Holiday Inn. Writ. Claude Binyon and Elmer Rice. Dir. Mark Sandrich. With Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire. Paramount, 1942.
Holiday Inn is one of my favorite movies. It has great music by Irving Berlin. It has performance by Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire; they only appeared together in one other movie. It’s a good romantic comedy, too. The film works in each of these areas.
Berlin originally conceived it as a showcase for his music, with a song for every holiday. He wrote the song “White Christmas” for the film and it went on to become one of the most popular songs ever. All the songs are solid and some are nearly as good as “White Christmas.” I think the song for Washington’s Birthday is the weakest, especially in comparison to the great tune for Lincoln’s Birthday, but in light of where it fits in the movie I feel like cutting it a little slack. I’m especially fond of “You’re Easy to Dance With.”
Crosby and Astaire provide good acting performance, but audiences rightly expect them to sing and dance and they deliver. Two of Astaire’s dance numbers are worth particular mention; the first is supposedly drunk and the other involves firecrackers. These two dances themselves are enough to make the movie worth seeing.
It’s a fair romantic comedy. There is a lot of chemistry between Crosby and Astaire, who deliver clever lines with snap. There is also good chemistry between them and their leading ladies, Virginia Dale and Marjorie Reynolds. The basic plot is boy meets girl, they fall in love, girl is ambivalent about ambitions, conniving friend takes advantage and sweeps away girl, repeat.
The film is an interesting look into race relations at the start of World War II. The film only has three black characters, a female house servant (played by Louise Beavers) and her two children. As if the role of cook-maid isn’t stereotypical enough, she is even called Mamie. The film plainly shows how things would have been done at the time, but seems to have slight moments of reticence about it. Here is an example.
On Lincoln’s Birthday, the white server-performers at Holiday Inn have darkened skin. The actual black people stay in the kitchen, out of sight of the guests. The song for the holiday focuses on Lincoln’s role in ending slavery. The original plan is to play it straight, but at the last minute Crosby’s character decides to change it to a blackface number to hide the identity of a starlet, his love interest, from his rivals. Even in a celebration of the end of slavery, the segregation is so complete that the white guests come no closer to interacting with black people than the make-up darkened skin of white performers.
Even so, the film isn’t about race. It’s a fun love story. It has great music and singing. It has wonderful dance numbers. It’s worth seeing, especially around Christmas or New Year’s Eve.
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query white house. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query white house. Sort by date Show all posts
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Sunday, July 10, 2016
Rising Tide by James M. Barry
The Mississippi
River is powerful. I’ve seen it. I grew up in the northern tip of the
river’s delta and now live near one of its major tributaries. John M. Barry’s
history
of the 1927 flood of the
Mississippi, Rising Tide, is only
partly about the power of the river. It is more about the power of men,
particularly the political
power of the men who have tried to exert control over the river.
The first political battle related to the river took place in the 19th
Century. It was a conflict between the nation’s military engineering
establishment and their increasingly influential civilian counterparts over who
would control Mississippi River policy.
The principal actors and figureheads for the two sides were Andrew A.
Humphreys, chief of the U.S. Army
Corp of Engineers, and James B. Eads,
St. Louis-based
civil engineer. The Corp largely won this battle, maintaining a controlling voice
in river policy, but the resulting agency, the Mississippi
River Commission, adopted a theory of practice that neither Humphreys or
Eads supported. It would lead to floods on the river becoming increasingly bad.
That conflict doesn’t completely disappear, but it is overtaken by the
greater flow of money, politics, society, and race, mostly
centered in New
Orleans, Mississippi’s
Yazoo Valley,
and Washington,
DC. It is hard to give each player his due in a brief review of Barry’s
book. Barry focuses on Leroy Percy,
who had great influence on river policy before, during and after the flood. He
was a planter in the Mississippi-Yazoo Delta and, briefly, a U.S. Senator from
Mississippi. He was also a relative of Walker Percy,
one of my favorite authors.
The flood made political careers and had lasting effects. President Calvin
Coolidge appointed his Secretary of Commerce, Herbert
Hoover, to lead relief efforts after the flood. The publicity and public
goodwill that accrued to Hoover during this period helped to usher him into the
White House
as Coolidge’s successor. Hoover’s lack of follow-through on promises to black
leaders created a crack between in the relationship between African-American’s
and the Republican
Party that led to a serious split.
Huey P.
Long also owed some of his success to the flood and its aftermath. New
Orleans business leaders promised to provide relief to neighbors who would be
flooded by the dynamiting of levees to protect the city. Afterward, these men
did everything they could to minimize their liability and did not even pay
one-tenth of the cost of damages caused by the flooding. Long rode a wave of
resentment against New Orleans aristocrats into the Louisiana
governor’s office. Once there, he used his position to strip the New Orleans
elite of as much power as he could. As the city elites became more insular and
focused on protecting what they had, rather than growing their businesses and
community, New Orleans lost its position as the leading city of the South as
other more welcoming cities grew.
If you’re interested in this book, you may also be interested in
Barry, James M. Rising Tide: The
Great Mississippi Flood of 1927 and How It Changed America. New York: Simon
& Schuster, 1997.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Good Dog. Stay. by Anna Quindlen
Quindlen, Anna. Good Dog. Stay. New York: Random House, 2007.
It started with the cover. I’m not sure it is a picture of Beau, the Labrador retriever Quindlen memorializes in this essay, but I guess it could be. It resembled Lucky, my Lab mix, with glossy black fur and the hoary muzzle of maturity. My wife bought the book and read it quickly; I got around to it weeks later.
In the six years we’ve had him, Lucky and I have both acquired quite a few white hairs on our chins. My wife jokes that the dog and I a growing to look alike. He is still cute in fashion of dogs. I hope I am cute, too, but in the way the husbands are attractive to their wives.
Quindlen writes about Beau, and dogs, and the relationship between people and dogs. Like many pets, Beau lived happily, simply and briefly. He wasn’t like another child, but he was part of the family, a solid presence in their home. It was hard for the family to put him down when he was to feeble to continue.
That gets more to the heart of the essay: mortality. The duration of a dog’s life is only a fraction of most of ours, but it is long enough for us to share many years and experiences with a dog and become very attached to one. The death of a dog can feel like the ending of a phase of our lives and a foreshadowing of our own passing.
I’ve lost pets to death, too. I remember them with bittersweet longing, particularly childhood pets that I feel I should have treated better. I thought about them as I read about Beau.
The family and friends who have died are a different matter. That is almost too weighty to contemplate. The loss of affection is sad; the loss of love is painful. The could-haves are much more costly. The bitterness of loss is sweetened with some of these people by the hope we share in Christ. It’s not the hope of a vague spiritual reunion in an immaterial heaven, but a hope for resurrection, where those I loved as a spirit and a body, the way we were made, I will know as a spirit and a body again, but ageless and eternal.
Quindlen doesn’t address that issue in this essay. She ends it at death, with hope that she has learned something about living and dying well from her relationship with Beau.
It started with the cover. I’m not sure it is a picture of Beau, the Labrador retriever Quindlen memorializes in this essay, but I guess it could be. It resembled Lucky, my Lab mix, with glossy black fur and the hoary muzzle of maturity. My wife bought the book and read it quickly; I got around to it weeks later.
In the six years we’ve had him, Lucky and I have both acquired quite a few white hairs on our chins. My wife jokes that the dog and I a growing to look alike. He is still cute in fashion of dogs. I hope I am cute, too, but in the way the husbands are attractive to their wives.
Quindlen writes about Beau, and dogs, and the relationship between people and dogs. Like many pets, Beau lived happily, simply and briefly. He wasn’t like another child, but he was part of the family, a solid presence in their home. It was hard for the family to put him down when he was to feeble to continue.
That gets more to the heart of the essay: mortality. The duration of a dog’s life is only a fraction of most of ours, but it is long enough for us to share many years and experiences with a dog and become very attached to one. The death of a dog can feel like the ending of a phase of our lives and a foreshadowing of our own passing.
I’ve lost pets to death, too. I remember them with bittersweet longing, particularly childhood pets that I feel I should have treated better. I thought about them as I read about Beau.
The family and friends who have died are a different matter. That is almost too weighty to contemplate. The loss of affection is sad; the loss of love is painful. The could-haves are much more costly. The bitterness of loss is sweetened with some of these people by the hope we share in Christ. It’s not the hope of a vague spiritual reunion in an immaterial heaven, but a hope for resurrection, where those I loved as a spirit and a body, the way we were made, I will know as a spirit and a body again, but ageless and eternal.
Quindlen doesn’t address that issue in this essay. She ends it at death, with hope that she has learned something about living and dying well from her relationship with Beau.
Monday, November 14, 2016
Empires of Light by Jill Jonnes
In the last decades of the 19th
Century, inventors
and industrialists
battled for dominance in the emerging market of electric energy.
One of the major fronts of this conflict was the choice of DC (direct
current) or AC
(alternating current). Jill Jonnes
explains the history
of this pioneering age of electricity in Empires
of Light.
Thomas
Edison was a major player in the early days of electrification. He is known
for developing a commercially viable incandescent
light. The innovation
that made his light commercially successful was that he developed an entire
system for generating a distributing electric energy to make those lights work.
Edison designed a DC system, and he was a major proponent of DC. A
weakness of his system was distance. He could only supply power over a distance
of about a mile. If large areas were to be lit, a power station would be needed
every mile. This made it hard for Edison to market the system for community
lighting, though he successfully sold many systems to manufacturers,
commercial establishments and very wealthy homeowners. In spite of the
limitations, he built a system to light a portion of Manhattan; his
Pearl Street station began powering lights in 1882.
Though it was not obvious at first, it soon became clear that high
voltage AC could be transmitted over very great distances. The invention of
transformers in Europe
provided a way for voltage to be stepped up for transmission and stepped back
down to levels appropriate for lighting.
George
Westinghouse adopted the AC system. The advantages of AC soon make
Westinghouse Electric Company a major competitor with Edison. Even Edison’s own
salesman began to ask for an AC system to sell, though he was reluctant to have
any involvement with AC.
Edison believed that AC and the high voltage used for its transmission
were dangerous. He also had business and personal reasons to oppose the
introduction of rival systems. He attacked the use of AC. He even went so far
as to aid an AC opponent who successfully lobbied to make electrocution by AC
power the official means of executing condemned prisoners in the state of New York.
Westinghouse pressed on and won high profile contracts that proved the
safety and efficiency of his AC equipment. Notably, he had the major lighting
contract for the White City of
Chicago’s
World Columbian Exposition of 1893. He also won
the contract to build generators for the hydropower plant at Niagara Falls.
The promise of inexpensive power drew major manufacturers to the area before
the plant starting operating in 1895. This
surprised the investors, who had though the city of Buffalo would be
the target market.
Though transformers made AC a very viable system, it had other
technological hurdles, such as difficulty powering motors. Serbian-born inventor Nikola Tesla
solved this problem with his induction motor. Like Edison, Tesla invented an
entire system for supplying electrical power to his motors, which could also
easily accommodate incandescent and arc lighting. The Niagara Falls system was
based on Tesla’s patented technology.
Tesla went on to invent and explore the potential of other electrical
devices, notably fluorescent lights and radios.
Unfortunately, he was never able to create commercial products from these later
works. He fell on hard times and was quite poor for many of the last years of
his life. He died in 1943.
After the formation of General
Electric, which largely pushed him out of the management
of the company, Thomas Edison moved on to other things. His later ventures were
of mixed success, but his work on the phonograph
and improvements to motion
picture helped to launch the American entertainment
industry. Edison passed away in 1931, semi-retired
in Florida.
Westinghouse continued to grow his electrical empire. After the Panic
of 1907, in
which a banking crisis shook the economy,
investors forced him out of the management of Westinghouse Electric. He had
four other companies to run. He didn’t care for the way Wall Street
did business
so he got involved in Progressive politics.
He died in 1914.
Jonnes includes a chapter that is a very good, brief introduction to
the history of electrical science.
She describes the discoveries of William
Gilbert, Stephen
Gray, Andreas
Cuneus, Benjamin
Franklin, Alessandro
Volta, Sir
Humphrey Davy, Hans
Christian Oersted, André Marie Ampère, Zénobe-Théophie Gramme and Michael
Faraday.
If you’re interested in this book, you may also be interested in
Jonnes, Jill. Empires of Light:
Edison, Tesla, Westinghouse, and the Race to Electrify the World. New York:
Random House,
2003.
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