Tag: Frank Sinatra

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Fat is Thin, White is Black, Music is Noise, Art is Shit

There inevitably comes a point at which some clever writer or critic seeking prominence will proclaim that contrary to established opinion, this shitty artist or musician is actually great and should be adored but only us truly sophisticated or pure thinks can appreciate the utter brilliance of the man or woman or fish.

And it’s usually bullshit.

Justin Bieber really is a genius.   Michael Jackson actually matters.  Look at how many records Paul McCartney has sold.  Frank Sinatra — the phrasing, the world-weariness!  Leonardo DiCaprio’s desperate commitment to his roles!

We’re all supposed to go, oh yes, I’m cool, I can see how the contempt for that artist is just snobbery.  Andy Kim really does belong in the Canadian song-writers Hall of Fame for “Sugar Sugar”, along with Leonard Cohen and Neil Young.   That guest on CBC’s “Q” that Tom Powers is desperately sucking up to (“Is it possible that you are so great that it actually works against you?” and “when did you first realize that you were a genius?”).

 

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Ronan Farrow, Sit Down and Shutup

Well, now it’s CBS News and 60 Minutes.

At Last: Someone Takes a Closer Look at Ronan Farrow’s Journalistic Credibility

Stop everything you’re doing, all the research and investigation and interviews, travel, exploration, documentation and exposure– stop it all and resign and crawl into a hole, because Ronan Farrow has managed to find some former female employees and associates who didn’t like the way you hit on them.  No matter how long ago, or how disputed, or how misinterpreted or misjudged, or how marginal it is to whatever it is you do with your life, you must now resign, because the almighty, pitiless, puritanical Inquisitor Ronan Farrow, son of Frank or Woody– we don’t know– has deemed you to be shriek-worthy and foul and you must be replaced by some woman or transgender woman or man or gay man or gay woman or black transgender gay indigenous being, because he or she or it is really just as talented and hardworking as you, but you, oppressor, bully, monster!— kept him, her, or it from fulfilling the great destiny worthy of his, her, or it’s talents, by kissing without permission, by expressing your desire for him, her, or it, by leaning too close, by initiating sex with her, him, or it while he, her, or it was asleep.

By not asking politely, in writing, before hand, if you could say to them, “you are hot– I’d like to have sex with you.”

Let us gather a red cloak for Ronan Farrow and  begin the purge of our libraries and museums and art galleries,  and let us expunge all the works, the films, the books, the paintings, the sculptures, the music, the podcasts, the radio programs, by all the horrible men who made them, who created the models we use today, who inspired generations of other artists, who moved us, who wrought the world of culture– let us take all their works and burn them.  For it doesn’t matter and never mattered that you actually built or created or invented or led or organized or directed– it never mattered at all.  It doesn’t matter that you saw beauty or truth in a gesture, an expression, a conversation, a shape, a way of describing a scene.  None of your acts of compassion or generosity, or wit, or improvisation, or imagination can now be countenanced: you must be expelled from human society!

The only thing that mattered, ever, is that in one of the millions of small moments of your life, you offended one of God’s dainty little angels who, though gentle and delicate and innocent, and helpless, when roused, is mighty and bold and courageous and will now speak out and tell her story!  On Oprah, if possible, or Jerry Springer, if necessary!   Now that it is safe to do so.   That is enough.  It erases everything else you were or could be.  And it makes a monument of courage and genius of the accuser, who never had any such courage or genius when it was all that would have been required for her, to turn around and spit in your face and say “no” and leave.

Let’s replace them all with Ronan Farrow’s scribbles.  Or the films written and directed by Mia Farrow.  Or Illeana Douglas’s exposes.  Or Kirsten Gillibrand’s mountains of legislation.

[whohit]Ronan Farrow: Please Shutup[/whohit]

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First We Took “Manhattan”

I am sick of the abuse and scorn being heaped on Woody Allen, because some actors who enhanced their careers when it was opportune with the most prestigious director in America now find it convenient to join the righteous and self-righteous and the outraged.  Let’s specify Natalie Portman, for example, who didn’t seem to object too much while starring in “Everyone Says I Love You” even though it was filmed after Farrow’s allegations went public.

And for the record, Greta Gerwig, one those who have hopped on the bandwagon, conveniently after the boost to her career from the man she now says will never direct her again– “Lady Bird” is an over-rated, mediocre film.   What, do you think, are the odds that Gerwig has even a second movie in her?  Come on– seriously.   Let alone a third.  Or fourth.  Will she ever produce anything with the sublime beauty of “Manhattan”, “Annie Hall”, “Crimes and Misdemeanors”, or “Hannah and Her Sisters”?

The makers of “Lady Bird”, like the makers of so many similar films, plainly believes that the reason you want to watch this film is because the putative main character, Lady Bird, is just so interesting.

Anyone can look up the arguments about Dylan Farrow’s allegations if you want to.  I’ve been through them: they are weak and readily disputable.   There were no allegations at all, until a furious partner, Mia Farrow, discovered nude photos of Soon Yi in Allen’s apartment.   It is only after this bitter betrayal that Farrow, after having begged her therapist to find a way to “stop” the “satanic” Allen,  appears to have coached a daughter, Dylan, to make allegations against Allen.   When investigators interviewed Dylan, over a period of months, her story changed repeatedly.  The investigators came to the conclusion that the charges would not hold up in court.  They couldn’t say it, but I would find it hard to believe that they didn’t also notice Farrow’s desire to punish her faithless ex.

Soon Yi was never Woody Allen’s adopted or step daughter.  Allen and Farrow lived apart during their relationship, in separate New York apartments.

There were never any other allegations of that nature by anyone else against Woody Allen.  Which, if he really was the predator Farrow would like you to believe he was, would be inevitable.

The second charge is more ridiculous.  Allen married his ex’s adopted daughter.  Many media sources proffer the short-hand lie that Soon Yi was Allen’s stepdaughter or foster daughter.  She was not.   But, holy cow, even the New York Times did it!  Unbelievable.  (And then issued a correction.)   Does that tell you just how the hysteria around this issue it driving people to distort the facts?

But she was very young.  Isn’t that a serious issue?

If the age difference is very troubling to you, look up Mia Farrow’s marriage to Frank Sinatra, and her subsequent affair and marriage to Andre Previn.  And dozens of other Hollywood marriages between older male actors and very young ingenues.  And if you are going to get all righteous and prickly about the issue, should you be asking, why do so many young women hit on wealthy, successful, older men?  Do you really believe she was dragged into the marriage, kicking and screaming?

The allegation that there is something exploitative or demeaning about this relationship is, obviously, a brutal insult to Soon Yi, and I can fully understand why she would return the favor with the most powerful insult there is: silence.  Would there be a point to her appearing on Oprah or Ellen or some other insanely trivial talk show to defend herself?  To descend to the level of Allen’s most enthusiastic accusers: consumers of inane, trivial, mind-numbing pseudo-feminist discourse and gossip?

The point made is this: you people are not worthy of this discussion.

I find it stunning to realize that our society has now reached the point where we look at a consenting sexual relationship between an older adult man and younger woman as something that is obscene and repellent and vulgar and disgusting.   How dare you people make that judgement?  How dare you heave your judgement only upon the man?  We used to have a name for the female partner in these relationships.  Do you really believe that these women never sought an advantage from these relationships?  They were always only prey?

At least one writer has indicted Allen’s character because he expressed, repeatedly, throughout his career, how desirable young, beautiful women were.   As if that was something that no normal, upright, decent red-blooded American male ever thinks.  What a fantastical shock to all of us!   How dare he!  The sheer obscenity of it!  My god, the next thing you know people of disparate ages and incomes will be getting married and having sex.

* * *

Here’s another raft of accusations, about a certain professor, Dr. Dominguez.  Read it carefully, from the NY Times 2018-03-06.

The allegations from the other women ranged in severity, from inappropriate full-body hugs to claims by one woman that he grabbed her buttocks and tried to put his hand down her pants. The Chronicle reported that one graduate student in the early 1980s complained to the university about comments from Dr. Domínguez that made her feel uneasy, and that Harvard found that he had “behaved inappropriately.” Other women said they had discussed Dr. Domínguez’s behavior with Harvard employees, but had not filed formal complaints.

Hugs?  Grabbed buttocks?  Tried to put his hand down her pants?  Comments that made her feel “uncomfortable”.   This is now the benchmark of sexual harassment?

And yet every one of these accusers– who couldn’t even respond verbally to this professor at the time– will now be lauded for their courage and fearlessness.

[whohit]First We Took Manhattan[/whohit]

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Shirley MacLaine in “The Apartment”

Did Shirley MacLaine understand why her performance in “The Apartment” was so good?

I don’t know. How do you know what you look like to the people outside your own head? She radiates joy when she finally begins to realize that C.C. Baxter cares more about her than Sheldrake. But then, she radiated joy when Sheldrake paid attention to her too. She is believably unaware of what is readily apparent to the viewer: Sheldrake is using her– he’s never going to leave his wife, whereas C.C. is Jack Lemmon, for God’s sake.

The 1954 movie “Some Came Running” was based on a book by James Jones. At the end of the book. the hero, Dave Hirsh, is killed by a mobster trying to take down his former girlfriend, Ginnie.

Frank Sinatra, that literary genius, insisted that his character could not be killed at the end– no, no– it would be better if Ginnie was killed. Better yet– Ginnie is killed while trying to save Dave. She jumps in front of the bullets. Yeah, yeah, that’s it. He famously quipped– “Let the girl take the shot — it’ll probably win her an Oscar.”

It did.

Geez, Frank, did you ever win a Pulitzer? You should have. You had all of one idea, and it was a bad one, but it made the final cut. My question is: did they deduct money from James Jones’ check– why did they even need him? Give Frank a typewriter and have him write the entire movie– he can do it. He’s a  fucking literary genius.

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Beware of Young Girls

We’re all familiar by now with the Woody Allen scandal. Woody Allen, the 56-year-old director, was caught having an affair with his adoptive step-daughter, Soon Yi. Mia divorced Woody and sought custody of the children– excluding Soon Yi, presumably.

Our society is so confused about sex. We don’t know what the rules are anymore. The various governments now award survivor benefits to gay spouses; couples bicker in court over frozen embryos; a woman sues the company that makes Viagra because the drug enabled her newly potent husband to leave her and find a new lover; an “independent” (read “Republican Toady”) investigator spends $30 million to discover whether or not sex between consenting adults took place in the White House; a 30-year-old grade school teacher has an affair–and a child–with a 13-year-old male student, and is sent to jail for seven years.

The one thing we do know about sex is that our society has a hysterical obsession with it. Freud would have observed that this hysterical obsession is due to a profound discomfort with the subject, and, indeed, with our own bodies.

The truth is, our society is grossly immature and childish about sex. We want it more than anything else and we get upset and envious when we think someone else is getting more than we are.

Why do you suppose preachers preach more about promiscuous sex than any other sin, including materialism, greed, and racism? Because sex is private. Everybody in the congregation can sit there comfortably and pretend to feel righteous indignation because they know that nobody knows what sexual sins lurk in their own hearts. If, on the other hand, the minister points out that our ruthless greed and materialism and conspicuous consumption is driving one third of world into abject poverty and starvation… well, gee… hope nobody notices my Cadillac or my Hummer in the parking lot, or my three tv sets, or my Rolex watch.

So Woody Allen has sex with his adoptive step-daughter. Some clarity here: apparently Soon Yi is the adoptive/foster daughter of Mia Farrow. After Woody and her became an item, he sort of became Soon Yi’s “step-foster” father. So when Woody has sex with Soon Yi, is this incest?

Well, not really. Incest is sex between a man and his biological daughter. I think our society is relatively straight on that: not allowed. Ever.

So, what is wrong with Woody having an affair with Soon Li? Well, he is in a position of trust over her, and she is a vulnerable young woman, half his age (or less). We frown upon that. We make it downright illegal in many cases, say, for example, a teacher and a fifteen-year-old student.

But wait, Soon Yi is 20-years-old. So she is the age of consent. So is Woody Allen, we think. Did Soon Li have a choice or was she pressured? It’s hard to believe she is not able to walk away whenever she wants. All right. Consensual. Like Monica Lewinsky and Bill Clinton. In both cases, powerful, famous men had consensual adulterous relationships with young, naïve, but awe-struck women. I don’t know of any law against that, because, in our society, adultery is not illegal. It is grounds for a nasty divorce settlement, but not a criminal offense.

Well, let’s look at one more little aspect of this case. I’ll bet a lot of those tabloid readers don’t remember that Mia Farrow was once involved in a little scandal of her own. Mia, you see, is the daughter of John Farrow and Margaret O’Sullivan. Frank Sinatra was a friend of the family, more than twice her age back in 1965. And guess what? Mia and Frank had an affair. Indeed, they were briefly married, until, I think, Frank realized she was a Beatles fan. Since Frank was a friend of the family and more than twice Mia’s age, it might be fair to ask if he wasn’t sort of a father figure (or step-father figure) who took advantage of a position of trust to have a sexual relationship with a vulnerable young woman.

Then we get the kicker.  Mia Farrow, while living with composer Andre Previn and his wife Dory, had an affair with Previn– who was 39 in 1968 (Farrow was 23).  Dory had a nervous breakdown when she found out Mia was pregnant with Andre’s child.  After she recovered, she recorded an album that featured the song “Beware of Young Girls“.  Amazing.  (The song also predicted the fate of that relationship: “one day she’ll go away”.)

One last weird note. Frank Sinatra used to sing a song called “My Way”, which is the anthem of macho egocentric self-sufficiency, but which Frank, insufficient as he was, was not able to write himself. Canadian Paul Anka wrote the song, along with many others like the immortally offensive “Having My Baby”. Paul Anka broke into the business with a fabulously successful single called “Diana”, which, we were told, was a love song about his baby-sitter.

Just imagine a party at some Hollywood mansion. You show up with your wife and your daughters and Jerry Falwell, and circulate among these guests: Frank Sinatra, Mia Farrow, Woody Allen, Jimmy & Tammy Faye Baker, Monica Lewinsky, Bill Clinton, Paul Anka, Princess Diana and the other Diana, Prince Charles, Camilla Parker-Bowles, Charlton Heston (with his gun), and, just for fun, Dr. Ruth. The leading lights of Western Civilization.

Hey everybody… let’s play twister….

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God and Frank

I often wonder what ultra-conservative “leaders” like Jerry Falwell, Pat Robertson, and James Dobson think of Frank Sinatra. My guess is that they liked Frank. He was the very embodiment of reactionary, repressive, hierarchical thinking. God bestowed that wondrous voice upon Frankie and made him a star. Therefore he was entitled to special treatment, body guards, limos, mansions, numerous wives (including, astoundingly, Mia Farrow), the best suite at the Sands Hotel in Las Vegas. Anyone who thought otherwise was a radical, and dangerous to God’s good appointed order.

Then Frank sings “My Way”. The irony is, of course, is that “My Way” is probably one of the most anti-Christian pop songs ever recorded. It is one of the most explicit statements of utter self-sufficiency and moral relativism.

Who says God doesn’t have a sense of humour? There is something wildly comical about the fact that, in his later years, even with the assistance of a teleprompter, poor addled old Frankie couldn’t even get the words right. All those fans paid big bucks to hear the old crooner mumble incoherently while he tried to remember what city he was in. The old man, trying to assert once again his own personal macho myth of self-sufficiency, needed all the help he could get.

Well, who knows? Maybe Pat Robertson is a Dylan fan instead. Maybe James Dobson comes home from a long day of ranting about the evils of toleration and compassion and flips “Sticky Fingers” on the turntable for an hour of relaxation. Maybe Jerry Falwell hops into his limo and says to the driver, “hey, you got any Ani DiFranco tapes in there?” And maybe Jimmy Swaggart, when nobody’s looking, pops in a CD of cousin Jerry Lee’s “Great Balls of Fire”.

Well, when I get a chance, I’ll look up some of these guys’ web sites and see if I can get any of them to respond to a couple of simple questions: do you like Frank Sinatra? Does he represent to you, as a Christian, a morally acceptable style of entertainment? If you really believe that God appointed you to be a spokesman for the Christian community how come you have rigged your organization so that you are accountable to no one but yourself? Where do you guys get those awful haircuts? When did you run out of Brylcreem? Explain to me why you drive around in a limo surrounded by bodyguards while claiming to be a follower of a man who surrounded himself with the poor and the outcasts and rejected material wealth at every opportunity?