The Brooklyn Botanic Garden is in its fourth year of what appears to be an ongoing annual holiday tradition: Lightscape.
Every year multiple artists create extravagant lightfilled sculptures and lightshows within and inspired by the landscapes of the BBG. Every year features original works, but the popular Winter Cathedral always gets a return performance.
An annotated bird’s eye view of NYC’s best borough.
After we took off from New York City’s La Guardia airport on our Thanksgiving trip, the plane flew over the city and I got this great view of Brooklyn, my home borough. I was facing southeast when I took this picture.
At the left bottom of the photo you can see the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges side by side leading from Manhattan into Brooklyn’s DUMBO neighborhood, with Brooklyn Heights to the right of Brooklyn Bridge.
In the center rise the skyscrapers of Downtown Brooklyn, with Fort Greene and Clinton Hill spreading out behind in the left upper corner of the photo.
Circling around clockwise, at top center lies Prospect Heights, and in the top right corner you find Prospect Park.
Sloping just below Prospect Park lies Park Slope (my neighborhood) – you can actually see it slightly sloping down from the park, and the diagonal swath Flatbush Avenue cuts from Downtown Brooklyn towards Park Slope, dividing Prospect Heights from Park Slope.
Center right just below Park Slope lie Boerum Heights and Gowanus, and below that, right of Brooklyn Heights along the piers of the East River, you find Carroll Gardens.
Returning to the city after Thanksgiving I got a few more views of Brooklyn.
Here is Coney Island, with the Breezy Point tip of Far Rockaway out behind it in the water. The bulging part of Coney Island at right is called Seagate.
Up front lies Prospect Park, with Prospect Lefferts Gardens behind it, and East Flatbush and Canarsie spreading out further behind.
JFK airport sits in the center of this picture, but technically that is Queens, not Brooklyn.
When a very faithful adaptation gets an award for originality…
Recently my first Edgar Allan Poe musical short film adaptation “The Tell-Tale Heart – a musicabre” received an award for Best Original Screenplay from the East Village New York Film Festival.
Which was unusual. Not just because it was awarded by a film festival even though this film concluded its official festival run several years ago (East Village New York New York Film Festival invited me to submit for free, and since they had only just played and awarded my second Poe adaptation “The Pit and the Pendulum – a musicabre“, I submitted Tell-Tale).
An award in general was not unusual either. Tell-Tale has received over 60 awards, if I may so immodestly point out. No, what is unusual is the award category: original screenplay. After all “The Tell-Tale Heart – a musicabre” is an adaptation of the famous Edgar Allan Poe short story. Many awards bodies give out screenplay awards for “original screenplay” and “adapted screenplay”, and in that case “The Tell-Tale Heart – a musicabre” clearly would fall into the “adapted” category.
But East Village New York New York Film Festival gave out just one screenplay award (plus three honorable mentions) and I am very pleased to have received it … except for the awkward addition of the “original” adjective.
You see, I pride myself on how not original the screenplay to “The Tell-Tale Heart – a musicabre” is. By which I mean I pride myself on how almost every word of Edgar Allan Poe’s short story is faithfully carried over into my musical adaptation.
Wait, almost? What do I mean by almost?
Okay, one sentence has been modified. “I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth” got changed to “I heard all things in heaven. I heard all things on earth” because doing so helped me develop an important musical theme.
Another sentence, “You should have seen how wisely I proceeded — with what caution — with what foresight” gets repeated multiple times, and for the sake of variety gets its key words like “wisely” and “foresight” replaced with synonyms like “deftly” and “prudence” with each repeat.
Some other key sentences like “True, nervous, very very dreadfully nervous” also get repeated in my adaptation, returning in later sections of the libretto like an interrupting nervous tic.
And every now and then a “can not” becomes a “can’t” for easier rhythmic rendering of fast passages.
But that’s it. The vast majority of Poe’s text is rendered just as he wrote it, and I am proud of that.
It makes the many times I have been awarded for my music even sweeter to me, since it is perhaps even more notable to successfully musically render text not originally intended as musical libretto or song lyrics – if I may so immodestly pat myself on the shoulder again.
But you may now see why I feel rather conflicted for being awarded for screenplay originality since I take such pride in how closely and faithfully I managed to appropriated Poe’s text as Poe wrote it.
The same internal handwringing bedeviled me when I originally performed “The Tell-Tale Heart – a musicabre” as a one man stage show at the New York Fringe Festival … and won the award for outstanding music and lyrics.
The music was all do to me, and I felt honored to be awarded for it.
But the lyrics? Except for those few synonyms and that paraphrase, well, the lyrics are all Edgar Allan Poe’s really. I made some additional creative choices, perhaps, when deciding what parts were to be sung and what parts were to be spoken, but even that is more a choice of music composition, not lyric writing.
In a way, being awarded for lyrics of which 99% I most certainly didn’t write myself is even more difficult for me to accept than a screenplay award. After all the screenplay is not just about the words, it is also the document that spells out exactly how the story will be transcribed into the medium of film – camera angles, set design, visual effects decisions – all that and more was delineated in the screenplay. The script visualized the film in advance.
But it was still an adaptation of Poe, not an original screenplay…
Oh well, I probably should just get over myself, say thank you for the award, and let it be.
Last month we took in a variety of LGBTQ films via the Newfest film festival. Some higher profile films like “Emilia Pérez” and “Bird”, which I saw in Cannes and just loved, are already playing on Netflix or theaters respectively.
But here are some truly fine films we caught at Newfest that have not gotten much press attention (as far as I can tell). I highly recommend you check them out when they become available for viewing in theaters or streaming platforms:
Out
“Out”, co-written and directed by Dennis Alink, is clearly informed by true-life experiences, telling of two young men, secret lovers in the conservative small town in the Netherlands, and how their relationship and sense of self evolve once they are accepted into film school and experience the freedoms and fault lines of contemporary gay life in Amsterdam. Beautiful black and white cinematography sensually envelops a nuanced, sensitively told coming-of-age tale.
The Queen of My Dreams
“The Queen of My Dreams”, written and directed by Fawzia Mirza, also appears to be autobiographically inspired; it brims with well observed/remembered details. This comedy/drama about the lives of several generations of Pakistani women, specifically a lesbian grad student living in Toronto and her initially rebellious but later conservative immigrant mother, jumps back in forth between decades of time and Canada and Pakistan and delights our senses with rich story, told with strong performances and vibrant musical and visual splendor.
A House is Not a Disco
“A House is Not a Disco” is a great title, but would you guess from it that this film is a documentary about the historic gay getaway Fire Island? That is my only quibble with this very well made doc (Director: Brian J. Smith) that packs decades of history in a brisk 90 minutes, covering all bases you’d expect, the gay haven of it all, the sex, the parties, the social tensions surrounding race, economics and drag/trans issues, the Aids epidemic, as well as bases you may not expect, like the impact of Climate Change on the island. Seek this one out before or after rewatching the hilarious “Fire Island” on Hulu, which wittily comments on some of the aspects of Fire Island life examined in this well researched and edited documentary.
1986 I attended Cyndi Lauper’s True Colors tour Madison Square Garden performance. Almost 40 years later she (and I) returned to MSG for the Girls Just Want to Have Fun Farewell Tour concert.
My phone gave me trouble, not allowing me to take as many pics and clips as I wanted, but there’s still a sweet enough collection of impressions to make you feel (or wish) you were there.
Before the show, lyrics from some of her hits were projected on the screens behind the stage.
The Garden was a sold out.
In addition to retired sports hero numbers, banners proclaim record number of performances rock stars have played the arena. Harry Styles’ 15 is impressive but still dwarfed by a factor of 10 by Billy Joel.
Elle King was the warm-up act.
Then, after a short break, a montage sequence on the video screens announced the start of Cyndi Lauper’s performance.
She started with “She Bop”
Being limited by my temperamental phone on what I could record, the clips will be heavier on banter than singing. The songs you can listen to at home, the banter is unique to the concert.
Officially the film’s festival run concluded last November, but I received a nice surprise in my email inbox courtesy of the East Village New York Film Festival, asking whether they could program the film in their Monthly Movie Night series this October.
So, come on down to the East Village this Sunday for one more chance to catch the music, the madness, and the mirror masks of “The Pit and the Pendulum – a musicabre” with a crowd in a theater. I’ll be there too.
Time: Sunday, November 3, 10pm.
Place: Under St. Marks, 94 St. Marks Place between 1st Avenue and Avenue A
Cy was a bit of a bore, and Rothko rather withholding, but that Jackson, now he had a mind, he was fascinating, if out of his gourd…
The 11th installment in the cartoon caption series (find all the others here). Still finding inspiration in the Planet of the Apes movies for my sequel titles, but now mining the original series…
This round a lot of captions rely on what some may consider arcane references. But Ed and I at least are amused…
It turns out there is a whole wide world beyond this bowl.
Just wait til you meet the rooster, dog and horse hidden beneath all this.
… Is this the little boy at play?
Ed’s parents and aunts and uncles would always sing this song at weddings, including ours… (remember what I said about arcane references?)
The exhibit of contemporary Brooklyn artists currently showing at the Brooklyn Museum is resplendent with imagination and diversity, technically and aesthetically. Here is a sample of the highlights.
“Mother Sky” – David Shaw
“Game of Crazy Eights” – Rick Secen
“Pacific” – Timothy Paul Myers / Behind at left:”Ubuntu” – Haoua Habré
“Corona Shelter, Prospect Park” – Stanley Greenberg
“THHT THHT: Block Scientist / Namespell Du U” – Soull Ogun
“Suite 2412” – Josh Sucher
“fin boy flay” – Geoffrey Chadsey
“Table-Top Arrangement” – Anthony Goicolea
“Every dotted Goodbye every distant hello” – Aisha Tandiwe Bell
This Spring I was enjoying a sprawling exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum featuring select works of many African and African-American artists, when I came upon this photo of Ingrid Bergman. A photo that by itself vibrates with meaning and emotion. But learning when and where it was taken the picture takes on even greater resonance, speaking eloquently in one image to the most fraught time in the classic Hollywood movie star’s life.
The photo was taken by Gordon Parks, famous African-American photo-journalist, known in part for his glamorous shots of celebrities, but most celebrated for his photojournalism chronicling civil rights, poverty and African Americans from 1940 – 1970. I will share more of his great work below.
Yes, I am aware of the irony or indelicacy that in an exhibit full of African-(American) art mostly illustrating African-(American) experience, the item that so struck me I choose to post a blog piece about it is the photo of the blonde Swedish Hollywood Golden Age actress.
But for me this one photo in one candid image brilliantly encapsulates one of the most dramatic scandals in Hollywood history, a scandal that resonated for so long that when I was told about it as a child by my matronly babysitter 25 years later, the thrill of the scandal and emotions of it all still seemed fresh.
You see, Gordon Parks took this photo of Ingrid Bergman 1950 on the set of Roberto Rossellini’s movie “Stromboli” in Italy. It was the movie that brought Ingrid and Roberto together, they had an affair and she became pregnant. She was married at the time, her husband Petter Lindström and child (the future NY TV journalist Pia Lindström) awaiting her return in America.
The scandal was enormous. Ingrid Bergman was denounced on the floor of the United States Senate. She was exiled from Hollywood for several years. Petter Lindström sued her for desertion and custody of their daughter (Pia would not see her mother for seven years).
Ingrid Bergman would end up staying in Italy, marrying Rossellini and having three children with him (including the actress Isabella Rossellini). She made several movies with him and other European directors. She would not act in an American film production for seven years. When she finally did return to the US, there were fans at the airport with placards proclaiming “We forgive you, Ingrid”.
Which is just one indication of how fraught the whole affair was for the public during the repressive 1950s.
Which take me back to this photo, taken on the set of “Stromboli”. I don’t know if it was taken before or after Ingrid Bergman and Roberto Rossellini started their affair. Or if after, if the affair had already been made public.
But if the photo doesn’t fully fit the timeline of “The Bergman Affair” and the massive world-wide condemnation from moral scolds that ensued, it certainly evokes that history.
Ingrid, beautiful but wary, head tilted defensively back to a trio of conservatively attired Italian women, all staring at her, the lack of lens focus on their faces making them appear like haunting masks of quiet condemnation.
Ingrid Bergman on the set of “Stromboli”. A photo that speaks volumes about what she was and would be experiencing at this time – far more so than what might even have been possible to know when the picture was actually taken. A moment of photojournalistic serendipity.
And now more of Gordon Parks work from the exhibition:
Above is a bowl of paw paws, the only North American tropical fruit. You won’t find it the grocery store, because it so easily bruises it is considered unmarketable. It also only ripens on the tree, and then must be eaten or frozen within a few days.
When we moved into our home in Brooklyn, Ed and I had a back yard garden to cultivate. Ed is the green thumb between us two, but I was given the gardening catalog and told to choose at least one plant. I read about the paw paw, and that it tasted like banana custard. And that it is not sold at market. The only way to enjoy the exquisite paw paw is to plant the trees yourself.
I really wanted to taste the elusive paw paw, so we planted two trees. You need two so they can cross pollinate.
This is what the ripe paw paw looks like when you cut it open. Rich yellow flesh, with a consistency somewhere between a mango and a banana. It’s chock full of vitamins and minerals. And yes, it tastes like banana custard.
The green skin is thin and leathery. The seeds are hard and brown and shaped like buttons. You eat neither, only the abundant yellow flesh. Best to cut the fruit in quarters, bite in and work the pits off the flesh in your mouth, spitting them out while enjoying the banana custard flavored richness.
In addition to eating paw paw, you can turn it into many delectable treats. Ed makes paw paw juice. It’s a rich pulpy nectar.
Ed also makes paw paw smoothies. Those are my favorite. Ed usually adds vanilla yoghurt. And sometimes rum or tequila (yum!). Or fresh mint, like in this case. It’s often so thick you need a spoon.
Other treats are paw paw ice cream (very popular with the family at Thanksgiving), paw paw cookies, and – pictured here – paw paw pâte de fruit. Ed modified a raspberry pâte de fruit recipe to concoct these tasty treats.
September is harvest time. That bowl represents a daily haul on the heavy days, although we also had one day where we collected two such bowlfuls.
Here you can see where we planted the two paw paw trees in our backyard. They are in the back left and back right corners. These trees are about 30 years old now. When they arrived for planting, we received three year old plants. We didn’t learn until after planting that paw paw trees don’t bear fruit until they are 10 years old.
So we had to wait a while before we could finally taste the elusive paw paw.
Notes from a Composer 