Gordon Osmond's Blog: Gordon Osmond on Writing, page 5
February 23, 2014
Why Actors Do or Don't Retire
Why Actors Decide To or Not To Retire
It’s all speculation, of course. Some retiring actors give reasons; other go mysterious on us. In both cases, we’ll never really know. But it’s fun to come up with our own theories.
Some categories:
Actors who retire too soon.
• Shirley Temple. The soonest for sure, in her early 20s. But too soon? Perhaps not. Her post-puberty film performances were serviceable, but hardly memorable. She was probably well advised to shed not only a spousal symbol of Hollywood, the equally limited John Agar, but also Hollywood itself. She successfully parlayed dimples into diplomacy and did a damn good job of it.
• Marlene Dietrich, Greta Garbo, and Hedy Lamarr. I think it was all about personal vanity. I think these gloriously beautiful ladies—Lamarr being arguably the most beautiful woman on the past, present, or future planet—had a hard time facing the film façade of their fading beauty. I most regret La Dietrich, whose later performances in Witness for the Prosecution and Judgment at Nuremberg, were clearly among her finest.
• Greer Garson and Jennifer Jones. Two very different, but equally successful actors. Greer stuck to her proven formula through thick and thin; Jennifer was always taking chances with wildly divergent results. Both married extremely well, and the film output dwindled to a trickle. I admire them both.
• Bette Davis. The paradigm of hanging on. Stricken by stroke, she managed to eke out a final film about autumnal whales and spent her last year covering the globe collecting well deserved lifetime achievement awards. The boots in which she died were surely well worn, but those of us who, through decades, were inspired by her art and sense of camp will hardly be heard to begrudge this cinematic comet her final burst over the Hollywood skies.
• Joan Crawford and Tallulah Bankhead. An odd couple, considering that Joan almost exclusively inhabited film (with a notable exception when she took over for her ailing daughter in a TV soap) and Tallu was predominantly a stage actor and a TV curiosity. But in their declining years, both sought solvency in horror movies, many intentionally so. Both forged a stunning and long career, and our memories will be informed and enriched by their performances.
Of course, we all hope that the Holy Trinity of Smith, Mirren, and Dench will foray on forever. They seem to be willing to do so.
Today, we’re living in new days. But would it be too much to hope that Justin Beeber and Mylie Cyrus discover true love with each other and be adopted by Pat and Debbie Boone and live happily ever after in a white cottage well away from all of us?
© Gordon Osmond 2014
It’s all speculation, of course. Some retiring actors give reasons; other go mysterious on us. In both cases, we’ll never really know. But it’s fun to come up with our own theories.
Some categories:
Actors who retire too soon.
• Shirley Temple. The soonest for sure, in her early 20s. But too soon? Perhaps not. Her post-puberty film performances were serviceable, but hardly memorable. She was probably well advised to shed not only a spousal symbol of Hollywood, the equally limited John Agar, but also Hollywood itself. She successfully parlayed dimples into diplomacy and did a damn good job of it.
• Marlene Dietrich, Greta Garbo, and Hedy Lamarr. I think it was all about personal vanity. I think these gloriously beautiful ladies—Lamarr being arguably the most beautiful woman on the past, present, or future planet—had a hard time facing the film façade of their fading beauty. I most regret La Dietrich, whose later performances in Witness for the Prosecution and Judgment at Nuremberg, were clearly among her finest.
• Greer Garson and Jennifer Jones. Two very different, but equally successful actors. Greer stuck to her proven formula through thick and thin; Jennifer was always taking chances with wildly divergent results. Both married extremely well, and the film output dwindled to a trickle. I admire them both.
• Bette Davis. The paradigm of hanging on. Stricken by stroke, she managed to eke out a final film about autumnal whales and spent her last year covering the globe collecting well deserved lifetime achievement awards. The boots in which she died were surely well worn, but those of us who, through decades, were inspired by her art and sense of camp will hardly be heard to begrudge this cinematic comet her final burst over the Hollywood skies.
• Joan Crawford and Tallulah Bankhead. An odd couple, considering that Joan almost exclusively inhabited film (with a notable exception when she took over for her ailing daughter in a TV soap) and Tallu was predominantly a stage actor and a TV curiosity. But in their declining years, both sought solvency in horror movies, many intentionally so. Both forged a stunning and long career, and our memories will be informed and enriched by their performances.
Of course, we all hope that the Holy Trinity of Smith, Mirren, and Dench will foray on forever. They seem to be willing to do so.
Today, we’re living in new days. But would it be too much to hope that Justin Beeber and Mylie Cyrus discover true love with each other and be adopted by Pat and Debbie Boone and live happily ever after in a white cottage well away from all of us?
© Gordon Osmond 2014
February 18, 2014
Writing for Free
Adrienne Conway, an accomplished writer of hit Brit TV sitcoms and other works, was kind enough to send me an endless, but also endlessly provocative article by Danuta Kean on the subject of the morality and practicality of writers writing without monetary compensation. By the way, this Adrienne Conway is not to be confused with Adrian Conway, the pathetic presence that infects my debut novel, Slipping on Stardust, and its about-to-be-released sequel, Turner’s Point.
Let’s define our terms. A writer is not just anyone who has ever written an email, a laundry list, or texted a message cancelling or confirming a date. A writer is someone who uses and arranges the same words used and arranged by Shakespeare for some artistic purpose.
I think a writer’s default setting could well be expressed by the great blues song: “If I can’t sell it, I’m going to sit on it because I ain’t givin’ nothin’ away.” And I must confess that when faced with entry-fee-based contests, this is precisely the rubric I employ in passing on the project. Indeed, in some cases I was so bold as to charge a “perusal fee” as a condition to reviewing my work. Needless to say, the proceeds of this gambit did not significantly augment my retirement funds.
But this “no pay” policy is simplistic in today’s market. There are situations when non-monetary rewards make it sensible to consider casting free bread upon the water in the hope of buttered returns. “Exposure” is the most commonly promised compensation. I have been writing play and book reviews for free for decades, to the extent when my by-line might be confused with Coca-Cola. I am considering launching a review-for-bucks service, so we’ll soon see how productive this “exposure” has been.
Another exception is blogging for causes that mean something to the blogger. To promote these crusades, I will write for free until they wrest this quill from my dead hand.
Offering a completed work for free on the internet is a question I leave for another day. It’s a very complex question that I don’t feel qualified to address.
But I'd welcome any thoughts.
Let’s define our terms. A writer is not just anyone who has ever written an email, a laundry list, or texted a message cancelling or confirming a date. A writer is someone who uses and arranges the same words used and arranged by Shakespeare for some artistic purpose.
I think a writer’s default setting could well be expressed by the great blues song: “If I can’t sell it, I’m going to sit on it because I ain’t givin’ nothin’ away.” And I must confess that when faced with entry-fee-based contests, this is precisely the rubric I employ in passing on the project. Indeed, in some cases I was so bold as to charge a “perusal fee” as a condition to reviewing my work. Needless to say, the proceeds of this gambit did not significantly augment my retirement funds.
But this “no pay” policy is simplistic in today’s market. There are situations when non-monetary rewards make it sensible to consider casting free bread upon the water in the hope of buttered returns. “Exposure” is the most commonly promised compensation. I have been writing play and book reviews for free for decades, to the extent when my by-line might be confused with Coca-Cola. I am considering launching a review-for-bucks service, so we’ll soon see how productive this “exposure” has been.
Another exception is blogging for causes that mean something to the blogger. To promote these crusades, I will write for free until they wrest this quill from my dead hand.
Offering a completed work for free on the internet is a question I leave for another day. It’s a very complex question that I don’t feel qualified to address.
But I'd welcome any thoughts.
February 5, 2014
The Latest Bus Scandal
Obama’s Deformed Political Progeny
The morning news can always be counted upon to offer fresh evidence of how the lofty slogans of the left, from Obama to other “progressive” Democrats, can stimulate social conduct which, though obviously ridiculous, can, if not analyzed, morph into more seriously detrimental behavior.
Today was no exception. It seems that groups of placard-carrying San Franciscans are demonstrating in front of shuttle buses that have the effrontery to transport employees of Google, Facebook, Apple, LinkedIn and other enterprises to which the protesters owe their e-lives—often the only ones they have—from the workers’ rented residences in the City to their workplaces in Silicon Valley.
Unlike most public protests, the goals of which are abundantly clear, this one requires a little delving to understand just how wrongheaded it is.
The complaint is that by living in the City of San Francisco, these relatively well paid workers are, by their very existence, raising rental levels to a point that is uncomfortable for the less fortunate, who lack the capacity, among other lacks I’m sure, to land comparable employment. I’m not kidding.
Let’s examine the premises behind this protest:
1. Employees do not have the freedom to secure for themselves the best jobs they can land.
2. Employees do not have the freedom to apply their income to purchasing the most desirable living accommodations they can afford.
3. Employers do not have the freedom to add convenient, comfortable, and traffic-reducing transportation to their benefit packages.
Sorry to overuse the word “freedom.” I know, it’s hopelessly dated and out of Obama’s ambit of concern.
Does anyone seriously believe that this juvenile display of envious outrage would have been met with anything other than guffaws had the groundwork for it not been laid by Obama’s pet notion of “income inequality”?
Income inequality is perhaps the most virulent of all ploys Obama has used—initially to secure his own elections, and currently to perpetuate the power of his party. Although prettily packaged as a “wouldn’t it be lovely” aspiration, it is now revealed as an unashamed rejection of freedom in favor of forced social engineering. Equality of opportunity is yesterday’s news; now it’s full speed ahead with equality of result. As a consequence, jealousy has been reimaged from sin to political cause and entitlement.
I was curious about how this pathetic protest could be verbalized without embarrassment. The only chant or sign that I could make out was, “San Francisco is not for sale.”
“Sale” used to be an emblem of a free society where goods and services exchange hands for agreed-upon equivalent values. What could I have been thinking?
Now “sale” is a dirty word for these misled dimwits. Now, if it’s not “free,” e.g., food stamps, abortions, education, it’s morally suspect.
To paraphrase and reduce an ancient political injunction, “If you can’t afford the rent, move.” Although I don’t see the allure of a city that, due to the adoption of other Obama-friendly populist policies, is overrun with homeless who pursue, with varying degrees of aggression, their personal pursuit of income redistribution, living there is not, even according to the dimmed philosophical lights of Obama and his fellow travelers, a god-given right.
To return to today’s headlines, it seems that according to a bipartisan report, Obamacare will probably result in a net loss of American jobs, a word Obama used in his sleep-inducing State of the Union address even more than “I.”
This, of course, poses a fascinating question to those who would rather attack an inanimate object than use one to pursue a brighter future:
“Given a choice, would you prefer to pay a higher rent, or lose the ability to afford any rent at all?”
© 2014 Gordon Osmond
The morning news can always be counted upon to offer fresh evidence of how the lofty slogans of the left, from Obama to other “progressive” Democrats, can stimulate social conduct which, though obviously ridiculous, can, if not analyzed, morph into more seriously detrimental behavior.
Today was no exception. It seems that groups of placard-carrying San Franciscans are demonstrating in front of shuttle buses that have the effrontery to transport employees of Google, Facebook, Apple, LinkedIn and other enterprises to which the protesters owe their e-lives—often the only ones they have—from the workers’ rented residences in the City to their workplaces in Silicon Valley.
Unlike most public protests, the goals of which are abundantly clear, this one requires a little delving to understand just how wrongheaded it is.
The complaint is that by living in the City of San Francisco, these relatively well paid workers are, by their very existence, raising rental levels to a point that is uncomfortable for the less fortunate, who lack the capacity, among other lacks I’m sure, to land comparable employment. I’m not kidding.
Let’s examine the premises behind this protest:
1. Employees do not have the freedom to secure for themselves the best jobs they can land.
2. Employees do not have the freedom to apply their income to purchasing the most desirable living accommodations they can afford.
3. Employers do not have the freedom to add convenient, comfortable, and traffic-reducing transportation to their benefit packages.
Sorry to overuse the word “freedom.” I know, it’s hopelessly dated and out of Obama’s ambit of concern.
Does anyone seriously believe that this juvenile display of envious outrage would have been met with anything other than guffaws had the groundwork for it not been laid by Obama’s pet notion of “income inequality”?
Income inequality is perhaps the most virulent of all ploys Obama has used—initially to secure his own elections, and currently to perpetuate the power of his party. Although prettily packaged as a “wouldn’t it be lovely” aspiration, it is now revealed as an unashamed rejection of freedom in favor of forced social engineering. Equality of opportunity is yesterday’s news; now it’s full speed ahead with equality of result. As a consequence, jealousy has been reimaged from sin to political cause and entitlement.
I was curious about how this pathetic protest could be verbalized without embarrassment. The only chant or sign that I could make out was, “San Francisco is not for sale.”
“Sale” used to be an emblem of a free society where goods and services exchange hands for agreed-upon equivalent values. What could I have been thinking?
Now “sale” is a dirty word for these misled dimwits. Now, if it’s not “free,” e.g., food stamps, abortions, education, it’s morally suspect.
To paraphrase and reduce an ancient political injunction, “If you can’t afford the rent, move.” Although I don’t see the allure of a city that, due to the adoption of other Obama-friendly populist policies, is overrun with homeless who pursue, with varying degrees of aggression, their personal pursuit of income redistribution, living there is not, even according to the dimmed philosophical lights of Obama and his fellow travelers, a god-given right.
To return to today’s headlines, it seems that according to a bipartisan report, Obamacare will probably result in a net loss of American jobs, a word Obama used in his sleep-inducing State of the Union address even more than “I.”
This, of course, poses a fascinating question to those who would rather attack an inanimate object than use one to pursue a brighter future:
“Given a choice, would you prefer to pay a higher rent, or lose the ability to afford any rent at all?”
© 2014 Gordon Osmond
January 23, 2014
Hillary v. Warren
Clinton, H. and Warren, E.--Scylla and Charybdis
Democrats, and, more generally, collectivists tend to be slow learners, so it’s more than possible that they may once again put romance over reason in coming up with a presidential candidate for 2016. Given this mental framework, who better to follow the country’s first somewhat if not wholly black president than the first female one?
And lo and behold, there are two such just ripe for the picking, although there are significant differences in the height of the fruit—Hillary Clinton and Elizabeth Warren. Although both are law school graduates, Hillary, particularly, seems to have been willing to put practice aside in the pursuit of political power.
Let’s thumbnail ‘em:
Hillary C. has demonstrated an extraordinary ability to pile up to skyscraper heights a multiple of character and technical flaws to the point where it seems against nature that she should be considered for any role more major than major domo on The View. To mention only the highlights:
• Her quixotic, hubristic, and happily hapless attempt to preempt Obama in fucking up the country’s health care system.
• Her lies about her wartime exposure to terrorists.
• Her attempt to morph her husband’s unbridled red-neck horniness into a conservative conspiracy.
• Her flaccid functioning as Secretary of State, which can be most charitably described in terms of the title of a great George Gershwin hit, “I’m Bidin’ [Biden?] My Time.” The only thing that makes HC’s SOS service serviceable is the Ketchup Consort’s subsequent performance in the part.
• As if this comedy of errors, born of both stupidity and cupidity, needed a finale, we have the now famous Benghazi quote, “What…difference does it make?” In the immortal words of Dinah Washington, “What a Difference [the murder of four brave Americans] Makes.” I find it fateful that Charles Krauthammer’s NY Times brilliant Best-Selling book is named “Things That Matter.” They apparently don’t, at least to Mrs. Clinton.
We know relatively little about Elizabeth Warren, except that she misses her ancestral teepee and would prefer to deal in wampum rather than harder currency. But for me, what’s critical is that she’s principled, at least so far. Nothing like a presidential pursuit to put an end to that. Of course, the principles are Robin-Hood deadly that would in the short term soothe the savage breast but in the long term bring the American engine to a stop.
As an Ayn Rand conservative, in any election, I always look for the least electable Democrat, and judged by this criterion, Elizabeth Warren is at this time the clear winner. On the other hand, those damned principles haunt me, so it might be better to go with a political chameleon like Hillary Clinton, for whom principles pose no problem whatsoever when confronted with political pragmatism.
Democrats, and, more generally, collectivists tend to be slow learners, so it’s more than possible that they may once again put romance over reason in coming up with a presidential candidate for 2016. Given this mental framework, who better to follow the country’s first somewhat if not wholly black president than the first female one?
And lo and behold, there are two such just ripe for the picking, although there are significant differences in the height of the fruit—Hillary Clinton and Elizabeth Warren. Although both are law school graduates, Hillary, particularly, seems to have been willing to put practice aside in the pursuit of political power.
Let’s thumbnail ‘em:
Hillary C. has demonstrated an extraordinary ability to pile up to skyscraper heights a multiple of character and technical flaws to the point where it seems against nature that she should be considered for any role more major than major domo on The View. To mention only the highlights:
• Her quixotic, hubristic, and happily hapless attempt to preempt Obama in fucking up the country’s health care system.
• Her lies about her wartime exposure to terrorists.
• Her attempt to morph her husband’s unbridled red-neck horniness into a conservative conspiracy.
• Her flaccid functioning as Secretary of State, which can be most charitably described in terms of the title of a great George Gershwin hit, “I’m Bidin’ [Biden?] My Time.” The only thing that makes HC’s SOS service serviceable is the Ketchup Consort’s subsequent performance in the part.
• As if this comedy of errors, born of both stupidity and cupidity, needed a finale, we have the now famous Benghazi quote, “What…difference does it make?” In the immortal words of Dinah Washington, “What a Difference [the murder of four brave Americans] Makes.” I find it fateful that Charles Krauthammer’s NY Times brilliant Best-Selling book is named “Things That Matter.” They apparently don’t, at least to Mrs. Clinton.
We know relatively little about Elizabeth Warren, except that she misses her ancestral teepee and would prefer to deal in wampum rather than harder currency. But for me, what’s critical is that she’s principled, at least so far. Nothing like a presidential pursuit to put an end to that. Of course, the principles are Robin-Hood deadly that would in the short term soothe the savage breast but in the long term bring the American engine to a stop.
As an Ayn Rand conservative, in any election, I always look for the least electable Democrat, and judged by this criterion, Elizabeth Warren is at this time the clear winner. On the other hand, those damned principles haunt me, so it might be better to go with a political chameleon like Hillary Clinton, for whom principles pose no problem whatsoever when confronted with political pragmatism.
January 21, 2014
Erotic Excerpt from My New Work
I'm not going to publicize this excerpt from my latest WIP, which is the functional equivalent of putting it in my safe deposit box. Nevertheless, if anyone comments on it, hard copies of all of my three published books will be in the post. Yes, this is a test:
"When Kyle moved down from Link’s expansive chest to the cornice of his cum column, which was not far below, he made a surprising discovery. Kyle, who had difficulty throughout his childhood and beyond swallowing more than one vitamin pill at a time without gagging had suddenly developed a relaxed larynx more than capable of fully accommodating Link at his most aroused, surprising and thrilling both of them."
"When Kyle moved down from Link’s expansive chest to the cornice of his cum column, which was not far below, he made a surprising discovery. Kyle, who had difficulty throughout his childhood and beyond swallowing more than one vitamin pill at a time without gagging had suddenly developed a relaxed larynx more than capable of fully accommodating Link at his most aroused, surprising and thrilling both of them."
January 13, 2014
2014 Golden Globes
A Few Random Reactions to Golden Globe Awards Ceremonies—2014
I don’t know if eating was involved, but all food was removed prior to the broadcast making for a clean and uncluttered promo for Moet champagne, which is very good. Somehow, however, Cate Blanchet, whose complexion suggests that nothing stronger than mother’s milk has ever passed her lips, managed to sneak in some vodka, or so she said.
2. Jacqueline Bisset requires immediate medical attention of the psychiatric stripe. She was apparently under the impression that she had been awarded not some supporting actor thingy, but rather the first female presidency of the Free World.
3. I didn’t care for either of the two dresses that Julia Roberts was wearing, simultaneously.
4. The fashion theme emphasized the sheath, to which most wearers responded admirably. Isn’t there any food in Hollywood?
5. It took quite a while for a black film to receive its proper due.
6. Although the Golden Globes are purported to be barometric of later award events, I have my doubts. For example, I very much doubt that Jon Voight, an outspoken conservative in the liberal desert of the mainstream film industry, will be honored in any contest judged by the industry participants themselves. The several awards he has previously won were bestowed well before his political inclinations were generally known.
7. Johnny Depp should not be allowed off a movie set. It’s the only place he doesn’t embarrass himself, however limited the opportunity he’s given to do so.
8. I found Diane Keaton, locked in the look she made famous many years ago, literate, animated, and generally appealing in her tribute to Woody Allen. I doubt Woody would have done as well. Interestingly, his Blue Jasmine was not nominated for best film.
I don’t know if eating was involved, but all food was removed prior to the broadcast making for a clean and uncluttered promo for Moet champagne, which is very good. Somehow, however, Cate Blanchet, whose complexion suggests that nothing stronger than mother’s milk has ever passed her lips, managed to sneak in some vodka, or so she said.
2. Jacqueline Bisset requires immediate medical attention of the psychiatric stripe. She was apparently under the impression that she had been awarded not some supporting actor thingy, but rather the first female presidency of the Free World.
3. I didn’t care for either of the two dresses that Julia Roberts was wearing, simultaneously.
4. The fashion theme emphasized the sheath, to which most wearers responded admirably. Isn’t there any food in Hollywood?
5. It took quite a while for a black film to receive its proper due.
6. Although the Golden Globes are purported to be barometric of later award events, I have my doubts. For example, I very much doubt that Jon Voight, an outspoken conservative in the liberal desert of the mainstream film industry, will be honored in any contest judged by the industry participants themselves. The several awards he has previously won were bestowed well before his political inclinations were generally known.
7. Johnny Depp should not be allowed off a movie set. It’s the only place he doesn’t embarrass himself, however limited the opportunity he’s given to do so.
8. I found Diane Keaton, locked in the look she made famous many years ago, literate, animated, and generally appealing in her tribute to Woody Allen. I doubt Woody would have done as well. Interestingly, his Blue Jasmine was not nominated for best film.
December 29, 2013
Blue Jasmine--A Review
Until recently, I was prepared to chalk up Blue Jasmine as another late-in-career miss by Woody Allen, along with his earlier Match Point. But the year-end buzz about the film being not only worthwhile but also prize-winning material impels me to file a minority report.
It may be that the film’s apologists, or worse, enthusiasts, are not familiar with Tennessee Williams’ masterpiece A Streetcar Named Desire. That unawareness is the only fact I can come up with to explain any reaction other than horror to Blue Jasmine.
The comparison between the two works is hardly labored. Allen not only follows Williams’ general plot line but also peppers the film script with virtual “lifts” from Streetcar. So it’s clearly open season on comparisons.
• Williams crafted two sisters differentiated by circumstances but not character. Allen at least has the integrity to realize that his two sisters are so spiritually separate as to be adopted both.
• Williams’ heroine is a blend of sensitivity and compassion. Her only conflict with her sister is an attempt to save her from savagery. Allen’s Jasmine is sensitive only to her own needs and wants. She treats sis like shit in good times and barely tolerates her when Jasmine herself is the supplicating boarder.
• The catalytic blow to Williams’ heroine is a carefully crafted evolution of inevitable disclosure of her past. The comparable revelation in Allen’s film is an accidental encounter on a city street, deus ex traffic stop.
If it was Allen’s intention to render some sort of homage, it accomplishes it only by demonstrating how inadequate he was to recapture any measure of the magic that makes Streetcar a literary and film classic. If, in his wildest dreams, Allen sought to enhance or extend the earlier classic, the result can be seen only as pathetic.
I am a lifetime admirer of Woody Allen (I think the holy trinity of Allen, Brooks, and Simon represents all that one needs to know about American contemporary comedy) and a relatively recent admirer of Cate Blanchett, who confidently carries the torch of Smith, Redgrave, and Dench. As the captain of the ship, it is Allen rather than his instrument that must answer for the travesty of Blue Jasmine.
It may be that the film’s apologists, or worse, enthusiasts, are not familiar with Tennessee Williams’ masterpiece A Streetcar Named Desire. That unawareness is the only fact I can come up with to explain any reaction other than horror to Blue Jasmine.
The comparison between the two works is hardly labored. Allen not only follows Williams’ general plot line but also peppers the film script with virtual “lifts” from Streetcar. So it’s clearly open season on comparisons.
• Williams crafted two sisters differentiated by circumstances but not character. Allen at least has the integrity to realize that his two sisters are so spiritually separate as to be adopted both.
• Williams’ heroine is a blend of sensitivity and compassion. Her only conflict with her sister is an attempt to save her from savagery. Allen’s Jasmine is sensitive only to her own needs and wants. She treats sis like shit in good times and barely tolerates her when Jasmine herself is the supplicating boarder.
• The catalytic blow to Williams’ heroine is a carefully crafted evolution of inevitable disclosure of her past. The comparable revelation in Allen’s film is an accidental encounter on a city street, deus ex traffic stop.
If it was Allen’s intention to render some sort of homage, it accomplishes it only by demonstrating how inadequate he was to recapture any measure of the magic that makes Streetcar a literary and film classic. If, in his wildest dreams, Allen sought to enhance or extend the earlier classic, the result can be seen only as pathetic.
I am a lifetime admirer of Woody Allen (I think the holy trinity of Allen, Brooks, and Simon represents all that one needs to know about American contemporary comedy) and a relatively recent admirer of Cate Blanchett, who confidently carries the torch of Smith, Redgrave, and Dench. As the captain of the ship, it is Allen rather than his instrument that must answer for the travesty of Blue Jasmine.
November 24, 2013
Stalked by James Broderick
Stalked
by
James F. Broderick
As its title states, Stalked is a story of pursuit, the target of which is generally truth and specifically the existence or not of a nasty creature called the Indiana Corn Weasel.
The pursuers are a mother and son team, and the alien territory on which the pursuit is centered, a small town in Indiana, brought to this reviewer’s mind Anna and the King of Siam. The loving relationship between single mom, Kelsey Kane, and her 7/8-year-old son is at the heart of James Broderick’s totally compelling tale of collision between cultures, ideologies, and political and ethical philosophies. That all of this can be handled within the confines of a can’t-put-it-down suspense novel that is at once thriller, horror story, and detective yarn is a tribute to the story-telling and writing skills of the author.
Broderick populates his story with a wondrous group of supporting characters, each etched with care and compassion. They not only don’t get in the way of, but actively assist in, driving the story to its shattering conclusion.
As his earlier works demonstrate, Broderick is a master story teller. He folds in exposition with the skill of a 5-star chef adding beaten egg whites to a soufflé mixture; he drops in plot hooks like an expert angler. He is allergic to mundane and commonplace expression, never more evident than when he describes the mundane and commonplace. The novel is a joy to read.
At one point a character in Stalked expresses the intention of saving up stories for a later novel. Readers of Stalked should be grateful that the wait is over.
by
James F. Broderick
As its title states, Stalked is a story of pursuit, the target of which is generally truth and specifically the existence or not of a nasty creature called the Indiana Corn Weasel.
The pursuers are a mother and son team, and the alien territory on which the pursuit is centered, a small town in Indiana, brought to this reviewer’s mind Anna and the King of Siam. The loving relationship between single mom, Kelsey Kane, and her 7/8-year-old son is at the heart of James Broderick’s totally compelling tale of collision between cultures, ideologies, and political and ethical philosophies. That all of this can be handled within the confines of a can’t-put-it-down suspense novel that is at once thriller, horror story, and detective yarn is a tribute to the story-telling and writing skills of the author.
Broderick populates his story with a wondrous group of supporting characters, each etched with care and compassion. They not only don’t get in the way of, but actively assist in, driving the story to its shattering conclusion.
As his earlier works demonstrate, Broderick is a master story teller. He folds in exposition with the skill of a 5-star chef adding beaten egg whites to a soufflé mixture; he drops in plot hooks like an expert angler. He is allergic to mundane and commonplace expression, never more evident than when he describes the mundane and commonplace. The novel is a joy to read.
At one point a character in Stalked expresses the intention of saving up stories for a later novel. Readers of Stalked should be grateful that the wait is over.
October 10, 2013
A Good Review
5.0 out of 5 stars The ultimate guilt-free escapist adventure, October 4, 2013
By
Grady Harp (Los Angeles, CA United States) - See all my reviews
(TOP 50 REVIEWER) (VINE VOICE) (HALL OF FAME REVIEWER) (REAL NAME)
This review is from: Slipping on Stardust (Kindle Edition)
For those familiar only with the radio broadcasts, plays, lectures and dissection of English Language abuse from the mind of Gordon Osmond, this debut novel will surprise and satisfy. Though it is established that Osmond writes well (his plays have been viewed across the country, his enormously popular book "So You Think You Know English--A Guide to English for Those Who Think They Don't Need One" has both instructed and titillated readers, and his `Wet Firecrackers' - his `unauthorized autobiography' - has a special place of honor in certain niches), none of that will prepare the reader for the skill he displays in this dark romantic suspense comedy. He writes with turns of phrase, witticisms, insights and polemics that are equal to the best of today's writers.
To be succinct, SLIPPING ON STARDUST is a contemporary, American, ultimate guilt-free escapist adventure story about how the arrival of a faded movie star shakes up a small town, hurling its inhabitants to New York City and Hollywood in a trail of seduction, scandal, kidnapping with suicide demanded as ransom, and other crimes. Or to be a bit more extensive, the story is that of the seemingly tranquil small-town life of the Brockway family--Dan, the town's leading lawyer, Eileen, his beautiful star-struck wife, and Kyle, the couple's equally star-struck and sexually undecided son--is dramatically thrown off kilter by the arrival of Adrian Conway, a faded Hollywood "B" movie star, who has come to town to stay and star with Eileen in a regional production of a classic play. The novel follows the production of the play and its several fallouts, scandals that develop in Dan's law firm, a kidnapping demanding a suicide as ransom, and a planned assassination. When these developments come to a boil, Eileen flees to New York City and Kyle to Hollywood, where they live and learn in very different environments.
Much of the joy of reading this book is wallowing in the language of Gordon Osmond. His way with words defies description - you must read his language to appreciate the flow of the story and the manner in which Osmond puts his periscope up above the madness of the arts, often providing a mirror for reflecting on human behavior. He deals with the folly and glamour of following dreams, dealing with the law, teenage crises, and the bizarre world of community theatre, and the result is fizz from a noisily opened bottle of champagne. Grady Harp, October 13
By
Grady Harp (Los Angeles, CA United States) - See all my reviews
(TOP 50 REVIEWER) (VINE VOICE) (HALL OF FAME REVIEWER) (REAL NAME)
This review is from: Slipping on Stardust (Kindle Edition)
For those familiar only with the radio broadcasts, plays, lectures and dissection of English Language abuse from the mind of Gordon Osmond, this debut novel will surprise and satisfy. Though it is established that Osmond writes well (his plays have been viewed across the country, his enormously popular book "So You Think You Know English--A Guide to English for Those Who Think They Don't Need One" has both instructed and titillated readers, and his `Wet Firecrackers' - his `unauthorized autobiography' - has a special place of honor in certain niches), none of that will prepare the reader for the skill he displays in this dark romantic suspense comedy. He writes with turns of phrase, witticisms, insights and polemics that are equal to the best of today's writers.
To be succinct, SLIPPING ON STARDUST is a contemporary, American, ultimate guilt-free escapist adventure story about how the arrival of a faded movie star shakes up a small town, hurling its inhabitants to New York City and Hollywood in a trail of seduction, scandal, kidnapping with suicide demanded as ransom, and other crimes. Or to be a bit more extensive, the story is that of the seemingly tranquil small-town life of the Brockway family--Dan, the town's leading lawyer, Eileen, his beautiful star-struck wife, and Kyle, the couple's equally star-struck and sexually undecided son--is dramatically thrown off kilter by the arrival of Adrian Conway, a faded Hollywood "B" movie star, who has come to town to stay and star with Eileen in a regional production of a classic play. The novel follows the production of the play and its several fallouts, scandals that develop in Dan's law firm, a kidnapping demanding a suicide as ransom, and a planned assassination. When these developments come to a boil, Eileen flees to New York City and Kyle to Hollywood, where they live and learn in very different environments.
Much of the joy of reading this book is wallowing in the language of Gordon Osmond. His way with words defies description - you must read his language to appreciate the flow of the story and the manner in which Osmond puts his periscope up above the madness of the arts, often providing a mirror for reflecting on human behavior. He deals with the folly and glamour of following dreams, dealing with the law, teenage crises, and the bizarre world of community theatre, and the result is fizz from a noisily opened bottle of champagne. Grady Harp, October 13
August 11, 2013
Pronouns--Friends or Foes?
In my activities as a professional editor, I am continually amazed at how authors’ problems with noun/verb agreement, dangling participles, punctuation, and spelling are substantially eclipsed by the author’s difficulty with the thorny question of noun/pronoun agreement.
Hoping to ape the adjective’s status as the most boring of all eight parts of speech, having no gender, case or number(The black mice ate the ginger cat just after the black cat ate the ginger mouse—note how the adjectives don’t change in spite of the spirited story), nouns, unlike adjectives, come in singular and plural forms.
Pronouns complicate matters further. For not only do they stand for nouns with singular and plural forms, they also require attention to case and gender. She kissed him on his mouth but only after she struck him. The five preceding pronouns were all carefully selected with a view to case, gender, and number, all of which effort could have been avoided by saying, “Vicki kissed Greg on Greg’s mouth but only after Vicki struck Greg.” Easy enough, but who would want to read it?
The luxury of using pronouns to facilitate readable, if not elegant prose comes with two price tags:
The noun for which the pronoun stands must be clear. That noun need not be stated, but it must be clear from the context. As a general rule, a pronoun will be deemed to stand for the noun preceding it most proximately. An example of the violation of this rule is the following excerpt from an email I recently received from a former English teacher:
“Both Tom and Gavin have received a copy of "Slipping on Stardust" and I have given their copies to Clare and Pete and to my friend Roberta, who was very excited to see the inscription. I will pass on to you the expected encomiums as soon as received.”
In this example, it sounds like the writer of this email gave Tom and Gavin’s copies to Clare, Pete, and Roberta even though I know full well that the writer had three additional copies for them. Moreover, giving two copies to three persons brings to mind fishes and loaves.
Once the noun and pronoun have been successfully paired, the two must agree in terms of number and gender. Also, the case of the pronoun must be determined depending upon its use in the sentence. The following is an example, taken from a source well known to authors:
"Everyday we will feature an author, one who has graciously donated an e-book copy of one of their books, will stop by and give us a taste of what they are giving away. And with each author you get the opportunity to enter to win not only their books but also this prize pack."
In the above quotation, their and they are third-person plural pronouns, yet the clear antecedent noun is author, aggressively singular. Not good.
The bottom line is that every author should, before submitting a manuscript, circle every pronoun used in the work. This will probably take a lot more time than the author would imagine due to the popularity of that particular part of speech. In each case, the identity of the noun precedent should be noted, and then the agreement between the noun and the pronoun should be analyzed.
Hoping to ape the adjective’s status as the most boring of all eight parts of speech, having no gender, case or number(The black mice ate the ginger cat just after the black cat ate the ginger mouse—note how the adjectives don’t change in spite of the spirited story), nouns, unlike adjectives, come in singular and plural forms.
Pronouns complicate matters further. For not only do they stand for nouns with singular and plural forms, they also require attention to case and gender. She kissed him on his mouth but only after she struck him. The five preceding pronouns were all carefully selected with a view to case, gender, and number, all of which effort could have been avoided by saying, “Vicki kissed Greg on Greg’s mouth but only after Vicki struck Greg.” Easy enough, but who would want to read it?
The luxury of using pronouns to facilitate readable, if not elegant prose comes with two price tags:
The noun for which the pronoun stands must be clear. That noun need not be stated, but it must be clear from the context. As a general rule, a pronoun will be deemed to stand for the noun preceding it most proximately. An example of the violation of this rule is the following excerpt from an email I recently received from a former English teacher:
“Both Tom and Gavin have received a copy of "Slipping on Stardust" and I have given their copies to Clare and Pete and to my friend Roberta, who was very excited to see the inscription. I will pass on to you the expected encomiums as soon as received.”
In this example, it sounds like the writer of this email gave Tom and Gavin’s copies to Clare, Pete, and Roberta even though I know full well that the writer had three additional copies for them. Moreover, giving two copies to three persons brings to mind fishes and loaves.
Once the noun and pronoun have been successfully paired, the two must agree in terms of number and gender. Also, the case of the pronoun must be determined depending upon its use in the sentence. The following is an example, taken from a source well known to authors:
"Everyday we will feature an author, one who has graciously donated an e-book copy of one of their books, will stop by and give us a taste of what they are giving away. And with each author you get the opportunity to enter to win not only their books but also this prize pack."
In the above quotation, their and they are third-person plural pronouns, yet the clear antecedent noun is author, aggressively singular. Not good.
The bottom line is that every author should, before submitting a manuscript, circle every pronoun used in the work. This will probably take a lot more time than the author would imagine due to the popularity of that particular part of speech. In each case, the identity of the noun precedent should be noted, and then the agreement between the noun and the pronoun should be analyzed.
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
...more
- Gordon Osmond's profile
- 14 followers
