Noag or Yoag?

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , on November 24, 2014 by dcairns

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Rewatching THE PALM BEACH STORY with Fiona (before leaving for foreign parts), which my memory told me was Fiona’s favourite Preston Sturges film. She wasn’t sure I was right, but by about halfway through was willing to confirm it. She laughed at the bits she always laughed at, and then found new bits to laugh at. Not precisely new, but bits that kind of slip by the first couple of times and stand out more on a repeat viewing. The nonsense dialogue between Mary Astor and Sig Arno (the Princess Centimillia AKA Maude, and Toto, the refugee houseguest from Belugistan), for instance. Mostly Arno is funny physically, striking poses or failing to strike them, as when he leans nonchalantly on a stick which promptly bends into a rainbow shape and nearly drops him to the floor, before he shifts his weight and is nearly bounced off his feet. But the gobbledygook Belugistan deserves its own glossary. Too bad Anthony Burgess isn’t here to write it. For most of his screen time, Toto resists the Princess’s veiled commands to scram, with a simple, dignified declaration of “Nitzk.” The Princess will respond with a determined “Yitzk, Toto.”

But deep in the third act, determined to marry Captain McGlue (“That name!”), the Princess feels stronger measures are required to deal with Toto and proposes buying him a one-way ticket to Havana. This calls for a refusal in stronger terms, it seems: no mere “Nitzk” will do.

“Noag,” says Toto, firmly.

“Yoag, Toto,” says the Princess, equally firmly.

(Took me a looong time to realise that Arno played the inappropriate comedy relief in DIARY OF A LOST GIRL, a film which seems worlds away from Sturges.)

Bonus bit: having laughed herself silly on several previous occasions at the train porter’s “She’s alone but she don’t know it,” Fiona this time had hysterics at the same character’s musings, in the same scene, about how no man who leaves a dime as a tip can possibly have a yacht (pronounced semi-phonetically) — “A canoe, maybe, or a bicycle.”

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The porter’s on the poster! Somebody noticed how good Charles R. Moore was!

And also! A New York cabbie (Frank Faylen! Bim from THE LOST WEEKEND!), after Claudette Colbert asks if he can possibly take her to Penn Station for free: “Sure, hop in, babe.” It’s the micro-pause before he delivers it, since this is an unusual request and he has to give it a moment’s thought, and then the casual way he says it, since after all it’s no big deal, that for some reason makes it (1) totally convincing in real-world terms and (2) hilarious. The film is full of gleeful silliness, like the repeated Deus Ex Weenie King plot contrivance, but that moment is oddly convincing, despite its highly irregular nature — it also neatly illustrates the film’s underlying theme, what Sturges called “the aristocracy of beauty,” explained by Colbert’s character as the principle that a pretty girl can do a whole lot without doing anything.

The Sunday Intertitle: Paris Doesn’t Exist

Posted in Comics, FILM, Painting with tags , , , , , , , , , on November 23, 2014 by dcairns

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A frame from PARIS N’EXISTE PAS (1969), Robert Benayoun’s uber-cool art flick about bohemian modern art types, one of whom starts experiencing weird instances of objects moving around the room by themselves — I was reminded of David Bowie’s Berlin period hallucinations of furniture gone walkies, and also Maupassant’s short story What Is It? in which the narrator is plagued by the discovery that ALL furniture enjoys an active life the moment our backs are turned, just like the toys in TOY STORY.

The movie — which somewhat resembles Clouzot’s kinetic art melodrama LA PRISONNIERE from the same period, only without the s&m roleplay and with Serge Gainsbourg, puffing away at a cigarette holder in an invigorating embodiment of the concept of “louche” — could have been merely trendy, with its flash-cuts of cartoon panels to create a kind of cinematic Roy Lichtenstein feel, but I think it has more on the ball than that. Also, it’s fun spotting the cartoons of Hugo Pratt, Charles Schultz et al. I doubt copyright was paid.

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It’s a good film to be watching in my ultramodern flat in Paris, loaned to me by Francoise Ickowitz, grand-daughter of Bernard Natan. Francoise has, I think inherited some of her aunt’s taste — producer Monique Natan, Bernard’s niece, was responsible for producing Alain Jessua’s comic-book murder yarn JEU DE MASSACRE (1967) and Jean Rollin’s LE FRISSON DES VAMPIRES (1971), films of bold colour and pop sensibility.

When we interviewed Francoise for NATAN at her apartment — a sensational pop art shagging palace in a penthouse towering over Paris with Bond villain aplomb — we had to carefully frame out all the amazing decor, which was utterly fabulous in a CLOCKWORK ORANGE/Warhol kind of way, but sort of inappropriate as a backdrop for a sombre discussion of her grandfather’s life and death. But it would be worth inventing a whole new film to shoot there just for the interior design and art.

Red Eye

Posted in FILM with tags , on November 22, 2014 by dcairns

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Today I will mostly be hanging around airports, flying in the sky, and tracking down my accommodation in Paris. So this is just a reminder that the Late Movies Blogathon is nearly upon us, and an open invitation to interested parties to join the fun. I know it’s nicer to be specifically invited, but I hope lots of you will accept this more general invitation.

Image from (what else?) Michael Powell’s last fiction feature, THE BOY WHO TURNED YELLOW.

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