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

Because Hallowe'en is less than a week away, I feel compelled to visit the horror genre again.  But there's more to this week's cinematic "sermon" than the fact that it's a horror film.  I'll even go so far as it to call it THE horror film.  It's certainly the scariest movie I've ever seen.  But I have a weird, personal connection to this week's film--or at the very least, I have a weird, personal connection to the book on which it was based.  In many ways, it's actually an odd (really odd) love letter to my mother.

Mom was a serious reader.  She was never happier than when she had her nose buried in a book.  She loved all kinds of literature, but she was particularly fond of historical fiction, historical nonfiction, and romance.  She even later became the librarian in my hometown.  A few years back, my friend Brad sent me a picture of her reading to his kids.  As he pointed out, Mom was the librarian to four generations of his family.  (FUN FACT:  His mother was my high school librarian.)

On the night of 17 April, 1974, my very pregnant mother was at my paternal grandparents' house.  According to her, she was reading William Peter Blatty's novel The Exorcist, which had recently been made into a movie that had been released the previous December.  As someone who was not really a fan of scary movies and believed that the book was always better than the movie (or at least she believed that before The Bridges of Madison County was released), I'm guessing she opted to read the book before--or, more likely, instead of--seeing the film.  While reading the book, she went into labour with me.  Gramps drove her to the hospital, Grandma called Dad on the other end of the state, and I was born on the morning of 19 April.

Like most people who grew up at that time, I knew The Exorcist primarily as that scary movie that my parents wouldn't let me watch.  There was a girl who could turn her head all the way around and spit pea soup at people.  There was a bed that levitated.  The things in the film had been talked about so much that when I saw Richard Pryor in the "SNL" sketch "The Exorcist II," I got the jokes even though I'd never seen the film.  ("The bed must be on the floor.  The bed must be on the floor."  THUD!  "The bed is on my foot.  The bed is on my foot...")

I first saw The Exorcist when I was 23 years old.  My surrogate brother, Rindt, had a VHS copy of the film which he loaned to me.  I thought it was a really good movie.  It had the proper balance of shocking, scary, and creepy.  I can understand why a lot of people were freaked out by it.  It made me jump once or twice.  But beyond that I didn't really give it much thought.  Just because I'm naturally drawn to comedy, I think I was more taken with the film version of M*A*S*H, which Rindt had also loaned me.  To this day, it's one of my favourite comedies.

Three years later, Rindt and I were both living in the suburbs of Cleveland.  One of us had seen that The Exorcist was being re-released in theaters featuring about seven minutes of footage that had been deemed too scary to be released in 1973.  We went to see it together and were both properly scared by it.  This is one of those instances when seeing it in your living room is no comparison to seeing it in a theater.  It shot to the top of my scariest movies list and has been there for 25 years now.  I watched the film again when director William Friedkin passed away and was delighted to find my ticket stub from that night in the DVD case (just a little something I do).

"I've seen The Exorcist about 167 times, and it keeps getting funnier every single time I see it!"

--Michael Keaton as Beetlejuice, 1988

Since the end of the pandemic, we've been seeing people within the movie industry talking--even preaching--about how movies are so much better in theaters.  Sure, streaming them at home is more convenient, but the experience is better.  And I agree with them wholeheartedly.  For as corny as Nicole Kidman's AMC ad may seem, and in spite of how much the whole thing was ridiculed, everything she says in that ad is spot on.  I watch a lot of movies from the comfort of my living room, but when I see them in theaters (especially classics that I've seen multiple times), comedies are more over the top, action films are more intense, and horror films are scarier than they are at home.

Shortly after I moved to the South Bend/Mishawaka area, I was working in the now defunct music and video department of Barnes & Noble.  While straightening the blu-ray section one day, I had discovered that some customer had just left a paperback copy of The Exorcist on the shelf rather than taking the effort to re-shelve it where they had originally found it.  Normally (as you might have guessed), this annoys the hell out of me.  But, given my history with the novel, I bought it rather than complain about less savory customer habits.

I read it the week I turned 39.  As the son of a librarian, I decided to compare the two.  I have to say it is one of the most faithful book-to-screen adaptations I've ever seen.  I'm sure most of this can be attributed to William Peter Blatty who not only wrote the novel, but also the screenplay.  (Although I've seen other films where the screenwriter adapted his or her own novel and completely changed everything--more on this in upcoming weeks) I will go as far as to say it is the scariest book I've ever read.  And the character of Father Merrin is even more badass in the novel than he was in the movie.

Mom confessed to me that the book freaked her out so much she had never seen the movie.  I felt she needed to, so I made her watch it a couple months before she died.  I'm pretty sure the two events were not related...

So, in honour of Hallowe'en, the connection between literature and cinema, and my mother--one of the greatest small-town librarians of all time--this week I'm recommending 1973's The Exorcist.

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

Ticket stub from The Exorcist re-release, 2 October, 2000

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

First of all, I just wanted to say thank you to everyone for their kind thoughts and comments regarding last week's musical "sermon."  It certainly meant a lot to me, and I hope it did for Victoria's family.

This week, I'm in something of a funk.  Part of it is left over from last week.  Honestly, it feels more like hungover than leftover.  Part of it is that I'm currently at work today after doing more than twelve hours yesterday.  I'm also dogsitting for someone (maybe a nascent side hustle?) and I kind of feel like I'm neglecting Ranger just by being at work... likely one of the many reasons why I don't have a dog of my own.  Frankly, I'm feeling kind of disjointed.  So this is what I do when I'm feeling disjointed and emotionally hungover--I write and I listen to music.

At times like these, my first instincts are to match the music to the mood.  Brooding, sometimes dark stuff works well--Leonard Cohen, Nick Cave, Dylan, acoustic Springsteen.  Blues music always works well in these situations as well--Muddy Waters, B.B. King, Little Walter.  Sometimes I just dive straight into John Lee Hooker (my personal favourite) and induce a blues coma.

But I thought I'd go in a different direction this time.  I initially thought I might like something kind of silly.  Then I realized I was merely looking for something upbeat--possibly even, dare I say, hopeful?  Perhaps even whimsical?  I started scrolling through my portable jukebox (or "phone" as it's called in most social circles), looking for something that would fit that description.  I got to the letter "H" and my eyes immediately latched on to this week's album and I decided to play it--because when Harry Nilsson's music plays, it's hard not to at least smile.  I've always liked the album, and it features at least two of my favourite Nilsson compositions, but I didn't really know too much about the album itself.  So I did a little research--mostly to check songwriting credits.  Wikipedia said of this album that it "does not have a distinctive style but ranges over ballads, show tunes, nostalgic Americana, and tin pan alley-like soft shoe numbers."  I have to be honest--that may be one of the best album reviews I've ever read.  And while it may not necessarily have pulled me out of my funk, I enjoyed the vibe enough that I've moved on to later albums in his discography.

This was his fourth album (fifth if you count the soundtrack he recorded for the 1968 Otto Preminger film Skidoo) and features his classics "The Puppy Song" and "I Guess the Lord Must Be in New York City"--both of which were featured in the 1998 rom-com You've Got Mail--as well as covers of songs by The Beatles ("Mother Nature's Son"), Jerry Jeff Walker ("Mr. Bojangles"), and Randy Newman ("Simon Smith and the Amazing Dancing Bear").  (In fact, Nilsson was so taken with Newman's songwriting style that his follow up album was comprised entirely of his songs.)

So without further ado, I encourage you to lighten your own vibe with the great Harry Nilsson and his 1969 album Harry.

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! (One from the Vault!)

I wrote this album "sermon" and posted it on Facebook on 25 June, 2021.  The weather today in northern Indiana reminded me of it--so much so that I actually played it in my car during my work commute.  It seemed a good time to revisit it.  Fun fact:  even though I didn't write this in the fall, it's definitely applicable for this particular time of the year.  Also a correction--the album was released in 1960, not 1959 as I initially wrote here.  The notes on my LP indicated that it was recorded in late 1959 and I'm sure I just assumed (without adequate research) that that was when it was released.

 

I'm a little early this week, but the weather right now is perfect for this.

It's a rainy Friday morning (at least for another ten minutes--then it'll be a rainy Friday afternoon).

 

I recently picked up a few things during a Record Store Day (RSD) event in Goshen (unsolicited plug--Ignition Music Garage is the best place in a 50-mile radius to buy music). There are a number of titles I bought that I still haven't had the chance to listen to. I've been waiting for the right moment. Things like Tom Waits are best saved until after the sun goes down (maybe later tonight).

 

While running errands in the rain, I was thinking that when I got home I should pop on the lone jazz record I picked up. I don't own enough jazz on vinyl. A lot of jazz (especially that which is heavy on trumpet and/or piano--which this week's album is) sounds best on a rainy day. I'm almost through Side 2 of the album. The rain seems to have let up (at least for awhile), and the whole experience was... almost mystical.

 

So this week, please enjoy trumpeter Kenny Dorham with his 1959 classic "Quiet Kenny," recorded by producer extraordinaire Rudy Van Gelder, featuring Tommy Flanagan on the piano, Arthur Taylor on drums, and the great Paul Chambers on bass.

 

(NOTE: the link below does add a rendition of "Mack the Knife" by Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht that does not appear on the original album.)

 

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 Album of the Week!

This week's "sermon" is terribly hard for me to write.  If there are any typos, that's because I likely didn't see them through the tears.  I apologize in advance, and I'll correct them later.

I was exchanging dad jokes with my (actual biological) sister via text the other day.  As I said to her, I tell dad jokes even though I don't have any children--I'm a faux pa. (Insert rim shot here.)  I recounted the time I was at the memorial service of a dear friend who recently passed.  A gentleman asked me if he could say a word.  I encouraged him to go ahead.  He stepped to the front of the room and said, "Plethora."  Then he sat back down.  I said, "Thanks.  That means a lot."  (Thank you, I'll be here all week.  Try the veal.  Don't forget to tip your servers!  Good night, everybody!)

In all seriousness, though...  in hindsight, if I could think of one word to describe Victoria, it would be "plethora," because she means a lot.  I don't remember if I ever told her that--I know I certainly didn't do it in those words.  And even though I'm sure she was intelligent and perceptive enough to figure that out on her own, that's no excuse.  I should have told her.

"The words that are spoken at a funeral are spoken too late for the man who is dead.  What a wonderful thing it would be to visit your own funeral.  To sit at the front and hear what was said--maybe to say a few things yourself."

--Ian Bannen as Jackie O'Shea in the film Waking Ned Devine, 1998

I found out the other day that Victoria passed away last weekend.  I first responded to the Facebook post in which I found out by saying that I was "utterly devastated."  Even as I write this, those are still the only words that I can think of to describe how I'm feeling in the moment.  It's fascinating to me how detrimental a personal tragedy can be to one's vocabulary.

I first met Victoria one night at Barnes & Noble after hours.  As I was straightening up one area of the store, I saw a woman seated in one of our "comfy chairs" reading.  I tried to explain to her that the store was closed for the night and she would have to leave.  She explained to me that her husband, Hugh, was the assistant manager and she was waiting on him to finish up closing procedures.  We became friendly and I began to think of her as one of the B&N gang.  Occasionally, if a bunch of us were closing, we might get together afterward for a drink at the Irish restaurant/pub in downtown Bloomington and she would even join us.

We became close after I returned from my year in Cleveland.  She would pop into my music department from time to time to check up on an order she was trying to procure.  (I spent six months trying to order a book for her--O Sisters Ain't You Happy by Suzanne Ruth Thurman.  No one was more grateful than I was when it finally arrived.)  We would start chatting about this and that.  At one point, she said I reminded her a little bit of her younger brother.  I realized I had begun to think of her as an older sister--something I didn't have.  We somehow "adopted" each other as siblings.  Since about 2003, I've thought of her and referred to her as my "big sister."

She was my biggest champion.  If she happened to be around when a customer was being a jerk to me, she would let that customer know in no uncertain terms that I was extremely helpful and knowledgable about what I was doing and that I was a really great guy.  One customer in particular stood out to me.  She was giving me grief about something.  Victoria walked up and started extolling my virtues to this woman, subtly implying that she should back off.  I said to her, "Yeah, she knows.  Victoria, this is my mom, Rosie.  Mom, this is Victoria."

We would write letters--something I consider a lost art--and send postcards to keep each other updated on what we were doing.  I frequently used her as a sounding board to see what she thought about my concerns and ideas.  I hope she knew she could have done the same to me.  I actually sent her a postcard just a couple weeks ago.  In what is a haunting parallel with my mother's passing, apparently it arrived, but whether or not she saw or read it is uncertain.

Our fathers died fairly close together in 2016.  Two years later, our mothers did the same.  I always said we were exploring life as middle aged orphans together.  I took a lot of comfort in that.  When I inevitably would work on Mother's Day, I knew I could text her when it was slow to complain about how much I missed Mom.

I only just realized in the last few days that she seemed to get me in ways that most people don't--or, at the very least, she faked it beautifully.  I'm dazed and devastated because I no longer have my big sister.  I've got no one to write letters to, or make mix CDs for (I must be the only person who still does that).

I bought this week's album a year or so after it was released.  When I discovered a special deluxe edition of it, I bought that and wanted to give the original a good home.  Knowing Victoria's fondness for female musicians and singers and songwriters, I sent it her way.  She seemed just as entranced with it as I was and we bonded over the artist's music for the next decade.  Her new album comes out on Hallowe'en.  I pre-ordered special editions of both the vinyl and the CD a couple of months ago.  I feel like a little kid waiting on Christmas.  But that excitement is tempered by the fact that I won't be able to gush about it to my big sister.

So, in honour of Victoria, this week, I wanted to share that album that I gave to her all those years ago.  Please enjoy Florence + The Machine with their sophomore effort from 2011, Ceremonials.

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, kove, and rock 'n' roll!

The Reverend Will the Thrill

 

 

Commemorating our fathers over lunch at Jockamo Upper Crust Pizza, September, 2016

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

It's that time of year again.  Fall has finally fallen, the weather's at least a little cooler, it's a dreary, grey Saturday (which I love), fake skeletons are popping up in peoples' yards, and there is a generally spooky vihe in the air.  I have to be honest, it works for me.  Hallowe'en is in a couple of weeks and it's time to dig out the scary movies.  As I wrote last year, unlike a lot of people my age--and certainly unlike those younger than me--I do tend to like the old black and white Universal horror movies that were made from the 1930s through the 1950s.

One thing I've noticed is that I do tend to like to laugh while being scared or just creeped out.  Ghostbusters and Beetlejuice are two classics from my childhood that I still love to watch and, sadly, quote... whether anyone wants me to or not.  My friend Paul and I used to thow out quotes from Ghostbusters whenever we could think of one that was appropriate in that particular circumstance.  I'm still proud of the fact that one time in my life, I was in a position where I could say, "I'm worried--it's getting crowded in there and all of my recent data points to something big on the horizon."  Eh... you kind of had to be there.

And as much as I adore Mel Brooks's 1974 classic Young Frankenstein--and I do--I kind of wish I had seen the original Universal films beforehand.  As funny as Young Frankenstein is, it's even funnier if you've seen what was made 40 years earlier.  When I first watched the original 1931 Frankenstein starring Boris Karloff as the monster, I kept playing out scenes from Young Frankenstein in my head.  At one point, as Henry Frankenstein's assistant Fritz (played by the underappreciated Dwight Frye) slowly rises to watch the burial going on below, I found myself uttering, "Get down, you fool!"  Suddenly I heard Henry (played by Colin Clive) push down on Fritz's shoulder and say, "Get down, you fool!"  This phenomenon occurred even more as I watched the subsequent films.

This is not to say that I didn't enjoy these movies.  Quite the opposite.  Frankenstein--the monster--is one of the most heartbreaking characters in cinema.  And the fact that we still refer to him as a monster tells me that after 95 years (more than 200 if you count Mary Shelley's novel), most people don't seem to get that.  He was just a man who wanted to be loved.  Yes, he was stitched together from various pieces of various dead people, reanimated, and brought back from the dead, but he was still a man who just wanted friendship and companionship.  He didn't think of himself as a monster (in spite of his sometimes murderous tendencies), he just didn't want to be feared and ostracized by everyone.

This week's film is the second film in the storied Frankenstein franchise ("Frankise"?).  If you've only seen Young Frankenstein, it references this film even more than its predecessor.  In this week's film, it would appear that the monster survived the destruction of the windmill at the end of the first film (SPOILER ALERT!).  While he's inadvertently terrorizing the villagers, a doctor/scientist blackmails Dr. Henry Frankenstein into working with him to ultimately create a mate for the monster he created.

Boris Karloff returns for his second of three appearances as Frankenstein's creation.  He would also go on to appear in 1944's House of Frankenstein, but as a wholly different character.  Colin Clive also reprises his role as the mad doctor, this time working under duress.  Dwight Frye also returns, this time as Karl (Fritz was killed in the previous film).  And in a dual role, the great Elsa Lanchester makes one of cinema's great entrances (in one of those roles).  British director James Whale, who helmed the original Frankenstein, as well as 1933's The Invisible Man, ties the whole thing together with a flair for both horror and humour.   So in honour of Una O'Connor's 140th birthday this week, from 1935, please enjoy what I think is one of the greatest sequels ever made, The Bride of Frankenstein.

 

The Album of the Week "sermon" is being delayed for technical reasons.  I hope to have it up within the next day or so. 

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!

I apologize in advance for my somewhat predictable choice for this week's film.  Until a couple of hours ago, I literally had no clue what to submit, let alone what to say about it.  Then I got a text from my dear friend Rebecca informing me that one of my (and I presume her) favourite actresses had died.

But first, I have to confess something.  I have a bit of a thing for women in neckties.  I always have.  As I write this, I'm waiting patiently for Desi Lydic to spend a week hosting "The Daily Show" again, because she has a penchant for wearing a tie and I really dig that about her.  When I really think about it, I believe my fondness for women in ties was probably caused, at least in part, by the movie Annie Hall, the 1977 romantic comedy starring Diane Keaton as the titular character opposite Woody Allen who also co-wrote and directed it.  Admittedly, I was three when the film came out, and I never saw the movie until I was in college, but I had seen clips and still photos in my youth.  Even as a young boy, I could say she totally rocked that look (never mind the fact that she was old enough to be my mother).

Diane Keaton died today at the age of 79.  As is usually the case when an actor I admire passes, I tend to look through my own video collection and pick out some of my favourites.  Obviously, I only wanted to pick one to highlight this week, but even that's a somewhat daunting task when discussing the works of Ms. Keaton.  Obviously, I could choose from any number of classic films over the last 50+ years including her Oscar-winning performance in Annie Hall (where we also learned she could sing), any number of other films she did with Allen, her role as Michael Corleone's girlfriend and later wife in The Godfather trilogy, her performance as Steve Martin's wife preparing for their daughter's wedding in the remake of Father of the Bride (and its sequel).  And there are so many I've never seen, most notably Reds and Marvin's Room.

I was originally going to pick her 2003 collaboration with Jack Nicholson in Nancy Meyers's Something's Gotta Give.  She received her fourth and last Oscar nomination for it and I think it's one of her finest films.  (I also think Nicholson delivered one of his best as well--watch the end credits just to hear him sing "La Vie En Rose" in French.)  But, just while writing and researching the last couple of paragraphs, I was reminded of one other film that always stood out to me.

I have a theory regarding romantic comedies, that I believe I've touched on in these "sermons."  It's often not the leading actors that make it work.  By and large, rom-coms are somewhat formulaic and with a few notable exceptions, we know the couple will wind up together by the end of the movie.  What really makes them work, in my opinion, is the supporting cast--the friends and relatives of the main characters.  They're the ones that we really enjoy seeing the most.  We already know that Tom Cruise and Renée Zellweger are going to be together--we want to see more of Cuba Gooding Jr.!  Or the cute little hedgehog that played her son.  He was adorable!

This week's film is a little different.  I technically call it a rom-com (and a Christmas movie at that).  What makes this one stand out is that it's actually an ensemble piece.  There are no real lead characters--therefore, there are no real supporting characters.  It's a whole host of characters, each with their own backstories, playing off each other.  And to some degree, we root for all of them.

In the film, Keaton plays Sybil Stone, the matriarch of a family of five adult children.  Her oldest son is bringing home his girlfriend for Christmas to meet the family.  Sparks fly because she is nothing like them and mayhem and hijinks ensue.  In spite of it all, you can tell that there's so much love in that family that you couldn't possibly call them dysfunctional even though you might want to.

Keaton stars alongside (in alphabetical order) Claire Danes, Ty Giordano, Rachel McAdams, Dermot Mulroney, Craig T. Nelson, Sarah Jessica Parker, Elizabeth Reaser, Brian White, and Luke Wilson.  Written and directed by Thomas Bezucha and originally released in 2005, this week--especially if you start celebrating Christmas in September--please enjoy The Family Stone.

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!

"Music can't be stopped.  It's the most subversive thing of all.  You can build a wall to keep people at bay, but music will still break through.  Eventually even the Iron Curtain was torn down by rock 'n' roll and jeans.  It wasn't nuclear weapons and intimidations and all that crap.  That wall was shattered by ordinary music, man."

--Keith Richards

I still like to believe in Keith's statement.  I like to believe that music is the ultimate freedom of expression.  And, as we all well know, freedom of expression scares the living hell out of autocrats and dictators.  And it's not just autocrats and dictators--I think it scares the living hell out of those who are generally in charge--"the establishment," if you will.  A lot of ideas get conveyed in song--oftentimes questioning the status quo and longing for something better and freer.

Look at the evolution of popular music in the twentieth century, specifically in the United States.  When blues, jazz, and rock 'n' roll all started out, it was unlike anything the general population had heard before.  And it scared the establishment, especially in the south, primarily because of its origins in Black culture.  In fact, when record companies first started producing blues records, they didn't call it blues music.  In fact, it was referred to and marketed as "race music," a term which sounds unfathomably derogatory in 2025, but a century ago, it was a whole different ball game... and even the ball game was segregated.

"[If you take] five white guys and put 'em with five black guys and let 'em hang around together for about a month, and at the end of the month you'll notice that the white guys are walking, and talking, and standing... like the Black guys do!  You'll never see the Black guys saying, 'Oh, golly, we won the big game today, yes sir!'  But you'll see guys with red hair and freckles named Duffy say, 'What's happenin'?  Let me see what you got, man.  Right, hey, that's cool.  Take it easy, baby.  Shit, alright...'"

--George Carlin, "White Harlem," 1973

The blues eventually evolved into rock 'n' roll, which was even scarier.  White performers began hearing it and wanting to do it too.  Before too long, Blacks and Whites were violating all social taboos by intermingling.  It wasn't just racial--it was sexual too!  Never forget that when Elvis Presley appeared on "The Milton Berle Show," his hip gyrations were so controversial that when he appeared on "The Ed Sullivan Show," CBS censors were so nervous, they only filmed him from the waist up.  The fact that this seems comical today just shows, in my opinion, how much of an impact a country's culture can have on its history.  I will even go so far as to credit rock 'n' roll and R&B--and even folk music, to a degree--with not only ending segregation but also kicking off the sexual revolution as well.

Of course, all of this was completely banned in authoritarian countries like the former Soviet Union as well as most Eastern European countries that were under Soviet influence.  In the mid- to late-1980s, Soviet Premier Mikhail Gorbachev introduced a policy of "glasnost," (or "openness"), essentially democratizing the country's political system.  The people, especially the youth, were fascinated with the freedom of western culture and rock 'n' roll was at the heart of it.  Billy Joel became the first western artist to do a full tour of the Soviet Union, playing many different cities to sold out crowds.  Eventually, other artists followed suit, ideas were disseminated rather than censored, and before too long, the Berlin Wall and communism fell and the Cold War as we knew it ended.

Obviously that's a gross oversimplification of what happened, but given where we are today, it's easy to look back on that time period with a sense of nostalgia and wonder, and even a sense of despair.  Once again, Russia is being run by a dictator.  Different ideas and opinions are censored and those who have them are jailed (or worse).  But I like to think that eventually, music--the ultimate freedom of expression--will prevail again.  Which brings us to this week's album.

In 1988, Paul McCartney released an album of early rock covers that, at that time, was released exclusively in the U.S.S.R. on the Melodiya (Мелодия) label.  In the liner notes, Sir Paul wrote:

"When I was young I asked my dad if people wanted peace.  He said to me, 'Yes, people everywhere want peace--it's usually politicians that cause trouble.'  It always seemed to me that the way the Beatles' music was admired in the U.S.S.R. tended to prove his point that people the world over have a great deal in common.

"In releasing this record exclusively in the Soviet Union, I extend the hand of peace and friendship to the people of the U.S.S.R."

The album was originally released on vinyl on Hallowe'en, 1988, and contained 11 songs.  The initial pressing of 50,000 copies sold out quickly.  A second pressing was made which added two more songs.  Copies were smuggled into other countries and were selling for hundreds of dollars.  In 1991, around the time the U.S.S.R. ceased to be, the album was released internationally on CD featuring yet another song from those sessions that was left off the original vinyl record.  (Not to brag, but one of the gems of my vinyl collection is a Russian copy of the album--although I only paid about $15 for it.)

This week, in the spirit of freedom and openness, please enjoy Paul McCartney with his album Сно́ва в СССР, commonly known as "The Russsian Album."  (The title actually translates as "Back in the U.S.S.R.," which is funny to me because I seriously considered submitting The Beatles' The White Album this week.)  It should be noted that the YouTube link below features only the 11 songs from that original 1988 release.

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!

While at the movies awhile back, I saw a trailer for the upcoming film Eternity with Miles Teller, Elizabeth Olsen, Callum Turner, and Da'Vine Joy Randolph.  As a fan of three of those actors (I must confess, I'm not familiar with Turner's work), I'll likely go see it.  Looks like an interesting rom-com, which I admit I'm a sucker for, but this one takes place in the afterlife, which I'm also a sucker for.

We humans, by and large, have always had a fascination with what lies beyond our own plane of existence.  Heaven?  Hell?  Reincarnation?  Is this it?  For centuries, through both religion and art, we've been trying to answer that question.  Personally, I always wanted to come back and visit/haunt those I've left behind--not in a scary way, just as a form of encouragement.  I might like to haunt people I didn't like in a really annoying way--rearranging their stuff, that kind of thing--just because I think that would be fun.

Watching the trailer for Eternity, I was reminded of one of my favourite cinematic theories about what happens after we die.  I first saw it in a college class I took about film comedy.  This movie is both highly comical and at the same time kind of scary--Frankly, I always thought we died in order to get away from what people are subjected to in this film.

Daniel Miller (Albert Brooks) finds himself killed in a car accident (totally his fault--spoiler alert!) and finds himself being escorted in a daze along with a bunch of other dazed people to a place called Judgement City.  There he is assigned a lawyer, Bob Diamond (Rip Torn).  Bob explains to Daniel that Judgement City is a way station where the recently deceased go to determine if they can move on to a higher level of existence or if they have to go back to Earth and do it all over again.  In order to determine that, they must defend the choices they've made in life.  They're shown movie clips--moments--of their lives and they have to explain why they did something or why they didn't do something else.  If they can show that they exhibited courage and a sense of fearlessness in life, they get to go on to the next level.  Those more timid souls get to repeat life on Earth.

During his days in Judgement City, Daniel meets Julia (Meryl Streep), someone else who just died.  They start spending their off time together, checking out the sites of Judgement City like the Past Lives Pavilion.  Before too long they fall in love.  And the question becomes will they move on to the next level together or will one of them have to go back to Earth for another go-around?

Written and directed by Brooks and co-starring Lee Grant and Buck Henry, this week please enjoy Defending Your Life.

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 saw an amusing news report this week--well, I found it amusing.  A judge ruled that Spencer Elden who was famously photographed swimming naked in 1991 at the age of four months, was not the victim of child pornography.  The photo, of course, was used as the cover of Nirvana's breakthrough album, Nevermind.  When I first heard of the lawsuit, I had to laugh.  I had once read that Elden used to (try to) pick up girls by saying things like, "Do you want to see my penis... again?"  (I never found out how successful he was with that line.)  He'd clearly enjoyed being the "Nirvana baby."  And now he was suing?  Seemed ridiculous to me.  While I have no legal background, I'm pleased to say that a judge agreed with me.

The original lawsuit, filed in 2021, claimed that Elden's name and image were "forever tied to the commercial sexual exploitation he experienced as a minor which has been distributed and sold worldwide".  A judge threw it out because it was filed after the 10-year statute of limitations for filing a civil suit had expired.  Elden appealed after the album was re-issued to commemorate its 30th anniversary.  His attorneys argued that the re-issue caused a new trauma.  The original judgement was overturned in December of 2023, allowing Elden to proceed.  U.S. District Judge Fernando Olguin, who also dismissed the original suit, pointed out that Elden's parents were paid for allowing their child to be photographed by Kirk Weddle (also a co-defendant in the suit).  He said that just because there was nudity in the photograph, it wasn't sexually provocative in any way.  He even made mention of the fact that Elden had the album's name tattooed across his chest.  Clearly he had enjoyed and profited from the image and the subsequent publicity it gave him.  At one point he was even paid to re-enact the picture.

Elden has argued that over the years, his feelings about the whole thing have changed.  As he pointed out, he didn't really have a choice in the matter.  And don't get me wrong, I understand that.  We all have parts of our past that we'd like to forget or put behind us.  But at a certain point--especially if you previously enjoyed that part of your past--you've just got to move on from it.  It's kind of like a breakup.  You had fun in the past, but it's no longer fun.  You may not even like each other anymore.  But it's not really lawsuit-worthy.

So, at the risk of pouring salt into an open wound, this week, I submit the album that made grunge-rock mainstream and became a staple in tape decks and CD players throughout the 1990s.  Originally released in September of 1991, please enjoy Nirvana with their landmark album Nevermind.

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