"Murder Most Foul" (2020)

A new Bob Dylan song. And a long one, too. Couldn't get very far into it without googling the lyrics, which, after reading them, reminded me more of a Robert Service or Robert Frost poem than one by Walt Whitman or Allen Ginsberg (recall that it was the then-86-year-old Frost who read, or tried to read, an ode at JFK's 1961 inauguration).

But even more than Frost, I was reminded of a more recent collagist film by Jean-Luc Godard, Film Socialisme (2010), which is as unwatchable as Dylan's song is unlistenable. Which is not to say these works are unnecessary. If we appreciate the contributions elder artists have made to the culture, it is important to consider what they make of the culture today, in their later years, even if we don't like how their latest looks and sounds.

The Crimson Kimono (1959)

Two Los Angeles artists talking about dating.

INT.  CHARLIE AND JOE'S APARTMENT -- NIGHT

CHRIS: Were you ever in love with a man from a different world?

MAC: Ah, many, many times.

CHRIS: Well, was he ... someone of a different race?

MAC: There was a Hindu in Bombay.

CHRIS: Was he sensitive about the difference between you?

MAC: He wasn't, but his father looked down his imperious nose at me.

Underworld U.S.A. (1961)

Getting near the bottom of the unwatched portion of my DVD collection. What's left are bootlegs of films recommended to me  -- given to me -- that I never got around to. A few days ago it was Sergio Leone's visually (and sonically) arresting Once Upon a Time in the West (1968), which I had only seen in bits; last night it was Sam Fuller's Underworld U.S.A. (1961).

Above is the scene where Tolly Devlin (Cliff Robertson) is invited into the inner circle of the local crime boss, whose lieutenants Devlin has vowed to destroy for murdering his father when Devlin was a teen.

The crime boss has a legitimate business/foundation to cover for his illegal dealings. I had to laugh when I saw the name -- National Projects. Sounds like something out of FDR's "New Deal". Or what the next U.S. administration might come up with once this virus passes through us?

A small room behind a bay window. A single bed, a table and chair, and a sink. I could manage something larger, with more conveniences, but I could never match the view.

The Boy in the Plastic Bubble (1976)

Here it is, for those old enough to remember, and for as long at it lasts:

"Little Todd Lubitch, the child who has never felt his parents' touch except for the walls of his plastic bubble, and who may not for years to come, is finally coming home for the first time today."

Once Upon a Time in the West (1968)

"My mother used to make coffee this way. Hot, strong and good."

"All work and no play ..."

The scene in Stanley Kurick's The Shining (1980), where Jack Nicholson's character (in the grips of cabin fever? delusion? possession?), is throwing a tennis ball against the lobby wall. I returned to this scene yesterday and noticed that "the wall" is actually a mural, and that it looks to be of indigenous North American origin. Sure enough, it is. But not of anyone associated with the area where the film is set (the Colorado Rockies), but the Navajo. A Navajo sand painting, in fact.

A detailed discussion of The Shining and its relationship to indigenous North American culture can be found at Rob Ager's Collative Learning site.