Category Archives: commentary

Friday Comments About Monday

Posted on March 16, 2013 by mohawkvalleygirl

Well, here it is Lame Post Friday and once again, I got nothing. And not plenty o’ nuthin’, like in that song in Porgy and Bess. But I do have a comment about another song that I was thinking about earlier in the week.

I don’t know who sings it or what the real name of the song is, but it starts, “Monday, Monday,” and goes on to some words I can’t understand very well so don’t remember. The gist of it is Monday is no good to the guy singing because, “Monday morning couldn’t guarantee/ That Monday evening you would still/ Be here with me.” My apologies if I misquote. I haven’t actually heard the song in a while, but it was playing in my head all day one day.

And it was really annoying me! Come on, guy, better to have loved and lost! Who spends a relationship saying, “Oh, I hope we don’t break up before nightfall!” I suppose some do, but then the singer goes on to say, “Every other day (every other day, every other day) of the week is fine, yeah!” What? Tuesday et al. can guarantee that the girl will still be there in the evening? What kind of chick is this that only breaks up on a Monday?

I suppose somebody will argue that Monday is the most stressful day of the week, at least for Monday through Friday workers. If you’re going to have a messy break up, it might as well be on a Monday (oh, I know, nowhere in the song does he say it will be messy; I’m just extrapolating). Maybe there is something special on Monday, or even this particular Monday, that I don’t know because I never listened to all the words in the song (which is unusual for me). Just get through Monday! Then we’ll be together forever! After all, who am I to judge other people’s relationships?

I think it is more likely that someone will argue, “Lighten up, Cindy, it’s JUST a SONG!”

And Friday is just a day. And now that I’ve made my Lame Post, I’m going to go enjoy what’s left of it.

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Witness to a Lucky Murderer

Posted on March 6, 2013 by mohawkvalleygirl

Spoiler Alert! I’m pretty much going to recount the entire plot of Witness to Murder, including the dramatic climax.

I did not think Witness to Murder (1954) was going to be particularly cheesy when I saw that it starred Barbara Stanwyck, but you never know. They were still cranking out movies at a pretty good pace in the ’50s. They couldn’t all be cinematic masterpieces.

Things start right out excitingly with Stanwyck looking out her window to witness a murder (hence, the title) in an apartment across the street. She really has quite a good view. Some may carp over a murderer acting in front of an open window with the lights on, but, hey, it almost worked for Raymond Burr in Rear Window. Anyways, when we meet the murderer, played by George Sanders, we quickly learn that he is egotistical enough to feel he can get away with anything.

Stanwyck quite sensibly calls the police. This is about the last sensible thing she does, but we can’t really complain about that, because the movie would have been much shorter otherwise. Also, Sanders would have probably gotten away with murder and that character is definitely not likable enough for us to want that to happen.

Gary Merrill and Jesse White play the cops that show up to investigate. White doesn’t really have much of a part. His presence at least enabled me to make a couple of bad jokes about the Maytag repairman, but I must also say, kind of a waste of a good comedic actor.

Sanders is one of those lucky movie murderers who is easily able to cover his tracks. He has one bad moment when he freezes, mid-drag while moving the body, to stare at the elevator dial, afraid the cops are in it. Which struck me as a little silly. I guess I don’t think like a movie murderer, but if I’m dragging a dead body by the elevator and think the cops might be on it, I think I would be more likely do drag the body FASTER, not stand staring at the elevator to see if I’m right.

Now that I’m pondering the point, though, it occurs to me that perhaps he thought the dead lady’s high heels would ka-thunk on the floor and the cops would hear. Maybe he was trying to come up with a good story, one that might begin, “Thank God you’re here! Look what I just found!” We’ll never know, because the elevator passes by, and Sanders is able to stash the body in a handily located empty apartment (did I mention he’s a lucky murderer?) and change into pajamas in time to open the door to the cops, all sleepy-eyed innocence.

The cops are easily convinced that Stanwyck dreamed the whole thing. They are later on very amenable to being convinced that she’s crazy. Stanwyck obligingly has hysterics when confronted with Sanders’ trumped up evidence, landing herself in the loony bin.

I was a little disappointed she doesn’t spend more time in the Snake Pit (it isn’t really very snakey or even very pitty, but I thought I’d throw in another old movie reference to sound more erudite) (did it work?). For one thing, she might have reformed things, like that lady did in Bedlam (perhaps you read my blog post about that movie).

She gets sprung fairly quickly and easily, I believe due to the good offices of Merrill. You may have guessed the two of them fall in love. I always enjoy a love interest, especially when the guy falls for a girl who has a little on the ball, which Stanwyck does, even though the script calls for some typical stupid movie female behavior.

Which brings us to the dramatic climax.

OK, Stanwyck has figured out how Sanders broke into her apartment to type the poison pen letters that convinced the cops she was crazy (yeah, I didn’t explain that part very well earlier, but I’m sure you can keep up). However, she does not, for example, call an all-night locksmith to put in a dead bolt or even spend the night with a girlfriend (actually, I’m not sure Stanwyck has any girlfriends in this; the producers didn’t really spend a lot on minor characters). Well, I suppose one can’t think of everything. She is awfully tired, having not gotten a lot of sleep in the loony bin.

Anyways, guess who’s waiting for her in the bedroom, having already typed a fake suicide note. Stop! As I type this in, I suddenly say, “Waaaait a minute!” The police have Stanwyck’s typewriter. They took it to prove she typed the poison pen letters. Either they nicely put it back rather than properly in the evidence room, or Sanders, in addition to being lucky, is foresighted enough to have ALREADY typed the note. But I digress.

Sanders’ plan is to pitch Stanwyck out the window. Suddenly a lady cop shows up, sent by Merrill to check on Stanwyck. Sanders is, of course, ready with his story, that he was trying to STOP this poor, suicidal crazy woman. Does Stanwyck realize she is now safe? Sanders can’t possibly thrown her out the window and pretend it’s suicide with a lady cop standing right there, for heavens’ sake!

In her second biggest Stupid Movie Female Move of the picture (stand by for number one), Stanwyck runs away screaming. Nobody seems to believe that the guy chasing her wants to kill her, but for some reason they all join the chase. Soon a whole crowd is after her. Boy, can that woman move in a pair of high heeled pumps! Sanders is the only one who can keep up with her!

Then she does the single, absolute biggest Stupid Movie Female Move imaginable: she runs all by herself into a deserted high rise building, all the way up all the stairs and OUT ONTO THE ROOF!!! What a good place to go when you are running away from a man who wants to throw you out of a building and pretend it’s suicide.

It’s a good thing this was the climax, because I was ready to wash my hands of the Stanwyck character after that.

Predictably, nobody in the busybody crowd follows them up the stairs. Equally predictably, Merrill arrives on the scene, armed with Proof that Sanders is a killer. I don’t suppose anybody will be surprised to know that Merrill’s proof is a spurious as the stuff he’s been rejecting from Stanwyck all through the picture.

No matter. This is a movie, he’s the hero, and he’s going to save the day. I didn’t need to include another spoiler alert before I told you that, did I?

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Questionable Musings

Posted on February 26, 2013 by mohawkvalleygirl

Middle-aged Musings Monday is just about what I’m up to today.

Oh, I don’t feel too bad. I’m actually reasonably content with my lot in life today. For one thing, if I can just get through the week, I have a three day weekend. And Monday off makes next week only a four day week. Talk about a win/win!

But to get on with the musings, lately I’ve been alternately musing on and beating myself up over the fact that at this late date I still don’t have my act together. I’ve written posts about this before. It should surprise no one that writing these posts has been no help in the getting together of said act.

I marvel at my continued capacity to Just Not Do Things. For example, daily stretches to minimize my recurring back pain. Every couple of days I think, “Oh yeah, I was going to start doing those stretches every day. That would be a good idea.” Do I sit right down and start stretching? Do I even set a time to plan to do them in the near future? You can guess the answers to these questions.

Oh, but that reminds me of something else I’ve been musing about lately that I find more interesting than my ongoing tribulations: I HATE it when people don’t answer a question but instead make a remark calculated to convince you that you are an utter idiot for asking.

I used to have a rather nasty college professor whose favorite response was to look at you as if nothing could exceed her pity for such stupidity and say, “I think you can answer that question for yourself.”

I can just hear people with higher self-esteem than mine piping up with remarks such as, “As your professor, it was her job to challenge you,” and, “Didn’t you learn more by finding the answer yourself than by her just feeding it to you?” and, of course, “Well, you probably could answer the question for yourself.”

My response to these arguments is to realize that the world is just chock full of people who delight in trying to make me feel even more stupid. Well, you needn’t feel so pleased with yourselves; it isn’t that hard to do.

A favorite answer of army sergeants to questions they don’t feel like answering is, “Well, that’s where common sense comes in.” I always wanted to say, “In other words, you don’t know either,” but you want to watch how snarky you get with people who outrank you.

It is really no wonder that I got into the habit of prefacing questions with, “This is probably a stupid question.” The pat response to that, of course, is, “There are no stupid questions,” or “The only stupid question is the one not asked.” If this is truly the case (and I like to think it is), why do so many people not just answer the damn question?

I had one platoon sergeant who would say, “There are no stupid questions, only stupid people with questions.” This did not offend me, because at that time in my life especially (as, I confess, at many other times), I spent a good portion of every day feeling stupid. Also in his defense, he would usually answer the question.

I wonder if my low self-esteem and perception of myself as stupid have anything to do with my inability to get my act together. This is surely a point to ponder. I will not phrase it in the form of a question, however, because I have a pretty good idea of what some people would say.

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This is a Silly Post, Isn’t It?

Posted on February 23, 2013 by mohawkvalleygirl

Nobody really thought I was going to forgo Lame Post Friday, as I declared at the end of yesterday’s post, did they?

Oh, there’s some half-baked philosophy right there. How can I resist? I recently read somewhere that women and minorities tend to add qualifiers to their statements. This is blank, ISN’T IT? I think this, DON’T YOU? Nobody thought, DID THEY? Well, I am a woman (am I not?) (really hate to say “aren’t I?” or even “ain’t I?”) (although of the two, I prefer the latter, because Grace Kelly said it in Rear Window) (but I digress).

Why do you suppose this is? I think (philosophically, of course) that it is different reasons for different women. Some women are unsure of themselves. Some want everybody to get along and feel that means agreeing on most things. Some are just eager to be loved. And for many, I’m sure it is just a bad habit (don’t you think so?). And I KNOW, before anybody tells me, that there are women who do not follow this speech pattern. To those women, I say, you go, girls (they might be offended that I call them “girls” instead of “women,” but that is a chance I’ll take).

Come to think of it, I said I would ATTEMPT to forgo Lame Post Friday, but I made no promises. That means I’m in the clear (right?). (I’m really just adding these qualifiers to be silly now; you guys got that, didn’t you?)(OK, that last “didn’t you?” I meant).

Actually, I personally have a tendency to make statements, and I am very surprised when people disagree with me. As many women do, completely without qualifiers. “Oh, I don’t think so,” they say, as if I am some odd specimen for thinking such a thing.

Which brings up another point: I have been philosophizing about something I read which I have not observed personally, randomly or otherwise (I feel I must insert here for the benefit of new readers, if any, that Lame Post Friday ideally consists of random observations and half-baked philosophies). And I’ve gone on for over 300 words. That is plenty long enough for a Lame Friday Post. Happy Friday, everyone.

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More Vegetarian Zombies

Posted on February 20, 2013 by mohawkvalleygirl

Spoiler Alert! I don’t know why I bother with these Spoiler Alerts. Real movie reviewers never do. Then again, I think it’s clear I’m not a real reviewer. You probably didn’t need a Spoiler Alert to tell you that.

I was thinking of Monster Movie Monday when I watched King of the Zombies (1941) on Steven’s collection of 50 Horror Classics (so I missed it by a day). Speaking of spoiler alerts, the blurb in the booklet that comes with the collection tells you almost everything. I should have known better than to read it. Really, the word “zombies” in the title tells me everything I needed to know.

The movie opens on three guys on a plane about to make an emergency landing on — what else? — a mysterious, uncharted island. They seem to be getting some radio transmission from the island but they can’t understand it. This makes them hopeful (radio transmission) rather than suspicious (can’t understand it). Of course, the characters don’t know they’re in a monster movie. That kind of ironic pose did not happen in movies till much later (although I do seem to remember Heckle and Jeckle knowing they are cartoon characters. Does that count?) (But I digress).

The three guys are the pilot, a jaunty Irishman; the purported hero; and his valet, a black man. I guess they referred to African Americans as “colored” at this time.

It is no secret that movies of this era reflect the racism rampant in the country at that time. When black people got parts in movies they were usually servants or natives. They sometimes got to sing songs. They sometimes got to act really scared. They were often the comic relief. In this movie, the valet gets to act scared, provides comic relief and is easily the most interesting character in the picture.

The proprietor of the island assures the three that he has no radio, although he is happy to welcome them as his guests. He has a catatonic wife, a beautiful niece and an extremely creepy butler. The Valet is not best pleased when the bad guy (oh you knew he was the bad guy as soon as I mentioned him; I’m not going to keep calling him the proprietor for the rest of the post) sends him off with the creepy butler to the servants’ quarters.

Things look up for Valet when he meets a pretty maid in the kitchen. They take a turn for the worse when she warns him of zombies — dead people who walk. Oh, there’s also an old witch-doctor-looking woman brewing something in a pot.

A lot of time is wasted with Valet seeing zombies and his boss and the pilot not believing him. Not a whole lot is done with the catatonic wife and beautiful niece (it’s the wife’s niece; she’s only related to the Bad Guy by marriage, in case anybody was worried).

That was actually OK with me, because Valet and Pretty Maid were my favorite characters anyways. The Irish Pilot was pretty cool, too, but he didn’t really have enough to do, except die and get made into a zombie. Oops. Well, that’s why I put in the Spoiler Alert.

The zombies in this picture, once again, are not flesh-eating monsters. In fact, Pretty Maid serves them up some stew-looking stuff that is apparently pretty bland. She realizes Valet has not in fact become a zombie when he asks for salt. Apparently zombies can’t eat salt (high blood pressure in the undead? News to me, but, whatever). She puts too much on just to be sure, so I don’t think the poor guy gets any dinner.

I kind of stopped paying attention by the end. I seem to think the zombies revolted; in fact, I remember reading that on the blurb. As in Revolt of the Zombies, it’s not such a much.

I feel I should mention that I watched this movie almost two weeks ago and have been having trouble with the write-up. In these not-as-post-racial-as-one-would-hope times, I hesitated over my description of the black characters. Then I thought maybe I could write a whole blog post thrashing out my dilemma. Before I wrote that post, I re-read my draft of this one and thought, “Hmmm, it’s not so bad. Maybe I’ll publish it after all.”

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And I’m Still Mad About the Dog

Posted on February 19, 2013 by mohawkvalleygirl

Spoiler Alert: I am pretty much going to recount most of the plot of today’s movie. I feel no qualms of conscience in doing so, because the only reason to watch this movie is Lionel Barrymore’s performance and you can enjoy that in any case.

Calling Dr. Gillespie also stars Donna Reed as a young and beautiful girl about to graduate from some girls boarding school somewhere. At the beginning of the movie she is meeting her young man. Donna’s father has at last consented to their engagement (cue romantic sigh from Donna’s young, impressionable roommate).

The fiance wants to elope right away, but Donna’s father has stipulated that she must finish school first (Yay, Dad, insisting on education! I’m a little sorry we never meet that character).

“I always get my way,” says Fiance with that demure, psycho look you often see in these movies.

“Not this time,” Donna tells him gently. He immediately kills a perfectly nice dog with a rock.

What the hell! I saw the dog and had fears for its well-being, but I hoped the poor thing would make it to the second reel at least. Donna is also upset, but not as upset as me, because she does not immediately terminate the engagement. She asks advice of the understanding headmistress, who recommends a psychiatric evaluation. She calls Dr. Gillespie (Barrymore), in hopes that it can be done so discreetly that even the fiance doesn’t know about it.

Dr. Gillespie calls in a brilliant young surgeon on staff at the same hospital. This young man wants to branch out into psychiatry but has so far been denied by the head of the hospital. The two of them go to the girls school. While Dr. Gillespie holds court with a number of fascinated young girls, Brilliant Surgeon takes Donna and the Fiance for a walk and asks some questions so subtle even I didn’t know what he was getting at.

Dr. Gillespie, Donna and Brilliant Surgeon meet with Fiance’s parents and family doctor. Fiance might be a mental case, our heroes say. Nonsense, says Family Doctor. Who do you think the parents believe?

Luckily, another demonstration of Fiance’s mental imbalance soon follows. No animals are harmed, but he smashes the window of a toy store and wrecks a plane, muttering threats against Dr. Gillespie.

So Family Doctor prescribes a long rest and a trip somewhere. Fiance smiles charmingly from the bed and says he feels fine. He doesn’t remember anything about the dog or the toy plane. As soon as he’s left alone he smashes Donna Reed’s picture and escapes out the window.

In talking with Donna, Brilliant Surgeons realizes that what triggers Fiance’s episodes of madness is the sound of a train whistle. You know, I don’t think the Hollywood screenwriters involved ever took a psychiatry course in their lives. For one thing, I never herd another train whistle for the rest of the picture, but Fiance kills two random guys to get a hot car to impress a dime-a-dance girl he’s trying to make time with.

Maybe it’s just me, but isn’t that a little inconsistent? Smashing a poor dog or a shop window because you’re frustrated and hear a train whistle strikes me as a slightly different psychosis from killing people to obtain a material object. Of course, his little murder for gain in a clumsy, short-sighted act, and the police are soon after him.

Donna Reed looks out her window and screams, because the first place he heads in the school garden. Headmistress, immediately consulting via telephone with Dr. Gillespie, sends Donna to the hospital with the school chauffeur, where she will supposedly be safe. Guess where Fiance is headed.

It is a big hospital. Fiance is able to kill a doctor and steal his glasses and his identity fairly easily (we don’t find out till later the poor other doctor is dead) (and we never meet him either, which saved the producers paying another actor). My first reaction was, “Oh, great disguise. They’ll NEVER recognize you with those glasses one!” But he only runs into people who don’t know him or the dead doctor as he continues to stalk Dr. Gillespie, intent on revenge.

Donna Reed, meantime, is hiding out in Brilliant Surgeon’s office suite, which includes sleeping accommodations (she does not avail herself of the invitation to put on a hospital gown, so don’t get your hopes up) (you know who you are). How fiance figures out she’s there so he can call her is never explained, but she ends up on hand for the final confrontation.

The thing that really annoyed me was Donna’s wailing at the end, “But it wasn’t really his fault!” Three men and a dog are dead! Why are you feeling more sorry for the killer? I’m thinking she doesn’t know about the dime-a-dance girl, for one thing.

On the whole, I thought it was a pretty dumb movie. It was saved for me by Lionel Barrymore and a few of the minor characters. There are a couple of nurses he spars with, as fictional doctors and nurses tend to do. A large, kind of doofy orderly is recruited to act as his bodyguard, unbeknownst to the prickly Dr. Gillespie. I also got a few chuckles from Donna’s roommate, a budding photographer and paramour.

In closing credits they advertised another Dr. Gillespie movie. I’ll have to watch for it. I do love that Lionel Barrymore.

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Be Kind to Animals, Hollywood

Posted on February 18, 2013 by mohawkvalleygirl

What is it with animals coming to bad ends in movies?

I recently wrote about What’s the Matter with Helen?, in which some very beautiful white rabbits suffered at the hands of a lunatic. I watched a movie yesterday in which a perfectly nice looking dog had an even shorter and more thankless role. And now I am looking at a movie where every third or fourth scene, I hear myself saying, “Nothing bad better happen to that cat!”

So far the worst thing that happened to the cat is a lady took away the yarn he or she was playing with. I only wrote my remark about nothing bad happening in the TV Journal once, but as I continued to repeat it, I thought to myself, hey, this could be a blog topic.

Many of us get more upset when bad things happen to animals than we get when bad things happen to people, especially in the movies. After all, animals are more defenseless and often more harmless. Most of them are a good deal less annoying than some people, especially in a work of fiction.

You know, now that I’m writing this, I believe I have touched on the topic before. My defense for repeating myself is: I think it was previously a remark in passing and now it is the topic of the post. Also, it is a topic that bears repeating. Who doesn’t love cats, dogs and beautiful white rabbits (or at least one of the three)?

Hollywood, apparently.

Sometimes it is movie shorthand for a really, really bad person. Ooh, look at them, they were mean to a dog! They can’t be any good AT ALL! Just in case the viewer was looking for socially redeeming characteristics. Now we know there are none to be found.

I still don’t like it. I just don’t LIKE to see bad things happen to good animals. I don’t particularly like it when characters I like die either, but at least I can comfort myself with the thought that actors like to play death scenes. I don’t know that any animals feel the same way.

I don’t think any Hollywood screenwriters are likely to heed my words and start writing movies where all the animals live happily ever after (humans can take their chances). But I wanted to express myself. Now I’ll go back to the movie I was viewing and check out what happens to that cat.

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Lame Verbiage

Posted on February 9, 2013 by mohawkvalleygirl

Today’s Friday Lame Post is heavy on the half-baked philosophy.

I began to write a far different post. I started running Thursday and intended to write a post about that. My lead was dull. I said so. It went on from there as follows:

And now I sit, pen in hand, contemplating how sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t. Maybe I should start a whole other blog about why I shouldn’t bother writing a blog. And by “bother,” I mean bother other people with my verbal meandering.

Note to self: does “verbal” only mean spoken or can it include the written word? It seems to me it should include writing, but I can only seem to recall hearing it used regarding spoken. I have no dictionary with me.

Well, that kept the pen moving for a while anyways. I’m re-reading Writing down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg (Shambhala Publications, 1986) and hence re-acquiring an appreciation for writing one does not intend to share. Practice writing, Goldberg calls it. Of course, I don’t do it the way she says to, never stopping the pen, not going back and re-reading, etc. I have NEVER been able to write without pausing and I have given up trying to make myself (and what a freeing decision that was!).

Full disclosure: As I write this, I picture myself typing it into my computer and publishing it as a blog post. What does that tell you?

Aha! I bet you thought that was a rhetorical question, but I am going to answer it. Writing is, for me, communication. I want to write for a reader.

That said, I understand editing. Whole sentences, paragraphs and posts will never see the light of day (the ether of the internet?) and rightly so. But as I write, I picture somebody reading it. I’m sure many writers do.

And then I stopped writing.

After I typed this nonsense into the computer, I looked up “verbal” in the dictionary (The American Heritage Dictionary, Delta, 1992). It has several meanings, only one of which is “spoken rather than written,” as in a verbal contract (which Sam Goldwyn famously said is not worth the paper it’s written on). It can also just mean having to do with words. But “verbiage,” I see, means wordiness, not specifying written or oral. I see this post is about 400 words. Plenty of verbiage for a Lame Post Friday. Have a good weekend, everyone!

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Politically Unspoken

Posted on February 7, 2013 by mohawkvalleygirl

I have stated numerous times that Mohawk Valley Girl stays off politics. However, as I sometimes write about not writing, I’m going to try to talk about why I don’t talk about politics.

Note: for the sake of this argument “talk” will also mean “post” as in Facebook or other social media (which, I confess, I know very little about).

One reason I don’t like to say what I think politically is that I am not very good at argument. I don’t think of good replies till much later. Also, I tend to believe people when they spout out spurious statistics. Again much later I think, “Where did they get those numbers?” and, more importantly, “Do those numbers tell the whole story?” As a political science professor I once had said, the facts never speak for themselves.

The main reason I don’t like to talk politics, though, is not that most people are my betters at rhetoric. It’s that they don’t use rhetoric at all; they just talk louder.

Simply put, people usually don’t discuss a political issue. They just shout bumper stickers at each other, after which they sometimes degenerate into personal attacks. “You don’t agree with me? You must be STUPID! Or worse! You probably kick puppies!”

Now I’ll argue with myself, in a quiet tone of voice.

People argue in sound bites because sound bites are pithy and often sound clever. And most listeners/readers do not have or will not take the time to listen to a lengthy argument, however well thought out and intelligently stated.

Be honest, when somebody posts a link to a scholarly article on an issue, how often do you click on it and read the whole thing? You can tell I don’t, because I don’t know whether they are in fact scholarly articles or venomous diatribes. I tend to suspect the latter and that is one reason I do not click on them. The other reason is that my computer is frustratingly slow and the more links I click on the slower it goes.

Furthermore (still arguing with myself), many people feel passionately about their views. When they call somebody stupid, they may be engaging in hyperbole, trying to get your attention.

My reply to this is that it is not a very effective method of argument. When somebody calls me stupid, I tend to get mad and stop listening. Calling me stupid just puts a big old gap between us when I had hoped to find some middle ground.

Which brings me to the final argument against me: sometimes people feel that there is no middle ground. Right is always right, wrong is always wrong. Some issues, these people feel, are black and white.

If this is the case, I’m afraid we’re doomed. My desire to bring civility and reason to public discourse is meaningless, because there is no compromise. What a depressing thought. Can Mohawk Valley Girl really believe such in a negative paradigm?

NO! Of course not! I believe people can talk nicely. I believe people can listen attentively. And I’m just going to wait till most of them decide to do so.

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Well, I Watched It and I Need a Post

Posted on February 6, 2013 by mohawkvalleygirl

Spoiler Alert! I’m actually going to try to be more circumspect about this one, just to mix things up a little. Still, one can’t help but give away something.

I DVR’d Sinner Take All (neglected to write down the year) purely on the strength of the clever title. Let that be a lesson to me.

Just kidding. It really was not a bad movie. My problem was that while it was not exactly a good movie, it did not reach the level of cheesiness I seek for my blogging pleasure. Still, I watched the whole thing. I need a post. I’ll write about it.

The plot centers around a rich businessman and his grown offspring, two sons and a daughter. All four receive death threats. It is pointed out that most murderers do not advertise their intent, they just go ahead and kill whoever. It is never explained why this murderer does not follow that protocol. I could hazard a guess as to the ostensible reason (love that word, ostensible), but that would give away who the murderer is. It is one of those, “You couldn’t be sure THAT was going to happen anyways” reasons, but let’s not get into that argument.

The hero is an ex-newspaperman who has become a lawyer. As a reporter he worked for a newspaper owned by the rich businessman. Guess whose lawyer he works for now. This makes it easy for his old boss to get our hero back on the paper to cover the big story once the rich folk start to get knocked off.

The rich guy’s offspring are pretty typical: one son is a driven businessman like Dad, the other a ne’er-do-well drunkard, the daughter a madcap heiress. Our hero’s first task, while he’s still a lawyer, is to bring the daughter home so’s they can have a family summit about the death threats.

Of course she does not want to leave the speakeasy/gambling house she’s in (at least, I don’t know if it’s a speakeasy or legitimate nightclub; they weren’t clear) (this is where knowing the year of the movie may have been helpful, but let us not repine). He persuades her not by logic or appealing to her better nature but by threatening to slug her, so you just know they’re going to fall for each other.

This is only the beginning of the patronizing man-knows-best crap he pulls on her because, after all, he must keep her safe. Funny how later on the only way he can catch the killer is to use her as bait and almost get her killed. Oh, I KNOW it is more dramatic that way. I’m just saying. The irony, not surprisingly, is lost on the characters.

The head lawyer is played by George Zucco, who somebody described as “marvelously theatrical” in Dead Men Walk (which I wrote a blog post about). I was wishing he had a bigger part, because he brought a certain… ambiguity to the role. Or perhaps I was just remembering the vampire.

Well, now I’ve done it. If you watch the movie, you’ll be staring at George Zucco thinking he’s the villain. Or is he? Or isn’t he? I will neither confirm nor deny.

Another character I liked was the cop, a young man who I thought was better looking than the hero. If I’d have been the heiress, I’d have fallen for him. He’s not your typical dumb cop, either. He’s usually a step ahead of our hero, although still a step behind the murderer (I guess it would have been a short movie otherwise).

Of course I was sorry to be watching a movie about a boy reporter and not an intrepid girl reporter. You know how I love those. I perked up when I saw in the credits that Dorothy Kilgallen has a role. Kilgallen was a real life intrepid female reporter (don’t feel right calling her “girl,” although it is OK for movie characters, if you see what I mean). In this movie she is a sob sister with a small but pivotal role.

On the whole, I enjoyed the movie. The plot is convoluted enough to make it interesting. There is no shortage of suspects and if the solution is a little “Waaait a minute,” who am I to quibble? For one thing, to raise my quibble I would need to tell you the solution, and you know how I hate to do that.

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