John Coulthart's Blog, page 319

Victorian typography

"Victorian" isn't really the correct term for the products of 19th century America but then "19th century" covers rather a lot of ground. Mr BibliOdyssey's most recent post is a stunning collection of title pages from fire insurance maps of the late 19th and early 20th century. Rather than repost any you ought to go and see them for yourself, they're excellent examples of the best and worst of "Victorian" graphic design, insanely and pointlessly ornate yet often very inventive in their elaborations and stylised letterforms. Being a typophile I'd often feel frustrated when looking at 19th century documents and seeing type designs in use for which there were no contemporary equivalents. There was such a profound reaction against ornamented design in the 20th century that it's only relatively recently that typography of this period has been reappraised and, in some cases, resurrected. The book from which these examples are taken dates from 1897, and it fascinates for putting names to some of those neglected designs. This is a big catalogue of 740 pages so I've been sparing in my selection. Anyone wishing to see more can download the whole thing here.

Despite my affection for curvilinear Art Nouveau, when it comes to typography I'm often drawn to the spikier styles. Atlanta was digitised by P22 in a style they call Victorian Gothic. Their accompanying ornament set replicated that curious shape from Victoria below.

This typeface, or ones which resemble it, is a common one in 19th century newspaper and advertising design but I'd never seen it given a name until now. The catalogue pages have a number of variations which is no doubt an indicator of its popularity. A bold weight of the design was digitised by Scriptorium as a font they call Mephisto.

Rubens is my favourite of all the designs in this catalogue, probably because I always liked the way it looked when it enjoyed a surprising flush of popularity in the 1960s and 1970s. The narrow style made it very useful for book covers (as with the examples here) while those spiky serifs made it popular with art directors looking for a typeface that said "horror". Wooden Type Fonts recently digitised a version of Rubens but their version lacks the elegance of the original. Anyone else want to have a go?

Lastly the catalogue has many pages of clip art figures and decorations including the pointing hands which people always associate with 19th century design. I'd wondered a few times whether these jagged decorations were meant to be electrical or not. Electricity was a new thing in 1897 so these would have seemed distinctly modern.

Previously on { feuilleton }

• Steampunk overloaded!

• Penguin Labyrinths and the Thief's Journal

• Masonic fonts and the designer's dark materials

The Choise of Valentines, Or the Merie Ballad of Nash His Dildo

My little dilldo shall suply their kinde:

A knaue, that moues as light as leaues by winde;

That bendeth not, nor fouldeth anie deale,

But stands as stiff as he were made of steele;

A salacious post for chocolate-and-roses day. There's a degree of confusion around this work and its author, an Elizabethan poet, playwright and pamphleteer. The poem, which was distributed privately, dates from around 1593 and has a variety of titles, while its author is variously credited as Thomas Nashe or Thomas Nash. Despite the bawdy reputation of the Elizabethan era Nash's contemporaries were sufficiently scandalised by the poem for it to remain unpublished, with the result that it survives imperfectly in a few handwritten copies. It's a lengthy piece so let's go to Wikipedia for a précis:

It describes the visit of a young man named "Tomalin" to the brothel where his girlfriend Frances ("Frankie") is employed. Having paid ten gold pieces for her favours, Tomalin is embarrassed to find that merely lifting her skirts makes him lose his erection. She perseveres in arousing him however and they make love, but to her disappointment he has an orgasm before her. Frankie then decides to take matters into her own hands: hence the informal title by which the poem was known, Nashe's Dildo.

The Oxford English Dictionary credits Nash with the first appearance in English of the word "dildo", a term "of obscure origin" we're told, whose usage here predates John Florio's Worlde of Wordes (1598), Ben Jonson's The Alchemist (1610), and Shakespeare's A Winter's Tale (1611). Nash's achievement is something of a cheat since his poem wasn't actually published until 1899, and then in a private edition. As usual the Internet Archive has the book in question, and it's their version which follows, albeit without the copious footnotes.

The Renaissance English Literature site has more about Thomas Nash (or Nashe), his life and his work.

THE CHOOSING OF VALENTINES.

It was the merie moneth of Februarie,

When yong men, in their iollie roguerie,

Rose earelie in the morne fore breake of daie,

To seeke them valentines soe trimme and gaie;

With whom they maie consorte in summer sheene,

And dance the haidegaies on our toune-greene,

As alas at Easter, or at Pentecost,

Perambulate the fields that flourish most;

And goe to som village abbordring neere,

To taste the creame and cakes and such good cheere;

Or see a playe of strange moralitie,

Shewen by Bachelrie of Maningtree.

Where to, the contrie franklins flock-meale swarme,

And Jhon and Jone com marching arme in arme.

Euen on the hallowes of that blessed Saint

That doeth true louers with those ioyes acquaint,

I went, poore pilgrime, to my ladies shrine,

To see if she would be my valentine;

But woe, alass, she was not to be found,

For she was shifted to an upper ground:

Good Justice Dudgeon-haft, and crab-tree face,

With bills and staues had scar'd hir from the place;

And now she was compel'd, for Sanctuarie,

To flye unto a house of venerie.

Thither went I, and bouldlie made enquire

If they had hackneis to lett-out to hire,

And what they crau'd, by order of their trade,

To lett one ride a iournie on a iade.

Therwith out stept a foggy three-chinnd dame,

That us'd to take yong wenches for to tame,

And ask't me if I ment as I profest,

Or onelie ask't a question but in iest.

"In iest?" quoth I; "that terme it as you will;

I com for game, therefore give me my Jill."

"Why Sir," quoth shee, "if that be your demande,

Com, laye me a Gods-pennie in my hand;

For, in our oratorie siccarlie,

None enters heere, to doe his nicarie,

But he must paye his offertorie first,

And then, perhaps, wee'le ease him of his thirst."

I, hearing hir so ernest for the box,

Gave hir hir due, and she the dore unlocks.

In am I entered: "venus be my speede!

But where's this female that must do this deed"?

By blinde meanders, and by crankled wayes,

Shee leades me onward, (as my Aucthor saies),

Vntill we came within a shadie loft

Where venus bounsing vestalls skirmish oft;

And there shee sett me in a leather chaire,

And brought me forth, of prettie Trulls, a paire,

To chuse of them which might content myne eye;

But hir I sought, I could nowhere espie.

I spake them faire, and wisht them well to fare—

"Yet soe yt is, I must haue fresher ware;

Wherefore, dame Bawde, as daintie as you bee,

Fetch gentle mistris Francis forth to me."

"By Halliedame," quoth she, "and Gods oune mother,

I well perceaue you are a wylie brother;

For if there be a morsell of more price,

You'll smell it out, though I be nare so nice.

As you desire, so shall you swiue with hir,

But think, your purse-strings shall abye-it deare;

For, he that will eate quailes must lauish crounes,

And Mistris Francis, in her veluett gounes,

And ruffs and perwigs as fresh as Maye,

Can not be kept with half a croune a daye."

"Of price, good hostess, we will not debate,

Though you assize me at the highest rate;

Onelie conduct me to this bonnie bell.

And tenne good gobbs I will unto thee tell,

Of golde or siluer, which shall lyke thee best,

So much doe I hir companie request."

Awaie she went: so sweete a thing is golde,

That (mauger) will inuade the strongest holde.

"Hey-ho! she coms, that hath my hearte in keepe

Sing Lullabie, my cares, and falle a-sleepe."

Sweeping she coms, as she would brush the ground;

Hir ratling silkes my sences doe confound.

"Oh, I am rauisht: voide the chamber streight;

For I must neede's upon hir with my weight."

"My Tomalin," quoth shee, and then she smilde.

"I, I," quoth I, "soe more men are beguild

With smiles, with flatt'ring wordes, and fained cheere,

When in their deedes their falsehood doeth appeare."

"As how, my lambkin," blushing, she replide,

"Because I in this dancing schoole abide?

If that it be, that breede's this discontent,

We will remoue the camp incontinent:

For shelter onelie, sweete heart, came I hither,

And to auoide the troblous stormie weather;

But now the coaste is cleare, we will be gonne,

Since, but thy self, true louer I haue none."

With that she sprung full lightlie to my lips,

And fast about the neck me colle's, and clips;

She wanton faints, and falle's vpon hir bedd,

And often tosseth too and fro hir head;

She shutts hir eyes, and waggles with her tongue:

"Oh, who is able to abstaine so long?"

"I com! I com! sweete lyning be thy leaue:"

Softlie my fingers up theis curtaine heaue,

And make me happie, stealing by degreese.

First bare hir leggs, then creepe up to hir kneese;

From thence ascend unto her mannely thigh—

(A pox on lingring when I am so nighe!).

Smock, climbe a-pace, that I maie see my ioyes;

Oh heauen and paradize are all but toyes

Compar'd with this sight I now behould,

Which well might keepe a man from being olde.

A prettie rysing wombe without a weame,

That shone as bright as anie siluer streame;

And bare out like the bending of an hill,

At whose decline a fountaine dwelleth still;

That hath his mouth besett with uglie bryers,

Resembling much a duskie nett of wyres;

A loftie buttock, barrd with azure veines,

Whose comelie swelling, when my hand distreines,

Or wanton checketh with a harmlesse stype,

It makes the fruites of loue oftsoone be rype,

And pleasure pluckt too tymelie from the stemme

To dye ere it hath seene Jerusalem.

O Gods! that euer anie thing so sweete,

So suddenlie should fade awaie, and fleete!

Hir armes are spread, and I am all unarm'd,

Lyke one with Ouid's cursed hemlocke charm'd;

So are my Limms unwealdlie for the fight

That spend their strength in thought of hir delight.

What shall I doe to shewe my self a man?

It will not be for ought that beawtie can.

I kisse, I clap, I feele, I view at will,

Yett dead he lyes, not thinking good or ill.

"Unhappie me," quoth shee, "and wilt' not stand?

Com, lett me rubb and chafe it with my hand!

Perhaps the sillie worme is labour'd sore,

And wearied that it can doe noe more;

If it be so, as I am greate a-dread,

I wish tenne thousand times that I were dead.

How ere it is, no meanes shall want in me,

That maie auaile to his recouerie."

Which saide, she tooke and rould it on hir thigh,

And when she look't on't, she would weepe and sighe;

She dandled it, and dancet it up and doune,

Not ceasing till she rais'd it from his swoune.

And then he flue on hir as he were wood,

And on hir breeche did hack and foyne a-good;

He rub'd, and prickt, and pierst her to the bones,

Digging as farre as eath he might for stones;

Now high, now lowe, now stryking shorte and thicke;

Now dyuing deepe, he toucht hir to the quicke;

Now with a gird he would his course rebate,

Straite would he take him to a statlie gate;

Plaie while him list, and thrust he neare so hard,

Poore pacient Grissill lyeth at hir warde,

And giue's, and takes, as blythe and free as Maye,

And ere-more meete's him in the midle waye.

On him hir eyes continualy were fixt;

With hir eye-beames his melting looke's were mixt,

Which, like the Sunne, that twixt two glasses plaies,

From one to th' other cast's rebounding rayes.

He, lyke a starre that, to reguild his beames

Sucks-in the influence of Phebus streames,

Imbathes the lynes of his descending light

In the bright fountaines of hir clearest sight.

She, faire as fairest Planet in the skye,

Hir puritie to noe man doeth denye;

The verie chamber that enclouds her shine

Lookes lyke the pallace of that God deuine,

Who leades the daie about the Zodiake,

And euerie euen discends to th'oceane lake;

So fierce and feruent is her radiance,

Such fyrie stakes she darts at euerie glance

As might enflame the icie limmes of age,

And make pale death his seignedrie to aswage;

To stand and gaze upon her orient lamps,

Where Cupid all his chiefest ioyes encamps,

And sitts, and playes with euery atomie

That in hir Sunne-beames swarme aboundantlie.

Thus gazing, and thus striuing, we perseuer:

But what so firme that maie continue euer?

"Oh not so fast," my rauisht Mistriss cryes,

"Leaste my content, that on thy life relyes,

Be brought too-soone from his delightfull seate,

And me unwares of hoped bliss defeate.

Together lett us marche unto content,

And be consumed with one blandishment."

As she prescrib'd so kept we crotchet-time,

And euerie stroake in ordre lyke a chyme,

Whilst she, that had preseru'd me by hir pittie,

Unto our musike fram'd a groaning dittie.

"Alass! alass! that loue should be a sinne!

Euen now my blisse and sorrowe doeth beginne.

Hould wyde thy lapp, my louelie Danae,

And entretaine the golden shoure so free,

That trikling falles into thy treasurie.

As Aprill-drops not half so pleasant be,

Nor Nilus overflowe to Ægipt plaines

As this sweet-streames that all hir ioints imbaynes.

With "Oh!" and "Oh!" she itching moues hir hipps,

And to and fro full lightlie starts and skips:

She ierkes hir leggs, and sprauleth with hir heeles;

No tongue maie tell the solace that she feeles,

"I faint! I yeald! Oh, death! rock me a-sleepe!

Sleepe! sleepe desire! entombed in the deepe!"

"Not so, my deare," my dearest saint replyde,

"For, from us yett, thy spirit maie not glide

Untill the sinnowie channels of our blood

Without their source from this imprisoned flood;

And then will we (that then will com too soone),

Dissolued lye, as though our dayes were donne."

The whilst I speake, my soule is fleeting hence,

And life forsakes his fleshie residence.

Staie, staie sweete ioye, and leaue me not forlorne

Why shouldst thou fade that art but newelie borne?

"Staie but an houre, an houre is not so much:

But half an houre; if that thy haste is such,

Naie, but a quarter—I will aske no more—

That thy departure (which torments me sore),

Maie be alightned with a little pause,

And take awaie this passions sudden cause."

He heare's me not; hard-harted as he is,

He is the sonne of Time, and hates my blisse.

Time nere looke's backe, the riuers nere returne;

A second springe must help me or I burne.

No, no, the well is drye that should refresh me,

The glasse is runne of all my destinie:

Nature of winter learneth nigardize

Who, as he ouer-beares the streame with ice

That man nor beaste maie of their pleasance taste,

So shutts she up hir conduit all in haste,

And will not let hir Nectar ouer-flowe,

Least mortall man immortall ioyes should knowe.

Adieu! unconstant loue, to thy disporte

Adieu! false mirth, and melodie too short;

Adieu! faint-hearted instrument of lust;

That falselie hath betrayde our equale trust.

Hence-forth no more will I implore thine ayde,

Or thee, or man of cowardize upbrayde.

My little dilldo shall suply their kinde:

A knaue, that moues as light as leaues by winde;

That bendeth not, nor fouldeth anie deale,

But stands as stiff as he were made of steele;

And playes at peacock twixt my leggs right blythe,

And doeth my tickling swage with manie a sighe.

For, by saint Runnion! he'le refresh me well;

And neuer make my tender bellie swell.

Poore Priapus! whose triumph now must falle,

Except thou thrust this weakeling to the walle.

Behould! how he usurps, in bed and bowre

And undermines thy kingdom euerie howre;

How slye he creepes betwixt the barke and tree,

And sucks the sap, whilst sleepe detaineth thee.

He is my Mistris page at euerie stound,

And soone will tent a deepe intrenched wound.

He wayte's on Courtlie Nimphs that be so coye,

And bids them skorne the blynd-alluring boye.

He giues yong guirls their gamesome sustenance,

And euerie gaping mouth his full sufficeance.

He fortifies disdaine with forraine artes,

And wanton-chaste deludes all loving hartes.

If anie wight a cruell mistris serue's,

Or, in dispaire, (unhappie) pines and staru's,

Curse Eunuke dilldo, senceless counterfet

Who sooth maie fill, but never can begett.

But, if revenge enraged with dispaire,

That such a dwarf his wellfare should empaire,

Would faine this womans secretarie knowe,

Lett him attend the markes that I shall showe:

He is a youth almost two handfulls highe,

Streight, round, and plumb, yett hauing but one eye,

Wherein the rhewme so feruentlie doeth raigne,

That Stigian gulph maie scarce his teares containe;

Attired in white veluet, or in silk,

And nourisht with whott water, or with milk,

Arm'd otherwhile in thick congealed glasse,

When he, more glib, to hell be lowe would passe.

Vpon a charriot of five wheeles he rydes,

The which an arme strong driuer stedfast guides,

And often alters pace as wayes growe deepe,

(For who, in pathes unknowne, one gate can keepe?)

Sometimes he smoothlie slideth doune the hill;

Another while, the stones his feete doe kill;

In clammie waies he treaddeth by and by,

And plasheth and sprayeth all that be him nye.

So fares this iollie rider in his race,

Plunging and sousing forward in lyke case,

He dasht, and spurted, and he plodded foule,

God giue thee shame, thou blinde mischapen owle!

Fy-fy, for grief: a ladies chamberlaine,

And canst not thou thy tatling tongue refraine?

I reade thee beardles blab, beware of stripes,

And be aduised what thou vainelie pipes;

Thou wilt be whipt with nettles for this geare

If Cicelie shewe but of thy knauerie heere.

Saint Denis shield me from such female sprites!

Regarde not, Dames, what Cupids Poete writes:

I pennd this storie onelie for my selfe,

Who, giuing suck unto a childish Elfe,

And quitte discourag'd in my nurserie,

Since all my store seemes to hir penurie.

I am not as was Hercules the stout,

That to the seaventh iournie could hould out;

I want those hearbe's and rootes of Indian soile,

That strengthen wearie members in their toile—

Druggs and Electuaries of new devise,

Doe shunne my purse, that trembles at the price.

Sufficeth all I haue, I yeald hir hole

Which, for a poore man, is a princelie dole,

I paie our hostess scott and lott at moste,

And looke as leane and lank as anie ghoste;

What can be added more to my renowne?

She lyeth breathlesse; I am taken doune;

The waves doe swell, the tydes climbe or'e the banks;

Judge, gentlemen! if I deserue not thanks?

And so, good night! unto you euer'ie one;

For loe, our thread is spunne, our plaie is donne.

_Claudito iam vinos Priapa, sat prata biberunt_ [sic[j]].

Tho. Nash.

Previously on { feuilleton }

• The fascinating phallus

• The Triumph of the Phallus

• Le Phallus phénoménal

• Phallic bibelots

• The New Love Poetry

• Phallic worship

• The art of ejaculation

Weekend links: fifth anniversary edition

The Figure 5 in Gold (1928) by Charles Demuth.

It's a little surprising to find I've been doing this for five whole years yet here we are. Having seen a number of blogs call it quits at the five-year point I should note that I don't feel quite that exhausted although maintaining a discipline of daily posting can be a chore at times, especially when you're pressured by work. On the whole the advantages continue to outweigh the disadvantages. Some of the discoveries here have fed back into things I've been working on or opened avenues for future exploration. Researching something for an audience (however slight that audience or the resulting post) encourages you to look more deeply into a given subject; sometimes you learn more as a result and occasionally make surprising discoveries. Obsessions are teased out which might otherwise have lain dormant. Yes, it's an extra bout of work but I've spent much of my life saying to people "if you like that, you may like this", and that's all many of these posts are doing.

This year promises to be an interesting one so watch this space. And, as always, thanks for reading!

John x

On to the links…

• Cathedral Scan translates the architectural plans of Gothic cathedrals into open-ended musical scores via custom software. There's more at Blake Carrington's website.

• Forty-three William Burroughs recordings (tape experiments and readings) at the Ubuweb archives.

• The opening scene of Deadlock (1970), an obscure German film with a theme by the mighty Can.

• Strange Lands: A Field-Guide to the Celtic Otherworld, a new book by Andrew L Paciorek.

• The enduring nature of Frankenstein, currently on stage at the National Theatre, London.

Owl One (2004) by Yuri Shimojo.

• ¡Activista! by Sonny Smith: Drag Queens, Borders, Rivers, Death and Transformation.

• Estonian sculptor Mati Karmin makes furniture out of Russian anti-submarine mines.

• Alan Moore's contribution to the Save Our Libraries campaign.

• Innsmouth Free Press is raising funds for their running costs.

• A history of queer street art (Facebook link, unfortunately).

• Illuminated book design for Heston's Fantastical Feasts.

• Physica Sacra, an engraving set at Flickr.

• Egypt (1985) by Tuxedomoon | Egyptian Basses (1998) by Coil | Soleil D'Egypte (2001) by Natacha Atlas.

The specimen jars of Frederik Ruysch

Some plates for Darwin Day from Thesaurus Animalium Primus (1710) by Dutch botanist and anatomist Frederik Ruysch. As is evident from these examples, Ruysch wasn't above some frivolous indulgence when it came to illustrating his scientific texts, and he often gathered specimens into little tableaux which verge on the bizarre, such as the conjunction below of a child's arm and a hatching turtle. Gone are the days when a renowned man of science might be depicted plucking at the entrails of a dead baby. This site has more about Ruysch's specimens while BibliOdyssey posted some examples of Ruysch's anatomical tableaux (with baby skeletons this time) and links to the books which contain them.

Previously on { feuilleton }

• Darwin at 200

Deutsche Kunst und Dekoration #7

Continuing the delve into back numbers of Deutsche Kunst und Dekoration, the German periodical of art and decoration. Volume 7 covers the period from October 1900 to March 1901 and features a set of ornamental capitals throughout this edition designed by Karl Lürtzing, part of a presentation of typefaces in the Art Nouveau style. The figures in Lürtzing's alphabet all seem to be Biblical or mythological (as with David and Eve above) although some are easier to decipher than others. Volume 6 paid a visit to the Exposition Universelle in Paris and there's a few more examples from that event here, along with further examinations of the best in German art and design. As usual, anyone wishing to see these samples in greater detail is advised to download the entire volume (which comprises over 300 pages) at the Internet Archive. There'll be more DK&D next week.

Remarkable interiors by Richard Riemerschmid.

To date, the best peacock pattern textile design I've come across, credited to one Frau Dunsky. (For the best pattern featuring actual peacocks, see Walter Crane and William Morris.) This would have been a great success as a wallpaper design in the 1960s.

Part of a feature on Sascha Schneider's Leipzig murals.

Was there ever a time before or since 1900 when women were displayed dallying so frequently with octopuses or, in this case, squid? There's no credit for this picture but it's part of a feature on artist Fritz Erler (see below) so is probably his work.

Fritz Erler is classed among the minor German Symbolists for works such as these, murals for the music room of the Villa Neisser, Munich, which render in pictorial form different musical styles. The article has photos of the room, the design of which was a collaboration between Erler and his brother, Erich. Two of the more eccentric panels are shown here. I've no idea why Scherzo (above) would require a half-naked man and a wild bear, while Tanz (Dance) below, is one of the stranger Salomés of this period with her tiny head and vertical hair.

Another Symbolist Erler piece, Die Pest (The Plague), a painting which was prominently featured in Jugend magazine the same year. Erler achieved considerable popularity towards the end of his life, and also lasting ignominy, by painting portraits and propaganda pieces for the Nazi Party.

Previously on { feuilleton }

• Deutsche Kunst und Dekoration #6

• Deutsche Kunst und Dekoration #5

• Deutsche Kunst und Dekoration #4

• Deutsche Kunst und Dekoration #2

• Deutsche Kunst und Dekoration #1

• Deutsche Kunst und Dekoration

• Jugend Magazine revisited

More Queer Noise

Hand In Glove (1973) by The Smiths, 7″ single.

This celebrated pair of buttocks turned up in the inbox this week, courtesy of a news mail from the Manchester District Music Archive announcing their Queer Noise website, an online exhibition exploring LGBT music and club culture in Greater Manchester. It was just over a year ago that I designed a poster for the Queer Noise music event which preceded the online collection; writer and journalist Jon Savage was the host that evening and he's provided an intro for the site. And speaking of queer noises, I've been told recently that John Gill's 1995 book of that name, Queer Noises: Male and Female Homosexuality in Twentieth-Century Music is shortly to be republished in an updated edition. No further details as yet.

Meanwhile, back at the buttocks, it seems that Morrissey swiped his cover photo for the first Smiths single from The Nude Male (1978) by Margaret Walters. I have that very book so here is that very photo, an impressive study by beefcake photographer Jim French.

Previously on { feuilleton }

• Queer Noise in Manchester

• Queer Noise and the Wolf Girl

• The fascinating phallus

• Queer Noises

The writhing on the wall

Dracula (1992).

This is the closest you'll get to a guest post here even though it's been done remotely and I've changed things around a little. Following my mention yesterday of the Cocteau-derived lantern-arms in Francis Coppola's Dracula, Jescie sent me an abandoned blog post which collected similar examples of the arms-through-the-walls motif. I've done this kind of thing here in the past so it's good {feuilleton} material. Almost all these examples are fantasy- and horror-related which isn't too surprising, and I'm sure there'll be other examples in films I haven't seen. If anyone has any suggestions just remember that hands grasping through doors and windows don't count with this, it's through the wall or not at all.

La Belle et la Bête (1946).

Jean Cocteau sets things off in 1946, a perfect piece of fairytale Surrealism and one of the many memorable aspects of this film.

La Belle et la Bête (1946).

Jack the Giant Killer (1962).

One I almost forgot, a Ray Harryhausen-like adventure which is pretty good as I recall although I've not seen it for years. IMDB says there's a remake on the way.

Repulsion (1965).

Roman Polanski's classic of mental disturbance in a London flat.

The Thin Wall (1981) by Ultravox: 12″ sleeve.

One I wouldn't have known about without Jescie's suggestion. I had the Rage in Eden album from which this single is taken but don't remember the song at all, probably because I disliked the band by this point; Ultravox and I part company at Vienna. The design for this, as with the band's other sleeves of this period, was by Peter Saville.

The Thin Wall (1981) by Ultravox: 7″ sleeve.

The Day of the Dead (1985).

I think this was the last George Romero film I watched, it's certainly one of the last zombie films I watched having lost my patience in recent years with the entire sub-genre of shambling corpses. New monsters, please.

Labyrinth (1986).

The Helping Hands from Jim Henson's fantasy wherein Mr Bowie sports that wig and that codpiece.

Ave Maria (2007) by Maurizio Cattelan.

The final example isn't a film at all but a sculpture by an Italian artist who apparently dislikes being taken seriously.

Thanks to Jescie!

Previously on { feuilleton }

• Le livre blanc by Jean Cocteau

• Cocteau's sword

• Cristalophonics: searching for the Cocteau sound

• Cocteau at the Louvre des Antiquaires

• La Villa Santo Sospir by Jean Cocteau

Symbolist cinema

Symbolist? Arguably. Decadent? Certainly. Watching Francis Ford Coppola's Dracula (1992) again this weekend I thought it worth making note of some of these resonances. The real age of Symbolist cinema was the Silent Era from around 1910 onwards, something I discussed in more detail here. That being so, several films made since can be taken as Symbolist (more usually Decadent) productions even if this was never their original intention. Kenneth Anger's Magic Lantern Cycle comes immediately to mind, so too Sergei Parajanov's The Colour of Pomegranates.

Bram Stoker's novel was published in 1897 at the ebbing of the fin de siècle but vampires and vampirism were already recurrent Symbolist themes. Aesthetic magus Walter Pater wrote of the Mona Lisa in 1893, "She is older than the rocks among which she sits; like the vampire, she has been dead many times, and learned the secrets of the grave…" Dracula almost demands a Symbolist interpretation, and for now Coppola's production is the closest we get. I've found this makes the film more satisfying in a way, you can ignore the shoddy performances by secondary characters and concentrate on the decor and details (and the tremendous score by Wojciech Kilar). Some of the following screen grabs argue my point.

Oh, look, peacock feathers. I loved the artificiality of this film, the excessive palette, the obvious models and miniatures, the layering of images. The dissolve from a peacock feather to Jonathan Harker's infernal train journey is a great moment.

Exhibit A for the Symbolist case: Dracula's castle was based on Resistance, or The Black Idol (1903), a print by Symbolist artist František Kupka. I tend to think they could have done more with the interiors (there are some nice sculpted heads) but we do have monumental arms holding lamps from the walls, a borrowing from Jean Cocteau.

Exhibit B would be the vampire brides: Monica Bellucci (above), Michaela Bercu and Florina Kendrick (below). The fin de siècle collision of Eros and Thanatos is exemplified in the seduction scene with Jonathan Harker; costumes, colours and the women themselves are all pitch-perfect.

Florina Kendrick especially incarnates all the Medusoid femmes fatales of the Decadence with her serpentine hair. There's an additional resonance when the three women appear near the climax of the film accompanied by music from Diamanda Galás. The track used is from the Saint of the Pit album wherein Ms Galás recites various works of Romantic and Symbolist poetry.

Maléficia (1905) by Phillipe Wolfers.

Finally, there's the absinthe scene. Moulin Rouge! had to satisfy itself with a Kylie Minogue Tinkerbell; Coppola gives us a dreamy wormwood seduction complete with hallucinations and reincarnated memories. Yes, Mina, sin is at the heart of it all.

Previously on { feuilleton }

• The art of Philippe Wolfers, 1858–1929

• Kafka and Kupka

• Alla Nazimova's Salomé

• Nosferatu

The Peacock Clock

Something discovered courtesy of the Google Art Project is James Cox's splendid Peacock Clock automaton, an exhibit at the Hermitage Museum, St Petersburg:

The history of the Hermitage's Peacock Clock begins in 1777, when the Duchess of Kingston visited St Petersburg. Balls were given in the Russian capital in honour of this wealthy and distinguished guest. Grigory Potiomkin, who met the Duchess in society, learned of James Cox's magnificent mechanisms. Pandering to Catherine II's passion for collecting, the Prince commissioned the celebrated craftsman to make a monumental automaton with a clock for the Empress's Hermitage. In order to meet this expensive order as quickly as possible, Cox, whose financial affairs were currently not in the best of health, decided to use an existing mechanical peacock that featured in the Dublin lottery. He expanded the composition with a cockerel, owl and a clock mechanism with a dial incorporated into the head of a mushroom, and removed the snakes. To create his new automaton, Cox recruited the assistance of Friedrich Jury, a German craftsman who had settled in London. (More.)

The snakes referred to were from an earlier work which Cox used to create this one, and the Google view shows a snake-like base to the construction. Google shows us all the detail but to see the clock in action we need YouTube. Astonishing work even if the crowing rooster spoils things a little. Cox was the first owner of the equally remarkable (and arguably more beautiful) Bowes Swan automaton which was featured here some time ago.

Previously on { feuilleton }

• Ghost clocks

• Mystery clocks

• Skeleton clocks

• The Midsummer Chronophage

• Andrew Chase's steel cheetah

• The Corpus Clock

• The Bowes Swan

Weekend links

The Final Programme (1973). Philip Castle's poster art implied t he androgynous finale of Moorcock's novel which the film itself evaded.

They were musty-smelling 10p messages from the futuristic past, complete with cover designs (and content) that were unlike anything I'd seen before. I'm fairly certain that this was how I first came across Michael Moorcock, in an early-70s Mayflower paperback, with a psychedelic cover by Bob Haberfield.

(…)

Moorcock steered New Worlds towards a set of concerns that chimed with the times; this was the period ruled by Marshal McLuhan and RD Laing, and the exploration of "inner space" seemed just as interesting as the "outer space" of satellites and moonshots. This turn was controversial, not just with die-hard pulp fans, but, surprisingly, with people such as the pop artist Richard Hamilton, another denizen of the London scene. "He thought we were turning science fiction into something namby-pamby, losing its roots," Moorcock says. "He wanted explosions and spaceships and robots."

• When Hari Kunzru met Michael Moorcock, a major feature on a great writer and cultural catalyst. Kunzru posted the full transcript of their conversation here. Jovike's Moorcock Flickr set has many of the lurid Mayflower covers.

• Moorcock is among the contributors to the forthcoming Thackery T. Lambshead Cabinet of Curiositities. io9 posted a list of contents (and one of my pics) while co-editor Jeff VanderMeer added some detail.

• So long to The White Stripes whose dissolution was announced earlier in the week. We know they'll be back one day. Jay Babcock gave them their first major interview for the LA Weekly in 2000 which he's reposted here.

• Mister Blues (1962) by Lasry-Baschet aka Structures Sonores, a rare 7″ single showcasing the unique glass-and-metal sounds of the Cristal Baschet. Young Teddy Lasry on clarinet was playing in prog-jazz outfit Magma a few years later. Related: John Payne on Magma and The Mars Volta.

Here's one thing that changed me: a close reading of Flannery O'Connor's Mysteries and Manners. In it, she says that, "it is the business of fiction to embody mystery through manners," manners being those concrete details — depictions of the real — in story. "Mystery through manners…" I had never heard a modern author seeking deep metaphysical mystery through realism before. Well, sure, Robert Musil, Bruno Schulz, Robert Walser, and a handful of other personal faves. By deep mystery I mean, mystery about our relationship with the planet, not anthropocentric mystery. I get sick of thinking about humans quickly, as we only constitute about 1% of what's happening in our universe, if that much, and it was refreshing to me to hear O'Connor critiquing Henry James' idea that modern people should aspire to know nothing of mystery, to be completely rooted in humanity. That notion makes me feel like hurling myself off a cliff. In her opinion, great literature seeks to embrace and express mystery through its mimicry of actual mannerisms. Mystery — fantasy — through the real. And with that, the borders between fantasy and realism were completely transgressed in my brain. Suddenly, I saw them as two good means to the same end. This made me excited to write real human situations again.

Trinie Dalton is interviewed here.

• And speaking of mystery through the real, there's London Intrusion, a sequence of metropolitan adumbrations by China Miéville. Am I the only person to spot an intrusion of a different kind in the presence there of one of Eugène Atget's Parisian views? There's a doorway to Viriconium in that curious wedge of buildings but nobody can tell you where.

• Rupert Murdoch—A Portrait of Satan. Adam Curtis on top form looking at the Dirty Digger's career and a reminder of why some of us have always called one of his rags The Scum. A key point for me: Murdoch's insecure railing against "elites", a favourite term of aspersion on his Fox News network.

• Rick Poynor asks What Does JG Ballard Look Like? Related: "…only two people in Bucharest are going to read this." Eduardo Paolozzi in conversation with JG Ballard and Frank Whitford, 1971.

• How many days does Bill Murray's character really spend reliving Groundhog Day?

• Silent Porn Star explores The Translucent Beauty of Androgyny.

• Ballets Russes brought back to life on film, and also here.

• Dewanatron Electronic Music Instruments.

• RIP Tura Satana. Remember her this way.

• Warm Leatherette (1978) by The Normal | Warm Leatherette (1982) by Grace Jones | Warm Leatherette (1998) by Chicks On Speed.