The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents a Bonus Album of the Week! (One From the Vault!)

I stumbled upon this in my Facebook Memories.  I wrote it and posted it there on 3 August, 2024--shortly before I started posting these here every week.  Honestly, I had forgotten about it.  But when I re-read what I wrote, I have to say, I'm kind of proud of it.  Hope you like it.  (One or two sentences were edited out because they didn't fit in this context.)

 

 

I don't know why I'm fascinated by identity politics, but I am. More specifically, I find it disturbing that identity is political these days. I'll be honest with you, I don't give one good goddamn rat's ass about what pronouns you use, or your sexual orientation, or your gender identity, or the colour of your skin, your religion, your party affiliation, etc., etc., etc. That being said, I will address you by whatever names and/or pronouns you ask me to use out of respect for you as a human being. Also, don't think that I don't have the utmost respect for whatever national, religious, and/or cultural background(s) you claim. In fact, not only do I respect it, I'm probably fascinated by it. But--and I realize that this is easy to say given my background--I don't necessarily believe it sums up you as a person. I don't care WHAT you are--I prefer to know WHO you are. I long for a day when we judge each other not by things like race or sexual orientation, but by things that are truly important... like music tastes.

 

I have my own descriptive labels as well--I'm a white, cisgender (which is a word I actually hate), heterosexual male who uses he/him pronouns. I'll even throw in other terms like "redhead," "eccentric," and "Chicago Cubs fan." But here's the catch--I don't define myself in those terms (well... maybe "eccentric"). They don't sum up who I am as a person. It's not my identity. I suppose if I identify as anything it's as a writer. It's something I've always liked doing. I'll even go as far as to say I'm passionate about it. I don't know if I'm particularly good--aside from a "Six-Word Memoir" I once submitted to Smith Magazine, I've never had anything published. But it is what I find myself doing probably more than anything else. I'm always stringing words together in my head, even if I'm not jotting them down on paper or sitting behind my computer. I'm a writer who, yes, happens to be straight, white, and male, but I am a writer first and foremost. That's who I am. The straight, white, male stuff is just incidental fluff. Hey, that rhymes. Wow--not only am I a writer, apparently, I'm also a poet.

 

I usually feel like I have something to say. Whether what I write resonates with anyone is debatable--I have a sneaking suspicion that most people seeing this post on Facebook stopped reading at least a paragraph ago. (Yes, Heidi, I'm lookin' at you, cous!) And I get it. This particular forum isn't exactly designed to increase our attention spans. But it doesn't appear to have stopped me so far.

 

Just because I feel like I have something to say doesn't mean the words are always forthcoming. I could have a Shakespearean vocabulary and still not be able to figure out the proper word combinations to express whatever I'm feeling at that moment. I also often find myself using the same words and phrases over and over again which sometimes makes me feel like my vocabulary is somewhat limited. But I usually catch it when I'm proofreading and, for the most part, I'm pretty successful at finding a different word or phrase that means the same thing. For all its faults--like the fact that "tough," "cough," "plough," "dough," and "through" all have different pronunciations--I do so love the English language. But sometimes... sometimes I just don't know what to say even though I feel like I have to verbally express myself soon or I'll develop an ulcer.

 

I think that every writer has their own method of writing, even when the words won't come. In 1993, Billy Joel spoke to students at the Berklee School of Music and talked about not being able to write. "I got stuck once and I couldn't write--like, I didn't feel like a writer anymore. You feel terrible. It's like a ball player who's in a slump. You can't hit, no matter what you do, you can't call on your old skills, it's just not working, you can't put it all together. So what I do is... I go to Little Italy in Manhattan. And I get a nice outfit on--like a writer's outfit. Like a songwriter, like a sort of modern-day Chopin. So I'm lookin' baaaad, you see? And I sit at a table and I get a glass of wine. And I sit there, I have my notebook and my pen, and I delude myself into feeling like writing. I mean, that's just my little jump-start trick that I do sometimes... and all these people are staring at you, so you've got to do something!"

 

Even though I've never, to the best of my recollection, experienced what I would call "writer's block," I took that anecdote to heart. I developed a writer's ritual of my own that I like to employ from time to time--sometimes just for the hell of it (like I am right now). I find this activity is best done at night. I like to sit in a room, either with a paper and pen or behind a word processor of some kind, preferably with not too bright ambient light from a single table lamp or even a floor lamp. I put on a pair of shades--I find something bluesy and poetic about wearing sunglasses at night in a dimly lit room--and try to convince myself I'm a writer of great... songs, poems, essays, novels, short stories, introductions for roller derby skaters--whatever needs to be written in the moment.

 

I've found that the real key to the whole thing is background music--unless I'm trying to write music of my own, then it's just distracting. But, by and large, I'm trying to express myself verbally and I find that music helps. Depending on my mood, I might put on jazz music. Classic Miles Davis recordings are good for this, maybe some John Coltrane or Lee Morgan--really anything recorded for the Blue Note label in the 1950s and 1960s. Other good choices include early Peter, Paul & Mary and Bruce Springsteen's first two albums.

 

I put this week's album on late one night many years ago while trying to write something. I don't know why it stuck with me as a writing aide. It could be the poetic nature of the songs themselves--it could be the cover art which looks like it has its own story to tell (which I'm sure has been told a few times over the last 60 years, even if it's just among musicologists). Whatever it is, whenever I find myself in the mood to write but don't know what to say, this week's album often yields a good start. From 1963, please enjoy The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan.

 

Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.

 

Yours in peace, love, and rock and roll!

The Reverend Will the Thrill

 

 

The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Film of the Week!

I recently saw Steven Spielberg's latest film, Disclosure Day.  I've heard it described as the third film in a trilogy that began in 1977 with Close Encounters of the Third Kind and continued in 1982 with E.T. the Extraterrestrial.  Spielberg clearly has a fascination with what may exist beyond our planet, given that he's made so many movies about it over the last half century.

Personally, I was moved by the film--not to tears like I am when I watch E.T., but moved, nonetheless.  It's one of the best films I've seen this year--possibly even the best--so far.  And it got me thinking about the portrayal of aliens in our popular culture.

We frequently depict aliens as invaders, intent on taking over our planet and wiping us out.  From The War of the Worlds (even the original 1898 novel) to Independence Day, we seem to have this notion that any species not of this planet would want nothing more than to take over and colonize this measly little blue dot.

Honestly, I feel this says a lot about us as humans.  Are we really that terrified of "the other"?  Of course, I ask the question and then I look around and I see how we treat other humans because they don't have the same language, nationality, skin colour, sexual orientation, religion, etc.  If "they" are different from "us," we panic and claim they're invading us, stealing our jobs, and eating our pets.  (Okay, admittedly ALF liked cats, but still...)  And this is how we act toward other humans, so... yeah, I can only imagine how we'd act toward an extraterrestrial species.

And--let's be honest here--we're concerned about the invasion, colonization, and potential testing and anal probing because that's what we would do if we landed on their planet.  Of course, we would be doing it in the name of science, so that makes it alright.

(Wow!  I knew I could be cynical, but... damn!)

I've always been fond of the science fiction in which aliens are portrayed differently.  Perhaps the best example of this is the classic 1951 film The Day the Earth Stood Still in which an alien species comes to Earth and, recognizing our warlike nature, declares that if we don't start getting along with each other, they will essentially view us as a threat to other planets and destroy us.

Personally, I've always liked the "backstory" described in 1997's Men in Black--that a bunch of aliens "wanted to use Earth as an apolitical zone for creatures without a planet.  Did you ever see the movie Casablanca?  Same thing, except no Nazis."  And to this day, aliens of different species from all over the universe live among us, just trying to make a living.

The aliens in Spielberg's films never tried to take over.  Hell, E.T. was just a botanist who was accidentally left behind.  I don't really see that as much of a threat.  If anything, those films show how cruel we as humans can be.  I would even argue Disclosure Day is no different.

Perhaps my favourite film alien is the subject of this week's film.  Like E.T., he was kind of accidentally stuck on our planet and just wanted to go home.  He even had a pretty wicked sense of humour and enjoyed a good time as much as any human I've ever met.

In the film, Graeme Willy and Clive Gollings (Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, who also wrote the film) are two English comic book artists who come to America to attend Comic Con and take a road trip through all of the alien hot spots in the desert southwest.  Along the way, they wind up picking up an alien who goes by the name Paul (voiced by Seth Rogen).  Paul has just escaped from a government facility that has been holding him for many decades.  He's managed to make contact with his "people" (for lack of a better word) who are going to come pick him up.

Graeme and Clive agree to help Paul return home, despite the fact that he is being pursued relentlessly by Agent Zoil (Jason Bateman) who enlists the help of Haggard and O'Reilly (Bill Hader and Joe Lo Truglio), two rather immature agents who are intentionally left somewhat out of the loop.  Along the way, Graeme, Clive, and Paul get some more help from Ruth (Kristen Wiig), whose ultra-religious father owns the RV park where they've decided to temporarily hide out.

Directed by Greg Mottola and featuring appearances by Jeffrey Tambor, Jane Lynch, David Koechner, Jesse Plemons, John Carroll Lynch, Blythe Danner, and even a voice cameo from Steven Spielberg himself, from 2011, please enjoy Paul.

Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.

Yours in peace, love, and rock 'n' roll!

The Reverend Will the Thrill

The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Album of the Week!

I've never really made much of a secret of the fact that, traditionally, I tend to root for older people--especially in entertainment and sports.  This has been true ever since I was little.  So many people my age would complain about the stories their grandparents would tell, but I was always fascinated by them.  I never found them boring and loved hearing about how things were 50 years before I was even born.

I remember when I was in college and seeing news reports of Nolan Ryan pitching no-hitters and George Foreman winning heavyweight boxing championships--at the time, both were in their mid-40s--and thinking that was pretty awesome, especially for an athlete.  Today, it's commonplace for star athletes to play as long as they possibly can.  Just look at LeBron James.  He's 41, which I still think of as old for someone in his profession.  But in spite of that, he's still one of the best players of the game... and I don't even particularly like basketball!

In the late 1980s and early 1990s, artists like Paul McCartney and The Rolling Stones were often looked at by the press as being a bit "old," but when I look at concert footage from that time, all I can think is how young they looked.

It seems hard to believe now, but around that same time, the legendary Johnny Cash had been kind of forgotten about by the music establishment.  Sales of his albums had dropped off considerably starting in the 1970s.

After seeing him perform at Bob Dylan's 30th anniversary concert in 1992, the equally legendary producer Rick Rubin--founder of Def Jam Records and a man known for producing primarily rap and heavy metal music--felt that Cash, then in his early 60s, was still relevant.  Rubin offered Cash a contract with his label, promising a lot of creative control.  So began both a professional and personal partnership that lasted the rest of Johnny Cash's life.

And while only they knew what that relationship entailed, we all can still revel in what came out of it.  Over the next decade, the two gave us one of the most celebrated series of albums ever produced, American Recordings.

For the first volume, released in 1994, Cash recorded for the first time with only his own guitar accompaniment.  As he did on the rest of the series, he chose not only his own songs, but songs that he admired by other songwriters including Kris Kristofferson, Loudon Wainwright III, Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen, and former stepson-in-law Nick Lowe.

Throughout the series, Cash took songs, many of which were written by hard rock artists, and made them distinctly his own--sometimes becoming more popular than the original versions.

This week, I wanted to highlight one of those albums which, for some reason, I find myself repeatedly playing.  Released in 1996, this was the second of Johnny Casn's American series.  While his first album featured only Cash's own guitar accompaniment, here he was backed by an actual band, specifically Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.

The album won the Grammy Award for Best Country Album and Cash received a nomination for Best Male Country Vocal Performance for his cover of Soundgarden's "Rusty Cage."  (Personally, I like it because he does a great cover of one of my favourite country songs, "Sea of Heartbreak.")  Featuring appearances by Marty Stuart, Lindsey Buckingham, Mick Fleetwood, and Flea, please enjoy the one and only Johnny Cash with American II: Unchained.

Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.

Yours in peace, love, and rock 'n' roll!

The Reverend Will the Thrill

The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Film of the Week!

As someone who's not very religious--at least not in the "orthodox" sense of the word--I've always been fascinated by religion.  I've studied a few over the years and realized that the bulk of them are founded on good ideas.  I don't have a problem with religion per se.  I don't have a problem if you find something in it that works for your life and as long as it brings you comfort and inner peace and you're not harming anyone else, I don't have any issue with your chosen spiritual practice.

I do, however, have issues with proselytization--the idea that if something works for you it must work for everyone else and therefore you have to "convert" everyone to your way of thinking.  I don't know if this is supposed to validate your own experience or what, but I think it closes peoples' minds to many experiences and possibilities.

I've frequently said that movies and music are the closest things I get to religion.  I've described going to movie theaters and record stores as going to church.  I get something out of it that so many other people don't.  And I don't want to proselytize, but there is one point--possibly a "tenet" of my "faith"--that has become something of a cause célèbre, particularly among major film directors.  That belief--one that I share--is the idea that movies are best appreciated in a theater.

And don't get me wrong--I enjoy watching movies at home.  I'm watching one as I write this.  But even with a 50-inch television that's bigger than anything we ever had when I was a kid and a killer sound system, it's still not as impressive as watching it in a darkened room on a screen at least two stories tall.  It does require leaving the house, it frequently involves sharing the experience with a group of strangers, but I've often felt that the experience is still better.

The pandemic hit the film industry hard.  As an avid moviegoer, I was particularly disappointed--there were three movies coming out in 2020 that I had to wait an extra year and a half to see, one of which never wound up playing at a theater near me (more than half a decade later and I'm still pissed about that!).  Filmmakers--especially the well-known, well-respected ones--have been making a point the last few years to make their movies events that make it worth leaving the house for.

Last weekend, Christopher Nolan's adaptation of The Odyssey raked in over $260 million globally in its opening weekend.  Not only are people saying that you need to see this in theaters, but because it's the first feature to be shot entirely in the IMAX format, you need to actually see it that way, which requires not just leaving your house, but seeking out a theater that is specially equipped to show such a film.  And that judgement seems to be paying off.  (Sadly, the closest IMAX theater to me is over an hour away--don't know if I'll see it that way or not--although I might opt for the new SCREENX option.)

But even without the whole IMAX thing, the bottom line based on my own experience is this:  movies are typically better in a theater.  I find this is especially true of movies that I've watched hundreds of times at home, particularly if I'm seeing them in a theater for the first time.  I often see little details that I never saw before because it's harder to see them on your television screen--and damn near impossible on your phone--that make the viewing experience that much more interesting.  Of course, once I see them, I can't unsee them, even when watching at home.  (In It's a Wonderful Life, what IS that skull shaped thing on Mr. Potter's desk?)

In a theater, I've found that comedies are funnier, tragedies are sadder, action films are more intense, and even epics are more epic.  The sheer size and scope of the theater screen makes for a bigger and better overall moviegoing experience.

Strangely enough, I've noticed that once I've seen certain films on the big screen, I'll go back and see them again if given the opportunity.  This is especially true of movies that have meant something to me throughout my life.  I've seen It's a Wonderful Life, Casablanca, Ghostbusters, and The Labyrinth multiple times in theaters--and even though I have them all in my home video collection, if I ever see that they're playing at my local theater, I will go see them again because they're among my favourites.  Since 2009, I've actually seen Ghostbusters more times in a theater than I did when it was originally released in 1984.

When deciding which film to highlight this week, I actually tried to avoid picking this particular one.  Admittedly, it is a little cliché and my friend Tara will think I'm calling her out for never having seen it (okay, maybe I am doing that to some degree--sorry, not sorry).  But the truth is, this is a perfect example of what I--along with Steven Spielberg and Christopher Nolan and even Francis Ford Coppola--have been trying to explain since we've developed the ability to watch movies on our phones.

The first time I saw this film actually was in a theater in 1997.  At the time, the movie was celebrating its 25th anniversary, so it was re-released in theaters.  I had never seen it, even on home video, and always understood it to be something of a cultural phenomenon--even at 23, I also seemed to understand that seeing it at home on a VHS tape could not compare to seeing it in a theater.  Looking back on it now, it's even more special to me because I got to share the experience with my dad--the man I credit for making me fall in love with movies to begin with.  It was actually one of his favourites and I can say without hesitation that today it's one of mine.  In the decade since his death, I've even been able to see it two more times on the big screen.  And if I ever again see that it's playing, I will make a point of going out of my way to see it again (heads up, Tara).

Released in 1972, the film established the careers of Al Pacino, Robert Duvall, Diane Keaton, and even director Francis Ford Coppola.  Based on one of the most celebrated novels of all time, Coppola also co-wrote the screenplay with the novel's author, Mario Puzo.  It went on to win three Academy Awards including Best Picture, Best Actor (Marlon Brando), and Best Adapted Screenplay.  In 2007, the American Film Institute (AFI) ranked it #2 on their list of the 100 greatest American movies.  Yeah, it's a cliché, but this week, please enjoy The Godfather.

(NOTE:  I would feel remiss if I didn't mention 1974's The Godfather Part II.  It is, in my humble opinion, the greatest sequel--and prequel--ever made.  Honestly, I tend to view both movies as one massive epic.  Like it's predecessor, it's better appreciated in a theater.  It went on to win six Oscars including Best Picture--the only sequel to ever win that award whose predecessor also won it--Best Supporting Actor (Rober De Niro) and Best Adapted Screenplay.  In 2007, the AFI ranked it at #32 on their list of the 100 greatest American films--the only sequel on the list.  I've even had the pleasure of seeing it on the big screen twice in the last ten years.  And while I'll be the first to admit it's not as good, I feel that 1990's The Godfather Part III is often unjustly and unfairly maligned--but that's just me.)

Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.

Yours in peace, love, and rock 'n' roll!

The Reverend Will the Thrill

 

 

 

 

The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Album of the Week!

"And now for something completely different."

--John Cleese, "Monty Python's Flying Circus"

I'll start off this week with a confession.  A few years back, my sister gave me an audiobook of Christopher Moore's The Stupidest Angel: A Heartwarming Tale of Christmas Terror--something she listens to every Christmas.  And as much as I love Christopher Moore's writing, I've only listened to about half of the audiobook.  I keep saying that one year, preferably during the holidays, I'll listen to the whole thing, but I just can't seem to be able to focus on it.  Maybe I should just buy the book and read it.

People frequently ask me if I listen to certain podcasts or audiobooks.  I just can't seem to get into them.  I mean, they sound fascinating--or I'm sure they would if I actually listened.  The problem is that the main reason people like the podcasts and audiobooks is the main reason I can't get into them--one can multitask while listening to them. 

Multitasking has never been something that's ever really been in my wheelhouse.  When I'm doing dishes or yardwork, I can play music.  But it's usually music I'm already familiar with and in some cases know backward and forward.  When I'm listening to a podcast or an audiobook, I'm trying to absorb new information.  That usually requires my full attention.  It requires me to actually put everything on hold and listen.  If I'm trying to do anything else at the same time, I feel like I'm missing something--either a vital piece of trivial information or an overgrown branch on my hedge that won't get trimmed properly and will be even more overgrown the next time I do my yardwork.

When I was younger, I would have had no problem with audiobooks.  I used to just sit and listen to things like old radio broadcasts or standup comedy albums or even music--the reason I can put on such familiar music while I'm doing dishes is because I listened to it and absorbed it as a teenager.

I recently found a cheap four-disc box set of one of my favourite performers.  When I got it home, I realized that I couldn't just put it on and play it--I actually had to listen to it.  It's not like it's a standard album of music.  It took me a couple of months before I was able to find the time to just... listen.  But when I (finally) did, it made me appreciate his artistry even more than I already did.

Having grown up on his movies, I was already a fan of Peter Sellers the actor.  From his performance as the inept Inspector Clouseau in the Pink Panther movies to his Oscar-nominated turns in Dr. Strangelove and Being There, Sellers was always fun to watch.  What I didn't realize was that between 1958 and 1979 Sellers recorded a few albums of comedic/musical material--he even did one with Sophia Loren after they made a movie together.  I don't know why this surprised me exactly.  I was at least somewhat familiar with "The Goon Show" broadcasts he did for the BBC in the 1950s with Spike Milligan and Harry Secombe.

As a one-time aspiring voice-artist myself, I've always admired those who have a facility with dialects and accents and even language in general.  Listening to those albums, I realized what a genius Sellers was in this area.  I have a feeling that if he were alive today, he would have quite a career for himself in voice work.  And even though this should have been apparent in his movies--in Dr. Strangelove alone, he played three different characters all with a different accent--it becomes even more evident when you sit and listen to his recorded works (even the ones that today would be considered "problematic").

This week, just to shake things up a bit, I thought I'd share his last album, 1979's Sellers Market.  If anyone reading this happens to be fluent in Morse Code, I'd be curious to know how accurate the translation of Cole Porter's "Night and Day" is.  I haven't studied it in roughly 35 years and I'm afraid I've forgotten most of it.

Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you. 

Yours in peace, love, and rock 'n' roll!

The Reverend Will the Thrill 

The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Film of the Week!

Sometimes I think it's important to re-evaluate things in our lives--especially when it comes to things like film and music.  Opinions change with time and age, and we may see something that was not necessarily visible to us before.

In 1998, the American Film Institute (AFI), I believe to coincide with the 100th anniversary of the birth of motion pictures, made a list of what they believed to be the 100 greatest American movies.  They broadcast the list in a big prime time special featuring interviews with actors, writers, directors, and other famous people in the industry.

Being the film nut that I am, I watched the special.  At 24, I was quite proud of myself for having seen a number of the films on the list that pre-dated me.  The whole thing, as fascinating as I found it, was a bit anticlimactic because I knew, even at that age, that #1 and #2 were going to be Citizen Kane (1941) and Casablanca (1942)--I just didn't know which film would be in which position.  Lo and behold, at the end of the broadcast, Casablanca was #2 and Citizen Kane was #1.

(That's not to say that I wasn't pleasantly surprised by other titles and their respective positions, particularly The Godfather (1972), which I had only just seen for the first time the previous year, which came in at #3.)

A couple of years later, I happened to be in a Sam's Club and found a VHS copy of Citizen Kane for all of four bucks.  As much as I had read about it, I had still never seen the movie.  So I bought it in an effort to find out what film scholars had been raving about for nearly 60 years at that point.

My initial thought was that it was a good movie.  I don't think I would have called it the greatest American movie ever made.  I certainly wouldn't have said it was better than Casablanca.  But it was enjoyable enough, even though I think it was rather overrated.

It was about a year after that, that I started upgrading everything to DVD.  For one reason or another, I didn't get around to upgrading that particular film.  I also didn't watch it again, even though I've kept a working VCR the entire time, because I just kept figuring I would be upgrading it in the near future, which never happened.

After making more film lists--including 100 Greatest Love Stories, Heroes and Villains, and Film Quotes--in 2007, the AFI revisited their original list of the 100 Greatest American Movies, this time re-evaluating it.  A lot of movies had come out during that time and opinions changed on others.  (Apparently, no matter how technologically groundbreaking it might have been in 1915, a film that glorifies the Ku Klux Klan is problematic in the 21st century, so Birth of a Nation--which was on the 1998 list--suddenly went bye-bye.  Not to worry, though--Gone With the Wind (1939) still remained in the Top 10.)

What was interesting to me is that many films just changed positions on the list.  Raging Bull (1980) actually jumped up 20 positions in nine years and was suddenly ranked #4 on the list.  In fact, The Godfather and Casablanca just switched positions making them #2 and #3 respectively.  And yet somehow, Citizen Kane still remained at #1.

By this point in my life, I had seen many more movies and had what I like to think are educated opinions of them, including Citizen Kane.  And while I was able to genuinely appreciate the "Saturday Night Live" sequel, Citizen Kane II, I still thought the film was overrated.

This feeling was reinforced a couple of years ago when I read my grandmother's diary.  She wrote in 1942 about seeing the film and not being that impressed with it, which delighted me in a snobbish kind of way.

This year marks the 85th anniversary of this landmark film.  It played at my local theater, so I decided it had been roughly 25 years since I'd seen it--maybe I should watch it again on a big screen (the way films are best appreciated) and maybe I could see what critics and scholars saw that eluded me in the past.

I did come away from it with a deeper appreciation than I did when I first saw it nearly half my life ago.  The basic themes of the film seemed timely in a way they didn't 25 years ago.  Or maybe they always were and I just wasn't aware of it.  I feel like I can find contemporary analogs of most of those characters in our present-day society.

What genuinely impressed me about the film was the "arrogance of youth" that I referred to in this week's album "sermon."  Orson Welles turned 26 around the time the movie premiered.  He co-wrote, directed, and starred in this film alongside actors from his Mercury Theatre, many of whom were making their film debuts.  From a technical and even a technological standpoint, he did some impressive things with camera angles and focus that had not really been done at the time, which does make the movie stand out, especially among other films from that time.  Watching him age over the course of the movie from his mid-20s to his late-70s required some impressive makeup.  I wonder if Welles would have--or could have--attempted to make a movie like this later in his life. 

Don't get me wrong--I still think Casablanca, The Godfather, and even Raging Bull are all better movies--or, at the very least, I enjoyed them more.  And I still think, to a degree, Citizen Kane is overrated.  But I don't think it's as overrated as I once did.

Co-starring Joseph Cotten, Dorothy Comingore, Ruth Warrick, Ray Collins, and Agnes Moorehead, please enjoy what the American Film Institute deems the greatest American movie ever made, 1941's Citizen Kane.

Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.

Yours in peace, love, and rock 'n' roll!

The Reverend Will the Thrill

The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Album of the Week!

I was going through some old posts recently and discovered some technical issues with enclosed links which I will attempt to rectify starting here.  I'll probably even try to go back and fix those old posts, although that may be an undertaking.  We'll see.

I stumbled upon this week's album last summer and I've been wanting to write about it ever since.  On one hand, it's very much a product of its time--on the other, I think it transcends that period with its satirical, even subversive, nature, something I've always been intrinsically drawn to.  Frankly, I wish someone would release something like this today.

The album itself is apparently supposed to sound like a broadcast from Radio London, a popular pirate radio station in the UK (also known as Wonderful Radio London and The Big L), which had actually stopped broadcasting a few months before the album's release.  It even features station identification plugs and fake ads for real products.  In fact, a lot of companies actually filed lawsuits after the album came out because allegedly no one got permission to use their products, either within the album or for its cover art.  And as much as I enjoy the subversion, I totally get that.  After all, I have not consciously eaten Heinz Baked Beans since I first saw Roger Daltrey on the album's cover sitting in a bathtub full of them.  In fact, I can't even see them on a grocery store shelf without thinking of that picture.

And while I'm sure we still have a few odd "pirate" radio stations in this country, I've never had the good fortune to hear them.  So when I first listened to this week's album, it seemed more to me like a satire of a licensed broadcast station, right down to the fake ads.  It reminded me a lot of radio stations that I would tend to listen to on a Saturday night when I was a teenager.  It was a weird mix of making fun of certain institutions as well as a sense of nostalgia for those institutions.

In retrospect, I think this is an album that could only be made with the arrogance of youth.  And even though Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey failed to die before they grew old, I wonder if they--or anyone over the age of 35--could make an album like that today.  But if anyone could, they would be the ones to do it.  Featuring their classic hit "I Can See For Miles" (the album's only single), from 1967, please enjoy The Who Sell Out.

Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.

Yours in peace, love, and rock 'n' roll!

The Reverend Will the Thrill