"Gandhi" with Ben Kingsley (1982)

I can hardly believe that I have never reviewed this remarkable film here before. I have seen it several times, always with the same shock at the cruelty of the British against a people who merely wanted to govern themselves. Coming about 150 years after the Empire had lost the American colonies, you would have thought that the British had learned something about people and their determination to be free. Just as the United States would later learn in Vietnam, when you fight in someone else’s backyard, you better have the hearts and minds of the people on your side. When you don’t; you’re just “whistling in the wind.”

In this biography of Mohandas K. Gandhi, a simple but idealistic attorney who rallied an oppressed people into standing up for their birthright, director Richard Attenborough has taken writer John Briley’s script to a cinematic height rarely achieved in today’s movies.

Of course, with a cast which includes such luminaries as Ben Kingsley; playing Gandhi; John Gielgud; as Lord Irwin; and an array of the best actors of their time; including Trevor Howard and John Mills; it would be hard to miss in this historically accurate story about the diminutive little man who became the symbol of his people using the philosophy of non-violence to accomplish the impossible.

From the 1920’s through to the granting of Independence in 1947, Mr. Gandhi faced struggles from without, as well as struggles form within. In many ways his trajectory would become the very image of Martin Luther King’s struggle for Civil Rights in the United States several decades later. In both cases the result was the tragic loss of a great leader, even as the changes they wrought through their efforts were beginning to bear fruit.

Stunningly photographed, and excellently directed, this film belongs in every serious collection of cinema. If not for its beauty as a movie itself, then as a statement about mankind and the dilemma of all peoples who struggle to be free.

"Casey at the Bat" by Ernest Lawrence Thayer (1888)

There is no way I can let the start of baseball season go unnoticed without reading this poem, which has long been a favorite of mine. I have posted it here each year and beg your indulgence while I do it again. With nothing new to add to the history of the poem, I’ll just re-post it without further ado;

In 1888 Ernest Lawrence Thayer's classic American poem "Casey At the Bat" was published to much acclaim in the San Francisco Examiner.

There are actually 3 versions of the poem, each one only slightly different. I have used the standard version, which I have posted here before. It has stood the test of time, and has actually been sung by various artists throughout the years. Even James Earl Jones has done a musical version of the piece. But nothing, and I mean nothing, can ever replace the inner voice when reading this poem. The tension, anger and disappointment all come through in the words themselves. With its simplistic rhyme scheme and cadence, this is always a sure winner with younger children, and a great way to introduce them to the joys of winning, as well as the necessity of sometimes coming up short. Now; "Play Ball!"

"Casey At the Bat" by Ernest Lawrence Thayer

The Outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:

The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.

And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,

A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest

Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;

They thought, if only Casey could get but a whack at that -

We'd put up even money, now, with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,

And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;

So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,

For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,

And Blake, the much despis-ed, tore the cover off the ball;

And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,

There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;

It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;

It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,

For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;

There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.

And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,

No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;

Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.

Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,

Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,

And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.

Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-

"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,

Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.

"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;

And its likely they'd a-killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;

He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;

He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;

But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;

But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.

They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,

And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;

He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.

And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,

And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;

The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,

And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;

But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out.

"The Great American Railroad War" by Dennis Drabelle (2012)

This book is kind of about a railroad. It’s also kind of a biography about two of the greatest journalists/authors America has ever produced. It’s also about the Civil War, the Gilded Age, William Randolph Hearst and the robber barons who took loans from the government, with no intention of ever re-paying them. And of course, the book is also about the political patronage and corruption which allowed this system of building a transcontinental railroad to exist in the first place; with a few buffalo and Indians thrown in. Which is to say; this book has it all.

Author Dennis Drabelle has kicked out all the stops in this rip snorting account of how America got linked by two railroad companies; and how they tried to bilk the public out of the money to do it. Drawing upon the writings of both Ambrose Bierce, a fascinating individual, who also wrote “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge”; which eclipses just about everything written by Edgar Allan Poe himself; he recounts Bierce’s exploits both before and after the war, painting an indelible picture of the man, and how he became involved in the fight against the railroad barons in the first place.

Of equal importance is Frank Norris, another famous American novelist and journalist, he would go on to write his masterpiece “Colossus”, which was based upon the iconic political cartoon which showed the railroads as an octopus, with tentacles ensnaring the nation. That novel would parallel the work of Upton Sinclair’s “The Jungle.”

The book is as much the story of these two celebrated journalists as it is of the railroad itself. The railroad, and the barons who built them, serve as a stage on which the author plays the actions of these two literary icons in a true dramatic fashion, with the only difference being that these events are all true. Each; in his own way; attacked the railroad for all of the right reasons, while never disputing the necessity of a transcontinental line.

The author has delivered a superb history of both the journalists and the railroads which were the center of their attentions. Norris, of course, would go on to write his most famous of novels, titled “The Octopus” after the famous cartoon by Nash, which depicted the railroads as an octopus with tentacles reaching everywhere. And Bierce has gone down in history as one of America’s finest journalists, known for such diverse works as “The Devil’s Dictionary” and a slew of short stories.

A fine book is a wonderful thing; sometimes it can open your eyes to the history which was relegated to the scrap heap; and you can never tell what treasures might lay beneath the surface.

The Last Post

This is my last post. I started this blog on a whim, and I suppose I can end it on one just as well. It couldn’t come at a better time, really. I’ve run out of useful things to say and memories to share; and my own is full, so I figure on going out before this all becomes somewhat stodgy and void of anything important. There’s plenty of blogs left to fill its place, with a lot more to offer.

Some of the blogs out there now even tell you how to think; which is something I’ve never done here, and is one of the many reasons I’ve never gone viral in over 4 years of blogging; I don’t tell you how to think. I want you to do that for yourselves. Sift through the information and come to your own conclusions based on the facts as presented, and then, verified by you; the reader; elsewhere. This is where I have failed.

So like General MacArthur said in his great speech, "And now, as I retire; etc etc; old soldiers never die; they just fade away…”

But, on the other hand, as the saying goes, “The Show Must Go On!” So, I guess that means that this is an April Fool’s gag? Hmm… you’ll just have to look in tomorrow and find out for sure!

Easter, Paul Rubens and Aunt Gloria

This was originally posted here on Easter Sunday 2011. It is one of my favorite paintings by Rubens, and it very easy to see why. Happy Easter!

This is a wonderful painting by Peter Paul Rubens, a German born painter. I am unsure of its name. Rubens moved to Antwerp when he was 10 years old in 1587. His works speak for themselves and he is considered to be one of the Masters of the Flemish painters, as well as one of the chief influences of the "Baroque Period."

His paintings are largely religious in their themes, and he was unique, for his time, in painting Christ as empowered, rather than as a victim. His father had been persecuted for his religious beliefs and fled from Antwerp to Germany, seeking religious freedom. It was there that Peter Paul Rubens was born in 1577. When the elder Mr. Rubens died in 1587, his widow returned, with the young Peter Paul, to Antwerp, where he was destined for great things, both as an artist, as well as a diplomat.

Rubens was fluent in Latin and Greek, and became a messenger to a noblewoman, the Countess of Lalaing. Although he disliked court life, he did make friends and forge alliances, which would be of aid to him in his later years as a diplomat.

When he returned home to Antwerp, he made the decision to become a painter. A student of three masters —Tobias Verhaecht, Adam van Noort, and Otto van Veen, he honed his skills, until in 1598 he was accepted as a Master in the Antwerp Guild of St. Luke. He was now a Master Painter at the age of 21.

By 1616 Rubens would go on to paint what is often considered to be the companion piece to this painting. It was called "Christ Risen." Google him and look at some of his extraordinary art.

Meantime; Happy Easter to all those who observe. And let the rest eat chocolates!

This cross was made for me by my favorite Aunt Gloria from her Palm Sunday palm leaf. It's going in the car... Thanks, Gloria!

"Funny Little Bunnies" - Silly Symphony (1934)

If you’ve ever wondered how the Easter Bunny gets ahold of all that candy for the Easter Baskets, this cartoon is for you. The “Silly Symphony” series of cartoons were created by Disney Studios as a way to compete with the “Merrie Melodies” and “Looney Tunes” cartoons, both of which were produced by the main studios, and were coming to dominate the market after the heyday of Popeye and Betty Boop had passed.

Although these little cartoons lacked the chronic cast of characters pumped out by the other two studios, they did fill a niche market for cartoons which appealed to a younger audience; about 5 and 6 years old. With their splendid imagery and musical scores, they may have been short on dialogue, but they more than made up for it with the happiness they gave to so many younger children.

Happy Easter to any of the younger visitors to this site; including my own 4  grand-daughters; I hope that the Easter Bunny fills you up with all the sweetness you need to get through another year doing what you all do best; spreading that sweetness around! 

“Il Transporto di Cristo al Sepolcro” - Antonio Ciseri (1870)

“The Transport of Christ to the Sepulcher" by Antonio Ciseri is one of the most harrowing of all the paintings concerning Good Friday. It was painted over a period of 6 years, between 1864 and 1870 in Italy. Ciseri was actually born in Switzerland, but by age 12 he was studying under the tutelage of Ernesto Bonaivuti and later, Giuseppe Bezzuoli, both of whom would inform his works with their own unique styles.

In this dark and foreboding painting Christ is being carried by the Faithful to the Sepulcher, from which he would miraculously rise on what became known as Easter Sunday. The imagery is not the standard one of Christ borne on the cross; or even hung upon one. Rather, the artists intent seems to have been geared more towards humanizing Jesus as body and flesh; as someone who was once touched by others, just as he once touched them.

No matter what your religious beliefs; I happen to be Jewish; the solemnity of Good Friday, encompassing Faith within its sorrow, cannot be ignored. Without Faith, there can be no good deeds, and without good deeds there can never be Salvation. This holds true not only for Christians, but for people of any Faith who believe in something higher than just themselves.