Lost & Found

Among a recent donation to the floating book shop was James Hilton’s Lost Horizon, which introduced the term “Shangri-La.” Since I don’t recall much about the movie version, I decided to read it. Three-quarters of the way through, I was curious about who played the key roles, so I looked it up at IMDb and found only one name that corresponds to the novel, the main character, Conway, played by Ronald Coleman in 1937. I wasn’t surprised, as Hollywood usually deviates from the literary version. Published in 1933, it’s the story of four westerners escaping an uprising in Tibet. Their plane is hijacked and taken to a remote spot in the Himalayas. The pilot, Asian, navigates skillfully but is killed during the landing on unpaved ground. The passengers are rescued by a party from a nearby Buddhist monastery, taken to it by way of a perilous, narrow path. They are treated well but are told they will not be able to leave for two months, when a group bringing supplies will arrive. Only the youngest, a 24-year-old Brit diplomat, objects and remains cranky throughout the stay. Conway, a WWI combat vet, adapts quickly. The female British missionary believes providence has brought her there and wants to convert the heathens. The monastery’s theme is moderation, even regarding the truth. Shangri-la lies in a valley well below it. The elders claim to be as old as 200 and attribute it to the air and a mild drug prevalent in the area. After a while Conway observes: “Perhaps the exhaustion of passions is the beginning of wisdom…” Except for the preface and epilogue, the story, a third person account, is from his point of view. Of course there are existential overtones, expressed best by the American businessman among them: “Do we know why we’re in the world at all, for that matter?” I will not be a spoiler and say more. A Google search unearthed this: “Lost Horizon is a reference to a faraway paradise that can be obtained, but is usually lost by those who need it most.” “Rejected” may be a more precise word than “lost.” And: “… dramatizes the question of how one should live one’s life — in quiet contemplation or purposeful activity.” I choose the latter. Although only 241 pages, it is not an easy read. The language is on the border of old fashion and modern, and there are many references that are now obscure. 2592 users at Amazon have rated Lost Horizon, forging to a consensus of 4.5 on a scale of five. I’ll go with three. I want to be in a place teeming with life… Hilton was born in England in 1900. A graduate of Cambridge, he first worked as a journalist and book reviewer. Lost Horizon was his 13th novel. Initially, its sales were mediocre. When he followed it a year later with the equally enduring Goodbye, Mr. Chips, sales of both soared. He published 20 novels in all. He also wrote eight short stories, two plays, three works of non-fiction and seven screenplays, including the Oscar winning Mrs. Miniver (1943). Eight of his novels were adapted to the screen. A 1956 Broadway musical and a 1973 film musical of Lost Horizon were flops, berated by critics. Still, Hilton’s best work endures. He succumbed to cancer at 54 in 1954 in California. Photo from Google Images:

Art imitates life, as the saying goes. Oscar Wilde believed life imitates art more often, which was the case yesterday in a NYC subway car. Six creeps dressed like comic book characters assaulted and robbed two teenage girls. They’ve been dubbed The Green Goblin Gang. Photo from GI:

Headline from NYP: “Paris Hilton says seven pet psychics said her missing dog is still alive.” Do I hear eight?

Headline from foxnews.com: “Calls from the front lines reportedly reveal morale collapse in Russian army.” May it be so.

Last night Movies!, channel 5–2 on OTA in NYC, ran The Mummy (1959), a Hammer production filmed in lush color, starring Peter Cushing as the egghead and Christopher Lee as the monster. Since it aired after ten, I fell asleep halfway through. Still, I was interested in the leading lady, Yvonne Furneaux, of whom I had no recollection. Born in France, now in her mid 90’s, she is a graduate of the prestigious Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. Although her canon seems comprised mostly of mediocre fare, she has at least two significant credits, playing Jenny Diver in The Beggar’s Opera (1953), starring Laurence Olivier, and Roman Polanski’s Repulsion (1965), starring Catherine Deneuve. After a twelve-year hiatus, she returned to the screen as the title character in her final film — Frankenstein’s Great Aunt Tillie (1984), a farce about family members searching the castle for gold. Despite the presence of Donald Pleasance and Aldo Ray, it has the lowest rating I’ve yet encountered at IMDb: 2.4 on a scale of ten. I hope Furneaux is able to laugh about it these days. Here she is in her prime, photo from GI:

Rain put the kibosh on the floating book shop for a fourth straight day, and tomorrow’s forecast is not promising. This is my longest ever stretch of idleness outside winter. To lend perspective, I was back in action two days after Hurricane Sandy.

My Amazon Author page: https://www.amazon.com/Vic-Fortezza/e/B002M4NLJE

FB: https://www.facebook.com/Vic-Fortezza-Author-118397641564801/?fref=ts

Read Vic’s Stories, free: http://fictionaut.com/users/vic-fortezza