Scottunder

Oops, a short video

This is just great. A short movie by Chris Beckman made of found videos that all end with a dropped or crashed or submerged camera. Strangely compelling, since we know going in what will happen next -- but when? And where will we come out on the other side? Lovely ending, as well.

This won a Vimeo award, and you can read some background info here.

Today's ephemera: Little Red Wagon (1949)

The Little Red Wagon, illustrated by Clare McKinley. A Rand-McNally Book-Elf Junior, whatever that means, from 1949. I've put the whole book up, but my favorite pages are below.

I love these old children's books. The illustrations are so joyful. Yes, yes, everyone lives in an all-white world of picket fences and friendly grownups, and these two little parentless six-year-olds are apparently free to wander around the town, accosting toddlers and unescorted women. Still, bright and shiny happiness in a time before irony or zombies.

Random thought number one: the image of Mrs Porter (see below), with her bursting bag of groceries, visible celery, and imminent leash entanglement, reminded me (uncomfortably) of the celery and loose underwear illustrations of Art Frahm, especially, say, this one. Was Frahm inspired by The Little Red Wagon? Was he thinking, Ho ho, if only Mrs Porter's bloomers had fallen impossibly to her ankles?

Random thought number two: I looked up "Mason and Lang," the name of the delivery service in the book, but the only reference is to a historical novel from 1899, "Parson Kelly." I have no idea what it means.

Glass: A Portrait of Philip Glass in 12 Parts

Watched Glass: A Portrait of Philip Glass in 12 Parts (by Scott Hicks, the director of Shine) a few nights ago. It certainly rounded him out for me, with lots of "personal" time spent with him in his New York and Nova Scotia homes, as well as concert venues and with family and famous friends -- the artist Chuck Close, with whom he's been friends since the sixties, and Errol Morris appear often.

I appreciate that he's a seeker, and we see sections with his Qi Gong teacher, his Toltec shaman, and his friend Gelek Rinpoche, a Tibetan Buddhist (Glass is also close to the Dalai Lama, we're told). He's had tragedy (his third wife died), but we also see hints that his fourth marriage (with young kids) is breaking up. And we see that he is a tireless worker, juggling multiple movie scores and appearances around the world.

In the end, though, I was drawn no closer to his music. He's certainly been pursuing a singular vision for 40-plus years, but it all seems very repetitive to me. I say this as a lover of repetition, and of his contemporary Steve Reich (who is never mentioned) -- I don't mean the repetition within a piece, but throughout his career. Except for the vocal works and other collaborations, his works all seem so similar. There's no "early" or "late" periods, and those freaking up-and-down arpeggios keep appearing over and over, whether it's solo piano or chamber or large-scale works. Everything sounds like Koyaanisqatsi. I want to like him, because so many others do.

I did enjoy Chuck Close repeating an old joke:

Knock knock.

Who's there?

Knock knock.

Who's there?

Knock knock.

Who's there?

Knock knock.

Who's there?

Knock knock.

Who's there?

Philip Glass.

Here's a scene from Koyaanisqatsi.

Hoagy Carmichael, "I'm Getting Married in the Morning"

With some help from the great Andy Devine.

The Girl Effect

These two short and simple videos tell an effective story: by helping one person, we can make things better for everyone. I've long felt we should do a better job encouraging and promoting girls and women to do, well, everything, since men seem singularly bad at community-building actions. These videos use a positive message to say that we can effect change without dwelling on the implied, heartbreaking message that's told in between the lines.