Tuesday's Overlooked A/V: Down with Love

I always want this to be a better movie than it is. A loving tribute to the Doris Day/Rock Hudson films of the 50s but with the latitude of a modern film. Down with Love *should* work, yet it doesn't quite. Nonetheless, it's a fun frothy little romp and for once, Renée Zellweger doesn't annoy too much as her squinty cherubi doll-like face fits the hyper hip fashions and the bouncy feel of it. Ewan MacGregor plays the Lothario part note perfect and with great glee. Sarah Paulson does great as Vikki Hiller, the would be tough editor who can't quite stand up to the old men and really just wants to get married, and of course, the always delightful David Hyde Pierce shows why he should be inundated with roles in the Tony Randall vein. So funny! And yes, terrific to have Randall show up in a cameo, too.

The costumes, the sets -- all perfect. Peyton Reed's direction for the most part maintains that light touch needed for the story, but the script churns to a halt when switching gears. Like a lot of nostalgia production these days, it tries to have it both ways: reveling in the old times and the hilarity of women's lives sucking (-_-) but also 'updating' for a modern audience. And it's the latter part that doesn't quite work. In the end the script is not clever enough to overcome that challenge. It's a difficult thing to do, but I can't help wishing they'd worked harder to do so.

But it has ample charms and it would make a great double feature with Pillow Talk, so give it a whirl. And then drop by Todd's to see other recommendations.


  

The Fairy Child

The Fairy Child

by Lord Dunsany

From the low white walls and the church's steeple,
From our little fields under grass or grain,
I'm gone away to the fairy people.
I shall not come to the town again.
You may see a girl with my face and tresses,
You may see one come to my mother's door
Who may speak my words and may wear my dresses,
She will not be I, for I come no more.
I am gone, gone far with the fairies roaming.
You may ask of me where the herons are
In the open marsh where the snipe are homing,
Or when no moon lights nor a single star,
On stormy nights when the streams are foaming
And a hint may come of my haunts afar,
With the reeds my floor and my roof the gloaming,
But I come no more into Ballynar.
Ask Father Ryan to read no verses
To call me back, for I am this day
From blessings far, and beyond curses.
No heaven shines where we ride away.
At speed unthought of in all your stables,
With the gods of old and the sons of Finn,
With the queens that reigned in olden fables
And kings that won what a sword can win.
You may hear us streaming above your gables
On nights as still as a planet's spin;
But never stir from your chairs and tables
To call my name. I shall come not in.
For I am gone to the fairy people,
Make the most of that other child
Who prays with you by the village steeple.
I am gone away to the woods and wild.
I am gone away to the open spaces,
And wither riding no man may tell;
But I shall look upon all your faces
No more in Heaven or Earth or Hell.

Writer Wednesday: Post Card Fiction Prizes

Making your mark in the world can be a tenuous thing; as long as the good will of others holds up or their indifference doesn't take over, you stand the chances of being forgotten within your lifetime. You may find fame and fortune, but the odds are against it. So don't be depressed by that! Make every day fun. Create something, anything. I made a lovely postcard for a friend this morning with my Tate Mod postcard book (a book of blank postcards of heavy paper stock) with my watercolour pencils and it sort of turned out like I imagined it.

As far as I'm concerned, that's success.

I got paid very well for a very short story: that's success, too. But it can't be the reason for doing it because writing takes so long even for a rather short story. The pleasure of creating, of figuring out the myriad puzzles that go into anything you make, that has to be its own reward -- often it will be the only one you get. Hey, I didn't say stop trying for more mundane success -- keep at it. As the lottery ads in NY say, "Hey, you never know." You stand a better chance at succeeding with your creativity that you do with the lottery anyway.

If you need a laugh, go read my silly poem "On Seeking a Place for a Picnic." If you want something more substantial, go read my reviews and whatnot over at A Knife & A Quill. Or go "like" our Burning Bridges book trailer: it's got a "dislike" -- I suspect our former publisher has found it.

All right, enough delay: let me announce the first annual Postcard Fiction Contest prize winners. First, let me thank everyone who entered. I was well pleased with your cards and stories -- some of you went all out and I have to say the postcards did enter into my deliberations. How could they not?

So I read and re-read and finally narrowed it down to three finalists. Because I promised a cash prize for the top winner, I decided I needed some other kind of prize, so it will be titles.

DICKINSON PRIZE (AKA second runner up)

"alessandra" for 'Amherst's Mad Pastoral' on postcard of Trastevere (I can almost taste the food)


MOORE PRIZE (AKA first runner up)

"mbilokur" for 'Better the devil you know' on postcard of Frida Kahlo, Diego Rivera & a giant papier maché demon



and the grand prize including cash in the current value of US$25 goes to --

[drum roll]

POSTCARD FICTION GRAND PRIZE

"shloobee" for 'Don't do it, Salvador!' on postcard of 'Salvador Dalí in jener fiktiven Position, die auf sein Gemälde La gare de perpignan übertragen wurde, assistiert von Dr. Soler-Roig in einem Helikopter' of which the text here follows:

'Don't do it, Salvador!' The lemur sounded more alarmed than she felt. Dalí was always up to some sort of ballbaggery and usually came out of it quite well. A token protest was always welcome to the artist's ears, however, and the lemur liked to please. 'Do not fear, my little one,' said Salvador, 'nothing can go wrong. This world is but an oyster in a jam jar ripe for the taking.' The lemur watched as Salvador pushed himself from the balustrade and swan dived out into the empty space. He hung there for a moment, or so it seemed...and then plummeted to earth. The lemur watched him hit the ground. 'Oh dear,' she said. 'Who does he suppose is going to clean that up?'

Congratulations, all!

Friday's Forgotten Books: Complete Nonsense

Tomorrow is the 200th anniversary of Edward Lear's birth. There's a terrific blog that keeps track of all the events and and another that prints pages from Lear's diary. In a wonderful piece in the Independent David Quantick wrote winningly about Lear and the appeal of nonsense. I have to say, I was convinced before I ever read it that, "A little bit of nonsense is the secret of a sane life." Lear is one of those touchstones to which I always return.




You can't really go wrong where ever you start, but you may find you don't want to end. And there's all kinds of places to read on the web, if you don't have the money to spend. But The Complete Verse and Other Nonsense of course will give you much intercourse with rhymes that will soon become friends.

I wrote a poem and passed it off as one of Lear's. I had it published in Asinine Poetry. And then I made this recording. More nonsense, please.

listen to ‘There Was a Professor of English’ on Audioboo

Drop by Patti Abbott's blog Todd's blog this week and next for the full roundup. Mr Lear is part of a mighty triumvirate celebrating birthdays tomorrow, including Tony Hancock and the delightful Mr B. Happy birthday, boys!

Writer Wednesday: Postcard Fiction Contest

An inspiration I had: a contest to celebrate brevity in fiction. Write a story that fits on a postcard! Send it to me. I'll choose my favourite and give it a prize -- let's say $25. Entries open now until 15th May, 2012. All postcards I have received through that date will be in the running -- yes, from anyone anywhere in the world. My choice will be entirely capricious and not at all fair as it will be based on my own tastes. Yes, I'm sure the postcard itself could figure into my decision, so choose wisely. Stories remain your copyright, though you must allow me to post them here if I'm of a mind to do so (I will certainly post the winner). Winner to be announced within five days of the end of the contest. Failure to respond to my email indicating you are the winner within five days will lead to me choosing another winner. Anything else I need to clarify? Let me know.

How to do it:

1. Get a postcard.

2. Write a story on it.

3. Include your email address if you want a chance to win.

4. Send your postcard with sufficient stampage to:

Kate Laity c/o
Moore Institute/Institiúid de Móra
NUIG
University Road
Galway
Ireland

Please share the contest with all your writer and would-be-writer friends. Yes, I'm sure it will figure in my research somehow :-)

See our Facebook event page if you frequent those environs.

*This contest funded in part (though not authorised by) the Fulbright Foundation.

Six Sentence Sunday: Horse Clock

This story was inspired by -- wait for it -- the clock on my mantelpiece and the Sekhmet postcard my friend Joey gave me. It started as a caption for the picture on my Facebook page. I liked the blue tone which resulted from the wrong setting on the phone ("fluorescent"? maybe). My friend Richard complimented me by calling it, "Hobanesque" which pleased me greatly. It will be in a collection soon; more as the details come together, but it will feature a number of writers all linked by the Burning Bridge theme.

My six:
 

At one time, there was another horse on the clock, but it fell in love with the chime and they ran off together, so the clock no longer keeps time. The horse that remains behind conceals his broken heart and keeps the ball ready in case anyone wants to play. Sekhmet awaits the desert breezes and the return of the rain.

"How does it begin?" The big hand asked the little hand.

"With laughter," said the little hand, "but it always ends in tears."

Drop by the Six Sentence Sunday blog to sample more writers.

Tuesday's Overlooked A/V: The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore

This blog takes its name from my first film, Un Amor Peligroso or The Wombat's World. I joked about my anticipating the success of The Artist by making a silent film back in 1978, but then there was also Mel Brooks' Silent Movie about then, so I can't take much credit. There may be something in the air at present that provokes a longing for wordless -- or at least speechless -- entertainment. Maybe it's the 24/7 shouty news cycle. Maybe it's social media and the endless blaring of words, words, words (and pictures, pictures, LOLcat pictures). Perhaps it's simply the awfulness of movie dialogue created by a "creative" process that really means each producer who passes through has to change something just to be able to point to it and say, "That's mine." A process that has contempt for its audience, so it spells out every action with words and makes good actors speak horrible lines.

So here's the Academy Award winning animated short, The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore. It's got plenty of words, but they're mostly flying away. It nods to Buster Keaton in its main character and to The Wizard of Oz and takes place (at least initially) in lovely New Orleans. It will make any book lover cry and sigh. And it's only 15 minutes long. You've got time for that in your busy schedule. Take a break and be delighted.




And in a bizarre and completely unrelated space in Glasgow, a most unusual performance takes place. Dare you attend An Appointment with the Wicker Man?

As usual, see the round up of fine recommendations over at Sweet Freedom (I forgot to add that earlier, D'oh!).

BitchBuzz: Get Unstuffed

Endeavouring to make it so in my life, I of course advise others on how to do it.

6 Ways to Unclutter Your Home & Life

By K.A. Laity

 Every January you think about a personal make-over, sometimes one that lasts past the 31st, but isn't it about time you dealt with that other problem?
I ignore all the resolution making, diet fads and gym invitations of January. Habits taken up in the middle of winter seldom stick. There's too little distraction and too much of a temptation to sit at home, eat carbs, and blame your already too low self-esteem for making you such a failure when you should be laughing with a salad.

A much better use of your time would be un-cluttering your place and your life.

It always seems a gargantuan task: the whole of our western culture is weighted toward making you want to BUY STUFF (those words ought to be written in neon, because that's how your brain sees them anyway). Lose your job? Buy chocolate. Lose your house? Splurge on a spa. Break up with someone? Buy ice cream, chocolate and a some kind of kitchen gadget you will never use because a) it reminds you of that person and b) you pretty much live on chocolate, ice cream and brie.

Read more: http://life.bitchbuzz.com/6-ways-to-unclutter-your-home-life.html#ixzz1AHgPi4Ie

Thanks to Peg for linking to the women-laughing-with-salad meme on Facebook. Yes, I am back in Albany again, facing a lot of work that cries for prioritizing. News round-up later, I think, as I have publications and appearances to highlight.

The Oxford Odyssey, Part 3

I will be traveling today, so here are some cute pictures of Pumpkin rolling around on my bed. It's been very lovely visiting Miss Wendy, Pumpkin and Boo.

And don't forget --

Wombat Day

I did not start this particular celebration, but you know I'm willing to lend a hand for a good cause. So join the dance for Wombat Day. Wombat cake below made by the Wombies. How to celebrate: Eat chocolate, think marsupial thoughts, put something in a pouch. Smile. Hug a wombat.

Punch Magazine predicts Lady Gaga... in 1929!

Yes, now it can be told! My tireless research has turned up a fascinating artifact from the past. Okay, when I say "tireless research," I actually mean "something I stumbled across because I have weird reading habits." Over Xmas break, I wrote a story set in Jazz Age London. I thought I should do a little research on those wild times beyond movies and Waugh, so I got Bright Young People out of the library and read a bit in it. However, I discovered that once the story was finished, I was less engaged with the research and the book languished. Finding it was due back, I hurriedly flipped through to get a sense of what else might be there, should I revisit the period for another story (quite possible).

Imagine my surprise when the name "Lady Gaga" arrested my vision. Tyler refers to a spoof of the wild parties in Punch, called "The Dull Young People" (of course!) where an intrepid journo tries to get the inside story on the fabled bon vivantes. After looking in vain on the web, I managed to get a copy of the April 24, 1929 article via interlibrary loan (I ♥ ILL!):

"It was terribly difficult to get you a card," said Lady Gaga as she steered me dexterously in her pink two-seater through the mazes of the after-theatre traffic; "but, my dear, I got away with it. I told them you write for the papers."

The narrator has been promised the chance to meet up with Bright Young luminaries like "Bobo and Bats" otherwise known as the Honourable Batsine Belfry and her husband. It's a wild night of cross-dressing ("a massive maiden in a cavalry officer's mess-kit, whom everybody addressed as 'Colonel,' and next to her a fresh-faced lad dressed as a bride"), drinking rum and calling everything, "simply super!"

Predictably, the narrator is not impressed by Lady Gaga's demi-monde, which includes the requisite "obese American" as well as a jazz band. He fails to join in with the escapades and the bright young things give him the cold shoulder, which he returns, having "not observed any indication of brilliance or originality" in their "mild dare-devilry and self-conscious dissipation." He last glimpses Lady Gaga "sitting on the floor (strewn with cigarette-ends), her arm round the waist of a young heavy-weight in horn-rims, dressed as a baby...listening to a hollow-eyed girl in a ballet-skirt and a man's opera hat who was singing a mournful song with the refrain, 'It's terribly thrill-ing to be wicked...'"

Sounds like a perfect plan for the next Lady Gaga video!

Meanwhile, I'm busy busy busy. Off to St. Louis next week for PCA with Miss Wendy (and a couple of my grad students) and then down to New Mexico to see my folks. Already in planning stages for promoting this summer when the new edition of Pelzmantel comes out from Immanion. Look at the nifty giant cover for Unikirja: it's actually a lawn sign from Vistaprint, home of promo printing materials (thanks, Stella, my genius cheap-PR guru). I can't wait to get one for Pelz -- the first draft of the new cover is gorgeous!

Welcome, spring!

Happy St. Urho Day!

As the delightful flaming grasshopper (courtesy of the fabulous Stephanie Johnson AKA The Queen of Everything) indicates, today is St. Urho Day when we commemorate the famous Finnish leader who chased the grasshoppers from the vineyards with the cry,

“Heinäsirkka, heinäsirkka, mene täältä hiiteen!”

[Roughly, "Grasshopper, grasshopper, hie thee to hell!"]

Don't forget to load up on Grasshopper Hellfire merchandise from the Raven and Wombat Tea Party! And let's not hear any murmurings about the authenticity of this saint or his holiday -- take my word as a Finn and wear your purple and green proudly!

Apropos of Nothing: Some Robyn Hitchcock

I will be getting to the recap of the trip; just a busy and frustrating week, so here's a little RH because... well, because it makes me smile.

Mused in Print

I will write a recap of NYC and the play as soon as possible, but I wanted to pass along the news that Mused has made print versions of their magazine available via Lulu (ah yes, the flexibility of POD!) and of particular interest will be:

Spring 2008
Cover: Shades of Rock by Jill Florio

Art and Photography
Geometrica Sfumatura by Dan Florio
Hôtel Métropole by Melissa Demiguel

Fiction
You Can´t Take It With You by Kim Kenney
Heart Surgery by Jennifer Tiszai

Non-Fiction
Give Me Credit! by Sheila Sproule
Scars by Kimi Ross

Poetry
Three Fates by Patricia Maulding
A Soul´s Oasis by Cynthia Parker

Play
Bell by K. A. Laity


Fall Equinox 2008
Cover: Mountains by William Gibbons

Interview
Karen Allen

Poem
Those Distant Dogs byCatherine Van Herrin

Fiction
My Jekyll and Hyde by Bushra Farooqui

Play
Book by K. A. Laity

Non-Fiction
Save Me! by Jacquelyn Richey

N.B.: I do plan to getting around to that third play in this set, Candle, soonish, but as you know, I'm always knee deep in deadlines and duties at the end of the semester, so I have no idea when. I always imagine summer stretching out in front of me as a time of blissful idleness, but the truth is I'm teaching a three-week summer intensive and traveling a lot, so I may not fit in everything I dream I will do. But I am thinking seriously about getting a little net book for travel.

Pleased

An overdue honour!

UPDATE: Some great photos of the event including a very nice one of the lovely Eleanor Bron. Thanks for the link, Sally!

More Importantly

The Withnail & I cottage is going on sale! I must have it -- my pal Peg and I have decided we must scheme to make it ours, so please give generously so we can go re-create the film's misadventures. Yes, yes -- of course you can come visit. Hare optional.

The farmhouse goes under the hammer at the Berkeley Hotel in Knightsbridge, London, on 16 February, with a guide price of £145,000.

George

Sometimes you just need something like this: George singing to you with giant toys -- what could be better? We've had freezing rain that has delayed my last final and (of course) made it conflict with other things so I won't see all of my favorite class on the last day of the term. Oh well, "all I have to be, is to be happy."



If only the director had gone with the wacky Georgeness, instead of trying to make him seem earnest. George was funny. They should have made more of that.

London Bound

This afternoon I take off for a trip to London -- a sort of delayed vacation or early birthday present. Only a week, but I will be able to see the Bacon and Rothko exhibits (ergo, it is also a business trip, as I'll be writing those up, possibly for the newly relaunched Up Against the Wall, whoo hoo!) which I have been thinking about with great envy. Why now? Well, I can squeeze in the time now with Thanksgiving coming up, before finals, and before the "break" which this time around includes going to MLA to interview job candidates for our department, then completing several projects that I ought to have gotten to during the fall, but haven't been able to do. I'm getting better about not over-loading myself, but there's still a lot to do if I want to achieve the things I hope to accomplish in this life.

I will try to keep up with at least the occasional tweet or Facebook update. I'll blog if I find a wi-fi hotspot and actually feel like typing for a bit instead of exploring all the cool things going on in London (it could happen). I am actually bringing a camera this time, too!

So, please don't send giant files to my email for the next week (Joey, I'm looking in your direction!) and I'll see if I can send some updates that make you envious -- deal?

Happy Birthday, Mr. Moore!