1. '2001 (A Space Odyssey)' (S. Kubrick)
2. 'A Clockwork Orange' (S. Kubrick)
3. 'Aguirre - Wrath of God' (W. Herzog)
4. 'Apocalypse Now' (F. F. Coppola)
5. 'Blow-Up' (M. Antonioni)
6. 'Brazil' (T. Gilliam)
7. 'Easy Rider' (P. Fonda & D. Hopper)
8. 'The Evil Dead' (S. Raimi)
9. 'Get Carter' (M. Hodges)
10. 'Goodfellas' (M. Scorsese)
11. 'Monty Python & the Holy Grail' (T. Jones & T. Gilliam)
12. 'Possession' (A. Zulawski)
13. 'Reservoir Dogs' (Q. Tarantino)
14. 'Shallow Grave' (D. Boyle)
15. 'The Shining' (S. Kubrick)
16. 'Stalker' (A. Tarkovsky)
17. 'Taxi Driver' (M. Scorsese)
18. 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre' (T. Hooper)
19. 'The Wicker Man' (R. Hardy)
20. 'Withnail & I' (B. Robinson)
Tuesday, 15 November 2011
Sunday, 13 November 2011
Down and Out in Hollywood, CA
I moved to Los Angeles aged 24. It was the early 60s and California seemed like the centre of the whole universe. I was born in Boston, to a line of trawler-men stretching back 3 generations. But with every day older I grew the stronger my resolve to locate the escape route intensified. Movies were my passion and I had my heart firmly set on acting. Everyone I knew said I looked like a young Marlon Brando, and that all I had to do was head west to the land of the stars and I'd soon ascend into the same constellation.
............
I hit the road on the Greyhound, riding the rickety route cross country. A couple of my fellow passengers, as luck would have it, were guys my age who were also heading to Hollywood in a hopeful bid to realise their dreams. There was Jack, who shared the acting aspirations that I did, and Bobby who was a writer, his suitcase crammed full of draft scripts hammered out over the years whilst growing up. The world was ours, every revolution of the bus wheels taking us closer to our true calling.
.............
The first years were promising; I secured an agent on my third day in the city - something I took great pains to laud over Jack for the years after (he took 8 days) - and soon landed small parts in various mini-series, commercials and ill-fated pilots. It wasn't much but it just about covered the rent, and besides, I was confident my big break was languishing just around the corner.
............
After a while, the gaps between auditions and filming began to grow like a steadily receding hairline, and I started working on the side as a waiter in a fancy West Hollywood restaurant. It was the kind of place where big-time movie producers would have business lunches and discuss new project propositions over countless Bloody Marys. All the while I felt like I was there on the fringes, ear pressed up against the wall but without the helping hand or a ladder tall enough to see me scale it. One particularly painful situation stood out when, as I was serving drinks I overheard a sharp-suited executive gushing to some generic bright young thing about how he could be "the next Marlon Brando".
As the years wore on and the glorious 60s dissolved into the grim 70s, I parted ways with my agent and the auditions and opportunities slowly dried up. I once again craved the same escape route I had needed out of Boston, only this time there was no where further to go, and steadily I found that exit in drink. Women came and went out of my life - my looks still had their advantages. Gradually they too began to fade and wear; no longer were the Brando comparisons made my way.
...........
The Hollywood streets were harsh, and the studios and big names gradually fled to Burbank or further afield, leaving only a sidewalk full of stars in their wake. But I was determined not to give up on my dream. I attended more and more auditions but to no avail. They could sniff the desperation on me, almost as pungent as the cheap booze on my breath, and eventually my calls and follow-up enquiries were met with nothing but a firmly closed door. The wall had grown to a height far beyond my reach.
..............
Now my life is spent hauling my trolley along the sidewalks. A trolley full of my meagre possessions bound in dirty plastic bags. My skin is tattooed with years of grime, I've not shaved in I don't know how long. My clothes are ragged and torn, with years of piss and shit engrained in the stitching. I spend most of my time beneath a Downtown overpass where the closest I have to friends huddle round a trash can full of flames, on a good night passing between us a bottle of liquor or cheap wine. We recount our endless stories of how we arrived in LA all those decades ago, with our eyes ablaze with ambition. The city was kind to many who made the trip; we were the ones to whom it was not. These guys are just the same as me and I find a warm catharsis in that knowledge. They were aspiring actors, writers, directors, musicians, who spent years racing round corners chasing that big break and be rewarded with the life of Beverly Hills estates, premieres and adoration. In the end the only thing to break was our resolve.
I've not heard from my Greyhound buddies in a while. Last I heard, Bobby was down and out over on Venice Beach. That guy was the best damn writer I ever knew. He maintains to anyone who'll give him half a chance that a handful of his scripts were picked up by various studios and minor alterations made that cut him out of any entitlement to the shows' success. Jack I've not heard about in a long time. There were rumours he'd fallen victim to the needle but I can't be sure. If it wasn't the needle it would likely only have been something else.
.............
But me, I hold tightly to the belief that fame and fortune can come to a man late in life. My Indian summer is surely just behind the next band of rain clouds. Out there in the movie company production offices in the steel and glass high-rises, a new project is being conceived and blueprinted. A new kind of performance is required, and a new kind of actor to deliver it. The film business is as turbulent as white water rapids and the audiences who bankroll it all are fickle in their demands.
..........
Some day soon the conveyor belt of plastic starlets and pretty-boy hunks will stagger to a halt and then it'll be my time to rise to the fore. The premieres will await, with tuxedos, champagne and limosines, and I will be sure to linger long in the warm glow of the spotlight. And it'll be everything I thought it would be. And it'll all be worth this perpetual waiting.
............
I hit the road on the Greyhound, riding the rickety route cross country. A couple of my fellow passengers, as luck would have it, were guys my age who were also heading to Hollywood in a hopeful bid to realise their dreams. There was Jack, who shared the acting aspirations that I did, and Bobby who was a writer, his suitcase crammed full of draft scripts hammered out over the years whilst growing up. The world was ours, every revolution of the bus wheels taking us closer to our true calling.
.............
The first years were promising; I secured an agent on my third day in the city - something I took great pains to laud over Jack for the years after (he took 8 days) - and soon landed small parts in various mini-series, commercials and ill-fated pilots. It wasn't much but it just about covered the rent, and besides, I was confident my big break was languishing just around the corner.
............
After a while, the gaps between auditions and filming began to grow like a steadily receding hairline, and I started working on the side as a waiter in a fancy West Hollywood restaurant. It was the kind of place where big-time movie producers would have business lunches and discuss new project propositions over countless Bloody Marys. All the while I felt like I was there on the fringes, ear pressed up against the wall but without the helping hand or a ladder tall enough to see me scale it. One particularly painful situation stood out when, as I was serving drinks I overheard a sharp-suited executive gushing to some generic bright young thing about how he could be "the next Marlon Brando".
As the years wore on and the glorious 60s dissolved into the grim 70s, I parted ways with my agent and the auditions and opportunities slowly dried up. I once again craved the same escape route I had needed out of Boston, only this time there was no where further to go, and steadily I found that exit in drink. Women came and went out of my life - my looks still had their advantages. Gradually they too began to fade and wear; no longer were the Brando comparisons made my way.
...........
The Hollywood streets were harsh, and the studios and big names gradually fled to Burbank or further afield, leaving only a sidewalk full of stars in their wake. But I was determined not to give up on my dream. I attended more and more auditions but to no avail. They could sniff the desperation on me, almost as pungent as the cheap booze on my breath, and eventually my calls and follow-up enquiries were met with nothing but a firmly closed door. The wall had grown to a height far beyond my reach.
..............
Now my life is spent hauling my trolley along the sidewalks. A trolley full of my meagre possessions bound in dirty plastic bags. My skin is tattooed with years of grime, I've not shaved in I don't know how long. My clothes are ragged and torn, with years of piss and shit engrained in the stitching. I spend most of my time beneath a Downtown overpass where the closest I have to friends huddle round a trash can full of flames, on a good night passing between us a bottle of liquor or cheap wine. We recount our endless stories of how we arrived in LA all those decades ago, with our eyes ablaze with ambition. The city was kind to many who made the trip; we were the ones to whom it was not. These guys are just the same as me and I find a warm catharsis in that knowledge. They were aspiring actors, writers, directors, musicians, who spent years racing round corners chasing that big break and be rewarded with the life of Beverly Hills estates, premieres and adoration. In the end the only thing to break was our resolve.
I've not heard from my Greyhound buddies in a while. Last I heard, Bobby was down and out over on Venice Beach. That guy was the best damn writer I ever knew. He maintains to anyone who'll give him half a chance that a handful of his scripts were picked up by various studios and minor alterations made that cut him out of any entitlement to the shows' success. Jack I've not heard about in a long time. There were rumours he'd fallen victim to the needle but I can't be sure. If it wasn't the needle it would likely only have been something else.
.............
But me, I hold tightly to the belief that fame and fortune can come to a man late in life. My Indian summer is surely just behind the next band of rain clouds. Out there in the movie company production offices in the steel and glass high-rises, a new project is being conceived and blueprinted. A new kind of performance is required, and a new kind of actor to deliver it. The film business is as turbulent as white water rapids and the audiences who bankroll it all are fickle in their demands.
..........
Some day soon the conveyor belt of plastic starlets and pretty-boy hunks will stagger to a halt and then it'll be my time to rise to the fore. The premieres will await, with tuxedos, champagne and limosines, and I will be sure to linger long in the warm glow of the spotlight. And it'll be everything I thought it would be. And it'll all be worth this perpetual waiting.
Friday, 4 November 2011
Culture - November
Books Read:
Paul Auster - 'The New York Trilogy'
Albert Camus - 'The Plague'
J.G. Ballard - 'Cocaine Nights'
T.S. Eliot - 'Selected Poems'
Films Watched:
'The Rum Diary' (Bruce Robinson)
'Inside Job' (Charles H. Ferguson)
'Gran Torino' (Clint Eastwood)
'The Premature Burial' (Roger Corman)
'The Dead Zone' (David Cronenberg)
'The Adventures of Tintin - The Secret of the Unicorn' (Steven Spielberg)
'Scandal' (Michael Caton-Jones )
'The Man with X-Ray Eyes' (Roger Corman)
Albums Played:
Motorhead - 'Ace of Spades'
Noel Gallagher - 'Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds'
Kasabian - 'Velociraptor!'
The Fall - 'Ersatz G.B.'
Dinosaur Jr. - 'Where You Been'
Goldie - 'Timeless'
Mercury Rev - 'All Is Dream'
Lisa Hannigan - 'Passenger'
Gigs Attended:
Motorhead @ Manchester Apollo
Paul Auster - 'The New York Trilogy'
Albert Camus - 'The Plague'
J.G. Ballard - 'Cocaine Nights'
T.S. Eliot - 'Selected Poems'
Films Watched:
'The Rum Diary' (Bruce Robinson)
'Inside Job' (Charles H. Ferguson)
'Gran Torino' (Clint Eastwood)
'The Premature Burial' (Roger Corman)
'The Dead Zone' (David Cronenberg)
'The Adventures of Tintin - The Secret of the Unicorn' (Steven Spielberg)
'Scandal' (Michael Caton-Jones )
'The Man with X-Ray Eyes' (Roger Corman)
Albums Played:
Motorhead - 'Ace of Spades'
Noel Gallagher - 'Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds'
Kasabian - 'Velociraptor!'
The Fall - 'Ersatz G.B.'
Dinosaur Jr. - 'Where You Been'
Goldie - 'Timeless'
Mercury Rev - 'All Is Dream'
Lisa Hannigan - 'Passenger'
Gigs Attended:
Motorhead @ Manchester Apollo
Saturday, 22 October 2011
Thoughts on the 'Occupy' Movement
Whilst walking past the City Hall just opposite the Colorado River the other day, I noticed the modestly-sized 'Occupy Austin' camp, just one of many such sit-in protests that have spread out from New York and, so I'm aware, to around the world. Part of me almost feels a sense of remorse for my not playing a part somehow, being that those involved, in effect, represent my generation taking a stand.
............
I've often bemoaned the fact that my generation has pretty much nothing to show for itself artistically or culturally; we leave barely any footprint aside from being the first to allow ourselves to become lulled into a state of perpetual inertia and detachment by the internet and new technologies. If you look back over the generations there has always been a distinct unifying 'scene' or 'movement' that defines that generation - the Beatniks of the 50s, the Civil Rights movement, mods & rockers, the flower children of the 60s, the punks of the 70s, the ravers of the 80s, and then I suppose the whole 'Cool Brittania' thing in the 90s. These were, I imagine, exhilarating and exciting times to be young and actively involved.
............
With this whole 'Occupy Wall Street' thing, you get the sense that, whilst no where near (as yet) the aforementioned movements, at least it is an example of this generation saying something for themselves as a united body. And so I feel mildly guilty for being so removed from it all. But only mildly.
..........
As far as I can tell, the 'manifesto' of the protests is that there just isn't one. Whilst this apparant lack of focus was used against them at first, it seems they have now embraced their 'catch-all' discontent and harnessed it as a means of expressing their widespread frustration. But the problem is, it doesn't appear that these people have any idea as to what they seek to achieve or what they expect to happen as a result of their action. There are people protesting about the greed of the banks, gay rights, animal rights, environmentalism, and even the role of capitalism itself. This is broad spectrum protesting and it remains to be seen as to how any satisfactory resolution can be achieved.
............
The protestors say they have been inspired by the uprisings in the Middle East and that this, quite rightly, is a prime demonstration of the fact that with the will of a unified people, a nation's entire system can be packed up and rolled off-stage like film studio set-pieces. The difference, I feel, is that those in the Middle East were charged with a definite and definable cause - their lack of liberty under dictorial regimes. The end goal was revolution and liberation from their oppressors. The problem with the weathly and materialistic West is that we have grown so accustomed to our comfortable democratic and capitalist societies that we can have no comprehension of what our version of a revolution would entail. If, somehow, free markets and capitalism were put in shackles as some wild-eyed idealists are calling for - what then??
............
It seems to me that people are protesting about a lack of jobs because if they can't get a job they won't be able to afford the next product Apple releases. Its protesting in an attempt at sustaining their hitherto comfortable lives which, until now, has shrouded them in a state of lethargy. Its no use arguing that there is a lack of clear focus because, 'there's a lot to be angry about' because, unlike the clearly defined end game of the Arab Spring, there surely is nothing that any figure of power can do that will send those protestors into jubilent celebration at having realised their aim. Its akin to athletes running a race in which none of them are sure whereabouts in the stadium the finishing line is; all of them have their sights set on different corners of the track.
..........
As far as I can tell, from a slightly cynical onlooker's perspective, is that these people have awoken from the collective apathy of their upbringings and are suddenly asking why the world isn't perfect, expecting explicitly clear answers from somebody. For the moment, I remain puzzled as to what those precise answers could be that they wish to receive, and if indeed they can be given by anybody that will send them home content off the streets from around the world.
............
I've often bemoaned the fact that my generation has pretty much nothing to show for itself artistically or culturally; we leave barely any footprint aside from being the first to allow ourselves to become lulled into a state of perpetual inertia and detachment by the internet and new technologies. If you look back over the generations there has always been a distinct unifying 'scene' or 'movement' that defines that generation - the Beatniks of the 50s, the Civil Rights movement, mods & rockers, the flower children of the 60s, the punks of the 70s, the ravers of the 80s, and then I suppose the whole 'Cool Brittania' thing in the 90s. These were, I imagine, exhilarating and exciting times to be young and actively involved.
............
With this whole 'Occupy Wall Street' thing, you get the sense that, whilst no where near (as yet) the aforementioned movements, at least it is an example of this generation saying something for themselves as a united body. And so I feel mildly guilty for being so removed from it all. But only mildly.
..........
As far as I can tell, the 'manifesto' of the protests is that there just isn't one. Whilst this apparant lack of focus was used against them at first, it seems they have now embraced their 'catch-all' discontent and harnessed it as a means of expressing their widespread frustration. But the problem is, it doesn't appear that these people have any idea as to what they seek to achieve or what they expect to happen as a result of their action. There are people protesting about the greed of the banks, gay rights, animal rights, environmentalism, and even the role of capitalism itself. This is broad spectrum protesting and it remains to be seen as to how any satisfactory resolution can be achieved.
............
The protestors say they have been inspired by the uprisings in the Middle East and that this, quite rightly, is a prime demonstration of the fact that with the will of a unified people, a nation's entire system can be packed up and rolled off-stage like film studio set-pieces. The difference, I feel, is that those in the Middle East were charged with a definite and definable cause - their lack of liberty under dictorial regimes. The end goal was revolution and liberation from their oppressors. The problem with the weathly and materialistic West is that we have grown so accustomed to our comfortable democratic and capitalist societies that we can have no comprehension of what our version of a revolution would entail. If, somehow, free markets and capitalism were put in shackles as some wild-eyed idealists are calling for - what then??
............
It seems to me that people are protesting about a lack of jobs because if they can't get a job they won't be able to afford the next product Apple releases. Its protesting in an attempt at sustaining their hitherto comfortable lives which, until now, has shrouded them in a state of lethargy. Its no use arguing that there is a lack of clear focus because, 'there's a lot to be angry about' because, unlike the clearly defined end game of the Arab Spring, there surely is nothing that any figure of power can do that will send those protestors into jubilent celebration at having realised their aim. Its akin to athletes running a race in which none of them are sure whereabouts in the stadium the finishing line is; all of them have their sights set on different corners of the track.
..........
As far as I can tell, from a slightly cynical onlooker's perspective, is that these people have awoken from the collective apathy of their upbringings and are suddenly asking why the world isn't perfect, expecting explicitly clear answers from somebody. For the moment, I remain puzzled as to what those precise answers could be that they wish to receive, and if indeed they can be given by anybody that will send them home content off the streets from around the world.
Monday, 10 October 2011
Culture - October
Books Read:
Charles Bukowski - 'Love is a Dog from Hell' (poetry)
John Steinbeck - 'The Grapes of Wrath'
Lawrence Ferlinghetti - 'A Coney Island of the Mind' (poetry)
William Faulkner - 'The Sound and the Fury'
Films Watched:
'Howl'
'Island of Lost Souls' + 'Dr. Jekyl & Mr Hyde' (double bill @ Eygptian Theater, Hollywood)
'The Talented Mr. Ripley' (Anthony Minghella)
Gigs Attended:
Jesse Dayton Band @ The Broken Spoke - Austin, Texas
The St. Peter Street Playboys @ Preservation Hall - New Orleans, Louisiana
B.B. King All-Stars Band @ B.B. King's Blues Club - Memphis, Tennessee
The Drums @ The Drunken Unicorn - Atlanta, Georgia
Charles Bukowski - 'Love is a Dog from Hell' (poetry)
John Steinbeck - 'The Grapes of Wrath'
Lawrence Ferlinghetti - 'A Coney Island of the Mind' (poetry)
William Faulkner - 'The Sound and the Fury'
Films Watched:
'Howl'
'Island of Lost Souls' + 'Dr. Jekyl & Mr Hyde' (double bill @ Eygptian Theater, Hollywood)
'The Talented Mr. Ripley' (Anthony Minghella)
Gigs Attended:
Jesse Dayton Band @ The Broken Spoke - Austin, Texas
The St. Peter Street Playboys @ Preservation Hall - New Orleans, Louisiana
B.B. King All-Stars Band @ B.B. King's Blues Club - Memphis, Tennessee
The Drums @ The Drunken Unicorn - Atlanta, Georgia
Saturday, 3 September 2011
Culture - September
Books Read:
John Fante - 'Ask the Dust'
Charles Bukowski - 'The Roominghouse Madrigals: Early Selected Poems 1946-1966' (poetry)
J.G. Ballard - 'The Kindness of Women'
Charles Bukowski - 'Factotum'
Irvine Welsh - 'Reheated Cabbage - Tales of Chemical Degeneration' (short stories)
Jean-Paul Sartre - 'Nausea'
Charles Bukowski - 'Women'
Films Watched:
'The Bucket List' (Rob Reiner)
'Apollo 18' (Gonzalo Lopez-Gallago)
'The Wrestler' (Darren Aronofsky)
'A Short Film About Love' (Kyrstof Kieslowski)
'Stalker' (Andrei Tarkovsky)
'127 Hours' (Danny Boyle)
'Dirty Harry' (Don Siegel)
'The Sacrifice' (Andrei Tarkovsky)
'Paranormal Activity' (Oren Peli)
'The Black Dahlia' (Brian DePalma)
'Naked Lunch' (David Cronenberg)
'Leaving Las Vegas' (Mike Viggis)
Gigs Attended:
LA Guns @ Whisky a-Go-Go, Los Angeles
John Fante - 'Ask the Dust'
Charles Bukowski - 'The Roominghouse Madrigals: Early Selected Poems 1946-1966' (poetry)
J.G. Ballard - 'The Kindness of Women'
Charles Bukowski - 'Factotum'
Irvine Welsh - 'Reheated Cabbage - Tales of Chemical Degeneration' (short stories)
Jean-Paul Sartre - 'Nausea'
Charles Bukowski - 'Women'
Films Watched:
'The Bucket List' (Rob Reiner)
'Apollo 18' (Gonzalo Lopez-Gallago)
'The Wrestler' (Darren Aronofsky)
'A Short Film About Love' (Kyrstof Kieslowski)
'Stalker' (Andrei Tarkovsky)
'127 Hours' (Danny Boyle)
'Dirty Harry' (Don Siegel)
'The Sacrifice' (Andrei Tarkovsky)
'Paranormal Activity' (Oren Peli)
'The Black Dahlia' (Brian DePalma)
'Naked Lunch' (David Cronenberg)
'Leaving Las Vegas' (Mike Viggis)
Gigs Attended:
LA Guns @ Whisky a-Go-Go, Los Angeles
Tuesday, 9 August 2011
Culture - August
Books Read:
Friedrich Neitzsche - 'Beyond Good and Evil' (non-fiction)
Bret Easton Ellis - 'Imperial Bedrooms'
Charles Bukowski - Tales of Ordinary Madness' (short stories)
Will Self - 'Walking to Hollywood: Memories from Before the Fall'
Hunter S. Thompson - 'The Great Shark Hunt' (non-fiction)
Films Watched:
'Rocky' (John G. Avildsen)
'Toy Story 3' (Lee Unkrich)
'The Rocky Horror Picture Show' (Jim Sharman) (Naurt Theatre midnight screening, with 'Sins Of The Flesh' live cast)
'The Fighter' (David O. Russell)
'The King's Speech' (Tom Hooper)
'One Day' (Lone Scherig)
'The Rolling Stones - Gimme Shelter'
'Frost/Nixon' (Ron Howard)
'Stagecoach' (John Ford)
Concerts Attended:
John Williams & LA Philharmonic Orchestra @ Hollywood Bowl, Los Angeles, CA
Friedrich Neitzsche - 'Beyond Good and Evil' (non-fiction)
Bret Easton Ellis - 'Imperial Bedrooms'
Charles Bukowski - Tales of Ordinary Madness' (short stories)
Will Self - 'Walking to Hollywood: Memories from Before the Fall'
Hunter S. Thompson - 'The Great Shark Hunt' (non-fiction)
Films Watched:
'Rocky' (John G. Avildsen)
'Toy Story 3' (Lee Unkrich)
'The Rocky Horror Picture Show' (Jim Sharman) (Naurt Theatre midnight screening, with 'Sins Of The Flesh' live cast)
'The Fighter' (David O. Russell)
'The King's Speech' (Tom Hooper)
'One Day' (Lone Scherig)
'The Rolling Stones - Gimme Shelter'
'Frost/Nixon' (Ron Howard)
'Stagecoach' (John Ford)
Concerts Attended:
John Williams & LA Philharmonic Orchestra @ Hollywood Bowl, Los Angeles, CA
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