Book Notes — Short Story-Notes, When In Doubt, Try Crazy

I’m rummaging these days. What I turned up in my excursion through old photos, magazines, letters and books is a little gem — a short article by the very talented writer Gay Talese that had been inserted into the April 1966 issue of Esquire. It was called “The Greatest Story Ever Told: Frank Sinatra Has A Cold.”

It’s a long short story of maybe 10,000 words based on Mr. Talese’s observations during a few days leading up to the legendary singer’s 50th birthday. It is a revealing profile written in a style that combined journalism and fiction, a form touted as a new way of writing, the origin of which is in dispute. Truman Capote (In Cold Blood),  Norman Mailer (Armies of the Night) and Talese himself lay claim to its invention.

I’m a fan of Frank Sinatra, his music (“My Way” and “Strangers in the Night”) and his movies. He was extraordinary in From Here To Eternity, The Man With A Golden Arm and The Manchurian Candidate.  Though less revered as films, he was also believable and charismatic in such low-budget productions as The Detective and Lady in Cement. He hit the top as both a singer and actor. His tough–guy antics and supposedly torrid romances also fed the gossip mongers while the rumors of his mob connections not only added to his larger-than-life persona but, true or not, gave him a great deal of personal power The sad fact was, that despite his talent the man was a bully.

Talese painted a rich, three-dimensional profile of a man by, for the most part, by recounting a few hours in a bar and a few more in a recording session. The people around him were either in love with him or frightened of him or more likely, both. In almost all cases, whether he knew them or not, he made them nervous. Talese captured the essence man who may have wanted to be feared more than loved in what might be casual observations, condensing a life time into a few pages.

Most of us — of a certain age — cannot enter the story without prejudice. Sinatra’s reputation for being unpredictable — throwing a drink at someone or the whole bottle for example or simply punching them without warning or provocation — preceded him wherever he went. There was a sense that if he didn’t belong to the mob, he had one of his own. And it took next to nothing to piss him off. Though not part of this account, the singer once gave a waiter $50 to punch writer Dominick Dunne who was sitting a few tables away. The waiter did what he was told. The money probably had nothing to do with why the young man’s fist found Dunne’s face. In another account, a drunk and angry Sinatra tried to set the Las Vegas Sands Casino on fire.

Gay Talese

But as the Talese story goes, Sinatra decided to leave the main bar and go to the back room where a few folks were playing pool.  When the door opened, peope stopped what they were doing. The chairman had arrived.  Should they stand at attention?  Maybe salute?  However, one guy didn’t seem interested in Sinatra’s arrival, It was writer Harlan Ellison (author of A Boy And His Dog among many classic books and screenplays). Ellison’s profound indifference was provocative.

Sinatra confronted Ellison.  Perhaps because he couldn’t think of a legitimate reason to be upset or a better insult to proffer on such short notice, Sinatra said he didn’t like Ellison’s boots.  Ellison suggested that the singer’s likes and dislikes weren’t important to him.  After a few moments of nervous silence, the room began to clear. Even tough ball-player Leo Durocher discreetly put down his cue stick and disappeared.

Harlan Ellison

“Why do you persist in tormenting me? Sinatra asked Ellison softly — “almost a plea,” Talese remembered. Whatever it was, or could have been, was over.

When I first moved to San Francisco, I found a room just off Haight Street on Stanyan. It was post “Summer of Love.”  In fact it was well past the “wear a flower in your hair” era.  The marijuana was laced with Angel Dust PCP), hard stuff, mean stuff.  The neighborhood appeared to have been ransacked, gray. Store fronts were closed and the whole neighborhood was dismal, a war zone. The folks who roamed there were either vacant-eyed lost souls or toughs looking for someone to roll.  A friend, who calculated that my blond hair, soft face and Midwest attitude would reveal the mark of the mark, gave me some advice.  He said that if I ever found myself in a dangerous situation, I should just act crazy.  “Everybody’s afraid of crazy,” he said.

Film Pairings — The Manchurian Candidate(s) Ripped From The Headlines

We are still puzzled by the assassinations of President John F. Kennedy and his brother, Presidential candidate Robert Kennedy.  Even if you believe that Lee Harvey Oswald killed the President — and many don’t — then who was behind it?  And who was behind the killing of Oswald? 

In the case of The Manchurian Candidate, assassination is a way to co-opt the democratic process.  Obviously, murder is not the only way of doing so. There is certainly a school of thought that an abundance of ill-gotten and secret financial support and the ability to cleverly manipulate the facts to deceive the public are also effective.  Murder, by comparison, would seem to be more effective.  And this is the subject of the evening.

The original film, based on Richard Condon’s book, was released in1962, not long before Kennedy died in a Dallas hospital of bullet wounds.  Among the conspiracy theories about the real-life tragedy were scenarios that put the blame on various villains — Castro, J. Edgar Hoover, LBJ, the Mob or union leaders. Conspiracy theories were all over the place.  The Manchurian Candidate seemed to anticipate this kind of paranoia.  And certainly, in 1962, post Eisenhower, shortly after the hearings held by the House of UnAmerican Activities, we weren’t far from the 1950s right wing hysteria that there was a Communist in every pot. Some things never change.

Frank Sinatra, Laurence Harvey and Angela Lansbury are at their best in this daring film about an elaborate assassination and brainwashing plot to gain the presidency. Shot in black and white, the director, John Frankenheimer, took serious risks by using expressionistic cinematic devices to show the brainwashing techniques.  The action is startling in its violence at times, controversial in its sexual portrayal of mother and son and ahead of its time in its cynical look at American politics, especially at the presidential level. Harvey is particularly convincing in a difficult role — a sympathetic but horrific victim turned villain.  Sinatra was interviewed many years later and was asked why he hadn’t taken that pivotal and demanding role.  “I couldn’t have done it,” Sinatra said.

Janet Leigh plays Sinatra’s girlfriend in this first version.  Angela Lansbury was nominated for an Academy Award and won the Golden Globe for Best Supporting Actress.  The film, now 50 years old, is as fresh today as it was when it was released.

Sometimes we wonder why a film is remade when the first is so good.  And I was tempted merely to pair the original with a rerun of this year’s presidential debates, as suggested by my friend, Baby Dave.  However I’m glad I didn’t listen to myself.  The remake, released in 2004, effectively brings the same story into this century.  And there are certainly enough twists and turns in the more recent film so that, even if you watch the original, you really don’t know what’s coming in this one.

In 2004, the world was more more technological, our enemies  — and therefore our conspiracy theories — are refocused on current boogeymen.  “Socialist” has replaced “communist,” and somehow “Muslims” and “Kenyans” are misappropriated in order to inspire hate and intolerance. And while I’m most impressed with the original, the remake is more believable.  Directed by Jonathan Demme, Denzel Washington plays the Sinatra role, Liev Schreiber plays the Harvey role, and Meryl Streep plays the Lansbury role.  The Lansbury-Streep factor is a real face-off.  Both were deservedly nominated for several awards for their stellar portrayals.  But instead of the Communist threat and Russian and Chinese enemies, we have Middle Easterners and the largely ignored but immense threat posed by the increasingly powerful global corporations. I am fearful of the latter group as well.

John Voight, Vera Farmiga, Miguel Ferrer, Dean Stockwell are also in the cast. And there are cameos made by Gayle King and Al Franken. 

I’m at a complete loss about what to recommend as drinks to accompany brainwashing or an election.  I imagine that I will have a bottle of Cabernet or Zinfandel ready Tuesday night, November 6 as I watch the ultimate suspense drama. Polls suggest it may be a long night.

Film Pairings — Suddenly An Albino Alligator or the Hostage Days of Summer

One of the reasons I like baseball is that it reminds me of summers in my childhood — hot, sunny days, lemonade, the sound of propeller airplanes in the sky and the sound of the wood-framed screen door slamming shut.  Fewer clothes and the world moving more slowly.  I also associate summer with baseball, a kind of slow, almost lazy sport.

Today, I watch the Giants whenever the game is on TV.  I look forward to it.  Maybe some fried chicken, baked beans and potato salad.  I also look forward to not having that intense commitment to the game as one might to basketball or football as it unfolds.  Baseball on radio was actually pretty good. Most of the time, I can look at a magazine, talk on the phone, or jot some notes down on a book I’m working on — all while the game goes on.  You can’t do that with other sports.

Sometimes I’m in the mood for movies like that.  Most of the time I’m looking for a film to take me completely away or draw me completely in.  I’ve written about them before here. A good, not quite spine-tingling, not obsessively engrossing story with competent writing and performances can, in the right mood, be desirable.  And here are two of them.

Both are hostage dramas.  Both have good casts.  Both should have been in black and white.  Only one of them was.

Frank Sinatra plays a tough, little hood in Suddenly (1954). Three thugs descend on a home inhabited by “decent folks,” in order to use the house’s strategic location to assassinate the President of the United States.  The film got and is still given pretty good reviews, though I suspect many younger viewers will see it not only as dated (and not stylishly so like The Maltese Falcon or Casablanca), but also stilted. It is considered by many to be in the “noir” tradition. I don’t think so. It is, in the end, hopeful and upholds the values promoted in the 1950s.  Sterling Hayden is the good-guy, male role-model sheriff.  One suspects J. Edgar Hoover approved.

Matt Dillon in Albino Alligator

Oddly enough, Suddenly was one of the first films to be colorized (I saw and recommend the b&w version).  Albino Alligator (1997), the other film on the double bill with hostages, should have been in black and white.  It is far more “noir” than Suddenly.  And the title, if not the story, should have motivated director Kevin Spacey to go retro in black and white.  As in most decent hostage films, the drama is about the interaction of those held in close quarters under stressful circumstances.  Reviewers have not been kind to this film with Faye Dunaway singled out for particularly bad acting. Certainly, there was nothing subtle about her performance. Others also saw it wasteful of the talents of Matt Dillon, Gary Sinise, Viggo Mortenson, Joe Mantegna and Skeet Ulrich.  I liked it.  I tend to like anything set in New Orleans, but it really didn’t matter in this case.  We spend all our time in a dark cellar bar, where we witness the appropriate disintegration of humanity and a genuine noir-style ending.

It’s definitely a beer night.  Any beer.  And if you get bored, switch over to a baseball game.