classification of inmates, heating, lighting, ventilation and drainage, projected and designed by Commissioner Letchworth and constructed under his supervision and direction.
"In addition to these exhibits by this board, other exhibits were prepared by various charitable, correctional and reformatory institutions of the State and sent directly to the exposition, among which were the following: A model of the reformatory at Elmira; a model of a detached hospital building of the Utica State Hospital; a model of the hospital building of the State Custodial Asylum for Feeble-Minded Young Women at Newark, with numerous photographic views of the institution; a large collection of technological work, by the State Industrial School at Rochester; and photographic views of the buildings, plans, etc., of the Buffalo State Hospital at Buffalo, and the St. Lawrence State Hospital at Ogdensburg. The institutions for feeble-minded children, for the blind and the deaf, made their exhibits through their respective national associations for these classes; and, besides those above enumerated, numerous other charitable, correctional and reformatory institutions, societies and associations of the State prepared and forwarded exhibits, through various channels, and were given space at the exposition under the classification to which they respectively belonged.
" It will thus be seen that this State contributed largely to the penal, charitable, correctional and reformatory exhibit at this exposition, and it is believed that its display in this direction, both in the extent and variety of its subjects and the comprehensive and artistic manner in which they were presented, compared favorably with such exhibits by other States and countries, reflecting credit alike upon the State and its institutions. In an address upon the grounds of the exposition upon the occasion of 'New York Day,' his excellency, Governor Flower, referring to the various classes of exhibits by this State, spoke of its charitable exhibits as follows:
" 'The great work which New York State and its civil subdivisions do for the relief of pauperism, for the care of the insane and the education of the defective classes, has been demonstrated at this exposition as it has never been before. The whole range of activity of the charitable, orrectional and reformatory institutions of the State has been shown in a way which makes the subject clearer than volumes of reports would do. It is the boast of our christian civilization that it cares for those whom pagan civilization neglected. The private and public beneficence of New York transcends all limitations of sect or creed, and its graphic delineation here may well challenge the attention of the world.'
"These and other exhibits, the property of the State, have been returned to Albany, and are waiting legislative action for their proper care and proposed permanent exposition."
Me again. Being a native New Yorker, I find the above fascinating as I'm familiar with the institutions mentioned...at least some of them. My mind boggles a bit at phrases like the above comment on christianity and paganism. Now this may seem unfair, but of all the varied things they could present in full-page illustrative glory, they chose the "Kemmler" chair.
On the preceding page it states: "Kemmler" chair; first chair and apparatus used in the world to inflict the death penalty by electricity; first used at Auburn prison August 6, 1890, for the execution of Kemmler.
I mentioned this was an old chestnut, because there are a few potential readers out there who will recognize my incessant obsession with this device. I wish I could explain it; it is an interwovern guilt and shame, and a bamboozled perplexity regarding the decorative punched metal (tin?) seat. I wonder who made that seat. I wonder if Kemmler noticed it. Things like this bother me.
The extremely grim details of the execution can be found here: William Kemmler
Lucky you, more to come! Many books to pry open, many inscrutable and obtuse thoughts to delve.
