Books, Films, More
Charles Bukowski is considered an honorary Beat Generation writer, although he never associated with Kerouac, Ginsberg and the rest. Born Heinrich Karl Bukowski in Germany to a GI-expat and a local girl, he was a prolific poet who also wrote six novels and scores of short stories. I just finished his first novel, Post Office, published in 1971. It details the experiences of working for that branch of government, for which Bukowski toiled twelve years, usually while hungover, mostly through the ‘60’s. His alter ego, Henry Chinaski is also a womanizer and horse player, although he does not lack compassion. He describes himself as “… a guy who had worked in slaughterhouses, who had crossed the country with a railroad gang, who had worked in a dog biscuit factory, who had slept on park benches, who had worked the nickel and dime jobs in a dozen cities across the nation.” The writing is breezy, eminently readable. Given all that has followed in the arts since the book’s debut, the language and incidents are no longer shocking. The only aspect some would find offensive in these overly sensitive times is the attitude toward women. I love this line about a fortyish woman the protagonist has impregnated: “The old gal was only another lonely creature in a world that didn’t care.” The biggest surprise is how hard postal employees were driven back then. Maybe that was unique to the west coast. I used to laugh when my friend’s dad often caught a movie before going back to the office to punch out, and how others had noon tee times every day. There is no mention of the alter ego’s writing until the final two lines: “Maybe I’ll write a novel, I thought. And I did.” That is circa 1970. Bukowski was published in small press magazines beginning in the mid ‘40’s, thousands of poems and short stories accepted. Classified 4-F during WWII, he was not drafted, failing a psychological exam. 3244 users at Amazon have rated Post Office, forging to a consensus of 4.5 on a scale of five. I’ll go with three. The 196 pages read like considerably less. I skipped half of the eight pages devoted to the disciplinary letters he received from supervisors. Scores of books bear his name and continue to be reprinted. He has influenced many writers, musicians and filmmakers. There are 63 titles under his name at IMDb, either adaptations of his works or his own screenplays. According to his Wiki profile: “Copies of all editions of his work published by the Black Sparrow Press are held at Western Michigan University, which purchased the archive of the publishing house after its closure in 2003.” WMU is my alma mater. Bukowski succumbed to leukemia at 73 in 1994. He was a father of one.
Interesting nypost.com headline: “Chicago warns Lollapalooza-goers to be wary of fentanyl: ‘Test your drugs’.” Okay, concerts and drug use go together, but the message seems surrender, approval of the behavior. Then again, that seems to be the way these days in America. Is that wise given the OD epidemic?
From the column of NYP sports media critic Phil Mushnick: “Rays shortstop Wander Franco this week claimed to have had $650,000 in jewelry stolen from his Rolls Royce while it was parked overnight in a hotel lot.”
Last night Movies!, channel 5–2 on OTA in NYC, ran a noir title I’d never seen: The Street with No Name (1948) directed by William Keighley, who also did the classic The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), as well as 37 other films. It’s the story of an agent going undercover to nail a brazen gang responsible not only for robberies but cold-blooded murders. Mark Stevens and Richard Widmark portray the opposite sides of the law. The cast also includes Lloyd Nolan, Ed Begley and Joseph Pevney. The latter cemented a place in pop culture as the director of 14 episodes of the original Star Trek. He was much more successful behind the camera than in front of it, helming scores of titles on the big and small screen, having only six credits as an actor. He passed away at 96 in 2008. I did not recognize the abused moll, played by Barbara Lawrence, who has significant roles in A Letter to Three Wives (1949) and Oklahoma! (1955). She left the business in 1962 and went into real estate. Married three times, she had four kids. She passed away at 83 in 2013. Also on board is John McIntire, one of those actors, like Walter Brennan, who never seemed young. I got a kick out of seeing him vault fences and climb through windows. The flick’s best aspect is its cinematography, skillfully noirish, the shadows perfectly lighted. Joseph MacDonald was a master, three-time Oscar nominee: The Young Lions (1959), Pepe (1960) and The Sand Pebbles (1967). His body of work, 76 titles, is stunning. He passed away at 61 in 1968. As for the plot of The Street…, it’s fine until late when the thug goes to the mole’s house instead of setting up a clandestine meeting elsewhere, and the pat, unimaginative shootout. Still, a worthwhile film. Here’s Lawrence:
And MacDonald:
The cloud cover took a big bite out of the humidity at today’s session of the floating book shop. There was a nice reduction in inventory. The only incoming was a box of coffee filters donated by local porter Robert. I didn’t want to take them, but when he was unable to pawn them off to any shopkeepers, I caved, as he has been so good to me. My thanks to the gentleman who bought several, and to the one who parked his stylish car in the crosswalk and purchased six books in Russian; and to the woman who selected one; and to The Quiet Man, who chose Breaking Dawn, the final entry in the Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight series; and to the woman who took home three novels by Candace Bushnell: One Fifth Avenue, Summer and the City and The Carrie Diaries; and to the woman who opted for Strong Medicine by Arthur Hailey and a book in Polish, her native tongue, the title of which I am unable to ascertain. Born in 1964, Jacek Podsiadlo is a poet, writer, translator and essayist. According to his Wiki profile, he has at least 15 books in print. He currently works in radio.
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