I take a ride down Shore Road in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn on the way to a doctor’s appointment only to be told by the cab driver that the mansion we motor past was once the home of America’s silent star darling, Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks. Some might find it hard to believe that New York City (and New Jersey) were the homes of the first movie studios. Edison’s Black Maria is being restored as we speak in West Orange, NJ. In 1919 Mary Pickford, Charlie Chaplin and Douglas Fairbanks were the three top stars of the silent era that formed the first Actor’s Film Studio a.k.a. United Artists along with the great film director, D. W. Griffith (Birth of a Nation). However by that time the filmmakers and the people who financed them all caravanned to California since the weather permitted year round film production. And film at that time needed a lot of light---a lot---like sunlight. I call Thom from the doctor’s office and he says if I can get there in a half hour I’ll be able to see Judy Krause perform the Queen’s Monologue scene. I hustle up to Fort Greene where the art department has once again transformed one of the rooms into a portion of a Victorian proscenium stage. I know. You don’t believe me. But I have to tell you that these guys have used every square foot of their brownstone like a movie soundstage. I ask Patrick what the dimensions are of the entire floor. He tells me 850 square feet, give or take. I know. You don’t believe me. I can hardly believe it myself if I hadn’t spent the past two weeks watching these crew people do it. Once again they used ebay for the materials and some of the faux work. They used progresso bread crumb packages to create the footlights, bought red damask fabric in bulk and sewed grand curtains. I see Judy getting into costume. She is in a lush red velvet medieval dress with long strings of pearls and beads. I hear the director tell the make-up artist that her character, Catherine Burroughs is a grande dame of the Victorian stage so her make-up has to be period correct. Judy mounts the stage looking like she walked off the set of Shakespeare in Love or Topsy-Turvy. She is the perfect actress for this part. The director gives Eddie Jo the high sign, yells “Places!” the fog machines gurgles and churns. She’s almost obscured by the mist and just before it clears “ACTION!”. She begins Queen Gertrude’s monologue from Hamlet. The director has advised her to play as big as possible as if the space is a 500 seat theatre. Again, to be period correct the acting style goes against all the modern techniques. That’s how they did it. If you don’t believe me watch Mike Leigh’s Topsy Turvy, a fantastic movie about Gilbert and Sullivan’s collaboration and their hit The Mikado. The filmmakers do several takes and adjustments. Judy is hustled into make-up where she is stripped bare to her translucent porcelain skin. They move a red velvet chair onto the stage, lower the lights so that Judy glows. And she performs the same soliloquy as an interior monologue. Subtle and rife with double meaning, I wonder as the words move effortlessly from her mouth if in recounting Ophelia’s death she is speaking of her own broken heart from her liaison with Richard. It sets the tone for the rest of the film. Editing between the two versions of the monologue presents the gulf between the face we present to the world and the private one we choose to hide away. There are several takes and a dolly in. I can’t take my eyes off her. Her interpretation is brilliant. We break for lunch. She changes into a pair of shorts and a tank top. We all converge in the kitchen where the Thom and Ed show is about to begin.
“Thom. Did you bring potato salad today?” Ed asks.
“No. We had potato salad yesterday.” Thom replies.
“So?” Ed says.
“So it loses its appeal if you eat it all the time. It’s called the law of diminishing returns.” Thom says a bit impatient.
“Potato Salad never ‘diminishes’ for me. I could eat it for days.” Ed says.
Thom jams his hand in his pocket, pulls out a ten spot, throws it on the table like a gauntlet and says, “Get yourself some friggin’ potato salad. Path Mark is down the block.”
“It’s not a reflection on you, Thom. That you forgot, I mean.” Ed says.
“I didn’t forget! I CHOSE not to buy it.” Thom retorts.
“How could you? since you know it’s my favorite?” Ed says.
“I’m going to punch you in about two seconds.” Thom threatens.
“Guys---guys---I’ll take a walk to path mark for the potato salad.” Judy offers.
“You know, Thom, I think you have anger issues. You should see a professional or something.” Ed adds. Thom does not reply. He sits chewing vigorously. Pregnant pause.
“Hey, did you remember to bring the Fresca?” Ed asks quietly.
“That’s it.” Thom says and he grabs his sandwich and smokes and stomps out to the stoop. Show over. Whit arrives in cut offs and flip flops Cold Play blasting on his iPod.
“Man it’s hot. I’m sweatin’ like a cat in a roomful of rockin’ chairs.” He says. Stephanie turns around and glares. “I’m a member of PETA and I find that offensive.”
“Hey I’m sorry. It’s just an expression.” He says. “It’s not like a chair could kill a cat.” He mumbles.
“That’s not an apology.” She says and she turns on her heels and disappears.
“Stephanie? Want some potato salad?” Judy says weakly. I can tell it’s hot by everyone’s disposition. I tell Pat maybe we should blast the air conditioners so everyone cools down. Good idea. I watch as the amazing crew has completely broken down the temporary stage, lights and paraphernalia and moves in the contents of Richard’s art studio/bedroom bed, bureau, easels, paintings, etc.
Next up is a post-coital scene between Richard and Catherine. The director arranges them on the ‘porn bed’ as the crew calls it. It is Richard’s flat in the East End of London. Catherine asks him if he’s been in a fight as he has cuts on his face. We’ve already been shown that a young woman has been murdered in the park. He is mysterious with an air of danger. Catherine is the type of woman who is aroused by the idea of being with someone dangerous. The chemistry between Whit and Judy is palpable and sexy.
“I like it when you frighten me.” She purrs. Then he moves into position for another go.
In the next scene Richard is painting a small study of Catherine who models for him. She gives him Charles’ card and tells Richard that Charles wants a portrait for his wife. Richard has no idea who the wife is but takes the card and decides to take Catherine right there in the chair. She pushes him away and says she wants to watch him with another first. This is our introduction to their voyeuristic nature.
I find a common thread between national fear and voyeurism. Hitchcock was the master with classics like, Psycho, Rear Window & Vertigo. Whenever a society grows fearful they bunch up like a school of fish or a herd of caribou. Sexual repression is rampant and the free expression embraced in a time of plenty seems persecuted during scarcity. The peaks and valleys of the studio system reflect that. This is a time when authentic expression through independent films can make their mark. Sex, Lies and Videotape and Blue Velvet for example. One made during the Reagan Administration and the other during the Daddy Bush era.
Peeping Tom, a 1960 film by director Michael Powell is about a focus puller at a film studio. At night he kills women and puts the murders on film. A neighbor downstairs discovers his stash of snuff films and terrified---her curiosity compels her to watch. 1960 may as well have been 1950. The film ruined Michael Powell’s career and was pulled from theatres within a week as being filthy, nasty and only fit for the sewer. It was not until Martin Scorsese saw it and found social validation in it. He breathed life back into it and into Powell’s career. It is an underground favorite. This thread runs through Londinium. Only imagine this: that the first motion picture camera was used for snuff films…the Ripper murders.
Posts
