1961’s Mysterious Island:
A Great Artist Passes: Ray Harryhausen, R.I.P.
The best special effects scene ever: Ray Harryhausen’s skeletons in Jason and the Argonauts
“Nobody goes to the movies to see a sinkful of dirty dishes.”
This quote, maybe apocryphal, is attributed to Ray Harryhausen, the special effects wizard who died this week at 92. He was a giant in the field of fantasy, an inspiration to many (including myself). And boy, did you not get a sinkful of dirty dishes when you went to a Harryhausen movie!
Mighty Joe Young was his first feature film, in 1949; his last was Clash of the Titans, 1981. In between, he cranked out masterpieces like The 7th Voyage of Sinbad, The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms, Mysterious Island, and my own favorite, Jason and the Argonauts. I have asked my crack technical support staff–her name is Jill–to post some video samples, if possible.
Harryhausen was a master of the painstaking stop-motion process–you film models one frame at a time, subtly adjusting their positions with every shot, and when you speed it up, the models appear to move: not unlike the old-fashioned way of making an animated cartoon. He made some refinements to the technique and called it “Dynamation.”
Stop-motion has largely given way to computer-generated effects. Most of those look like they were spat out of a computer. But even compared to top-of-the-line computer effects that don’t look crappy, Harryhausen’s work is magic. To this day, in my opinion, no one has ever created a special-effects scene to top the fight with the skeletons in Jason and the Argonauts–a movie that is now some 50 years old.
Harryhausen was much more than just a techie. He had an artistic vision. He was determined to create fantasy that really was fantasy. To that end, he consciously avoided what we might call excessive realism.
“If you make things too real,” he said, “sometimes you bring it down to the mundane.”
Zingo! Bull’s eye! In a mere 14 words he describes the whole challenge to the fantasy film-maker; and to the fantasy writer, too. If it’s not real enough, you’ve got nothing. But if it’s too real, you’ve got a sinkful of dirty dishes.
By the Creator of Tarzan…
I have discovered an Edgar Rice Burroughs novel that I am sure I’d never read before.
Burroughs is best-known as the creator of Tarzan. I read him regularly, because no one ever did a better job of juggling complicated plots and keeping the action moving forward. Some reviewers have said I do that rather well. If I do, I learned it from ERB.
I Am a Barbarian, written in 1941 but not published until 1967, 17 years after Burroughs’ death, is a first-person “memoir” by Britannicus, a lifelong slave to the mad emperor Caligula. As a depiction of the life and politics of ancient Rome, it was based on fairly extensive research and is vivid and convincing. But that’s not why I’m telling you about it.
This story is written with a savage bitterness that one does not generally associate with ERB. Indeed, as a lifelong Burroughs fan, I would have trouble recognizing Barbarian as his work if his name weren’t on the cover. What was going on in his life to make him write like that?
Despite being one of the most popularly successful writers in American history, ERB had a terrible habit of investing his hard-earned money in various real-estate and other get-rich-quick schemes that never bore fruit. He’d been poor for most of his young adulthood, and now he wanted to be rich. Very rich. Which he would have been, if he’d only stuck to writing and left the other stuff alone!
In 1941 his second marriage was falling apart–his fault, by all accounts–resulting in a 1942 divorce. The wife, a former silent movie actress 28 years younger than he, Burroughs married on the rebound from his first wife, by whom he had three children. It must have been a very bad time in his life: the tone of I Am a Barbarian shows it.
ERB died in 1950, only a year after I was born, so in spite of all I owe him as a writer, there’s nothing I can do for him. The Bible teaches us that we don’t have to live in bitterness, we don’t have to screw up our own lives. (There are plenty of individuals out there who’ll be only too glad to do it for us.) I suspect ERB wasn’t much committed to the Christian life.
Too bad. He would’ve done better, if he had been.
Teacher Creatures
You may live in the reddest of Red states, but your children will still get a Blue State public education.
In South Carolina, a fired/resigned teacher at Chapin High School will be paid $85,000 of the taxpayers’ money to buy him off suing the school district, where he was unjustly fired (just kidding!) in December for stomping on an American flag in his classroom, in front of his students.
He will also be paid his full salary, $31,000 in attorneys’ fees, and be given a glowing recommendation so he can inflict himself upon another unsuspecting community. (All reported at http://www.thestate.com/2013/05/06/2759418/chapin-teacher-got-85000-in-flag.html )
Gee, if he stomps a flag in class everywhere he goes, he’ll only have to work a few days a year to get his salary, not to mention one of those luxurious teacher union pensions.
But go ahead, don’t mind me, anybody–just keep on sending your kids to public schools.
Why I Haven’t Blogged Today
So we had to have the plumber here today, and the upshot of it is that the problem is a lot bigger than we thought and the landlord has to approve further work. Oh, boy. I dassn’t use the bathtub for the foreseeable future, lest I wind up on top of the stove via a collapsed bathroom ceiling. I once read about that happening to some guy who stayed at a cheap hotel in Mexico City.
Then I had to crank out a column, somehow, and when I was done with that, I had only enough energy left to go outside, smoke a pipe, and have a pleasant chat with the bunny. I’ve also been reading a life of Gertrude Bell, who traveled all over Arabia, alone, 100 years ago, got to know all the native sheikhs and emirs, and did more than anyone else to create what is now the country of Iraq. People don’t live lives like that anymore. Compared to her, Lawrence of Arabia was just some guy who once visited Jersey City.
Now it’s almost suppertime and I still haven’t generated anything of value for this blog today.
I will try to be back in form tomorrow.
Viva Miss Marple
We have discovered the “Miss Marple” TV movies starring Joan Hickson as Agatha Christie’s harmless little old lady who solves the most perplexing crimes. You can watch them on youtube for free.
These are simply wonderful. If you’re worn out with watching America get torn down by the very people who are supposed to be building it up, if you just can’t stand your balky drains anymore, if the gossiping neighbor is giving you a headache–well, here’s a welcome, albeit temporary, escape.
I read somewhere that Joan Hickson–who was not, at the time, anywhere near being an old lady–was Agatha Christie’s personal choice to play “my dear Miss Marple.” That was a little stroke of genius. Hickson brings the character to life: not only that, but somehow even invests her with a subtle kind of nobility. Hickson’s Miss Marple is someone we’d love to tell our troubles to.
I love the Miss Marple stories because they’re so bold in their conception. Here is a detective who cannot beat up the bad guys, who is not a master of disguise, and who, in fact, is always very vulnerable: you sometimes get the feeling that her health might not last out the case. Indeed, in one of my favorite Marple novels, A Caribbean Mystery, this harmless little lady’s only ally against a ruthless multiple murderer is an old man confined to a wheelchair with a terminal illness!
These Hickson movies are remarkable in the producers’ and writers’ determination to stick as closely to the actual plot as possible: and so the novels are truly brought to life.
Now, if only I could get Miss Marple to take a look at my drains…
Onward! Sail On! (Or Is It ‘Ceylon’?)
The other day I received what is laughingly called my quarterly “sales” report. Somehow I think I’m doing something wrong.
This blog was set up to encourage people to buy my books. Well, I always knew I had no talent for publicity. I couldn’t sell carbon credits to California Democrats.
Nevertheless, in the spirit of that most politically incorrect hero, Columbus, I shall persevere. I shall sail on. (The only reason people believe Columbus was trying to get to India is because some of his men thought he was yelling “Ceylon! Ceylon!” A joke first told in 1493, and somewhat the worse for wear.) At least I’m not subjecting anyone to The Great Gatsby with a rap “music” soundtrack.
The weather is fine, Spring has sprung, and today I mean to start writing Book #7 of the Bell Mountain series. So here goes…
Look Who’s Advising the Pentagon!
In the unedifying fantasy that passes for current events these days, a couple of Muslims blow up the Boston Marathon while the U.S. military has its eye on Southern Baptists.
To make sure everyone in the armed services gets the message of religious tolerance, our “president” has appointed a “religious tolerance consultant” to the Pentagon, a man named Mikey Weinstein. Yes, he calls himself Mikey. It is Mikey’s job to deliver the message of tolerance. Here is a quote from Mikey. Please note the tolerance.
“Today, we face incredibly well-funded gangs of fundamentalist Christian monsters who terrorize their fellow Americans by forcing their weaponized and twisted version of Christianity upon their helpless subordinates in our nation’s armed forces.” Mikey recommends that Christian men and women in the military who openly speak of Christianity, while in uniform, be charged with treason. Nidal Hassan, an Army officer who shot a bunch of unarmed fellow soldiers while shouting “Allahu akbar!”, is now described by our nation’s leaders not as a traitor, but as a mere example of workplace violence.
We pay Mikey’s salary.
Before we decide whether Mikey needs a psychiatrist or an exorcist, we might ask whether we need him on our payroll at all. I mean, a frothing-at-the-mouth psycho high up on the chain of command…. Maybe your state’s U.S. Senator can explain to you what Mikey’s doing there.
Call and ask.
A Lesson to the Credulous: The Cardiff Giant
No, I’m not going to write about the basketball player “coming out” as a homosexual and being lauded as if he were Jackie Robinson, Neil Armstrong, and Joan of Arc rolled into one. Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin just about covers that, don’t you think?
Instead, I’d like to introduce you to the Cardiff Giant, now residing at the Farmer’s Museum in Cooperstown, NY (see http://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/2172 ).
The creation of an atheist who wanted to make fools of rural Christian fundamentalists, the Cardiff Giant was dug up in 1869 by workmen, after being planted by its maker. He made a lot of money showing it around the country. P.T. Barnum got jealous and fabricated his own Cardiff Giant. When both giants turned up at the same place at the same time, the hoax imploded. Very soon, it was hard to find anyone who would admit he’d ever believed the giant was real.
People are easy to fool. Always have been, always will be. It’s part of our heritage from Adam and Eve, who started the trend. Election results show that it’s easy to fool people very badly.
Folks wanted to believe in the Cardiff Giant, and they let it get the better of whatever sense they had. I don’t think that’s changed; do you?
Fossil or Fantasy?
Are you ready to give your imagination a workout? Good–here goes.
I love prehistoric animals. I don’t believe in evolution, but I do love fossils. And one of the strangest fossils ever known to science is that of a creature dubbed “the whorl-toothed shark.” (There are pictures available at many websites. For instance, check out the article on Wired Science Blogs/Laelaps.)
All they’ve got of this creature is a coiled-up strap of… teeth. It looks like somebody coiled it so it would fit in a toolbox. The mystery is where it fit on the shark.
In 1899 the original discoverer imagined it attached to the shark’s snout. That wasn’t entirely convincing, so later reconstructions attached it to the shark’s back, the lower jaw, or inside the shark’s throat. The structure of the thing called to mind a rolled party favor–the kind you blow on to make it shoot out. Scientists tried to imagine the shark doing something like that when it encountered a school of prey fish. Blaaap! Whick-whick-whick! Instant sushi.
The bottom line is, they still don’t know. Sharks have cartilaginous skeletons, so it’s very rare for anything to be preserved but the teeth. But here we have a whole collection of teeth in an arrangement seen nowhere else in nature, and no one has been able to imagine the living animal in a way that provokes a response of, “Oh, yeah–that must’ve been the way it was.”
Far be it from me to suggest that the shark carried the strap of teeth in a toolbox and snapped one off when needed.
But I do suggest, as a general rule, that when something in nature looks so strange as to defy analysis… well, maybe it isn’t really what it looks like.