MEXICAN HALLOWEEN PART ONE

Having determined to regale my small but sporadic readership with my experiences in enjoying a week of thrills from South of the Border, I promptly disabled myself in the middle of the first movie with a medical error.  I took a migraine pill the wrong way at the wrong time and put myself down for about five hours after the damnedest physical reaction I have ever had.  However I pulled through and here I am to do my duty.

Il mostruoso dottor Crimen (1952) a.k.a The Revived Monster, is said to be Mexico's first Mad Doctor movie.  [Addendum: the correct Spanish title is El monstruo resuscitado - I was watching an Italian print of the film with dual Italian/Spanish audio and English subtitles.] A jaded journalist answers an enigmatic advertisement which leads her into the bizarre domain of a masked doctor in his gloomy mansion between the cemetery and the sea.  His hideous countenance and social rejection drove him to become a renowned plastic surgeon and amateur sculptor of waxen beauties, but naturally his inner conflicts and isolation from humanity have deranged him.  

She becomes the first person ever to show him kindness or encouragement, inducing him to unmask, but when he learns that her true motivation is to get a great story he contrives a convoluted revenge.  This involves the inexplicable revivification of a handsome corpse by somehow transferring into it the life force of the beast-man he keeps caged in the basement, the resulting revenant being operated by the remote power of his insane mind.  This is really a gothic melodrama with plenty of appeal for the ladies - a strong independent female falling into a relationship with a pitiable but creative soul who ultimately becomes too crazy to endure.  How many times has that happened to you?  It happens here every day. 

This was filmed at the Churubusco Azteca studios, the RKO of Mexico, on a couple of very nice elaborate interior sets and some strange little exterior ones the size of a garage with a rear projection screen at the end showing the sea or the city.  It is a realm of endless night and one thing I love about these Mexican horror movies is their dark beauty.  The scenes are often staged with a truly artistic eye for lighting and the striking forms of arches and silhouettes, as these images reveal:

Despite its thrifty and slightly primitive origin it achieves a powerful mood and its melodramatic and sentimental nature becomes quite affecting.  Its formulas and cliches are not of the Mad Doctor variety, but more of the Doomed Romance style of older horror films, the pathetic situation of a gifted man who is too ugly and crazy to live, and an endangered woman whose error was in showing kindness to someone too poorly socialized to understand it.   

YES, it's the hideous story of my OWN TERRIBLE LIFE!!!!

IT DIDN'T START IN NIGERIA

 IN demonstration of the fact that the email scams of today are of long ignoble lineage, and that the wiseass response thereto is of nearly equal age, I present this excerpt from

P. H. WOODWARD

 Adventures in the Secret Service of the Post-Office Department

Entitled:

AN OLD GAME REVIVED

 On the 18th of September, 1875, a fellow was arrested in West Virginia who sent the victims whom he proposed to bleed letters whereof the following is a copy:--

 "A lady who boarded with me died on last Saturday of apoplexy. She left a trunk containing the following property: One very fine ladies' gold watch and chain, one ladies' gold necklace, six ladies' finger rings, earrings, and a great deal of ladies' clothing. Among other things was a letter addressed to you. I suppose you to be a relative of the deceased, and want to send you the trunk. When Miss Thompson died she left a board bill unpaid amounting to $20.50. You will please send this amount by return mail, and the trunk will be forwarded to you immediately."

 Instead of remitting the money as modestly requested, the recipient of one of these choice douceurs, a lady residing in the interior of Pennsylvania, sent the letter to the mayor of the town where it was dated and postmarked, who in turn handed it over to special agent T. P. Shallcross; and he in the course of a day or two succeeded in capturing the miscreant.

 This particular form of the confidence game is very old; yet in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and seventy-five a swindler by means of it succeeds not only in maintaining himself in dashing style, but also in sporting a flashy traveling companion of the female persuasion!

 Where the letters are addressed to men, the articles reported to be found in the imaginary trunk are changed to correspond to masculine habits and wants. The operators receive many singular and some entertaining replies. The following, dated long ago from a small town at the South, may serve as a sample, the orthography of the original being preserved:--

 "COL. SNOWDEN,

 "Dear Sir,--Yours received, and you say John is dead. Poor fellow! I always expected it. Death runs in the family. Dyed suddenly of appleplexy--eat too many apples. Well, I always thought John would hurt himself eating apples. I s'pose you had him buried. You said nothing about funeral expenses. He had a trunk--gold watch in it, &c. Well, well, what an unexpected legacy! but strange things happen sometimes. Never thought I should get a gold watch so. And he had the watch in his trunk, did he? Poor fellow! was always so particular 'bout his watch and fixings. Had two revolvers. What is them? I never heard John say anything about them. Well, you have been so kind as to write to me; just keep all the balance of the things, you can have them; but the gold watch, send that to me by express. Send immediately if not sooner."

 "Very truly,

 "GEO. STREAM.

 "P. S. My mother in law says, if you come this way, call. She likes to know all such good, kind folks."

 It is safe to conclude that "Col. Snowden" never accepted the invitation to call from the hospitable mother-in-law.

The Two Mona Lisas

This morning I spent some time looking at the website of The Mona Lisa Foundation, proponents of the "Earlier Mona Lisa" theory. I have never thought much of the Mona Lisa as a painting, but there are features to this thing that I found interesting enough to think a little about and to have an uneducated opinion about.  Here are the two Mona Lisas:

 

These are just details of the face - there is a lot more to each picture that bears looking into. The assertion of The Mona Lisa Foundation is that the picture on the left was painted by Leonardo eleven years earlier than the picture on the right, and that he painted both pictures.  They seem to have a lot of evidence which they say supports this; far more than I care to dig through.  That is why my opinion must remain uneducated.  However I live in the Kooks Museum and our shelves are full of books by people with something to prove and the one thing they all have in common is that whatever it is they have to prove, whether it is perfectly sensible or completely crazy, they all prove it, at least to their own satisfaction. I am also a painter and I have found that people who set out to prove things with lots of supporting evidence usually think in a very different way from the way a painter thinks, as I have pointed out in the past.

Here is what my opinion is. It is my opinion that this is not necessarily a person painted by same artist eleven years apart.  One painting is copied from the other painting.  I am an artist and I am going to paint the same person eleven years after I first painted her.  I have painted a really good portrait of a cute little gal and eleven years later I say I want to paint you again as a kind of stodgy matron only everything else will be EXACTLY the same except for the background. I will even give you the same hands and not paint the hands you have now which are eleven years older. And she and her husband are going to say okay that sounds good.  What gets me is the line of her hair on the left side.  I might be able to cajole a woman into wearing the same costume and same hairstyle and into striking the same pose eleven years later - which itself does not make much sense except in a 'conceptual art' context which I don't think even existed then - but her hair is not going to do the exact same thing as it did eleven years before.  It isn't even going to be the same hair.  Her hands are not going to be in exactly the same position, the folds in the sleeves are not going to be exactly the same.  Or maybe I would just have a couple of assistants copy the previous painting and I will just step in and do the face and make her look kind of flabby and grumpy compared to the peppy little doll in the old painting.  Then I have to make sure they don't see the first painting so they don't go what the hell you made her look like her own mom, that's not what we are paying you for.

One of those pictures is copied from the other one, so side by side comparisons of the proportions of the two paintings don't prove anything because all you need to do is use any one of three simple mechanical devices to copy the forms and proportions exactly, which any apprentice could do.  They both seem to be painted with a great degree of skill and they both look pretty old.  As I said I have never been able to grasp the romantic ideal of the Mona Lisa so I don't really get what a great painting it is, but it seems to be well executed.  Both of them.  I am not qualified to make any statements on how much of Leonardo's paintings were done by assistants, how often he used what kind of pigment on what kind of board or canvas, etc. but I will tell you this as an artist - I am not the only person on earth who has looked at that painting and said, "That would be a pretty good picture if you fixed up her face a little, because frankly she is not that great looking a gal."  I think that is what we have got here.   But what do I know.

MAID IN HOLLYWOOD - Brief and Anonymous

Film careers for a woman of color in the mid-20th century were often brief and anonymous.  For a pretty young woman like Anita Turner, it may be that her film career ended when she entered what was then considered a woman's "real" career - marriage.  In any case, she was only in three movies, and we see her here as Esther in the Technicolor logging melodrama, River Woman (1948). 

In the late 1940s and into the '50s a sassy maid was rare, but like many maids Esther is slightly subversive, an encourager of forbidden romance, and sometimes bearer of startling news.

The name of the tall, slim young woman who played Ellen, the maid in The Moth (1934), is unknown.  The protagonist Diane, played by Sally O'Neil, is rebellious and unconventional, and she treats Ellen more as a friend and confidante than a servant, and even gives her money to help Ellen's needy family members.

It should be noted that, while white people sometimes touch a maid in a friendly or affectionate manner, a maid rarely, if ever, forgets her station. She touches white persons only when dressing or assisting them. 

67th and Foster

When we moved into this part of Southeast Portland umpteen years ago the corner of 67th and Foster Road, like most of the surrounding area, was a bit outdated.  On the southeast corner was a Keinow's Market, the Phoenix Pharmacy and a laundromat.  The Keinow's was the neighborhood market and you could actually see your neighbors there.  There was an old fashioned American style bakery on the premises and it was great to have a place within walking distance to get a fresh-baked cherry danish.  On other corners of the intersection were a furniture store and the old Rexall Drugstore building, come down in the world to become called Allen Video, really sort of a junk store selling VHS tapes and used telephones - the kind with a wire you plugged into the wall.  Its distinctive feature was the one-armed robot gorilla in overalls eternally pivoting and waving out front.  It was great to be able to tell people to "go out Foster until you see the one armed robot gorilla in overalls."  I went through my old photos a few weeks ago and found to my dismay I somehow neglected to take a single picture of the one armed robot gorilla in overalls.  Eventually it lost even that one arm and its ability to pivot, but a gorilla in overalls is still a great landmark.  At last it too went the way of the landline telephone, and Allen Video itself - gone in the mists of memory.

It is the opposite corner of which I wish to write today, of the Kienow's Market and Phoenix Pharmacy.  It was saddening to have the Kienow's close, for me mostly because of the bakery.  It was soon replaced by a Dollar Tree store, a national chain purveying shoddy goods for the lowest price.  Saddening, too, was the fact that the Phoenix Pharmacy, rather than promoting its unique services - pharmacy, post office, newsstand, etc., tried to compete with the Dollar Tree on its own turf, bringing in markdown items and shoddy goods of its own.  Of course it was doomed to fail, and be replaced by a store which raised our hopes but shortly dashed them in the manner I shall soon describe.  Behold the Save-A-Lot.

We walked over one Saturday afternoon to attend the gala grand opening of the Save-A-Lot.  There was a live band inside playing sixties hits, and out on the corner a union protest with a huge banner proclaiming the unfairness of the corporation.  We went in with fond memories of Kienow's and hopes for a neighborhood grocery store to take its place, but found instead a strange alternate universe.  The Savings of Save-A-Lot apparently came from carrying its own proprietary brands, found nowhere else.  Everything had strange names like Mrs. Freshly's and Bubba Cola, Bramley's and Coburn Farms.  Everything also had a kind of cheapness to it which did not inspire confidence.  The problem with shopping at Save-A-Lot was that it made me feel POOR.  It was a store for poor people and when I stepped through that door into the bleak interior and wandered the aisles looking at hillbilly food, I felt poor too.  When I go into the Dollar Tree to buy disposable razors I feel like I am entering the normal world.  When I went into the Save-A-Lot I was entering the hillbilly world, the po' folks universe, the place a cut below WalMart.  A flimsy, cheap-jack bargain world of unappealing crap - rubbery cinnamon buns, off brand soda, and ten pound bags of frozen fish sticks.

Note that I have been writing of Save-A-Lot in the past tense.  I walked over to the Dollar Tree yesterday to get another pack of ten Persona disposable razors to keep my George Brent mustache trim and fit - not because I really needed them but just to get out of the damn house and out into the even more damned blinding glare of hideous late summer sun.  Since I was there I thought I would go in and see if there was even one single thing in the Save-A-Lot I could possibly buy.  I found it semi-chaotic and nearly empty of products as it was in the process of closing, selling off the nearly inedible cheap grub for even more deeply discounted prices.  The type of folks who shopped there found it much to their liking and were resting armloads of bargain semi-foods upon their distended abdomens preparatory to dumping it into the cart.  I actually saw that.  The store manager seemed to be having quite a time, shouting almost continuously about the great deals to be had on that repulsive imitation nutriment.  I did a little search when I got home and found a statement from a corporate spokesperson saying their intention in closing 60 Save-A-Lot, Albertsons, and Acme stores was to cut costs and increase stockholder dividends.  Not to improve the company or provide better service; certainly not to sell better products.  It was truly a fitting culmination to my Save-A-Lot experience.

I rode over today and took a couple of pictures with my crummiest camera, also getting a few shots of this car entirely filled with crap except for a small space for the driver:

They were probably stocking up on pudding cups, canned sausages, barbecue flavor potato chips, and other items appropriate for ingestion while sitting in an automobile entirely filled with useless junk. What will become of the place is unknown - the laundromat was already closed, but there was no sign of the Dollar Tree closing unless they are keeping it a secret until the last minute.  Maybe instead of trying to peddle more cheap crap to poor people, trying to get a dollar each from a hundred people, somebody ought to try selling something good and get ten dollars from twenty people instead.  The next few years hold hints of vague promise for 67th and Foster, but we shall see.

MAID IN HOLLYWOOD - Katherine Jackson

 Katherine Jackson was only in two movies, and she played Glory Bell the maid in the nautical adventure Mutiny Ahead (1935). Here she is looking skeptically upon the advances of Sassafrass the cook, played by Ray Cook with his distinctively toothy grin.

 Glory Bell is a sassy maid, and Miss Jackson has a bright personality that adds a lot to the proceedings.  The film treats both of them pretty well with Sass cleaning out the entire crew with his extensive knowledge of those rolling bones, and Glory Bell getting the last word with everyone.

PORTLANDIA MEETS THE CURSE OF CHIEF NIWOT

UPDATED NOV. 8 2012!! Welcome, new readers!

My current home city of Portland Oregon seems to be slightly better known to the world than many cities of similar size.  If people know anything at all about Portland, the one thing they do know is this - COLLECTABLE COMMEMORATIVE FIREARMS.  Right?  That's what really says Portland - a thousand dollar plus Mossberg 30-30 with decorative plaques screwed onto it that is so fancy you would never even shoot it - an object which utterly betrays its own primary function and is almost perfectly useless.  Strangely that really is very Portlandy, even if only by accident.  Why am I even writing such crazy things, you may ask.  Because of the latest Stupidest Advertisement which graced our doorstep yesterday - The Portland Heritage Rifle.  Here are clickable, enlargeable images of the wonderful thing:

As it says, "Portland has emerged from its muddy roots as a logging center and major seaport to become known as one of the most beautiful 'green' cities in the world.  It is this proud history that inspired us to include Portland into our Heritage Rifle special edition collection." Emphasis and grammatical error their own.  Except that Portland wasn't really that much of a logging center - the logs came through on the river but once the townsite was clearcut not a whole hell of a lot of logging took place here after the first fifty years or so. That's the sort of thing people think about Portland who don't actually know much about its real history.  I mean, it started off that way, but it didn't stay that way for long. Okay it was a logging center.  I admit it.  You just don't encounter the lumberjack theme here very much is all I am saying. But it wasn't really that much of a seaport since it is on a river and the sea is way off yonder thataway about a day's drive by log wagon - it was a port, yes, but a river port.  You kind of have to be on the sea to be a seaport.  It's true there was once a Lewis & Clark Centennial Pavilion here, a temporary Spanish Renaissance style structure built in 1905 which promptly vanished once the festivities ended, well over 100 years ago. The Oregon Steam Navigation Company originated in Portland, that is true, but its purpose was primarily to transport goods up the Columbia river, not the Willamette which is the river that actually flows through Portland - I am starting to quibble a bit here so I will just stop. Oh let's face it, this is all quibbling.  So what the hell.  What on earth did they get right on this distinctly Portlandy decorative collectable $200 down and $100 a month for an unspecified number of months unshootable firearm?  Eh?  This of course:

Portland's Aerial Tram!  Celebrated for its Portlandyness by absolutely no actual Portlanders, given appropriate pride of place on the rifle's BUTT, it is a folly and boondoggle built to connect two widely separated portions of the Oregon Health & Science University, which no average person ever has any reason to use. Significantly absent is any truly Portlandy scene, except for the 100 year old Steel Bridge dating way back to heritageous 1912. Even in the promotional photograph all iconic features are invisible or carefully covered by the gorgeous product.  Where is Portlandia, our beloved Fifty Foot Woman, reaching down as into the shattered roof of a seedy honky tonk to crush us in her vengeful grip?

 

Alas, nowhere.  Where is the Portland Oregon sign, a garish advertisement originally built in the 1940s for White Satin Sugar, to progress through various incarnations, its mercantile origins forgotten to become a beloved icon and garish advertisement for Portland itself, and its quaint miniature skid row of Old Town?

Carefully concealed behind the upper gun, that is where it is.  And who the hell is Chief Niwot?

The most wondrous thing about this glorious farce of advertising is the way it connects the two ends of my life - I was born in Fort Collins Colorado on October 11 1957, my birth heralded by a green fireball that lit the skies and vanished into the west.  There is a half-jesting tradition there of  The Curse of Chief Niwot (pronounced nye wot) - if you ever live in Fort Collins you will always return. I don't know anything else about Chief Niwot.  I lived there three separate times and now that I am determined never to return, it follows me.  Once or twice a year a ludicrous circumstance or ridiculous product or atrocious socio-political movement comes to my attention which is so absurd and deranged it can only come from Fort Collins as I did.  Like this ridiculously decorative, atrociously mark-missing rifle and, I assume, many similar products from American Legacy Firearms of Fort Collins Colorado.  Chief Niwot strikes again in his usual crazy way, bringing my silly life full circle.


ADDENDUM: Having taken five seconds to do a search on Chief Niwot, I find that his curse is associated with Boulder Colorado, not Fort Collins at all!  I was lied to, LABORING UNDER A CURSE THAT DID NOT EXIST.  Fort Collins, I am free of you forever!

UPDATE NOV. 8 2012!!  The Portland Heritage Rifle finally got some press in the form of an article on the Oregonian website.  Thanks go to Journalist Eric Mortenson  for covering this vital story and for showing the wisdom to pluck one of my finest quotes from this slapdash farce of an essay.  I am that howling blogger as you know. My wife said, "Taken out of context, your quote makes you sound like some kind of 'anti-boondoggle' crank."  Boondoggles have a bad reputation it is true, and how could anyone imagine the deep and abiding love I have for them?  Let the world think what it likes but my affection for them is strong and eternal.  I was startled to learn the actual two thousand dollar price tag for this wondrous product, and delighted to see a photo of a person who would really buy one - very much as I imagined, except I imagined him clambering out of a nine foot tall pickup truck with Tea Party bumperstickers in the parking lot of the Home Depot, a bluetooth phone dealy clipped to one ear.  I was just thinking of this fabulous firearm again the other day, and what I thought was, "I sure hope that is a Build On Demand kind of thing because I hate to think they had a couple hundred of them made..."  The fact is, it's only a hundred but still, what I continued to think was, "... because someday someone is going to find a whole stack of mysterious cases way in the back corner of the warehouse and when they pry one open they will say 'Who the hell ever thought this crazy thing would sell?'"  Looks like that is what may really happen, though none of us may live to see that day. As for the Curse of Chief Niwot - true or false, up he pops again in the pink and weeping form of cute/sad Abigail Evans, the "Bronco Bama" girl, resident of funny old Fort Collins Colorado, calling me to return to the sun kissed, snow-laden rolling plains of my birth, and cry.