Freedom

I’ve been a lifelong in your face, but behind-the-scenes hand-wringing, Democrat. 

The kind of neurotic, over-educated, big city, holier-than-thou bleeding heart liberal that gets parodied in a Saturday Night Live sketch, roasted on Fox News or is constantly and very curtly dismissed in opinion pieces on the pages of the Wall Street Journal.

… and my feelings on this are clear

I don’t remember exactly when this started. 

But I do recall how pissed off I was as a young teenager in 1971 when people laughed at the brilliant and black N.Y.C. Congresswoman Shirley Chisolm when she announced she was running for president.

Clearly, she was the smartest person in the race.  And certainly the most honest and decent.

(Note: Though certainly that wasn’t a high bar).

Go Shirley!

Yes, I was too young to vote but how stupid can people be, I proclaimed to anyone who would listen (Note:  Not many).  It’s so obvious Nixon is a lying sleaze!!

When my own Democratic mother insisted she was voting for Nixon because he promised to end the draft and she didn’t want me to die in Vietnam, I didn’t talk to her for a week.

If the Army drafts me, we’re in a lot of trouble, I screamed back at her. 

And I will not be going to Vietnam, trust me.  

I hadn’t revealed my gay card yet.  But I knew. 

Well, here we are several generations later. 

Yep, still gay.

Gays can be in the military,  a woman of color has been nominated by the Democratic party to run for president and, after a barnstorming convention with record-breaking, meme-making viewership, she is right now favored to win by 3.6%.

As for laughing, all we can hear is the natural belly laugh of the candidate, Kamala Harris, the current U.S. Vice President and California’s own former senator and Attorney General, as she shows her party, the country and the world that a politician can be smart, qualified, tough, loving, articulate, strong, ambitious and yes – human – all at the same time. 

Hate on the joy all you want!

Mrs. Chisolm must be laughing somewhere. 

Among other things.

I don’t give myself much credit for knowing as a teenager that someone other than a straight white male could be president.  I was a little kid growing up in the tumultuous sixties and all you really had to do was look around to realize that one day that could be so.

But it sure was nice to watch the Democratic convention this week and see it happen in such an irresistibly, celebratory fashion as you were being proved right.

Yes she can.

Yes, I know.  Not so fast.  She hasn’t won yet. Just as all seemed lost six weeks ago, that’s how quickly this lead, this enthusiasm, this OPTIMISM can disappear.

But can’t we be happy about anything EVER? 

Yes. We. Can.

Bask in the sunshine please!

I won’t recap the record number of unprecedented moments of joy among Democrats over a four-day convention (Note: The previous record must have been two or three vs. what now clearly tallies well into the thousands). 

But I do want to reclaim some of those moments for one overall point of personal privilege.

I realized once and for all after four days of watching the DNC that:

a. I am MUCH more patriotic than I thought.

AND

b. I don’t at all mind a sports metaphor.  It simply depends on who is using it.  And why.

yay sports!

Yes, it would be so much more fun to talk about Barack Obama cracking a thinly-veiled d-ck joke re: Trump’s crowd size, or Michelle Obama down and dirty wondering aloud, in her best south side of Chicago accent re: his 2024 presidential run: …Who’s gonna tell him that the job he is currently seeking might just be one of those “Black jobs?”

But they say it so much better than I do.  And it’s available on You Tube.

Barack (7:30):

Michelle (11:30):

Instead, I have to confess that it was VP nominee, Coach Tim Walz who made me see it wasn’t so much that I hated playing team sports at school, which fueled a life-long annoyance at pretty much any team sports analogy under the sun.

It was that I loathed every high school gym teacher and sports coach I ever encountered in real life until I “met” him – the guy who not only coached football AND taught social studies, (Note: Not health ed!)  but served as faculty advisor to the gay/straight alliance at the high school where he worked.

Coach!

I don’t know that Kyle Chandler’s beloved (Note: Even by me) Coach Eric Taylor on Friday Night Lights would have done that, and he was a fictional character.

So when Tim Walz started to close out his acceptance speech for Vice President by stating:

Team, it’s the fourth quarter, we’re down a field goal, but we’re on offense and we’ve got the ball. We’re driving down the field. And, boy, do we have the right team, I was all in. 

Yay sports!

And when he ended by sayingOur job for everyone watching—is to get in the trenches and do the blocking and tackling: one inch at a time. One yard at a time, one phone call at a time, one door knock at a time, one $5 donation at a time. …Look, we got 76 days. That’s nothing. There’ll be time to sleep when you’re dead. We’re going to leave it on the field! I was sold.

GO TEAM GOOOOOOOO

Yes, it helped that my beloved aunt in New York City also used to say you’ll have plenty of time to sleep when you’re dead  to little whiny me when I balked at doing something hard, but that’s not the only reason.

As for over-the-top patriotism, anyone who came of age under Nixon, or more recently, Trump, has probably had a difficult time with it. 

Too often the empty gestures of in-your-face flag-waving or a robust hand over your heart when the national anthem played was the measure of a patriot. And protesting the actions of your country, your president, your lawmakers or the actual laws themselves meant you were a…traitor?… a Commie?… a Soviet/Russia spy?

Me?

Well, the tables have certainly been turned on all that, and most particularly on the latter, in this presidential race, haven’t they?

That’s how a new patriotism coined by Vice President Harris in her nominating speech – one that not only moved me but, I suspect, millions of others who knew in their hearts it wasn’t a song, a salute or the stars and stripes that made a patriot yet never had the right words to say exactly what did – came across:

In her own words

I… see an America where we hold fast to the fearless belief that built our nation and inspired the world. That here, in this country, anything is possible. That nothing is out of reach.  An America where we care for one another, look out for one another and recognize that we have so much more in common than what separates us. That none of us — none of us has to fail for all of us to succeed.  And that in unity, there is strength. You know, our opponents in this race are out there every day denigrating America, talking about how terrible everything is. Well, my mother had another lesson she used to teach: Never let anyone tell you who you are. You show them who you are.

America, let us show each other and the world who we are and what we stand for: Freedom, opportunity, compassion, dignity, fairness and endless possibilities.

We are the heirs to the greatest democracy in the history of the world. And on behalf of our children and our grandchildren and all those who sacrificed so dearly for our freedom and liberty, we must be worthy of this moment.  It is now our turn to do what generations before us have done, guided by optimism and faith, to fight for this country we love, to fight for the ideals we cherish and to uphold the awesome responsibility that comes with the greatest privilege on Earth: the privilege and pride of being an American. So let’s get out there, let’s fight for it. Let’s get out there, let’s vote for it, and together, let us write the next great chapter in the most extraordinary story ever told.

(Full speech here)

I didn’t write it, I didn’t say it, but for the first time in a long time I finally felt it.

Beyonce (ft. Kendrick Lamar) – “Freedom”

My Favorite Movies… This Week

We were having a small, fun family dinner last week and one of our nieces wanted to know the answer to a very simple question:

What’s your #1  film?

Well… fasten your seatbelts

Being who I am I had to answer a question with a question before I could answer the question.

Ummm, well, do you mean the film that I think is the best film ever made or the film that I personally like the best? 

It didn’t help at all when she answered: 

How about both?

Oh it’s about to go down

Of course at this point I began explaining that either way I couldn’t narrow it down to one.  There are so many different types of movies I love and watch again and again but couldn’t claim were the best for anyone but me.  There were also others that I would place in the top five or ten that wouldn’t be my personal favorite but….

At which point someone else said, The Wizard of Oz and my husband interjected  Day for Night..

As I then began sputtering out in no particular order All About Eve, The Way We Were, Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf?, Postcards from the Edge and Annie Hall (Note: The latter with the disclaimer that it used to be but now, well, it’s hard to watch, which led to a discussion of why, which I don’t want to get into for various reasons and is the subject of another blog).

Very, very this

I then quickly explained Hitchcock was one of my favorite filmmakers and that despite it not being his most artsy I just love Psycho. 

As well as most every Almodóvar movie, and many of the films of Paul Thomas Anderson.  But that I couldn’t leave out….Billy Wilder or Scorsese and that even though Gone With The Wind is so problematic from a contemporary lens I loved the book and the film as a teenager, which is ironic because of how pissed I was that BlacKkKlansman didn’t win the best picture Oscar that year over what I judged to be the far more retro Green Book and…

Well, you get it.

…and I’m spent

I’m a parlor game buzzkill because nothing is simple in my brain.  But as a lifelong movie fan, there is especially nothing is simple for me about the movies.

So much to love for so many reasons. 

And damn, what kind of gay man would I be if I didn’t include the restored Judy Garland version of A Star Is Born and Jacque Demy’s Umbrellas of Cherbourg?

See, I can’t stop.

It’s agony!

Which is sort of the point.

There is something about the movies. 

Plays are great, books are wonderful when they are and nothing is better these days than a great season of a streaming show. (Note: Yes, Baby Reindeer and Hacks were fantastic but this year I was riveted to Carmy’s existential crisis all through season three of The Bear and couldn’t care less how many stars his fakakta restaurant got – that wasn’t the point!).

Don’t even get me started on the Tina episode!

Not to mention music, museums and one of a kind events like Luna, Luna.

But if you’re a pop culture freak of nature of a certain age like I am, films are… well… forever.

Something immersive that’s eternally branded in your mind. 

Perhaps it’s because the second golden age of 1970s cinema was where I came of age. 

And what an age!

Maybe it’s that movies run such a gamut, or require brain power from totally passive to you better f’n pay attention or you’ll miss something. 

It could also be the special kind of escape they provide for a prolonged period of time without anyone else around – at home or in a darkened theatre – the latter being a place you can easily pretend no one else is around as long as no one’s brought their crying kid.  #ChildlessCatPeoplePower. 

Or thinks it’s their living room. #ShutTheFUp

#WhatWouldNicoleKidmanDo

In the more than a week since my niece asked her question I only today realized none of this matters because left to my own devices (Note: A dangerous place to be) films are my unwinding mechanism.

And there are not just one type nor do they have to be on my aforementioned “favorites”:

  • I happened to turn on TCM a few days ago and there were the beginning credits of Silkwood. A bunch of friends worked on it and I hadn’t seen it in years.  But I doubted I’d re-watch a story of radiation, friendship and corporate corruption even with the help of Mike Nichols, Meryl Streep and Cher because it’d been a trying week.  But it had me.  And kept me.  Not only did it hold up all these years but I found the sheer unabashed chauvinistic anger at the power of a strong woman like the late Karen Silkwood to be strangely energizing because of how absolutely infuriating and relevant it remains.
This movie did not get the hose!
  • But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t equally into the new feature-length documentary on MAX entitled, Elizabeth Taylor: The Lost Tapes, a few days before.  It’s an actual movie about THE biggest movie star of the 20th century which she narrates via numerous reels of “lost “tapes she recorded in the mid-late sixties for a planned biography that never came to be. 

She’s bawdy, funny, smart and clever but what she is more than anything else is honest.  It’s a treat to hear the dish on the movies, the life, the triumphs and the tragedies from the source but it’s even better to see it unfold in the filmic images and real-life footage put together in motion picture form by a director as creative as Nanette Burstein.

Spill girl spill!
  • I was busy this week but in the last couple of days the air sucked and my sinuses swelled so I chose to stay inside and read once I caught up on some politics (Note: Idiot).  At which point, I changed channels and there was another really great contemporary film that should have won the Oscar for best picture – The Social Network. (The King’s Speech? Seriously????).

I know, who wants to see the Mark Zuckerberg story at this point, right?  But I’d forgotten how much of an even-handed anti-hero Aaron Sorkin’s script made him and how well David Fincher’s frenetic filmmaking captured what, from our current rear view mirror, seems like a very strangely naïve era we couldn’t quite appreciate at the time. #MoviesCanDoThat.

One of THE best opening scenes
  • Not knowing I’d be writing about movies but still staying hermetically sealed at home I continued, checking out the much maligned recent film The Bikeriders starring Austin Butler and Jodie Comer.  Dismissed by many top critics and a few friends, it was bizarre, fascinating, funny and sort of touching.  I’m not into 1960’s motorcycle culture and I never imagined an English actress like Comer could so convincingly pull off working class Chicago (Note: Though why not after what she did on “Killing Eve?”) yet it was fascinating.  And Mr. Butler is just so much more enjoyable on a motorcycle than slithering his way through sand in Dune 2.
Should he be allowed to look this good?
  • I guess now is the time where I admit that before I gave in and went outside on a walk/run this afternoon I spent two hours rewatching the critical and audience drubbed film version of Jersey Boys, directed by Clint Eastwood.  Yeah, it’s sort of schmaltzy, a little cartoony and was definitely shot on the Warner Bros. backlot.

But jeez, it’s a movie fantasy musical melodrama.  And the soooonnnggggs.

I mean… just give in!

Sherry, Walk Like A Man, Big Girls Don’t Cry, Let’s Hang On, Working My Way Back to You…  And the Italian guys from the neighborhood I grew up with that I seldom hung out with but loved from afar.  Fuggedaboudit….

It was a time capsule back to an imagined version of the life of a real-life singer (Frankie Valli, of The Four Seasons) with movie mobsters, movie people and melodramatic movie heartbreak played against a purposely and infectiously nostalgic movie soundtrack.

It’s not Elizabeth Taylor, nor does it address corporate malfeasance, social media or the evolution of pop culture movements.  We have those, as well as many other films, for that.

And for a lot more.

Jersey Boys – “Sherry” (at the White House)