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Tuesday, May 8, 2018

The Writer's Life 5/8 - The Lifelong Learning Process

Every so often I'm reminded of past personal stupidity. Last night it happened again. Movies!, channel 113 on Cablevision in NYC, ran John Wayne's last film, The Shootist (1976). At that time my political views were liberal and I boycotted anything to do with the conservative American icon, even his Oscar-winning performance in True Grit (1969), which I finally viewed in the past decade. Through the years I became more and more conservative and began appreciating Charlton Heston, whose views had once turned me off to the point that I believed he was a hack. My
narrow-mindedness extended into the '90's when I sniffed at anyone who suggested I watch Seinfeld. I did not realize its genius until it was well into syndication, and I've since not said anything negative about other sitcoms, although I still do not watch any. These days I fall asleep to Seinfeld almost every night. Even though I've seen every episode countless times, it is still the best alternative at eleven PM. Anyway, back to The Shootist. While it falls short of greatness, it is a fine film with an incredible cast: Lauren Bacall, Ron Howard, Jimmy Stewart, Richard Boone, Hugh O'Brian, Bill McKinney, Harry Morgan, John Carradine (perfectly cast as an undertaker), Scatman Crothers and Sheree North. The plot is simple: an aging gunfighter learns he has cancer and wants to go out with dignity. Throughout the narrative people want a piece of him, literally and figuratively. Harry Morgan is a riot as the gleeful marshal eagerly awaiting the gunslinger's demise, as unusual a part as there's ever been. Contrary to the myth, Wayne was not terminally ill during the shoot. He lived until 1979. The movie was directed by Don Siegel, who had a great run but is not mentioned among the all-time greats. Although he will chiefly be remembered for The Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956), his entire canon is solid. Other notable features are one of the few serious Elvis films, Flaming Star (1960) and The Killers (1964), the remake of the 1946 classic based on the Ernest Hemingway short story, which cast Ronald Reagan as the villain. It was Dutch's last silver screen appearance. He did a few episodes of Death Valley Days in '65. Like Wayne, he went out on top. The Shootist was adapted from a novel by Glendon Swarthout by his son Miles Hood Swarthout and Scott Hale. I hope I've left major stupidity behind. Of course, there isn't much anyone can do about what the aging process does to our faculties. Although I no longer boycott works by artists who views I despise, the likes of Alec Baldwin, Rosie O'Donnell and Barbra Streisand would have to be in something that is universally praised to motivate me to watch it. Here's a still of Duke and Bacall:


What a day in politics. President Trump has withdrawn the U.S. from the Iran deal, and NY's Attorney General, Eric Schneiderman, has resigned in disgrace, accused of abusing women. The left is outraged by the former. I suppose Iran will now shout "Double death to America." Too bad the billions sent their way will not be returned. As for the latter, only the most partisan did not see that he is truly a creep.

I doubt I ever said a word in high school to Roni, a retired NYPD officer, lesbian, I've friended on Facebook. Our graduating class at the height of the baby boom in '67 was nearly 1500. Anyway, she posted something the other day and I commented  "Bite your tongue." She responded something like: "Never. That would ruin my love life. LOL." Kudos. I wonder if that will find its way into one of my last two novels.

It was a quiet day at the floating book shop, proving once again that gorgeous weather does not inspire brisk sales. My thanks to the gentleman who bought the thriller The Book of the Dead by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child.

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