THE KILLERS

"He's only gonna see us once!"--The Killers

Tonight I saw Robert Siodmak's film noir of Hemingway's The Killers for the third time, with the Classic Movie Meetup at the Central.  First we had dinner there.  The movie can't improve on Hemingway's perfect story (which ended with the exchanged "When I think about it, it bothers me!" "So don't think about it.") But it's a clever mystery on its own terms, and improves with repeat viewing.  Ava Gardner was what you call a guilty pleasure:  she's no good for you, but who cares?  Maybe I should see the Don Siegel remake someday--which would have been America's first TV movie if its violence hadn't led to network rejection--but anything with Ronald Reagan I find distasteful.

Monday night at choir practice we started two new songs.  One was the Caruso song "O Sole Mio," the one Elvis did as "It's Now or Never." The other was "Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee," from Beethoven's Ninth, in a jazzed-up version.  It's an impressive arrangement, but I have a feeling that when we come back next week we'll have to learn it all over again.

I've finished deepening the garden ditches, and now I'm pitchforking it.  It'll soon be ready for planting!  The weather has been getting warmer, so Tuesday I bought some ice for the dispenser in the fridge. (Years ago it produced its own ice, but something went wrong with it and it never got fixed.)

I've finished writing Scots, French, Chinese and Japanese translations of three Spoon River Anthology poems (just because), and now I've posted them on my translation blog.

At Monday's memoir slam we wrote about "An affair to remember" (I discussed my York Ph.D. commencement in 2000), "My funniest situation" (I discussed some ridiculous moments I witnessed in school), and "Learning music." Afterward I borrowed the canister of subject cards, and I've been putting them in order at home.  My main concern is to remove duplicates, as there are a few subjects that I contributed twice:  that "Learning music" subject had been done last fall.  I found several duplicates, and "School field trips" had actually been entered three times!  But I've also thought of quite a few new subjects to add, such as the days of the week, except for Saturday which we've done before.

Musical weekend

This weekend was Open Doors, but for a change I didn't bother visiting anything.  My time was pretty well spoken for.

Saturday afternoon I saw the Met production of Massenet's Werther (from the Goethe story) at the Yonge & Eglinton, starring Jonas Kauffman and Sophie Koch. (Sophie Koch played Charlotte while someone else played Sophie, which confused me a bit.) It was shorter than usual and ended at 15:00.  The greatest aria was based on an ancient poem by Ossian!

That evening I was going to attend another Philosophy Dinner Meetup, but cancelled in the morning.  (I had a bit of a headache and didn't want to push it.) Instead I rented the DVD of Woody Allen's Blue Jasmine and watched it again with Father.  On second viewing, it seemed more grim than funny, not unlike Inside Llewyn Davis.

Yesterday afternoon the Columbus Community Choir did a concert for a family event that our patron Tony Fusco organized at Villa Colombo. (I missed the dress rehearsal Thursday night, something I'd normally never do, to see The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time.) In addition to conducting us, Beatrice sang Bizet's "Habanera" again.

I've started deepening the ditches in our garden.  Maybe it isn't strictly necessary, but I throw the ditch soil, which tends to be topsoil, into the garden's centre to counteract the general outward movement when I'm spading, and prevent a depression in the middle.

Lately I haven't been reading the Canadian section of The Huffington Post much, but tonight I checked it and found two issues that had me posting a lot.  One was a report of Omar Khadr's family being sued by the family of the guy he's accused of killing. (I hesitate to say "convicted" what with the show trial he received.) The other was a few articles about New Democrats being unhappy with Andrea Horwath.  I fear that everyone on the left will vote Liberal to defeat Hudak, who'll win a majority anyway and will only have to deal with an overwhelmingly Liberal opposition:  the worst of both worlds.  I still haven't figured out where the St. Paul's NDP campaign headquarters will be, or even who the nominee is.

THE CURIOUS INCIDENT OF THE DOG IN THE NIGHT-TIME

"You mean they were doing sex?"--The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

Last night I went to the screening of the National Theatre production of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time at the Event Screen. (I read Dale Haddon's book almost ten years ago.) It was a wonderful, imaginative adaptation.  That A-level exam question, proving that three sides of length n^2+1, n^2-1 and 2n formed a right triangle, was easy for me. (The actor came back after the curtain call to explain his proof.)

I made the play into an Aspergers Meetup event.  Bev was going to come, but she had to cancel at the last minute.  That was a pity:  I haven't seen her for months.  One other Aspie did show up, but he left during the intermission.  Really, when watching people like the kid in this play, I can't think of myself as an Aspie.  My problems seem tiny compared to theirs.

Afterward I went to Paula's Karaoke Meetup at the Monarch, not far from the Royal cinema.  I sang "Old Man River" for the first time, and "Black Velvet Band."  "Old Man River" was in a frustrating key:  when I sang it low the bottom notes were too low for me, but when I sang it an octave higher, the top notes were too high!

Today I had that dental appointment with Dr. Hrabalova.  I went to her new office northwest of St. Clair station.  She's now in a complex with a whole lot of dentists, and you can pay with a credit card.  There are several names on the door, but not hers as yet.  I got an old filling replaced, and a small new filling.  Of course, the hard part is waiting for my nerve to unfreeze afterward, which takes hours.

I've finally got started spading the garden.  I've done a whole ring on the outside, and now there's just a round area on the inside to do, along with deepening the ditches.

The Last of the Mohicans is getting exciting in the second half.  The other day I read a chapter with a canoe chase.  When they saw this unusual Indian I guessed right away that it was the psalmist!

AN AMERICAN IN PARIS

Gene Kelly to Leslie Caron: "With a binding like you've got, people will want to look inside the book!"--An American in Paris

Last night I saw An American in Paris, Gene Kelly and Vincente Minnelli's classic Gershwin pastiche, at the Event Screen. (I originally saw it on an airplane thirty odd-years ago.) It's a more glamorous depiction of Paris than, say, The 400 Blows, and Leslie Caron belongs in the Cute Hall of Fame, with Oscar Levant's sourpuss for welcome variety.   Alan Jay Lerner's script is often corny by today's standards, and the Nina Foch character embodies a cliche of that time:  a man had no future with a woman who had more money (and power) than him.

Of course, it's a great visual achievement, showing what MGM could do with the old three-color Technicolor system.  Especially handsome is the famous climactic ballet number, photographed by John Alton, who's also famous for photographing Anthony Mann film noirs like T-Men and Raw Deal in black&white with shoestring resources! (Cinematographers could have wide range:  William Daniels, who photographed all of Greta Garbo's movies, won his Oscar for The Naked City.)

Victoria Day weekend came and went and I hadn't started the garden. (Uh-oh Spaghetti-Os!) Tuesday I finally took the first step and spread on the compost.  Yesterday afternoon I went out to Fiesta Gardens and bought three varieties of seed potatoes.

Last week Moira said that Donald Sterling, the sports tycoon whose racist comments got exposed, reminded her of Tommy Lee Jones.  He reminded me of someone else, but I couldn't remember who.  A few nights ago I finally recalled that he reminded me of Christopher Plummer!  To make sure I'd remember to tell Moira this, I left my slippers on my desk, something I don't usually do.  And it worked.

Lately I've got into the habit of writing these posts late at night.  But I'm writing this post in the afternoon because our internet connection was acting up last night.  Father finally fixed it this morning by turning the system off and on.  I wish I'd tried that.

Vicky's Day

"You fight harder than you fuck!"--300:  Rise of an Empire

Yesterday afternoon I saw the sequel 300:  Rise of an Empire at the Scotiabank.  I didn't care for the first movie, which seemed to be aimed at 13-year-old boy who wishes he were a badass.  But I've read Herodotus and was curious about how they'd show the Athenian story.  The result was pretty bizarre, and like the original best for the battle scenes. (Though the gimmick of slowing down the action at crucial moments soon gets old.) I saw it in 3D, which I still find pointless.

Yesterday Donald came over for dinner and we had Indian food, which is what Moira really wanted for her birthday.  It seemed even spicier than usual.  Today we had more of it. (Moira thinks the spicy flavor actually improves when you reheat it!)

Today was Victoria Day, so no memoir slam or choir practice. In the afternoon I went on a Walking Meetup in the Cedarvale Ravine.  Paula's dyed her hair blue, and I greeted her with "How are things on Mars?" We're good enough friends that she didn't mind.  When we passed under the Bathurst Street bridge (or was it under the Spadina Road bridge?) there was a graffito of Ralph Wiggum, the little nose-picker on The Simpsons, holding a sword dripping blood.  Some of us posed for pictures next to it, and I posed so that he seemed to be plunging it into me! 

As soon as I've finished The Last of the Mohicans, I'm going to borrow Spoon River Anthology from the library.  I found the opening poem "The Hill" online, and wrote a Scots translation of that one too.  The repeated line "All, all are sleeping on the hill" became "Aw, aw ur sleepin' oan th' brae."  I suppose I'll translate that into the other languages too.

Nancy sent us feedback about our mock auditions.  She mentioned that I didn't smile for the camera, something I've never been good at.  But I wasn't so bad overall.  I think the next time they do this I'll RSVP "no," not because I dislike auditioning but because it just isn't a priority to me.  Being a pro trying to be better than dozens of other pros does not appeal to me.

Mock auditions

At today's acting class we did mock auditions.  We all brought resumes and head shots.  My resume was pretty makeshift, though Nancy was amused that I included "Classes under Nancy Morrison." Some of it came out in red or blue ink, which was completely unintentional but rather attention-grabbing.  My head shot wasn't of the best quality, because our printer had ink problems. (I used the same image I use on websites like Meetup and Facebook, and here.) We were emailed a short commercial spiel on Thursday and expected to memorize it, but I really wasn't up to that.  Commercials aren't my future.

Nancy gave us a long talk all about the audition process.  Sometimes actors lose their nerve and don't show up for an audition, which is about the worst thing you can do.  When our time was up she finished the talk at the Victory Cafe, in the same room where I have the ROLT Meetup events!

She was impressed when I told her about my Scots version of "George Gray."  I've found a website at woohoo.co.uk where you can enter regular English and get it translated into accents like Scots and Irish and Jamaican. (It turns out that "marble" is "bool" in Scots, and "the sea" is "the brine.") Besides that dialect, I've now written French, Chinese and Japanese translations of the poem--blank verse is less difficult to translate--and ought to post them all on my translations blog.

Thursday night I went on Betty Anne's art walk.  This month it was on Dundas Street west of Ossington Avenue, in the Portuguese area.  One place we went to was a used bookstore called The Monkey's Paw, which has a vending machine where you put in two dollars and get a random book! (We were a big crowd, and I'll visit it again when there's more room.) We also saw an exhibit of paintings by Mitsuo Kimura, who has a really original look.  Afterward I tried to make the St. Paul's NDP nomination meeting, but it was over by the time I got there.

Yesterday Puitak and Gordon came over for dinner, to celebrate Moira's birthday.  I made fettucine alfredo (Moira would have preferred Indian food, but was afraid they wouldn't like it), and Moira said it was even better than usual:  maybe that's because we'd let it cool for five or ten minutes.  I showed Puitak my Chinese translation of "George Gray" and she liked it overall, but didn't care for my using "yanjiu" for "study":  that suggests "research."  I've decided "guancha" would be better, as it suggests "examine." Translation is my life!

Bereavement support

Last night Bereaved Families of Toronto had a special session for people who've lost their mothers, since last Sunday was Mother's Day.  On the way there from the subway I got caught in a downpour, which was suitable pathetic fallacy.  There were half a dozen people there and I was the only man.  Paradoxically, I was in a good mood. 

I had a lot to say in that session.  I mentioned how I'd become more aware of my father's mortality and cited a dream I'd had a few nights before where I was flying in a plane next to a window and Father was walking(!) beside it next to me:  I realized he'd fall to earth so I reached out to hold on to him.  It was at this meeting that I suddenly realized my new interest in speaking Scots is an attempt to get closer to Mother's memory!  

People were impressed by all my cultural references.  I mentioned something I'd read (in John Hersey's The Call), that after your mother dies you sometimes become more like her,   then mentioned that in one of Mazo de la Roche's Jalna novels a fortune-teller told Renny that he'd get more of his grandmother than anyone else would. (He thought this meant her money!) I mentioned the fairy tale "The Pearl Princess," where the girl told her father she loved him like salt, and pointed out that losing a parent is a lot like running out of salt forever.  

I also compared myself to Roger Sterling in the Mad Men episode where his mother's death left him cold and flippant, but a bootblack he was friendly with also died and looking at the latter's shoe-shining equipment drove him to tears.  I rather envied Judith, who ended up in tears about her mother. (I still haven't wept, and the only person who has in my presence is Puitak when I told her.) We still haven't decided when to take Mother's ashes to Cape Breton, but August would be a good time for me since my acting class will be on hiatus then.  Right now her ashes are on top of a cabinet full of knick-knacks.

Tuesday night I went to Toronto City Opera's annual meeting.  All the people who participate in it are invited, but hardly anyone who isn't involved with directing it comes.  Even I only do on occasion.  Sandra gave a financial report:  we were in the black again this year.  The autumn fundraiser was disappointing, but the March gala largely made up for its shortfall. It turns out that the stage manager found some old equipment in the Bickford Centre's junk-strewn basement--I wonder if that's what the world will look like in the future--and saved a thousand dollars on our wireless communication!  Next year the fall fundraiser will be at the Bickford Centre.

At the meeting I finally noticed that Beatrice and Adolfo are a couple now.  I always seem to be the last to notice those things!

The guid scots tongue

Wait till Nancy sees my latest trick with the "George Gray" monologue!  Here's the original poem:

I have studied many times

The marble which was chiseled for me--

A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor.

In truth it pictures not my destination

But my life.

For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;

Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;
Ambition called on me, but I dreaded the chances.
And yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.

And now I know that we must lift the sail

And catch the winds of destiny
Wherever they drive the boat.
To put meaning in one’s life may end in madness,
But life without meaning is the torture 

Of restlessness and vague desire.

It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.

My new idea was to redo the monologue with a Scots dialect! (Listening to Mark Cousins' Ulster accent got to me.)  That version might go like this:

Och, ‘tis many th’ time I hae stoodied

Th’ marble wha’s chiselled foor mae,

A boot wi’ a furled seel a’ rest in a bight.

In troth ‘tis nae a picture o’ my destineetion

But o’ me leef.

Foor loov was oofered mae, an’ I shronk from its disillusionment,

Sorra knocked oon me door, bu’ I was afreed,

Ambition called tae me, bu’ I draeded th’ chaunces,

An’ ye’ a’ th’ teem I hoongered foor maenin’ in me leef.

An’ noo I knoo tha’ we mun lif’ th’ seel

An’ catch th’ winds o’ destiny,

Where’er they dreev the boot.

Tae put maenin’ in yoor leef mee end in ma’ness,

Bu’ leef wi’ou’ maenin’s th’ toorture

O’ res’lessness an’ vague deseer.

‘Tis a boot y'arnin’ foor th’ sae an’ yet afreed.




Lately my interest in The Huffington Post has been on-again, off-again.  Last week I contributed a lot to a forum involving a report that the Massachusetts Supreme Court had okayed including "under God" in the Pledge of Allegiance, a decision I disapprove of.  What bugs me about this issue is all the "pragmatic" liberal who don't approve of the "under God" addition, but insist the issue isn't worth fighting over.



And just today, there was a forum involving the report that Chelsea/Bradley Manning may be transferred to a civilian prison for reassignment surgery.  Whenever there's a related forum I always post "Pardon for Manning and amnesty for Snowden, NOW!" (Another thing that bugs me is liberals who hope Obama will see the light at the end of his presidency and pardon Manning then.  They're asking for more disappointment.)

The best medicine

"I  kicked open the bottom drawer of her desk, let two inches of rye trickle down my craw, kissed Birdie square on her lush, red mouth, and set fire to a cigarette"--S.J. Perelman, "Farewell, My Lovely Appetizer"

Today was the latest ROLT event.  I made the topic funny writing and called it "The Best Medicine." (I had to explain the "Laughter is the best medicine" saying to an immigrant member of the group who wondered if the topic was medical writing!) The weather is warm enough for my summer jacket, and I walked to the Victory Cafe!  I'd made a reservation for six people back on Monday, but then a lot of people RSVPed at the last minute and as many as 11 people said they'd come.  But in the end the number who actually came was exactly six.

I read "The Day the Dam Broke" from James Thurber's My Life and Hard Times; S.J. Perelman's private eye spoof "Farewell, My Lovely Appetizer"; and the chapter from Mark Twains The Innocents Abroad where he described the tourists' activities during the long ocean passage.  Jane read a couple of scenes from the Codco scripts!  Next month the topic will be foreign languages translated into English.

I've been having some vivid dreams lately. (That must be due to the new anti-depressant medication I've been taking.) The other night I dreamed of visiting a mini-cinema back in New Brunswick(?), and of airplanes landing near Cape Tormentine, the cape near the route to Prince Edward Island.  I also dreamed of being in a plane in the air while Father was walking along outside the plane, so I was holding on to him so he wouldn't fall!

At the Spadina station they now have a bulletin thing that shows when the next buses are coming.  As a result, the other day when I came home from acting class I saw that I wouldn't have to wait for the Davenport bus, so I took it home and actually saved some time!  If only I'd mention that in my last post I wouldn't have run short.  But I'm running short here too.

THE STORY OF FILM: AN ODYSSEY

The latest series we've been watching on Netflix is The Story of Film:  An Odyssey.  It's a 15-part history of the movie medium presented by Mark Cousins, who narrates with an Ulster accent.  He covers a lot of different auteurs and genres from around the world.  He offered no less than seven arguments for considering Alfred Hitchcock the greatest image-maker of the twentieth century (including Picasso!).

Thursday night I saw The Wicker Man with the Movie Meetup group at the Lightbox.  It's a 1973 thriller with Christian policeman Edward Woodward visiting a Scottish island and uncovering a pagan community led by laird Christopher Lee (as sinister as ever). Pretty creepy.

Friday night I saw the documentary Teenage at the Bloor.  It's about the emergence of adolescent culture in the first half of the twentieth century.  It ended in 1945, just as the story gets really interesting!  Someone said that childhood as we know it is a product of the nineteenth century and its mass literacy.  Well, adolescence is clearly a product of the twentieth century.  And I suppose "tweener" culture is a 21st-century phenomenon.  I liked the part about the German "swing kids" holding out against Nazi conformism.

I had to get up this morning earlier than usual for a dental appointment. (There was a sore spot between my two back molars on the upper left.) I could have got a filling right then, but I preferred to wait a couple of weeks because I wouldn't want to be recovering from the freezing during my afternoon acting class.

I ran out of things to write about so I went to the bathroom and clipped my fingernails while trying to think of a new subject.  It's time to clip my toenails too, but I'll wait till after I've finished writing this post.

I'm still short, so I read my email.  Nothing to talk about there.  So I'll just have to be short.

THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS

Having finished the latest Lapham's Quarterly, I've started reading James Fenimore Cooper's Leatherstocking novel The Last of the Mohicans.  Saturday, between the acting class and the philosophy dinner, I went to Indigo Books in Eaton Centre and picked up a copy for just five dollars!

On a whim, I decided to try and start another book club through Meetup.  This group I  conceived as one to focus on books over thirty years old--Lonesome Dove would get in under the wire--and I named it the Classic Book Club Meetup.  I also scheduled our first event, focusing on The Last of the Mohicans, about two months from now.  It'll be at Victory Cafe on Sunday afternoons, possibly every two months. 

My last effort at book club organization didn't get far, so I didn't have huge hopes for this one.  Yet it already has sixteen members, and nine say they'll be at the first event! (We'll see how many show up, of course.) Charles Dickens' Oliver Twist might be a good choice for the second event.  We might take turns choosing books.

The choir's next concert is in three weeks.  I won't be able to make the dress rehearsal, because it's on the same night that the Event Screen is showing the National Theatre production of Dale Haddon's Asperger novel The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime.  I've made it into an event for the Autism Meetup, and several people are going, including Bev.

Anyway, we'll be doing some interesting new songs in the concert.  One is the Mexican folk song "Cielito Lindo." Another one, which we started the other night, is the Russian folk song "Kalinka." It's the sort of challenging song I like learning.  I remember hearing it in the movie The Loves of Isadora, in which Isadora Duncan (Vanessa Redgrave) visited the Soviet Union and danced with them to that song.

This afternoon Father and I finally got our old refrigerator up the steps from the basement.  We still need to bring it to the curb, but that should be easier.

Busy weekend!

Friday night I went on one of the Jane's Walks.  It started at 10:00 in the evening at Christie station, and we went south to Kensington Market, then east to the Grange Park, then south to the theatre district.  The guide was Nicholas, whom I'd met on a few Meetup events. (He was the one who remembered me, of course.) I thought of going on a Jane's Walk on Saturday morning because the St. Paul's NDP was making an event of it, but I wasn't up to it.

Saturday afternoon was the acting class.  We were learning about objectives, so Sharon and I did an exchange where I was resisting her demands for a raise. (I said things like "You don't need more money--you're a single woman!") I told Nancy I was interested in learning a comic monologue, which she doesn't usually recommend for beginners, but she thinks I'm ready!  Next door they were having auditions for singers in a musical, which was rather distracting.

Saturday evening I went to a Philosophy Dinner Meetup at the Bishop and Belcher.  The subject was democracy and its limitations, and I knew it would be an interesting discussion because Pam Chedore was coming.  I had the chicken korma.

Later that evening I went to the Karaoke Meetup at Kramer's.  Jonah used to bring us to the Gladstone Hotel karaoke every month, which I didn't care for because it was so popular you'd have a huge wait between songs, and we also had to get there early because of our reservation.  But karaoke has ended there, so now he's going to Kramer's instead, which has a huge song selection!  I felt tired, so I only sang one song, the Moody Blues' "Ride My Seesaw."

Sunday afternoon I went on a Walks with Profs Meetup.  We met at Victoria Park station then walked north on Kingston Road.  On the way we stopped at Tim Horton's, where I had a late lunch of chili.  Olga had actually run on part of the marathon that morning!  Granted that she quit early, but she still had enough energy left for walking.  Again I quit while I was ahead, and grabbed a bus when we got to St. Clair Avenue.

Sunday evening I saw the Hot Docs Film Festival documentary Khrushchev Does America, about the Soviet leader's 1959 visit, at the Lightbox.  It was really funny:  it isn't often you get a character like that as a world leader. (Boris Yeltsin was a character too, of course.) On the way out I met Gerald Hannon and told him I'd be in the opera again next year.

Orientation

Last night I went to an orientation session for volunteers for Olivia Chow's mayoral campaign. (An appropriate way to commemorate May 1.) It was at a Canadian Legion hall in the Lakeshore area.  They told us about how to develop our story and approach people on the street.  Really, I'm more of an office man what with my experience in several St. Paul's NDP campaigns.  In the form I filled out, I indicated that I was well suited to data entry. Seems I was visible on TV.

They had a bulletin board where you could post your reason for participating in the campaign.  One of them was from someone who'd been in the choir at Jack Layton's funeral and was impressed by his widow's courage.  I just wrote, "Bring back the LRTs!"

I don't envy Lakeshore residents.  Just around Lakeshore Boulevard it isn't so bad, but just a few blocks northward, in the Legion Hall's area, it's a dump!  There's some urban wasteland nearby with a stagnant pond that's already breeding flies.  And it isn't pedestrian-friendly:  I was late because I went west from Islington Avenue on the north side of Birmingham Street instead of the south side, and there was no crosswalk until I reached Kipling Avenue.  Some of these people will vote for a Rob Ford just because they hate the downtown.

I was going to see Beyond Clueless, a Hot Docs film about teenage comedies getting a midnight screening at the Bloor, but I was tired out. (I should have known that would happen.) Besides, I misplaced the ticket.

I'm almost finished the latest Lapham's Quarterly.  It  has part of a two-hour speech given by Hitler in 1937, with the following sentence (remember, it's a single sentence): "The greatest revolution which National Socialism has brought about is that it has rent asunder the veil which hid from us the knowledge that all human failures and mistakes are due to the conditions of the time and therefore can be remedied, but that there is one error which cannot be remedied once men have made it, namely the failure to recognize the importance of conserving the blood and the race free from intermixture and thereby the racial aspect and character which are God's gift and God's handiwork."

A Billy Wilder double bill!

"I've met some hard-boiled eggs in my time.  You're twenty minutes!"--Ace in the Hole

Sexy Banter: "Are you going to get down off your motorcycle and write me a ticket?"--Double Indemnity

Last night I saw two classic movies at the Revue directed by Billy Wilder, both of them for the third time.  Wilder was a great director, though according to a memoir by Frank Sinatra's valet, he was rude to servants, which seems to me one of the worst things you can be.

The first one was Ace in the Hole, a noirish melodrama-black comedy with Kirk Douglas as a big-city reporter stuck in Albuquerque (Breaking Bad country!), who learns of a relic hunter trapped in a cave-in inside a sacred First Nations mountain, sees his ticket out of the sticks and delays his rescue so he can milk the story.  It all ends badly, of course, and I can believe it was a box-office failure.  The company that sets up a carnival for the rubbernecks is called "S & M Amusement": even in the Production Code era they could get a lot past the censors!

Douglas was at his best playing antiheroes in the early 1950's, other examples being Champion, Detective Story and The Bad and the Beautiful.  Like Richard Burton, he comes across better in black and white movies like this one than in color.  Jan Sterling also has a good role as the relic hunter's discontented wife. (She reminded me of someone, and I realized she resembled a blond Katy Perry!) 

The second was the famous film noir Double Indemnity, with Fred McMurray and Barbara Stanwyck plotting to murder Stanwyck's husband and get an insurance windfall.  Wilder's direction is remarkably expert, considering that it was only his third movie.  He wrote the script with the great Raymond Chandler, and it's full of sharp dialogue.  The affable McMurray is brilliantly cast against type. (He reminded me of the real-life affable felon Ronald Reagan.) I especially admire the moment when the murder happens, and we're shown a closeup of Stanwyck, clearly turned on.

The other day at The Huffington Post I wrote a post saying "AIPAC [Israel's Washington lobby] is certainly one of Washington's more powerful lobbies," and it got deleted!  When did obvious fact become offensive?