HOT SPOTS in CA: The Gene Autry Western Heritage Museum

In the old west you had to be "in it to win it." Could you stand days on end 

in this cramped space?

Marlene Dietrich is most remembered for her seductive roles in top and tails, but the German vixen was also a surprising hit in Westerns. Her most popularly remembered role is that of Frenchy in Destry Rides Again, but she also starred in The Spoilers and Rancho Notorious. Her co-star in The Spoilers just so happens to be last month's L.A. La star, John Wayne. So, in honor of both, here is further tribute to the Western via the delightful and very informative Autry National Center. Giddy up!

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Located in the seemingly infinite space of Griffith Park, this gem is housed right across the parking lot from the Los Angeles Zoo. Inside, there are both permanent displays that commemorate the very harrowing, inspiring, and sometimes violent roots of our nation's past and westward movement-- as well as the manifestation of this history in our cinematic past-- and temporary, rotating displays that showcase different artists, craftsman, etc, which are evidence of our still adherent yet evolving culture from these early days. The museum itself is named for Hollywood's favorite singing cowboy, Gene Autry, but gunslingers aren't the only faction of our culture that are examined: the American Indian, women, Chinese immigrants, Mexicans, etc. are all showcased, and the interrelations between these many peoples are thoroughly investigated.

Gene greets his guests.

The navigation of the fairly large building begins, as always, at the beginning. The front entrance is encased in a courtyard, smack in the center of which is a sculpture commemorating Mr. Autry. Behind him is a movie theater, which occasionally plays, of course, Westerns or other educational programs, and across from this is a small eatery. Attached to the main building is the gift shop, in which one can purchase anything from the usual cheesy knick-knack, to old movie posters, to American Indian crafts like the "secret box"-- which is a very intricately detailed and beautifully designed box that an unskilled person will have an incredible amount of trouble opening. Luckily, this wasn't my first rodeo. (BTW, if you're interested, I particularly like Heartwood Creations, which can be found here).

Alberto Valdes's "Christmas Child."

The inner sanctum is divided into an upstairs and a down. The upper left is dedicated to two rotating displays. When I attended last, I was fortunate enough to be able to view "Art Along the Hyphen: The Mexican-American Generation," which obviously honors the "Chicano" artists in our nation's history. All of the portraits and sculptures were very vivid in their perspective of Mexican-American life, from the beauty of to the struggle of the Mexican immigrant. The greatest surprise to me was my introduction to the artist Alberto Valdes whose provocative paintings were composed of such vibrant colors that they literally seemed to glow. His palette and use of shapes produce the most amazing emotional effects and equally stimulate the eye and mind. A few of his pictures were very specific in the images that they were trying to relate, while others were more intricate and subjective-- surreal but not bizarre. Forgive me, I'm not an art major, so I don't know the correct terms. In layman's terms, they were pretty and pretty cool.

Just a few strands of entwined grass. No biggie.

The next showroom possessed a collection of American Indian basketry. I know what you're thinking: "Baskets... Riveting." Well, it kind of was. In the center of the room was a large circular map of the entire country, and the locations of different tribes were delineated by examples of their particular weaving "style." It was a truly interesting thing to see how the different techniques and artistic penchants varied based on the separate tribes and their regions. As for the baskets themselves, which came in all shaped and sizes, these things were intricate! There were some jaw-dropping videos playing that showed modern weavers at work, and to say that their fingers are nimble is an understatement. I'm still not at all certain how they are able to make all of those delicious little patterns with the wicker and sweetgrass and whatnot, but my lack of awareness did not hamper my aesthetic enjoyment.

The gang's all here: Hollywood's favorite cowboys decorate

the downstairs wall in a jaw-dropping mural.

Moving downstairs, I was immediately hit in the face with an exquisite mural depicting early man's emergence in the west transitioning to the cowboy movie star. The portrait is literally a panorama of visual history. It begins with the hey-day of the American Indian, moves to the collision of natives and white settlers, and ends with movie and television stars like Gary Cooper, Tom Mix, and William S. Hart. It was at this point that I realized non-flash photography was allowed and all of the covert pics that I had been taking were unnecessary. I thought I was being stealthy; turns out no one cared. After taking some shots of the astounding painting, I turned directly behind me and ventured to the outdoor exhibit that tried to bring to life the physical environment and vegetation of the old west. A small space composed of a mini-waterfall and pond, there really wasn't much to look at, but a couple of kids were having a heck of a time "sifting for gold" at an educational exhibit.

One of many reasons I am proud to be a (modern) American-

better medical care.

Thus I re-entered and began my investigation of the historical portion of the museum. This turned out to be my favorite part. I have been to history museums before, but it has admittedly been awhile, so perhaps that is why I was so enthralled with all of the archaeology, or maybe it was the specificity of the subject matter that I found so fascinating. In any case, what I was about to witness was a thorough, moving, and surprising tribute to America's early expansion. The bottom level is divided into three portions: Opportunity, Community, and The Cowboy. I started in "Opportunity," and found myself looking at typical odds and ends of civilian life now made atypical due to their antiquated state. I was most impressed with an early medical kit, perhaps because I have two family members in the dental profession, and I found myself grabbing my jaw and thanking God that medical science has progressed. Much of this section was dedicated to the story of early militia or lawmen, and several compartments honored their efforts toward the establishment of order in the Wild West-- not an easy task as people continued to make their move into the unknown and ungoverned territory. Old uniforms, still in incredible condition, were showcased, as well as weaponry. Other items typically found on the long stage rides-- remember this is pre-locomotive-- were also on display, including luggage, toiletries, and an old coach in toto. Looking at the size of the thing, I was at once impressed by how much larger it was than I had imagined and also was in awe of the fact that, despite this, it still seemed far too small for so many people to be packed inside for such long travels. Our forefathers and mothers were certainly patient.

The integration of the American Indian into typical eastern ways was not 

smooth nor welcome. But here is an example of such 

assimilation-- native law adapts to "foreign" 

government to protect their own.

In the next section, I came across examples of every day life in the West. The most intriguing portion was dedicated to dissecting all of the different factions and how they operated independently from and also in relation to each other. Racism was an issue that certainly came to the forefront, and it was amazing to see even in these early days how many different religions and ethnicities co-existed and at the same time sought their own individual spaces from each other. Mormons, Chinese Immigrants, African American, Italians... You name it. in these early days, birds of a feather flocked together to produce some sort of stability amidst the chaos that came, not just from the danger and suspicion of the nature around them nor from the Native Americans observing them with equal puzzlement and frustration, but from each other. The color of one's skin, the religion he practiced, or the nation from which he had come, became defining factors that tied him to his own people and divided him from all others. As this co-mingling slowly merged into a (slightly) more civilized combination of communities, prejudice gave way to abundance. But along with the daily laundry and cooking, there too was need for fun, which is why the saloon room was one of the highlights of the exhibit for me. With an actual bar complete with ancient liquor bottles and beer advertisements, poker tables, and a roulette wheel, I could almost smell the tobacco. If there is one thing that brings all mankind together, it's liquor.

Can ya' smell the whiskey?

The final portion was completely dedicated to the life of the cowboy. In addition to a display depicting the famous shoot-out at the OK Corral featuring Doc Holliday and Wyatt Earp, there too was a Colt gallery with some of the most amazing pistols I have ever seen: jewelry for men. Further down, several displays replicated the daily life and toil of the authentic American cowboy, and it was nowhere near as glamorous as the movies portray it, lemme tell ya'. These men worked hard, sweated, fought steers, tangled with barbed wire, and drove cattle across the country, not so much in the name of progress or money-- excluding of course the cattle baron-- but to survive. For the authentic cowboy, the lifestyle possessed no glamour and little respite. It was simply a job-- a way to make a living. Strange how the memory of these pioneers has evolved into perhaps the most romanticized piece of American mythology. However, our continuing appreciation is a good thing. Without these fellows of spur and saddle putting down roots, we wouldn't be sittin' so pretty in our ivory towers, now would we?

A couple of the prize Colts on display. Purty ain't they?

Which brings me to the final portion of the museum: "Imagination." This section was dedicated entirely to the cowboy as a cultural icon and the way he has manifested himself in several mediums, including music, television, and-- of course-- movies. From the silent heroes, to the rhinestone cowboys, to the singin' Gene Autry, every brand of Western celebrity was investigated. Movie buffs will be pleased to see costumes from some of their favorite films as worn by their favorite performers, including Clint Eastwood, John Wayne, and Betty Hutton. Because the Western genre has become somewhat buried in present cinema, it was nice to see so much of it revived for public viewing, and the true impact that it has had on this country and its descendants was blatantly identified. Perhaps because this is a history that only we as Americans possess, do we cherish it so greatly. Of course, the power of the cowboy and the Western has drifted into other countries and affected other filmmakers and other film goers, but it is a past that is undeniably in our bones and a part of our souls. There is no cowboy but the American cowboy, which is perhaps why the stars of the silver screen who adorned their heads with ten gallon hats remain some of the most revered in the history of film.

The costumes of Duke and Kate from Rooster Cogburn.

My voyage of the museum over for the time being, I reluctantly departed. As I drove through the winding roads of Griffith Park in the luxury of my Mazda, I found myself grateful for the fruits I had been gifted after a hard won progression of others' labors. But too, I found myself envious of a rugged life of sweat and determination-- a life earned every day by the mere cost of living it. Though the history that I encountered at the Autry Museum is, indeed, history, I don't feel that what I witnessed there is dead. I think every American and every man, woman, and child who ever has or ever will come to American shores for a better life, possesses within him the same inexplicable need to carve out a niche for himself in an open space wherein he can toil, battle, and finally thrive as the keeper of his own destiny. With crowded cities and cement everywhere, it is hard to see the forest without the trees, but our personal adventures of stakes and claims continue. The Wild West, therefore, will always grow and expand within us, for we carry it in our hearts.

A few of Chuck Connors's belongings.

To visit The Autry Museum:

Griffith Park

4700 Western Heritage Way
Los Angeles, CA 90027-1462
T: 323.667.2000
Tuesday–Friday, 10:00 a.m.–4:00 p.m.

Saturday–Sunday, 11:00 a.m.–5:00 p.m.
Closed on Mondays.

$10 for Adults.

$6 Seniors and Students

$4 Children 3-12 years-old

Free for Children under 3.

Free Parking.

HOT SPOTS in CA: The Gene Autry Western Heritage Museum

BITS OF COINCIDENCE: Part VIII

Loretta Young, whom old pal John Wayne always called Gretchen, would help

 him in his early Hollywood career by getting him roles in  The Life 

of Jimmy Dolan and Three Girls Lost (above).

Football was a big part of John Wayne's life. Not only was it an important part of his close relationship with his father, but it also helped him get to college. Ironically, it would also bring him into the world of Hollywood. John was no stranger to the world of film, having grown up in Glendale and witnessed first hand actual location shoots. But, while focusing on his law degree, he had little time for the make-believe games that he had enjoyed in his youth-- when he had played "movies" with his friends. Nonetheless, the creme de la creme would seek him out, or more particularly his football team, when he began playing college ball for USC. John would later come to emulate the more authentic cowboys of William S. Hart and Harry Carey, but it was the flashy rhinestone cowboy and buckaroo Tom Mix (left) who had the most immediate affect on his life. Tom was a huge football fan, and he used to come to the games to cheer the Trojans on. In return for getting his own private box at the field to entertain guests, he made a promise to coach Howard Jones to "help out some of his boys" by giving them summer jobs. A man of his word, Tom soon had John and a handful of others working as prop boys on the Fox Studios lot. In addition, John worked up close and personal in the Tom Mix hit The K&A Train Robbery. It is possible that he even appeared in it as an extra, playing one of the thugs Tom shoots early in the film.

But, perhaps more interesting on another level was the USC connection John made with Clara Bow (above), who too loved coming to the local games. Of course, she was probably more interested in looking at the young fellas in their uniforms, but who could blame her? There is no doubt that the tall and handsome Duke caught her eye, but she didn't play favorites. In fact, she used to invite the whole team up to her house on Saturday nights after the home games for dinner. Later, such behavior would lead to scandalous rumors-- all complete BS-- that Clara was sexually working her way through the entire team. These allegations were published in salacious rag mags like GraphicC. As the prototypical "flapper" of the 1920s, Clara's free-wheeling and uninhibited ways onscreen and off ruffled feathers and caught her a lot of flack. Sadly, she was too often misconstrued and publicly ridiculed, as in this instance, where her kind intentions to share her wealth and hospitality with starstruck youths backfired on her in the press. There was never any "funny business" to speak of between her and the team, and Duke would never forge any kind of relationship with her other than one based on the memory of a beautiful actress who acted like a kind sister to a bunch of tongue-tied, starry-eyed bucks. By letting them hang out at her palace, she must have made them feel like kings!

Another team member that may have been present at these casual soirees is Ward Bond (above). Turns out that Ward also wore the Trojan jersey and played as a lineman on the team with Duke. Strangely enough, the duo did not originally get along. Outwardly, they were as different as two men could be. Duke was charismatic, yet somewhat bashful, well mannered, educated, and noted for his classic good looks. Ward, on the other hand, was gruff, abrasive, openly promiscuous, arrogant, and constantly getting into trouble. Ward's behavior would annoy Duke... at least at first. Later, after Duke had started working for John Ford, Ward would come back into the picture. Ford wanted to use the famed football team in his film Salute, and he assigned Duke the task of recruiting some of the players as well as his Sigma Chi brothers. Much to his chagrin, Ford gave Ward one of the prime spots, having taken a liking to his "ugly face." Knowing the two didn't get along, Ford took great pride in bunking Duke and Ward together on the train to Annapolis. Perhaps because he found his behavior so shocking and amusing, Ford latched onto to Ward. His brazenness and inability to be intimidated by the notorious director intrigued the senior party, who would both take him on as a friend and cast him in several of his films. Duke too softened after sharing a bunk with Ward. His caustic manners, at first irritating, surprisingly became endearing... and somewhat reassuring. The two became lifelong friends and got into several drunken shenanigans together, often with Ford too in attendance. Not everyone would cozy up to Ward as easily as Duke and Ford did, and he irritated them from time to time over the years. But, as Ford would say, "Ward is a son of a bitch, but he's our son of a bitch."

Loretta Young also knew Duke when he was a USC boy. It turns out that Duke and ol' Gretchen Belzer (as she was known then) went way back, again to his football days. While attending college his freshman year, Duke was set up in the conventional way on a slew of blind dates. He and his friends would pick up a girl or two and go out dancing and whatnot. It was never a serious thing; just a group of friends having fun. One of Duke's dates was with Loretta's sister, Polly Ann, which in turn must have initially introduced him to Loretta. He and Polly Ann never became more than chums, and she set him up with another friend, Carmen Saenz. Again, Duke kept things casual and wasn't too interested... until he dropped Carmen at home and was introduced to her younger sister, Josie. Here, Duke fell head over heels. Thus commenced a 7 year courtship-- the result of Josie's much opposed family. Not seeing anything bright in Duke's future, the Saenz's weren't an easy sell, being upper crust "Hispanic blue bloods." They were against the match-- particularly after Duke lost his scholarship when he injured his shoulder, and even moreso when they discovered that Duke was not exactly a steadfast Catholic. Nonetheless, he and Josie suffered through the ups and downs, and he finally received her parents' consent. In addition to helping Duke in his career-- helping him land a role opposite herself in films like Three Girls Lost-- Loretta stepped in and  offered up the gardens at her parents' Bel Air estate as a wedding place, since the duo's conflicting religions would not allow them to marry in the Catholic church. Loretta was present at the wedding (above with the happy couple), as were George O'Brien and Henry Fonda, but despite the fact that Duke was already working in Hollywood, he was not yet big enough of a star to demand more media attention. The nuptials were barely noted in the press, and when they were, Duke's fraternity brothers and USC teammates-- who served as groomsmen-- received more press than he. Six more years would change that. Still, he always honored his days at USC.

BITS OF COINCIDENCE: Part VIII

PERSONAL NOTE: YouTube Killed the Movie Star

Marilyn Monroe: The last movie star and the only performer

who could inspire a 52-foot replica of herself in Time Square.

I'm calm, okay? But... has the world gone mad?!?! Too often of late, I have gone to the movies, more out of habit than out of actual inclination, only to be disappointed. Dismally. Do I care about what I'm watching? No. Am I interested in what's happening? No. Do I relate to the actors on the screen? No, no, no. There is much flash, but little substance. Much "pretty," but no gritty. Recycled stories and themes and modus operandi have left me feeling like Malcolm MaDowell in A Clockwork Orange, with wires holding my eyes open while a series of the usual images plays on a loop: fire, tits, and spaceships. Riveting. It seems ironic that in the days since we liberated ourselves from the manufacturing mania of the Studio System, our films, stories, and celebrities seem to be more contrived, convoluted, and schmaltzy than ever. How did this happen, and why God why do we keep continuing the madness instead of nipping it in the bud? Pardon me while I ruminate:

The movies are based upon one thing: communication. As an early art form, the excitement of cinema was its availability. Unlike the Mona Lisa, a piece of legendary art that sits forlornly at the Louvre in Paris-- where sadly the majority of the world will never go-- the movies are not, nor have they ever been, elusive. Every class, every color, every creed, every language in every region of the world had access to a moving piece of the human discussion. For a nickel (Man, those were the days), even the most impoverished American could afford a seat in a world that offered limitless possibilities and continuous entertainment. As a nation, as a species, we were all invited to bask in our dreams, which the movies taught us that we all shared. Cinema thus became the great unifier--a small innovation of science that slowly grew into a medium through which art could recreate man in the flickering image of himself.

Man's first Trip to the Moon in 1902.

We chose early on those few reappearing faces that we would trust with such a responsibility-- those who did it better than anyone else and spoke to us and for us with an ease we could depend on and luxuriate in. And they were real people, just like us-- most of whom were inexperienced nobodies simply looking for a job and willing to make buffoons of themselves for the latest quack invention. So, out of nameless faces were born Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks, Lillian and Dorothy Gish, William S. Hart, and Rin Tin Tin. For a decade or so, we tinkered with the camera until we developed ways to tell compelling and cohesive stories. D.W. Griffith, Tod Browning, and King Vidor were but a few of the pioneers guiding us to an authentic and emotional world. But always, there was an underlying truth. As the studios developed and moguls started building corporations out of the little art-form-that-could, things changed. The system was manipulated but still remained grand. With the talkie revolution, we latched onto newer stars, manufactured though they may be-- less real than those with whom we began. Hollywood's world became a little more glamorous. But, while we got to lavish in the splendor of the movie musical or the beauty of Ann Sheridan (right), still there was a gravity beneath the facade. While the publicity boys cranked out fake stories about the histories and present lives of a new breed of star, we were able to forgive the inaccurate polish of the film magazine covers, because we knew, once again, that the stars were just like us. Though, perhaps a little bit bigger and a little bit better. The performances we saw on the screen too echoed our own sentiments, apprehensions, and angers. Watching Clark Gable or James Cagney elbow their way through their film scripts as tough guys, bruisers, and sometimes overgrown children, permitted a mass of trampled on and confused people to exhale in a universal catharsis.

As WWII waged on, films, particularly those coming from MGM, started to become a little too predictable-- a little too sweet, a little too perfect. While, during the war years, these films served their purpose, a post-war return to normalcy required film personalities who better resembled the normal, average American. The pristine image of the nuclear family and the whistling down the apple blossomed streets of Andy Hardy weren't going to cut it anymore. Once again, we cried out for realism. Our prayers were answered by the Method actor: Marlon Brando, Montgomery Clift, Kim Hunter, Maureen Stapleton, Eli Wallach, Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward, (both left) etc, etc, etc. The rise of the "true" actor over the "movie star" came right at the collapse of the studio system and acted as a bridge to carry us over into a new generation of cinema; a new generation of human interpretation. Suddenly, a great divide between old-Hollywood and new-Hollywood took shape. The raw ferocity of the modern actor, devoted to telling the Truth, the whole Truth, and nothing but the Truth, had to contend with the much adored yet fading alumni of the nostalgic studio era. Those who were most beloved could make it over the hurdle, either because they were naturally ahead of their time in terms of characterization-- like Katharine Hepburn or Gary Cooper-- or because they were willing to unlearn their old tricks for the new game of authenticity, like Marilyn Monroe.

Marilyn Monroe is the last great movie star. The biggest movie star. She represents both the heights of studio produced star power and the transition to the actor star. She stands too as the greatest sacrifice of such an alteration, falling into the strange and indescribable black abyss between the "movie personality" and the "true artist." Though there were large names and memorable faces to follow hers, Marilyn alone stands as our great Christ symbol: she paid the price of stardom and sacrificed herself for our love and respect. What we responded to in Marilyn was not just her beauty but her genuineness. When people describe her as being likable for her vulnerability or her innocence, what they are truly referring to is her humanity. We loved her because she was larger than life and real-- a goddess you could reach out and touch. Marilyn's sadness was somehow always palpable, always present (as seen right). Whereas I am always in awe of the way Rita Hayworth could draw the shade and hide her inner sorrow from her screen performances, Marilyn could not do the same. Initially, she made a concerted effort to mask her complex nature behind her star-making doe-eyed stares, the sensuous movements of her mouth, or her infamous walk, but despite this, little Norma Jean was always there. Later, she used her personal torments and fears, the things that she had originally fought to disguise, to deepen her acting and her performances. She became the star who could act, and our love of her only increased when the little girl she had kept masked behind her caricatured performances was let loose into more complicated and interesting roles. The full-fledged, unadulterated, massively contrived, and absolutely magnificent movie star, thus, died when she did.

And where are we now? We never truly re-embraced the movie star. The Method actor film identity pretty well carried itself through the 60s, 70s, and 80s. The personified bridges of John Garfield and Marilyn led to Brando and Clift, to De Niro and Streep (in Sophie's Choice, left). Bold films, soul-searching work, and socially provocative filmmaking enjoyed a hey-day. There were always the little token candy films, but they were overshadowed by Baby Doll, The Graduate, Taxi Driver, One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest, etc. In a society undergoing such turmoil as HUAC, the Vietnam War, the Korean War, and the Kent State shootings, there were plenty of questions to ask, plenty of statements to make, and plenty of Hell to raise. Our movies were reflections of our own rebellion, our own quest for truth, deliverance, and maybe even peace-- learning to love, or learning to fight. Then, under the overly optimistic period of the 80s and the 90s, we were at peace enough in ourselves to let go of this angst. Again, we shunned truth and started asking for, at long last, a respite: entertainment. Thus the birth of the action star-- Tom Cruise, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Harrison Ford-- the comedy star-- Tom Hanks, Meg Ryan, Julia Roberts-- and the provocative star-- William Hurt, Michael Douglas, Kathleen Turner, etc. There was a bonus, because not only were these names and faces huge, inspiring us and taking us on journeys of imagination and heart, but the majority of them could act. Win-Win, as they say.

Now, as these names and faces age and our stars become relics or shocking jokes-- ah, Mel, why'd ya do it?-- we are left in a kind of artistic limbo. Predicting the next societal trend on the tried and true taste cycle of authenticity-glamour-authenticity-glamour, it appears that we are due for another bout of authenticity. Our solution? Reality Television. Our fault as a creative society is that we have failed to find a new way to push the envelope. How much better can acting get than what it has become? Can you beat Marlon? No, but you can find him in Daniel Day-Lewis. Aesthetically we are at a stalemate as well. How many new ways can you find to blow something up? Not many. The car chase was doomed after Steve McQueen rocked our world in Bullitt. Our solution to our thumb-twiddling in conjunction with the corporate "more is more" mentality is to just make... more: more of the same things that make money and more of everything in general. More graphics, more special effects, more sex, bigger guns, thinner women, bigger boobs, etc. (I mean, don't even get me started on that topic. The mere fact that a woman's body has become little more than an apology, tits on sticks if you will, is enough to make me rant on in a blog marathon). More, more, more. Forgive me Avatar fans, but though the movie had its merits, it was in the end just a giant visual experiment. Like too many films today, art was the excuse and not the agenda. It was a mind-blowing aesthetic achievement with a green story tagged on. But what else could Cameron do? He literally had to create a new world because this one is tired. How else could he expand on old methods? We're stuck my friends. Stuck.

Avatar: box-office bonanza starring... technology.

Thus, we have no one to look up to. So many faces, so many names, and none of them stick. No one matters. There are too many venues! This isn't the silent era: one theater in town and one or two releases a week, presenting a minimal chance at seeing a familiar face on the screen. This is YouTube, and NetFlix, and reality TV, and every schmo with a camera making a movie and posting it online. "Movies" are everywhere and made by everyone. Some angst ridden teen can post a ranting monologue about their day and how much homework "sucks" and get 5 million hits. We live in a world where someone named Snookie, Snookie for Chrissakes, gets more press than rising stars like Olivia Wilde or Andrew Garfield. In effect, modern narcissism has killed the movie star. We don't want to worship anyone, because we want to be worshipped. And we can be. Got a camera on your Mac? Record yourself, upload, done. You can sit back and watch yourself all day. Lucky you. Lucky universe. And don't even get me started on Facebook. Geez. I mean, I'm as guilty as anyone, uploading pictures, updating my status, but does anyone really care where I am at this second? Am I that important? Maybe I should Twitter that I'm eating a muffin right now. That's sure to impact a lot of lives. How important can one person be? And if I see one more teenage girl holding her camera at arms length and taking a picture of herself in sexy face, I'm going to scream. Or punch her. (Again, win-win). Don't worry sweetie, you're profile pic is super hot. Now, can you put your vanity away long enough to read a book? We are sick. As a society, as an industry, we're sick. If The Social Network-- the only socially significant movie made this year-- doesn't win the Academy Award for Best Picture then, well, I don't know what. I will probably tear my eyes out like Oedipus and throw myself down the Santa Monica steps.

Of course, this modern self-absorption all stems from insecurity. In comparing ourselves with the stars we (used to) adore, we fall short. We're too short, in fact; too fat, too ordinary. We feel compelled to become the images we see; to make the two-dimensional image in the mirror reflect the two-dimensional images on the magazine rack. Newsflash: that makes you two-dimensional too. Pretty, but pretty lifeless. When did it became a crime to be a human being? Aging is criminal. Flaws are criminal. We want to be stars! And guess what, now we are. We've turned the cameras around on ourselves to capture the purest brand of realism, feeding our insatiable need for glamour by becoming our own glamour-pusses. But everyone can't be a star, for the very idea makes such a thing obsolete, which leaves us with one conclusion: there are none. Not even the ones on TV or in the movies. There is no idolatry. There are occassional adolescent crushes, (Twilight, right) but there is no life in the movies, only death-- the decay of a once proud frontier. We continue perpetuating the issue instead of diagnosing the disease and curing it. I don't even go to the movies anymore because I want to. I go out of habit. Me. The lover of all things celluloid. Things are bad, people. Bad. Movies aren't magic anymore; they're manic, because studios are too desperate to sell, and we're so desperate we'll buy anything.

I used to think that movies were things of beauty. Now they're just things. This isn't about wanting to return to the perfect illusion/delusion of the studio days, but moreso to reconnect with the integrity of the human race. Nothing is being said anymore, because we have nothing to rebel against, rally for, fight for. Perhaps we're too safe. Our economic "depression" is nothing in comparison to the depression of the '30s. The dark, tormented characters that once reflected our own paranoid and conflicted natures are not present in today's cinema. Our ongoing "war" overseas is not one that unifies the community nor is it one that anyone seems to comprehend. There is no finite goal-- stop Hitler and his madness!-- and a call to arms is likewise vacant in movie theaters. In essence, it seems that nothing is really going on, and what is going on no one understands. So the questions is, is there too much chaos to sift through and we've given up, or are we actually sitting pretty and have no need to communicate the same angst as our forefathers and mothers? The suffragist movement, segregation, and genocide are at least hypothetically problems of the past. We're more concerned with waistlines, cup sizes, and the accumulation of stuff. If cinema is a reflection of its current society, it is no wonder that today projects a mish mash of blah blah blah. We're brain dead. We're in serious need of a wake-up call. It's literally raining dead birds on us, but meh... whatevs. The result of this is our need to invent cataclysmic conflicts via ad nauseum zombie movies, alien invasion movies, or the invasive 3D movies of late (barf aka please make this gimmick stop). We are desperate to be shaken up before our intellects forever pay the forfeit. Why not take this confusing and deceptively unproblematic time to push ourselves artistically? Why read US Magazine when you can read poetry? Why write smut when you can write prose? Why rehash the usual visual stimuli when you can provide an accurate description of our current world? Have we truly run out of things to say?

All I can say is, I'm sad. And I must admit that I am scared too. This Hollywood is not the same one I signed up for nearly six years ago when I made the voyage from Cincinnati to Los Angeles. Something has changed. I don't think we should have to sacrifice beauty, nor controversy, nor conversation to make a buck, particularly when the, I'm sorry, but "crap" I see being made doesn't compel me in the slightest to throw down $12 for a movie ticket. And, oh boy, trying to be an actress in this industry right now is like trying to swim in the Sahara. We're worth more than this. So, what are we afraid of? If Hollywood knew what was good for it, it would take itself apart brick by brick and start over. Return to the simplicity of the human heart, the human soul, and human nature in general. I feel like the Hollywood Wendell Berry, and it says alot when someone like me would rather churn butter than go to the damn theater. We're trying too hard. You don't have to search for intrigue; you don't have to use a lot of flash to gain attention. Today's directors are making a mistake. They aren't so much filmmakers as they are master manipulators, working out their own fantasies and obsessions on the screen, thus committing the ultimate betrayal: instead of holding a mirror up to society, they hold one up to their own egos. Insightful directors with distinct visions and voice-- the Coen Brothers, Quentin Tarantino, and Danny Boyle-- are too few and far between. Self-absorption has killed unity. Has killed community. Not only are we cut off from our own humanity-- apologizing for ourselves with plastic surgery-- but we're cut off from each other-- texting and not speaking. How do we expect the movies to talk to us if we can't even talk to each other?

In Kill Bill, Quentin Tarantino shows his love of film by paying tribute to and 

expanding upon multiple genres, such as Japanese Samurai films, 

Westerns, and even Anime.  

I don't know how the future generation will evolve and grow, how the industry will change in the coming years, but I pray for a renaissance. I hope to one day go to the theater and find myself so moved by what I see that I start applauding as the credits roll. Maybe I can clap myself back to life like Tinker Bell. Maybe we all can. While celebrity is a killer, it also serves a purpose. Our film and our stars didn't just give us something to look up to or aspire to, but they taught us to relate-- to look outside ourselves and find the beauty in others. I was not alive when Marilyn was. But I still miss her. And I'm angry that she's gone because, in some ways, I feel that the things that killed her are the very things currently controlling us. Excess. Politics. Desperation. Corruption. Abuse. Bull sh*t. Instead of drowning in pity for our departed martyrs, we should recognize the things that ended them. We should find a way to make an old thing new. We will never run out of stories, so let's stop telling the same ones over and over again. Let's stop selling ourselves short. Or selling ourselves period. Is this a completely outlandish concept? Am I alone? Am I the only person at the parade who notices that the Emperor isn't wearing any clothes? And who the Hell do I text "STOP" to get out of here?

A rock and a hard place: Marilyn is bookended by history's King of the Studio

 era, Clark Gable, and the Prince of the new Method, Monty Clift, in The Misfits.

PERSONAL NOTE: YouTube Killed the Movie Star

HOT SPOTS... On the Internet!!!

As any movie lover knows, in this modern age of consumerism it is never enough to see a movie just once. When you fall in love with a film, just like any other romance, you are filled with an unquenchable need to possess the object of your desire. Unfortunately, we true movie-buffs find this difficult, because sometimes the most sought-after and adored films of all time are unavailable to the general public. Sure, there's the occasional re-release of a beloved classic and great venues like The Egyptian or The Silent Movie Theater that will unlock the vault of cinematic past for our present pleasure, and there is nothing like seeing a feature on the big screen. However, if you are as compulsive as I am, when you see something you like, you want it! Even though you know your bank account is low; even though you know buying new shoes would be a wiser choice of expenditure.

I have sought in vain for many a film, particularly when I am deep in researching a certain individual. The number of titles that are either completely lost or being held hostage astound and frustrate me every time. So many great storylines and brilliant performances have either deteriorated, been burned for silver, or are sitting in a lonely vault somewhere. But, through my diligence i.e. obsession, I have been able to find quite a few sites that can offer the needle-in-a-haystack pieces that even the almighty Amazon.com cannot provide, (though praise be to Allah that such a site exists too)! Since I consider us comrades in arms, I want to aid you in your common quest. Here is a list of sites for the most loyal of you movie-hunting lovelies. I would say don't spend your money all in one place, but if you live in a glass house, you shouldn't throw stones! Haha ;)

See it through the Grapevine:

When I randomly stumbled onto Grapevine Video's website, I thought I had died and gone to heaven! So many films from the silent era, starring its biggest as well as its lesser remembered stars, are here for the plucking! Salivating at the mouth, I managed to put 4 movies in my cart before I remembered that I had rent to pay and should probably restrain myself. The great thing about this site, aside from the number of titles and the great quality of the films, is that the majority of the discs are double-features or include some sort of short film or comedy, so it's more bang for your buck. The site is also easy to navigate, because it allows you to search by title, director, genre, or performer, so if you have a favorite actor, he and his work will be easy to find. If Rudy's your man, look no further. If you're partial to Blanche Sweet (above, left), it doesn't get any sweeter! They accept credit or Paypal, so the money exchange is a cinch. 

Vintage is always in fashion:

Vintage Film Buff has quite the plethora of forgotten 1930s and 1940s productions. If you like B-movies, horror films, westerns, or noirs, you will find great flicks and hidden jewels at this website. Overlooked stars like George Raft, Miriam Hopkins and Anna May Wong (right) are finally given a chance to shine here, and there are fabulous and scandalous pre-code films sure to aid you in indulging your naughty side. Many of these films are boundary pushing oddities, which makes them interesting to watch and easy to enjoy.

Unknown, But Not Forgotten:

I was able to find this company after buying a couple of their dvds through Amazon. Unknown Video houses a great deal of silent classics, particularly comedies and westerns. Mabel Normand and William S. Hart (left) are highly favored here, as well as racing gent, Wally Reid. The website doesn't seem to list all of their available movies, but each time I order from them, a small catalog is provided, which includes more of their releases. A cute bonus about these films is that they each come with a collectible magnet. I now have Fatty Arbuckle and Mabel hanging on my fridge.

Clara Bow Bound:

If you love Clara-- and let's face it, who doesn't-- this website is fantastic for finding nearly all of her films!!! Yeah, I know; I too found it almost too good to be true. Yet, there it is. The Clara Bow Page contains Bow's greatest silent and talkie films, so you can sink your teeth into Mantrap and Hoopla with no trouble at all! (Who needs the Library of Congress)?! These films are burned onto a dvd at your specification, and you get two for the price of one! The quality is great and the transaction is easy, with the option of checks, money order, or Paypal. There are also several other titles available with various stars, such as Ann Harding and Pola Negri. Definitely worth the gander.

Lon Ain't Gone!

Since Chaney remains my favorite actor, and it seems that his throne is secure from future usurpation, I was more than miffed when in the beginning of my adolescent studies, I was unable to find the majority of his titles on video (this was back in the age of VHS). Still, with the coming of Digital Video Discs, he was nowhere to be found. I sadly cherished my copy of The Phantom of the Opera and The Hunchback of Notre Dame and considered all other films exiled into oblivion. Not so! Unique Dvd has an ENTIRE collection of Chaney's greatest films in one fantastic pack! The downer is that you can't purchase one film alone, and you have to get the whole shebang; but for $50 you get 20 films, plus a copy of a Lon Chaney documentary. Where East Is East, Tell It To the Marines, and While the City Sleeps... They're all there! Chaney's diverse film work is available at long last, and the "Man of a Thousand Faces" can finally be appreciated for some of his less monstrous ones! Each film is the best known surviving copy of its kind, and a few incomplete films are included and edited together for the best possible version. For a true fan, it's like a dream come true. (Also available at the site are a collection of fascinating, banned cartoons and other various series). (Unfortunately, it looks like this site has been shut down. I hope it is only temporary, as avid Lon fans need access to his work. Stop holdin' it hostage, people!).

I hope that this information helps you all in your quest for the preservation of our cinema's history. If you purchase from these sites, be sure to thank them for the great contribution and honor they are doing for our artistic heritage. It is a truly noble effort, too little recognized. So, spoil yourself, get a little movie treat, and enjoy!

HOT SPOTS... On the Internet!!!