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Whereas I, shrouded in secrecy and darkness at the back of the room (there are three rows separating me from the nearest person: Bereyter likely does not even realize that I am back here; Dzieza, Plunkett, and Guss likely have no idea that I am back here, listening to everything ), cannot see my notebook page beneath me. Earlier this morning, before he turned off the lights, I was able to copy down the few scant lecture notes that he had written on the whiteboard. The first item was a works-cited entry for Vertigo, the movie under discussion: Alfred Hitchcock, 1958, Paramount Pictures. The second was a quotation, attributed to (what I took to be) an early lip-reading manual, The Listening Eye, by Dorothy Clegg: When you are deaf, Clegg writes, Bereyter wrote (and I transcribed), you live inside a well-corked glass bottle. You see the entrancing outside world, but it does not reach you. After learning to lip read, you are still inside the bottle, but the cork has come out and the outside world slowly but surely comes in to you. The last was an aphorism of Michel Chion’s: The silent film may be called the deaf film, Chion writes, Bereyter wrote (and I transcribed), because these films gave the moviegoer a deaf person’s viewpoint on the action depicted. Listen to her, Bereyter repeats now from the lectern, his body half-turned to the white pull-down canvas behind him, one hand elegantly indicating the image onscreen. He is exhorting us to listen to the woman seated at the bar. The clip in question keeps repeating itself on a loop, the same four seconds over and over. We have now had the opportunity to witness this woman mouthing her line several dozen times. While James Stewart, seated in the foreground, peers hauntedly off-camera? ? oping for a glimpse of Kim Novak? ? he barfly in the background mutters something to her companion, smiling demurely into her drink, teasing him (or herself? with a coquettish roll of the eyes. She is a gray-haired woman in a dark blue suit and a matching navy beret. Whatever she is saying, her dialogue remains inaudible. Her goblet is empty, perhaps she is assenting to a refill.

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Carousel was an Armstrong Circle Theatre special starring Robert Goulet as Billy Bigelow, Mary Grover, and Pernell Roberts. Bogart’s version of Johnny Belinda, Elmer Harris’s play about the mute daughter of Nova Scotia farmers who is raped by local thugs, starred Mia Farrow in one of her first big roles, along with Ian Bannen, David Carradine, and Barry Sullivan. Among the forgotten pieces of 1960s TV is Bogart’s Vietnam War piece, a benchmark that has never been resurrected despite the ballyhooed pains taken by Hollywood to reassess that conflict in the 1980s. The prescience of The Final War of Olly Winter as a dramatic primetime feature-length show was unprecedented a scant three years after the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution. The program’s complicated brand of race relations was nonexistent on TV in its era. Its central character, played by Ivan Dixon, was an African American who was a commanding officer in the U. . Army in South Vietnam. The show, Dixon, Chen, Bogart, and writer Ronald Ribman received Emmy nominations for their extraordinary work. Bogart’s experience with Gielgud on Ages of Man no doubt aided his deft blocking on Mark Twain Tonight! the granddaddy of American one-man shows, the one that rose to TV heights via Bogart’s direction of Hal Holbrook, and led to various other solo gab-fests directly to the audience by incarnations of such cultural and political icons as Teddy Roosevelt, Clarence Darrow, Harry Truman, Casey Stengel, John Kennedy, Richard Nixon, Will Rogers, et al. Holbrook culled speeches and passages from the folksy humorist’s works and weaved them into this legendary show, which he performed throughout the country. The show received an Emmy Award for Dick Smith’s makeup, which transformed the then 42-year-old Holbrook into Samuel Clemens at age 70. It received Emmy nominations for outstanding dramatic program, for Bogart, and Holbrook as an actor. In Dear Friends, Reginald Rose’s adaptation of his own play, Michael and Lois Graves decide to divorce after 15 years of marriage, and attend a dinner in which other couples ostensibly try to talk them out of it, but the conversation takes strange turns. Bogart’s presentation of this provocative evening starred James Daly and Hope Lange as the Graveses, with Eli Wallach, Anne Jackson, Rosemary Harris, David Wayne, and Pernell Roberts. Bogart took home the lone Emmy for this medium benchmark in dissections of marriage and divorce. However, Dear Friends also received Emmy nominations for outstanding dramatic program, Wallach’s and Jackson’s performances, and Rose’s thought-provoking script. Kiss Me Kate was Bogart’s other musical for Armstrong fronted by Goulet (and his wife, Carol Lawrence). An elaborate argument between the stars in a stage performance of Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew, this version was detested by the playwrights, Sam and Bella Spewack.

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Equal parts absurd and nightmarish, HOUSE might have been beamed to Earth from some other planet. Never before available on home video in the United States, it’s one of the most exciting cult discoveries in years. Also ich war kurz davor, zu glauben, es handle sich hier um eine Persiflage. Fur dieses Brechwerk hier sollte es ein Verbot geben. Ich kann nur hoffen, dass es sich wenigstens um ein Regie-Debut gehandelt hat. All I need to say is that this movie was fantastic. Divided into five segments directed by veteran Hollywood filmmakers Henry Hathaway, George Marshall, and the legendary John Ford (and including uncredited sequences directed by Richard Thorpe), the film was one of the most ambitious ever made by the venerable MGM studio. Its stellar cast reads like a virtual who's who of Hollywood's biggest stars. Debbie Reynolds plays a sturdy survivor of many pioneering dangers, and the eventual widow of a gambler (Gregory Peck), who is later reunited with her nephew (George Peppard), a Civil War veteran and cavalryman who heads for San Francisco as the transcontinental railroad is being built. The Incredible Hulk has been tearing a line across the Canadian countryside, leaving a swath of destruction in his wake. He has to be stopped, and there's only one man up to the job. He's the best there is at what he does, but what he does isn't very nice. For ages, Loki the trickster has sought a way to bring defeat to his accursed stepbrother, Thor. But for all the battles Thor has fought, in all the nine realms, only one creature has ever been able to match his strength - a mortal beast of Midgard known as The Incredible Hulk. Now, with Odin, the almighty king of the gods, deep in a regenerative sleep, and the forces protecting Asgard at their weakest, Loki is finally ready to spring his trap. In an epic battle that will pit gods against monsters, that will test a hero's limits more than ever before, only The Mighty Thor can hope to prevail. What's surprising about the picture isn't the premise--its story, about a madder-than-mad doctor (German actor Dieter Laser) who unites two American tourists (Ashley C. Williams and Ashlynn Yennie) and a Japanese counterpart (Akihiro Kitamura) in a hideous surgical procedure that creates the title monstrosity, was broadcast in detail across the Internet prior to its international theatrical screenings--but rather, the degree of reserve Six applies to depicting every excruciating detail. For what it's worth, director Barbara Peters has claimed that additional shock scenes were inserted by producer Corman without her knowledge. If less instantly sympathetic than Ford, Baldwin is in some respects more interesting and nuanced as Ryan, and drawing comparisons between both actors' performances can make for some interesting postmovie discussion.

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I'm intending to keep it up through the winter (there's no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes) so now I have announced it to you lot, you can egg me on. I managed to hit one deadline last friday, and look likely to hit another one tomorrow, which is to have two massive catalogues on CD, and get them to the duplicator's shop for midday. Two short holidays in November, and not one single working Monday in December. Admittedly, I did sleep from 5am to 6am, but I did have two programs running at the time. Last all-nighter I did was at some rally or other in about 1999, in Scotland, in another life. Just sitting here watching processes thrashing away in my task manager, wishing my processor was more powerful. Still two features to write - and the letter from the dean. I'm not so much his ghost writer, but more in spiritual possession of his soul. I've spent the week off, mooching around my home town, having a lovely time. I've bought a map of the county dated 1796, researched and downloaded a font contemporaneous to the map so I can label it authentically, and taken it to be mounted and framed sympathetically. We're off out for Fish and chips in Cleethorpes tonight to celebrate. As I have remarked earlier, I fought you was one o' vem posh birds. However no-one who likes maps (or fish and chips) can be all bad. I have finally put together a contour map of the entire North Downs, 15 m interval, 1: 80,000 scale. 6 ft 6 in by 1 ft 6 in. What's mildly inneresting about the 1796 mapofLincs is the plethora of villages in the wolds, presumably full of sheep farmers and shepherds using the recently-completed louth navigation canal to take wool to Louth's famous carpet factory, and also to the coast and by boat to London and Antwerp, and the relatively sparsely populated fens, barely drained, uninhabitable and uncultivateable at that time. Double mount with green inner, and a bevelled oak frame. Nice. Transfer to A4 sheets, stick them all together and ink in the contours. Scan, sheet by sheet in Photoshop and make sure the lines are continuous.

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But it now sits alongside an idea that the rotting mushroom or potent berry may be more effective and transformative still than the imported tropical fantasy or regressive Edenism. Here I’d like to look at two much discussed advertising campaigns. What the two campaigns have in common is a global-local axis of interest, but explored through very different signifiers. The slogan tells us that Zagorka is “a Bulgarian beer of world-class quality”. Here we can see the direction of meaning creation moving from the global towards the local. The key signifier (see the picture, above) is an ordinary guy of today, who lives his life participating in a globalized world. Whether globalisation is right or wrong, if we accept it or disapproved of it, is not at issue here. It is well known that this is an old Bulgarian brand but now under foreign ownership and a local exemplar of globalisation. Zagorka has struggled in recent years and changed it campaigns, having prior to that deployed forceful (implicitly nationalistic) signifiers of Bulgarian identity and pride (see for example this execution from around 2006). There seems to be something at once half-hearted and intriusively exploitative about the current attempt to get the best of both worlds in relation to the global-local dichotomy. Of course, the average consumer is not so anxious about the origin or the originality of the ad but undoubtedly any remaining engagingness the campaign might have had has been further compromised by the publicity around this. Drawing on the great success of Facebook in Bulgaria this ad connects the idea of people’s togetherness implemented in this virtual context with the social life in which a beer has played its part for many years now. Lady Gaga represents many postmodern tropes that, for many, make her the inheritor of the Madonna-Kylie lineage. Like Madonna and Kylie, she’s all about theatre and performance. But unlike them, she’s not interested in ironic role play and cultural citation. If her feet bleed from dancing in high heels, or she falls off a grand piano, we hear about it. These failures and sufferings are integrated into her act, and into her myth, rather than glossed over as accidental misfortunes. In contrast, for Lady Gaga, it’s about blood and guts, stumbles and falls, life and death. Unsurprisingly, it’s been ridiculed as one of the most pretentious celebrity tattoos ever. Instead, for her, birth is about artistic creation: the revelation of the radically new, and the emergence of unprecedented and unconstrained representational forms.