NETFLIX QUICK PIX!!!

Silent movies are such a fascinating look into film as a medium. Using very little dialogue (those little cue cards that pop up intermittently, you really have to rely on the actors' body language and the cinematography as a whole. With silents, one has to be fully dedicated to the film as a whole. I love them for the innovative use of a new medium, the look back at clothing, and the expressive acting. Here are a couple of recent views into this moldering Art Form.

Director DW Griffiths' fave leading lady stars in WAY DOWN EAST, an interesting curio about a small town girl (Lillian Gish) who is sent to live with her rich cousins in the Big City. Naturally, they treat her like the wicked step-sisters they are, but is romanced by a lothario who has big ideas about getting Anna on her back. He stages a "marriage" gets Anna pregnant, then announces they're not married at all and DUMPS her!!! Rapscallion!!! Needless to say, she has the baby in a seedy boarding house, and the peril ensues. Griffith is pretty heavy handed with the Bible stuff and the moral is pronounced early on, but that's Griffith. Gish, however, gives a lovely (and usual) performance as the Damsel in Distress, her beautiful, heart shaped faced, huge eyes brimming with tears consistently expressive and fine. In one famous scene, Anna is stuck on an ice flow, and nearly loses her life as it drifts dangerously toward a water fall. Fun stuff because, as Gish would later assert, there was no such thing as a stunt person, so that was her out on that frigid river, scared to death as she moved steadily toward the cascades. That's not acting! That's terror.

The Flapper stars little known (now) Ziegfeld Follies Girl cum comedienne, Olive Thomas in a really hilarious film about a boarding school girl, again, off to the Big City on "an Adventure!" Well she gets into one, in a way she didn't expect. Framed for a robbery she didn't commit!!! When Olive returns home in the form of a Vamp, her senator father is scandalized. Oh, this is a really fun romp from David O. Selznick's brother Myron, and you can tell there was no expense spared on the quality of this film. Even creative cards come up, and I was giggling with delight. I had never heard of Thomas before, nor of her marriage to drunken lout Jack Pickford, (Mary's brother), nor of her tragic death in Paris at 27. The accompanying documentary is well worth the rental alone, though why they got one of those dreadful Arquette sisters to narrate is beyond me, considering Thomas was a huge star at the time, and the Arquette's nothing but aged starlets.

Something with sound, 1955's The Eddy Duchin Story. Starring Tyrone Power as the famed Society Pianist is a glossed over, Technicolor, Cinemascope bio-pic that Hollywood was famed for. The highest grossing pic for Fox that year, it's big and over'blown, but Power is his likeable self, though Kim Novak is a complete and utter bore as his first wife. Hounded by tragedy, Duchin was a favorite with High Society for his theatrical, and sorta on the sweet side piano playing, but provided entertainment...a precursor to Liberace. Duchin's son Peter continues the legacy, long after Duchin's early death of Leukemia. You know where this saga is going, but I have to give the director credit for an innovative smash finale.

Speaking of DREADFUL Gay Flix: Shelter, starring has been Brad Rowe and some other guy as a couple of surfers who fall in love. Ugh. They call each other dude alot, drink beers, do nasty things with each other in bed. This is the kind of SEE HOW STRAIGHT GAY GUYS CAN BE crap that Logo (Lifetime for Homos) produces with a regularity that's ghastly. I was bored to tears.

Sometimes it's just better to be silent.

DON'T AIDS GIVE YOU A PAIN IN THE PANTS?!

Well, here’s the first installment of my new blog----a non HIV specific one at that. Of course, when I was approached to do such a thing, I thought GREAT! I can write for one of my pet causes (Adult Literacy being another) for an Organization I believe in. Easy. I’ll just do what I LOVE to do, do it with my usual aplomb, and say FUCK AIDS!

But then I started to think about it. And think about it.

And THINK about it.

Sometimes when you think about writing too much, you get so caught up in the idea of doing it, settin’ around (as an ex would say) daydreaming, reading other people’s work, watching stupid old movies like Tammy and the Bachelor, you lose track of the fact that writing can be fun, and not a bunch of mental anguish. And while this track will sooner than later become the bunch of frivolity that is Craig, I think I might just as well address some of the stuff about AIDS that is a pain in the ass (for lack of a better term), and what makes living with it, well, difficult. I mean, it does add a subtle shading to one’s Life,
n’ cest pas? I mean, every time you take another handful of pills, does it not remind you of what you are dealing with?!

Take dating, for instance. Like, it’s not hassle enough to go and put yourself out there emotionally, possibly only to be dumped after a long courtship if you’re NORMAL. Actually, every time I hear some non-AIDS affected cow start wailing and moaning about some botched relationship, I just want to slug them. I don’t, of course, but I sure as hell want to simply because with AIDS you have to disclose, and fairly often, if your trying to fall in love with a NORMAL person, they’ll dump your ass faster than you can say Dear Abby. And chances are they don’t even have the nerve to do it in a grown up way! They just start ignoring your calls, and not answering your furtive missives via email. After a while, out of sheer exhaustion with the whole trauma, you develop this ennui, start drinking again, let your beard grow out, stop shaving those personal spots that no one else sees anyway. Recently, after a rather tumultuous break up, I bought a HUGE pair of the darkest glasses you’ve ever seen, wear them well into the night, as if to say, I’m unavailable. Well, no Garbo am I, but I pretend to be. I’m pretty well enamored with my own mystique as it is, and I can live here in my Ivory Tower, in a secured castle, where an electronic doorman can shield me from the world until I’m ready to flounce out with a vengeance and fall off a barstool or two. What the hell. And where in the FUCK did I leave those dark glasses at?!

Or how about this? Dealing with the Government Bureaucracy and their constant In Your Business business? Yes, I’m still disabled. Yes, I’m still on the dole. Yes, I still have the same doctor, the same case manager, the same the same the same. BUT YOU STILL WANT ME TO FILL OUT THESE SAME GODDAM FORMS, YET AGAIN. Ugh. A person has less chance of dying from complications of AIDS than they do of sheer BOREDOM. Recently, I had to deal with someone from The Housing Authority, and the bitch was munching on Cheetos, then, after answering my question, proceeded to hang up on me! Now this really pissed me off, so I called back, and by the time I got through to her voice mail, I was INFURIATED, and left the nastiest message you can think of. No one ever hangs up on the likes of moiself, and how dare her crunch and munch her way through a mundane conversation! Then I went into the kitchen and poured myself a tumbler full o’ wine from a box. Yes, I’m still on the dole. If I wasn’t, it would have been a pitcher of martinis. Up. Yes, the government is tedious, but we have to deal with them or else we lose our much needed benefits. But would they just put a little Vitameatavegemin in the water cooler to give those darned bureaucrats a little zip? If anyone pops out at parties and is unpoopular, it’s them.

Another thing I love is the fact that this year, for the first time in several seasons, the Fashion Industry, in their own particular capricious way, has decided to shift all their colors from one palette to the next. How am I, fashion plate that I pretend to be, supposed to keep looking in-step when I make just a few quid more than the average homeless person?! Can’t there be some government agency that will supplement our meager incomes so as not to only house and feed us, pay for medical expenses, but also give us a clothing allowance. The newly formed Federal Bureau of Fashion would see to it that none of us would commit Fashion Flaws based on limited income. Hell, put those Five Faggots in charge! Oh, but they’re too busy hocking Post Toasties and retro-lampshades these days. Frankly, I don’t think Sharon Stone is doing much currently, and even if she did have a brain (tumor) she would be willing and able. All I want, Miss Stone, is a new pair of shoes and a neatly appointed mix and match wardrobe for me and my poverty stricken young’uns (as my ex would say). Oh, yes, I SWEAR I’ll lose 40 lbs. ANYTHING to get out of these old low slung bell-bottom jeans I’ve been wearing for YEARS! (You can call ‘em flared leg or boot cut, but having lived through the 70’s, they still look like bell-bottoms to me.) You can bet that newly formed tog oriented Non-Profit Organizations would bring in gazillions of dollars more than those tired old AIDS places do.

Actually, this is a pretty good idea. I think I’ll put in a call to my dear friend Miranda Priestly and ask her to lobby congress on this one.

Until next time, dahlings, Craig Curtis, signing off!

NETFLIX QUICK PIX!!!

Well, kids...here are some doozies from our French, German, Spanish friends. Oh, they don't need to get along, living so close to each other, but MAN, they can put out some quality flix.

Les Biches: Well what can I say about this highly stylish Chabrol film other than the clothes and make up are to die, the plot slowly sizzling to a boiling point, and very fine actors in very fine costumes, driving swell cars. There is a plot twist here, and I would be a rude mutha fucka to divulge the Hitchockian ending. The acting is understated (except for the gay couple, who are stereotypical, but funny), and you have no idea where this is going. Ah, the French!

The Tunnel: Based on a true story of the Berlin Wall (of which I happen to have a piece, thank you Udo Kier) and a determined plan to dig under it to save family and friends from Communist Russia, is taught, compelling and downright suspensful. I was beside myself with the lead hunk...err....actor. When he starts to do the Twist, well...It's about the best thing since sauerkraut. I was on the edge of my seat throughout.

The Devil's Backbone: Ah, Spain. This is a thriller that, again, had me riveted. A ghost story set in an orphanage during the Spanish/American War is something to see. Really.

The Orphanage: Yep, more Spain. Yep more dead orphans. I watched this one three times. The ending is terrific. One scene, when the adopted son mouths off to mom...well...she slugs him. This would never fly in America, though I think a lot of brats could use one or two. No, I am not applying to be a foster parent.

On a slightly different note. I hate AIDS movies. I got it, I live with it, I have to deal with it. However, one magnificent film from France came out this year; The Witnesses. I was astonished to revisit 1984, when AIDS panic was just setting in in America, and to see the French reaction was astounding. Wonderful ensemble cast. The Algerian bisexual guy is le pig, and you gotta hate him. But this film was well worth the watch.

Also on AIDS: Love! Valor! Compassion! I saw this film before it was released (rough cut---no soundtrack---oh, how I loved living in LA for those passes to see soon to be released flix!) I just happened upon it on VHS for 2 BUCKS, and thought, hell, I'll give it a whirl. It's a fine flick written by Terrence McNally, starring an ensemble cast including Justin Kirk (playing a very good blind), Jason Alexander (playing a HUGE show queen with aplomb) and a very spiteful John Glover in a dual role. The reason why I love this film now is not about the AIDS thing, it just reminds me of spending a summer in a remote house in Upstate NY, with very arty people wafting in and out, eating swell food (most of which I gladly prepared) and swilling jugs of wine and talking about our creative goals. It was a wonderful summer. Oh, sneaking into the host's bedroom early in the morning was well worth the trip. But not easy....the floorboards creaked like a mutha. The sight of seeing six gay men in tutus doing Swan Lake is enough for the coupla bucks!