Samuel Beckett Draws Doodles of Charlie Chaplin, James Joyce & Hats

beckett chaplin

Samuel Beck­ett was a play­wright, a nov­el­ist, a Nobel Prize win­ner and the chauf­feur for a school-aged André the Giant. He was also, appar­ent­ly, a com­pul­sive doo­dler. The orig­i­nal man­u­scripts of his first and sec­ond nov­els, Mur­phy and Watt respec­tive­ly, are cov­ered in mar­gin­a­lia.

Beckett - james Joyce

The man­u­script for Mur­phy, com­pris­ing six note­books, was auc­tioned off last year by Sotheby’s to the tune of £962,500 (or over $1.6 mil­lion). The book was writ­ten between the years of 1935 to 1936 and the man­u­script shows numer­ous revi­sions. It also con­tains this doo­dle (above) of Char­lie Chap­lin, who would lat­er influ­ence his sem­i­nal play Wait­ing for Godot. Beck­et­t’s doo­dle of James Joyce appears beneath it.

For some­one who made a career explor­ing heavy themes like noth­ing­ness and futil­i­ty, his draw­ings are noth­ing like the stark, angu­lar doo­dles of Franz Kaf­ka. Beckett’s pic­tures are curvy, light-heart­ed and whim­si­cal. Look at the draw­ing below. I real­ly don’t know what’s going on there but it sort of looks like a man in ear­muffs giv­ing birth to a hat.

beckett-murphy-2

And this one is of a cou­ple golfers.

_75342230_murphy-golf

Beckett’s sec­ond nov­el Watt, the last book he wrote in Eng­lish, also took up six note­books. Accord­ing to Beckett’s rec­ol­lec­tions, Watt was writ­ten “in drips and drabs” while he was in liv­ing in France dur­ing WWII. In the first note­book, along­side an X‑ed out page of text is this odd draw­ing of a long-haired cen­taur in a top hat.

beckett doodle

And this page, in the sec­ond note­book, fea­tures a bunch of ter­rif­ic, strik­ing­ly graph­ic doo­dles includ­ing one that looks like Mor­ley Safer in an Asian cone hat. (Again with the hats.)

beckettwatt2

via @SteveSilberman/Brain­Pick­ings/Har­ry Ran­som Cen­ter
Relat­ed Con­tent:

Samuel Beck­ett Directs His Absur­dist Play Wait­ing for Godot (1985)

Mon­ster­piece The­ater Presents Wait­ing for Elmo, Calls BS on Samuel Beck­ett

Rare Audio: Samuel Beck­ett Reads Two Poems From His Nov­el Watt

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow.

 

Anthony Burgess’ Lost Introduction to Joyce’s Dubliners Now Online

joyce sketch

Quick note: Writ­ten in 1986 as the intro­duc­tion to a Dol­men Press edi­tion of James Joyce’s Dublin­ers, but nev­er used, this essay by Antho­ny Burgess, author of A Clock­work Orange, was found among the papers he left behind. And it now appears in The Irish Times for the first time. You can read it online here. Copies of Joyce’s Dublin­ers can be found in our book col­lec­tions:

800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices

and

1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free

Relat­ed Con­tent:

James Joyce Reads From Ulysses and Finnegans Wake In His Only Two Record­ings (1924/1929)

James Joyce’s Dublin Cap­tured in Vin­tage Pho­tos from 1897 to 1904

James Joyce, With His Eye­sight Fail­ing, Draws a Sketch of Leopold Bloom (1926)

 

Michael Palin’s Tour of the Best Loved Monty Python Sketch Locations

In 1999, trav­el pre­sen­ter and found­ing mem­ber of Mon­ty Python, Michael Palin, led view­ers on a tour of Python­land, a col­lec­tion of unre­mark­able Lon­don loca­tions where some of the com­e­dy troupe’s most famous sketch­es were filmed.

Unlike fel­low Python Ter­ry Jones, the pleas­ant woman who responds to Pal­in’s knock at 94 Thor­pe­bank Road is not expect­ing a new gas cook­er, though judg­ing from the way she is dressed, she is await­ing a tele­vi­sion crew. Hav­ing spent sev­er­al decades lis­ten­ing to boys (and then men) inces­sant­ly recit­ing their fave Python bits, it’s a tri­fle hard for me to believe that any­one could claim zero knowl­edge of the show’s exis­tence. Maybe things are dif­fer­ent here in the States…

For­tu­nate­ly for the tele­vi­sion audi­ence, old Joe, next door at no. 92, does remem­ber the show’s takeover of the neigh­bor­hood, includ­ing John Cleese’s sil­ly walk out of no. 107, back when it was a shop.

The star betrays his age at the West Lon­don home that was the set­ting of the Seduced Milk­man skit. Palin is less shocked that the scant­i­ly clad Don­na Read­ing has been replaced by a dis­in­ter­est­ed young bloke in an apron than that the small size of the room served as a hold­ing pen for the punch­line’s five oth­er way­ward milk­men. Me too. I can’t imag­ine a 21st-cen­tu­ry crew agree­ing to lug their equip­ment up a flight of stairs, let alone shoot in a room that’s no big­ger than it appears to be on film.

Palin also swings by Ted­ding­ton Lock to demon­strate his fabled Fish Slap­ping Dance with a uni­formed atten­dant and no fish. At the end of every call, Palin presents the cur­rent occu­pant with a fac­sim­i­le Eng­lish Her­itage plaque. (More than ten years lat­er, Palin toast­ed the instal­la­tion of a fake blue plaque hon­or­ing his late col­league Gra­ham Chap­man at the lat­ter’s favorite pub.)

If you’re a Python pil­grim look­ing to make a day of it, here are a few more spots that will round things up to an even dozen. The no-longer-in-print Japan­ese guide­book that Palin relies on in the videos is some­thing of a grail, but only to those who speak Japan­ese.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mon­ty Python’s Best Phi­los­o­phy Sketch­es

Watch All of Ter­ry Gilliam’s Mon­ty Python Ani­ma­tions in a Row

Watch Mon­ty Python’s “Sum­ma­rize Proust Com­pe­ti­tion” on the 100th Anniver­sary of Swann’s Way

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is a Brook­lyn-based author, per­former, direc­tor and the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her@AyunHalliday

Isolated Drum Tracks From Six of Rock’s Greatest: Bonham, Moon, Peart, Copeland, Grohl & Starr

“Drums, eh,” says Kei­th Richards in answer to a fan ques­tion on the sub­ject. “With­out it you’re kin­da nowhere.” He’s got a point. An ace drum­mer can be the spine, mus­cle, and even soul of a great band. Pound­ing, swing­ing, and smash­ing away behind showy gui­tarists and flam­boy­ant front­men, drum­mers some­times have prob­lems being seen, but nev­er heard. But while John Bon­ham or Kei­th Moon nev­er got lost in the mix, it’s a rare thing to hear them out of it. The pro­lif­er­a­tion of rock band video games and iso­lat­ed tracks post­ed to Youtube allow us to lis­ten to the nuances of drum grooves we may feel we know by heart, such as Bonham’s dri­ving beat behind Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lot­ta Love.”

In a pre­vi­ous post, we brought you a rough mix of the song and Jim­my Page describ­ing its cre­ation. Page want­ed Bonham’s drum track to “real­ly stand out, so that every stick stroke sound­ed clear and you could real­ly feel them.” It cer­tain­ly does that. The drum track above is all about feel­ing. As a result of the record­ing tech­niques of the time, writes producer/engineer Bob­by Owin­s­ki, drum tracks tend­ed to sound “like a sin­gle instru­ment,” since they were record­ed with only two or three mics cap­tur­ing the space around the kit, rather than the sound of indi­vid­ual pieces. “Still,” Owin­s­ki writes of this track, “there’s plen­ty of pow­er in [Bonham’s] kick and snare, because he played them hard!” In addi­tion to his pow­er, Bon­ham is known for his laid-back groove, due to his ten­den­cy for play­ing slight­ly behind the beat, a qual­i­ty Youtube drum instruc­tor Ter­ry Keat­ing of Bon­zoleum ascribes to “tem­pera­ment.”

Bonham’s style con­sist­ed main­ly of cre­ative uses of triplets, so much so that McSweeny’s had a good laugh about his con­stant use a sim­i­lar pat­tern. One of my favorite drummers—crankiest man in rock Gin­ger Baker—also dis­par­ages Bonham’s play­ing, as well as that of anoth­er alco­holic drum star, Kei­th Moon. But Gin­ger Bak­er doesn’t tend to like any­one, and Moon’s play­ing, while maybe not vir­tu­osic or espe­cial­ly dis­ci­plined, was, like his per­sona, insane. Drum Mag­a­zine describes Moon’s style as “trib­al, prim­i­tive, and impul­sive, with him often stomp­ing the bass drums and pound­ing his wall of toms like a mad­man” (clear­ly Moon inspired the Mup­pets’ Ani­mal). Moon’s many kits often con­sist­ed of dou­ble bass drums and dou­ble rows of toms, and he played them as hard as pos­si­ble almost all the time. Hear him above thrash­ing with aban­don through “Won’t Get Fooled Again.”

Seem­ing­ly miles away from the mad­ness of Kei­th Moon, Rush’s Neil Peart is a high­ly tech­ni­cal drum­mer with impec­ca­ble on-the-beat tim­ing and a drum set­up that has grown so exten­sive and com­pli­cat­ed over the years that he almost dis­ap­pears into its depths. Peart’s play­ing com­bines the pow­er and sta­mi­na of Bon­ham with com­plex pat­terns whose rhyth­mic dynam­ics shift sub­tly sev­er­al times through­out each song. Check out the iso­lat­ed drum track for “Tom Sawyer” above as a clas­sic exam­ple of Peart’s tech­nique and you may see why he’s classed as one of the all-time best rock drum­mers (though I wouldn’t class him as one of rock’s great­est lyri­cists).

Although I’m an admir­er of Neil Peart’s drum­ming, I can’t say I’m much of a Rush fan. Police drum­mer Stew­art Copeland feels the same. In an inter­view with Music Radar, he jokes about “pull[ing] Neil’s chain at every pos­si­ble oppor­tu­ni­ty” for the self-indul­gent excess of drum solos (though Copeland game­ly played one dur­ing David Letterman’s “Drum Solo Week” in 2011). Copeland talks about “a time when bands like Rush were the epit­o­me of what The Police were the­o­ret­i­cal­ly against, which was an overem­pha­sis on musi­cal­i­ty.” Nonethe­less, Copeland is one of the most musi­cal of drum­mers, mak­ing use of odd time sig­na­tures and polyrhyth­mic syn­co­pa­tion to cre­ate a thor­ough­ly unique and instant­ly rec­og­niz­able style (which has even inspired neu­ro­science stud­ies). The drum track above comes from “Next to You,” a song on the band’s debut album, dur­ing their decid­ed­ly anti-Rush phase. While the song itself is uptem­po punk rock, Copeland’s Gene Kru­pa-like drum­ming, heard in iso­la­tion, presages the unusu­al quirks to come as the band stretched out into jazz and reg­gae ter­ri­to­ry.

The sheer num­ber of bands Foo Fight­ers front­man and for­mer Nir­vana drum­mer Dave Grohl has drummed for is impres­sive, and a tes­ta­ment to his machine-like speed and tim­ing. Drum­mer and Port­landia star Fred Armisen may be Grohl’s biggest fan. “Every drum part he does is a mas­ter­piece,” says Armisen, “He’s nev­er just heavy for heavy’s sake or rock for rock’s sake—it’s all so musi­cal, with an incred­i­ble sense of dynam­ics. Every gen­er­a­tion has their drum­ming guy, and Dave is ours.” Even Kurt Cobain, nev­er one to over­praise, once called Grohl “the best drum­mer in the world.” Maybe a bit of hyper­bole, but Grohl’s damned good, even at his most straight­for­ward, as above in his pound­ing drum­beat for “Smells Like Teen Spir­it.” Grohl’s pow­er­house play­ing isn’t the most ver­sa­tile. He had some trou­ble adjust­ing to qui­eter envi­rons, and Cobain near­ly banned him from the band’s leg­endary “Unplugged” per­for­mance for his too-aggres­sive play­ing in rehearsals. Nonethe­less, when it comes to punk, hard­core, and seri­ous rock, Grohl’s the man.

I can’t resist end­ing with the iso­lat­ed track of what maybe be my all-time favorite drum part, Ringo Starr’s wild­ly funky busi­ness at the end of “Straw­ber­ry Fields For­ev­er.” Some of the drums here are over­dubbed, with sev­er­al dif­fer­ent per­cus­sion parts blend­ed with Starr’s full-kit freak out. Starr has tak­en a lot of com­plete­ly unde­served flak for his sup­posed lim­i­ta­tions as a drum­mer, but as Samuel Belkin writes at The Exam­in­er, “his lat­ter day drum pat­terns are […] often sophis­ti­cat­ed, and always idio­syn­crat­ic […] nobody has ever been able to sound quite like Ringo.” Ulti­mate­ly, in my book, what dis­tin­guish­es a tru­ly great drum­mer from thou­sands of tech­ni­cal­ly pro­fi­cient play­ers is a qual­i­ty no one can teach or emu­late: Per­son­al­i­ty.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

7 Female Bass Play­ers Who Helped Shape Mod­ern Music: Kim Gor­don, Tina Wey­mouth, Kim Deal & More

Lis­ten to The John Bon­ham Sto­ry, a Radio Show Host­ed by Dave Grohl

Kei­th Moon’s Final Per­for­mance with The Who (1978)

Hear the Iso­lat­ed Vocal Tracks for The Bea­t­les’ Cli­mac­tic 16-Minute Med­ley on Abbey Road

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness.

Stanley Kubrick Talks Cinema, Chess, ESP, Vietnam & His Cat in Interviews with Michel Ciment (1975–1987)

Cinephiles cer­tain­ly know the name of Stan­ley Kubrick, and die-hard cinephiles just as cer­tain­ly know the name of Michel Ciment, the French crit­ic behind cel­e­brat­ed vol­umes on such auteurs as Elia Kazan, Joseph Losey, John Boor­man, Theo Angelopou­los, Fritz Lang, and, yes Kubrick him­self. Ciment has placed the direc­tor’s work, which includes the likes of Dr. Strangelove2001: A Space Odyssey, and A Clock­work Orange, “among the most impor­tant con­tri­bu­tions to world cin­e­ma in the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry.” In an attempt to do jus­tice to the mind of his sub­ject while writ­ing Kubrick, he put in no small amount of time with the man him­self. At the top of the post, you can hear an assem­blage of mate­r­i­al from a five-part inter­view between Ciment and Kubrick orig­i­nal­ly aired on the French radio pro­gram A voix nue, itself pieced togeth­er from a series of con­ver­sa­tions between crit­ic and direc­tor record­ed between 1975 and 1987. So we ulti­mate­ly have here, as the per­son who put the clip on Youtube notes, “a recon­struct­ed hour of Kubrick talk­ing about cin­e­ma, chess, ESP, art, writ­ing, Viet­nam, his cat, the 18th cen­tu­ry, and even Fear and Desire.”

But with this fas­ci­nat­ing mate­r­i­al comes a caveat: “As the inter­views were broad­cast for French audi­ences, a French voice-over was added through­out the entire audio in post-edit. This meant that you’d hear Kubrick talk for about three or four sec­onds and then have a trans­la­tor jump in and repeat what he said in French at a loud­er vol­ume. Usu­al­ly the trans­la­tor would step in and cut off the first or last words that Kubrick was say­ing, or some­times just talk over the top of him.” The result, with the French most­ly excised and the Eng­lish remains stitched into a solid­ly Kubrick­ian hour, does make for “a very demand­ing and irri­tat­ing way to lis­ten to the inter­views” which “involves a lot of con­cen­tra­tion to fil­ter out the inter­preter and keep piec­ing togeth­er the flow of what Kubrick says.” Yet he does say plen­ty worth hear­ing, espe­cial­ly for those already famil­iar with his fil­mog­ra­phy. But if this audio does indeed wear down your patience, feel free to check out one of the less tax­ing ways to get a dose of Kubrick and Ciment: for exam­ple, the three con­ver­sa­tions on Bar­ry Lyn­donThe Shin­ing, and A Clock­work Orange so con­ve­nient­ly tran­scribed — in Eng­lish! — at The Kubrick Site. You can also lis­ten to Stan­ley Kubrick’s 1965 Inter­view with The New York­er here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Fear and Desire: Stan­ley Kubrick’s First and Least-Seen Fea­ture Film (1953)

Stan­ley Kubrick’s Daugh­ter Shares Pho­tos of Her­self Grow­ing Up on Her Father’s Film Sets

Stan­ley Kubrick’s List of Top 10 Films (The First and Only List He Ever Cre­at­ed)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Archive of 5,000 Images Document the History of San Francisco and the Vehicles That Put It in Motion

Ferry Showing Present Track Layout

Tak­en at the fog-shroud­ed Fer­ry Build­ing in San Fran­cis­co in Jan­u­ary 1906, just months before a mas­sive earth­quake lev­eled the up-and-com­ing city, the strik­ing image above comes from The San Fran­cis­co Munic­i­pal Trans­porta­tion Agency Pho­to­graph­ic Archive, an archive that pro­vides a “visu­al his­to­ry of the city’s pub­lic trans­porta­tion his­to­ry dat­ing back to the ear­ly 20th Cen­tu­ry.”

FIllmore Hill Cars Air Coupling

Fea­tur­ing a col­lec­tion of glass plate, nitrate and acetate neg­a­tives, the liv­ing archive tells “the sto­ry of San Fran­cis­co, its tran­si­tion from a stretch of sand dunes to an inter­na­tion­al­ly acclaimed city, it’s rise from the rub­ble of the dev­as­tat­ing earth­quake of 1906 and the vital role pub­lic trans­porta­tion played and con­tin­ues to play in revi­tal­iz­ing the city.” The archive con­tains near­ly 5,000 images, all neat­ly divid­ed into 14 col­lec­tions. You can enter the archive and start perus­ing here.

via Metafil­ter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The 1906 San Fran­cis­co Earth­quake: Before and After

Design­er Mas­si­mo Vignel­li Revis­its and Defends His Icon­ic 1972 New York City Sub­way Map

Vin­tage Video: A New York City Sub­way Train Trav­els From 14th St. to 42nd Street (1905)

Famous Writers’ Report Cards: Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, Norman Mailer, E.E. Cummings & Anne Sexton

MailerReportCard

“It’s not about the grade,” I’d say to per­turbed stu­dents ask­ing me to change theirs: “it’s about what you learned.” No one will care what you got in first-year Eng­lish Com­po­si­tion; they’ll care if you can write a sen­tence, a para­graph, a pro­fes­sion­al, ele­gant, or mov­ing text. All of this is true, and yet (of course I nev­er told them this) I still remem­ber every grade I earned in every class I took in high school, col­lege, and grad­u­ate school. Obses­sive? Maybe. But it’s also symp­to­matic of that same com­pul­sion that dri­ves stu­dents to try, by any means, to get pro­fes­sors to bump their grades up at the end of the semester—fear of the “per­ma­nent record.” Like Sein­feld’s Elaine, strug­gling to expunge a black mark from her med­ical chart, we all fear the reams of documents—or archives of data—that cat­a­logue our every mis­step, stum­ble, fail­ure or faux pas.

CummingsReportCard

In many cas­es, this anx­i­ety is jus­ti­fi­able, but as you can see here, the occa­sion­al bad mark didn’t stop famed writ­ers Nor­man Mail­er or E.E. Cum­mings from achiev­ing lit­er­ary great­ness, even if those grades remain, in ink, on record today. See Mailer’s first-year Har­vard Col­lege report card at the top of the post, aca­d­e­m­ic year 1939–40. The bear­ish nov­el­ist did well, but for the C in his sec­ond semes­ter of Engi­neer­ing Sci­ence. Just above, we have Cum­mings’ report card from what is like­ly his fifth grade year giv­en his age of 11 at the time. The 1905-06 grad­ing sys­tem looks for­eign to us now, but the C that Cum­mings received that year prob­a­bly did not put him at the top of the class. Nor, I’m sure, did his 61 absences.

HemingwayReportCard

Ernest Hem­ing­way, on the oth­er hand, had lit­tle rea­son to hide the high school report card above, but if you look close­ly, you’ll see that the col­umn of straight A’s does not mean what we might think. The Oak Park and Riv­er For­est Town­ship High School only gave two let­ter grades, A for “Accept­ed” and D for “Defi­cient.” Still, Hemingway’s numer­i­cal per­cent­ages show his schol­ar­ly apti­tude, though his 75 in Latin may have haunt­ed him.

FaulknerReportCard

Hemingway’s mod­ernist con­tem­po­rary William Faulkn­er, you may know, strug­gled in school after the fourth grade, and even­tu­al­ly dropped out of high school after the 11th (though his father’s job at Ole Miss meant he could enroll there for the three semes­ters he attend­ed). The sev­enth grade report card above does not show us his grades, and Faulkner’s teacher neglect­ed to fill in the “Espe­cial­ly Good In” and “Espe­cial­ly Poor In” box­es. Nev­er­the­less, Faulkn­er (then William Falkn­er), did well enough to move up, and his moth­er signed off on each month of the term but the last.

SextonReportCard

Final­ly we bring you the report card of Anne Sex­tonnée Harvey—for a 10th grade Amer­i­can Lit­er­a­ture class at the Junior-Senior High School in Welles­ley, Mass­a­chu­setts, from which Sylvia Plath also grad­u­at­ed. As you can see, Sex­ton received a C in the class, with an F for effort in the first quar­ter. Accord­ing to Beth Hinch­liffe—a Welles­ley native who con­duct­ed one of Sexton’s final interviews—the poet remem­bered the grade. She also remem­bered her teenage self as “ ‘a pim­ply, boy-crazy thing’ who was obsessed with flirt­ing.”

Most of these report cards come from col­lec­tions at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Texas’ Har­ry Ran­som Cen­ter, a trove of his­tor­i­cal and lit­er­ary doc­u­ments that, unlike some oth­er archives, I’m very glad keeps per­ma­nent records. Anne Sex­ton’s report card comes to us via the always infor­ma­tion-rich Brain Pick­ings.

via The Wall Street Jour­nal

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ernest Hem­ing­way Cre­ates a Read­ing List for a Young Writer, 1934

The Art of William Faulkn­er: Draw­ings from 1916–1925

Two Child­hood Draw­ings from Poet E.E. Cum­mings Show the Young Artist’s Play­ful Seri­ous­ness

Anne Sex­ton, Con­fes­sion­al Poet, Reads “Want­i­ng to Die” in Omi­nous 1966 Video

How Famous Writ­ers — From J.K. Rowl­ing to William Faulkn­er — Visu­al­ly Out­lined Their Nov­els

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness.

Salvador Dalí & Walt Disney’s Destino: See the Collaborative Film, Original Storyboards & Ink Drawings

Unlike­ly col­lab­o­ra­tions in pop music abound: Run DMC and Aero­smith? It works! U2 and Luciano Pavarot­ti? Why not? Robert Plant and Ali­son Krauss? Sure! Any­one and Ker­mit the Frog? Yes. They don’t always work out, but the attempts, whether kismet or train­wreck, tend to reveal a great deal about the part­ners’ strengths and weak­ness­es. Unlike­ly col­lab­o­ra­tions in fea­ture film are some­what rar­er, though not for lack of wish­ing. I would guess the high finan­cial stakes have some­thing to do with this, as well as the sheer num­ber of peo­ple required for the aver­age pro­duc­tion. One par­tic­u­lar­ly salient exam­ple of an osten­si­ble mis­match in ani­mat­ed movies—a planned co-cre­ation by sur­re­al­ist Sal­vador Dalí and pop­ulist Walt Disney—offers a fas­ci­nat­ing look at how the two artists’ careers could have tak­en very dif­fer­ent cre­ative direc­tions. The col­lab­o­ra­tion may also have fall­en vic­tim to a film indus­try whose eco­nom­ics dis­cour­age exper­i­men­tal duets.

We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured the ani­mat­ed short— Des­ti­no—at the top of the post. The 6 and a half minute film shows us what Dalí and Disney’s planned project might have looked like. Recre­at­ed from 17 sec­onds of orig­i­nal ani­ma­tion and sto­ry­boards drawn by Dalí and released in 2003 by Disney’s nephew Roy, Des­ti­no gives us an almost per­fect sym­bio­sis of the two cre­ators’ sen­si­bil­i­ties, with Walt Disney’s Fan­ta­sia-like flights smooth­ly ani­mat­ing Dalí’s flu­id dream imagery. Accord­ing to Chris Pal­lant, author of Demys­ti­fy­ing Dis­ney, work between the two on the orig­i­nal project also moved smooth­ly, with lit­tle fric­tion between the two artists. Meet­ing in 1945, Dalí and Dis­ney “quick­ly devel­oped an indus­tri­ous work­ing rela­tion­ship” and “ease of col­lab­o­ra­tion.” Pal­lant writes that “Disney’s desire for absolute cre­ative con­trol changed, and, for the first time, the ani­ma­tors work­ing with­in the stu­dio felt the influ­ence of oth­er artis­tic forces.” I imag­ine it might prove dif­fi­cult, if not impos­si­ble, to micro­man­age Sal­vador Dalí. In any case, the fruit­ful rela­tion­ship pro­duced results:

Des­ti­no reached a rel­a­tive­ly advanced stage before being aban­doned. By mid-1946 the Dis­ney- Dalí col­lab­o­ra­tion encom­passed approx­i­mate­ly ’80 pen-and-ink sketch­es’ and numer­ous ‘sto­ry­boards, draw­ings and paint­ings that were cre­at­ed over nine months in 1945 and 1946.’

Roy E. Dis­ney dis­cov­ered Dalí’s Des­ti­no art­work in the late 90s, lead­ing to his short re-cre­ation of what might have been. Above, you can flip through a slideshow of twelve of those draw­ings and sto­ry­boards, cour­tesy of Park West Gallery, who rep­re­sent the work. The Des­ti­no mate­ri­als went on dis­play at the Draw­ings Room in Figueres, Spain. The exhi­bi­tion fea­tured “1 oil paint­ing, 1 water­colour, 15 prepara­to­ry drawings—10 of which are unpublished—and 9 pho­tographs of Dalí in the cre­ative process of this mate­r­i­al, of the Dis­ney cou­ple in Port Lli­gat in 1957, and the Dalí cou­ple in Bur­bank.” You can see many of those pho­tographs in the exhibit’s pam­phlet (in pdf here, in Span­ish and Eng­lish; cov­er image below), which offers a detailed descrip­tion of the orig­i­nal project, includ­ing its nar­ra­tive con­cept, a “love sto­ry” between a dancer and “base­ball-play­er-cum-god Cronos” meant to rep­re­sent “the impor­tance of time as we wait for des­tiny to act on our lives.”

DaliDisneyexhibit

Inspired by a Mex­i­can song by Arman­do Dominguez, Des­ti­no, on its face, seems like a very strange choice for Dis­ney, who gen­er­al­ly traf­ficked in more rec­og­niz­able (and Euro­pean) folk-tale sources. And yet, the exhi­bi­tion pam­phlet asserts, the co-pro­duc­tion made a great deal of sense for Dalí, “if we con­sid­er that one Dalin­ian con­stant is his bring­ing togeth­er of the elit­ist artis­tic idea and mass cul­ture (and vice ver­sa) […]. Des­ti­no becomes a unique artis­tic prod­uct in which Dalin­ian expres­sive­ness is com­bined with Disney’s fan­ta­sy and sonor­i­ty, mak­ing it a film in which Dalí’s images take on move­ment and Disney’s fig­ures become ‘Dalinised.’ ”

And yet, while both Dalí and Dis­ney worked excit­ed­ly on the project, it was ulti­mate­ly not to be, at least until almost six­ty years lat­er. Des­ti­no would have been part of a “pack­age film,” like Fan­ta­sia, a com­pi­la­tion of short vignettes. John Hench, a Dis­ney artist who worked on the project with Dalí, spec­u­lat­ed that the com­pa­ny “fore­saw the end” of such fea­tures. Pal­lant, how­ev­er, goes fur­ther in spec­u­lat­ing the film “would have resem­bled a poten­tial box-office bomb” for Dis­ney, who remarked lat­er that is was “no fault of Dalí’s that the project… was not completed—it was sim­ply a case of pol­i­cy changes in our dis­tri­b­u­tion plans.”

This cryp­tic remark, writes Pal­lant, alludes to Disney’s plans to focus his cre­ative ener­gy on “safe” fea­ture-length projects “to strength­en the company’s posi­tion with­in the film indus­try.” While such a deci­sion might have made good busi­ness sense, it prob­a­bly doomed many more Des­ti­no-like ideas that might have made the Walt Dis­ney com­pa­ny a very dif­fer­ent enti­ty indeed. One can only imag­ine what the stu­dio might have become had Dis­ney opt­ed to pur­sue exper­i­ments like this instead of tak­ing the more prof­itable route. Of course, giv­en the mar­ket pres­sures on the movie indus­try, it’s also pos­si­ble the stu­dio might not have sur­vived at all.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Des­ti­no: The Sal­vador Dalí – Dis­ney Col­lab­o­ra­tion 57 Years in the Mak­ing

Impres­sions of Upper Mon­go­lia : Sal­vador Dalí’s Last Film About a Search for a Giant Hal­lu­cino­genic Mush­room

Alfred Hitch­cock Recalls Work­ing with Sal­vador Dali on Spell­bound

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness.

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