Notes on Notes

"Augustine": Men Playing Doctor

The narrative of this beautifully photographed true-ish French film is upside down. Instead of beginning typically, in a neutral manner and then penetrating to a darker message, it starts ominously, as we watch the servant girl of the title, afflicted with occasional fits, losing her job as a housemaid and being taken to languish in a treatment center for female hysterics.

In the hospital of the renowned 19^th-century neurologist Dr. John-Martin Charcot (played by Vincent Lindon), dozens of odd young women are kept for study. (Look up Charcot if you don’t know of him; his influence endured, and Freud was among his students.)

Some girls are chosen to demonstrate their hysterics under hypnosis, in a medical theater where their thrashing rivets Parisian doctors, and is reported in newspapers. 19-year-old Augustine (played by the sultry brunette singer Soko)

becomes a choice subject, and is fashionably attired and coiffed for her appearances. Hypnotized, she rips off her clothes and falls to the floor, making auto-erotic gestures during her attacks of what was called hysterics.



Here now is a contemporary painting, its scene described recently in a lecture at Baylor College of Medicine. Charcot and his colleague are with an actual favorite subject:

"This is the patient, Blanche. She is half-naked, as Charcot always tried to illustrate things. I don’t know where his hand is, but I want you to see where the hand of Babinski is. He is rubbing her breasts, which is associated with inducing the hysteria. As for his look at her breasts and her face, whether you call it amorous or diagnostic, it’s up to you."

The subtext of "Augustine" is similar to the 2011 film "Hysteria," which in turn was based on the lighthearted play about vibrators, "In the Next Room." All are about the mysterious female orgasm, undefined but closely studied by well-dressed male doctors with serious expressions.

As the film progresses, Augustine learns to subtly work the system: take note of her pivotal scene with Charcot and his monkey. Roles, as the press release says, blur, and the audience begins to smirk and chuckle as she gets hers back.

Charcot’s mistrustful wife is played sensibly by Chiara Mastroianni (whom fan photos portray as Lindon’s offstage date). Newcomer Alice Winocour wrote and directed, and the score, mostly by Jocelyn Pook, has a strong section by Arvo Pärt near the end.

Tanglewood, summer advance 2013

 http://66.147.244.148/~classjn4/2013/05/11/summer-festivals-tanglewood/

Farewell, strong and poetic Sir Colin Davis

 

 

 

Tribute to a Long-Lived Voice From the North (TItle of this article about a concert of music by Sibelius, on whom Colin Davis was a commanding, juicy authority.) 

By LESLIE KANDELL

Published: November 30, 1997

MUSIC-LOVERS wish that Mozart had lived longer than his 35 years and lament that Schubert did not have even that much time. But among long-lived composers who surpassed the psalmist's three score and ten, ''or by reason of strength, four score,'' none exceeded Jean Sibelius, whose long, brooding years in the chilly Finland he loved were almost three times Schubert's lifespan.

When Janne Sibelius was born in 1865, Berlioz and Rossini were still alive, and Brahms and Tchaikovsky were young men. By the time he died (with his first name spelled the French way), John Cage was in his prime, and the young lions were Steve Reich and Philip Glass. The distinctive breadth and language of Sibelius's music captured the soul of the north and in ''Finlandia'' gave Finland an anthem, but by 1957 he had outlived himself.

He leaves no one in the dark about what he lacked time to achieve. Disaffected by trends in music, self-critical, depressed and drinking heavily despite worldwide acclaim and a government grant for life, he simply quit composing around 1930, leaving an Eighth Symphony unfinished or perhaps burning it. His grand, melancholy oeuvre, if not uniformly understood or in constant favor with the masses to whom he refused to pander, is at least not hidden or lost.

On Saturday, Unity Concerts joins a tribute to Sibelius, ''Northern Lights,'' which begins tomorrow at Lincoln Center in Manhattan. The centerpiece of this two-week series of films, talks and recitals is three concerts, one of which is also being presented in Montclair, by the London Symphony Orchestra under Sir Colin Davis, its principal conductor and the newly appointed principal guest conductor of the New York Philharmonic.

''There is no voice like Sibelius,'' said Sir Colin in a telephone interview from his home in London. ''Nobody tried to express what he did. His somber, dark colors are like an old master covered with varnish. The colors are not brilliant; the pitch is low, but the music is confident and majestic. There is tension, violence and idealism. It's different from Beethoven's heroics.''

The Montclair program, consisting of the Third and Fifth Symphonies, represents Sibelius's richly lyrical voice a decade after ''Finlandia'' blazed into prominence. ''Lemminkainen's Return,'' from an early tone-poem cycle called ''Four Legends,'' traces a epic hero's journey through constantly changing terrain and, while forecasting the composer's talent, suggests a metaphor for his life.

''I really love his music,'' said Sir Colin, who recorded Sibelius's symphonies with the Boston Symphony Orchestra for Philips, and again recently, with the London Symphony for RCA Victor. ''I try to give it as much space as that huge figure requires. Space is as much a part of Sibelius as chords.''

The Second and Fifth Symphonies 5 are the best known; it was the Fifth, in fact, that happened to be playing on the radio in the composer's house 40 years ago as Sibelius lay dying, although his funeral included the murky, inscrutable Fourth. In the Fifth, Sir Colin finds ''some spirit of the earth in deep trouble.''

He has great affection for No. 3, which he calls ''the stuff of music,'' having learned it as a youth from a recording that belonged to his brother. Its poetic first movement, he thinks, also has a headache and a hangover. The second movement is a ballad, ''with great sorrow, as if we've lost our way in the woods and can't get out,'' while the finale is ''jagged, with fragments of staccato melody like Bartok.'' He added, ''Perhaps the wood sprites are banished.''

Sibelius's triumphant moments are in the First and Second Symphonies, he said. ''Some of the others are alarming and touching: the moan and groan of the bassoon in the Fifth, the trombone in the Seventh, smashed by the brass and then submerged,'' he said.

Sir Colin seems to feel a connection with the composer, and the effect of the music's large scope. ''Sibelius is tied up with all the great forces of life,'' he said. ''Life and death are relevant to music. It's tied to time, and in it, you can find the image of life. It has a beginning and an end, and you knew when the end was coming. Now, the world is turning on its dark side. Everything is collapsing: the church is weak; people worry about money. The human heart has a hunger that will not be satisfied.''

Sir Colin said the difference between conducting symphonic music and opera, for which he is also known, is that opera pertains to a specific dramatic situation and symphony to an unspecific dramatic situation. At the same time, he describes Sibelius's symphonies in terms of visual, personal drama, evoking not only smashings and submersions, but also dreamlike journeys through forests and snow, some of which end sadly.

''I've personally changed,'' said Sir Colin, 70, whose performances are admired for clarity, eloquence and devastating effect, and whose spirited forthrightness has nothing to do with the austere, shy composer. ''Music doesn't sound the same. It's a fantastic friend and reflects, like a mirror, how far you've come. You briefly enter a realm which you can't live in. When you're lost in it, you discover powers you didn't know you have. It's a chance to be more than you might have been.''

 

 

 

 

Audubon’s Watercolors: Go For the Birds

Perhaps the reason we’re drawn to owls is that their eyes are in front of their faces, like humans.  They stare commandingly, full-on, looking smart enough to ace an IQ test.  (We call them wise.)   Instead of eyeing us from one side, as small birds with separated eyes do--which gives them a wary, distancing aspect.

  

 

 

This insight was among many that came from a long walk through an installment--first of a projected three--of John James Audubon’s "The Complete Flock," a dazzling exhibition of 200 original watercolors and prints, at the New-York Historical Society. Like the song about coconuts ("Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head"), the elegantly detailed watercolors, prints and engravings come in all sizes; Aububon himself exhibited them in groups of five, with a large-size, a medium and three smalls.

 

Non-birders, like me, had no idea that Audubon, an illegitimate child of one of his father’s affairs, was born in Haiti in 1785, and made his way to the United States in 1803, the year of the Louisiana Purchase. As he came into the realization of his talent, he planned to document the birds of the South, but in time, expanded his mission to "The Birds of America."

Roberta Olson, curator and author of the new Audubon’s Aviary, (available on Amazon) used the Society’s huge, startling collection, which is usually hidden, and expended it with works from other sources, mainly Harvard’s. In addition to a large-size folio, of which a page is to be turned every week, there is a darkened room with original documents and letters.

The squeamish should be careful where they look. Audubon achieved his works’ minute detail by shooting his subjects, and hanging them or pinning them up in desired poses for as long as he needed them. Considering the size of some of them, it is no wonder that neighbors complained of the stench. Be aware also that there are depictions of birds of prey, preying.

Among the exhibition’s varied charms is a frame with Audubon’s painting on one side of a split screen, and video of that species, happy and healthy, on the other. Live birds can also be observed by Olson (and you) on a Central Park walk April 22. Another charm is the gift shop, which has all manner of bird accessories.

Audubon, who lived in Hamilton Heights, worked till his death in 1851. He is buried across the street from his home (long ago torn down) in the same church cemetery as Mayor Koch. (Who? There’s really no place like New York.)

Young Cellist from "Chicago, that toddlin' town"

http://www.musicalamerica.com/news/newsstory.cfm?archived=0&storyid=29147&categoryid=2

Christie: I'm Liking This Guy

Not that I'm anywhere near right wing--let alone a supporter of the Congress loonies--but there are a few things to note about New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie: 

1.  His handling of the Hurricane Sandy crisis was brilliant--better than Bloomberg's, and I'm a Bloomberg fan.  Christie was on the scene every moment, and rightly chewed out sluggards who didn't get off the beach.  By embracing Pres. Obama, a Democrat, he raised his national profile, got assistance for New Jersey, and helped Obama, who owes part of his election win to those kissy-face photos--and doesn't dare forget New Jersey nor its governor.

2. Christie totally loves his job, can hardly believe his good fortune--his working-class parents would be so happy, his son made Princeton, George Clooney flatters his wife--and his enthusiasm makes people glad to see him.

3. He's a great talker:  so good at insults that candidates called on him to help their sagging campaigns.  It was riveting TV when he sat down at NJPAC for an interview about his life.  ("My father was Irish, my mother was Sicilian, so there was no argument that wasn't worth having.")  Hope that appearance is on youtube.  

4.  About the fat issue, he's right on:  inviting comics to make jokes about him--so long as they're funny.  (Did you hear the shouts of audience joy when he showed up on the SNL news?) 

5. He blasted that ridiculous ex-White House doctor who made fatal predictions about his size--never having met him, having no idea of whether he might run for any other office.  How dare she?  Who would consult a doctor who practices in that manner?  (I myself had bacon and cheese for breakfast, lady, you got a problem wit dat?)

6. Christie and I are eons apart on local--and probably moral--matters, but for the moment, those are steamrolled over by his successful national manner.  We'll see how it goes, but when the cameras suck up to him, which they can't seem to help doing, I'm watching.

The Boardwalk is Fine, thank you

Remember the televised post-Sandy segments?  Burly guys are chopping up Coney Island's ruined boardwalk, flinging planks onto unruly wood piles?  "Oh well, it's over a hundred years old, needed replacement anyway, hope to get it done by spring, etc."

It's enough to worry people who were born in this town, and as children, spent some weekends during the War in Coney Island's then-new, now-vanished Nautilus Hotel. 

So out we drove, and to our relief, at least part of the historic boardwalk is not only in good condition, but being generally enjoyed by walkers, bench-sitters and gull-watchers, even though it's mid-January.  We walked along till we were assured that whatever damage was done didn't apply to the central areas, which had signs that amusement parks would open March 24th.

Most stores and restaurants--including Nathan's--were closed, so parking was easy.  There was a good diner on the boardwalk, Tom's, that we'd never heard of even though it said Est. 1936, and had a current 22 rating in Zagat's.  Between us, we had a good burger deluxe and a  breakfast-all-day short stack, coke, hot chocolate with whipped cream (they were out of seltzer or I'd've had an egg cream) and free coffee, which may have been an accident.

Then we drove back to Manhattan, passing blue ocean views, islands, bridges, and finally when we arrived the Triboro Bridge (which we found ourselves on having missed the Brooklyn turn), an intensely red-orange sunset, powering dimensional clouds.

Amour: good French film, but tough to take

This is the back of him (Jean-Louis Trintignant) staring at his wife (Emmanuelle Riva).  He can't believe she's not comprehending anything.  They've been happily married forever in this elegant but wrenching film about the end of a highly cultivated Paris couple. 

These actors in their 80's have been successful since he was in A Man and a Woman (1966), and she was in "Hiroshima Mon Amour"(1959).  As she deteriorates, they both--with great refinement--chew the scenery.  It's hard to imagine that younger actors could do half this job.

She plays a retired piano teacher, and at one point a former student, a handsome young career artist, visits their intellectual Paris apartment to play for her.  Best-kept secret:  the actor's name is Alexandre Tharaud, and a few weeks ago, he played a lovely recital at Weill Hall, which I'm glad I tore down to hear, because I have found no mention anywhere of the connection between him and the film.  (That includes a highly favorable performance review in the Times.) 

While he was signing his CD (Le boeuf sur le toit--Swinging Paris on Virgin Classics) afterward, I asked his manager how a pianist gets an acting part.  She said Michael Haneke, the award-winning (as is this film) German director, had made calls to audition, which Tharaud had done.  He was evidently handsomer and more skilled than anyone else.  (That's what he is--a pianist.)  Nice pick.

So, the film wife has a stroke, followed by a botched operation, and downhill she goes, brilliantly, as her panic-stricken husband tries to cope--with his fears and her deterioration.  The acting is so skilled that it's beyond acting.  And every detail of decor and other characters and interactions has been carefully noted.  The movie's horror and honesty is what makes it so good, and so tough to take. You watch it and head straight off to sign a living will.

I think that much of Amour may be on You Tube.

Long Life to your Christmas Tree, from Boiling water

(The following steps assume that you want a tree to 1] last through the holidays 2] smell good 3] hold its needles, particularly while being dragged out after New Year's.)

1] At the buying site, make sure the seller gives the trunk bottom a level cut, also sawing off 8 inches of branches (more or less) above the cut. (Use branches for decoration--they're yours.) Then ask the seller to smack the trunk on the ground 6 to 10 times, to dislodge loose needles.

2] When you get the tree home, lean it against a wall in a bucket of really hot water, and cut the netting so the branches reach out. The heat humidifies the branches and opens the near-bottom cuts so they absorb more water.

3] Check the tree for the first couple of hours, replacing hot water if you have time. It will absorb a lot, and the water creates an aromatic humidifying mist.

4] Water absorption will eventually slow, but keep replacing hot water--boiling temperature is better at this stage because the water hits the cooler water in the bucket, warming it while making mist. Leave the tree in the bucket and continue to water, till you're ready to trim.

5] After setting up the tree, don't pour water right into the container. Fill a watering can or other vessel with very hot water, and slowly tip it to the treetop, so that the hot water runs down the trunk and mists the branches, soaking into the cuts where the bottom branches were, and then into the container. (Keep checking the container so it doesn't overflow.)

6] Water the tree from the top with hot water whenever the container gets low--at least once a day, till you're ready to take it out (preferably wrapped in a tarp). Fewer needles will drop off during disposal.

"Fifty Shades of Gray": A porno page-turner

 

Wikipedia, which you shouldn’t read if you object to spoiler info, collected some of what it called "mixed to negative" reviews of last year’s E.L. James best-seller. The Columbus Dispatch was fair and concise: "Despite the clunky prose, James does cause one to turn the page."

So before I go all snobby and whine about repeated verbs and dangling antecedents, let me say that I read this first of a trilogy published in a year (so who had time to proofread?), and I enjoyed the va-va-voom so much that after finishing, I turned right back to page one.

 There are three things to consider in discussing this book, bought during a long layover in the Munich airport: first is the porn (minutely detailed sexual encounters of a young white straight couple). Without it the book would be nothing, as in non-existent, don’t bother to sharpen your pencil. Next is the writing: Wiki cites "the author's use of British idioms which, syntactically, clash with the would-be American voice of the protagonist," which brings us to number three, the plot.

This--the book’s shoulders from which the sexual encounters hang--is about Ana Steele, a college student whose first sexual experience is a bondage-laced affair with Christian Grey, a young, brilliant, charming, sartorially splendid, handsome self-made billionaire with a plane, a helicopter, and in his giant apartment, his own, er, "playroom." The shades are layers of his personality:  locales are Pacific Northwest: Portland, Seattle and Vancouver. And because she’s an English lit major, he buys her a first edition of "Tess of the d’Urbervilles." (Oh good, a little class.)

What was the author thinking, messing up on speech rhythms that way? Maybe that the book wouldn’t sell outside the UK, so that no one would be the wiser. Well, she lucked out: its sales are up there with Harry Potter's. They’re both simple and clear, but Harry stays firmly in the England that the author knows, and it is well written (or well edited).  I doubt I'll read the other two books of the trilogy.

That said, I'm going back to bed to continue my second read.