William Horberg

Theme and Style

Hallucinatory. Brutal. Avant Garde. Beautiful. Hypnotic. Lyrical. Primitive. Poetic. Timeless. Modern. Visionary. Blinding.

These are just a few of the adjectives that spring to mind when trying to describe Russian filmmaker Sergei Paradjanov's 1964 film "Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors".

A portrait of both the harsh realities and ecstatic, magical sensibilities of 19th century life among the tribal people who live in the Carpathian mountains of his native Georgia, the movie was a shocking sensation when it came out, and eventually put this unique director in dutch with the Russian authorities of the old Soviet Union for what they considered a negative portrayal of their country and a filmmaking style that could be considered the antithesis of social realism

Harassed for the rest of his career and finally thrown into a work prison in the gulag, it is hard not to read Paradjanov's own life as mirroring the cruel, unvarnished, capricious experiences of his characters in "Forgotten Ancestors".

But it is also hard for me to think of a movie in which the harmony between the theme - which one might call the lack of any distinction between the beautiful and the brutal in nature - and the style in which that theme is expressed is more complete. 

The camera and the cameraman seem to often be untethered from any earthly constraints of gravity and vestibular motion, and the saturated colors, radical in-camera effects, and mainly the almost continual, haunting musical score of native songs and performed melodies are as overwhelming as the events in the life of the tribesman Ivan that being chronicled by the screaming red chapter headings in bold hand-drawn Cyrillic type.

Sometimes you see a film and imagine how other filmmakers may have treated the same subject or story, but sometimes you see something so unique and definitive that you can't imagine any other version being possible. Paradjanov's masterpiece is one of those movies.

Enjoy!

william

Busta Move

If you want to spice up the action on the dance floor at your Bat Mitzvah, be sure to invite young Natalie "Happy Feet" Horberg. 

It was "Hammer Time" for this little groove-meister when the DJ started to spin and the colored lights started to flash at her cousin Abby's after-party a few weeks ago. 

If you don't believe me, check out these live action shots. "Soul Train" here she comes!!

The moves. The attitude. The commitment. The funky chicken!!

Watch out Dancing With the Stars, here comes Natalie! 
 
:)

william
 
 
  

The Authors That Time Forgot - Maurice Zolotow

I met Maurice Zolotow when I was in Las Vegas in 1983 filming a documentary on The World Series of Poker at Binion's Horseshoe Casino. But more unlikely than that random chance encounter was the fact that I knew who he was when we were introduced - I was a huge fan of his profiles of off-beat and oddball entertainers in his show business compendium "It Takes All Kinds".

Our relationship only lasted the week that we were there filming, but this lively 70 year old became a central character in our documentary, as his witty and insightful analysis of the poker tournament and the personalities of the major players became a form of wildly colorful on-screen narration.

Later I learned more about his life as a chronicler of show business, including his biography of Billy Wilder, the first biography written about Marilyn Monroe, and "Shooting Star", his book about John Wayne.

But it was his portrait of Henry Nemo in "It Takes All Kinds" that forever endeared me to Zolotow. 

If you don't know Nemo (and honestly, who would today or even back then), he had a bit role playing a version of himself in "Song of the Thin Man" one of the late entries in the popular William Powell/Myrna Loy film series. But as Zolotow memorably portrays him, the hipster/songwriter (he wrote "I Let A Song Go Out of My Heart" for Duke Ellington among other famous compositions) Nemo was one of the originators and foremost practitioners of the slang idioms that became the language of "Jive Talk" as it was known.

"The Neem" is "on the beam" was his fast-paced way of introducing himself. Believe it or not, this hep cat was credited with coining the expression "hep cat" as well as "in the groove" to describe a state of high functional efficiency and "out of this world" to denote a condition of ecstasy. Of course a "square from Delaware" was his way of describing that particularly unfortunate character who is completely "unhipped".

To hear Zolotow describe Nemo practicing what he preached is to sit in awe at the feet of a modern master who used language as a weapon.

"A square," Nemo shouts, contorting his large fat face, "he is a cockamamie type, he is a stale adventurer. He's a gesture taker, a discharge. He's not in my world. Somebody parted his brain the wrong way. He's an undecided bringdown. He's a sharpsville-12. I'm sharpsville-100. That's solid, papa."

Credit Zolotow for recognizing that this guy needed to be immortalized, and for doing the job so wonderfully. 

Now THAT is solid, papa!

william

The Authors That Time Forgot - Jim Bishop

Like Gene Fowler, Jim Bishop started as a reporter and made his way from the hard-scrabble beat of the early 20th century newsroom into writing biographies of the great and famous (of that day). 

But unlike Fowler, Bishop ultimately found best-seller status and real financial success with the publication in 1955 of his famous book "The Day Lincoln Was Shot", which lead to an unlikely franchise in the publishing world at that time, his "the day of" books of historical re-enactment, including "The Day Christ Died" and "The Day Kennedy Was Shot".

At one point Bishop had a lucrative contract with Hearst Publications that billed him as "The HOTTEST writer in America", although his TIME magazine profile dubbed him "The Golden Hack" in honor of his Jackie Gleason biography "The Golden Ham".

My affection for Bishop comes less from the quality of his prose than from his authorship of one of the great showbiz biographies "The Mark Hellinger Story" about the fabled Hollywood producer of savvy noir entertainments like "The Killers" starring Burt Lancaster in an adaptation of Ernest Hemingway's short story, as well as High Sierra, Brute Force and Naked City. What a track record! It seems like he managed to put into practice Darryl Zanuck's admonition to his writers and producers "If you don't have a good story to start with, you won't have it anywhere else down the line."

Bishop was meant to go to work for Hellinger in Hollywood before the producer's untimely death from a heart condition at age 44. 

But Hellinger is said to have been a mentor of his, and Bishop seems to have taken to heart such timeless advice from the wise master as "Use only short words"; "the way to write a sob story is to be callous"; "before writing, always read a few hundred words of your favorite author."

Enjoy!

william

The Authors That Time Forgot - Gene Fowler

Far away from March Madness, and from the madding crowd and shrill discourse surrounding health care reform that has consumed most of the media and the political internet lately, I thought I'd spend this week sharing quieter pleasures with you - some authors and books I have loved from the forgotten corners of our culture in the 20th Century, starting with the Man From Denver, journalist, novelist, biographer and storyteller, Gene Fowler.

 

A man of great wit when that quality was more readily appreciated, among his many famous quotes, one in particular has stuck with me through my own years in Hollywood: "Writing is easy. All you do is stare at a blank piece of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead."

I think "Schnozzola" - his wonderful biography of entertainer Jimmy Durante - may have been the first book of his that I read way back in the day, but I was quickly addicted to his somewhat florid, anachronistic writing style and the colorful cast of real-life old-fashioned characters that he tended to write about.

"The Great Mouthpiece" is the wild tale of lawyer William Fallon, a New York City criminal defense attorney in the 1920's who represented the legendary mobster Arnold Rothstein, among others. It is said that of the 120 defendants he represented in murder cases, not a single one was convicted. There is a Dashiell Hammett line, "Is he a criminal lawyer? Yes, very!" that might have applied to Fallon, and yet Gene Fowler wrote about this quintessentially Runyon-esque character before Damon Runyon ever invented the archetype.

Another of my favorite Gene Fowler books is called "Minutes of the Last Meeting" and it details some of his time out here in Hollywood where he was part of a mob of what could only be called highly literate alcoholics, hanging out and cracking wise with the likes of W.C. Fields, John Barrymore, Errol Flynn and artist John Decker. It is the affection and lack of judgment that he brings to his portrait of these often rude and caustic artists, as well as his description of the dynamics of the group, the loyalty and intrepidness that drew these disparate souls together, that make Fowler the perfect Boswell for this crowd.

Fowler has pride of place in my bookshelf and an entire shelf is given over to editions of his work like "Beau James" about New York Mayor Jimmy Walker, "Father Goose", "The Great Magoo", "Shoe The Wild Mare", "Trumpet In The Dust", "Timberline" and his autobiography "A Solo In Tom Toms".

A quick search of Amazon didn't find any of his books in print, but used copies are out there for any intrepid blog readers who want to discover his work. 

Fowler was also quoted as saying "What is success? It is a toy balloon among children armed with pins." The memory of his life and work may have faded with time and changing tastes, but his words still float through time, just out of the grasp of those pin-armed children!

Enjoy!

william

A Portrait of The Artist As A Young Woman

My big sister has a birthday tomorrow, and what better way to celebrate than by sharing these old portraits recently unearthed and scanned into the family digital files? I guess these would be from the mid-'60's, and they capture the spirit of the times in fashion and hair style, as well as the spirit of the personality behind the legendary Chicago world music and social institution HotHouse, as well as her newest venture Partisan Arts International and their program Porto Luz.

 

 

 
 
Happy Birthday, Marguerite! That vintage Nancy Drew book looks pretty engrossing!!

william

 

The Early Film Movement

Watching this wonderful documentary from 1993 recently about the art of cinematography and its finest practitioners suddenly and eerily reminded me of the Early Music Movement. 

Since we are rapidly reaching a point where commercial movies are going to be shot predominantly on stages with digital cameras and green screens and motion capture technology to create our fantastic cinema of spectacle and invented worlds and 3 dimensionality that has come to define mainstream moviegoing, the 20th century art of capturing light through a lens also has become a more and more manipulated event. In today's post-production world the digital intermediate, or D.I., is the place where decisions about color and hue and radiance and density and gradation occur or can be hugely modified. 

The Early Music movement was marked by a desire of performers to return to the purity of not only the composer's intentions, but to only play music on the original instruments, in as close an approximation to the original acoustical setting as possible. It represented a search for "authenticity".

It seems hard to contemplate in an era when a wholly synthetic construct like "Avatar" is the most popular movie of all-time, and audiences stimulated by 3-D and visual special effects have relegated most of their consumption of human scale drama to television, but can we imagine some future Early Film Movement cropping up, dusting off the old canisters of 35mm film or painstakingly recreating the cameras and lens and light stands and scrims to recapture the lost art of film lighting?

If the movement ever does arise, this film might be one of their most sacred texts. Watching now, it is impossible not to feel the world it describes rapidly disappearing in the rear view mirror.

william

Taarof Versus Chutzpah

I'd hazard a guess that most of us are familiar with the word chutzpah; it takes a certain amount of it to have a blog and to think that what you have to say or share is important enough to demand the time and attention of a universe of potential readers.

Thanks to author and political analyst Trita Parsi, however, for bringing to my attention a more detailed understanding of the Yiddish word, and by comparison, illuminating another word and concept that was until now foreign to me - the Iranian term taarof.

As Parsi writes, "Chutzpah" meaning audacity or gall, can be explained by an Israeli joke that captures the concept. A spoiled twelve-year-old boy argues with his parents, and in a moment of rage he kills them both. He is immediately caught and taken to jail to await trial. As he is brought into the courtroom he throws himself at the feet of the judge and cries out: "Have mercy with me! After all, I am just a poor orphan!"

"Taarof" is an Iranian social principle, a concept of insincere politeness. For instance, Iranians invite each other to dinner not necessarily because they mean it, but to show politeness. The expectation is that the invited party will respond with equal politeness - by turning the invitation down. The impolite thing to do would be to accept the invitation on its first offering. An invitation should be considered sincere only if it has been offered roughly three times, after which, of course, it would be immensely rude to decline it. 

As one Iranian scholar explained, "Taarof is a form of respect, even if we don't mean it" a statement we find blatantly contradictory. For Iranians however, there is no contradiction.

Layers of nuance, deliberately misleading compliments on the one hand; absolute bluntness without a single effort to reflect the nuances that inevitably characterize all social situations on the other.

Whereas some people might perceive the dichotomy in these two words and concepts, I'd say its just another day at the office here in Hollywood!

:)

william

Wooden Dolls

 

Elsa was a guest speaker last year at a Doll Convention for makers and collectors of artistic dolls. Lately she has started to make her own handmade dolls of original design including clothing, hair, and accessories. Its fun to come home every day and find these new additions to the household, sometimes just heads or limbs or body parts, and sometimes fully assembled and kitted out.

I remember growing up we had these beautiful Kachina Dolls that were handmade by American Indians. My Dad brought them home one time from a trip to the Southwest, and they sat on the mantle in our living room. They were carved wood and covered in feathers and paint. We weren't allowed to play with them which of course made them all the more desirable.

The dolls on this post are also wooden; handpainted and designed by Alexander Girard. He was a famous mid-century designer, mostly of textiles, who worked for Herman Miller and Georg Jensen and Charles and Ray Eames and other iconic figures of Modern design. This vintage Girard doll collection has been reproduced and they are individually available here.

Enjoy!

william

 

Ricky Jay Tells A Good Story

My friend teacher and screenwriter Howard Rodman hosted a talk with magician, historian, raconteur, actor and author Ricky Jay as part of the "Vision" series at USC the other night, and as to be expected from that colorful chronicler of the art of the con, Jay closed the evening with a great anecdote that I wanted to share with you here.

(It's a bit "blue" in the tradition of these kind of apocryphal stories, so forewarned!)

A guy walks into a bank. 

On Monday promptly at noon he brings $25,000 to open an account. The following day at the same time he brings another $40,000 to deposit. The next day, the same. Tellers take notice, and when he comes back in on Thursday with another large cash deposit, word goes up to the president of the bank, who makes a point to be there to meet the well-dressed man when he shows up at 12:00 p.m. sharp on Friday to make his largest cash deposit yet.

The president introduces himself to the well-heeled customer and asks after the source of his steady stream of greenbacks. The man shamelessly declares himself to be a "proposition" bettor, a type of gambler who will bet on just about anything, like which cube of sugar a fly will alight on first, or which rain drop will make it to the window sill ahead of the other.

The president is surprised, and finds it incredible when the man boasts that he never loses a wager. Sure enough, the gambler soon makes a proposition to the banker guaranteed to put lie to the old truism "you can't cheat an honest man". 

The bet is simple. 

He wagers the president $50,000 that when he comes back on Monday at noon the man's balls will be square, not round. Knowing a sure thing when he hears it, however squeamish it makes him, this respected man of finance agrees. The gambler spends the weekend as gamblers do, on his boat, enjoying the fruits of his sin; while the banker retreats to his quiet rectitude, taking extra care of his health regimen, perhaps even abstaining from marital intimacy as a further precaution, as if that was even necessary.

Sure enough, Monday at noon sharp finds the gambler back at the bank, this time ushered into the president's private office, but he does not come alone. A smallish man with a moustache and an air of wealth and class himself, has accompanied the gambler to bear witness to the denouement of the proposition.

Confidant of his success and increased wealth the banker drops his trousers without hesitation or conversation, and then, encouraged by the gambler, his boxers as well. The man slowly reaches out his hand to confirm the shape that will decide the wager, but doesn't get very far when he is interrupted by the sudden sharp sound of his guest, who has passed out and collapsed to the floor next to him.

"What is going on?" the bank president asks, hastily pulling up his pants, as the gambler hands him his $50,000 winnings.

"I think the shock was just too much for him", the fraudster exclaims, "you see, I bet the man $100,000 that if he came to this financial institution with me today, I would have the bank president's balls in my hands before we left."

A sharp-eyed student of the swindle and of human nature, Ricky Jay knows the deeper truth that they are usually one and the same thing!

william