~ Two Sides of Dorothy Gale ~
Dorothy is always so cheerful and chirpy. But maybe there is another side to her, a darker side that only comes out after she has been in Oz for so long that she thinks she will never get back to her beloved Kansas.
Still Alice ~ A Capsule Movie Review
Still Alice ~ A Capsule Movie Review by Allen Kopp
Still Alice is a weepy woman’s movie about a vibrant fifty-year-old woman who develops early-onset Alzheimer’s disease. Alice Howland (Julianne Moore, who will probably pick up an Oscar later this month for this role) has a fantasy life. She is a linguistics professor, something of an expert in her field who values communication above everything else. She has a successful marriage to a doctor (Alec Baldwin) and three perfect, grown children (an actress, a doctor and, you guessed it, a lawyer) who are just as dazzling and successful in their own right as their parents. In the middle of all this perfection, Alice begins to realize she has something wrong with her. She begins to forget the names of objects. She says the same things over and over and doesn’t remember appointments. Her husband is put out with her that she “blew their dinner plans.” She wets her pants because she can’t remember where the bathroom is in her own house. When she seeks the help of a neurologist, he discovers that she has a rare form of Alzheimer’s disease that is genetic (familial) and that strikes its victims at an early age. Perhaps the worst thing about Alice’s disease is that she will most certainly pass it on to her brilliant children.
Still Alice is stuff we’ve seen before. It’s like a TV movie, one of those disease-of-the-week things. What purpose does it serve? (I suppose the answer to that is that it makes money for its investors.) The victims are always brilliant: poets, doctors, lawyers, professors, scientists. (We are told that a person with a higher level of education loses “it” faster than a person who only went to high school.) Wouldn’t it be just as tragic if the victim was a factory worker or an elementary school teacher? A mail carrier or a clerk in a department store? Maybe we never see the victim as an “average” person because it just isn’t as tragic, or as much fun, to watch the unsophisticated and uneducated degenerate right before our eyes. They just don’t have as much to lose.
Copyright © 2015 by Allen Kopp
Dorothy Sees the Witch
Inside her house, up inside the Kansas cyclone, Dorothy sees Miss Gulch on her bicycle as she transmogrifies into the Wicked Witch on her broomstick. It’s too horrible! Dorothy has to hide her face.
Hardboiled Eggs and Nuts
In the 1932 Laurel and Hardy short film, County Hospital, Oliver Hardy is in the hospital with a broken leg. “It’s the first vacation I’ve had in years,” he says. His friend Stan Laurel visits and brings him hardboiled eggs and nuts in a paper bag. “Hardboiled eggs and nuts!” Ollie says disgustedly. In the mishaps that follow, Stan gets Ollie ejected from the hospital. Stan gets an accidental injection of a sleep-inducing drug, after which it’s up to him to drive Ollie home in the old Model T Ford in 1932 Los Angeles traffic.
Marion
Marion ~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp
Bruno loved the carnival, the noise, the laughter and gaiety, the calliope music, the merry-go-round, the shooting gallery and games of chance, the fun house with its crazy mirrors, the man who would guess your weight for a quarter, the fortune teller, the fat lady and the sword swallower. He marveled at how beautiful the Ferris wheel looked, outlined against the night sky in lights of blue, red, yellow and green.
He wore a dark suit as if he had come from a funeral and kept his hat pulled down low over his face. As he walked among the crowds, he felt invisible because nobody looked at him. The air was cool and soft on his face. He ate his popcorn and smiled, genuinely happy.
When Bruno saw Marion, he knew right away she was the one he wanted. She was standing in line at the Ferris wheel, accompanied by not one young man but two. She had brown hair, curled and pulled to the back of her head. She wore a print dress, glasses, lots of lipstick, earrings and a necklace. Her appearance said that she thought quite a lot of herself. She was nothing to rave about but she wasn’t ugly, either.
Bruno watched the three of them, Marion and her two young men, as they got on the Ferris wheel and the fellow closed the bar over them so they wouldn’t fall out. Before the Ferris wheel started moving again, she looked over at Bruno and something passed between them. Call it a spark or a look of recognition. He felt it and he was sure she felt it, too.
The Ferris wheel went around a few times and Bruno kept his eyes on the car that Marion was in. When the ride was over and it was time for her to get out, he was still standing in the same spot looking at her. As she and her two young men walked away from the Ferris wheel, her shoulder brushed lightly against Bruno’s. He stepped back with deference and she turned and looked at him over her shoulder and gave him a little smile that he believed was fraught with meaning.
The next time Bruno saw Marion was at the shooting gallery. One of her young men was trying to shoot the metal ducks and was missing most of the time. When he failed to win Marion a teddy bear, she punched him on the arm and pretended to sulk. Before the other young man picked up the gun to give the ducks a try, Marion cast a quick glance behind her. Bruno was standing beside the refreshment booth looking at her. She quickly looked away, but he knew she had seen him and had expected him to be there.
Then it was on to the merry-go-round. Marion sat side-saddle on the outside horse, her purse dangling from her elbow, and clung to the pole. There was room for only one of her young men on the horse beside her, so the other one stood awkwardly by the horse’s head, holding on to the reins. Bruno stood in a spot so that every time the merry-go-round went around Marion would see him.
Round and round it went and Bruno was there, looking intently at Marion with that fixed smile of his while he slowly chewed his popcorn. And then he wasn’t there. He was playing a little trick on her. He could still see her but he had moved to a spot farther away where she couldn’t see him. When she saw he was no longer there, she craned her head around abruptly as far as the movement of the merry-go-round would allow. Her smile faded and she looked, to Bruno, disappointed.
At Lovers’ Lane, the three of them got into a small boat, Marion between the two young men. The idea was to row across the lake to a little island, from which all the bright lights of the carnival could be seen as in a picture. Bruno let the two other couples waiting in line go ahead of him and then he took the next boat after them and rowed across.
On the island, Bruno stood in the shadows and watched. He knew that Marion wasn’t far away. He heard her shriek playfully and figured that one of the young men was trying to get overly familiar with her in the dark. He saw her running with both young men chasing her. The three of them stopped out in the open and laughed, like children playing a game of tag.
After that, Marion and the two young men went to another part of the island, presumably to neck and to be alone. Bruno waited patiently, though, leaning his back against a tree. He knew Marion would come to him. He smoked one cigarette down to the end and had just lighted another one when he saw her.
She walked across the open space between the trees, alone, toward him. He didn’t know yet if she knew he was there, but soon she would know. He stepped out of the shadows and went to meet her. She smiled familiarly at him and he smiled back.
“Marion?” he said.
“Why, yes,” she said.
She had been about to ask him how he came to know her name when he surprised her by putting his hands around her neck and squeezing. Her expression changed to one of surprise and then of fear and pain. She put her hands on his to try to get him to stop, but she had little resistance against his far-superior strength. He watched her closely as he strangled her and for a moment he saw the face of his father.
He knew how to apply just the right amount of pressure with the thumbs and in a short time she was dead. He let her body fall gently to his feet. The two young men would come along soon looking for her and he wanted to be gone when they did. He crossed over to the far side of the island and circled back around to the little pier where the boats were kept.
After he left the carnival, he wasn’t ready to go home yet, so he drove around for a while before stopping off at a bar. He sat on a stool, drinking his drink and smoking his cigarette, enjoying the feeling of anonymity the place gave him. No one looked at him or spoke to him. He was nameless and faceless.
When he got home, it was almost midnight. His mother was waiting up for him, sitting on one of the leather chairs in her green bathrobe in the elegant sitting room. She rose to kiss him when he came in.
“Mother, you should be in bed!” he said.
“Did you have a good time, dear?” she asked.
“I always have a good time.”
“I worry when you stay out so late.”
“I know you do,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder, “but there’s no reason for you to.”
“Your father and I had a terrible row after dinner,” she said. “It has put me in such a frightful state!”
“What was it about?”
“Oh, you know. The usual.”
“Is he here now?”
“He’s in his room,” she said. “Been asleep for hours.”
“Mother, what if I was to tell you that soon we’ll be rid of him?”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t really tell you now, except to say that we’re going to be so happy when it’s just the two us. We’ll be able to breathe freely and do all the things together we always wanted to do.”
“Oh, if only!” she said, her eyes glistening like a child’s.
“Now, you go on to bed,” he said, “and we’ll speak in the morning.”
“All right, Bruno dear.” She kissed him and was gone.
He walked down the hallway to his own room and closed the door. After taking off his jacket and throwing it on the bed and kicking off his shoes, he sat down at his writing desk. He took a blank piece of paper and wrote two brief sentences (I did your murder. Not it’s time for you to do mine.) in his beautiful handwriting, folded the paper and put it in an envelope. After sealing the envelope, he wrote the address on it of a man he had met one time on a train and left it on the desk standing upright against a book so he would see it and remember to mail it in the morning.
Copyright 2015 by Allen Kopp
American Sniper ~ A Capsule Movie Review
American Sniper ~ A Capsule Movie Review by Allen Kopp
From producer/director Clint Eastwood comes American Sniper, the true story of Chris Kyle, the Navy Seal (Sea, Air and Land) who became something of a hero and a legend during four tours of duty in Iraq due to his sharpshooting skills. With at least 160 confirmed kills, Chris Kyle became the most successful (deadly to the enemy) sniper in American military history.
Chris Kyle is a Texan and starts out wanting to be a cowboy, but he is moved to serve his country when it is attacked on September 11, 2001. He joins the Navy Seals and finds himself fighting the enemy in Iraq. After one tour of duty, he has the deep conviction that he is still needed and signs up for another tour, and then a third and a fourth. With a wife and two small children at home, he is torn between his duty to them and what he sees as his duty to his country.
Bradley Cooper, who we have seen in a lot of other movies lately, plays Chris Kyle with a clenched-jaw Texas accent that at times I find difficult to understand. Once again, we are left with getting the gist of what is being said without the actual words. No other actor could have played Chris Kyle any better, though; he even bears a strong physical resemblance to him.
American Sniper isn’t a justification for war and isn’t making a political statement. Rather, it is about the people who fight the war (one person in particular) and the actions they must take to survive and to help their fellow soldiers survive. If that means shooting and killing a woman or a child who is lobbing missiles at Americans, then so be it.
Not the least amazing thing about American Sniper is that Clint Eastwood is still making action movies like this in his 85th year.
Copyright © 2015 by Allen Kopp
Mr. Turner ~ A Capsule Movie Review
Mr. Turner ~ A Capsule Movie Review by Allen Kopp
J.M.W. Turner was an English landscape painter who lived from 1775 to 1851. The new movie, Mr. Turner, is a stately (slow-moving) look at his life and times. Timothy Spall plays Turner and the movie was directed by celebrated director Mike Leigh.
While Turner (known to his friends as “William”) was a profoundly gifted painter whose work influenced landscape painting for generations, the movie focuses more on his eccentric private life than on his work. He lives with his elderly father and calls him “daddy” until the older gentleman’s death. He never marries but fathers two daughters with a shrewish woman who comes around periodically to berate him and his work and to tell him how worthless he is. He cares little for the woman or the two daughters but must, seemingly, tolerate them. (When one of the daughters dies as a young woman, he barely bats an eyelash.) He has an unattractive housekeeper, one Hannah Danby (she reminds me of the character actress Margaret Hamilton, who played the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz), with whom he enjoys furtive sexual congress from time to time. He travels a lot, seeking inspiration for his work, and it is on one of these trips that he meets Mrs. Booth, a widow with a soothing nature. The two are drawn to each other, not for the sake of physical appearance (“When I look in the mirror, I see a gargoyle,” he says.), but for what each sees in the other. He has a dalliance with Mrs. Booth that lasts eighteen years or so, in effect leading a double life apart from his life in London. He is at the home of Mrs. Booth when he dies at the age of 76 of a heart ailment. Hannah Danby is, wordlessly, left with a broken heart.
Mr. Turner is an English art film, rather than a mainstream movie, so its audience is limited. Turner is very jowly (or at least that’s the way he is portrayed here), so I had a little trouble understanding what he was saying, especially in the early going. The other characters are, mostly, more intelligible. Sometimes we are left to catch the gist of what they are saying, rather than the words themselves. All in all, though, Mr. Turner is a fascinating glimpse, for the serious moviegoer, at the life of a nineteenth century genius.
Copyright © 2015 by Allen Kopp
A Woman Named Ruby
~ A Woman Named Ruby ~
(This is for my old friend, Rick DeGrant, who departed for the other shore on November 25th, 2014.)
Ruby Upjohn, Ruby Goldfarb, Ruby Hagwell, Ruby Pickles, Ruby Fudge, Ruby Bankhead, Ruby Sherwood, Ruby Tubbs, Ruby Costello, Ruby DeFazio, Ruby Peebles, Ruby Hackles, Ruby Ludlow, Ruby Fuddles, Ruby Jitters, Ruby Feeney, Ruby Butts, Ruby Wang, Ruby Smoot, Ruby Fish, Ruby Gambini, Ruby Weiner, Ruby Frogley, Ruby Bumpus, Ruby Zasa, Ruby Farquhar, Ruby Pompadour, Ruby Clutch, Ruby Toddler, Ruby Peabody, Ruby Jerkewitz, Ruby Buggs, Ruby Cornblatt, Ruby Blathers, Ruby Dalzell, Ruby Shockley, Ruby Wooley, Ruby Wimpy, Ruby Belanovi, Ruby Slapwell, Ruby Snitley, Ruby Flywheel, Ruby Frankfurter, Ruby Dunkfeather, Ruby Chin, Ruby Arbuckle, Ruby Clapsaddle, Ruby Bumble, Ruby Davenport, Ruby Dejesus, Ruby Dill, Ruby Diesel, Ruby Ghostley, Ruby Dibble, Ruby Gooch, Ruby Hardapple, Ruby Hoyden, Ruby Mangles, Ruby Polkratz, Ruby Mims, Ruby Nugent, Ruby Punsley, Ruby Poovey, Ruby Rickets, Ruby Teetlebaum, Ruby Dithers, Ruby Waddler, Ruby Snork, Ruby Tudball, Ruby Hunsdorfer, Ruby Oglethorpe, Ruby Pilbeam, Ruby Flan, Ruby Buckles, Ruby Glasscock, Ruby Woo, Ruby Gulwart, Ruby Mushnick, Ruby Zorina, Ruby Stickles, Ruby Turnblad, Ruby Fishpaw, Ruby Ziffle, Ruby Van Peep, Ruby Wagstaff, Ruby Gribble, Ruby Dillweed, Ruby Moonlove, Ruby Snitzler, Ruby Hogwaters, Ruby Clohessy, Ruby Bobolinski, Ruby Ouspenskaya, Ruby Nermi, Ruby Nankler, Ruby Bitchelli, Ruby Lupino, Ruby Pasquesi, Ruby Shumway, Ruby Hogchow, Ruby Wigglesworth, Ruby Skeffington, Ruby Beragon, Ruby Hudson, Ruby Broadnax. Ruby Lafarge, Ruby Wellenmellon, Ruby Thorndike, Ruby Dubois, Ruby Sheeny, Ruby Tull, Ruby Gaylord, Ruby Weems, Ruby Ogilvie, Ruby Moncrieff, Ruby Cumberbunch, Ruby Gombell, Ruby Ignatowski, Ruby Mayfair, Ruby Snitzler, Ruby Otis Skinner, Ruby Chomley, Ruby Toluboff, Ruby Tenuta, Ruby Heeny, Ruby Terhune, Ruby Laflamme, Ruby Montague, Ruby Miggles, Ruby Gummidge, Ruby Dalrymple, Ruby Nemecek, Ruby Gilhooley, Ruby Delmage, Ruby Mullendorfer, Ruby Odets, Ruby Chuffee, Ruby Philpotts, Ruby Mudge, Ruby Mertz, Ruby Yurka, Ruby Ricardo, Ruby Flynn of the Memphis Flynns, Ruby E. Tata, Ruby Rifka, Ruby Fafara, Ruby Frizzell, Ruby Rapf, Ruby Fonzarello, Ruby Beavers, Ruby Finkelstein, Ruby Nerdlinger, Ruby Scafie, Ruby Lipchitz, Ruby Dragonette, Ruby Franzoni, Ruby Frimmle, Ruby Morehead, Ruby Magarulian, Ruby Tweedy, Ruby Schwump, Ruby DeFafa, Ruby Belcher, Ruby Bigglesworth, Ruby Blodney, Ruby “Champagne” King, Ruby Biggerstaff, Ruby Wang, Ruby Wigmore, Ruby Lashutsky, Ruby Flipwig, Ruby DeGasse, Ruby DeBouva, Ruby Noddler, Ruby Grody, Ruby Jigglewater, Ruby Fuddington, Ruby Fromkiss, Ruby Creech, Ruby Firpo, Ruby Hathaway, Ruby Won Fat Ching, Ruby Zizz, Ruby Bartholomew, Ruby Foster Kane, Ruby Sisley, Ruby Nazimova, Ruby Rambova, Ruby Wiggenstein, Ruby Terwilliger, Ruby Fortescue, Ruby Chickwell, Ruby Noodleman, Ruby Scammington, Ruby Cundiff, Ruby Fontaine, Ruby Whipsnade, Ruby Ritz, Ruby Hickey, Ruby Clawmute, Ruby Traherne of the sleepy Trahernes, Ruby Meisenbach, Ruby Gonzales the Fastest Bitch in all Meh-e-co. Two hundred and four were not enough.
Copyright © 2015 by Allen Kopp
The Grey Wolfe Storybook 2014 ~ An Anthology of Poems, Essays, Stories
(My short story, “Bye Bye Blackbird,” is in this collection of stories about childhood.)
Grey Wolfe Publishing is pleased to announce this collection of twenty-four poems, essays, and short stories about childhood memories.
100% of the proceeds from this book will go to support Michigan’s special needs children.
Now Available: $12.50
May be purchased at this link:
Write to Meow 2014 ~ Anthology of Stories, Poems, Essays
(My short story, “Cotton,” is in this collection of stories about cats.)
Grey Wolfe Publishing is pleased to announce the generous collaboration of authors from around the globe for this spectacular collection of 226 pages of poetry, prose and personal essay, all in tribute to cats!
100% of the proceeds of the sale of this book are going to support the extraordinary work of Almost Home Animal Shelter, a no-kill shelter in Southeast Michigan.
Now Available: $18
May be purchased at this link:
https://squareup.com/market/grey-wolfe-publishing
Or on Amazon at this link:
