Searching around for the story of Peter and the wolf, which I needed for a painting I’m doing, I came across this superb animation. Beautiful stop-motion: the cat and the wolf caught my eye especially. This is only a trailer by the way, but you can probably find the full version (30 min) somewhere on the internet.

And, digging a little deeper, I found this old soviet animation from the seventies. Clever technique and beautiful vision. The owl is my favourite.

Dear nostalgic of (or allergic to) the seventies,

After my last post which exuded hate and anger, I truly needed something shallow and funny. “You should be dancing” told me Cayden. Happily he didn’t try to sing like one of the Bee Gees. But he was totally right! Music and dance are the best way to forget everyday problems, have fun, meet people, burn calories and wear our best “party dresses”!

I listened to this Grandadbob song which always makes me dance in front of my mirror, then I decided to go back to the seventies.

Why the seventies? Because this era is (in Europe and in the USA) the symbol of amazing parties, freedom, and expression of identities. Of course this was an illusion, nothing was so simple and minorities were still fighting for their rights. But at least, in the music, in the spotlights, and on the dance floors, there was the possibility of being united for celebration, for dance, for bodies’ pleasure!

Don’t ask me why, when I think 70’s I hear Disco, when I hear Disco I see gold! Let’s go to the golden age of Disco then! I put on my old golden dress from Nylon Outfitters which is totally vintage now, and simply added a jacket and some accessories (like this antique headress from Chapeau très Mignon which brings a 20’s side to my 70’s ). Don’t say I was too lazy to elaborate a more complex outfit: I just needed to party as soon as possible!  Of course I ended my outfit with golden shoes but as I’m often unable to make choices I decided to take three different pairs of them and to alternate every three hours (or at each bottle of champagne)…

Cayden joined the party and created the perfect outfit to match mine. He even accepted to grant my request: as I remembered the “nigger” insult I had to tolerate (yes my last post again!) I decided to wear the best Afro haircut I could find in my inventory, and asked him to do the same. I’m not into racial classification. I never define a person with her/his skin colour, but for once it was quite funny to play with the cliché of the “Afro from the 70’s”. Dressed and combed this way, we could have been the heroes from a Blaxploitation movie. I’d have been the new Pam Grier, and he, the new Shaft!

It’s true we were not totally Abba’s Dancing Queens but I can say we were looking like real Disco Queens… Oups, I mean Disco Twins!

- Tintable Afro hair by MAU’s & MEJ’s

- Fiona glow skin (lemon) by Free Speerit

- Gold party dress by Nylon Outfitters

- Black fur-coat by Aoharu

- Medium black gloves by Tête à Pied

- Solid tintable lycra tights (dark tone) by Viva La Glam

- Cameo Brooch by Chapeau Très Mignon

- 1920’s antique headdress by Chapeau Très Mignon

- Copper paillette clutch by Tête à Pied

Ribbon slingback shoes by G Field, or Vintage gold high heels by Kitties Lair, or Crystal pump in gold by Magnifico

- Afro Dite hair by MAU’s & MEJ’s

- Orange stripe shirt by Aoharu

- Black Tokyo coat by SG Fashion

- Gold monocrom pants by Sweetest Good-bye

- Black gloves with brilliant gold by CheerNo

- La chucks by Naith Smith design

Cayden’s poses: Outrider male stand 9 by Outrider Animations (1st pic), Youniverse 18 and Brohemian 5 by Burning Envy by [ICD] (now closed but some articles are still available on SLEX (third and 4th pics), Mens Fashion 04 from the Mens Fashion set 1 by Reel Expression (7th pic).

My poses: Pussicat dance by ANOmations (1st & 4th pics), Swoon by Sine Wave (2nd pic), Spice-Fuck Yeah by Long Awkward Pose (5th pic), Shoes 03, 05 et 08 by Reel Expression (6th pic).

Probably about as much as Snoopy and Thanksgiving.

I must say though, I am thoroughly enjoying this new tradition of Star Trek and pumpkin pie on Turkey Day.

When I was a kid, I used to love for Thanksgiving and Christmas to come around so I could sit in front of my 16″ black and white TV (without cable) and watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. I loved the airing of this program because I knew after that it was a short countdown to Christmas, which meant Christmas trees, candy canes, sugar cookies, and PRESENTS!

I used to keep time around Christmas using the network television shows. Charlie Brown was the first to arrive at Thanksgiving, after that came  Frosty, Rudolph, and the Grinch. I spent many an hour in front of the television wrapped in my snuggie drinking hot chocolate watching my shows.

(For the overseas folks who may not have access to the yearly programs, here are some links where you can see them online!)

1. It’s a Wonderful Life (click to watch)

2. A Charlie Brown Christmas (click to watch)

3. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer (click to watch)

4. How the Grinch Stole Christmas (click to watch)

5. Santa Claus is Coming to Town (click to watch)

6. Frosty the Snowman (click to watch)

Typically Frosty or Rudolph were the last to air, and once they showed then I knew Christmas was within days! 

To this day, all of those shows remind me of my childhood in front of that wee-tv and I find myself smiling.

Two years ago my family began a new tradition. On Christmas night, after all of the presents have been opened, the dogs put to bed, and the food resting-not-so-comfortably in our stuffed tummies, we watch A Christmas Story.

Typically we will sit giggling raucously to quotes such as:

“I double-dog dare you!”

“You’ll shoot your eye out!”

“Fra-gee-lay”

“I want an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle!”

Last year John drove over five-and-a-half hours to join us for the movie. He laughed as hard as we did so I knew he’d fit in great with the family.

And this year, John has brought us Star Trek.

Last Thanksgiving, I did not even know John yet. This Thanksgiving, he has become a part of setting new traditions in the family…well, maybe. 

So what do Star Trek (2009 of course) and Thanksgiving have in common?

Nothing really, other than the potential of a new family tradition – thanks to my Gumpee.

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

La ressortie, ce mercredi 25 novembre, de Klute est l’occasion de s’intéresser à ce film méconnu de la décennie considérée comme le dernier âge d’or, les années 70, comme de la filmographie de son réalisateur Alan J. Pakula. Il est vrai que cette œuvre accuse un déficit de considération comparé aux deux autres opus composant sa trilogie dite du complot, les grandioses À cause d’un assassinat et Les Hommes du Président, du fait de son rythme atypique et de sa rapide bifurcation d’une enquête policière classique vers un récit intimiste, la découverte du coupable important finalement moins que la construction identitaire de son héroïne, remarquable Jane Fonda.
Un notable d’une bourgade de Pennsylvanie, Tom Gruneman, disparaît inexplicablement. John Klute (Donald Sutherland), ami et détective privé mène l’enquête avec pour seuls indices les lettres obscènes que Gruneman aurait écrites à une call-girl de New-York, Bree Daniels (Jane Fonda). Klute se rend sur place, s’installe au rez-de-chaussée de l’immeuble de Daniels et enregistre ses conversations téléphoniques. Il prend finalement contact avec elle et noue une relation d’attirance/répulsion qui parasitera ses recherches de la vérité.

Klute vaut vraiment la peine d’être découvert car il expose tous les attributs et motifs des fictions paranoïaques à venir, et repris par Pakula lui-même, mais se restreint à des sphères dont les ramifications sont encore identifiables. En 1971, année de sortie du film, l’Amérique, si elle a été éclaboussée par le sang de Kennedy ne l’est pas encore par le scandale du Watergate qui éclatera un an plus tard en 1972. Traumatisée, elle n’a pas encore perdu confiance en ses institutions bien que quelques révélations sur la surveillance étroite des citoyens exercée par les agences gouvernementales (C.I.A, F.B.I) commencent à poindre dès le début des seventies. Klute se montre ainsi parfaitement raccord avec ce contexte et plutôt que de montrer des êtres se confronter aux conséquences d’une machination impossible à révéler au grand jour (comme l’expérimenteront Warren Beatty et le duo Redford/Hoffmann), échafaude un climat oppressant s’immisçant progressivement dans la vie de chacun. Cloisonnement de plus en plus insistant (cadres, surcadres, cloison du bureau de Cable se refermant) jusque dans l’appartement de Bree Daniels et qui confine à l’isolement malgré l’activité de la ville (nombreux espaces vides composant l’arrière plan), on dénote également d’importantes zones d’ombre (formidable travail sur la photographie de Gordon Willis) comme une multiplication de plans subjectifs insinuant une surveillance ou de plans à la durée inhabituellement longue augmentant l’expectative.

Klute, sans y faire clairement référence, est un film hanté par l’assassinat de Kennedy, Tom Gruneman, que l’on verra en tout début de métrage et assez furtivement lors du repas, joue ce rôle d’une présence fantomatique que l’on évoquera au détour de dialogues ou par l’entremise d’une photo souriante de son visage. Une absence qui agira sur la vie des protagonistes, ceux-ci cherchant aussi bien à mettre à jour le mystère l’entourant (est-il mort ? Si oui, tué par qui, pourquoi ?) qu’à s’en défaire pour recommencer à vivre.
Mais le film se montre vraiment intéressant dans sa peinture du personnage féminin principal, Bree Daniels, qui semble ne s’épanouir que dans la domination exercée sur la gent masculine. C’est elle qui mène les débats et les ébats. Pourtant, elle expose certaines faiblesses et états d’âme à sa psy, la call-girl ayant du mal à réfréner les désirs d’amour et d’équilibre de la femme. Tout son petit monde sera encore plus chamboulé par l’entrée en scène du détective John Klute qui sera plutôt un élément perturbateur que véritable héros du film, contrairement à ce que l’on pouvait attendre d’un titre reprenant son patronyme. Il incarnera l’autre versant de la masculinité, celle offrant sécurité et stabilité par opposition au maquereau interprété par Roy Sheider. Un personnage féminin à fort caractère dont les attitudes de défiance cachent une fragilité à fleur de peau. Pakula joue extrêmement bien avec les attentes qu’il aura suscitées, Klute a finalement du mal à imposer sa présence à l’écran (souvent littéralement dans l’ombre en train d’épier, transparent lorsque le réalisateur ne cadre que son reflet dans une vitre) et Bree Daniels se montre vraiment détonante alors qu’elle nous a été présentée de manière indifférenciée au milieu d’un casting de jeunes femmes (la caméra passe sans s’arrêter en gros plan sur son visage).

Enfin, Klute se révèle un grand film dans son utilisation de la bande-son. Une importance marquée d’emblée par le premier plan montrant un magnétophone que l’on actionne. Ainsi, les enregistrements des conversations de Bree seront autant de révélations factuelles sur ses méthodes de travail, sa manière de jouer face à son client, qu’elles sembleront illustrer les pensées de Cable, le commanditaire de Klute, en pleine réflexion ou introspection et seront utilisées pour provoquer l’effroi lorsque Bree entendra sa propre voix en décrochant le téléphone. De même les confessions faites à sa psy déborderont le cadre de son cabinet pour éclairer de manière contradictoire ce que les images de l’intimité du couple Klute/Daniels laissent entrevoir. Une intimité caractérisée par l’absence de paroles, les sentiments s’exprimant par les gestes, les regards, les postures. Les quelques mots proférés s’avèreront blessant ou générateurs de peur ou de tension. Les relations sincères sont donc celles où l’économie de mots prédomine puisque lorsqu’ils affluent (pendant des passes ou des entretiens avec la psy) c’est sous couvert d’une certaine somme d’argent. Un environnement sonore dont l’importance est redoublée par la musique de Michael Small dont les compositions ajoutent aux troubles de la relation et de l’ambiance paranoïaque.

Klute, sans être un chef-d’œuvre du genre est indéniablement à découvrir pour son portrait de femme dont la libération sexuelle et morale dérègle l’introversion imposée et puis parce qu’il détourne avec brio les codes du film noir et plus généralement du classicisme hollywoodien alors en vigueur (illustrant en cela ce que sera le Nouvel Hollywood). Alors que le film, à l’image de son héros désabusé, semble s’articuler sur la désillusion à l’œuvre, il s’achemine vers la possibilité de se reconstruire. Une éventualité contrecarrée quelques années plus tard par les deux authentiques chefs-d’œuvre de Pakula, À cause d’un assassinat et Les Hommes du Président.

Nicolas Zugasti

> Film repris en salles le 25 novembre 2009

> Lire aussi l’article consacré au “cinéma politique” et à la musique de Michael Small dans VERSUS n° 9.

Extrait de Klute en VOSTFR

One of my favorite riders Matt Priest has been added to the Kink team through Seventies! Hit up that last link and see his bike check.

Have you heard of “Fancy Nancy?”  Apparently, she’s a well-known character in a series of children’s books written by a woman named Jane O’Connor.  At first I was intrigued because I have a granddaughter, who while not yet old enough to appreciate the book series, I’m sure will be a “Fancy Nancy” once she’s old enough to dress herself.  I started reading an article about the author.  Turns out she’s 61 and the inspiration for her Leading Lady in her books is herself as a child.  She said “Six-year-old me definitely had a glittery side that the grown-up me had somehow lost.”

I got to thinking about the women I know who, like Ms. O’Connor, grew up in the 50s and 60s and came of age during the 70s.  We worked hard, some of us raised families, we competed with the men and along the way we “lost our glittery side.”  The thing is, it wasn’t just us.  Our entire culture has lost its glitter.  We are entranced by it among the Hollywood starlets who seem to come along in herds and period dramas like Mad Men.

But, when you think of everyday Americans, admit it, you see women in unisex oversized T-shirts, baggy shorts, crew socks and hefty sneakers every single day!

I bring this up because I know that many of us would love to be able to wear that chic new black pencil skirt and the sequined fitted T.  The question lingers though, where on earth would I wear it?  Our super casual American lifestyle has brought us comfortable clothes, but at what aesthetic cost?  Why does our lifestyle encourage casual and frumpy over  beautiful and sanguine, especially once we’ve reach 50?  I encourage you, whether you live in a small town in South Dakota or a large metropolis, do all you can to reinstate your “glitter.” A trip to the grocery store or a trip to Europe – it’s all the same, add beauty, womanliness, and grace in every activity – get dressed for the day with purpose. Who’d like to join my movement?

I can hear the uproar now:  “But I love being comfortable and not having to worry about how I look every time I leave the house.”  Think about the message you’re giving yourself, not to mention those you come in contact with — “No one really cares what I look like, I’m just an old lady. There’s no need for me to look fabulous anymore, I think I’ll just become invisible.”  You may not consciously think or say this, but you are subconsciously creating your own irrelevance. Fight back.

Today is the day you put on a little more lipstick and release your inner “Fancy Nancy.”

~Christine, TCW Style Expert and Glittery Goddess

Tom Dowd was a brilliant mathematician and physicist who changed careers abruptly after the development of the atomic bomb and changed the course of musical history. He is responsible for Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin, Otis Redding, John Coltrane, Dizzy Gillespie, Thelonius Monk, Cream, Rod Stewart, Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Allman Brothers Band, Dusty Springfield and countless other celebrated musicians. Dowd also formed both strong professional and personal relationships with many of these artists, including Eric Clapton, starting with Cream and leading to their working partnership on Layla and Other Assorted Loves Songs and collaborations on several of Clapton’s finest solo albums. So much of the music i love was produced by him, and yet he was man behind the curtain. Even being responsible for so much of musical history, he, like Geoff Emerick before him, was paid only scale and was never compensated commensurate to the contribution he made to history. See http://www.thelanguageofmusic.com/

So Singen Unsere Vögel (“That’s how our birds sing”) is a German double disk record with bird sounds recorded in the wild by Hans A. Traber. There’s no year on the record but I guess it’s from the late seventies. (If anyone does know, please leave a comment)

So, if you’ve always wondered what the Heckenbraunelle (Prunella Modularis) or the  Teichrorhsänger (Acrocephalus Scirpaceus) sounds like, this record is the thing for you!

Here’s a few samples:

And here’s the complete recording on disk one and disk two (both ±60mb)

Mark Weaver es un diseñador gringo que tiene un estilo setentero haciendo juxtaposiciones y combiinando elementos en una composicion, muy deawebo.

Mark Weaver is an american graphic designer that has a seventies style doing juxtapoz and con combining elements in a composition. Very good job.

markweaverart.com
Behance

It’s one of those typical cheap test records from the seventies.

Side A is filled with classical music clips, some pink noise (wich is always nice), silent grooves and  also an extended range of test frequency tones (my simple record player couldn’t quite handle some of those extreme tone ranges as you can hear in the rip It’s all there to test the balance, Hz and dB ranges, rumble and skating of your home record player.

Side B is filled with some popular tunes from back then.

Oh, and it also came with an instruction sheet.

Here’s a preview clip:

Here’s the whole (45mb) deal.

When I was a kid, a lazy Sunday morning would often begin with the biscuit tin. My brother and I woke up, as kids do, long before my parents wanted to get out of bed. And we were hungry, but obviously not yet at an age when we could get our own breakfast. Or maybe it was a ploy on our behalf – because being hungry on a lazy Sunday morning meant I was sent downstairs for the biscuit tin and we would start the day munching biscuits in bed with mum and dad.

My personal favourite at the time was the Custard Cream, a mainstay of British life in the 70s (and since, for some) that’s two rectangles of biscuit sandwiched together with vanilla cream. Since the cream is the best bit, I would separate the two halves and eat the one with least cream stuck to it first.

Sometimes there would be no Custard Creams but there would be Jammy Dodgers – the original ones with both jam and cream in the middle. The jam glues them together quite firmly, so they had to be eaten in one piece.

If it was a bad week, biscuit-wise, then I might be left with the Bourbons. Cocoa-brown biscuits with chocolatey cream were far from being my favourite, but they did meet the cream filling requirement.

On rare occasions there was a biscuit disaster and we were left with the dregs of the biscuit tin. Nice biscuits, which are fondly remembered in our house for being anything but nice, or Rich Tea biscuits, which are completely useless without a cuppa (and even then are only recommended for Extreme Dunkers, due to their tendency to disintegrate if soaked for a second too long. Clumps of soggy biscuit at the bottom completely ruin a cup of tea).

Quite often my return trip to the kitchen was via the garden, leaving out for the birds the crumbs and the less-than-crunchy remains of anything past its munch-by-date. But the shops didn’t open on Sundays back then, so a biscuit tin refill would have to wait.

Emma Cooper

First, I apologize for not updating this series in the last 6 months. You know how it is when life gets in the way… but now I’m back and not a second too soon! In Part 2 we bring you Vans, Appliances, Furniture and Bedding! 

Kelly

I desperately would like to make a long, interesting (to me at least) entry about anything, but I am far to busy. Tomorrow I have a Civics exam (view my ‘Dignity’ entry for how I feel about that class) and a math test later in the day. I had an EQAO literacy test yesterday morning and then I went on a student’s council feild trip yesterday afternoon. I can barely comprehend the mathematics I am trying so desperately hard to learn for tomorrow’s test. On top of that, we’re applying math to chemistry in science class (!) and in vocals class I am rocking out. I’m becoming more and more social each day (which was my new school-year resolution) and my classmates in vocals are helping to get my friend (who, until I ask her what she would like her name to be in this blog, shall remain nameless) to feel comfortable singing with everyone. Which is great, and she was singing today when we had a class in the auditorium today. I love our school’s auditorium. I don’t know when it was last updated, but it must have been sometime in the seventies, more or less. I hope they don’t update it for a long time. I want to go back there at my high school reunion and be glad that one of the things I love most about the school hadn’t changed. (My other favourite thing about the school is the secret door in the prop room that’s hidden behind old shelves and costumes.)

Sorry. Rambling again.

Anyway, I’m trying to write my novel now, so I’ve gotto go.

I tried putting this playlist on the blog earlier, but it just won’t work, so I’m giving you a link to a list of some songs I like.

Click here for tunes.

The carpets do match the curtains look

In 1973 you could always tell the character of a man by the height of his waistband and the flap of his flares.  For a fleeting moment in time the tablecloth and matching curtains look was IN BABY!  Yeah!  No one was going to mess with this fashion bad boy. 

Back in 1973 there wasn’t a single crotch sagging, Calvin Klein labelled, boxer short in sight.  You wore them tight.  You wore them high….and you wore them proud.  This guy is taking you to Funky Town man.

http://kitschcache.wordpress.com

American Graffiti | George Lucas, 1973

Many uneducated film-lovers may believe that the bearded writer/director came to fame with the groundbreaking release of Star Wars in 1977 but he had become a big name years before this, mainly due to the release of American Graffiti, which pulled in five Oscar nominations and placed his name firmly on the map. With much the same theatrical entry into fame as Richard Linklater had in 1993 with Dazed and Confused – at least similar when considering the nostalgic values behind their respective efforts – Lucas littered his film with young and unheard-of actors/actresses, many of who would go on to greatness, including a cameo from a bright-faced Harrison Ford (an actor who would go on to star under Lucas so memorably, four years later). Just as with Dazed and Confused, American Graffiti takes place during one long and exciting summer night, and really helps invoke a spirit of a young and carefree time for America. Curt Henderson (played by Richard Dreyfuss) is an intellectually-charged individual who is, like most of his peers, worrying about the future. We open on a conversation between him and fellow graduate Steve Bolander (Ronny Howard), who seems, unlike Curt, to be looking for some kind of preamble to college life. He has a steady relationship with his girlfriend Laurie and can’t quite justify throwing this away, whereas Curt in comparison wants nothing more than to escape the home life he has since grown tired of.

This initial introductory exchange sets the tone for American Graffiti and helps construct an arc upon which the story can then weave. We are very much observing a coming-of-age tale here; as the night melts away our two characters swap their respective viewpoints, showing exactly how confusing and daunting such a time can be. Much of the film is split between the varying fares of the young gang: from meeting at the roadside diner, they go off into the night seeking differing fortunes. Curt looks to relive the life he has witnessed thus far by visiting his favourite haunts, whereas Steve attempts to go out with one last bang – and not lose his girlfriend in the process. John Miller, the jock of the piece, cruises the “strip” looking for a means to vent his anger, while his good friend Toad attempts to wow passing fillies with a stunning new set of wheels. American Graffiti presents all these characters as specific personalities with which we can relate to a certain degree. Lucas is clearly intent on simply emulating this feeling of dawning independence, impending adulthood and the loss of youth: his film paints a nostalgically fun and insightful portrait upon such a life, one that is less concerned with messages and more with creating this feeling of adolescent wilderness. All of this is complemented by the pleasing sixties’ aesthetic, making American Graffiti a rewarding seventies homage to sixties America.

Our Rating:

As bad as it sounds, I’ve always thought of the sixties and seventies and eighties as entities within themselves,
and I never really understood that they were people.
Let me elaborate.
I had the feeling of attachment that one has towards war victims, seen in sheer numbers on a group basis, but not an individual one. I lumped together all movies and TV shows from that time period as poorly-done and outdated.

However that was extremely naive of me. and ignorant.
If there’s one thing I strive to do, is be as little ignorant as logically possible.

But how did my views change?
One does not simply, by no means of effort, lose their ignorance.

Two words (and a year):
Star Trek (2009)

It got me highly interested in the original series, and series beyond the original.
It also just me highly interested in logic and emotional control / vulcan meditation, thanks to Mr. Spock.

But those people back then, laughed and cried, and felt things. The writers of Star Trek: The Original Series understood that. They talked about relevant issues of the day, which astoundingly ring true to me personally as well.

Thank You, Star Trek. You have truly opened my eyes to many things, and began certain questioning processes that lead me back into the study of logic and how the universe works. You made me certain in what I would like my field of study be in college.

c: E

“Did you know that you are one of the few predator species that preys even on itself?”
- Star Trek: The Original Series The Squire of Gothos

[Original Post: 10-10-09]

Since readers asked for more grindhouse movie posters, here’s a slick ad mat for my favorite ’70s teensploitation murder movie: MASSACRE AT CENTRAL HIGH. I wrote a long piece on this film for the genius formerly known as Selwyn Harris; I’ll resurrect the rant for his new site McBeardo.com soon.

My psycho-noir novel THE CREEPS is taking shape, burning through its first draft. I’ll post more info when it’s done.

I’m tremendously excited about working on the re-release of THE EVIL DEAD – response to the news has been instant and overwhelming.

And CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST has extended its Halloween engagement in Detroit at the new Burton Theatre. Don’t miss it!

Thanks for checking out the site!

David Szulkin