So something horrible came to my attention yesterday. Something truly despicable that made me aware of how low perhaps we've come as a civilization. I can only classify it as a form of audio-visual rape.
***EDIT: I have been informed that the movie "Nine" is not actually a sequel to 8 1/2, but actually based on a play of the same name which was heavily inspired by Fellini's film. I apologize to Will Smith, Daniel-Day Lewis, and Myley Cyrus for the indulgent rant but stand by my conclusion which still probably applies ...
In conclusion: fuck you Hollywood for your soulless disrespect for art.
Francis Ford Coppola may have a brilliant new picture here. Based on the trailers and other info skipping around the intertubes, my interest is piqued. Tetro is the story of a family at odds with each other because of rivalry, and Vincent Gallo plays a tortured artist for whom the film is titled. I've known too many characters like his in real life. Forgotten skillfully penned manuscripts and wonderful songs decades old, yet to see the light, hide in attics and filing cabinets everywhere you go.
By now you have all heard the troubling news from WWD that Thom Browne's CFO and CEO are exiting leaving the rumors to swirl about the company's ultimate future. Will it close? Will Thom Browne as we know it be no more after the well-received Pitti Uomo presentation?
I was watching The Fountainhead (starring Gary Cooper and Patricia Neal). It's not very good but I did enjoy a few things about it. There is a very Randyian unintentionally comedic erotic sequence involving Cooper (as Harry Roark) cutting rock in a quarry, the camera fetishizes his work, progressing to a violent makeout session, and it ends with Neal striking him in the face with a riding crop. The costume design is superb especially for Cooper and Neal (any woman with sense will want the robe she wears in her first scene). Most integral to the film however is the protagonist, Howard Roark, a symbol of Rand's masculine ideal, of defending one's aesthetic ideals in the face of shifting market trends.
Fashion has seen design houses rise and fall with the tumult of caprice. If Thom Browne does close his doors he will be in the company of many designers, some of them very great indeed. However his struggles come at a time when Menswear is the safer arena of fashion. Men's fashion is consistent for retail and actually expanding in both sales and market breadth.
Rand's Howard Roark defies the trend by being a futurist but most artists are not so lucky. Public opinion shifts so irrationally at times and shuns even legitimate work. Its the cliche of the starving artist to be rewarded in death, not by St. Peter at the pearly gate but by St. Sotheby's posthumous auctions and Sotheby's cherubs, the establishment art critics. The best thing about The Fountainhead though is not original at all but classic Aristotle. The good pursued by the artisan, by any virtuous character, is gained in the process of mastering and sustaining his own craft and the discourse of his craft. Roark's ultimate goal is satisfaction in creating dynamic architecture and defies committees and housing boards who insist he alter his designs to make them safer, more conventional. He eschews easy success and material gain for purity of his craft. Whatever end Thom Browne faces as a design house I do wish the designer luck for having a peculiar vision and sticking to it.
AnOther great issue from AnOther Man for Spring and Summer has arrived and this time its free, which is very kind. The issue features the work of superstylist Nicola Formichetti and some shit shot by some guy named Hedi whom is rumored to have some sort of clothing line project to unveil later this year. Whatever the situation may be he and Nicola sure can take pretty pictures together.
The mag also contains an Elizabeth Peyton inspired editorial and a discussion with one of my favorite film directors Werner Herzog (Red Dawn)and Errol Morris (Mr. Death; Vernon, Florida). The two discuss cinema verite, contrasting so-called "realism" with the ecstatic truths of the late Grizzly enthusiast Timothy Treadwell.
I had the pleasure of seeing Grizzly Man premiere at the National History Museum several years ago and a subsequent Q&A with Herzog himself. My question for him went unasked: Who would win in a cage fight a grizzly, or a bengal tiger?
Film fanatics unfamiliar Werner should consider reading his fantastic book Herzog on Herzog in which he discusses his craft, films, and his ideal version of film school which would include boxing classes. Next to Tarkovsky's Sculpting in Time its one of the richest discussions of a filmmakers approach and theory to making a movie.
Trends inevitably reach saturation and become self-parodies of themselves. The current workwear obsession seems to be hastening to that effect. There are lots of great clothes in this stream, but the more one continuously leans in that direction, the more one risks leaning to affectation. The buffalo check explosion of the past few years has thankfully evolved into several different checks and plaids. I've been interested by the hundred or so variations of Red Wings described as must-buys but fatigue is right around the corner. The question hangs in the air: is there a story behind the flannel worth revisiting? Taking a close look at the source material reveals a dreary ash bathed Appalachian environment, hard faced men, women, and children who worked endless hours to fuel the nation. It wasn't all an endless nightmare, or course. But it was a difficult life.
Many easy portraits exist but a recent viewing of A Coal Miner's Daughter is fresh on my mind. Despite its predictable biopic format, country music from the late sixties and seventies still had an authenticity to its ability to tell working class stories. I love pre-Nashville country music. I used to have a massive audio hard on for The Carters. Then a friend introduced me to Gene Autries yodeling cowboy tv series and ever since then I've pretty much religiously avoided post-sixties country. The early guys were something else.
That said I've grown to appreciate some of the more honky-tonk artists like Loretta Lynn who has the kind of textured voice that lends her music authority. The rawness of these stories, and these storytellers, the lure of an untame world is compelling.
The present global economic fever has many creative minds looking back to times when America still built cars that sold, still manufactured, rather than pushed numbers around a computer screen. We're also drawn to examine the very real uncertainty of the times which however different weren't dissimilar. If we scratch the surface the domesticated world of our times is really still wild, unpredictable, and dangerous. Perhaps that awareness will inspire us to take what lessons we can from our past.
It seems like an eternity until Mad Men season three. Looking desperately for a sixties office drama fix I turned to The Apartment starring Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacClaine. According to Mad Men creator Matt Weir the film served as an a inspiration. In tone however, The Apartment is more of a drama - romantic comedy which we now know to be bad for our health.
The film centers on C.C.Baxter(Lemmon) and follows his ascension as an employee in an insurance company. We watch him fall in love with elevator attendant, Fran Kubelik, played by MacClain. The gender roles of Baxter and Rubelik clash in one particularly satisfying scene where Rubelik has just had her self-esteem steamrolled and Lemmon is reveling in his new position at work. Along with the job comes an office, and an appropriate hat.
The film correctly correlates the derby hat, or bowler, with status. It was a symbol of the gentleman and class distinction when men were still myths dressed in wool suits. Class carried expectations of character. The cynicism in The Apartment will be familiar to viewers of Mad Man but there's healthy dose of mostly successful camp humor in the mix too. Both show a dogma of masculinity that is about to fall apart. The Apartment milks the confusion for laughs.
Apparently the doll-faced Supermodel starred in a couple of movies this year. She terrorized a suburban family in The Strangers as the masked murderer known appropriately as "doll-face" in the script and then she starred in the critically acclaimed film Black Balloon. Her performance was praised for being natural and warm proving once again that models are not glorified mannequins.
I haven't seen the film myself but I am excited to do so. Having done my dues in front of and behind the camera on some fashion shoots I am easily annoyed by the lazy opinion concerning models by some folks. Perhaps I was spoiled, but almost all of the models I know personally are the fun and intelligent breed. I applaud Gemma displaying her talents and look forward to more from her in whatever form.
Sometimes inspiration comes like lightning breaking across a quiet evening. Years ago when I watched Belle De Jour my attention went into overdrive at the introduction of Marcel played by Pierre Clementi. Here was a stylishly painted infant terrible. He was as sharp and cool as juvenile. As weak and confused as he was dangerous and careless. In some ways he was like me. At the time I was suffering physically and financially. I was living in a loft in Brooklyn with no windows and infested with vermin. I took up chainsmoking over the dinnertable with my roomates and I became almost exclusively nocturnal. I was rarely seen without my black bowler, or my black opera hat.
However, far from being dour and introspective I was passionate and restless. Marcel didn't just inspire my style he embodied my disembodied restless mood and gave it a dramatic narrative.
The power of style is the power to transform the self. The right jacket and the right tie can elevate one's self-esteem, yes. But style permeates to the inner recesses of the soul. It colors one's attitude.
This post is a shade late for the holiday. I apologize, but yesterday was my birthday and my favorite of all official celebration day-things. No I didn't get anything special but if Santa makes off-season deliveries:
I want this absurdly cool trench by Harmon a mere 2,320 dollars. I know you live on the euro Santa so keep the conversion rate in mind...
...an assorted treat bag of Rugby ties would keep me on the straight and narrowish road at least until New Years.
...and maybe a dvd of this soon to be released film:
Otto; or, Up With Dead People directed by Bruce LaBruce. Zombies + Love + Metafiction. Could be genius or a trainwreck but I've heard positive things from the grapevine. We'll see...
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