Gordon Osmond's Blog: Gordon Osmond on Writing, page 2
June 29, 2016
A New Book-Reviewing Experience
A New Book-Reviewing Experience
At least for me.
I recently agreed to review a book because it dealt with a current and important matter. It was also authored by one with a long and distinguished career in his chosen field. The book was up on Amazon, was published for real, and was being promoted by a well known publicity outfit. I approached the project with enthusiasm and the high hope of rendering a favorable review.
I don’t believe any of my own published books, despite my best efforts, is entirely error-free; therefore, I have a built-in tolerance for a certain level of cosmetic impurity. But this book pushed me too far. Whole sections were repeated verbatim in different parts of a single chapter, vocabulary choices were unintentionally weird and wrong, and punctuation conventions, admittedly different between the U.K. and the U.S., found themselves near the Bermuda Triangle. Most astonishingly, a famous quotation, known to school children around the globe, managed to have one of its four words wrong.
Always looking on the bright side, I noticed that I was reading something called an “Author Copy,” which I gather is akin to an ARC (Advance Review Copy), so I wrote to the publicist asking for a Kindle copy, confident that all had been put right in the course of the book’s journey to final publication. In reply, I was asked to send back the Author Copy with my notes. Even though I usually get paid for editing services, out of deference to all the high-power personages involved, I complied.
That is the last I heard from anyone. Checking the book’s two Amazon reviews, which I never do until my own review is published, I note that both consist of a single sentence, one of which is the work product of a relative of the book’s author.
At least for me.
I recently agreed to review a book because it dealt with a current and important matter. It was also authored by one with a long and distinguished career in his chosen field. The book was up on Amazon, was published for real, and was being promoted by a well known publicity outfit. I approached the project with enthusiasm and the high hope of rendering a favorable review.
I don’t believe any of my own published books, despite my best efforts, is entirely error-free; therefore, I have a built-in tolerance for a certain level of cosmetic impurity. But this book pushed me too far. Whole sections were repeated verbatim in different parts of a single chapter, vocabulary choices were unintentionally weird and wrong, and punctuation conventions, admittedly different between the U.K. and the U.S., found themselves near the Bermuda Triangle. Most astonishingly, a famous quotation, known to school children around the globe, managed to have one of its four words wrong.
Always looking on the bright side, I noticed that I was reading something called an “Author Copy,” which I gather is akin to an ARC (Advance Review Copy), so I wrote to the publicist asking for a Kindle copy, confident that all had been put right in the course of the book’s journey to final publication. In reply, I was asked to send back the Author Copy with my notes. Even though I usually get paid for editing services, out of deference to all the high-power personages involved, I complied.
That is the last I heard from anyone. Checking the book’s two Amazon reviews, which I never do until my own review is published, I note that both consist of a single sentence, one of which is the work product of a relative of the book’s author.
June 4, 2016
Nazis--Never Again
Faced at the outset with two confusingly conflicting first-person accounts of parachuting over Poland during World War II, the reader of Rich DiSilvio’s novel, My Nazi Nemesis, is duly warned early on not to take anything happening thereafter at face value. Good advice.
With Scheherazadian teasing of his 15-year-old daughter (remember, take nothing for granted), the paratrooper recounts, with a delightfully light touch, how he met, discussed politics in depth while being hunted by wolves and Germans, fell in love with, and produced a child with a lovely Soviet pilot named Veronika. Unfortunately, the pair was separated by the Nazis with Veronika being shipped off to Auschwitz.
At the point where the narrator of the tale till then is separated from the story, the first-person narrative is replaced with third-person past (a/k/a omniscient pov) story telling. Then follows an absolutely harrowing account of the Holocaust, retellings of which can never be too numerous, as reminders of the human race at its most heinous. Whether this might be a bit pungent for a teenager who was munching cream cheese and jelly sandwiches with milk is debatable. When the initial narrator returns to the scene, he reverts, actually mid-chapter, to his first-person story telling responsibilities only to give way to third-person omniscience in later scenes when he is present. In some literary circles, this shifting is called “head-bobbing.” I’ve never considered it felonious, but it can sometimes be distracting.
To summarize more of the story would constitute this review a spoiler. Suffice it to say that there’s never a dull moment as events are presented and later represented with important modifications. The story is painted on a global canvas reflecting the author’s firm grasp and meticulous research of many international locales.
Considering the chameleon-like quality of some of the principal characters, the author’s vivid depiction of them is especially admirable. He also has rich reserves of vocabulary and imagery resulting in fresh and vibrant similes and metaphors. For example: “A faint glow illuminated the open meadow as a sliver of the crescent moon pierced through the undulating clouds, like a scalpel cutting cotton.”
Occasionally, however, the author’s addiction to adjectives spins out of control. The following is regrettably fairly typical, principally in the Holocaust accounts, where excesses can surely be forgiven:
“He yanked her into his clammy chest as her forearms pressed deep into his sweaty belly, her face being only centimeters away from his rank and hairy pectorals.” Also: “…the gooey mixture of slimy jelly, pasty cheese, and salivary bread.”
The author is similarly fond of using brand names, which are useful in establishing context, time, and place, but can be overdone, as in:
“Jack popped open a can of Black Label and lit up a Camel as Betty slipped a Newport cigarette into her mouth. She leaned toward Jack, who flicked his Zippo…”
At other points, the author’s grasp of tense (past v. present v. past perfect) is less than perfect.
The author could/should have been better served in the editing department. Errors infect even parts of the book that are supplementary to the main text: “Any resemblance…are (sic) entirely coincidental.”
The indiscretions range from the grammatical,“…on between Alois and I?” “…it is to them that I take my hat off to” to spelling, fagot v. faggot, Negros v. Negroes (both used on same page), brake v. break, you v. your, bugged v. buggered, their v. they’re. All of which could be forgiven but for the reference to the Queen of Warner Brothers as “Betty Davis.”
These quibbles aside, for a story that will keep readers on their toes and provide them with a well-researched and vivid account of one of worst eras in human history, time will be well spent with My Nazi Nemesis.
With Scheherazadian teasing of his 15-year-old daughter (remember, take nothing for granted), the paratrooper recounts, with a delightfully light touch, how he met, discussed politics in depth while being hunted by wolves and Germans, fell in love with, and produced a child with a lovely Soviet pilot named Veronika. Unfortunately, the pair was separated by the Nazis with Veronika being shipped off to Auschwitz.
At the point where the narrator of the tale till then is separated from the story, the first-person narrative is replaced with third-person past (a/k/a omniscient pov) story telling. Then follows an absolutely harrowing account of the Holocaust, retellings of which can never be too numerous, as reminders of the human race at its most heinous. Whether this might be a bit pungent for a teenager who was munching cream cheese and jelly sandwiches with milk is debatable. When the initial narrator returns to the scene, he reverts, actually mid-chapter, to his first-person story telling responsibilities only to give way to third-person omniscience in later scenes when he is present. In some literary circles, this shifting is called “head-bobbing.” I’ve never considered it felonious, but it can sometimes be distracting.
To summarize more of the story would constitute this review a spoiler. Suffice it to say that there’s never a dull moment as events are presented and later represented with important modifications. The story is painted on a global canvas reflecting the author’s firm grasp and meticulous research of many international locales.
Considering the chameleon-like quality of some of the principal characters, the author’s vivid depiction of them is especially admirable. He also has rich reserves of vocabulary and imagery resulting in fresh and vibrant similes and metaphors. For example: “A faint glow illuminated the open meadow as a sliver of the crescent moon pierced through the undulating clouds, like a scalpel cutting cotton.”
Occasionally, however, the author’s addiction to adjectives spins out of control. The following is regrettably fairly typical, principally in the Holocaust accounts, where excesses can surely be forgiven:
“He yanked her into his clammy chest as her forearms pressed deep into his sweaty belly, her face being only centimeters away from his rank and hairy pectorals.” Also: “…the gooey mixture of slimy jelly, pasty cheese, and salivary bread.”
The author is similarly fond of using brand names, which are useful in establishing context, time, and place, but can be overdone, as in:
“Jack popped open a can of Black Label and lit up a Camel as Betty slipped a Newport cigarette into her mouth. She leaned toward Jack, who flicked his Zippo…”
At other points, the author’s grasp of tense (past v. present v. past perfect) is less than perfect.
The author could/should have been better served in the editing department. Errors infect even parts of the book that are supplementary to the main text: “Any resemblance…are (sic) entirely coincidental.”
The indiscretions range from the grammatical,“…on between Alois and I?” “…it is to them that I take my hat off to” to spelling, fagot v. faggot, Negros v. Negroes (both used on same page), brake v. break, you v. your, bugged v. buggered, their v. they’re. All of which could be forgiven but for the reference to the Queen of Warner Brothers as “Betty Davis.”
These quibbles aside, for a story that will keep readers on their toes and provide them with a well-researched and vivid account of one of worst eras in human history, time will be well spent with My Nazi Nemesis.
Both sides oi the Pond
Author:Alys Rickett
Publisher:Alys Rickett (Create Space)
ISBN:13: 978-1517313494
Alys Rickett has meticulously assembled an illustrated account of her years in the U.K. and the U.S., for both of which countries she has palpable affection. The author would be the first to acknowledge her good fortune in being born in circumstances providing first-rate education in and exposure to a variety of fields and ample travel opportunities. Ms. Rickett has clearly made the most of those opportunities, and it is fascinating to hear of her contacts--some close, some less so--with key players in government, media, arts, and education as she wends her way back and forth across the “pond.”
There is a clinical, bordering on sterile, aura about the work that might make it, in some readers’ minds, more of a scrapbook than a themed or compelling narrative—more of a diary than a moving memoir. Introducing her one and only husband with a non-restrictive adjective clause and disclosing the given name of her one and only son within parenthesis does not signal much in the way of passion to follow.
The author is clearly a gifted editor, as evidenced by the substantial excerpts from her publication, the Quorum, the contemporary relevance of which is questionable. The book’s other fillers are lengthy examination questions about math, history, literature, and art posed, presumably for the purpose of comparison, by The Wheeler School (U.S) and Oxford and Cambridge (decidedly U.K.). I’m not sure why they’re there, but I am sure that I’d never perform well with any of them.
Ms. Rickett has performed an invaluable service to her family and friends with this intelligent, thoroughly documented, and beautifully illustrated account of her life, a few descendants, and more than a few ancestors. On this genealogy/biography fulcrum, there seems to be little to be learned from lessons for the future about which the author shows great promise of possessing.
Maybe later.
Publisher:Alys Rickett (Create Space)
ISBN:13: 978-1517313494
Alys Rickett has meticulously assembled an illustrated account of her years in the U.K. and the U.S., for both of which countries she has palpable affection. The author would be the first to acknowledge her good fortune in being born in circumstances providing first-rate education in and exposure to a variety of fields and ample travel opportunities. Ms. Rickett has clearly made the most of those opportunities, and it is fascinating to hear of her contacts--some close, some less so--with key players in government, media, arts, and education as she wends her way back and forth across the “pond.”
There is a clinical, bordering on sterile, aura about the work that might make it, in some readers’ minds, more of a scrapbook than a themed or compelling narrative—more of a diary than a moving memoir. Introducing her one and only husband with a non-restrictive adjective clause and disclosing the given name of her one and only son within parenthesis does not signal much in the way of passion to follow.
The author is clearly a gifted editor, as evidenced by the substantial excerpts from her publication, the Quorum, the contemporary relevance of which is questionable. The book’s other fillers are lengthy examination questions about math, history, literature, and art posed, presumably for the purpose of comparison, by The Wheeler School (U.S) and Oxford and Cambridge (decidedly U.K.). I’m not sure why they’re there, but I am sure that I’d never perform well with any of them.
Ms. Rickett has performed an invaluable service to her family and friends with this intelligent, thoroughly documented, and beautifully illustrated account of her life, a few descendants, and more than a few ancestors. On this genealogy/biography fulcrum, there seems to be little to be learned from lessons for the future about which the author shows great promise of possessing.
Maybe later.
Secrets of Comedic Writing
Bookpleasures.com once again welcomes as our guest Gordon Osmond. Gordon will shortly be publishing his most recent work, A Hip Pocket Guide to Sports and he is here today to talk about his latest endeavor as well as writing in general. Gordon is a graduate of Columbia College and Columbia Law School and practiced law on Wall Street for many years before concentrating on writing fiction and non-fiction.
Norm: Good day Gordon and thanks once again for participating in our interview.
Gordon: Thanks, Norm. It’s always a pleasure to spend some e-time with you.
Norm: I noticed that you are a U.S. Citizen living in Brazil. What made you want to live in Brazil and how easy or difficult was it to adapt to your new environment? As a follow up, do you speak Portuguese?
Gordon: Many things prompted my move to Brazil, starting with my love of Carmen Miranda movies. U.S. immigration policies also had a lot to do with it because of my falling in love with a Brazilian.
Finally, there is the exchange rate, which makes living here incredibly inexpensive. Adapting was relatively easy due to the fact that Brazilians tend to love Americans, particularly old ones. I only know about 20 words in Portuguese, but they’re really good ones.
Norm: Could you tell us about people or books you have read that have inspired you to embark on your own career as a writer?
Gordon: The writings of others have operated as either encouragements (I can certainly do better than that!) or discouragements (how could I hope to equal that?).
At times I feel I have written something worthy of the latter group. When I write something that feels like it belongs in the former, I throw it away. I’m always surprised by how much survives this process.
Norm: What do you think of the new Internet market for writers and has it influenced your writing and marketing of your books in any way?
Gordon: The Internet has fundamentally changed life for everyone, and certainly writers are no exception. I don’t believe the Internet has influenced my writing, but it surely has shaped its flogging.
Norm: Where did your knack for humor originate? Is this a family trait?
Gordon: Beats me. Listening to really good stand-up comedians has been instructive. I hope I’ve learned the value of understatement, hyperbole, and, yes, sarcasm, in producing humor. Also, fearlessness has a lot to do with it.
Norm: Do you believe that when done well, humor can have a significant positive effect on your life? If so, please explain?
Gordon: I do, indeed. I’ve always believed that laughing and loving are the two best exercises for the human body.
Norm: Why have you been drawn to writing humor? As a follow up, are there aesthetic advantages and disadvantages peculiar to it? Does it even have a form?
Gordon: Humor makes me feel good, and I assume it will make readers feel good, too.
As for form, a wonderful question by the way, I believe that there is a rhythm to humor that should be respected. For example, Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest is almost too humorous because of the absence of hills and valleys in the writing. Virtually every line is a hill. For me, the best humor lines in a book or play occur almost unexpectedly in the midst of some serious stuff.
Norm: Is there a message in A Hip Pocket Guide to Sports that you want your readers to grasp?
Gordon: An Osmond book without a message? Surely not. The message of my Hip Pocket Guide is that young people should take care of their bodies while buried in their smart phones, that competition should be cherished rather than disparaged, and that some judgment should be exercised in deciding which sports are sufficiently consonant with human values to be pursued and/or observed rather than shunned.
Norm: What kind of research did you do to write this book?
Gordon: Virtually none. It was all done from personal memory of sports, friends, and films. I did use Google to check on the spelling of some names.
Norm: What did you enjoy most about writing this book?
Gordon: Reliving past experiences I’ve had playing sports and going to movies. Also being in touch with some dear friends whom I’ve coaxed into contributing essays defending sports that I’ve attacked rather savagely.
Norm: What was the most difficult part of the writing process as it pertains to your latest book and could you describe the process?
Gordon: My tendency is to write very lean and then struggle to add. Ironically, I believe my best writing is generally what I add in this beefing-up process.
This was particularly challenging with this book. I did add material based on the headlines of the day, but even so the book is a very fast and easy read. My training as a lawyer and playwright conspire to produce in me an allergy to fat.
Norm: What do your plans for future projects include?
Gordon: An anthology of three full-length stage plays that I believe are my best works for the stage.
Norm: How can our readers find out more about you and your work?
Gordon: Google, Amazon, and most reliably and interestingly, Bookpleasures.com.
Norm: As this interview comes to an end, do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?
Gordon: To readers, many thanks. To others, consider becoming one. It won’t hurt a bit.
Norm: Thanks once again and good luck with all of your future endeavors
Gordon: Right back atcha, Norm. You’re a treasured resources for writers the world over.
Follow Here To Read Norm's Review of A Hip Pocket Guide To Sports
Purchase From Amazon
Norm: Good day Gordon and thanks once again for participating in our interview.
Gordon: Thanks, Norm. It’s always a pleasure to spend some e-time with you.
Norm: I noticed that you are a U.S. Citizen living in Brazil. What made you want to live in Brazil and how easy or difficult was it to adapt to your new environment? As a follow up, do you speak Portuguese?
Gordon: Many things prompted my move to Brazil, starting with my love of Carmen Miranda movies. U.S. immigration policies also had a lot to do with it because of my falling in love with a Brazilian.
Finally, there is the exchange rate, which makes living here incredibly inexpensive. Adapting was relatively easy due to the fact that Brazilians tend to love Americans, particularly old ones. I only know about 20 words in Portuguese, but they’re really good ones.
Norm: Could you tell us about people or books you have read that have inspired you to embark on your own career as a writer?
Gordon: The writings of others have operated as either encouragements (I can certainly do better than that!) or discouragements (how could I hope to equal that?).
At times I feel I have written something worthy of the latter group. When I write something that feels like it belongs in the former, I throw it away. I’m always surprised by how much survives this process.
Norm: What do you think of the new Internet market for writers and has it influenced your writing and marketing of your books in any way?
Gordon: The Internet has fundamentally changed life for everyone, and certainly writers are no exception. I don’t believe the Internet has influenced my writing, but it surely has shaped its flogging.
Norm: Where did your knack for humor originate? Is this a family trait?
Gordon: Beats me. Listening to really good stand-up comedians has been instructive. I hope I’ve learned the value of understatement, hyperbole, and, yes, sarcasm, in producing humor. Also, fearlessness has a lot to do with it.
Norm: Do you believe that when done well, humor can have a significant positive effect on your life? If so, please explain?
Gordon: I do, indeed. I’ve always believed that laughing and loving are the two best exercises for the human body.
Norm: Why have you been drawn to writing humor? As a follow up, are there aesthetic advantages and disadvantages peculiar to it? Does it even have a form?
Gordon: Humor makes me feel good, and I assume it will make readers feel good, too.
As for form, a wonderful question by the way, I believe that there is a rhythm to humor that should be respected. For example, Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest is almost too humorous because of the absence of hills and valleys in the writing. Virtually every line is a hill. For me, the best humor lines in a book or play occur almost unexpectedly in the midst of some serious stuff.
Norm: Is there a message in A Hip Pocket Guide to Sports that you want your readers to grasp?
Gordon: An Osmond book without a message? Surely not. The message of my Hip Pocket Guide is that young people should take care of their bodies while buried in their smart phones, that competition should be cherished rather than disparaged, and that some judgment should be exercised in deciding which sports are sufficiently consonant with human values to be pursued and/or observed rather than shunned.
Norm: What kind of research did you do to write this book?
Gordon: Virtually none. It was all done from personal memory of sports, friends, and films. I did use Google to check on the spelling of some names.
Norm: What did you enjoy most about writing this book?
Gordon: Reliving past experiences I’ve had playing sports and going to movies. Also being in touch with some dear friends whom I’ve coaxed into contributing essays defending sports that I’ve attacked rather savagely.
Norm: What was the most difficult part of the writing process as it pertains to your latest book and could you describe the process?
Gordon: My tendency is to write very lean and then struggle to add. Ironically, I believe my best writing is generally what I add in this beefing-up process.
This was particularly challenging with this book. I did add material based on the headlines of the day, but even so the book is a very fast and easy read. My training as a lawyer and playwright conspire to produce in me an allergy to fat.
Norm: What do your plans for future projects include?
Gordon: An anthology of three full-length stage plays that I believe are my best works for the stage.
Norm: How can our readers find out more about you and your work?
Gordon: Google, Amazon, and most reliably and interestingly, Bookpleasures.com.
Norm: As this interview comes to an end, do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?
Gordon: To readers, many thanks. To others, consider becoming one. It won’t hurt a bit.
Norm: Thanks once again and good luck with all of your future endeavors
Gordon: Right back atcha, Norm. You’re a treasured resources for writers the world over.
Follow Here To Read Norm's Review of A Hip Pocket Guide To Sports
Purchase From Amazon
April 11, 2016
Paul Muni Book Review
Title: Paul Muni-His Life and His Films
Author: Michael B. Druxman
Publisher: Published in the USA by BearManor Media
ISBN 978-1-59393-927-4 (paperback)
978-1-59393-928-1 (hardcover)
This captivating and comprehensive survey of the career of American film and theatre actor Paul Muni is actually a reprint and reissue of Mr. Druxman’s 1974 work. Although the author states that one of the reasons for the reissue was his feeling that “the writing [of the original] was not the quality or style that I have since developed,” there is no indication that any changes were made in it.
As vividly presented by the author, Paul Muni was a dedicated perfectionist whose professional guard was always on full alert. His research of his roles, both as to his persona and its historical context, was intensely thorough, and his attention to detail in performance, including those that would never be observed by an audience, signs of a true professional. He would well understand Jo Van Fleet’s application of age spots on her relatively young skin notwithstanding assurances by the Wild River director and cameraman that the spots would never be noticed on the screen.
The author dabs at bio, focusing on Muni’s stage wife, Bella, who closely resembles the meddling Paula Strasberg. With unusual and refreshing candor, the author observes that the Muni union was more a professional partnership than a romance.
It seems that a major stimulus to the development of Muni’s outstanding acting technique was his periodic returns to the stage. Surely the most memorable occasion was his triumphant return to Broadway in Inherit the Wind, a wonderful play subsequently made into an equally fine film starring Spencer Tracey, Frederic March, and Gene Kelly, in a non-dancing role. Actually, all of the roles were non-dancing.
The book really hits its stride with the extensive section that comments on each of Muni’s films, including a plot synopsis, complete listing of cast, director, and designers, and a summary of critical notices from the major reviewers of the day.
It is great fun to see how the studios, principally Warner Brothers, tended to use tried and true actors and designers—much in the way Woody Allen works with his “family”—and it’s also fascinating to notice how actors who eventually became rather big stars, rose from the ranks of minor supporting roles. The back stories of the films, including cast alternatives that did or did not come about, also make for very enjoyable reading.
Sometimes the author’s assessment of a film or performance comes off as somewhat harsher than that of the consensus of the professional critics. I found this most jarring in Mr. Druxman’s opinions regarding the 1945 classic, A Song To Remember, the life and loves of Frederic Chopin as portrayed by a pitch-perfect cast starring Cornel Wilde, Merle Oberon, and in principal supporting roles, Muni and Nina Foch. The icy and worldly elegance of Oberon as George Sand contrasted ideally with the doe-in-the-headlights innocence of Wilde’s Chopin.
Now as for Muni, who played Chopin’s mentor and piano instructor, there’s no question that his interpretation was extreme, but often that is the hallmark of great and imaginative acting. I remember seeing a young woman playing opposite Edward G. Robinson in the Broadway play, Middle of the Night. Her choices were extreme to point that some audience members, including actors I was with, thought that this would surely be her last appearance in any performing medium. I vigorously defended her courage and was much vindicated when the woman turned out to be Gena Rowlands. (Those interested in safety-belt acting can attend Kim Novak’s hopeless portrayal of the film role.)
However, I have a much more basic problem with the book’s Song To Remember chapter. Whereas in all chapters, detailed credits are lavished on minor designers, there is no mention in the Song To Remember section of the unquestioned star of the film, which is the piano playing.
I’m aware that with some, but certainly not all, films featuring ghost voices the producers are given the right by the ghost to exclude any credit in order to enhance the image of the star. This is usually when the star has a record of doing some singing on his or her own. The use of secret singers was so general, particularly in films starring Rita Hayworth, that in “I’ll Cry Tomorrow” a special screen made it clear that Susan Hayward was doing her own singing. But does anyone seriously think that Cornel Wilde is a concert pianist?
Actually I don’t recall whether the credits for STR included a credit for the piano playing, but I believe the pianist was Jose Iturbi. In any case, surely it’s within the wheelhouse of such an extreme entertainment insider as Mr. Druxman to ferret out the facts. After all, he’s had more than 30 years to do it.
Author: Michael B. Druxman
Publisher: Published in the USA by BearManor Media
ISBN 978-1-59393-927-4 (paperback)
978-1-59393-928-1 (hardcover)
This captivating and comprehensive survey of the career of American film and theatre actor Paul Muni is actually a reprint and reissue of Mr. Druxman’s 1974 work. Although the author states that one of the reasons for the reissue was his feeling that “the writing [of the original] was not the quality or style that I have since developed,” there is no indication that any changes were made in it.
As vividly presented by the author, Paul Muni was a dedicated perfectionist whose professional guard was always on full alert. His research of his roles, both as to his persona and its historical context, was intensely thorough, and his attention to detail in performance, including those that would never be observed by an audience, signs of a true professional. He would well understand Jo Van Fleet’s application of age spots on her relatively young skin notwithstanding assurances by the Wild River director and cameraman that the spots would never be noticed on the screen.
The author dabs at bio, focusing on Muni’s stage wife, Bella, who closely resembles the meddling Paula Strasberg. With unusual and refreshing candor, the author observes that the Muni union was more a professional partnership than a romance.
It seems that a major stimulus to the development of Muni’s outstanding acting technique was his periodic returns to the stage. Surely the most memorable occasion was his triumphant return to Broadway in Inherit the Wind, a wonderful play subsequently made into an equally fine film starring Spencer Tracey, Frederic March, and Gene Kelly, in a non-dancing role. Actually, all of the roles were non-dancing.
The book really hits its stride with the extensive section that comments on each of Muni’s films, including a plot synopsis, complete listing of cast, director, and designers, and a summary of critical notices from the major reviewers of the day.
It is great fun to see how the studios, principally Warner Brothers, tended to use tried and true actors and designers—much in the way Woody Allen works with his “family”—and it’s also fascinating to notice how actors who eventually became rather big stars, rose from the ranks of minor supporting roles. The back stories of the films, including cast alternatives that did or did not come about, also make for very enjoyable reading.
Sometimes the author’s assessment of a film or performance comes off as somewhat harsher than that of the consensus of the professional critics. I found this most jarring in Mr. Druxman’s opinions regarding the 1945 classic, A Song To Remember, the life and loves of Frederic Chopin as portrayed by a pitch-perfect cast starring Cornel Wilde, Merle Oberon, and in principal supporting roles, Muni and Nina Foch. The icy and worldly elegance of Oberon as George Sand contrasted ideally with the doe-in-the-headlights innocence of Wilde’s Chopin.
Now as for Muni, who played Chopin’s mentor and piano instructor, there’s no question that his interpretation was extreme, but often that is the hallmark of great and imaginative acting. I remember seeing a young woman playing opposite Edward G. Robinson in the Broadway play, Middle of the Night. Her choices were extreme to point that some audience members, including actors I was with, thought that this would surely be her last appearance in any performing medium. I vigorously defended her courage and was much vindicated when the woman turned out to be Gena Rowlands. (Those interested in safety-belt acting can attend Kim Novak’s hopeless portrayal of the film role.)
However, I have a much more basic problem with the book’s Song To Remember chapter. Whereas in all chapters, detailed credits are lavished on minor designers, there is no mention in the Song To Remember section of the unquestioned star of the film, which is the piano playing.
I’m aware that with some, but certainly not all, films featuring ghost voices the producers are given the right by the ghost to exclude any credit in order to enhance the image of the star. This is usually when the star has a record of doing some singing on his or her own. The use of secret singers was so general, particularly in films starring Rita Hayworth, that in “I’ll Cry Tomorrow” a special screen made it clear that Susan Hayward was doing her own singing. But does anyone seriously think that Cornel Wilde is a concert pianist?
Actually I don’t recall whether the credits for STR included a credit for the piano playing, but I believe the pianist was Jose Iturbi. In any case, surely it’s within the wheelhouse of such an extreme entertainment insider as Mr. Druxman to ferret out the facts. After all, he’s had more than 30 years to do it.
March 13, 2016
January 22, 2016
The Page
Learn all about the latest novel from Gordon Osmond from this 2-minute video trailer:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SO6q9...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SO6q9...
January 10, 2016
My latest Bookpleasures review
Title: A Danger to God Himself
Author: John Draper
Publisher:
ASIN: B017GCC9MQ
As a boy and later as a teenager, the song that was Number One on my parade of hits was:
A Mormon Boy
A Mormon Boy
I might be envied by a king
For I am a Mormon Boy
Later, in my late teens, the question of a Mormon Mission arose. My chums were being sent to Paris, Rome, Rio, and such. With my penchant for good luck, I had the distinct impression that Teaneck, New Jersey would be in my missionary future. So I decided not to go on a mission, and while I was at it, in a negative mood, having reached the age of reason, decided to give up the Mormon Church and God as well.
I mention all of this to confess to a certain bias in favor of John Draper’s totally delightful account of two Mormon missionaries whose stories manage to expose the soft underbelly of one of the most controversial religious cults in contemporary life.
The story is told, primarily in the first person, by Kenny (Elder) Feller about his newly assigned companion—the Mormon Church doesn’t allow missionaries to proselytize singly—Jared (Elder) Baserman. The pair has a convert success rate roughly equivalent to Obama’s training of Syrian soldiers.
We learn, in third-person background, that Jared was blackmailed into going on his mission, by a rich aunt. This relative, along with Jared’s sister and father, figure prominently in the later telling of the story of Jared, who eventually becomes the book’s central focus.
Mormonism is, of course, a mass of contradictions and hypocritical judgments, and author Draper lays them all to waste with rapier wit. Among his targets:
Until recently, blacks could not hold the all-important priesthoods, be they Moronic, sorry, Aaronic, or Melchizedek. What’s a mulatto to do?
As recently as today, women cannot hold any kind of priesthoods. No priestesses allowed. What’s Bruce Jenner to do?
Homosexuality is given the lightest touch in the book. But still we ask whether Jo’s Emily has any future in the Mormon community in the unlikely event she should want one.
Along the way, Draper vividly describes the infighting that pervades the Mormon hierarchy at every level. Seekers of Mormon political prominence are about as passive as Patton.
Draper is an absolutely wonderful writer. He has a gift for the absurd. Indeed, I kept thinking how the Coen Brothers would have a field day putting some of the book’s more hilarious scenes on film. And what a relief to see a master author portray sex scenes with imagination, delicacy, and overall excitement. A master of change of pace and delicious irreverence, Draper knows just when and how to spice up the narrative.
A Mormon Boy
A Mormon Boy
I might be envied by a king
For I am a Mormon Boy
Actually this is a pretty good expression of the theme of Draper’s wonderful work: Mormons take themselves and their silly religion VERY seriously.
So, the next time a couple of aggressively clean-cut youths show up at your doorstep bearing books, consider the possibility that they may not be as boring as they look.
Author: John Draper
Publisher:
ASIN: B017GCC9MQ
As a boy and later as a teenager, the song that was Number One on my parade of hits was:
A Mormon Boy
A Mormon Boy
I might be envied by a king
For I am a Mormon Boy
Later, in my late teens, the question of a Mormon Mission arose. My chums were being sent to Paris, Rome, Rio, and such. With my penchant for good luck, I had the distinct impression that Teaneck, New Jersey would be in my missionary future. So I decided not to go on a mission, and while I was at it, in a negative mood, having reached the age of reason, decided to give up the Mormon Church and God as well.
I mention all of this to confess to a certain bias in favor of John Draper’s totally delightful account of two Mormon missionaries whose stories manage to expose the soft underbelly of one of the most controversial religious cults in contemporary life.
The story is told, primarily in the first person, by Kenny (Elder) Feller about his newly assigned companion—the Mormon Church doesn’t allow missionaries to proselytize singly—Jared (Elder) Baserman. The pair has a convert success rate roughly equivalent to Obama’s training of Syrian soldiers.
We learn, in third-person background, that Jared was blackmailed into going on his mission, by a rich aunt. This relative, along with Jared’s sister and father, figure prominently in the later telling of the story of Jared, who eventually becomes the book’s central focus.
Mormonism is, of course, a mass of contradictions and hypocritical judgments, and author Draper lays them all to waste with rapier wit. Among his targets:
Until recently, blacks could not hold the all-important priesthoods, be they Moronic, sorry, Aaronic, or Melchizedek. What’s a mulatto to do?
As recently as today, women cannot hold any kind of priesthoods. No priestesses allowed. What’s Bruce Jenner to do?
Homosexuality is given the lightest touch in the book. But still we ask whether Jo’s Emily has any future in the Mormon community in the unlikely event she should want one.
Along the way, Draper vividly describes the infighting that pervades the Mormon hierarchy at every level. Seekers of Mormon political prominence are about as passive as Patton.
Draper is an absolutely wonderful writer. He has a gift for the absurd. Indeed, I kept thinking how the Coen Brothers would have a field day putting some of the book’s more hilarious scenes on film. And what a relief to see a master author portray sex scenes with imagination, delicacy, and overall excitement. A master of change of pace and delicious irreverence, Draper knows just when and how to spice up the narrative.
A Mormon Boy
A Mormon Boy
I might be envied by a king
For I am a Mormon Boy
Actually this is a pretty good expression of the theme of Draper’s wonderful work: Mormons take themselves and their silly religion VERY seriously.
So, the next time a couple of aggressively clean-cut youths show up at your doorstep bearing books, consider the possibility that they may not be as boring as they look.
December 7, 2015
The Joy of Argument
My latest review of a great non=fiction book.
http://bookideas.com/reviews/index.cf...
http://bookideas.com/reviews/index.cf...
November 15, 2015
Review of new action novella
Title: Aztec Midnight
Author: M. C. Tuggle
Publisher: The Novel Fox, LLC
ISBN 978-1-68042-002-9 (ebook, epub)
ISBN 978-1-68042-004-3 (ebook, mobi)
In the world of Dr. Jonathan Barrett, a professor of archaeology at the. University of Texas at Austin specializing in pre-Columbian weapons, whether a shiv is produced by flint knapping percussion or pressure flaking with oak sticks is a matter on which reputations and lives depend. Dr. Barrett deals with this and other less academic matters during his brief trip to Mexico on assignment by the U.S. State Department for the purpose of tracking down Emperor Ahuitzotl’s sacrificial knife, a weapon thought in certain quarters to possess supernatural powers.
As the doctor will be billeted in Cuernavaca, a relatively posh and secure oasis in the Mexican dystopia, he feels comfortable bringing along his wife Susanna, who will spend her time crash-coursing Spanish.
Do not think for a moment that Dr. Barrett is some absent-minded professor horn-rimming his way among the ruins. During the course of M.C. Tuggle’s fast-paced novella, our doctor displays a degree of daring-do and physical prowess that Tom Cruise would be hard-pressed to portray on his most impossible missions. Barrett’s antagonists include a motley mixture of drug dealers (Hermanito and the Chapos, not a rock band), vigilantes, and official fuzz.
As it is against the club rules for a reviewer to spill beans about the plot of a book that consists of very little else, let me say that fans of the Dick Wolf oeuve (Law & Order and its progeny) will feel comfortably at home with The Aztec Midnight. Indeed, the length and depth of the story could be grist for the TV mill. Tuggle skillfully ends most his sections with hooks redolent of the weekly movie suspense serials that provided filler between Saturday matinee double features.
Another advantage of having this first-person, past-tense, story presented visually is that some of the novel’s more tired vocabulary choices (stomachs knot, hearts skip beats, cold tremors run down the back, skins crawl, the hero stops in his tracks, etc.) would be lost in media translation. Fairness requires identification of exceptions, e.g., “Thick vines dripped from the trees like eels.” Not bad.
Of questionable importance in a work orientated more toward action than in-depth character development—the sexual relationship between husband and wife is limited to “he drew her close”—is the observation that in some instances, rudimentary rules of grammar are compromised. For example, consider the following:
“A nervous finger poked at the wad of white cotton gloves until it partially unraveled. His mouth opened involuntarily at the sight of it.” One has to press on to learn what “it” is. Almost as puzzling as what “is” “is.”
Similar problem with: “A public trashcan sat on a corner, and I hurried to it and hid both under some papers.” Of course we know that trashcans and corners can’t be hid under papers, but the correct antecedents are too far away.
“That’s when I decided I couldn’t afford to mess around any more and poke him one.” Clarity requires either adding “to” before “poke” or changing “poke” to “poked.”
But, quibbles aside, for those who are either tired of familiar action film fare or who are having trouble with their cable connections, The Aztec Midnight provides a quick and easy adventure in an exotic locale.
Author: M. C. Tuggle
Publisher: The Novel Fox, LLC
ISBN 978-1-68042-002-9 (ebook, epub)
ISBN 978-1-68042-004-3 (ebook, mobi)
In the world of Dr. Jonathan Barrett, a professor of archaeology at the. University of Texas at Austin specializing in pre-Columbian weapons, whether a shiv is produced by flint knapping percussion or pressure flaking with oak sticks is a matter on which reputations and lives depend. Dr. Barrett deals with this and other less academic matters during his brief trip to Mexico on assignment by the U.S. State Department for the purpose of tracking down Emperor Ahuitzotl’s sacrificial knife, a weapon thought in certain quarters to possess supernatural powers.
As the doctor will be billeted in Cuernavaca, a relatively posh and secure oasis in the Mexican dystopia, he feels comfortable bringing along his wife Susanna, who will spend her time crash-coursing Spanish.
Do not think for a moment that Dr. Barrett is some absent-minded professor horn-rimming his way among the ruins. During the course of M.C. Tuggle’s fast-paced novella, our doctor displays a degree of daring-do and physical prowess that Tom Cruise would be hard-pressed to portray on his most impossible missions. Barrett’s antagonists include a motley mixture of drug dealers (Hermanito and the Chapos, not a rock band), vigilantes, and official fuzz.
As it is against the club rules for a reviewer to spill beans about the plot of a book that consists of very little else, let me say that fans of the Dick Wolf oeuve (Law & Order and its progeny) will feel comfortably at home with The Aztec Midnight. Indeed, the length and depth of the story could be grist for the TV mill. Tuggle skillfully ends most his sections with hooks redolent of the weekly movie suspense serials that provided filler between Saturday matinee double features.
Another advantage of having this first-person, past-tense, story presented visually is that some of the novel’s more tired vocabulary choices (stomachs knot, hearts skip beats, cold tremors run down the back, skins crawl, the hero stops in his tracks, etc.) would be lost in media translation. Fairness requires identification of exceptions, e.g., “Thick vines dripped from the trees like eels.” Not bad.
Of questionable importance in a work orientated more toward action than in-depth character development—the sexual relationship between husband and wife is limited to “he drew her close”—is the observation that in some instances, rudimentary rules of grammar are compromised. For example, consider the following:
“A nervous finger poked at the wad of white cotton gloves until it partially unraveled. His mouth opened involuntarily at the sight of it.” One has to press on to learn what “it” is. Almost as puzzling as what “is” “is.”
Similar problem with: “A public trashcan sat on a corner, and I hurried to it and hid both under some papers.” Of course we know that trashcans and corners can’t be hid under papers, but the correct antecedents are too far away.
“That’s when I decided I couldn’t afford to mess around any more and poke him one.” Clarity requires either adding “to” before “poke” or changing “poke” to “poked.”
But, quibbles aside, for those who are either tired of familiar action film fare or who are having trouble with their cable connections, The Aztec Midnight provides a quick and easy adventure in an exotic locale.
Gordon Osmond on Writing
Based on my long career as a playwright, author of fiction and non-fiction, editor, book and play critic, and lecturer on English,I am establishing this new blog for short articles and comments to ass
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