James Gandolfini Shows Kinder, Softer, Gentler Side on Sesame Street (2002)

in Life, Television | June 23rd, 2013

When James Gan­dolfi­ni first broke into film, he played Vir­gil, a bru­tal woman-beat­ing mafioso (view­er beware), in the 1993 thriller, True Romance, writ­ten by Quentin Taran­ti­no. In Ter­mi­nal Veloc­i­ty, he was back at it again, play­ing a Russ­ian mob­ster. By the 1999, when The Sopra­nos first aired on HBO, Gan­dolfi­ni had per­fect­ed the mob­ster role. The explo­sive anger, the raw vio­lence, the col­or­ful lan­guage — he had it all down. Of course, this con­tributed to a good gag when Gan­dolfi­ni appeared on Sesame Street in 2002. Now the world had the chance to see the actor as it had­n’t seen him before. Meek, timid, and death­ly afraid of giant talk­ing veg­eta­bles. It’s an endear­ing lit­tle scene.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

See Ste­vie Won­der Play “Super­sti­tion” and Ban­ter with Grover on Sesame Street in 1973

Philip Glass Com­pos­es for Sesame Street (1979)

Mor­gan Free­man Teach­es Kids to Read in Vin­tage Elec­tric Com­pa­ny Footage from 1971

 

 

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The Late James Gandolfini, Star of The Sopranos, Appears on Inside the Actors Studio (2004)

in Life, Television | June 19th, 2013

We often write about the cur­rent “gold­en age” of high­ly craft­ed, the­mat­i­cal­ly lay­ered, tonal­ly var­ied tele­vi­sion dra­ma, espe­cial­ly its well-known recent high water marks in series like The Wire, Mad Men, and Break­ing Bad. But if you believe many tele­vi­sion crit­ics, this long and cap­ti­vat­ing wave first rose back in 1999 with David Chase’s ultra­mod­ern mob show The Sopra­nos. Noth­ing onscreen drove its six sea­sons quite so dynam­i­cal­ly as the star­ring per­for­mance from James Gan­dolfi­ni as put-upon mafia boss Tony Sopra­no. The actor’s sud­den pass­ing yes­ter­day will sure­ly prompt count­less Sopra­nos fans to watch the entire series again, and as many soon-to-be Sopra­nos fans to final­ly catch up with the tele­vi­sion mas­ter­piece they’d missed. Before you launch into either of those extend­ed view­ing ses­sions, though (or their nine-minute com­pres­sion), con­sid­er watch­ing Gan­dolfini’s 2004 appear­ance on Inside the Actors Stu­dio at the top of the post (with Span­ish sub­ti­tles).

Gan­dolfini’s con­ver­sa­tion with host James Lip­ton cov­ers his Ital­ian fam­i­ly, his ear­ly work on the stage, his first turn as a mob­ster in True Romance (which includ­ed an appear­ance in what Lip­ton calls the most vio­lent scene Quentin Taran­ti­no ever wrote), which oth­er big star’s father his own father bought tires from, the praise Roger Ebert gave him, how he sees point of view as cen­tral to the craft of act­ing, and how Tony Sopra­no first entered his life. Lip­ton asks Gan­dolfi­ni what he saw in the char­ac­ter that he felt he could play. “It’s a man in strug­gle,” the actor replies. “He does­n’t have a reli­gion. He does­n’t believe in the gov­ern­ment. He does­n’t believe in any­thing except his code of hon­or, and his code of hon­or’s all going to shit. He has noth­ing left, so he’s look­ing around — that search­ing I think a lot of Amer­i­ca does half the time.” Just above, you can watch one of many intense moments in the life of Tony Sopra­no, this one a domes­tic one-on-one with his wife Carmela, played by the also-acclaimed Edie Fal­co.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

James Gan­dolfi­ni Reads from Mau­rice Sendak’s Sto­ry Book “In The Night Kitchen”

The Nine Minute Sopra­nos

David Chase Speaks

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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See Stevie Wonder Play “Superstition” and Banter with Grover on Sesame Street in 1973

in Education, K-12, Music, Television | June 19th, 2013

In 1969, Sesame Street debuted and intro­duced America’s children—growing up in the midst of intense dis­putes over integration—to its urban sen­si­bil­i­ties and mul­ti­cul­tur­al cast, all dri­ven by the lat­est in child­hood devel­op­ment research and Jim Hen­son wiz­ardry. Despite the racial­ly frac­tious times of its ori­gin, the show was a suc­cess (although the state of Mis­sis­sip­pi briefly banned it in 1970), and its list of celebri­ty guests from every con­ceiv­able domain reflect­ed the diver­si­ty of its cast and hip­ness of its tone. With cer­tain excep­tions (par­tic­u­lar­ly in lat­er per­mu­ta­tions), it’s always been a show that knew how to gauge the tenor of the times and appeal broad­ly to both chil­dren and their weary, cap­tive guardians.

Being one of those weary cap­tives, I can’t say enough how grate­ful I’ve been when a rec­og­niz­able face inter­rupts Elmo’s bab­bling to sing a song or do a lit­tle com­e­dy bit, wink­ing at the par­ents all the while. These moments are few­er and far­ther between in the lat­er ages of the show, but in the sev­en­ties, Sesame Street had musi­cal rou­tines wor­thy of Sat­ur­day Night Live. Take, for exam­ple, the 1973 appear­ance of Ste­vie Won­der on the show. While I was born too late to catch this when it aired, there’s no doubt that the child me would find Won­der and his band as funky as the grown-up par­ent does. Check them out above doing “Super­sti­tion.”

Like most musi­cal artists who vis­it the show, Ste­vie also cooked some­thing espe­cial­ly for the kids. In the clip above, watch him do a lit­tle num­ber called “123 Sesame Street.” Won­der breaks out the talk box, a favorite gad­get of his (he turned Framp­ton on to it). The band gets so into it, you’d think this was a cut off their lat­est album, and the kids (the show nev­er used child actors) rock out like only sev­en­ties kids can. The show’s orig­i­nal theme song had its charm, but why the pro­duc­ers didn’t imme­di­ate­ly change it to this is beyond me. I’d pay vin­tage vinyl prices to get it on record.

Final­ly, in our last clip from Stevie’s won­der­ful guest spot, he takes a break from full-on funk and roll to give Grover a lit­tle scat les­son and show off his pipes. The great Frank Oz as the voice of Grover is, as always, a per­fect com­ic foil.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Philip Glass Com­pos­es for Sesame Street (1979)

Mon­ster­piece The­ater Presents Wait­ing for Elmo, Calls BS on Samuel Beck­ett

Jim Hen­son Pilots The Mup­pet Show with Adult Episode, “Sex and Vio­lence” (1975)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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Mick Jagger, 15 Years Old, Shows Off His Rock Climbing Shoes on British TV (1959)

in Music, Television | June 14th, 2013

In the 1950s, Mick Jag­ger (then still called “Mike Jag­ger”) was a mid­dle class kid grow­ing up in Dart­ford, Kent, Eng­land. His moth­er, Eva, was a hair­dress­er; his father, Joe, a PE teacher. Togeth­er, they lived in a nice, order­ly home, with more than enough mon­ey to pay the bills. (His neigh­bor, Kei­th Richards, could­n’t say the same.) In 1957, the elder Jag­ger began con­sult­ing on a week­ly TV show called See­ing Sport, which pro­mot­ed the virtues of sports to British chil­dren. Dur­ing the com­ing years, Mick and his broth­er Chris made reg­u­lar appear­ances on the show, show­ing view­ers how to build a tent, or mas­ter var­i­ous canoe­ing skills. In the 1959 clip above, Mick shows off the footwear need­ed for rock climb­ing. Noth­ing too fan­cy. No moun­taineer­ing boots or any­thing like that. Just a pair of “ordi­nary gym shoes … like the kind Mike is wear­ing.”  The episode was shot in a spot called “High Rocks,” near Tun­bridge Wells. This back­ground info comes to us via Philip Nor­man’s 2012 biog­ra­phy of Mick Jag­ger.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jim­my Page, 13, Plays Gui­tar on BBC Tal­ent Show (1957)

The Bea­t­les as Teens (1957)

The Rolling Stones Sing Jin­gle for Rice Krispies Com­mer­cial (1964)

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Samuel L. Jackson Does a Dramatic Breaking Bad Monologue for Alzheimer’s Charity

in Television | June 7th, 2013

Over a career going strong since the sev­en­ties, Samuel L. Jack­son has shown us time and again that he can deliv­er a mono­logue — a boon to the craft of screen act­ing, where brief but pow­er­ful speech­es seemed to have fall­en out of fash­ion just before Jack­son’s rise to fame in the nineties. His per­for­mance as Jheri-curled hit­man Jules Win­n­field in Quentin Taran­ti­no’s Pulp Fic­tion, of course, sup­plied one of the engines of that fame, and who among us does­n’t know at least part of his Bib­li­cal “I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furi­ous anger” from ear­ly in that movie? In the nineties, crit­ics looked to Amer­i­can inde­pen­dent film for excit­ing, inno­v­a­tive sto­ry­telling. At the moment, they look to tele­vi­sion, and specif­i­cal­ly to shows like Break­ing Bad. At the top of the post, you can see these worlds col­lide, with Jack­son’s record­ing of his own ver­sion of one of the series’ best known mono­logues.

As mil­que­toast high school chem­istry teacher turned sav­age­ly cal­cu­lat­ing metham­phet­a­mine entre­pre­neur Wal­ter White, Break­ing Bad’s star Bryan Cranston has deliv­ered more than a few strik­ing mono­logues him­self. Beset by a case of ter­mi­nal lung can­cer, White casts off the man he was to become the man who can, by the fourth sea­son, speak the words he speaks just above to his wife, after she objects to the dan­ger of his new line of work. “Who are you talk­ing to right now?” he asks. “Who is it you think you see? Do you know how much I make a year? I mean, even if I told you, you would­n’t believe it. Do you know what would hap­pen if I sud­den­ly decid­ed to stop going in to work? A busi­ness big enough that it could be list­ed on the NASDAQ goes bel­ly-up. Dis­ap­pears. It ceas­es to exist with­out me. No, you clear­ly don’t know who you’re talk­ing to, so let me clue you in. I am not in dan­ger, Skyler. I am the dan­ger.” Jack­son per­formed his ren­di­tion of the mono­logue for an Alzheimer’s Asso­ci­a­tion char­i­ty dri­ve, but I would imag­ine Break­ing Bad’s fans as well as Jack­son’s own would hard­ly mind see­ing him turn up on the show for a prop­er role.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Inside Break­ing Bad: Watch Conan O’Brien’s Extend­ed Inter­view with the Show’s Cast and Cre­ator

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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The Outspoken Ayn Rand Interviewed by Mike Wallace (1959)

in Philosophy, Television | June 6th, 2013

Yes­ter­day we fea­tured Alain de Bot­ton’s tele­vi­sion broad­cast on the phi­los­o­phy of Friedrich Niet­zsche. Today, we fea­ture anoth­er, ear­li­er tele­vi­sion broad­cast on a much more recent­ly active philoso­pher: Mike Wal­lace’s 1959 inter­view of Ayn Rand, writer and founder of the school of thought known as Objec­tivism. But should we real­ly call Rand, who achieved most of her fame with nov­els like The Foun­tain­head and Atlas Shrugged, a philoso­pher? Most of us come to know her through her fic­tion, and many of us form our opin­ions of her based on the divi­sive, cap­i­tal­ism-lov­ing, reli­gion-hat­ing pub­lic per­sona she care­ful­ly craft­ed. Just as Niet­zsche had his ideas about how indi­vid­ual human beings could real­ize their poten­tial by endur­ing hard­ship, Rand has hers, all to do with using applied rea­son to pur­sue one’s own inter­ests.

Main­stream, CBS-watch­ing Amer­i­ca got quite an intro­duc­tion to this and oth­er tenets of Objec­tivism from this install­ment in what Mike Wal­lace calls a “gallery of col­or­ful peo­ple.” The inter­view­er, in the allot­ted half-hour, probes as many Ran­di­an prin­ci­ples as pos­si­ble, espe­cial­ly those against altru­ism and self-sac­ri­fice. “What’s wrong with lov­ing your fel­low man?” Wal­lace asks, and Rand responds with argu­ments the likes of which view­ers may nev­er have heard before: “When you are asked to love every­body indis­crim­i­nate­ly, that is to love peo­ple with­out any stan­dard, to love them regard­less of whether they have any val­ue or virtue, you are asked to love nobody.” Does Ayn Rand still offer the brac­ing cure for a rud­der­less, mealy-mouthed Amer­i­ca which has for­got­ten what’s what? Or does her phi­los­o­phy ulti­mate­ly turn out to be too sim­ple — too sim­ple to engage with, and too sim­ple to improve our soci­ety? The debate con­tin­ues today, with no sign of res­o­lu­tion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ayn Rand’s Phi­los­o­phy and Her Resur­gence in 2012: A Quick Primer by Stan­ford His­to­ri­an Jen­nifer Burns

Ayn Rand Talks Athe­ism with Phil Don­ahue

The Ayn Rand Guide to Romance

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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Alfred Hitchcock Talks with Dick Cavett About Sabotage, Foreign Correspondent & Laxatives (1972)

in Film, Television | June 3rd, 2013

On the list of the most inter­view­able auteurs in film his­to­ry, Alfred Hitch­cock must rank par­tic­u­lar­ly high. I would­n’t nec­es­sar­i­ly want to find myself on the busi­ness end of that sar­don­ical­ly stern gaze myself, but when Hitch­cock agreed to sit down and talk, he real­ly sat down and talked. For the ulti­mate case in point, we have his big inter­view with cin­e­mat­ic col­league François Truf­faut, avail­able both as twelve hours of MP3s and, in book form, as that main­stay of the cinephile’s shelf, Hitchcock/Truffaut. Those two film­mak­ers had their immor­tal series of inter­views in 1962; a decade lat­er, Hitch­cock would turn up on nation­al tele­vi­sion for a chat with that auteur of the nation­al chat show, Dick Cavett. You can watch choice seg­ments of their con­ver­sa­tion on Youtube.

At the top of the post, Hitch­cock tells Cavett about the for­ma­tive trau­ma vis­it­ed upon him by his moth­er. “I think my moth­er scared me when I was 3 months old,” he recalls. “You see, she said, ‘Boo!’ It gave me the hic­cups. And she appar­ent­ly was very sat­is­fied.” (No prizes for guess­ing what effect it made this mas­ter of sus­pense want his work to have on audi­ences.) Just above, you can hear Hitch­cock­’s thoughts on a lax­a­tive com­mer­cial that ran dur­ing one of the show’s breaks: “I won­der why all those peo­ple doing sports and all that sort of thing — where they would need a lax­a­tive after such vig­or­ous move­ment all over the place.” Rest assured that he does get around to talk­ing film­mak­ing, specif­i­cal­ly about the process­es behind For­eign Cor­re­spon­dent (below) and Sab­o­tage, but per­haps noth­ing here reveals the work­ings of Hitch­cock­’s mind more than his con­vic­tion that “puns are the high­est form of lit­er­a­ture.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Alfred Hitch­cock: The Secret Sauce for Cre­at­ing Sus­pense

Alfred Hitchcock’s Rules for Watch­ing Psy­cho (1960)

Ing­mar Bergman Vis­its The Dick Cavett Show, 1971

Woody Allen on The Dick Cavett Show Cir­ca 1970

Alfred Hitchcock’s Sev­en-Minute Edit­ing Mas­ter Class

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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Tilda Swinton Recites Poem by Rumi While Reeking of Vetiver, Heliotrope & Musk

in Film, Poetry, Television | May 31st, 2013

If any­one should ask you how to pro­mote a celebri­ty fra­grance with­out los­ing face, click play and whis­per, “Like This.”

It helps if the celeb in ques­tion is gen­er­al­ly acknowl­edged to be a class act. Imag­ine a drunk­en star­let emerg­ing from her limo sans-draw­ers to stum­ble through her favorite poem by a 13th cen­tu­ry Sufi mys­tic. Which would you rather smell like?

(Per­son­al­ly, I’d go with Team Swin­ton! )

Some schol­ars quib­ble with the accu­ra­cy of this Til­da Swin­ton-approved trans­la­tion, but there’s no deny­ing that Cole­man Barks’ “per­fect sat­is­fac­tion of all our sex­u­al want­i­ng” stands to move a lot more scent than A.J. Arber­ry’s terse ref­er­ence to Houris, virig­i­nal and numer­ous though they may  be.

Speak­ing of com­par­isons, take a peek at how anoth­er celebri­ty pro­motes her fra­grance in a video of sim­i­lar length.

Team Swin­ton for the win. Def­i­nite­ly.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Moby Dick Big Read: Celebri­ties and Every­day Folk Read a Chap­ter a Day from the Great Amer­i­can Nov­el

Til­da Swin­ton and Bar­ry White Lead 1500 Peo­ple in Dance-Along to Hon­or Roger Ebert

Hear Sylvia Plath Read Fif­teen Poems From Her Final Col­lec­tion, Ariel, in 1962 Record­ing

Ayun Hal­l­i­day marks her ter­ri­to­ry @AyunHalliday

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