“I know it was you, Fredo. You broke my heart. You broke my heart!”
Trains: A Christmas Story
I can never remember whether it snowed
for six days and six nights when I was twelve
or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.
—Dylan Thomas
How badly he had wanted trains
for six years and counting,
but "Be the last kid on your block,"
seemed his bare bones fate decreed.
Nothing fancy just a five car set.
Just the workhorse grit of the locomotive
to race across the mind’s fruited plains
pulling the coal car loyally brimming
with fuel to stoke the engine heart.
Then gondola and box cars sharing the load;
the black sheep red caboose trailing—
all subject to a power surge at his command.
Through a winter village somewhere over a rainbow
this train might forever pass;
though a mother might knock down a signpost or two
in the errant sway of her terry cloth robe.
They might all be giants for two weeks each year
roaming a world set beneath their stocking feet
a gift to be viewed through a small window of time,
for it would mainly remain in the box in the trek
across the changing seasons.
No room in that flat for a layout of track
the whole year round.
How a family had such little space and even less money.
To know how badly he had wanted trains
you would have had to have sat in the dark
that one Christmas Eve and waited
with the others in a room that faced the back alley—
blacker than Lucifer’s heart excepting
one tiny light
a beacon in motion
punching a hole in all expectations
working the floor in ovular fashion
an unmistakable path of passion
the scaled down thunder
of electric trains!
Suddenly drowned out by a frenzy of voices:
“Surprise! Merry Christmas!” And he started with a cry
that gave way shortly to sobbing;
these could not possibly be his trains.
Somehow a sinister switch of track
from his best friend’s place upstairs—
"MARTY’S TRAINS!"
A trick of time and space and other dimension?
No, his trains from an eternity had finally arrived
and in the presence of this multi-headed
monster witness no less,
now visible as someone has turned on the light.
A moment of the best of intentions derailed
all look down as though to consider
the state of their shoes;
the boy and beacon lost in the transformation.
This train has left the station.
On December 20, 1974 it was released nationwide, receiving divisive reviews from critics. Though it soon came to be praised as a classic film on a par with, if not exceeding, The Godfather of two years prior.
It received six Oscars (verses three for the original) —out of eleven nominations— including Best Director for Coppola, Best Supporting Actor for De Niro, Best Adapted Screenplay for Coppola and Mario Puzo, and it was the first sequel to win the Academy Award for Best Picture. But its superiority to the original in the view of many (myself included), goes beyond Oscar tallies.
Loosely based on the Puzo's 1969 novel The Godfather, it is both a sequel and a prequel to the 1972 film The Godfather, presented in parallel dramas. One picks up the 1958 story of Michael Corleone (Pacino), the new Don of the Corleone family, protecting the family business in the aftermath of an attempt on his life; the other covers the journey of the father as a young man (DeNiro) in establishing and building the "family business." In effect, the stories of the father, Vito Corleone's rise... the beginning of his son Michael's fall.
But within the broader scope of these themes, it is the specificity relative to time and location that elevates Part II beyond the original.
At the outset, we’re in Italy circa 1900, where we introduced to the origins of Vito Corleone at age nine. Soon to be embodied by Robert DeNiro in a coming-of-age period of Vito's life, following his migration to New York. You will never see DeNiro give a more quietly dynamic performance. It would be the first time two actors would get an Oscar for playing the same role. With Marlon Brando of course first getting his for playing the Godfather in his elder years. And in this storyline context of an emigration to New York, we can't help thinking that this is a topic as contemporary as today. Albeit under different sets of circumstances; of people of now varying ethnicities.
Suddenly, we cut to Las Vegas during its boom period between 1950-1960 and see Michael Corleone immersed in a world, not only of gangsters, but politicians every bit as corrupt. "Senator, we're both part of the same hypocrisy." Again, something as current as anything we have witnessed over these several years in those elected to serve in government.
The cozy history of Cuban-U.S. relations, each turning the eye to the others doings, is also surprisingly touched upon, as it explodes through an enactment of the Cuban revolution of 1959. Where just 90 miles away in Miami, we are made aware that not all organized crime in America, was in the domain of Italian Americans. Lee Strasbourg's excellent portrayal of a Meyer Lansky—under the pseudonym of Hyman Roth—reminds us of that. And I use the term “reminds” loosely. As millennials and other younger generations would know so little of an American cultural landscape at the time, as painted in such detail in this movie.
And within, there's that moment when Michael gives Freddo that kiss of death; still chilling fifty years after. It is generally considered to be the best work Al Pacino has done throughout his long career, in his Godfather role.
Though ultimately, as one critic put it, the film owes its success to... "The extraordinary vision of Francis Ford Coppola, which was evident in the first film when he took a pulp novel and turned it into a stunning statement about America. He took the American Dream and turned into a perversity." Which is something I went on about in some detail in a MuseLetter piece two and a half years ago on the 50th anniversary of The Godfather.
Francis Ford Coppola was aware of a new novel entitled The Godfather. But had not read it, until being sent a copy by an old friend now at Paramount, who wanted him to consider directing a movie version of it. He was hardly impressed.
"I only got about fifty pages into it...I thought it was a popular, sensational novel, pretty cheap stuff. I got to that part about the singer supposed modeled on Frank Sinatra and the girl Sonny Corleone liked so much because her vagina was enormous. I said, "My God what is this? The Carpetbaggers? So I stopped reading and said forget it,
But he needed a job; he needed money. And when he started to take note on how people were responding to the book, he decided to give it another try. This time he found something in it. Something big.
“A classic succession concerning a great king with three sons. Not about organized gangsters but a family chronicle. A metaphor for capitalism in America.”
And he and Puzzo, working together, went on to expand the story in a way in which few could have imagined. And the rest is cinematic history. No sequel up to that time had ever transcended its original. On its 50th anniversary The Godfather Part II, is worth another viewing. An offer you can't refuse.
Quote of the Month
From Camus's novel “A Happy Death” published in 1971; eleven years after his death. A visceral sentiment of many, in the aftermath last month's election?
Rudolph is Getting Up There
The iconic "Red-Nosed Reindeer" is now 85. Hard to believe that time has gone by so fast since his first employment— that much heralded ride on that foggy night in 1939.
His birth was the creation of a copywriter for the Montgomery Ward Department stores named Robert L. May. In fact, Mr. May (ironically named), was assigned the specific task of writing a Christmas story around which the stores could do a promotion. (Also with some irony, Rudolph has now long outlived the stores. By almost a quarter of a century and counting).
The hit song recorded by Gene Autry wouldn’t come until 1949— selling two million copies that year. And the rest, as they say, is mythology. It really is the ultimate archetype underdog story as we have come to know it, though it differs from the originally written version in many ways.
Let the Greeks and Romans have their gods of transport: Hermes and Mercury. We’re Americans. Give us Rudolph any day of the week to outrace their sorry butts! Or at least, when he was in his prime. Though the nose shines as brightly as ever.
As reprised and updated from the December 2004 MuseLetter.
Word of the Month
impecunious adjective im·pe·cu·nious (im-pi-ˈkyü-nyəs)
: having very little or no money usually habitually: penniless
impecuniously adverb
impecuniosity noun
impecuniousness noun
Etymology
Obsolete English pecunious rich, from Middle English, from Latin pecuniosus, from pecunia money. First known use 1596.
Used in a sentence
The Crachits were rich in spirit despite being an impecunious family.
A little less than 50 years old, having been around all of six weeks, this movie is creating some Oscar buzz. And rightly so. It is no Godfather II, but it is quite good.
When I heard that this is a mystery thriller built around the premise of Cardinals gathering in the Sistine Chapel to select a new Pope, as the current one has unexpectedly died... as a mass-going Catholic... I was all in. Though you don’t have to be of that faith, or any faith for that matter, to find this film captivating and enjoyable. For one thing, as Isabella Rossellini, who does an excellent turn as a nun in the film noted, "the Catholic Church and the church is so theatrical." Amen. To which I would add, and it is so over-the-top. Which is one of the reasons I continue to be drawn to it. It is unabashedly steeped in ancient ritual. Which in itself is mesmerizing. And right up my aesthetics-loving alley.
What makes this movie particularly interesting at this point in time, is that it is as current as our most recent election. As one critic neatly put it... "nicely combines the worlds of political and religious power play. The result is a wildly entertaining balancing act of egos, passive aggressive battles quietly fought by self-proclaimed righteous men. And these fictional rivals who break into stark liberal and conservative camps, seem as if they might be modeled on American politics." Though actually, the movie is based on the novel by Robert Harris published in 2016, and therefore not inspired by the intense political environment we’ve seen for the past eight years in particular.
In terms of Oscar worthiness, the movie is a shoo-in for a best Best Picture nomination (they do pick ten this category), as is Ralph Fiennes for his role as Cardinal Thomas Lawrence. (A surname I once took on legally for 32 years, which jumped out at me as a personal reference). If Fiennes were to win, it would be his first Oscar.
It is hard to describe just how phenomenal he is in his ability to project his thoughts and feelings often without saying a word. Some actors embody a role. And its soul. Which is what he does here. It’s organic. He IS this man.
Other notable performances include that of Stanley Tucci, John Lithgow, and newcomer Carlos Diehz making his film debut in a pivotal role. Although unlike Fiennes, you never forget they are actors wearing Cardinal clothes.
The production values come together to create a mood that is palpable. The cinematography (with overhead shots creating a portentousness), costuming, set design and score—all of which could receive nominations in their respective categories—collectively creating a whole other character in itself. A spirit guiding the proceedings.
I won’t go into plotlines or specific scenes as in so doing, too much is given away that is better left to surprise upon viewing. And there are plenty of surprises here. It is after all, as aptly described, a mystery thriller. But it rises above that genre. For which ultimately, director Edward Berger should be given much credit. And he too, an Oscar nomination.
Is Conclave a “Must-See!”? No. But I’d call it, well, a “Just-See.”
Election Coda
As regards to aberrant human behavior, apparently there is no longer anything that is disqualifying in pursuit of something profound. On the assumption that there were once lines drawn between good and bad, moral and immoral, they have forever been erased from the psyche of we, the people.
MuseLetter \’myüz-‘le-tər noun
1: a personal message, inspired by a muse of one's own creation, addressed to a person or organization, in the course of which, the sender becomes absorbed in thought; especially turning something over in the mind meditatively and often inconclusively.
2: a letter from a poet, or one who envisions oneself as such, in which he or she “muses” on that which is perceived to be news, or newsworthy, usually in some ironic or absurd way.
MuseLetter \’myüz-‘le-tər noun
1: a personal message, inspired by a muse of one's own creation, addressed to a person or organization, in the course of which, the sender becomes absorbed in thought; especially turning something over in the mind meditatively and often inconclusively.
2: a letter from a poet, or one who envisions oneself as such, in which he or she “muses” on that which is perceived to be news, or newsworthy, usually in some ironic or absurd way.
no September issue
MuseLetter \’myüz-‘le-tər noun
1: a personal message, inspired by a muse of one's own creation, addressed to a person or organization, in the course of which, the sender becomes absorbed in thought; especially turning something over in the mind meditatively and often inconclusively.
2: a letter from a poet, or one who envisions oneself as such, in which he or she “muses” on that which is perceived to be news, or newsworthy, usually in some ironic or absurd way.
The date is February 22, 2022. When you write it, 2/22/22, it’s a palindrome, meaning it reads the same forward and backward. It also falls on a Tuesday, which is now referred to as Twosday.
It’s the most exceptional date in over a decade, according to palindrome enthusiast Aziz Inan. He’s a professor of electrical engineering at the University of Portland in Oregon, and he has been studying palindrome dates for over 14 years.
The last time there was a ubiquitous six-digit palindrome date was November 11, 2011, Inan noted. It’s written 11/11/11.
That a professor actually “studies” palindromic dates? The piece goes on to note that...
In Sacramento, California, 222 couples will participate in a wedding at the State Capitol. The ceremony starts at 2 p.m. PT and will conclude at precisely 2:22 p.m PT.
A sort of OCD on steroids.
My notice of numerical patterns goes beyond just date recognition. And when they occur, I might be given to reaching for my cell phone or pen to capture it.
Living in a high-rise of twenty floors with two elevators, I’d often have to wait in the lobby for a while, looking above the doors to get a sense of when the next elevator would be arriving. Within the seven years I'd lived there, I’d never seen this till one day not long before I moved out of the building. And it especially caught my eye what with that highly anticipated, alliterative, year up ahead. And it also representing the standard for good vision. Click!
When I reported this in the context of some MuseLetter piece I was doing at the time, I heard from many people recounting their own experiences with improbable numerical alignments in their lives. Nothing was too trivial to mention either.
In a situation years before, while driving my car, I noticed that I was approaching an odd (literally and figuratively) alignment on my odometer. One I’d never seen before or will ever again. I pulled over to not only capture it, but as it was suggestive to me of a line from a classic Robert Frost poem, I later added it to the photo.
This next, falls into the proverbial “What are the odds !?" As I recorded it in my journal in part...
2/2/2
In this, a palindromic year...on this Groundhog Day... on a day with
deuces wild... I came back from the mailbox with a check written out
to me, for $2.22!
“Dear Cardmember:
Enclosed is a refund check for a credit balance on your account.”
I still have it.
Which brings me to the arrival of August, the 8th month of the year.
My birthday is on the 20th. My father’s (he passed away almost 50 years ago), is on the 24th. So in this year of 2024, both of these dates are numerically intertwined. As if carved in stone, this is why I
identify the date in this manner at the top of this month's MuseLetter. A sequence in chronology that can only occur once for all time. Though in effect for 31 days.
Again, I don’t see any absolute meaning in numbers as do those in the three categories I’ve outlined. But rather a sense of something that you can’t quite put into words. It jumping out at me, as if to ask rhetorically, "how about that."
I will now think about him in a way that I never quite do, even on those special days that come and go each year. Father’s Day, his birthday, the anniversary of his death. And it seems to tie back as well to the time that has passed; the distance travelled.
But of course, in going beyond the numbers, your “mileage” will vary. And I'm all eyes if you would like to share. I think it fascinating and fun stuff. Obviously.