And that's a wrap!

 

Eleven movies over four days. What a celebration of cinema! Not to mention a reunion of fellow film nerds. My vacation may have ended very badly (see post below), but that doesn't mean it was a bad time.

 

Here are the movies I saw in the order I saw them: 

 

Modern Times (1936). I don't much like silent movies and my sense of humor is more verbal than visual. The only Chaplin I'd ever seen before was a few minutes at the Museum of Science and Industry when I was a kid. Yet I loved this. It's the adventures of a kindhearted Tramp during the Depression. It's funny, romantic and rebellious. The intro by Tony Shaloub (Mr. Monk) reframed the movie and helped me appreciate it. He recommended rewatching movies we loved as children (when he fell in love with Chaplin and Laurel & Hardy), that while we remember the slapstick they probably have more heart and pathos than we understood. 

 

 

The Mouthpiece (1932). A pre-code talkie I'd never even heard of before! A flamboyant defense attorney, Vince Day, will do anything to win the case and gain greater fame and publicity for himself. He seems the inspiration for Richard Gere's lawyer in Chicago. The (unrequited) love of a good woman changes his heart and he does the right thing. The ending was satisfyingly ambiguous. I can't wait to see it again.

 

Letty Lynton (1932). Okay, NOBODY has ever seen this one before! This Joan Crawford crime drama was wildly popular when it was first released but then it's been tied up in litigation and disputes for the last 90 years! Seeing this unicorn was the highlight of the festival for many. I liked it, didn't love it, but it was exciting to be part of the crowd seeing it for the first time since the 1930s.

 

Strangers on a Train (1951). A Hitchcock that I've seen many, many times. I always enjoy how twisted it is, but seeing it on the big screen with an audience was a thrill. Even better, it was introduced by CAROL BURNETT! She's always been a massive classic movie fan, and this one has personal meaning for her. I couldn't get close enough to get a photo, but at 93 she's still very funny and sharp. 

 

Pal Joey (1957). The world premiere of the 35 mm restoration and it was gorgeous! Tina Sinatra introduced it and I'm glad she got to hear us all spontaneously applaud when her father performed "The Lady Is a Tramp" for Rita Hayworth. It's a classic musical moment, and Daddy's Girl Tina was justifiably proud. This was a highlight for me.

 

A Face in the Crowd (1957). Andy Griffith is a folksy TV personality who lets power go to his head until he becomes The Demagogue in Denim. This film was introduced by conservative author and commentator Jonah Goldberg, who shocked me by saying that this character reminds him of Tucker Carlson (ouch). While it's easy to see this film as an indictment of right-wing media types who promote Trump to a gullible public, Goldberg and TCM's Ben Mankiewicz explained it's more than that – it's about how willing Americans are to be misled. That Trump is a symptom, not the disease. And I get it because this movie is almost 70 years old. We've been here before. A searing movie and thought-provoking discussion. If you've never seen this movie, FIND IT! It's free on Tubi and available on Amazon Prime and it's even more relevant today than it was in the year of my birth. (Plus you'll see a dimension to Andy Griffith you never guessed existed.)

 

All the President's Men (1976). More than a tribute to Redford – though he deserves all the posthumous accolades he's getting – this screening was a celebration of intelligent filmmaking and a free press. Former White House counsel John Dean (!) introduced the film and took questions afterward. I can't believe I was so close to history! My favorite moment was when he shared with us that The Nixon White House always knew Mark Felt was Deep Throat. It's just no one ever asked them.

 

 

Signage promoting the festival on Hollywood Blvd.

 

I'd Rather Be Rich (1964). My oldest friend and I saw this movie on TV when we were little girls and I was excited to revisit it. I enjoyed it thoroughly, even though it's fabulously stupid. The plot is all about misunderstandings and sex and mistaken identity – kind of like a less smutty episode of Three's Company. The hair was poofy, the clothes were gorgeous and Andy Williams was charming in his only film role. It was introduced by Kate Flannery from The Office, who clearly loves movies like this as much as I do.

 

Anastasia (1956). I was disappointed by this one. It was opulent, but slow moving and I admit I was bored. Yeah, I know: Oscars and Golden Globes. Blah, blah. 

 

Rope (1948). My second Hitchcock of the festival was definitely a highlight! First of all, I'm just captivated by this movie, which starts with a murder on a bright sunny day. So it's like Columbo – we know who did it and we know why they did it, the tension comes from watching the killers try to hide their crime. Then there was Mario Cantone (Anthony from Sex and the City). He was hysterical. Since the movie is clearly patterned on Leopold and Loeb, he yelled, "GAY HITCHCOCK!" Here he is cracking up Professor Jacqueline Stewart. Cantone was also insightful. He reminded us all how hard it was for gay actors in the 1940s and that he believed keeping a real-life secret infused John Dall's and Farley Granger's performances with desperation.

 

On the Town (1949). Closed out the Festival with a grand old MGM musical. Three sailors see all of New York – and find love – during their 24-hour shore leave. I've always had mad affection for this confection ("New York, New York, a wonderful town/the Bronx is up and the Battery's down/the people ride in a hole in the ground/New York, New York!") By late Sunday night we were all pretty punchy. The intro by TCM's Dave Karger started out rather high-brow, talking about Leonard Bernstein and the challenges of filming on location. Soon it devolved into silliness, with Karger, Cantone and Kate Flannery leading us in a game of "Shag, Marry or Kill" with the film's leads: Gene Kelly, Frank Sinatra and Jules Munshin. Sorry, Jules.

 

Here's hoping the Paramount merger doesn't fuck everything up and we'll all be together in Hollywood for 2027.

 

 

 PS As soon we got home, we heard Ted Turner had died. That felt like a death in the family. Without Ted Turner there would be no CNN, no 1995 World Champion Atlanta Braves, and most important to a legion of old movie nerds, no Turner Classic Movies. I wish we'd been together when we got the news. We could have toasted him.

Magical thinking

I've been back from vacation for a week and have yet to post about it! I'm beginning at the end. I don't fly well. In fact, I'm fucking petrified the whole time. I will not get on a plane without knowing there's Xanax in my purse. I want to be able to knock myself out if the terror becomes too great. When I asked a shrink what we should do about my fear, she said that everyone had irrational fears and instead of berating myself for being afraid, I should be proud of myself that I still fly. It would only be a problem, she reasoned, if it had an impact on my lifestyle. I'm proud to say I didn't take my Xanax once through the tale you're about to read. 

I did fall victim to magical thinking, though. I have a rule for myself when I fly – I never change my originally assigned flight. Let American Airlines offer me money or miles to take a later flight. I won't do it. I truly believe that if I do, I am opening myself up to bad luck. No, it makes no logical sense. Just as it never made any logical sense that if I was watching or listening to a baseball game and Anthony Rizzo came up to bat, I had to stop what I was doing and concentrate on helping him. Superstition, magical thinking, wackiness ... call it what you will. 

This time I was right. I broke my own rule and very bad things happened.

I got to LAX at 8:30 AM for my 10:30 flight home to O'Hare. As I checked in at the kiosk, I got the news: there was no crew and my flight was delayed six and one half hours. Not only would I have to hang around in the airport for hours, I wouldn't get me home until after midnight, CST. That was unacceptable. My girlcat had been ill* and I wanted to get home.

American Airlines recommended a flight taking off in little over an hour to Tuscon, where I'd change planes for O'Hare. I was reassured that, since I'd be landing at the gate right next to my flight home, it would be smooth.

Well, they didn't lie about that. The flight to Tuscon was short and uneventful, and yes, the gate was right there. I had time to snarf a breakfast sandwich and bottled water before boarding for my flight home ... and entering hell.

•  First, I was in a middle seat. Between a couple. Who kept talking to each other and passing things over me as though I wasn't there. I asked them if they wouldn't prefer sitting together. No, she's window and he's aisle ... and they're both dreadful. Because we were three fat people in a row, it was hard to move. I had a difficult time getting to my Xanax but I thought, "oh, well, you got this far and you're almost home. It'll be fine."

• As we flew east I monitored the Cubs game on my phone and saw it was delayed. Storms in Chicago.  But the game was not cancelled, so I knew the rain was expected to stop soon. I didn't think it was as big a deal as Mr. and Mrs. passing their reading glasses back and forth over me. "These are yours." "No, these are yours." "Wait a minute, you were right!" "Where's the case for the glasses?" etc.

• The pilot came on and acknowledged the storms, saying we were going to circle high above them for a while until they passed. Because we were, as Dorothy said in The Wizard of Oz, "beyond the rain," what I could see out our window was sunny and fine. I don't know how much time had elapsed before he came back on and scared the living shit out of me. "We're running low on fuel so we're going to touch down in St. Louis." Oh, great! I could fall out of the sky!

• When we got to Lambert, we there wasn't a gate for us. That many flights to O'Hare had been rerouted. So we had to sit, and sit, and sit. I had downloaded The Very Best of Linda Ronstadt for the flight. I shall never listen to it again, for fear of PTSD. Finally we started moving. We were not taking off, however, there was no available runway for us. It's just there's a law about how long we're allowed to sit on a flight, so we had to get off. We were warned not wander far, though. We'd be taking off within the hour. 

• Well, they didn't lie about that. Just after midnight, we were corralled back onto our flight and we all took our original seats. (Me in the middle.) It occurred to me that this would be the time I would have gotten home if I'd followed my rule and just hung out LAX all day.

• We took off and then – you can't make this shit up – within minutes the pilot came on and told us we were going back to St. Louis. There was smoke in galley. I sniffed the air and yes, it did smell like something was burning. My new husband said, "Gee, I hope they'll make us use the chute."  I hated him.

 

No, I didn't.

Actually, I was more frightened when I heard we were out of fuel. Though it's not a feel good to pass firefighters in the aisle as you disembark.

 

•  By now it was 1:20 AM on Tuesday. At the gate we were told to line up for hotel and meal vouchers and that we would be rebooked for a 9:30 AM flight to Chicago. OK, this is simply not acceptable. I worked in Chicago for more than 40 years. I know how busy the Lambert-O'Hare corridor is, especially on a weekday morning. People arrive at O'Hare and are in offices for their meetings every day before 9:30 AM. So I told them I wanted to be booked onto the first flight of the day to ORD.

 

•  That was 5:50 AM, boarding at 5:15. Not enough time to deal with a hotel. In a perfect full-circle moment, I was looking at killing hour after hour in an airport again. So be it. I want to go home. It really wasn't that bad. It took some time to find the baggage office – at this hour all the carousels were down – and explain my situation to the nice, lonely lady who worked their overnight. She explained to me that I would have recheck my bag and go through security again but I'd likely be first in line. Then she emphasized this – DO NOT USE THE KIOSK. CHECK IN THROUGH AN AGENT. She explained that according to the app, I was somehow still on the original flight from LAX to ORD and the kiosk won't "know" me.

 

•  I read. I wandered. I drank a lot of water. As soon as the agents began their day at 4:30, I was there. I thought it would be easy. HA! These four women – who had no one else to wait on, just me and one confused looking couple who just arrived – treating me as an adversary. They wouldn't let me finish a sentence! I had to try the kiosk before they were speak to me. Oh, and the kiosks weren't up yet. "Yes, but I was told ..." No "I'm sorry." Not even a "Good morning." Just "you have to use the kiosk first."

 

•  So when the kiosks finally came on, I gave one a shot. It insisted on charging me $45 to check my bag to O'Hare. NO FUCKING WAY.  I had been a good, uncomplaining sport until this moment. "I am not paying this!" I announced. Loudly. Your voice can really carry through an otherwise empty airport. Finally someone looked at my printed board pass. "The Tuscon flight," she said to herself as she read her monitor. Apparently our ill-fated flight was famous. She checked me through. No apology though. When I complained to American Airlines, this is the only thing I mentioned. My treatment here was the only thing I couldn't justify, the one thing they absolutely could have prevented.

 

• I got through TSA very easily and was home by 8:30 AM. 24 hours after I checked out of my hotel in Los Angeles. I now know why the Pope kisses the ground when he lands. 

 

I am proud of myself that my Xanax remained untouched. I did all this without it. I feel empowered. Angry, exhausted, and traumatized. But empowered, too. 

 

  

*She's so healthy now, I needn't have worried. 

 Photo by Briana Tozour on Unsplash