Devoted to "...Them Movin' Pitchers!"... and the "Feast of Filmdom"!

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:    ...Devoted to "...Them Movin' Pitchers!"...  and the "Feast of Filmdom"! 

My paternal grandfather had a way of using language that, as a boy, I often found amusing.  He referred to films -- "the movies" -- as "movin' pitchers," as though he'd known a mystic who could levitate solid objects.  I'm not belittling him; his syntax was perfectly understandable, and, like many of his generation, he had only the benefit of a 5th or 6th grade education.  My nuclear

Couldn't find a photo
of my grandfather, but
he loved Westerns so
this will have to suffice!
(And it's "Hoppy"!)

family's diction, two generations removed from that of the grandfather, is perhaps a bit more sophisticated, more "media-style," so to speak.  Why?  My mother was a teacher who corrected her children's language usage constantly; our male parent had an exceptional command of English, and used arcane words the hearing or memory of which still send me to a dictionary.  (I keep several in my office!)

My mother (she's NOT
pictured above!) was an
exceptional teacher, and
she loved good movies!
She taught her children to
appreciate language and art!

The opening paragraph intended essentially to titillate the reader (probably to no avail!), the aim of this month's writing is to celebrate and pay homage to the glorious Milwaukee Film Festival, and to motion pictures in general.  In my geezerhood, I've grown terribly fond of attending good films (an excellent pastime for an aging and more cerebral population).  In fact my wife and I belong to a "Film Group," in which eight members view selected movies, enjoy dinner and drinks, and then discuss and analyze the movie viewed, sometimes "half to death"!  Some in our group are quite scholarly on the subject and try to extrapolate profound meaning, while others simply wish to enjoy the film and talk just a bit about how it affected them.  Spirited discussions always prevail!

Good films, in my humble and simplistic viewpoint, can be superbly educative, edifying and stimulating.  They can also enhance our personal dialogue, provide useful "scripting" when appropriate occasions arise.  And movies can bolster our "sense of silly," providing a kind of lexicon or manuscript from which we can summon just the right words when circumstances warrant.  For example, in the Howard Hawks film, Bringing Up Baby -- one of our all time favorites! -- reacting to Dr. Huxley's extreme excitement over receiving a needed remaining dinosaur bone, the fictitious "intercostal clavicle" -- the delivery man says in a quiet deadpan, "This guy aint got all his buttons."  It's an expression my family and I use frequently, and isn't it kinder than, for instance, "What a complete buffoon," or "That joker musta dumped his brain cells when someone thumped his head!"?

When Katherine Hepburn's character announces that she intends to marry Dr. Huxley, her aunt, wonderfully played by May Robson, states vehemently, "Susan I forbid it!...  We have lunatics enough in this family!"  (A suitable line for many of us to borrow!)  Our children can practically recite the entire Bringing Up Baby film script verbatim.  (They've acquired such wonderful taste in film...  probably from the parents!)    

Here's another great moment in filmdom.  Henry Koster's Harvey features a number of memorable lines.  One of my favorites is spoken by Veta Simmons, sister of lead character, Elwood P. Dowd.  As she prepares to have Elwood committed to a sanitarium, she says absently to the facility's general factotum, the gruff Mr. Wilson, who asks Veta why she's tramping through the garden, plucking up flowers, "...Elwood is devoted to ranunculus."  He replies, thinking that she's the intended patient, "C'mon toots.  Let's go upstairs.  You can pick posies off the wallpaper."  (Here, I'm probably invoking the "privilege of paraphrase"...  I don't have the exact script at hand!)

If ever I encounter someone who actually owes me something, I love to do my best Walter Matthau imitation and ask with mock impatience and irritation, "Alright, Mrs. Voss, where's the money?"  We have a DVD of Charade.  I've watched it several times. 

A scene from the film,
Russian Woodpecker.  

Sweetheart (she's my wife!) and I are very fond of the Milwaukee Film Festival.  We bought tickets for several of its showings, and we enjoy the basic membership that affords us discounted tickets, and an even deeper discount for early purchases.  The festival's an absolute, international feast, and truly a "chef's dish of choice" for our fine city and its cultural menu.  Today, Thursday, September 24th, is the premiere date, Opening Night!  Though we won't be attending tonight's feature, tomorrow, Friday, we'll view, Russian Woodpecker, variously described as "conspiracy thriller...  (and)...  humorous documentary."  We can't wait!

The panoply of our upcoming "film feast" will prove to be an international delight, a breathtaking world tour, with visits not only to Russia, but to Sweden, Israel, Mexico, Iran, China and beyond, even into the heads and hearts of children from around the globe through Kids Shorts:  Size Medium!  ("...Shorts" is an annual tradition for our children and grandchildren!)

I suppose its pure cliche, but film is truly a transcendent experience, a means of opening pathways to understanding and acceptance, of developing empathy, when one has the capacity to allow such thoughts to penetrate the psyche.  Like actual travel and meeting native people of other countries -- not merely hotel clerks and restaurant servers! -- the movies can give us a kind of inexpensive passage to the extraordinary diversity of human experience, endeavor and achievement.  

And so I encourage with the utmost enthusiasm readers, friends, detractors, relatives, odd passers-by...  everyone!   Go see a film, one that tells a good story and makes you think, and not a pandering, formulaic and obtuse chaos of artificial violence.  Specifically, attend at least one (or more) showings at the superb Milwaukee Film Festival.  Take in a movie with subtitles.  After even a few frames, you won't even notice you're reading translated lines of French or Swedish or Hebrew or Russian...    

Travel via the magic of the movies to distant lands and experience the remarkable lives of people you'll likely never meet in another manner or medium.  Don't mean to sermonize; my aim is merely to help spread the wealth!  And verily, I believe one would always do well to heed the words of Harvey's Veta as she admonishes her daughter:  "Don't be didactic, Myrtle Mae, it isn't becoming in young girls" (or old boys, either!).

(Special Dedication:   The perpetrator of this Blog dedicates this writing to Bill and Cathy, Peg and Tony, Will and Ann, and to Sweetheart too, of course, my favorite film scholar and extrapolator!  May you all rejoice and regale in the resplendent delights of great motion pictures for many years, many festivals and many gatherings yet to come!) 

Humbly Submitted 09-24-15 -- Joel K.                 

   




      

      



       



     

Grandparenting, or "Be the Helicopter..."

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:    Grandparenting, or "Be the Helicopter" and Other Personae Dramatis!

In late summer, some 11 years ago, we first assumed the roles of grandparents, my wife and I.  It has been a truly remarkable and loving experience, but not without its challenges.  We now have four beautiful grandchildren, each with his or her own astonishing personality and behavioral characteristics.  

Coen (foreground) and Seany
(wearing glasses)  examine gifts during
Coey's 11th birthday celebration!

The first of them, Coen -- I call him Coey -- adopted an expression that we find irresistible, and use ourselves, constantly:  "Not Doin' It."  A laconic expression -- sometimes but not always effective -- relating to something that merits one's reluctance or disaffection.  Coen has been fascinated, variously, with volcanoes, planets, caves, electronic game creations and their odd beeping and pulsing...  He has become an accomplished juggler, a self-taught diversion learned recently at a camping-concert event in West Virginia!  

His sister, Lucy -- often we call her LuLu -- now almost 7 years old, invented her own delightful remonstrance:  "It's good, but it's not the best!"  On trips in the automobile, Lucy offers us three choices:  "...Play 'I Spy', or you may sing a song, or you can tell a story."  She challenges us to flex our creativity, all the time!  Coey and Lucy are the extraordinary and brilliant issue of our own first-born.  They are bright and funny, at times disarming, surprising, always delightful companions.

Lucy and Papa in an
inflatable tube.  Earlier
we played in Lake Erie!

Lucy (left) and Coey at Sea!
(Uh...  maybe Lake Michigan?!)

Our second-born produced two equally accomplished and beautiful children, ages 7 and 4 (the latter nearly 5).  Sean -- I call him Seany -- is the older of the pair.  In his pre-school era, my wife and I would report to his home in the middle of the night (about 6:30 or 7:00 AM) and perform childcare and play activities prior to school drop-off time, enabling his educator parents to get to their respective classrooms at an hour their contracts demanded.  On many of those occasions, Seany would stand on my feet, facing frontwards, instruct me to position my hands in a certain fashion, and then announce that I was to be his helicopter.  "Up, helicopter," he'd command...  

I would then ambulate for the two of us, following the path in which my hands and fingers -- the craft's "controls" -- were wrenched, um...  that is, directed.  We'd climb several stairs to his bedroom and I'd then be placed in his closet, the hanger.  If I chanced to inquire, "How long must I remain in the 'hanger'?"  The answer arrived quickly:  "Shush, Papa...  Quiet! Helicopters don't talk."  And he'd shut the "hanger's" louvered doors until the helicopter was next required.

Phia (Sophia) is older now, but
this picture of her is a favorite!

For granddaughter, Sophia -- she prefers Phia or Phi Phi...  Angel Face is also acceptable -- both my wife and I are frequently engaged in play pageants.  We become water tigers, water squirrels, parental mice, doggies, kitty cats, dolphins and other creatures.  We're instructed as to the rules and progression of play, often asked to comment on the hatching of a little water squirrel's egg.  Apparently all creatures begin as eggs, usually quite shiny, purple and pink ones!

For Coey and Lucy, we've enjoyed soccer and baseball games for the former, dance recitals for the latter, in addition to swim lessons, coaster-wagon-pulling walks to the coffee house for cinnamon rolls (the children), coffee ("Baba and Papa").  There have been some most enjoyable travel holidays as well, including trips to sunny beaches, islands, a windmill house, a giraffe, bison and goat sanctuary...  

The July 3rd Fireworks Family
Picnic is a fine opportunity to
 sit on Papa and choke him!

Seany is an accomplished soccer player, a star among his peers.  He currently plays in a much vaunted club league.  We attend lots of matches, and have done so through the years.  Phia is just beginning to discover her interests, and has participated in "itty bitty" soccer; whether she'll continue or gravitate to other sporting or artistic pursuits remains to be determined.

And, oh yes, we have a sweet cousin who owns a condo in Florida that she generously allows us to use in the off-season at most attractive "family" rate.  When we're there, I become a kind of elevator for the grandchildren, conveying them to the bottom of the pool and up again.  Sometimes I'm a submarine...  Sometimes I'm gasping for air! 

Don't know what those things are in
my ears, but apparently we bought
them for two of the grandkids!
(But no help with noise abatement!)

In all of its eclectic roles and incarnations, grandparentlng is an exhilarating, exhausting, perplexing, delightful, even sort of mystical labor of great joy and loving wonder.  

Seany (left) and Phi Phi become
cows at the Wisconsin State Fair!

We're reliably told a child's fascination, even adoration of a grandparent is an ephemeral experience, as age 12 or so marks the end of the magic, when grandchildren's peers begin to dominate both time and energy.  But, we're also reliably told that when the "age of the amusement park" ends for a grandparent, another, a more cerebral interrelationship era, begins.  Ah, well...  However these things play out, we look forward to the next chapter in the book of grandparenting.  "What's that?"  Sorry, have to dash...  Lucy's calling; she wants to count to 1,000 for us before we hear her read a chapter from Beezus and Ramona!