gwynnega

I am hennaing my hair in the midst of a heat wave. (It was supposed to be 97F today, but it's 101.) On the bright side, I will be at Readercon during next weekend's LA heat wave. Meanwhile, I have air conditioning and cool henna on my head. And tonight is James Whale night on TCM!

It is Henna Day, on the warmest, sunniest day we've had in awhile. (We're supposed to get more rain and cool temps this week.)

Yesterday I saw the long-awaited Hidden Figures at my local movie theater. It made me cry a few times. As Lisa Bolekaja said on Twitter, the film "shows how racism (plus sexism sprinkled in) holds America back. Although a historical drama, it's really talking to 2017." The film seems more necessary than ever just now, with Trump's inauguration (I can barely type the words) less than two weeks away.

I am hennaing my hair on a warm Los Angeles afternoon. We had a few lovely fall-esque days. Now another heat wave looms. We'll probably have a few of those before actual autumn sets in.

The other night I watched Tomorrow, the World! (1944) on TCM. I joked that it's "The Bad Seed, Hitler Youth edition," but the two films have some striking parallels. Both are based on Broadway shows; both feature electrifying performances by child actors recreating their Broadway roles; both center around "bad" kids. Unlike Patty McCormack's Rhoda, Skip Homeier's Emil wasn't "born bad"; a German war orphan whose father died opposing the Nazis, Emil has been thoroughly steeped in Nazi ideology (including a giant helping of misogyny). He comes to live with his American uncle, a university professor (played in the film by Fredric March; Ralph Bellamy played him in the Broadway production). When Emil learns his uncle's fiancée is Jewish, he remarks, "That is...regrettable," and things go downhill from there, as he wreaks havoc at home, school, and in the neighborhood. Emil is clever and calculating, both mature beyond his years and an insufferable brat; his repudiation of his father masks a grief he's stuffed so far down, it seems nearly irretrievable. The film hinges upon Homeier's performance, and it's a remarkable one. (It doesn't look like the film is available on DVD, but it's showing on TCM On Demand through September 23.)

It is Henna Day, and we're having another heat wave. Tomorrow I'm going to see Planet of the Apes (1968) on a big screen. I've never seen any of the original series of films in a theater, and I would love to see the whole series that way (except perhaps Beneath the Planet of the Apes, which I have a grudge on because it features a different actor than Roddy McDowall as Cornelius).

I'm trying not to be entirely consumed by politics, but it isn't easy these days.

I am hennaing my hair on a cool May day in Los Angeles. WisCon fast approaches, and I have So Much To Do. Fortunately, some of what I have to do involves watching Jane the Virgin for a panel.

Last night I was watching The Incredible Shrinking Man yet again, and I consulted Cinema Cats to find out about the cat that appears in the film. I was pleased to learn that the cat who menaces the Shrinking Man is none other than veteran cat actor Orangey!

I am hennaing my hair a day early, as tomorrow we're supposed to have a storm (after a few weeks of bone-dry, unseasonably warm weather). Since the last time we had a big storm, my power went out, I figured it would be best to get Henna Day over with ahead of time, just in case. I hope the power stays on this time.

Later I will get back to reading Elena Ferrante's The Story of a New Name, which I am loving.

(Also, I am still obsessed with Hamilton.)

It is the final Henna Day of 2015, as the year rockets towards its conclusion. It's a chilly day (by LA standards), so I've had to crank the heat to offset the cold, wet henna on my head.

Here, have a Hanukkah song by Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings.

It is Henna Day, on a mild, overcast afternoon. We have had heat waves galore, but now Los Angeles seems to be contemplating autumn at last. (It does this every October here; it is annoying every year.)

Since it's October, I've been enjoying TCM's Friday night horror marathons. This Friday they focused on Scary Kids. They showed (along with classics of the genre The Bad Seed and Village of the Damned), a couple of films I'd never seen: The Nanny (1965) and Children of the Damned (1964).

All I knew about The Nanny was that it was one of Bette Davis's 1960s horror outings. I hadn't realized it was a Hammer film (written and produced by the awesomely named Johnny Sangster!). It's a battle of wits between a 10-year-old boy and his nanny; he claims she killed his sister and is planning to kill him, but he's given to playing nasty practical jokes and may well be the dangerous one. The film kept me guessing almost until the end. Extremely well done.

I had expected that the sequel to Village of the Damned would feature another bevy of blond children, but to my surprise Children of the Damned's superintelligent telepaths hail from various parts of the globe (China, India, Nigeria, the Soviet Union, the USA, and England), so we actually get a multiethnic cast of kids in 1964. The children are a lot more sympathetic than in the first film, only using violence in self-defense, but swirling Cold War paranoia makes a peaceful outcome impossible.

TCM also showed the beautiful The Curse of the Cat People (1944), though it does not qualify as a scary kid film: the little girl protagonist is adorable and (aside maybe from Roddy McDowall's childhood roles) is the movie child I would most like to give a hug. This film affects me more each time I see it, to the point that I need to be armed with Kleenex when I watch it.

It is Henna Day, and I am bracing for the heat wave we're supposed to have this week. I am heartily tired of heat waves, and if I could make autumn happen in LA before late October, I would.

I'm relieved that the Puppies were shut out of the Hugo Awards, but frustrated that so many good authors were shut out as a result of their shenanigans (especially the authors in their second year of Campbell eligibility). I was pleased to see a novel in translation winning for Best Novel.

I really hope the Puppy shenanigans don't happen again next year.

It is Henna Day, on a summer afternoon in Los Angeles. I'm not thrilled with the hot weather, but oh well.

Readercon is less than two weeks away, and here is my schedule!

Friday July 11

1:00 PM
The Works of Joanna Russ.
Gwynne Garfinkle, David G. Hartwell, Barbara Krasnoff (moderator), Scott Lynch.

Joanna Russ (1937–2011) was, arguably, the most influential writer of feminist science fiction the field has ever seen. In addition to her classic The Female Man (1975), her novels include Picnic on Paradise (1968), We Who are About to… (1977), and The Two Of Them (1978). Her short fiction is collected in The Adventures of Alyx (1976), The Zanzibar Cat (1983), (Extra)Ordinary People (1984), and The Hidden Side of the Moon (1987). She was also a distinguished critic of science fiction; her books include The Country You Have Never Seen: Essays and Reviews (2007). Of her works outside the SF field, she is perhaps best known for How to Suppress Women’s Writing (1983). Join us to discuss her works.

4:00 PM
Joanna Russ: Critical Importance Then and Now.
Gwynne Garfinkle, Lila Garrott (leader), David G. Hartwell, Barbara Krasnoff.

How has the importance of Joanna Russ's critical work changed over time, and in what ways? Younger writers and readers are still discovering How to Supress Women's Writing and finding that it resonates, but what of her other work? We'll discuss the writers she's influenced, the availability of her nonfiction, and the resonance of her work today.

7:00 PM Reading: Gwynne Garfinkle. Gwynne Garfinkle reads from an ongoing series of poems inspired by classic films, TV, and pop culture.

Sunday July 13

1:00 PM
A Visit from the Context Fairy.
Kythryne Aisling, Stacey Friedberg, Gwynne Garfinkle, Kate Nepveu, Sonya Taaffe.

In a blog post at Book View Café, Sherwood Smith writes about the opposite of visits from the "Suck Fairy": going back to a book you disliked and finding that the "Win Fairy" (to coin a term) improved it when you weren't looking. Are the Suck Fairy and the Win Fairy really two faces of a unified Context Fairy? If context is so crucial to loving or hating a work, how does acknowledging that affect the way a reader approaches reading, or a writer approaches writing? How does one's hope for or dread of the Context Fairy influence decisions to reread, rewrite, revise or otherwise revisit a written work?