Jeffrey’s Gallimaufry 01.05.24
Sit down at your eafe and drink what you pleafe
Well, after a sad start, onward to nonsense.
Spending time in Connecticut over the holidays, we found ourselves with no plans on the day after Christmas. Though a lot of stuff was closed, we made a nice day of it in Hartford. First stop was the Mark Twain House, where Sam Clemens lived while writing the books that made his name (turns out he married into money, which I suspect is the true progenitor of literary genius). The mansion’s many details were as delightful as I remembered from previous visits 20 and 35 years ago - but alas, they don’t allow photos, so you’ll have to look it up or use your imagination.
The next stop was the Connecticut Museum of Culture and History, which we had completely to ourselves for about 90 minutes. My sister (perhaps with justification) busted my chops about how excited I was to see their collection of historic hand-painted tavern signs - but look, I was excited to see their collection of historic hand-painted tavern signs. In addition to sharing some highlights below, I hasten to add that there is a virtual 3-D experience where you can zoom in and examine the signs up close from anywhere in the world!
The Museum also featured an exhibit about CT’s history in the field of books and publishing, which was of course catnip for me, along with a sports exhibit (did you know the whiffle ball AND the frisbee were invented in my home state???). There were also some interesting permanent displays, including one that allows your remarkably well-adjusted family members to play dress-up in colonial garb.
Anyway, it’s definitely worth checking out if you’re at loose ends in Hartford and everything else is closed and you already saw the Mark Twain House and you’re a complete nerd!
In my valiant quest to plow through my unread graphic novels in order to winnow down my collection, I found another volume that (sigh) I intend to keep. Yuichi Yokoyama is a leading exponent of avant-garde “neo manga,” and I’d already read and enjoyed a couple of his weird yet engaging experiments with oblique storytelling and angular, semi-abstract imagery. This is all to say that I was not prepared for the sketchy, cozy charms of his collection Baby Boom.
This book is a series of short, dialogue-free stories about a beaked parental figure spending time with a fluffy creature in their care that Yokoyama calls “bird chick.” They do things like clean the house, play catch, and go disco dancing in a surreal vein that manages to be kawaii but not cloying.
The marvel of the book is in its pared-down but exuberant design. The first time I opened it, I was like, how the hell am I supposed to read this? But characters quickly emerged from the seemingly haphazard line work, the peculiar lines slashing at the panels turn out to be highly stylized sound effects (with Ryan Holmberg’s English translations subtly inserted for context), and the playful color schemes provide a shifting array of warm, sugary jolts.
This book is all about style, but it’s a truly unique style, unlike just about anything I’ve seen. Highly recommended for the adventurous comix reader!
January 1 can be the most depressing day of the year. The crunch of holiday celebrations is behind you, yet the looming return to “regular life” casts its ominous shadow across every activity. How to stave off this anxious dread of the “normal?”
This year, we stumbled on the perfect solution. Seeking a movie to watch on New Year’s afternoon, we remembered that the Criterion Channel had just launched a collection of more than 20 cat-themed films. Though we’ve been dog people for the past few years, our love of kitties continues unabated, making this a prime opportunity to hiss away the doldrums.
More importantly, we picked the perfect flick to ring in 2024: the corny 1969 thriller Eye of the Cat. It’s supposed be like The Birds with cats, but really, it’s a winking riff on the square world’s fears of countercultural amorality, which just happened to be released during the Year of Manson.
At the center is a glamorous, wheelchair-bound heiress (grand dame Eleanor Parker) and the raffish ne’er-do-well “nephew” (Michael Sarazin) for whom she has quasi-incestuous feelings. He is terrified of cats, while she keeps dozens, to whom her fortune is currently willed. When a mysterious stranger (Gayle Hunnicutt) approaches him with a murder scheme, the claws come out!
Honestly, this could have used even more cats, and the ending doesn’t make a lick o’ sense, but the atmosphere holds its own, and the sights and sounds of late-’60s San Francisco provide the perfect escape. Looks like you can also watch the whole thing on YouTube if you don’t do Criterion (which you should, because it’s the greatest of all streaming services, with a bottomless and constantly updated collection of art, foreign, classic, and B-movies from all eras).
I can’t wait to watch some of the other cat titles that I’ve never seen (especially the forgotten 1962 Czech fantasia The Cassandra Cat and a genre-bending 1992 Hong Kong epic called, well, The Cat). You see, cats are creatures of instinct - curiosity may kill them, but they lack the capacity for getting tangled in their own introspection, and I could use some more adventures like THAT, thank you very much. 2024 will be the Year of the Dragon, but, like every year, it will also be the Year of the Cat.
In lieu of fireworks or dropped balls, here are a couple pieces of pyrotechnic television I discovered right around New Year’s Eve.
Did you know Werner Herzog was once shot while filming a BBC interview?
I learned about this in Mark O’Connell’s New York Review of Books article about Herzog’s new lighthearted romp of a memoir, Every Man for Himself and God Against All (which I hope to read someday, unless it stabs me in my sleep first). According to the article, Herzog was still railing against the BBC’s cowardice in a separate interview years later: “‘I would have continued with the interview,’ he said, ‘but the cameraman had already hit the dirt. The miserable, cowardly BBC crew were terrified and wanted to call the cops, but I had no interest in spending the next five hours filling out police reports.’”
Speaking of going hard, I somehow missed the story of The Who’s 1967 TV debut, introduced by the late Tommy Smothers. As the story goes, an explosion effect intended for Keith Moon’s drum kit at the climax of “My Generation” was inadvertently tripled, knocking Keith to the ground and temporarily deafening Pete, who proceeds to smash Tommy’s guitar after his own.
Smothers was among the most mischievous of imps, but even he seems to be in over his head here. My favorite part of the clip is John Entwistle calmly stepping to the side and protecting his bass from the chaos, as if to say, “Right, they’re my mates, but a fella’s got to look after himself, don’t he?”
May the fortitude of Herzog and Entwistle gird us all for the mayhem of a tough year ahead.