Sometimes girls just wanna have fun--even when they're anchoring the news.
When I first saw this video, it made me happy. But not in the way you might think. Watching the ladies do their thing was fun. What made me happy, though, was vindication, that feeling you get when you find out you were right after all. Since I hate to say, "I told you so," I wont.
But I will say this. Back when I anchored TV news -- and it was a while ago -- the higher-ups brought in consultants who pushed a concept called the "happy talk" format. This was light chit-chat between segments, which sometimes rose to the level of repartee, but not often. I wanted to live in an ideal world back then, not the real one. So with all the self-righteousness of Martin Luther tacking his 95 Theses to the cathedral door, I resigned from the news business and wrote an essay saying why. The essay was eventually published in a textbook and taught for a while in college classrooms. But the only "reformation" to come out of it occurred within me.
Over the years, the consultants have come up with other ways to jump-start flagging newscast ratings, since merely delivering information was not enough to hold the public's attention. If you've been near a TV set when the news was on, you already know what I mean. Reporters jumping from airplanes. Confessing to past sins. Weeping on air. Becoming the news instead of presenting it.
But what you see in this viral video featuring newscasters in Memphis, Tennessee, is the best move yet. Nearly three million "hits" within 36 hours. Coverage in Cosmopolitan online. Why didn't anyone think of this before?
I predict the woman in the purple dress will soon resign her job as co-anchor to become a Hollywood actress. She will star in a remake of Lost Horizon called Quan Yin, which will be completely innocent of any other meaning Quan Yin might have. The movie will flop. But this viral video will live on. I also predict a slew of copycats coming to a screen near you. Other newscasters have already posted their versions of this so-called "Hit the Quan Challenge." (If you do not yet know what "Quan" is, a trip the Urban Dictionary will prove most enlightening.)
When the consultants first invaded the news department where I worked and told us every newscast must have an animal, a fire, and no politics unless the "governor was caught on tape screwing his secretary," one of my colleagues, an award-winning journalist, asked, "How low can they go?"
Now we know the answer. Happy Talk News has become Happy Feet News.
Keep your seat, Mr. Sondheim. There's no need for clowns. Just bring on the penguins. And fear not. This is not the beginning of the end of broadcast journalism: that happened a long time ago.
(Spoiler Alert. If you haven't seen the movie, stop reading now.)
Boy meets girl. Boy loses girl. Boy gets girl back again. It’s the formula for a happy ending. Even Romeo and Juliet are united again in death. It’s what audiences look for, one of the time-worn traditions of classic storytelling - something we find ourselves hoping for even when we know better. There’s something in us that believes in love. That love will find a way. That somehow or another, things will work out. Never mind that Thomas Moore called romantic love an illusion. Or that Nietzsche considered it an unsatisfactory basis for lasting relationship. We know better. Take away love—and life sucks.
Which is why Whiplash—wonderful as it is—winds up being a bit of a downer. The abusive character played by Oscar-winning J. K. Simmons calls to mind a similarly abusive figure played by Lou Gossett, Jr., in An Officer and a Gentleman years earlier. The young drummer of Whiplash reminds us of the young Richard Gere trying to make something of himself, to move past the father’s failures and to become if not his own father (in the words of Ralph Ellison) at least his own best self. But first the metaphorical apprentice knight of these twin stories must deal with two obstacles—the abusive mentor and a girl from the lower stratum. In the military film, Debra Winger is one of the local townsfolk. In the jazz movie, Melissa Benoist attends “lowly” Fordham University instead of the most prestigious musical conservatory in the country and has no idea what she wants to major in.
It is one thing to find an abusive drill sergeant in a military film, and quite another to see such an unlovable character in a film about art. Except the brief appearance of an African-American female attorney and two non-speaking female characters in Whiplash, Melissa Benoist must carry the feminine for that film. And even she is banished as the main character decides to go it alone against the so-called mentor whose abuse may have contributed to the eventual suicide of a former student.
The triumphant ending of Whiplash leaves one feeling a bit odd, however. The final wordless exchange between teacher and student is unsettling. Even though he has proved himself beyond "measure" in that final solo, his eyes say all. Despite the teachers’ harrowing cruelty, those eyes still seek his approval. Succor of any kind—be it from loving father or willing girlfriend—is denied in favor of this ugly man’s affirmation.
In An Officer and a Gentleman, the hero manages to make the grade and get the girl. By the end of Whiplash, Melissa Benoist is gone. Art is lonely. But it must not be loveless. There is, arguably, a moment of transcendence at the end of Whiplash. It seems fleeting, though, and devoid of the self-assurance that ought to come from such an episode. Also, the film’s ending seems to justify the relentless abuse—and the teacher’s argument that he did it to push his students toward the greatness that came out of “Bird” after Jo Jones once threw a cymbal at the teenaged Charlie Parker.
The film tells us that there is no room for the girl when a man seeks to find his way to greatness. And that message is malarkey. This film knows nothing of Ariadne’s thread and has never heard the testimony of Portia in The Merchant of Venice. It tells us that some men can do without the feminine on the road to greatness. And it leaves us with a boy who does some really great drumming. But looking at that last wordless exchange at the end of the film, we see that he is a long, long way from becoming a great artist.
Here are three clips worth noting. Let's begin with break-up scene from Whiplash, followed by two versions of Duke Ellington's "Caravan," which figures prominently in the film. The first is the final solo from the movie. The second is the classic solo from the cymbal-throwing Jo Jones. If you were a drum, which drummer would you prefer?
If you are interested in the assassination of Mohandas Gandhi, which occurred on this day in 1948, you must look elsewhere. Go to that other place for blogging about the rise of Hitler (1/30/1933) or the ritual execution of Oliver Cromwell in 1661. There was other tragedy too, which occurred in Northern Ireland, on this day in 1972, when British Paratroopers opened fire and killed 1400 unarmed civil-rights marchers in Derry, Northern Ireland. Let it be noted that evil occurs in the world. That it cannot be ignored. But let it not be something upon which we dwell or nourish within our inner garden. Let it not be the thing we think too much on. Or grow with our mind's attention to it. Let it not be. Or rather, Let It Be.
Which brings us to the point of another noteworthy event that occurred on January 30, 1969. If you read the headline, you already know. There's something about that final Beatles concert that calls to mind unforgettable dialogue from Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Ernest. Found? In a handbag? At a train station? Well, it was a rooftop this time. And when you check the video below, you'll see the incredulity of Wilde's dialogue written on the faces of London police. The Beatles may seem mild by today's standards, but in 1969, they were some bad-ass musicians. After the police shut down the concert, John Lennon said, "I’d like to say ‘Thank you’ on behalf of the group and ourselves and I hope we passed the audition.”
Here then is a three minute clip from the final concert, followed by 35 minutes of audio, followed by two clips from Julie Taymor's paean to the Fab Four, the rooftop scene in Across the Universe.
Can One Song Honor the Memory of the Challenger & Also Our Connection to Henry VIII, Jackson Pollock & Alan Alda?
January 28. This date has all the earmarks of a constellation within which individual stars compete with one another for our attention. It's the anniversary of the tragic Challenger space-shuttle explosion in 1986. King Henry VIII died on this day in 1547. Colette was born. So were painters Jackson Pollock and Alice Neel. Alan Alda, Sarah McLachlan, and Nicolas Sarkozy also have birthdays today. On January 28, 1813, Jane Austen published Pride and Prejudice. One could wax eloquent on each of these -- if only there were time and space to do so.
Suffice it then to mark this day with a song that seems to encompass them all. It was on this day in 1985 that a bunch of musicians got together to record U.S.A. For Africa's "We Are the World."
There have been other versions through the years, each with its own take on a familiar theme. Regardless of how the song and its imitations may seem in hindsight, one has to admit that it bears the mark of poetic truth. Perhaps that is why it has struck a chord with more than 34 million viewers on YouTube alone, to say nothing of the millions more who have downloaded it on iTunes or purchased a jewel-cased CD. It carries a message that can never be stated only once, finally and forever. Maybe that message is what the world's religions, each in its own way, have all been striving for all along. That we recognize our connectedness to one another -- and love the world as ourselves. Since, as the poet tells us, no man is an island. We are each a piece of the continent, a part of the main.
Who knew as early as January 16th that 1938 would see Hitler invade Austria, Japan declare war on China, or General Franco declare victory in the Spanish Civil War? There was nothing in the stars to indicate the arrival later that year of Superman, Bugs Bunny, and the first use of a seeing-eye dog. Nor perhaps did anyone realize the Fair Labor Standards Act would get rid of child labor that year and make the 40-hour work week the national standard throughout the United States.
Those were all history-making events. But so was Benny Goodman's appearance at Carnegie Hall on January 16th of that year. Already famous as the "King of Swing," even he had not conquered the legendary hall, which was then home to the New York Philharmonic Orchestra under the leadership of the renowned Arturo Toscanini. When the idea was first brought to him several months earlier, Goodman laughed out loud. It was unthinkable that the august venue of classical music might also find an audience for jazz. Although often referred to as "America's classical music," jazz was nevertheless seen as low brow and undignified.
When he succeeded in bringing jazz to Carnegie Hall that year, Goodman broke down the barrier between the classes - for a while at least.
The concert was a raging, history-making success. Goodman's orchestra included Gene Krupa, Count Basie, Lester Young, Harry James, Johnny Hodges, and Lionel Hampton. Many of them are easily identifiable in the video clip below, which serves up the exceptional Goodman hit, "Sing, Sing, Sing," inter-cut with still images that reveal the life of the time. It all seems archaic now, but the music in this clip steps outside of time to become something memorable. It may be jazz, but it's undeniably classic.
Of the many items worth noting today, the farewell concert of the Supremes is probably not the most important. After all, Nobel Laureate Albert Schweitzer was born. So was Benedict Arnold. George Wallace, who figured so prominently as an obstacle to civil rights then reversed himself years later, was inaugurated as Alabama's governor on this day in 1963. With the help of John Adams, James Madison, and Thomas Jefferson, the Treaty of Paris was ratified in 1784. And on this day in 1954, Marilyn Monroe married Joe DiMaggio.
But the story of the Supremes is what caught my attention today, perhaps because it is as sad as it is glitteringly remarkable. It evokes all the Gatsby-like longing that must have propelled those three young girls from the Detroit Housing Projects into one of the most successful musical trios in history.
They had 12 #1 hits in the first full decade of the rock-and-roll era, which places them behind only Elvis and the Beatles in terms of chart dominance. They helped define the very sound of the 60s, but like fellow icons the Beatles and Simon and Garfunkel, they came apart in the first year of the 70s. The curtain closed for good on Diana Ross and the Supremes on January 14, 1970, at the Frontier Hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada.
The farewell concert in Vegas was the final act in a drawn-out breakup that didn't become official until November 1969, but probably became inevitable in July 1967, when Motown Records chief Berry Gordy gave Diana Ross top billing over the Supremes. That move clearly signaled Gordy's intention to launch Diana on a solo career—something he may have had in mind from the moment he upgraded her first name from "Diane" and upstaged her fellow Supremes by making Diana the group's official lead singer.
To mark the day, here is a Storify slide-presentation with some of the group's best-loved performances. It includes the Barbara Walters interview with Diana Ross, which has all the earmarks of a legal threat lurking in the background following ABC's interview with an embittered Mary Wilson. The Oprah interview with Diana some years later is also in the line-up, along with a two-part Mary Wilson interview, a couple of live performances, and quite a few photos from back in the day, which come to us by way of Twitter.
For the nostalgic, a selective list of their hit songs might put the whole story in capsulized context. The curtain would open as the Supremes, still in the projects, sing, "There's a Place for Us (Somewhere)," followed by "Stop in the Name of Love," "Where Did Our Love Go," and the missed opportunity for reunion discussed during the Barbara Walters interview -- "Someday We'll Be Together." Alas, it was never to be. And yet, one could always end their story with the same longing that began it - which is what you will find on the last slide below as they sing, "To Dream The Impossible Dream."
Ladies and Gentlemen, The Supremes...
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