> 163: Going to movies in the thirties, the book thief, there should be a guy
Hi. I'm having some problems getting the unsubscribe link on the new platform to work consistently—sorry about that; if you'd like to remove yourself from this list, please input your email here. I will remember you fondly, in sepia tones. Hoping to have all bugs stomped by next week.
Here's some art, internet, and ideas for you:
Alexander Chee on the impact of E.M. Forster's novel of gay love, Maurice: "The care Forster took in sharing Maurice may have made it the most influential of unpublished novels before it was finally published... As it circulated, the novel became first an open secret and eventually the center of a sort of private reading club for gay male writers, critics, and friends, for decades."
"Bette Davis, Angela Davis and Yoda all rolled into one": meet America's oldest park ranger.
Lil Nas X covers Dolly Parton and Phoebe Bridgers covers Bo Burnham; also, here's what it sounds like when rhubarb grows in the dark.
Looking forward to: The Denzel/Frances Macbeth directed by Joel "Mr. Frances McDormand" Coen, not least because of the backstory Frances invented for them. Keeping the faith really pays off sometimes.
Every interview with Orson Welles is worth reading, but I love his description in this one of how people went to see movies in the thirties: "You didn’t stand in line. You strolled down the street and sallied into the theater at any hour of the day or night. Like you’d go in to have a drink at a bar. Every movie theater was partially empty. We never asked what time the movie began. We used to go after we went to the theater. (Interviewer: You didn’t feel you had to see a movie from the start?) No. We’d leave when we’d realize, 'This is where we came in.' Everybody said that. I loved movies for that reason. They didn’t cost that much, so if you didn’t like one, it was, 'Let’s do something else. Go to another movie.' And that’s what made it habitual to such an extent that walking out of a movie was what for people now is like turning off the television set."
I read every word of this long story about a mysterious person who has spent years going to elaborate lengths to steal book manuscripts before release for unknown reasons.
A lede for the ages, by Helena Fitzgerald: "Tolstoy once said there are only three stories in the world: A man goes on a journey, a stranger comes to town, and Big Dick Richie’s dick is too big."
Recommended TV: LuLaRich, the documentary of the multi-level marketing pyramid scheme that is basically a metaphor for America; Sex Education, now back and in its third season, which is worth watching for Gillian Anderson's aspirational pantsuits alone but is also lots of sweet coming-of-age stories rolled into one show.
There should be a guy who every morning rides his bicycle down to the main street and sets up a small glass case of beautiful cakes he has made. He should sell the cakes at a reasonable price to whoever comes. The cakes should be both beautiful and inspiring. They should be sumptuously iced and decorated with fruits and sugared flowers which are not only lovely to behold but genuinely delicious. He should sit on a low half wall and read a newspaper folded into quarters until the cakes are all sold. As soon as the last one is sold he should tie the glass case to the back of his bike and cycle to the market to buy fresh eggs and flour, chocolate, fruit, all the things he needs to make cakes for tomorrow. And then he should ride his bicycle home, where he should kiss the top of the low door frame leading into his widower's cottage because it will always remind him of her. And then he makes the cakes for the next day. Now that's what should happen. It should be happening already, in towns all over the country. Hell, all over the world. If it's not then fuck it. Let the bombs fall. Let them turn the beaches to glass. Return us to hunter gatherers, cowering in caves. Miserable dirty people dying of cold when it rains for too long. Let us slowly work our way back up if we can't get even that part right when it should be so obvious. See if the next crop are smarter. And if they aren't then try again. As long as it takes. Let our distant descendents hide in the shadows of the brick walls we built. I don't think that's too extreme.
Bye,
Laura