I wasn't actually planning to write about John Lennon today—this is a movie blog and while he and his compadres made the finest musical comedy films of the 1960s, he wasn't even a gleam in his randy no-good louse of a father's eye in 1933, the time we're currently covering here at the Monkey.
But then my good pal, Mister Muleboy, wrote at length on the subject (here) and now I feel like saying just this, that Lennon made music and writing and painting cool for me at a time and in a place when no one otherwise approved of such things or even gave them a second thought. Aside from the apparently endless pleasure I derive from listening to his music, that sense that life might promise something other than soul-crushing conformity is what I am most grateful for when I think of John Lennon.
Anyway, this is my favorite Lennon number.
And because I love you, here's his home demo of the same song, which I find fascinating—you can practically hear the moment inspiration hits.
My post on the best foreign language picture of 1932-33 is well in hand—1300 words and a public domain copy of the film so far with more to come. Mostly it's a question of filling in the blanks at this point, verbs and whatnot. I don't know how you write, but I start by putting down the things I know then filling in later the things I don't know.
For example, this—
... episodic ... as life generally is at the age of ten ... centers around a plot to take over the school during a Commemoration Day ceremony featuring the town's mayor ... but ... playing a toy trumpet with your nose, smoking purloined cigars, mistaking a sleeping drunk for a corpse ...
—will eventually become ... well, something.
In the meantime, apropos of nothing, here is a bit from Ruddy Hell! It's Harry and Paul, one of those British sketch-comedy shows of the sort I used to watch when Katie-Bar-The-Door and I lived overseas. I first saw this on Hey Dullblog, a blog by and for "people who think about the Beatles maybe a little too much" (as if there is such a thing). It answers the age-old question, what if the Beatles had never taken drugs, remained loveable 1964-era moptops and stayed together forever.
"You separate a man from what he loves the most, what you do is purge what's unique in him, and when you purge what's unique in him, you purge dissent, and when you purge dissent, you kill the revolution—revolution is dissent." Warren Beatty as John Reed in Reds (1981)
I can't honestly say I'm a revolutionary or that I have ever even aspired to being a revolutionary. I'm much too pragmatic in a Burkean sense—18th century political philosopher Edmund Burke, that is, who I believe once said, "You say you've got a real solution, well, you know, we'd all love to see the plan"—to want to sweep away everything that's come before just because I hope for a future that promises something better.
As a practical matter, I gravitate more toward evolution than revolution, or at least I prefer a messy compromise that gets me a step closer to my goals to a perfect plan that goes nowhere and leaves me mired in the status quo. Which means if to get you to watch Chaplin's City Lights I have to run down Pennsylvania Avenue with the blogging equivalent of boxer shorts on my head, so be it.
And a necessary component of compromise consensus and evolution is a healthy respect for what Warren "John Reed" Beatty called dissent. For without dissent, there is no revolution, no evolution, no change, no compromise, no cheese crackers, no nothing. There's no learning either. And learning is what we're all about here at the Monkey.
(Of course, we're talking about what I would call engaged dissent, dissent grounded in fact and reasonably logical argument and a respect for a difference of opinion without bullying or feeling bullied. But that's a subject for another day.)
I was thinking about the role of dissent this past weekend after "Zak in the ATL," a fan of Norma Shearer, took exception to my blithe dismissal of the Oscar-winning actress (here and here). And he's was right to, of course. As I wrote in reply, "It's a big tent we've pitched here at the Monkey and we encourage all points of view. Hopefully, your enthusiasm for Norma Shearer's work will counter my own crabbier response and will encourage readers who stumble across this blog to give her a try. ... The goal of this blog, for me at least, is to encourage my readers to see as many movies as possible. I hope you stick around to cheer Norma on in the future and argue in support of your favorites."
Because that's really the point of the blog, right? To inspire you to see movies you might otherwise have missed, if only to prove to yourself that I am an idiot. The only proper way for movie fans to address a difference of opinion is to watch the movie. (Coincidentally, the only way to celebrate complete agreement is to watch the movie—indeed, the answer to every question for a movie fan is to watch the movie. Which perhaps explains why so few world leaders ever blog about the movies.)
I have another reason, though, a more selfish reason, for encouraging your dissent.
As you may have already guessed, I've actually spent the last ten months telling you what I don't know about the movies, and I've had to do quite a bit of scrambling to develop a working knowledge of the films of the silent and early sound eras. I've enjoyed the effort and hopefully the pleasure I've felt researching old movies has translated into some interesting essays.
But as I (very) slowly grind on toward the future, I find I have seen more and more of the top movies of a given year or if I haven't seen them, I'm at least aware of them and am chasing them down. In other words, I am arriving at my comfort zone. And as I become more comfortable, I am convinced blind spots will develop, that I will ignore movies I've already seen and dismissed, or assume an opinion I formed in my youth is an opinion I would still hold in my dotage. I'm counting on you to keep me on my toes.
If you don't feel comfortable disagreeing with me, this blog will never get anywhere.
"For in this very thing lies the difference between freemen and those that are not free," said Edmund Burke. "In a free country every man thinks he has a concern in all public matters; that he has a right to form and a right to deliver an opinion upon them. They sift, examine, and discuss them. They are curious, eager, attentive, and jealous; and by making such matters the daily subjects of their thoughts and discoveries, vast numbers contract a very tolerable knowledge of them, and some a very considerable one. And this it is that fills free countries with men of ability in all stations."
"But when you talk about destruction," he added, "don't you know that you can count me out."
I wasn't actually planning to write about John Lennon today—this is a movie blog and while he and his compadres made the finest musical comedy films of the 1960s, he wasn't even a gleam in his randy no-good louse of a father's eye in 1933, the time we're currently covering here at the Monkey.
