Dexter Gordon Plays ‘Body and Soul’ in the Noted Film Round Midnight

In the acclaimed 1986 film Round Mid­night, the great tenor sax­o­phon­ist Dex­ter Gor­don plays an aging Amer­i­can jazzman liv­ing in Paris in the late 1950s, strug­gling to con­trol his addic­tion to alco­hol so he can keep play­ing every night at the Blue Note in Saint-Ger­main-des-Prés.

The role came nat­u­ral­ly to Gor­don, whose own strug­gle with hero­in addic­tion in the 1950s result­ed in prison time and a loss of his New York City cabaret card. Unable to play in the clubs of New York, Gor­don moved to Europe in the ear­ly 1960s and stayed there for 14 years. But while Dale Turn­er, his char­ac­ter in Round Mid­night, is a worn-down man near­ing death, Gor­don’s Euro­pean exile was a peri­od of rebirth.

By the time the French film direc­tor and jazz enthu­si­ast Bertrand Tav­ernier tracked Gor­don down in 1984, though, the sax­o­phone play­er had been back in Amer­i­ca for a decade and was, after 40 years on the jazz cir­cuit, becom­ing a bit worn down him­self. The Dale Turn­er char­ac­ter is based part­ly on tenor sax­o­phon­ist Lester Young, who was Gor­don’s friend and men­tor and a major influ­ence in his life, and part­ly on pianist Bud Pow­ell, whom Gor­don knew and worked with in Paris. Tav­ernier was look­ing for authen­tic­i­ty and he found it in Gor­don, a man with a direct link to the gold­en age of bebop. As the film­mak­er told Peo­ple in 1986, “I could not think of any­one else doing the part.”

Round Mid­night was a crit­i­cal suc­cess. Gor­don received an Acad­e­my Award nom­i­na­tion for best actor in a lead­ing role. The film was not­ed for “its love­ly, ele­giac pac­ing and its tremen­dous depth of feel­ing” by Janet Maslin of the New York Times. “No actor could do what the great jazz sax­o­phon­ist Dex­ter Gor­don does in ‘Round Mid­night,’ ” writes Maslin, who describes Gor­don’s screen pres­ence as the very embod­i­ment of the music itself. “It’s in his heavy-lid­ded eyes, in his hoarse, smoky voice, in the way his long, grace­ful fin­gers seem to be play­ing silent accom­pa­ni­ment to his con­ver­sa­tion. It’s even in the way he habit­u­al­ly calls any­one or any­thing ‘Lady,’ as in ‘Well, Lady Sweets, are you ready for tonight?’ ”

Those are the words Turn­er address­es to his sax­o­phone at the begin­ning of the scene above. The film then cuts to the Blue Note, where the musi­cian’s young admir­er Fran­cis (played by François Cluzet) is trans­fixed as the old man gives a melan­choly, world-weary per­for­mance of the John­ny Green stan­dard “Body and Soul.” Like all of the music in the film, “Body and Soul” was record­ed live on the set. Gor­don is accom­pa­nied by Her­bie Han­cock on piano, John McLaugh­lin on gui­tar, Pierre Mich­e­lot on bass and Bil­ly Hig­gins on drums.

For more on Dex­ter Gor­don, includ­ing a film clip from a vin­tage per­for­mance at a Dutch night­club, see our ear­li­er arti­cle “Dex­ter Gor­don’s Ele­gant Ver­sion of the Jazz Stan­dard ‘What’s New,’ 1964.”

Ernest Hemingway Writes of His Fascist Friend Ezra Pound: “He Deserves Punishment and Disgrace” (1943)

HemingwayOnPound

An old friend of mine and I have a code phrase for a phe­nom­e­non that every­one knows well: One learns that an artist one admires, maybe even loves, is not only a flawed and warty mor­tal, but also an abu­sive mon­ster or worse. The phrase is “Ezra Pound.” We’ll look at each oth­er know­ing­ly when­ev­er a con­ver­sa­tion turns to a trou­bling but bril­liant fig­ure and say in uni­son, “Ezra Pound.” Why? Because Ezra Pound was crazy.

Or at least that was Ernest Hemingway’s expla­na­tion for why one of the great­est lit­er­ary bene­fac­tors and most inno­v­a­tive and influ­en­tial poets of the ear­ly twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry became a rav­ing lunatic boost­er for anti-Semit­ic fas­cism in a series of over one hun­dred broad­casts he made in Italy dur­ing WWII. Pound wasn’t sim­ply a crank—he was a deeply enthu­si­as­tic sup­port­er of Hitler and Mus­soli­ni, and his rantings—many avail­able here in tran­script and some in orig­i­nal audio here (or right below) —made no secret about whom he con­sid­ered the ene­mies of Europe and Amer­i­ca: the Jews.

Hem­ing­way wrote the let­ter above to Archibald MacLeish express­ing his shock and dis­may that their mutu­al friend and col­league had com­plete­ly run off the rails. For Hem­ing­way, the only way to deal with the sit­u­a­tion was to “prove [Pound] was crazy as far back as the lat­ter Can­tos.” Hem­ing­way writes, “He deserves pun­ish­ment and dis­grace but what he real­ly deserves most is ridicule”

He should not be hanged and he should not be made a mar­tyr of…. It is impos­si­ble to believe that any­one in his right mind could utter the vile, absolute­ly idi­ot­ic dri­v­el he has broad­cast. His friends who knew him and who watched the warpe­ing and twist­ing and decay of his mind and his judge­ment should defend him and explain him on that basis. It will be a com­plete­ly unpop­u­lar but an absolute­ly nec­es­sary thing to do. [sic]

This Pound’s many friends did do, and when he was final­ly cap­tured in Italy and tried for trea­son, Pound was sen­tenced to a psych ward, where he wrote and pub­lished the award-win­ning The Pisan Can­tos amid great uproar and out­rage from many in the lit­er­ary com­mu­ni­ty. This is unsur­pris­ing. Although Pound pub­licly repu­di­at­ed his stint as a fas­cist broad­cast­er, his hard-right racist views did not change. In his lat­er life, he formed friend­ships with white suprema­cists and remained con­tro­ver­sial, con­trar­i­an, and… well, crazy.

And yet, it is hard to dis­miss Pound, even if his star has fall­en below the hori­zon of mod­ernist lit­er­ary his­to­ry. It may be pos­si­ble to argue that his fas­cist streak was in fact sev­er­al miles long, extend­ing back into his post-WWI pol­i­tics and his humor­ous but harangu­ing book-length essays on West­ern Cul­ture and Its Decline through­out the 30s. As Louis Menand writes in The New York­er, this Pound may have been ripe for mis­in­ter­pre­ta­tion by the more brutish and less refined, a la Niet­zsche, since he “believed that bad writ­ing destroyed civ­i­liza­tions and that good writ­ing could save them, and although he was an éli­tist about what count­ed as art and who mat­tered as an artist, he thought that lit­er­a­ture could enhance the appre­ci­a­tion of life for every­one.” Pound was also a moth­er hen fig­ure for a gen­er­a­tion of mod­ernists who flour­ished under his edi­to­r­i­al direction—as well as that of Poet­ry mag­a­zine founder Har­ri­et Mon­roe. Menand writes:

No doubt Eliot, James Joyce, William But­ler Yeats, Robert Frost, William Car­los Williams, H.D., Ernest Hem­ing­way, Ford Madox Ford, and Mar­i­anne Moore would have pro­duced inter­est­ing and inno­v­a­tive work whether they had known Pound or not, but Pound’s atten­tion and inter­ven­tions helped their writ­ing and sped their careers. He edit­ed them, reviewed them, got them pub­lished in mag­a­zines he was asso­ci­at­ed with, and includ­ed them in antholo­gies he com­plied; he intro­duced them to edi­tors, to pub­lish­ers, and to patrons; he gave them the ben­e­fit of his time, his learn­ing, his mon­ey, and his old clothes.

And all of this is not even to men­tion, of course, Pound’s incred­i­ble poet­ic out­put, which demon­strates such a mas­tery of form and lan­guage (East and West) that he is well-remem­bered as the founder of one of the most influ­en­tial mod­ernist move­ments: Imag­ism. This side of Pound can­not be erased by his lat­er lapse into despi­ca­ble hatred and para­noia, but nei­ther does the ear­ly Pound can­cel out the lat­ter. Both Pounds exist in his­to­ry, for as long as he’s remem­bered, and every time I learn some new dis­turb­ing fact about an artist I admire, I shake my head and silent­ly invoke the most extreme and baf­fling­ly trou­bling case—one that can’t be resolved or forgotten—“Ezra Pound.”

via Let­ters of Note

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ezra Pound’s Fiery 1939 Read­ing of His Ear­ly Poem, ‘Ses­ti­na: Altaforte’

Ernest Hem­ing­way to F. Scott Fitzger­ald: “Kiss My Ass”

The Big Ernest Hem­ing­way Pho­to Gallery: The Nov­el­ist in Cuba, Spain, Africa and Beyond

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

An Animated History of Physics Introduces the Discoveries of Galileo, Newton, Maxwell & Einstein

How can you present sci­en­tif­ic ideas to an audi­ence of all ages — sci­en­tists and non-sci­en­tists alike — so that these ideas will stick in peo­ple’s minds? Since 2012, BBC Two has been try­ing to answer this ques­tion with its series “Dara Ó Bri­ain’s Sci­ence Club.” Irish stand-up come­di­an and TV pre­sen­ter Dara Ó Bri­ain invites experts to his show to tack­le the biggest con­cepts in sci­ence in a way that is under­stand­able to non-experts as well. Film clips and ani­ma­tions are used to visu­al­ize the ideas and con­cepts dealt with in the show.

In 2012, Åsa Lucan­der, a Lon­don-based ani­ma­tor orig­i­nal­ly from Fin­land, was approached by the BBC with the task of cre­at­ing an ani­ma­tion about the his­to­ry of physics. The result is as enter­tain­ing as it is instruc­tive. The clip deals with the dis­cov­er­ies of four major sci­en­tists and the impact of their find­ings: Galileo Galilei, Isaac New­ton, James Clerk Maxwell and Albert Ein­stein.

Bonus mate­r­i­al:

By pro­fes­sion, Matthias Rasch­er teach­es Eng­lish and His­to­ry at a High School in north­ern Bavaria, Ger­many. In his free time he scours the web for good links and posts the best finds on Twit­ter.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Free Online Physics Cours­es

Leonard Susskind Teach­es You “The The­o­ret­i­cal Min­i­mum” for Under­stand­ing Mod­ern Physics

125 Great Sci­ence Videos: From Astron­o­my to Physics and Psy­chol­o­gy

Quentin Tarantino’s Handwritten List of the 11 “Greatest Movies”

more tarantino favoritesEar­li­er this week, we fea­tured a list of Quentin Taran­ti­no’s 12 Favorite Films of All Time, giv­en in response to Sight & Sound’s 2012 poll. This morn­ing, one of our friend­ly fol­low­ers on Twit­ter (@LoSceicco1976) made us aware of anoth­er list — a hand­writ­ten list that Taran­ti­no appar­ent­ly sub­mit­ted in 2008, to Empire Mag­a­zine. Do the two lists have some com­mon­al­i­ties? Yup, Taxi Dri­ver, His Girl Fri­day, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, etc. But this hand­writ­ten list also includes a num­ber of new titles — take for exam­ple, Chang-hwa Jeong’s Five Fin­gers of Death, Bri­an De Pal­ma’s Blow Out, and Howard Hawks’ Rio Bra­vo, star­ring John Wayne. (See our col­lec­tion of 21 Free John Wayne West­erns here.) And, sor­ry to say, The Bad News Bears did­n’t make the cut.

It just goes to show, if you ask direc­tors to jot down their favorite movies, the list can change from day to day, and year to year. Speak­ing of, you might also want to see a video where Taran­ti­no Lists His Favorite Films Since 1992. Yet more new films to save for a rainy day.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Woody Allen Lists the Great­est Films of All Time: Includes Clas­sics by Bergman, Truf­faut & Felli­ni

Mar­tin Scors­ese Reveals His 12 Favorite Movies (and Writes a New Essay on Film Preser­va­tion)

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

4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More

 

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John Baldessari’s “I Will Not Make Any More Boring Art”: A 1971 Conceptual Art Piece/DIY Art Course

There are any num­ber of ways to take artist John Baldessar­i’si 1971 piece I Will Not Make Any More Bor­ing Art, so why not a DIY MOOC? No reg­is­tra­tion required and no course cred­it. Stu­dents who watch the entire 13-minute video above will receive cer­tifi­cates of com­ple­tion, pro­vid­ed they’re will­ing to write them out them­selves on lined note­book paper. (It’s real­ly not that far fetched in an age where thou­sands of unof­fi­cial stu­dents recent­ly took advan­tage of car­toon­ist Lyn­da Bar­ry’s will­ing­ness to tweet her assign­ments for her Unthink­able Mind course at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Wis­con­sin.)

If you’re on the fence about the mer­its of Con­cep­tu­al Art, you may be swayed to learn the his­to­ry of the piece doc­u­ment­ed above. The year before its cre­ation, John Baldessari incin­er­at­ed his oeu­vre, an act he referred to as The Cre­ma­tion Project. Short­ly there­after, he respond­ed to Nova Sco­tia Col­lege of Art and Design’s invi­ta­tion to exhib­it with a let­ter instruct­ing stu­dents to be his sur­ro­gates in a pun­ish­ment piece:

The piece is this, from floor to ceil­ing should be writ­ten by one or more peo­ple, one sen­tence under anoth­er, the fol­low­ing state­ment: I will not make any more bad art. At least one col­umn of the sen­tence should be done floor to ceil­ing before the exhib­it opens and the writ­ing of the sen­tence should con­tin­ue every­day, if pos­si­ble, for the length of the exhib­it. I would appre­ci­ate it if you could tell me how many times the sen­tence has been writ­ten after the exhib­it clos­es. It should be hand writ­ten, clear­ly writ­ten with cor­rect spelling….

Once the stu­dents had pun­ished them­selves to his spec­i­fi­ca­tions, the artist per­mit­ted the school to pub­lish a fundrais­ing lith­o­graph, mod­eled on his hand­writ­ing.

boring art

It’s not a stretch to imag­ine that writ­ing this sen­tence over and over could have changed more than a few par­tic­i­pants’ lives, or at least rerout­ed the path their careers would take. What will hap­pen if you take 13 minutes—the length of the video above—to try it your­self.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Join Car­toon­ist Lyn­da Bar­ry for a Uni­ver­si­ty-Lev­el Course on Doo­dling and Neu­ro­science

A Brief His­to­ry of John Baldessari, Nar­rat­ed by Tom Waits

Yoko Ono’s Make-Up Tips for Men

Ayun Hal­l­i­day will wade through the bor­ing in search of the good. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Dick Cavett’s Wide-Ranging TV Interview with Ingmar Bergman and Lead Actress Bibi Andersson (1971)

Many film fans wish we could have a direc­tor like Ing­mar Bergman work­ing today. Just as many tele­vi­sion fans sure­ly wish we could have a talk show host like Dick Cavett work­ing today. But both Bergman, who died in 2007, and Cavett, who still writes but seems to have put tele­vi­su­al pur­suits behind him, pro­duced sub­stan­tial bod­ies of work. And, thanks to the inter­net, you can expe­ri­ence their films and broad­casts even more eas­i­ly than when they first appeared. Take, for instance, this 1971 Dick Cavett Show episode fea­tur­ing the curi­ous and dry-wit­ted con­ver­sa­tion­al­ist’s inter­view with the Swedish mak­er of such pic­tures still viewed wide­ly and enthu­si­as­ti­cal­ly as The Sev­enth Seal, The Vir­gin Spring, Per­sona, and Fanny and Alexan­der. No enthu­si­ast of seri­ous con­ver­sa­tion about film would want to miss the hour when these two men’s worlds col­lide. But we get an insight into more than these men’s worlds: part­way through the episode, and to the delight of Bergman’s fans, actress Bibi Ander­s­son turns up.

Even­tu­al­ly to star in more than ten Bergman pic­tures, includ­ing Per­sona, The Magi­cian, and The Pas­sion of Anna, Ander­s­son appears osten­si­bly in pro­mo­tion of her and Bergman’s then-most recent col­lab­o­ra­tion, The Touch. “Does he under­stand women?” Cavett sud­den­ly asks Ander­s­son, who replies with every inter­view­er’s bête noire, the one-word answer: “Yes.” Bergman then explains his con­vic­tion that women pos­sess greater nat­ur­al act­ing abil­i­ty and com­fort with the craft than men do. “Act­ing,” he says, “is a very spe­cial wom­an’s pro­fes­sion.” The full con­ver­sa­tion reveals more about the film­mak­er’s sur­pris­ing fem­i­nism, as well as his child­hood fear of movies, his life­long fear of drugs, his views on punc­tu­al­i­ty, his on-set tem­per, his strug­gles with rest­less leg syn­drome, the pride he takes in his soap com­mer­cials, his home­land’s sup­posed pre­pon­der­ance of beau­ti­ful women, and how many more films he intends to make. “Five, maybe six,” the direc­tor guess­es. “Make it six, could you?” asks the host. He end­ed up mak­ing twelve.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ing­mar Bergman’s Soap Com­mer­cials Wash Away the Exis­ten­tial Despair

How Woody Allen Dis­cov­ered Ing­mar Bergman, and How You Can Too

Woody Allen Lists the Great­est Films of All Time: Includes Clas­sics by Bergman, Truf­faut & Felli­ni

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Real Georgia O’Keeffe: The Artist Reveals Herself in Vintage Documentary Clips

It seems to me that Geor­gia O’Keeffe tends to get pegged as a region­al South­west­ern painter or as the woman who paint­ed close-ups of flow­ers that look sus­pi­cious­ly like female anato­my, or both—a casu­al­ty of mar­ket­ing for the dorm-room set. As in many a stereo­type, there’s some truth in both over-sim­pli­fi­ca­tions, but O’Keeffe was, of course, much more, as she was more than the pas­sion­ate younger wife and fre­quent sub­ject of Alfred Stieglitz, though that is also a true and love­ly sto­ry. Like any artist—like any human being, perhaps—Georgia O’Keeffe does not reduce into a sin­gle por­trait.

But amid all the sim­plis­tic pop­u­lar­iza­tions of O’Keeffe, it’s nice to encounter her afresh as just her­self, speak­ing direct­ly to the cam­era about her life and work. In the doc­u­men­tary clip at the top, we’re treat­ed to sev­er­al min­utes of vin­tage footage of O’Keeffe in her New Mex­i­co sur­round­ings, inter­cut with inter­views with the much old­er artist rem­i­nisc­ing. The inter­view was shot in 1977, when O’Keeffe was near­ly 90, and for some rea­son, this image of her—as an aged, white-haired woman—also seems inscribed in the pop­u­lar imag­i­na­tion. Per­haps this is because she only became famous some­what lat­er in life, and her fame only increased as she grew old­er.

In the clip above, see O’Keeffe dis­cuss anoth­er rarely-dis­cussed aspect of her career: her paint­ings of New York City, where she lived on and off for over two decades and where she fell in love with Stieglitz and joined his mod­ernist inner cir­cle. One rea­son that O’Keeffe’s New York paint­ings get neglect­ed is, per­haps, that the most rec­og­niz­able NYC scenes tend to look a bit dat­ed and gener­ic, while the best of them do what all of her best work does—simplify the sub­ject, elim­i­nate super­flu­ous detail, turn the moment into time­less form and col­or. Per­haps anoth­er rea­son O’Keeffe gets pigeon­holed as an artist of local col­or or veiled fem­i­nin­i­ty is one that she sug­gests her­self. She is said to have remarked, “The men liked to put me down as the best woman painter. I think I’m one of the best painters.”

Unfor­tu­nate­ly, the full O’Keeffe doc­u­men­tary is not avail­able online, but these clips pro­vide ample insight into the reclu­sive artist’s mind and method. For more face-time with Geor­gia O’Keeffe, check out this short film of the 92-year-old artist show­ing off her beloved New Mex­i­co land­scapes.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ansel Adams Reveals His Cre­ative Process in 1958 Doc­u­men­tary

Alfred Stieglitz: The Elo­quent Eye, a Reveal­ing Look at “The Father of Mod­ern Pho­tog­ra­phy”

Gertrude Stein Recites ‘If I Told Him: A Com­plet­ed Por­trait of Picas­so’

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

The Beatles’ Final, “Painful” Photo Shoot: A Gallery of Bittersweet Images

lastBeatlesShoot

Well, this is bit­ter­sweet. The pho­to above comes from The Bea­t­les’ final pho­to shoot togeth­er at John Lennon’s new­ly pur­chased estate in Sun­ninghill Berk­shire: clear­ly not a wel­come event for at least one Bea­t­le. The band had just com­plet­ed their final two album releas­es, Let it Be and Abbey Road—famous­ly con­tentious record­ing ses­sions in which George Har­ri­son walked out for a few days with a flip­pant “See you ‘round the clubs,” prompt­ing John Lennon to snap (accord­ing to direc­tor Michael Lind­say-Hogg), “Let’s get in Eric [Clap­ton]. He’s just as good and not such a headache.”

George lat­er recalled the cir­cum­stances of the shoot:

They were film­ing us hav­ing a row. It nev­er came to blows, but I thought, ‘What’s the point of this? I’m quite capa­ble of being rel­a­tive­ly hap­py on my own and I’m not able to be hap­py in this sit­u­a­tion. I’m get­ting out of here.’

Every­body had gone through that. Ringo had left at one point. I know John want­ed out. It was a very, very dif­fi­cult, stress­ful time, and being filmed hav­ing a row as well was ter­ri­ble. I got up and I thought, ‘I’m not doing this any more. I’m out of here.’ So I got my gui­tar and went home and that after­noon wrote Wah-Wah.

It became sti­fling, so that although this new album was sup­posed to break away from that type of record­ing (we were going back to play­ing live) it was still very much that kind of sit­u­a­tion where he already had in his mind what he want­ed. Paul want­ed nobody to play on his songs until he decid­ed how it should go. For me it was like: ‘What am I doing here? This is painful!’

See many more pho­tos from the shoot and read more painful details about the ses­sions and, yes, Yoko, over at Messy Nessy Chic.

via Mefi

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The 10-Minute, Nev­er-Released, Exper­i­men­tal Demo of The Bea­t­les’ “Rev­o­lu­tion” (1968)

A Short Film on the Famous Cross­walk From the Bea­t­les’ Abbey Road Album Cov­er

Eric Clapton’s Iso­lat­ed Gui­tar Track From the Clas­sic Bea­t­les Song, ‘While My Gui­tar Gen­tly Weeps’ (1968)

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

Quentin Tarantino Lists the 12 Greatest Films of All Time: From Taxi Driver to The Bad News Bears

987px-Quentin_Tarantino_@_2010_Academy_Awards_cropped

Cre­ative Com­mons image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Any list of the most respect­ed Amer­i­can film­mak­ers of the past half-cen­tu­ry would have to include Stan­ley Kubrick, Woody Allen, and Mar­tin Scors­ese. The lat­ter two have kept cre­at­ing, and pro­lif­i­cal­ly, but that does­n’t delay those heat­ed debates about who will most proud­ly car­ry the auteur’s tra­di­tion into the next few decades. Much smart mon­ey bets on Quentin Taran­ti­no, who, at age 50, has already racked up over twen­ty years (and if you count My Best Friend’s Birth­day, over 25) of demon­strat­ing his dis­tinc­tive cin­e­mat­ic sen­si­bil­i­ty.

That sen­si­bil­i­ty has made him a direc­tor of renown, but it comes in large part from his equal­ly for­mi­da­ble stature as a film fan: his begin­nings as a high­ly cura­to­r­i­al video-store clerk, his own­er­ship of the revival the­ater the New Bev­er­ly Cin­e­ma (which I myself fre­quent), his cinephile’s-dream home the­ater and large col­lec­tion of prints. Hav­ing fea­tured top-movie lists from Kubrick, Allen, and Scors­ese, let’s take a look at one from Taran­ti­no:

  • Apoc­a­lypse Now (Fran­cis Ford Cop­po­la, 1979)
  • The Bad News Bears (Michael Ritchie, 1976)
  • Car­rie (Bri­an de Pal­ma, 1976)
  • Dazed and Con­fused (Richard Lin­klater, 1993)
  • The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (Ser­gio Leone, 1966)
  • The Great Escape (John Sturges, 1963)
  • His Girl Fri­day (Howard Hawks, 1939)
  • Jaws (Steven Spiel­berg, 1975)
  • Pret­ty Maids All in a Row (Roger Vadim, 1971)
  • Rolling Thun­der (John Fly­nn, 1997)
  • Sor­cer­er (William Fried­kin, 1977)
  • Taxi Dri­ver (Mar­tin Scors­ese, 1976)

The direc­tor of Pulp Fic­tion, Jack­ie Brown, and Djan­go Unchained vot­ed for these pic­tures in Sight & Sound’s 2012 poll. Not only does this high-pro­file auteur select sev­er­al oth­er high-pro­file auteurs, he favors ones who show a sim­i­lar enthu­si­asm for genre: de Pal­ma, Leone, Hawks, Spiel­berg, Fried­kin. Oth­er selec­tions, like Apoc­a­lypse Now and Taxi Dri­ver, come from film­mak­ers asso­ci­at­ed with the “New Hol­ly­wood” move­ment of the sev­en­ties, the last major burst of cre­ative film­mak­ing in the Amer­i­can main­stream before — you guessed it — the “Indiewood” boom of the late eight­ies and nineties which launched the career of not only Taran­ti­no him­self but also Richard Lin­klater, whose break­out Slack­er you can watch online. You can also catch, free on the inter­net, one of the clas­sic Hol­ly­wood pro­duc­tions Taran­ti­no includes: His Girl Fri­day. As for the seem­ing­ly inex­plic­a­ble pres­ence of the 1976 kids’ sports com­e­dy The Bad News Bears, I haven’t found it free online yet, but every­body tells me you real­ly do need to see it to tru­ly appre­ci­ate it.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Quentin Taran­ti­no Lists His Favorite Films Since 1992

Woody Allen Lists the Great­est Films of All Time: Includes Clas­sics by Bergman, Truf­faut & Felli­ni

Mar­tin Scors­ese Reveals His 12 Favorite Movies (and Writes a New Essay on Film Preser­va­tion)

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

Watch His Girl Fri­day, Howard Hawks’ Clas­sic Screw­ball Com­e­dy Star­ring Cary Grant, Free Online

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

LinkedIn Rolls Out Pages for Universities

As part of a larg­er effort to attract a younger demo­graph­ic, LinkedIn announced this week the launch of Uni­ver­si­ty Pages. Over 200 schools have built their pages so far — schools like New York Uni­ver­si­tyUni­ver­si­ty of Cal­i­for­nia San DiegoFun­dação Getúlio Var­gasUni­ver­si­ty of Michi­ganVil­lano­vaRochester Insti­tute of Tech­nol­o­gyUni­ver­si­ty of Illi­nois, and INSEAD. And, over the next few weeks, thou­sands more schools will get their chance to build pages that high­light what their insti­tu­tions have to offer. Down the line, LinkedIn sees these pages becom­ing cen­tral to the recruit­ment process — to match­ing stu­dents to the right uni­ver­si­ties, and then lat­er to the right jobs. You can learn more about Linked­In’s edu­ca­tion­al offer­ing here and here.

One day we’ll maybe have a LinkedIn page. For now, you can fol­low us on Face­bookTwit­ter and Google Plus and share intel­li­gent media with your friends! They’ll thank you for it.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

750 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties

550 Free MOOCs from Great Uni­ver­si­ties (Many Offer­ing Cer­tifi­cates)

 

Watch John Cleese as Sherlock Holmes in The Strange Case of the End of Civilization as We Know It

Here’s some­thing to light­en your day a lit­tle: Mon­ty Python’s John Cleese as Sher­lock Holmes in the 1977 British tele­vi­sion film The Strange Case of the End of Civ­i­liza­tion as We Know It.

As the title sug­gests, it’s a very sil­ly film. Cleese plays Arthur Sher­lock Holmes, grand­son of the famous detec­tive. His side­kick, Dr. Wat­son, is sim­i­lar­ly descend­ed from a famil­iar char­ac­ter in the Arthur Conan Doyle sto­ries. Togeth­er they set out to foil a dia­bol­i­cal plot by their neme­sis, a descen­dent of Pro­fes­sor Mori­ar­ty. The mod­ern-day Holmes has some of the same man­ner­isms as his famous grand­fa­ther, but is decid­ed­ly less clever and likes to keep his cal­abash pipe filled with exot­ic vari­eties of cannabis.

Cleese co-wrote the script with Jack Hobbs and the film’s direc­tor, Joseph McGrath, who is best known for direct­ing the Peter Sell­ers movies Casi­no Royale and The Mag­ic Chris­t­ian. It was pro­duced for Lon­don Week­end Tele­vi­sion by Humphrey Bar­clay, who is gen­er­al­ly cred­it­ed with bring­ing togeth­er much of what even­tu­al­ly became the Mon­ty Python cast, includ­ing Amer­i­can ani­ma­tor Ter­ry Gilliam, in the sub­ver­sive late-1960s chil­dren’s show Do Not Adjust Your Set. Cleese’s wife at the time, Con­nie Booth, who was also col­lab­o­rat­ing with him on the TV series Fawl­ty Tow­ers, plays the detec­tive’s land­la­dy Mrs. Hud­son. And Arthur Lowe is very fun­ny as the dim-wit­ted Dr. Wat­son.

The Strange Case of the End of Civ­i­liza­tion as We Know It is a low-bud­get affair — extreme­ly goofy — and not for every­one. But if you’re a fan of clas­sic British TV com­e­dy and you love out­landish gags, you should get a kick out of it. The fun­ni­est parts begin after the 13-minute mark, when Cleese arrives onscreen.

You can find The Strange Case of the End of Civ­i­liza­tion as We Know It in our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Mon­ty Python’s Best Phi­los­o­phy Sketch­es

Arthur Conan Doyle Dis­cuss­es Sher­lock Holmes and Psy­chics in a Rare Filmed Inter­view (1927)

John Cleese Plays the Dev­il, Makes a Spe­cial Appeal for Hell, 1966

John Cleese’s Eulo­gy for Gra­ham Chap­man: ‘Good Rid­dance, the Free-Load­ing Bas­tard, I Hope He Fries’


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