Joy was once talking to our friend Sam, who at the time was working in a lobster processing plant in Maine. He mentioned that he had put on She Mob's last album, "Not In My World" while at work. After a few songs, his co-workers complained that the music was scaring them. Thus, Lobster Girls was born.
This version is live and a bit muddled in more ways than one. It does capture something about She Mob and I think that something could be called hee-wack-a-doo. Also, the mild argument we're having in the mid-point was based on a real discussion at an earlier rehearsal regarding this particular song's "dancibility." I made sure this would be a dance video to prove my point. Because I am the director. And because I can.
She Mob's on CDBaby. Buy some songs, or a CD, complete with graphically designed photo inserts if you're old-school like that.
More songs about shellfish are here.
Footage courtesy of the Prelinger Archives.
Filtered through the brain cells of Lisa McElroy
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Animals Playing Music
In my post-Thanksgiving food stupor, I haven't been at my sparkiest in the past few days. Recently I did manage to see an entertaining new play, Status Update, in which the protagonist, a depressed freelance photographer, jumps into her Facebook feed as if down a rabbit hole. There she encounters the wonders of Internet addiction made flesh, hosted by her somewhat sinister guide, Keyboard Cat. One of the lessons learned: when life gets too troubling, there are so many cute animal videos online. Partake in the cuteness as we witness the wonder, the glory, of animals playing music.
Tucker the schnoodle plays and sings at the piano. Good dog, Tucker.
Nora the cat plays us a tune on piano. The piano—easy to learn, a lifetime to master.
Amazon parrot, Captain Flint, sings A Pirate's Life for Me. So inspiring!
Tucker the schnoodle plays and sings at the piano. Good dog, Tucker.
Nora the cat plays us a tune on piano. The piano—easy to learn, a lifetime to master.
Amazon parrot, Captain Flint, sings A Pirate's Life for Me. So inspiring!
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Dina Martina - Big-time Greatness for our Great Big Times
Once in a great while a talented performer comes along. A performer so talented that the talent has yet to be defined by regular language. Only irregular language will do. Words like demented, perplexing, questionable, hoo-hoo-ha!, and woob-woob-woob only begin to scratch the surface of the talent of said performer.
One day, while lollygagging about on the Internet, I came across such a performer. Dina Martina. Remember that name: bastion of all that will be great. Just not yet and only because we're personally not ready to receive all the greatness that's coming our way. But we will be. And when that day comes, Dina Martina will rightfully take her place in the pantheon of galactic stars. Catch Dina Martina now. If you dare.
Update, May 17, 2014: I SAW Dina Martina, up close and personal in a little bar called Rebel on Market Street in San Francisco. AND IT WAS A JOYFUL OCCASION FOR ALL. See her. Do it.
I don't know about you, but Dina Martina puts me in the Christmas spirit, BIG TIME. Lucky denizens of Seattle, Washington: Run, don't walk to Dina's Christmas show, playing at Re-Bar through the end of December, 2012.
One day, while lollygagging about on the Internet, I came across such a performer. Dina Martina. Remember that name: bastion of all that will be great. Just not yet and only because we're personally not ready to receive all the greatness that's coming our way. But we will be. And when that day comes, Dina Martina will rightfully take her place in the pantheon of galactic stars. Catch Dina Martina now. If you dare.
Update, May 17, 2014: I SAW Dina Martina, up close and personal in a little bar called Rebel on Market Street in San Francisco. AND IT WAS A JOYFUL OCCASION FOR ALL. See her. Do it.
I don't know about you, but Dina Martina puts me in the Christmas spirit, BIG TIME. Lucky denizens of Seattle, Washington: Run, don't walk to Dina's Christmas show, playing at Re-Bar through the end of December, 2012.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
White People Mourning Romney Embroidery Samplers
Since the election, I've really been enjoying the White People Mourning Romney site. A collection of Republican social-media quotes, photos and ephemera. Some of the sentiments expressed are so awe-inspiring and heartfelt, I thought it was up to me to turn them into monetary worth. So I bring to you custom-embroidery: samplers, pillows, and assorted decor from white people mourning Romney.
They're sad. They're mad. They're delusional and most likely racist. Bring their view of Americana into your abode. These are prototypes, but once I get the necessary permissions and cheap overseas labor lined up, I'll be cranking this crap out nonstop, at least until 2016 and (probably) beyond.
Hurry! For a limited time only, if you order a White People Mourning Romney embroidery sampler product, you will receive this FREE Fox-Newscasters-in-Denial T-shirt. One-hundred percent cotton with quality silkscreen print of Fox newscasters in shocking, jaw-dropping, pale-faced denial about the 2012 election results. Includes Karl Rove before he was hauled off the set due to his unrelenting babbling about Ohio! Hurry though. This is a limited-time offer. While supplies last. Unisex sizing because: equality for all. Duh.
They're sad. They're mad. They're delusional and most likely racist. Bring their view of Americana into your abode. These are prototypes, but once I get the necessary permissions and cheap overseas labor lined up, I'll be cranking this crap out nonstop, at least until 2016 and (probably) beyond.
Hurry! For a limited time only, if you order a White People Mourning Romney embroidery sampler product, you will receive this FREE Fox-Newscasters-in-Denial T-shirt. One-hundred percent cotton with quality silkscreen print of Fox newscasters in shocking, jaw-dropping, pale-faced denial about the 2012 election results. Includes Karl Rove before he was hauled off the set due to his unrelenting babbling about Ohio! Hurry though. This is a limited-time offer. While supplies last. Unisex sizing because: equality for all. Duh.
Wednesday, November 07, 2012
Tuesday, November 06, 2012
Election Art 2012
 |
| Note: no official ballots were harmed in the making of this art |
Update: YEEEEAAAAH, BABY!!!!! THAT'S HOW IT'S DONE!
Monday, November 05, 2012
The Fabulous 80s New Wave Fashions of "Edge of Seventeen"
Edge of Seventeen isn't just a Stevie Nicks song that is now stuck in your head for the next 17 hours—it's also a coming-out coming-of-age film directed by David Moreton, set in Sandusky, Ohio in 1984. If that doesn't pique your interest, I don't know what's wrong with you. Did you not catch that?—coming-of-age, 1984, Sandusky, OHIO?
Made in 1998 and timelessly reflecting gay youth experiences in small towns across the nation, Edge of Seventeen was an audience favorite at Sundance. Although it starts out slow, the emotional threads ring true, thanks to the strong cast and "every teen" status of its lead, Eric, played by Chris Stafford. And most thrillingly for me, the new-wave fashions are not merely an 80s set piece for us to point to and snicker at, but a creative indicator of Eric's state of mind as he figures out his sexuality among family, friends and new-found gay cohorts. As Eric finds his true self, his style begins to reflect his sense of joy, wonder and freedom. The 80s, with its genuine underground music scene and party-fueled fashion sense, is a perfect cinematic setting to do so.
And now...
When we first see Eric get dressed (this is a fashion post, after all), he's clad in a drab polyester uniform, ready to start his summer job in the restaurant of the local amusement park. Futilely trying to iron out the creases in his pants, Eric is powerless to control his outward appearance in a conformist society.
Eric's typical middle-class teen home life is established in the looks of Mom and brothers in one shot (featuring a 110 instamatic camera—a nice touch from the props department).
At the food court, we're introduced to Eric's new boss, Angie, played with charismatic panache by comedian/jazz singer, Lea DeLaria. Angie doesn't let the crappy uniform, subpar menu and hostile customers cramp her vivacious, satirical personality, giving Eric a glimpse into adulthood as a form of personal expression, rather than conformist grind.
After a new haircut and dye job, via his best friend Maggie, Eric embraces his passion for new-wave fashion, to the consternation of his mom, a loving but very straight-edge lady with zero style points to her name.
The mean girls and non-ironic proto-preppies of high school can't get down with Eric and Maggie's personal forms of self-expression.
Even though they are clearly the coolest kids in Sandusky.
And when Eric deals with his sense of social isolation with excellent emotive dancing to the only synth-pop song of the night, the galumphing drones turn on him.
Thank God for Angie's new gay bar, The Fruit & Nut Company, located at the edge of town off of highway...whatever. It's here that Eric meets his new posse.
Where dancing is FUN—not a form of ostracization.
With his new-found friends and potential boyfriend(s), Eric has got a new spring to his step. In fact, he becomes so buoyant, I can barely capture him in a movie still. But I will try. Ties were big in the 80s. This one is bigger than most.
Every human being who ever went out in the 80s had to first style up with a jar of Dippity-do. It was REQUIRED.
Eric's parents are beginning to wonder what exactly is going on with their son. He can't possibly be going over to Maggie's house this often, especially wearing this:
Thrift-store shopping is another fine activity for 80s teens to partake in. Better than drugs and in 1984, much cheaper too.
This is a telephone, not exactly a fashion accessory, but now that I think of it...
Eric is looking fine and patiently awaiting the ticking clock of senior year so he can blow this popsicle stand and escape to New York City.
Believe it or not, in the 80s you could get laid while wearing this outfit. It was that kind of era.
The fabulous Angie entertains in a classic 70s-junior-prom tuxedo shirt. I will never tire of this look.
Angie's club—I want to go there.
Maggie isn't so sure. She tries a little too hard to make an impression, but "A" for effort.
The horror of Eric's mom's ensemble adds an extra dimension of tension in this confrontational scene. How is this woman ever going to understand her son? If clothing is a message, the message is not good.
Even when brooding alone in his room, Eric makes a point of dressing right.
Low-budget lighting doesn't allow for the full glory of Angie's smoking jacket to come through here, but a decent vintage smoking jacket was de rigueur for every stylish hipster of the 80s.
And buttons! You had to have at least seven political, musical and/or satirical buttons on your lapel area. They were the essence of your very being!
Maggie's vintage sweater and pedal-pushers—spot on for the era.
As Eric truly accepts who he is, his shirt gets extra sparkly with golden significance. Bonne chance, Eric!
Let's end with some classic menswear and a song.
Trailer (needs sound-synch fix)
Made in 1998 and timelessly reflecting gay youth experiences in small towns across the nation, Edge of Seventeen was an audience favorite at Sundance. Although it starts out slow, the emotional threads ring true, thanks to the strong cast and "every teen" status of its lead, Eric, played by Chris Stafford. And most thrillingly for me, the new-wave fashions are not merely an 80s set piece for us to point to and snicker at, but a creative indicator of Eric's state of mind as he figures out his sexuality among family, friends and new-found gay cohorts. As Eric finds his true self, his style begins to reflect his sense of joy, wonder and freedom. The 80s, with its genuine underground music scene and party-fueled fashion sense, is a perfect cinematic setting to do so.
And now...
When we first see Eric get dressed (this is a fashion post, after all), he's clad in a drab polyester uniform, ready to start his summer job in the restaurant of the local amusement park. Futilely trying to iron out the creases in his pants, Eric is powerless to control his outward appearance in a conformist society.
Eric's typical middle-class teen home life is established in the looks of Mom and brothers in one shot (featuring a 110 instamatic camera—a nice touch from the props department).
At the food court, we're introduced to Eric's new boss, Angie, played with charismatic panache by comedian/jazz singer, Lea DeLaria. Angie doesn't let the crappy uniform, subpar menu and hostile customers cramp her vivacious, satirical personality, giving Eric a glimpse into adulthood as a form of personal expression, rather than conformist grind.
After a new haircut and dye job, via his best friend Maggie, Eric embraces his passion for new-wave fashion, to the consternation of his mom, a loving but very straight-edge lady with zero style points to her name.
 |
| Check out the cute top on Maggie—it has criss-cross corset and bow in back—sweet with a hint of naughty |
Even though they are clearly the coolest kids in Sandusky.
And when Eric deals with his sense of social isolation with excellent emotive dancing to the only synth-pop song of the night, the galumphing drones turn on him.
Thank God for Angie's new gay bar, The Fruit & Nut Company, located at the edge of town off of highway...whatever. It's here that Eric meets his new posse.
Where dancing is FUN—not a form of ostracization.
Every human being who ever went out in the 80s had to first style up with a jar of Dippity-do. It was REQUIRED.
Eric's parents are beginning to wonder what exactly is going on with their son. He can't possibly be going over to Maggie's house this often, especially wearing this:
Thrift-store shopping is another fine activity for 80s teens to partake in. Better than drugs and in 1984, much cheaper too.
This is a telephone, not exactly a fashion accessory, but now that I think of it...
Eric is looking fine and patiently awaiting the ticking clock of senior year so he can blow this popsicle stand and escape to New York City.
Believe it or not, in the 80s you could get laid while wearing this outfit. It was that kind of era.
The fabulous Angie entertains in a classic 70s-junior-prom tuxedo shirt. I will never tire of this look.
Angie's club—I want to go there.
Maggie isn't so sure. She tries a little too hard to make an impression, but "A" for effort.
The horror of Eric's mom's ensemble adds an extra dimension of tension in this confrontational scene. How is this woman ever going to understand her son? If clothing is a message, the message is not good.
Even when brooding alone in his room, Eric makes a point of dressing right.
Low-budget lighting doesn't allow for the full glory of Angie's smoking jacket to come through here, but a decent vintage smoking jacket was de rigueur for every stylish hipster of the 80s.
And buttons! You had to have at least seven political, musical and/or satirical buttons on your lapel area. They were the essence of your very being!
Maggie's vintage sweater and pedal-pushers—spot on for the era.
As Eric truly accepts who he is, his shirt gets extra sparkly with golden significance. Bonne chance, Eric!
Let's end with some classic menswear and a song.
Trailer (needs sound-synch fix)
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
San Francisco Giants Sweetheart Pillows
I've got a World Series hangover, I don't want to get over (see Diana Ross, circa 1976). Part of it is regional—born and kind of raised, and mostly from San Francisco. And part of it is coming from a family of genuine Giants fanatics (they won't attend even one A's game due to the trouncing the Giants took from Oakland in 1989). Another Giants World Series win in three years is sweet victory for geographical identification and familial unity purposes.
But it's much more than that. It's the perfection of the Giants' defense, which is like 3-2-1 poetry in motion on nearly every play. It's the confidence that can only come from a dream-team of pitchers, their relievers and their closers, who march to the mound, looking like mere mortals, but pitch like Mt. Olympus Gods (if they had a pitching roster). It's the epic rise and come-back of Pablo Sandoval's hitting and Barry Zito's pitching, which is a story unto itself.
And, let's face it: Giants are hotties. So hot, in fact, that I'm currently designing prototype sweetheart pillows featuring your 2012 World Series Champions. All I need is the proper legal permissions and manufacturing contracts. Take a look and see if there's a place in your home decor for these hot, hot professional sports guys.
Barry Zito is so hot that even my brother has a little crush on him. But only after his incredible come-back games, of course. Before this season, he was an expensive cautionary tale in too much too soon. Now look at him: Hawt, and so confident on the mound. Barry's back, as this sweetheart pillow will attest.
Shortstops are stars and Brandon Crawford is no exception. He's close to perfection on so many plays, making one of the toughest positions look almost effortless. Plus he's hawt.
Pablo! Or Panda, as he is so often called. He's a hitter, not a quitter. MVP of the series—congratulations, sir.
Confession: Sergio Romo is my favorite Giant. He's small, unassuming, excitable, adorable. And then he steps up to the mound and like a surgeon, whips the ball past the American League's best hitters. In every game he played in. This man is an artist. A great artist of baseball.
Buster Posey is truly the sweetheart of the team. All the girls (and boys) like Buster. He's a catcher who never complains (rare), a great defense player who's also a fantastic hitter (even rarer). He was "on" just in time in game four. Huzzah.
Pitchers! We got pitchers! We got lots and lots of...that's right: pitchers. The Giants pitching is still going strong. Tim Lincecum struggled aplenty but re-found his footing as an excellent reliever. Matt Cain pitched a perfect game this season and remains one of the steadiest arms in pro ball. I'm putting Brian Wilson in there too as ultimate team cheerleader this season. Out with an injury for the year, Wilson was in the dugout every game anyway, cheering and jumping about with his fist aloft. Don't underestimate the power of positive thinking (and cheering). Just a suggestion: the beard—it's time for it to go. We're going for 100% hottie status and the beard is standing in the way.
Yeah—you get in there too, Hunter Pence. Blue-eyed soul.
There's so many more Giants who deserve sweetheart pillows, including super-slugger Marco Scutaro, Ryan (The Riot) Theriot, Gregor (The Catch) Blanco, and ace (and possibly genius) manager Bruce Bochy. That will be Sweetheart Pillow Series II. Congratulations, San Francisco Giants.
But it's much more than that. It's the perfection of the Giants' defense, which is like 3-2-1 poetry in motion on nearly every play. It's the confidence that can only come from a dream-team of pitchers, their relievers and their closers, who march to the mound, looking like mere mortals, but pitch like Mt. Olympus Gods (if they had a pitching roster). It's the epic rise and come-back of Pablo Sandoval's hitting and Barry Zito's pitching, which is a story unto itself.
And, let's face it: Giants are hotties. So hot, in fact, that I'm currently designing prototype sweetheart pillows featuring your 2012 World Series Champions. All I need is the proper legal permissions and manufacturing contracts. Take a look and see if there's a place in your home decor for these hot, hot professional sports guys.
Barry Zito is so hot that even my brother has a little crush on him. But only after his incredible come-back games, of course. Before this season, he was an expensive cautionary tale in too much too soon. Now look at him: Hawt, and so confident on the mound. Barry's back, as this sweetheart pillow will attest.
Shortstops are stars and Brandon Crawford is no exception. He's close to perfection on so many plays, making one of the toughest positions look almost effortless. Plus he's hawt.
Pablo! Or Panda, as he is so often called. He's a hitter, not a quitter. MVP of the series—congratulations, sir.
Confession: Sergio Romo is my favorite Giant. He's small, unassuming, excitable, adorable. And then he steps up to the mound and like a surgeon, whips the ball past the American League's best hitters. In every game he played in. This man is an artist. A great artist of baseball.
Buster Posey is truly the sweetheart of the team. All the girls (and boys) like Buster. He's a catcher who never complains (rare), a great defense player who's also a fantastic hitter (even rarer). He was "on" just in time in game four. Huzzah.
Pitchers! We got pitchers! We got lots and lots of...that's right: pitchers. The Giants pitching is still going strong. Tim Lincecum struggled aplenty but re-found his footing as an excellent reliever. Matt Cain pitched a perfect game this season and remains one of the steadiest arms in pro ball. I'm putting Brian Wilson in there too as ultimate team cheerleader this season. Out with an injury for the year, Wilson was in the dugout every game anyway, cheering and jumping about with his fist aloft. Don't underestimate the power of positive thinking (and cheering). Just a suggestion: the beard—it's time for it to go. We're going for 100% hottie status and the beard is standing in the way.
There's so many more Giants who deserve sweetheart pillows, including super-slugger Marco Scutaro, Ryan (The Riot) Theriot, Gregor (The Catch) Blanco, and ace (and possibly genius) manager Bruce Bochy. That will be Sweetheart Pillow Series II. Congratulations, San Francisco Giants.
Obama Rainbow Sticker
My free Obama sticker finally came in the mail, just in time for the election. It's pretty.
Here is our modern-day incumbent, embracing LGBT civil rights and let me tell you, even five years ago, I never thought I would be typing this sentence. I became a voting adult during the Reagan administration, and that actor (some might say phony) wouldn't even acknowledge the AIDS pandemic, which was brutal, swift and devastating at the time.
So am I going to vote for Obama? Heck yeah. He can't do everything, but he includes everyone. And if his legacy is going to be inclusion, I say, good show.
Here is our modern-day incumbent, embracing LGBT civil rights and let me tell you, even five years ago, I never thought I would be typing this sentence. I became a voting adult during the Reagan administration, and that actor (some might say phony) wouldn't even acknowledge the AIDS pandemic, which was brutal, swift and devastating at the time.
So am I going to vote for Obama? Heck yeah. He can't do everything, but he includes everyone. And if his legacy is going to be inclusion, I say, good show.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Que Viva México! - Sergei Eisenstein, 1932
It's almost time for the Day of the Dead celebration so I thought I'd pre-celebrate by visiting Sergei Eisenstein's Que Viva Mexico!, the ambitious, unfinished film that Hollywood paid for and short-changed. Ultimately, Paramount hiring the brilliant Russian inventor of the propagandist montage (see Battleship Potemkin) was not in keeping with the usual Hollywood studio-system way.
After Eisenstein returned from a two-month shoot in Mexico with his crew consisting of Eduard Tisse and Grigory Alexandrov, all of their film reels were warehoused and the production was scrapped. The DVD available of the film is a composite put together with narration and music by Eisenstein's producer, Alexandrov, using original storyboards and notes by Eisenstein. In keeping with his revolutionary fervor, there is a building thread of workers rising up against tyrants, although the Mexican Revolution sequence was never filmed once funding stopped.
What's left and what I find most interesting is Eisenstein's genuine attempt at trying to grasp the idea of Mexico—its cultural history as well as political. In the opening sequence, set in the Yucatan peninsula, he muses on how ancient ancestors, carved in stone, completely resemble the modern people of Mexico. This is true. If you travel around the country, as I did in the mid-80s for a few months, you will meet people who look very much like those carved in rock more than a thousand years ago. You will meet people wearing hand-embroidered garments that are patterned after centuries of tradition. You will find yourself in towns that were completely built in the colonial style of 15th-century Spain. There are cathedrals so baroque, full of lovingly-dressed icons and bloody-suffering Christ figures alongside religions who sacrifice chickens, making use of eggs and bottles of Coca Cola in their rituals, that you may find yourself rather overwhelmed by it all.
Even if you come from a Mexican-American background, as I do, you will be awash with the pageantry and sorrow of a conquered world where indigenous beliefs still thrive. Imagine how it was for Eisenstein. Eisenstein was lucky to be escorted around the country by the ultimate travel team of genius muralists Diego Rivera, David Siqueiros and Jose Orozco. How I wish there was a guidebook based on this extended and amazing group outing. Still, it could take a lifetime to even begin to comprehend all the facets of Mexico—its blend of ancient, modern and everything in between—the tragic, the ecstatic, the artistic.
And now:
If you visit the ruins of Mexico, there's much to see. Eisenstein obviously thought so in these classically composed tableau.
A funeral and a wedding bracket idyllic romanticized views of indigenous life. The half-naked girls in hammocks were probably more wishful thinking than reality. I've left them out for modesty's sake (sorry, Internet).
Eisenstein jumps abruptly to a bullfight without explaining that Mexico is geographically huge and that bullfights are generally regional in nature. The Spanish invasion is given much symbolic weight as a precursor of death and cultural genocide, which it was. But the film doesn't take into account the blood sacrifice of civilizations that existed long before the Spanish came. Or how ancient spiritual beliefs have blended with Catholicism throughout the centuries.
A sequence of brutal events would have led to a cinematic revolutionary conflict if budget-cuts hadn't halted filming. These downtrodden peasants-versus-wicked landowner scenes are the most "Eisensteinian" of the film. I have no doubt that Eisenstein's artist guides were key in developing these ideas as well. The 30s were a rich time for artistic/political collaboration.
And then there's Dia de los Muertos—ancestor worship as celebration. It might look bizarre but it makes perfect sense to me.
After Eisenstein returned from a two-month shoot in Mexico with his crew consisting of Eduard Tisse and Grigory Alexandrov, all of their film reels were warehoused and the production was scrapped. The DVD available of the film is a composite put together with narration and music by Eisenstein's producer, Alexandrov, using original storyboards and notes by Eisenstein. In keeping with his revolutionary fervor, there is a building thread of workers rising up against tyrants, although the Mexican Revolution sequence was never filmed once funding stopped.
What's left and what I find most interesting is Eisenstein's genuine attempt at trying to grasp the idea of Mexico—its cultural history as well as political. In the opening sequence, set in the Yucatan peninsula, he muses on how ancient ancestors, carved in stone, completely resemble the modern people of Mexico. This is true. If you travel around the country, as I did in the mid-80s for a few months, you will meet people who look very much like those carved in rock more than a thousand years ago. You will meet people wearing hand-embroidered garments that are patterned after centuries of tradition. You will find yourself in towns that were completely built in the colonial style of 15th-century Spain. There are cathedrals so baroque, full of lovingly-dressed icons and bloody-suffering Christ figures alongside religions who sacrifice chickens, making use of eggs and bottles of Coca Cola in their rituals, that you may find yourself rather overwhelmed by it all.
Even if you come from a Mexican-American background, as I do, you will be awash with the pageantry and sorrow of a conquered world where indigenous beliefs still thrive. Imagine how it was for Eisenstein. Eisenstein was lucky to be escorted around the country by the ultimate travel team of genius muralists Diego Rivera, David Siqueiros and Jose Orozco. How I wish there was a guidebook based on this extended and amazing group outing. Still, it could take a lifetime to even begin to comprehend all the facets of Mexico—its blend of ancient, modern and everything in between—the tragic, the ecstatic, the artistic.
 |
| Frida Kahlo, second from left, with her husband Diego Rivera. Eisenstein is on the far right, about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime. |
And now:
If you visit the ruins of Mexico, there's much to see. Eisenstein obviously thought so in these classically composed tableau.
A funeral and a wedding bracket idyllic romanticized views of indigenous life. The half-naked girls in hammocks were probably more wishful thinking than reality. I've left them out for modesty's sake (sorry, Internet).
Eisenstein jumps abruptly to a bullfight without explaining that Mexico is geographically huge and that bullfights are generally regional in nature. The Spanish invasion is given much symbolic weight as a precursor of death and cultural genocide, which it was. But the film doesn't take into account the blood sacrifice of civilizations that existed long before the Spanish came. Or how ancient spiritual beliefs have blended with Catholicism throughout the centuries.
A sequence of brutal events would have led to a cinematic revolutionary conflict if budget-cuts hadn't halted filming. These downtrodden peasants-versus-wicked landowner scenes are the most "Eisensteinian" of the film. I have no doubt that Eisenstein's artist guides were key in developing these ideas as well. The 30s were a rich time for artistic/political collaboration.
And then there's Dia de los Muertos—ancestor worship as celebration. It might look bizarre but it makes perfect sense to me.
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