Posts tagged ‘hollywood’
I’m stepping out, my dear, to breathe an atmosphere that simply wreaks of class. – Fred Astaire, Top Hat
A strange phenomenon occurs in Hollywood each spring. For just four days in April, this seedy old three-ring circus of a town transforms itself into a fleeting, gossamer shadow of its former celluloid self. Even the freakish ‘characters’ and scantily clad teenagers that proliferate the Boulevard have no power over the TCM Classic Film Festival’s thrillingly tangible time trip. L.A.’s swankiest pool is accentuated by a jazz quartet; elegantly dressed guys and dolls raise bubbly in celebration; old friends embrace, new friends shake hands, and all of them share the story of their personal journey to Hollywood for this: the annual celebration of all things classic.
Vanity Fair coined it as “Comic-Con for the Martini Set.” And … it’s true. Read more ►
Long overdue doesn’t even begin to explain just how LONG long has been since our last Pictorial Palette. So long, in fact, I feel it requires a re-introduction is necessary to any who might be new to the Pictorial. From the Pictorial Palette’s inaugural post in 2010:
Henri Matisse once said, “With color one obtains an energy that seems to stem from witchcraft.”
That being the case, I do not hesitate to say that movie color is without doubt some of the beautiful magic ever conjured. And given its proven abilities to brighten even the grayest of days, the Pictorial is implementing a weekly color palette, sampled off a film (or production) still from Hollywood’s Golden Age. One of the Pictorial’s missions is to always try and look at the world through Technicolor glasses–yes, even a world as problematic as ours– and it is our hope that these little swaths of color will provide a needed burst of energy– perhaps even inspire a smidge of creativity–to infuse and rejuvenate the weekly drudge.”
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Who’d have thought that Argo, a political thriller about the Iranian hostage crisis of 1979, would turn out to be the most quintessentially “Hollywood” film of the year.
It is a story that most American’s know, and remember, vividly: In 1979, the U.S. Embassy was besieged by a group of 500 strong Iranian Revolutionaries in protest of America’s support of Mohammed Reza, Iran’s deposed Shah. Fifty-two Americans were held hostage for a shocking 444 days. Six American diplomats escaped the coup, and were ushered into underground sanctuary by the Canadian embassy. The question, obviously, was how the hell to get them out of the country. Read more ►
I’ve done many things for Bill Holden. Not to be small about such matters (in the words of Norma Desmond) but the man owes me one year’s tuition at a community college and a security deposit for an apartment. Obviously, not really, but the other night lying awake as my rowdy Hollywood neighbors carried their revelry into dawn (not that I sleep anyway as a confirmed insomniac but, you know, its the principle of the thing) I realized what a peaceful, quiet night I could be enjoying if I’d not insisted on living next door to Holden’s fictional flat from Billy Wilder’s classic noir Sunset Blvd. In my defense I didn’t actually move into the Alto Nido apartments (the “artist colony” community was a bit too bohemian for my blood, which is really saying something), but seeing that iconic sign each morning was a definite deal maker in signing my lease next door.
Joe Gillis, you cad, you’re mine. Read more ►
Another public apology, this time to the marvelous Shadowplay blog– a longtime Pictorial favorite. I agreed to participate in their recent The Late Films Blogathon: a week long look at the final films of directors, actors and writers. A fascinating concept and I was psyched to participate and… absolutely bollocked it up. More than a week overdue, here’s my entry. Major apologies to Shadowplay– one of the best damn blogs on the web.
By 1961, the Hollywood Studio System had begun a slow rot from the inside out which would, by decade’s end, see to its total collapse thus ending the Golden Age of classical Hollywood. The Misfits, directed by John Huston and penned by Arthur Miller, is a fascinating relic from those years in flux that bewildered its audiences just as much as it bewildered the execs. On paper, the words Clark Gable (the king), Marilyn Monroe (the queen) and Montgomery Clift (the rebel) looked like box office magic. The result is a mixed bag that would be Gable and Monroe’s final film, and one of Clift’s last. Read more ►