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Lisa HoustonWriter

I Hate Different People, plus some movie picks

2/28/2017

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I hate different people, and you probably do too.
 
I was at a seminar recently where a dissenting opinion from a student was very poorly handled by the instructor. When I tried to define what the teacher had done to let things go so awry, I couldn’t really put my finger on it. It wasn’t that she had totally shut the person down, but she just didn’t make any space for the person’s experience, which was quite singular within the group. Because of the teacher’s narrow reaction, the group didn’t really know what to make of the situation, and seemed to take on a negative attitude towards the person after that. And that’s when it hit me. All this talk lately about whether or not we actually have to tolerate opinions that are offensive to us misses the point entirely. We don’t have to tolerate them. We actually have to make more room for them. It’s like someone unexpected showing up to dinner. You’re all already seated at the table. What do you do? You scoot over, you squeeze in, you make room.
 
And the same thing applies to people. We need to figure out how to make more room for those we don’t understand or agree with. Stop, I’m not saying it isn’t horrific and upsetting to realize, for example, that there are lots of people who hate you because of your religion, or skin color, or sexual or gender identity. And I’m not saying by making room that you endorse, feel happy about, or encourage someone to have these feelings. But denial doesn’t help. People are overwhelmed right now and part of that is from not knowing where the heck to file all of these hate-filled opinions and more importantly, the people who hold them. There is a confrontation taking place across the divide. It takes time, energy, and even creativity to handle new kinds of people, thoughts, situations. And people are worried they will fail, or that when it’s all over, they will have less.
       Speaking personally, I was in the middle of a rather lovely, creative life, with most of my time devoted to writing, singing, and caring for dogs. Where’s the space in that life for this very painful truth that bigotry –in all its ugly forms – is alive and well in a large part of the population. Where does that fit in my life? And besides, didn’t we grow past this? Haven’t we evolved to understand that we are all equal?
 
Yes and no.
 
The notion of equality can be constraining if it results in assumptions of sameness. People have different needs, and if we go about resenting people for having different needs, we’ve failed fundamentally at empathy. We’ve expected the world to be an exact mirror, and to sound as an echo chamber only for our own or similar voices.
 
And that’s not what we want. Because the only thing truer than the fact that we hate different people, is that we love them. We thirst for them. We delight in them. We need them. We celebrate them. We even deify them. So maybe the hating is some intermediary step, something we do as we adjust to the reality of them, and maybe once we know them, we will love them.
 
But why is the fear and hatred there in the first place? Because people are afraid of other people. We are evolved to be suspicious, wary, careful. It’s said we have five questions we immediately want to answer when we meet someone. These are not cocktail party questions: What do you do? Are you a fan of watercolors? These are our lizard brain questions, the things our limbic system needs to know to decide fight or flight. Here are the questions:
     Can I eat them?
     Are they going to eat me?
     Can I mate with them?
     Are they going to mate with me?
     And lastly, have I seen them before? And that’s where all the “different” radar gets involved. We run through our database to remember if it’s friend or foe so we can kill it, run away from it, or maybe relax and have sex with it. But if we haven’t seen it before, if it registers as different to us, then we don’t know yet if we’re safe in its presence. So in a modern, “civilized” world, where does this concern go? How is it channeled? Into the mind. Into finding reasons to dislike people, to separate us from them. To render them “different.”

The limbic system also has a lot to do with emotions and emotional bonding and empathy. So what do you suppose happens if you first bond emotionally with people who say they hate Jews? Or don’t like black people? I’m talking about your parents. Your best friend. Your big brother. Or maybe you had a terrible home life and then, in your twenties, you met a great bunch of guys who made you feel welcome. And those guys hate black people. Or you’re black yourself, but had a chaotic homelife, and then found a sense of order and purpose in the Republican party? Either way, even in an atmosphere of prejudice, part of you is learning what love is, what connection feels like. The dopamine in your brain is doing its job as a neurotransmitter as you laugh, are fed by, and hugged by these people. Your empathy is developed for these people, not for those other “different” people.

​Is hate taught? Most definitely! But just as the abusive marriage includes strong emotional and sexual bonds that make it difficult for an abused person to leave, bonds of love and connection are formed simultaneously, and it’s not easy to cut these bonds once their developed. Some of the most racist groups are made up of outcasts and abused people who have never found a feeling of love and safety until they joined those groups. I’m not saying it is love. But to some, it’s the closest they’ve ever come, and it feels like love.
 
The fact that these things are learned should give us great hope. What is learned can be unlearned! Still, there’s no easy fix here, and I’m certainly not going to go out and find the nearest Nazi and give them a hug. But I think there’s something in the idea that we need to make more space, not less, and I always think its best to start the process of change or growth internally. Secure your own oxygen mask before you help others kind of thing. So maybe the first thing we need to remember is that we are very strange ourselves, and isn’t that wonderful! If nothing else, for those of us who are feeling attacked and afraid in the face of this bigotry, it may be comforting to reassure ourselves that we are lovable, in all our weirdness.
 
So here is a list of five movies I like a lot, each of which, in its own way helped me enjoy and understand someone who is different. Three of them are available free on Netflix streaming. Maybe this list won’t appeal to you. At the risk of repeating myself, we are different.
 
Movie Picks:
 
The Imitation Game (2014) Compelling story of famous British code breaker. A scientific mind struggling heroically to serve his country in wartime, while that same country criminalizes his sexuality. (Free on Netflix streaming.)
 
Hello Dolly (1969) Directed by my hero Gene Kelly. A treasure. And Dolly Levi is the original fun crazy lady. (Free on Netflix streaming.)
 
Frances Ha (2012) This indie film about an unusual young dancer in New York City straddles comedy and drama in a way that is odd itself, and if you struggled to find your place in your 20s, you might love this one. I did. (Free on Netflix streaming.)
 
Cold Comfort Farm (1995) Early film of Kate Beckinsale. A delight. Funny and touching. Weird wins the day with this bucketful of characters at a rural farm in Sussex.
 
My Left Foot (1989) Well-deserved classic status. Astounding performance by Daniel Day Lewis. The hardships of boy with cerebral palsy in a poor family in Dublin in the 30s. Based on a true story, an inspiring life, an inspiring film.
 
 
Love, Lisa
The Oddball
 


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My Oscar Wish

2/27/2017

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I watch the parade and manage easily not to be offended by the glamour. The silks and satins and architectural skirts with gratuitous beading, laborious and intricate beyond any readable effect. The hair piled high and then frozen down. The borrowed jewels. Maria Callas used to be loaned jewels for parties, and a man from Harry Winston had to follow her around to guard them. I wonder, as I watch the thousand dollar shoes padding around the red carpet, what thug-like ear-pieced gem protectors are lurking in the background. One airbrushed starlet is showing off her pendulous diamond earrings to the woman with the microphone. “They’re different she says,” and shimmies her head slightly in a way the queen might do to infer that no, she will not have tea at the present time. And I see that yes, the earrings are different. One is a gaudy, overstated slightly oval shape, and the other is a gaudy, overstated heart-like shape.
     It does bother me some, I’ll admit, that many of the women cannot move their mouths properly. I think of all my years of diction classes, and struggling to enunciate in various languages. My “Red Leather, Yellow Leather”, my “Round and around the rugged rock, the ragged rascal ran”. And I can’t fathom how sad it must make these women feel that they can no longer fully express themselves as actors because their faces are full of poison. I once saw a mother-daughter scene played by two actresses who had had so much work done that it became a totally abstract exercise. It was like a play you might’ve seen in the east village in the 80’s, where the text was passionate, furious, disturbing, but the faces remained calm, impassive, detached. “You hurt me!” the middle aged woman shouted, with no sign of pain. “Well you hurt me!” her mother replied, the resonance in both voices halted by an unnatural immobility just under their nostrils. Wait, I thought, who is hurting? Where has all the grief gone? Watching this and the cavalcade of beauties on Oscar night, my upper lip begins to buzz, as it sometimes does when I’ve eaten something I’m allergic to. And I do a few lip trills and raspberries, just to give thanks that I still can.
        Year after year, I’ve watched this ceremony and I’ve put up with it all. I’ve waded through the wealth and glamour, endured the high percentage of narcissistic grandiosity, overlooked the gaffs and drunkenness and the always insufficient presence of minorities, and many years, the deplorable lack of any depth of content whatsoever. Mostly I do this because I’m a performer, and by some ridiculously attenuated stretch, these are my people. If you consider that singing Carmen in Modesto, or teaching karaoke singers, or being utterly unemployed, to be in some way the same profession as, say, George Clooney. But it is. Players upon a stage, and so forth. And there’s always one moment of the Oscars, or Tonys, or whatever, that grabs me. A person who rises completely above the noise to celebrate with humility and grace a rather miraculous event. The component parts of such a moment is a devotion to and reverence for the life of an artist. I love those moments. It’s like watching a gratitude bomb go off. It’s organic, and joyous, and meaningful, and it puts some kind of deposit in my bank as a performer, so the next day I can go back to my rural semi-professional gig, or my karaoke singer, or my wrestling match with too much nothing, while feeling a bit more connected to life on earth. To the struggle and the triumph of breathing life as a creative person.
      And now comes the part where I say that this year, that didn’t happen. It didn’t do it for me. Am I a killjoy? Am I dead inside? Do I not know how to have fun anymore? Maybe. And what was I hoping for anyway?
       Selflessness.
      There’s a saying people have about dealing with dysfunctional relationships: Don’t go to the hardware store for milk. Meaning, if someone is unable to give you love, or understanding, or kindness, you don’t go to that person for love, or understanding, or kindness. So, Lisa, maybe don’t go to the narcissistic, self-absorbed entertainment industry for selflessness. Fair enough. Also in fairness, there were moments. A Mexican American saying he wanted no walls between us. A filmmaker reaching out to those being oppressed that he “had their backs.” And the moment of the night for me, which belonged to a man who wasn’t there. An Iranian filmmaker who, in solidarity with the millions of people of the seven nations targeted by a ban on travel to the U.S., had stayed home. As a woman read his acceptance speech in his absence, this was the act of true courage I was hoping for. But it was also the missed moment. It happened early in the ceremony, and while it received enthusiastic applause, it should have gotten more. It should have gotten a standing ovation that went on and on and on and on, to show the world we give a shit. That we know this is wrong. That it’s worth getting up our bejeweled asses for. Later, the audience stood up to show this solidarity when explicitly asked to do so, but they shouldn’t have needed this permission. It was their job to stand at that earlier moment, and to stand long and loud. Because this man sacrificed to make this point. Imagine being nominated for an academy award. To have your life’s work acknowledged and celebrated, and then you don’t go to the ceremony. You stay away. Not for yourself, because you’re Woody Allen and you don’t like that sort of thing, but for the nameless, voiceless others, who are being discriminated against unfairly. That’s what protest is. It is objection by proxy. You protest not for yourself, but those who cannot protest for themselves.
      And that’s what I think the vast majority of those at last night’s ceremony didn’t do, and what collectively, as a body of humanity, they failed utterly to do. I can imagine all the conversations, the careful planning and strategizing about what to say, what not to say, how much to say, whose job is it to say something? Will we playing into “their” hands if we get angry. Every time somebody got up and plodded on as per usual, I could see these contingent contemplations tugging at the hems of their gowns and tuxedo pants. It made me sad for them, and sad for us as a nation, and sad mostly for those who did not find a reflection of themselves as they watched, for that is the essence of a performer, to give voice to the human experience. Were they scared of the angry tweets to come? That’s the predictable effect of a bully. Or did they want to have a night off from the horror show of the past month?
      What it comes down to for me is a reading of the moment. What kind of moment are we in right now? And who do we look to get us out of it?
      When the ceremony ended, I felt a bit ashamed of myself. Not because I read this as a dire moment in human history, which I do. I see this as a time of accelerated evil that is not only normalizing bigotry, it is elevating it to a kind of prestigious courage. It’s a time for action, and courage, and sacrifice, and I’m not ashamed to say so. But I was ashamed because I’d been hoping for more from this event. I had. And when it was done, it was almost to the point where I slapped myself on the forehead like, what was I thinking? Clue-phone ringing: Celebrity culture is part of what got us into this mess!
      As an artist, a creative person, I and others will persevere. That’s what artists do. But the artists, or performers, or the rich and famous on the walk of fame, won’t be the ones to get us out of this pickle. This movement, if there is a movement against this tide of hate, will be a people’s movement, not a star-studded affair. It is like what Buddhist monk and peace activist Thích Nhát Hạnh means when he says that the next savior will not be an individual, but a community.
      For some reason my conclusion to all these thoughts is coming to me in a southern accent, which is something I welcome at times like these. It’s the accent of my maternal grandmother, born and raised in Birmingham, Alabama. The warmth of the tone sooths me, and the melodious lilt of the voice is slightly entertaining in a way that makes me smile. I can hear her now. She’s looking around, seeing things as they truly are, and she’s saying, “Well, I guess we’ll have to clean up this mess our own selves.”
      Cinderella’s gone home. The ball is over.
      OK everybody, let’s go get a broom.

L.H.
            

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This Land IS Your Land! (photo slideshow)

2/23/2017

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I took these photos at the San Francisco Airport protest on January 29, 2017. Like protests at airports across the country, this one was peaceful, and spontaneous. A heartfelt response from thousands of people who were offended and distressed at the new president’s ban on travelers for seven mostly Muslim nations.
 
This slide show seemed like a good way to honor Woodie Guthrie, who on this day, February 23rd, in 1940, wrote the lyrics to his wonderful song, “This Land Is Your Land.”
 
And it is.
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A Rose By Any Other President...

2/22/2017

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I understand people who want to say that you-know-who is not their president. And I wish I could join them and say #notmypresident. But as upset as I am, I want to maintain my faith in the Constitution. I need to maintain my faith in the Constitution, and that means, like it or not, he is, quite tragically, my president.
 
But I don’t want to say his name. I’m not being political. I just don’t want to. It grosses me out. Maybe I should say his name. After all, I always loved that Harry Potter was brave enough to say, “Voldemort,” right out loud, while others called him "He Who Must Not Be Named." Maybe I’m not brave like Harry. But in this case, what I really think is that the atmosphere is already so full of this guy’s name, and has been for more than a year if you include all that disproportional free press during the campaign, which btw! helped him win the election!
      Deep breath. Blood pressure check. Wish well to all beings.
​     But really, I don’t want to add my voice to what has already become an omnipresent cloud that every day looks more and more like “The Airborne Toxic Event” in the novel White Noise by Dom Delillo.
 
So what’s the solution? One of my favorite authors on Twitter has settled on not capitalizing the first letter, which gives you tRump, pronounced, “Tee-Rump”.  I think that works. But even that is too close to his name for me, and the more destruction he wreaks, the more I am resolved that I’m going to continue not to use his name. There’s always POTUS, the acronym is President of the United States, but that's too dignified to suit, don’t you think? And for me, POTUS will always be Martin Sheen in The West Wing, which is good viewing right now by the way, if you want to disappear into a more caring alternative governmental reality.
 
So for those of you who are with me on this, who are maybe not meaning it politically, but are just, frankly, too grossed out to say the actual name, or for those who do mean it politically as a statement of withholding your personal investiture of power, whatever your reasons, here are some Alt Titles for the current you-know-what.
 
Here’s my list:
 
 
Flaming Ball of Hate
 
Personification of Greed
 
Embodiment of Short-sighted Self-Interest
 
Mr. Heartless
 
Poor Huddled Masses Basher
 
Mars, the Wannabe God of Warmongering
 
Destructor in Chief
 
Dissembler in Chief
 
Liar in Chief
 
National Park Stranger
 
Sexual Assault Promoter, with a minor in Bigotry
 
The Bankruptcy King
 
“Ick” Factor Champion
 
Captain Unthinkable
 
Marvel of Devolution
 
And finally,
 
Fear-based Protozoa
 
That’s it for now, though I’m afraid there will be more.
 
Keep the faith people.
 
p.s. I don’t think any of this is funny, but that doesn’t mean that sometimes, you don’t just have to laugh anyway. :)
 

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Creativity, an Exposé

2/17/2017

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Looping and strange, that’s how I’d describe creativity.
 
Looping because it isn’t linear, though bursts of it arrive straight out of nowhere, and produce something, start to finish. But looping means its always moving towards you or away from you, and that you can always catch the thread of it, or hop on the next time around.
 
Strange because, well, it isn’t “regular” or “normal”, even though it is utterly common and every human has experienced it. But it has an oddness, a peculiarity. A weird sparkle, which produces a reciprocating shimmer in its audiences. It's contagious.
 
Back to that hopping on next time around business. Just like sometimes you have to get on the wrong bus because it’s the only one running at that hour, and later you can transfer to the one you really want, sometimes with creativity you need to be a bit less particular. If your grand scheme has been thwarted, or has come to a disappointing, premature stop, you just hop on whatever’s running –a poem, a dance, a garden- and you ride that one a while. You’ll see, you’ll get where you’re going.
 
Creativity is the enemy to some. Some who weren’t allowed, or who were made fun of. Kids told not to sing, or who watched other, more openly creative types called “freaks” or no-good, jobless hippies. You can understand their caution. And all of us fall prey to those oppressions of the mind. Those ferocious insinuations that we should be doing something “real.”
 
Art is real. Craft is real. Creation is real.
 
But our connection to it can be evanescent. Tenuous. Short-lived. Fickle. Succumbing to an inflated vanishing whimsy or a diabolical internal persecution. Because The Creativity Killer lurks around corners and in alleyways waiting for all of us. Even those born in the land of the flower children. (Secret Encoded Message: the Killer is called Judgment.)
 
That’s why the first grab at the thread must be done gently, and maybe with a bit of stealth. Simply reach out slowly, and take the nearest loose end. Then, using a light squeeze between thumb and forefinger, ever so amiably, just give it a little tug.
 
Creativity.
 
It’s cousin is called “Magic.”


L.H.
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Noir Movies for Dark Times

2/16/2017

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I just got over the flu, and while I was sick, I found some good free movies to watch online. The slow pace and dark mood of most of these films is a good fit for a pensive mood, a tired body, or a weakened spirit.
 
I’ll start with two famous films by Hitchcock that are free online:
 
“The Paradine Case” (1947) is a slow-paced legal drama, a good, long movie that’s easy to watch when you’re tired. Great score by Franz Waxman, and a super cast including Gregroy Peck, Charles Laughton, and other great actors in smaller roles. Louis Jordan’s film debut. For some reason film played twice at this link. It’s really only one hour 54 minutes. Watch Movie.
 
“Rebecca” (1940) Joan Fontaine drives me crazy in this movie. She’s so mousy I fear she will crawl away into a hole in the wall. But oh, I love this film. Lawrence Olivier of course, but for me, Judith Anderson as Mrs. Danvers is one of the all-time great film performances. Waves crashing on the rocks. So Goth. Love this one. Watch Movie.
 
“The Suspect”(1944) is a good Victorian era noir with Charles Laughton. I think you have to like a no-frills noir to like this one, but I’d watch Charles Laughton read the phone book (yes, I’m old enough to remember when we had phone books) and there are some surprises here, on top of Laughton’s terrific turn as a conflicted husband. Watch Movie.

 “Where the Sidewalk Ends” (1950) is more of true, dark noir. It’s a tough-cop drama with Dana Andrews, who’s one of my all-time favorite actors as the cop.  Opening credits missing, but better quality than other full versions here. Watch Movie.
 
 “The Man Who Cheated Himself “ (1950) A scratchy old print here, but watchable and a total treat for San Franciscans, as it has some absolutely fantastic footage of the old city, including rooftop chase scenes and neat locales. Wonderful. Also, I’m a big fan of the star, Lee J. Cobb, who plays a detective with a moral dilemma. Watch Movie.

 Lastly, I’ll sneak in a light comedy. "Sitting Pretty" (1948) I put up with this silly premise here because I love Clifton Webb and Maureen O’Hara is so very lovely. Plus it’s a fun movie. A family comedy that was the basis for the TV show "Mr. Belvedere," this is pure cotton candy. Great supporting cast with some of Hollywood's best character actors of the era. Watch Movie.

I hope you don’t get the flu, and that you enjoy these old flicks.

L.H.


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Self Care in the Trump Era

2/14/2017

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Well, I can take a break today because I was about to write an article called "Self Care In the Trump Era" when I decide to look around and see if someone else had already done it, and they had.

This one is great. Just what I was thinking would be helpful.

Stay sane out there.

How to #StayOutraged Without Losing Your Mind
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Becoming the Thing You Fear

2/13/2017

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With all the anti-immigrant rhetoric right now, there’s an important fact about immigrants that is being ignored: That they are often the victims of crime, but fail to report it because of fear of deportation.

In California, and across the country, that problem just got worse.

I’m not talking about targeted hate crimes against immigrants, which have risen steadily and sometimes dramatically in recent years, (and I fear will continue to rise under this administration.) I’m talking about the crimes that affect all people most commonly. Theft, robbery, aggravated assault, rape, and domestic violence.

While the administration is attempting to paint these most recent raids on immigrant communities as targeted against criminals, the actual facts coming in describe multiple arrests of a much wider variety. This is striking widespread fear in a way that can only increase a person’s fear of going to the authorities for help if they are victimized.

One thing I have heard first hand from an immigrant here in the East Bay, is that people tend to assume that the government here will behave as it does in their home country, which may mean a fear physical violence or serious jail time is justified, if one doesn’t open the door to the authorities, or answer police’s question. The fact here in the U.S.A., at least for now, is that a person has a right not to speak, not to sign anything, and a right to refuse an unreasonable search, meaning he or she need not open their door if the officer does not have a specific warrant.
           
People are working hard to get the word out to immigrants with Know Your Rights (Conozco sus Derechos!) handouts and a “Red Card” that can be slipped under the door if the ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) comes calling. The Red Card says “I do not wish to speak with you” and invokes the 5th amendment, and “I do not give you permission to enter my home based on my 4th amendment rights.”
           
But in the meantime, there are many who don’t know they have these rights, who were already living in fear, and are now truly terrified. And frankly, none of us know exactly to what lengths the administration will go with their “vetting.”
           
What we do know is that these targeted communities naturally include a mix of people. People with different statuses – here legally, here illegally, with green card, without. Even people within a family or household may have different statuses. For example, an Iranian couple on my neighborhood are now citizens, but their daughter has been waiting five months for a green card. The fear level in all immigrant communities is on the rise, but it is also on the rise in Gay communities, among women, and in Jewish communities as well. The Jewish school not far from where I live, like Jewish centers and schools across the country, has received bomb threats since the election, and why not? If I were an anti-Semite, I’d be feeling quite excited at the moment. I’d be aware the administration is full of “people like me” and that I may have their tacit consent for actions against minorities, gays, and immigrants as well. So add to people’s habitual fear of the government, the fear of what others will do empowered by a government that treats people this way, and you have terror.
           
So what’s happening to the administration itself?
           
One of the teachings from the discourses of the Buddha is that whatever one “keeps pursuing with his thinking and pondering, that becomes the inclination of his awareness.” Not unlike Proverbs, 32:7, “For as he thinks within himself, so he is.”
The thing that this administration speaks out against the most, and seems to be most in fear of, is terrorism. Well, less than one month into the administration, it’s not at all a stretch to say that the U.S. Government has become the terrorists.
           
But that isn’t an end to my concern here. I’ve felt a surge of anger and blame since the election. I’m simultaneously worried that my friends are despairing, and that they aren’t taking things seriously enough. I’m worried I’m taking it too seriously. I find it hard to concentrate, hard to get work done, hard to relax and take it easy. And sometimes I vent my frustration on others, with posts online. I don’t use all caps, and I try not to tell people what to do, exactly, but the number and severity of the kinds of things I’m sharing are pretty terrifying and become in themselves a kind of moralistic yelling.
           
So, what am I most afraid of right now? A loud-mouthed blow hard who’s always telling people he knows best.

And what do I become when I skim too many articles and share them all with MY opinion? A bit of a blow hard without much substance. So I’m going to be on guard. Not only against a government that is now genuinely terrorizing its citizenry, but against the human tendency to meet anger with anger, and against my particular tendency to dive too deep into the world of opinion and moral outrage. A tendency, by the way, that I’ve found over the years dampens my own creativity with inverse proportionality. In other words, the more I think I’m “right” the less I experience a sense of flow and purpose as an artist, and the less I feel connected to others, even those who agree with my opinions.

There is much work to be done in all of our communities at the moment, and I’m loathe to put another task on the table, but I believe it will take an effort on all our parts in these challenging times, not to become the thing we despise.

​L.H.

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Classic Movie Pics for Black History Month

2/9/2017

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Here are some of my favorite classic movies featuring African American actors. Most of these are available on DVD from Netflix, or rentable from your choice of online services like Amazon or iTunes, or show up in the rotation on Turner Classic Movies. A couple of them are available free on Youtube and I’ll put links below, along with links for some of the original trailers including the one for my first pic,
 
Imitation of Life (1959)
 
I thought I knew old movies, but when two African American friends of mine said this was their favorite movie, I’d never heard of it. Now I’m in their debt because I love this movie. It still amazes me that this movie was made in ’59. It tackles fundamental issues of race, yes, but is also one of the most layered and realistic portrayals of female friendship I’ve seen on film. Lana Turner and Juanita Moore (who was nominated for an Oscar for her performance) are terrific. This was Turner’s comeback, and was made the year of the notorious Hollywood case involving her daughter stabbing her boyfriend, so maybe that’s why she’s more interesting to me here than she is in other movies, but whatever the reason, it’s a great performance. Because of the two of them, the movie is emotional, moving, and inspirational. (Note, Turner Classic Movies is showing both the ’34 and ’59 versions on Monday, February 13. Claudette Colbert gets on my nerves so I can’t handle the ’34 version but I may give it a try this time.)
 
Sounder (1972)
 
This is one of my favorite film dramas of all time. I saw it as a kid and it blew me away, and recently it made me cry again. Cicely Tyson’s Oscar nominated performance is beyond terrific. She lost the Oscar to Liza Minelli for Cabaret, but I’d have given it to her. (Sacrilege, but I would.)
 
No Way Out (1950)
 
A very dark noir, this is a Sidney Poitier, Richard Widmark thriller-drama that is pretty heavy, but fantastic suspense and plenty of grit. Maybe don’t watch it alone. It’s Poitier’s film debut, and man did he hit the ground running. (Note: there’s a horrible movie made in 1987 with Gene Hackman of the same title. Avoid.)
 
Do the Right Thing (1989)
 
OK, I have to say that in general, I passionately dislike Spike Lee’s movies because of his portrayal of women, which I find to be shallow, and really off-base to the point of being offensive. But this film is a masterpiece. I’d put it with Dog Day Afternoon and Annie Hall as a movie that takes a certain part of New York City’s reality and illuminates it to an almost magical level. Also, with all the characters it reminds me of a parable, or an opera, with every role representing something beyond itself, and all roles weaving together into a magnificent tapestry.
 
 
To Sir With Love (1967)
 
I’m sorry if you think this movie is corny, but I adore it. This is also one I saw first when I was young, a teenager, and I think seeing Poitier get those rude teenagers in line inspired me feel less intimidated by some of the “cool” kids at school. This is a movie that changed me. And plus, with the bouffanted Lulu singing the theme song, how can you not love this movie?
 
 
The Preacher’s Wife (1996)
 
I still find it sad to watch any Whitney Houston footage, but I hope that wears off by next Christmas, ‘cause I love this movie. I’m a gi-normous fan of the original (The Bishop’s Wife, 1947, with Loretta Young, Cary Grant and David Niven) so I went into the remake thinking: Make my day! And it did. As most ladies know, Denzel is truly an angel. This is a feel good flick.
 
 
Waiting to Exhale (1995)
 
 
Well, I’m not saying it’s a great movie. But if you’re a woman going through a breakup, you need this movie. End of review.
 
I wish I could put Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (1967) on this list, ‘cause I love Tracey and Hepburn and Poitier, but the over-cheery actress playing the daughter drives me nuts, plus it strays into preach-y territory and at the same time sugar coats things a bit. I like it better when the drama itself does the work. I applaud its intentions, and I do like its play-like structure, and enjoyed it once, but I don’t usually watch this one any more. If you haven’t seen it, you should, but if want one about discrimination and love that holds up better with time, and is more true to the theme, go for A Patch of Blue (1965) in which Poitier falls in love with a blind woman. That one deals with race and class. Unusual film.
 
Show Boat (1936)
 
Personally, I don’t much like the 1951 version, as the casting, including Kathryn Grayson, is just far too frilly for this serious a show. The ’36 version has Paul Robeson’s performance of Ol Man River, Hattie McDaniel as Queenie, and a truer sense of the operatic character of the piece. Kern and Hammerstein chose this subject matter in 1927, seven years before Gershwin would tackle Porgy and Bess (over the objections of just about everybody.)
     There is always fault to be found in retrospect with such ground-breaking pieces, and that’s especially evident in McDaniel’s role here, and with the casting of a white actress is cast in the role of Julie, who is “passing” for white, but Helen Morgan does a memorable job in the role she also did in the 1929 non-musical version, which was lost until recently. Now, with the perspective of Morgan’s own premature death due to alcoholism, her resonance with the role of Julie has an added poignancy. Even in the remake in the 1951 that role still went to a white woman, Ava Gardner.
     That a white composer and librettist tackled this at that time with the degree of success they have here is still remarkable, and leaves much to admire and melodies to delight in, but with some of the clichéd over-smiling from McDaniels, along the sorrowful nature of much of the music, you’ll have many opportunities to lament for good and bad reasons. Sidenote: If you love the song “Can’t Help Lovin’ Dat Man of Mine” make sure you track down the star-studded musical Till the Clouds Roll By (1946). Lena Horne’s version of the song is terrific in that.
 
In This Our Life (1942)
 
Maybe some would think it doesn’t belong on this list, but I’ll make my case. This is a drama starring Bette Davis and Olivia De Havilland. Minor roles are played by Hattie McDaniel, of Show Boat and Gone With the Wind (1939) fame, and a young black actor named Ernest Anderson. In terms of the portrayal of African Americans in film, this film is very important for breaking ground on the more realistic characterizations, particularly in the case of Anderson’s young character.
     The main story of course belongs to Davis and De Havilland, but their respective treatment of the young man Parry, played by Anderson, is used to reveal the nature of their characters in a significant way. (No spoilers here.) The screenplay is based on a Pulitzer Prize winning novel, and the movie is rich in the way a novel is. Its the second directorial turn of John Huston, right after he directed the Maltese Falcon. The New York Times reviewed it in 1942 and found it “Neither a pleasant nor an edifying film” but all that reveals to me that it was ahead of its time. In fact, the original release trailer has the plot line of the young black man's character completely omitted, and upon its original release, scenes portraying the young African American man in a favorable light were edited out for southern audiences, and the U.S. Office of Wartime Censorship forbade its distribution overseas, in part because the film reveals the unfair treatment a young African American male within the justice system. Now the fact that it ruffled feathers speaks to its credit.
     Often given only three stars, I think this movie is underrated, and deserves to make its way back onto lists of the best films dealing with African American themes. It certainly makes my list.
        You do have to have a high tolerance for a bit of ham from Bette Davis, but I not only have that tolerance, I consider it a kind of delicacy. Charles Coburn is one of my favorite character actors, and here is a really good role for him. Lastly, it gives us a chance to see Hattie McDaniel in a truly dramatic part. Like her contemporary Louis Armstrong, Hattie McDaniel lived at a difficult time for a performing artist of color, and made the choice to take the professional opportunities available to her. She famously said that she was not ashamed to be making 700$ playing a maid as opposed to making 7$ being a maid. But the horrible constraints put on her in all of her roles are rightfully hard to watch for contemporary audiences. At the same time, part of appreciating any performance is seeing the way the performer transcends the limitations of the material, and she does.
 
While we’re on this subject, a more complicated issue is trying to sort out Gertrude Howard’s work in one of Mae West’s most famous movies, I’m No Angel (1933) also starring Cary Grant.
     Many scenes here, like all the blackface numbers in musicals, make one cringe, even as the people performing them do their level best to infuse them with humanity. But I think there is more here than step and fetch if you look closely. Howard shows herself an equal to West even as she plays a kind of straight man, (woman) to West’s silliness. West, who wrote the screenplay herself, gives Howard and her co-maids more lines than strictly needed to further the scene and in this film’s most famous moment, when West says to Howard’s character “Peel me a grape” I have no doubt West is trying to play up the irony of having these servants wait on her.
     
Mae West insisted on having black maids in all her films, reportedly because she understood that some percentage of her audiences were black, though I think there may have been more to it. Here's why: The scenes with her servants linger in their playfulness to the point where West is engaging in girl talk with her servants in a very familiar way than in other films of the era. The movie is, after all, a comedy and you can almost see West wink at some of these moments, and I think she was deliberately mocking the servile role these actors were limited to playing. I say this from the perspective of a white person, so maybe this would be a horrible experience to watch this movie as a black person, but I think if you see it in the context of Mae West’s groundbreaking as producer, performer, writing her own screenplays, you’ll come to the conclusion I did, that she wasn’t celebrating the boundaries, she was tugging at them. And even more. I think if you look closely for a critique of the oppression of black performers, you will find it here. She's not making fun of them. As usual, she's making fun of herself.
     To understand the more remarkable breakthroughs made by other actresses and actors listed above, a movie like this one bears watching. Young Cary Grant doesn’t hurt either. Above all, Gertrude Howard is worth knowing about. She performed in film beginning in 1925, played Aunt Chloe in Uncle Tom’s Cabin (1927) and Queenie in the dramatic version of Show Boat (1929). Born in Arkansas in 1892, she died at the age of 41 just a year after I’m No Angel was made. I’ve been unable to find more information on her life and death, so if anyone has any info on that, please drop me a line.
 
So that's about it. Sorry if your favorite isn't here, and apologies to modern movie lovers. The absence of new movies and the low number of more recent movies on this list is a reflection not of their non-existence, but of my preference for movies made before the birth of rock and roll.
 
Lastly, because of the systemic discrimination of Hollywood, many early African American films and roles have been lost, but in this day and age, that’s no reason not to see them. Go to Youtube and look at early musical numbers with Dorothy Dandridge, and the Nicholas brothers just for starters. Speaking of Dandridge, if I had a time machine, I’d go back to 1936 and insist they give the role of Julie in Show Boat to her. She had made her film debut that year with the Dandridge Sisters in The Big Broadcast of 1936, and wouldn't she have been great in that role?
 
As promised, below are some links.
 
Happy Viewing. And Happy Black History Month.
 
~Lisa
 
Links

     In This Our Life Original Theatrical Trailer 
 
     Sounder Original Theatrical Trailer 
 
     Imitation of Life Original Theatrical Trailer 
 
     No Way Out Full Movie 
 
     And
 
     I’m No Angel Full Movie 
 
 
 
 
2 Comments

Nature of Cornwall

2/7/2017

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Today I'm disappointed about the confirmation of yet another unqualified person to a position of importance in government, and after getting very wrapped up in the process with phone calling and posting online, I'm regrouping a bit.

I wonder if my friends know about this lovely Youtube channel. It's a guy named Paul Dinning who does absolutely wonderful nature videos of Cornwall, England. Many are as long as ten hours. 

I enjoy having it on as background at home, even when I'm not watching, because the audio is soothing.

The variety of the channel is huge, with various settings, wildlife, times of day etc.

Here's the homepage, which has a voiceover, but other videos are only the sound of nature: Channel Homepage

And here's one I like for today. It's about an hour:
​
Relaxation - Relaxing Birds Singing & Chirping in The Gentle Rain

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