In my quest to discover the best films ever made, I came to learn that this 1968 satanic offering is considered the height of horror. Watching it, one can see why. Rosemary’s Baby tells the tale of husband Guy Woodhouse (Cassavetes), a down on his luck actor, moving in with his new wife Rosemary (Mia Farrow), who move in to the exclusive Branford building which has rather an unpleasant history of witchcraft and cannibalism, among other things. The couple hope to have a baby. And they shall have one too.
During her longed-for pregnancy (after dreaming that she’d been raped by something monstrous), oddities, miseries and weirdness accrue before Rosemary realises the Castevets lead a witches’ coven. She becomes convinced they want to sacrifice her baby to the Devil, and that her husband has agreed to help them in return for professional success. Empire
Allow me to confirm, as is mandatory, that the director of this film is not a terribly nice man, in my opinion and that of the Los Angeles County Superior Court. I should like to speak about this film and his direction separately from his atrocious acts if at all possible. Whatever we think about the director, and one is right in not thinking very much of him personally, this is a startling work. Filmed partly at the iconic and recognisable Dakota Building at 1 West 72nd Street, where John Lennon was shot, don’t you know, Rosemary’s Baby is a triumphant screen adaptation of the Ira Levin novel upon which its script is based. Interestingly, having now read the novel, the point must be made that prior to this novel, horror happened elsewhere, on Haunted Hill or in Hill House, for example. Rosemary’s Baby was the first instance of truly home-grown horror, which must have petrified audiences at the time.
Levin went even darker: What if he took the birth of Jesus and turned the whole tale upside down? What if God was not only dead but the devil lived? Vanity Fair
Polanski and producer William Castle succeed in keeping an air of mystery and deep unease throughout the film, the shocking truth is not revealed until the very last scene. In the interim, we are left feeling the increasing tension that Rosemary must have felt, unable to trust anyone in her environs, not even her husband. At all times something is afoot but Rosemary cannot quite put her finger on it. Her shyness and compliance is possibly a large contributing factor to her sorrows.
The film revolves around Farrow, who is in all but a very few shots. Polanski slyly exploits her mannered childishness. Even before she gets pregnant she wears shapeless little smocks and flat, little girl shoes. When she has her hair trendily cropped at Vidal Sassoon (one of the film’s ubiquitous, precise notations of a cultural signpost for the year of the story, 1965-66) she is even more pathetically waifish. […] Easily led, Rosemary repeats parrot-fashion other characters’ statements and allows herself to be utterly dominated. Empire
A personal highlight was Ruth Gordon playing the wife Castevet, with outrageous fashions, pronunciation and sinister undertones. It is no surprise she won an Oscar for this performance. This is a stellar horror and ranks very highly indeed.
Dyonysus, otherwise known as Bacchus, is the god of, wait for it: grape-harvest, winemaking and wine, of fertility, orchards and fruit, vegetation, insanity, ritual madness, religious ecstasy, festivity and theatre in ancient Greek religion and myth. The frenzy he induces is referred to as bakkheia. The Romans also referred to him as Liber, meaning free. Partaking in his wine and ecstatic dancing is said to free the reveller and in turn be possessed by Bacchus himself. Caravaggio’s work was commissioned by Cardinal Del Monte, owner of the Palazzo Madama in Rome. This palace is now the home of the Italian Senate. I walked past it frequently on my way to Gelateria Giolitti when living in Rome.
Why have I chosen Bacchus? Well in many ways I thought this enigmatic rendering of the god of wine (etc) was and is all of us during this third and ostensibly final lockdown. We are one and all indulging in excesses of our favourite vices (wine in the case of Bacchus), looking invitingly out into the infectious wilderness, waiting for someone to come and visit us. Our youth is fleeting and evaporated in a seemingly lost year, as exemplified by the rotting apple and overripe pomegranate, which Caravaggio here uses to hint at the theme of vanitas, which I talked about in the Boy with Bubble post a few weeks ago. The message is clear, youth is fleeting, wine is plentiful, why not give yourself away to excess and abandon while you can? I suspect that this will be a theme of the roaring 20s-esque resurgence of base hedonism which is to capture the world come July.
But what Caravaggio characterized was a body dedicated to sensuality rather than a soul infected with Christianity. The sly, dreamy eyes speculate on carnal things and promise gratification of the senses, not of the spirit, as “love cools without wine and fruit.” Yet the possibility of an underlying moral, bizarre as it may seem and contradicted by appearances, cannot be totally ignored. The touches of corruption in the still life – the wormhole that has spoiled the apple, the pomegranate that has burst from overripeness – hint again of the Vanitas theme, that the boy is triumphant only in his youth, which will vanish as quickly as the bubbles in the carafe of freshly poured wine. Caravaggio
The homoerotic themes are evident in Caravaggio’s Bacchus. Whether this was the maestro vocalising his own homosexual desires (bedding younger men was acceptable in 1596) or insinuating that Cardinal Del Monte was partial to them is up for academic debate. Either way the sensuality which comes through is striking. The feeble effort to make himself decent, the inviting gaze and proffering of the wine goblet are together masterfully rendered. I am always agog at how Caravaggio seems to present the finger nails of his subjects so successfully also, as an aside. The Carmen Miranda-esque headpiece is also fantastic.
“An explosion of fantasy, energy and playful eroticism”
Overall I think this is becoming one of my preferred paintings. I will see if I can have a fridge magnet made of it. It is the perfect subject for excess and abandon and I imagine Cardinal Del Monte was thrilled with it. Bacchus currently resides in the Uffizi art gallery in Florence.
12 Angry Men is mandatory viewing for legal people. This was the first film to show the legal process solely from the perspective of the jury. It pertains to a murder case, ostensibly open and shut. The jury are set to deliberate on the fate of the young man accused of murdering his father. Eleven of the twelve jurors are convinced of his guilt, it falls to the twelfth, Juror 8, to convince them there is room for reasonable doubt.
Martin Balsam … Juror 1
John Fiedler … Juror 2
Lee J. Cobb … Juror 3
E.G. Marshall … Juror 4
Jack Klugman … Juror 5
Edward Binns … Juror 6
Jack Warden … Juror 7
Henry Fonda … Juror 8
Joseph Sweeney … Juror 9
Ed Begley … Juror 10
George Voskovec … Juror 11
Robert Webber … Juror 12
I should think that director Sydney Lumet took inspiration from Rear Window, released three years prior, in deciding whether to go ahead with an insular single room set film, quite uncommon at the time. I don’t imagine the heroic Tommy Wiseau would have been born for some decades when this film was released in 1957. In concept, this is not the most exciting prospect. This is a drama set in one room about the deliberations of a jury. What makes it so special?
On paper this courtroom drama had little to get excited about – a one room setting, a dozen old-timers spouting off, a first-time director, a non-event. But on film, 12 Angry Men is transformed into a superlative brew of acting prowess and dynamite direction, and could stand as a screenwriting masterclass in the development of character and plot without resorting to the big stunts, grandiose locations or special effects. Empire
The tension begins with Fonda, the runaway star of this picture, putting his hand up to signify his not guilty plea. He is then predictably seized upon by the rest of the group, Cobb in particular (Juror 3), whose vocal dissent and energy are mesmerising to watch. His performance is the direct opposite of Fonda’s, who is the picture of calm, quietly but effectively dissecting each piece of evidence the other jurors took as read. Fonda’s character is an architect by trade but seems to have the nose of a detective. This is the only criticism that can be made of an otherwise flawless, consistent and engaging drama.
Cobb losing it at Fonda
The overarching theme for me seems to be male fragility under pressure. There is an added urgency to proceedings, as it were, by it being at once the hottest and seemingly wettest day of the year. The jurors are incrementally sweating and more uncomfortable throughout the film as a result of the storm happening outside the window. There is no relief inside the juror’s room aside from one wall mounted fan which is discovered rather late in the film. Lumet demonstrates his genius once again by including this. The added element lends itself to increasingly hostile jurors, some of whom simply wilt under the pressure of the heat and cave to Fonda’s arguments.
Overall, it should be noted that there are no special effect, no novel camera work and no changes of room (aside from one bathroom break) in this film. Yet it remains a watershed moment in cinematic history on account of its compelling characters and robust, flawless script. This is rightly one of the greatest films ever made and a personal favourite of mine.
Nick, neé Saint, tasked me with presenting five of my favourite album covers. Now I listen to a lot of music and see a lot of album covers hence this was a uniquely difficult challenge but I have narrowed it down to 5 favourites (of many). This is a sample range and not necessarily indicative. I have many more to share, which I may do in further posts, but my client instructed me to provide you with 5 and you shall be provided 5. In no particular order then:
The Stranglers – Rattus Norvegicus
I saw a rat on my way home this evening after considering the task Nick had set me and decided it was a sign. Why do I like this? It encapsulates the Stranglers for me. They are in a gloomy country house which is badly lit. Dave Greenfield and Jean Jaques Burnell are at the forefront with Jet Black and lead singer Hugh Cornwell in the background almost. There are four horrifying stuffed animals around the archway which give an added eery feel to the cover. This was what the Stranglers were about, shocking excellence. A much needed and powerful serum at a time when Abba’s Greatest Hits were at the top of the charts.
Peter Gabriel – Plays Live
I bought the vinyl of this album when I was in Newcastle in the Before Time. I bought it on a whim and at my father’s direction. I showed him the cover and said ‘this is pretty cool’, to which he responded ‘this is one of the best live albums ever’. He was correct of course. In and above being a spectacular, colourful, angular and precise cover, with the perfect font, the album is staggering. San Jacinto in particular sticks to mind. What stellar makeup!
ELO – Out of the Blue
Birmingham’s best band, of three, ELO set the bar high for album covers. Frequently space themed and invariably explosions of colour, they rank highly in the spectrum of cover art. I chose Out of the Blue partly because it is my favourite ELO album, with Live at Wembley a close second, but also because this is the first I heard on vinyl. I still have my tattered copy here and listen to it frequently. This is a dazzling, finely conceived, beautiful piece of art, in and above everything else.
Kraftwerk – Tour De France
This was and continues to be one of my favourite albums for revision or knuckling down and getting some work done. Recently I have using Electric Cafe/ Techno Pop as my album of focus but this remains the best album cover of this monumental band for me. The colourful, precise nature of this cover makes it so striking. The brilliant decision of using the colours of the French flag, supporting the Tour de France concept, with the four members of Kraftwerk cycling through the white band blows my mind. Much like the track in the album, the cover is aerodynamic.
Grace Jones – Island Life
Finally, it would be remiss of me not to mention Jean Paul Goude’s photographic masterpiece cover of Grace Jones’ Island Life. This was the last record of hers released on the Island label and is a compilation of her tracks from her albums Portfolio, Muse, Fame, Warm Leatherette, Living My Life, Nightclubbing and Slave to the Rhythm. This cover is iconic for many reasons, the simplicity of the background, the tiny mike, the shocking red garment and of course the striking impossible pose. Having invested in a number of Goude’s books, I happen to know how Goude made this photograph possible but won’t spoil it for you. I will say that that is not Grace’s bottom… Overall, a stunning gob smacking iconic and unforgettable cover.
Flying Dutchman records was my musical find of the month. I have a huge amount of gratitude for Bob Thiele, the head of the label, who is responsible for the release of albums such as T Bone Walker’s Every Day I Have the Blues, Otis Spann’s Sweet Giant of the Blues, Gil Scott-Heron’s iconic Pieces of Man (originally released on RCA then later by Flying Dutchman) and, of course, this month’s plat du jour, Super Black Blues. Super Black Blues features stellar performances by Blues pionners T-Bone Walker, Joe Turner and Otis Spann, each of whom I love independently. You can imagine what a joy it was for me to discover they had released an album together. Though only four tracks long, this album packs a punch and left a permanent mark.
Paris Blues 14:00
Here Am I Broken Hearted 3:45
Jot’s Blues 8:11
Blues Jam 10:56
The album opens with a 14 minute blues feast about the city near where I grew up, Paris. T-Bone opens with some solid sober vocals, backed by the fabulous piano playing of Otis Spann (listen to Sellin’ My Thing for him at his best). There is a notable confidence with the instrumentality throughout this album but especially clear here. There is an exceptional pace throughout which makes this long track seem shorter. Listen for example between the 5.40 mark to the 6.00 minute mark. The guitar and drums here are just breathtaking. This is evidently perfection in the arrangement of the track as a whole. Listen also at the 10.30 mark, where George Smith’s harmonica skills intertwined with the piano are just so beautiful to hear.
T-Bone Walker − vocals, guitar
Joe Turner − vocals
Otis Spann − vocals, piano
Ernie Watts − tenor saxophone
George “Harmonica” Smith − harmonica
Arthur Wright − guitar
Ron Brown − bass
Paul Humphrey – drums
Here Am I Broken Hearted is a relief in that it is under four minutes. This is a more traditional blues piece with subject matter fitting of the genre. The introduction of Ernie Watts on the saxophone at the beginning of this track is not inconsequential. The slower pace of this song does not make it any less impressive. Here you have a group of extremely talented musicians celebrating their craft and doing so remarkably. Listen to Ron Brown on bass here, his playing is superlative.
Jot’s Blues opens with some playful, lulling guitar work which pulls the listener straight into the trap of excellent bass and piano. Otis’ vocals are buttery smooth and piercing here. He is almost wailing throughout, stretching out the notes to intone his grief at his estranged spouse. The music picks up beautifully at 2.50, just listen to that piano and how the bass and drums are giving it space to flourish. There is an unspoken symbiosis of excellence here which I have seldom heard in blues albums. Near the 5.00 minute mark, Joe Turner comes in and sings beautifully in a manner reminiscent of Fats Waller’s That Ain’t Right. The recurring motif established by the drums and saxophone provide a beautiful support for the closing section of the track. This closing section has alternating vocals and is supported by a superb recurring motif on piano, with flourishes towards the end which prove exceedingly effective.
Blues Jam is, as it states on the proverbial tin, a lengthy jam session. The musicians here really come into their own and leave us with a splendid parting shot. The track opens with some stellar guitar, piano and bass. I mentioned the harmonica playing of Mr Smith earlier, it comes back with a vengeance here.
I woke up in the morning with the blues all around my bed
I didn’t have nobody to hold my aching head
The pacing and saxophone/ piano combination from 4.20 to 5.05 is a real toe tapping experience. This is blues jamming at its finest. Watch the picking up from 6.30. One can’t help but get up and dance. The quality of this music is unquestionable. I hark on about symbiosis and musicianship but it is truly stellar here. Jut listen to how it ends from 9.45 to 10.57. The floury and energy of it!
“Goodnight y’all,
Lovely party”
Overall, this album took me completely by surprise. Nick (neé Saint) had sent it to me some months prior but I did not remember or realise the significance of this album. It is only now that I have discovered it again by myself (with suitable scolding from Nick) that I realised how good this was. The breathtaking talent of Walker, Turner and Spann is visible and on spectacular form. The backing musicians and singularly talented and selected for their exceptional skill. This album is a sensational and strongly worded love letter to Black musicianship. It is overflowing with extraordinary talent which oozes out of every note.
