The 100th tellcliff Post!
Welcome to the 100th tellcliff.com blog post! I write that somewhat sheepishly, since this is not what you’d call a major event. I don’t know who, if anyone, reads this lovingly prepared blog with any regularity; I feel a little like Crash Davis, Kevin Costner’s character in Bull Durham, embarrassed that he has broken the minor-league home-run record—except this ain’t even the minors. But as my family likes to say: Oh, well. I write tellcliff.com because I enjoy it. Maybe somebody else finds something to enjoy here, too. If so, here’s to you.
Looking back over my more recent posts, I realize I’ve been doing more telling than being told, which is my fault. Some of the posts don’t leave much room for response, particularly when I go on about fairly obscure subjects (the silent films of Louise Brooks or Louis Feuillade, say). So with this post, tellcliff.com returns to its roots. I will offer a few lines each on recent, wonderful discoveries in my usual areas—books, film, jazz—and then ask what YOU have discovered lately. Away we go:
FILM. Who’s That Knocking at My Door. Very, very early (1967) Martin Scorsese, starring a very, very young Harvey Keitel. In the current phase of Scorsese’s career, when he seems to have decided that more is more—witness the excess and sheer length of The Wolf of Wall Street—this black-and-white film is a surprise and a delight. Not all of its subject matter is delightful. Keitel, un- or ambiguously employed, spends a lot of time hanging out with the borderline-shady guys in his working-class Manhattan neighborhood. Meanwhile, he falls in love with a young woman (Zina Bethune) he meets on the Staten Island ferry. The subject of their first, faltering conversation, the John Wayne movie The Searchers, turns out not to be a random choice on Scorsese’s part: Keitel’s beliefs, we come to find out, bear an unfortunate resemblance to the Wayne character’s. The standout parts of Who’s That Knocking—three montages, two of them using still photos—convey more, despite their brevity, than the three hours of The Wolf of Wall Street. As I like to say, anything’s new if you haven’t seen/heard/read it before, and Who’s That Knocking, from 47 years ago, is one of the best things I’ve let in lately.
MUSIC: Friday Night in San Francisco. Three acoustic guitars, live concert, 1981. John McLaughlin of Miles Davis jazz-fusion fame joins Al Di Meola and Paco De Lucia. The music is by turns moving and exciting, and you just can’t believe human fingers can play that fast. Is this jazz? I don’t know. I don’t care. It’s fantastic.
BOOKS. If on a winter’s night a traveler. This 1979 novel by Italo Calvino sat on my shelf from 2002 until last week, when I finally picked it up. The main character, known as the Reader and referred to by the narrator as “you,” buys a novel and reads the first chapter—as do we—only to discover that the book then turns to blank pages. Obviously in possession of a faulty copy, “you” return to the bookstore for a good one, which turns out to contain a different first chapter altogether (we read that one, too). “Your” search for the real novel brings “you” in contact with a long-suffering publisher, a shady translator, an angst-ridden Irish novelist, foreign revolutionaries and counterrevolutionaries, a second Reader, and the second Reader’s sometimes-disguised sister—in between many first chapters of seemingly unrelated books. It sounds annoying—actually, it is a little annoying—but it’s also brilliant, with laugh-out-loud send-ups of publishing and academia and transcendent passages about the nature of writing.
And now for the important part: what great things have YOU discovered lately?