Scenes from Childhood: Scandalous Movies

These days, I am luxuriating in a wealth of possible online entertainment. What I have discovered is the ability to re-visit some of  the memorable movies I saw as a child. When I say "memorable,"I really mean it. My parents would take my sister and me all the way from Altadena to a Los Angeles art house cinema, the Nuart, which was 38 miles away.  And we saw a film, which we then discussed, because we went out to dinner at Kowloon's afterwards, and relived our artful experience with a Stinger (Mom), an Old Fashioned (Dad), and Shirley Temples (my sister and me). How special!

The very first real art film I remember is The Seventh Seal, Ingmar Bergman 1957, but I'm sure we saw it a few years later. Mom and Dad explained the meaning and symbolism of Max von Sydow's character challenging Death to a chess game, which made me feel like the most superior under-ten atheist intellectual of everyone we knew. See the chess match here. 

We saw Spartacus, Stanley Kubrick 1960, which wasn't really an "art film" because it wasn't European, but could qualify because Saul Bass designed the brilliant main titles. Saul Bass was a friend of the family. Sort of.  Anyway, here they are. 

My mother adored the joyous Never on Sunday, Jules Dassin 1960. The inimitable score immediately filled our house, but the film itself was considered scandalous at the time, and most definitely never for children. My sister and I weren't allowed to go, but it was talked about endlessly: a beautiful Greek prostitute, played by Melina Mercouri, goes to meet a boat of incoming sailors, and the fun begins. I was nine, and there was no censorship in our house! See the original trailer, and then see the film NOW.


Giving cause for fascinated discussion was Irene Papas in Electra, Mihalis Cacoyannis 1962. Electra and her brother Orestes avenge their father's murder by thrusting a sword into the throat of their mother Clytemnestra. At age eleven,  I had a personal understanding with Euripides: we related. The only link I found to this film contains ultra-short scenes, with a rather nice song accompanying them. However, the horror begins at 1:57 on the clip, so enjoy.  

Can you believe parents taking their impressionable young children to see Tom Jones? Tony Richardson 1963. In the extreme low lighting of Kowloon's, we had a discussion of what could possibly have been going on in the "dinner scene." See for yourself.

Another artsy film, just right for a 15-year-old, was Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf , Mike Nichols 1966. The events of the film were more dramatic than what happened at our house, so therefore impressive. I can't remember the Kowloon discussion very clearly, but I think it had to do with how bad it was to drink and argue. There are many choice scenes to choose from, but this is as vitriolic as any.

How great to be taken at a tender age to see these  totally inappropriate films! The urge to continue this highbrow movie-going tradition is in me still.   Great movies are so accessible now---may I recommend the 994 films from the Criterion Collection, available from a cheap subscription to Hulu? How wealthy I feel!

Oh Shirt!

My third attempt to create “The Classic Tailored Shirt,” using Kwik Sew pattern 3555 and an excellent online video course put out by Craftsy, is the most successful one so far. Yet surprisingly, it was not easier, faster, or more streamlined, as one might suppose a third attempt would be. Why not? The pattern instructions seem easy and straightforward. The instructor, Pam Howard, speaks slowly and calmly, with therapist-like reassurance every step of the way. Her instructions seem clear enough. Yet in the making of the first two shirts, construction became so fraught with difficulty, that I seriously feared something was wrong with the processing abilities of my brain.

But no, this is not quite the case. The difficulty exists because each step needs to be damnably exacting, fussy, and perfect. The collar and collar stand, for example. Every single factory-made shirt that one can buy from the rack has one, done perfectly. It looks so easy. But doing it oneself, trying to make each side a mirror image, and then attaching it to the neckline---again perfectly---is difficult and challenging. Ditto with the shirt fronts. Well, those are slightly easier. But the worst part of all are the cuffs, and attaching them to the placket ends of the sleeves. They drove me crazy, these ordinary and boring parts of shirts. Ordinary is not necessarily simple.

In a previous foray into a difficult sewing arena, I did another Craftsy course called “Sewing the Couture Dress,” with Susan Khalji. Oh-ho---couture---we know that the word itself implies work that is exacting, time-consuming, and perfect, with exquisite, one-of-a-kind, expensive-looking results. And yes, the course was difficult in the sense that each step represented a new technique, and quite a bit was done by hand. But there was a lot of heartening control: if the fit wasn't quite right, it was easily correctable. Everything could be fixed.

But the shirt? No no no. By shirt number three, I finally discovered the Big Secret of why it was so difficult. It's because shirt making is part of tailoring.  I read Bespoke: Savile Row Ripped and Smoothed by Richard Anderson, which is a memoir of his frightfully long apprenticeship at Huntsmans on London's Savile Row, and his eventual opening of his own shop. In his apprenticeship, learning to make a cuff must have been a two-year stint! Actually, each step in the making of a Savile Row suit belongs to an expert who does just one specialty: pattern-making, cutting the cloth, etc. And here I was, making the entire shirt! When I discovered the link between shirt making and tailoring, I gained a great deal of respect for the "simple" task I had set for myself.

Which brings me to another favorite idea I keep spinning as I try different activities: getting to know the difference between passively experiencing something, and actually trying to do it. I have tried drawing and painting, juxtaposed to observing art in a museum. I have grown most of the vegetables I eat instead of just buying them. Playing the violin versus listening to the violin? Don’t get me started. Therefore, sewing my own garments cannot be compared to going to any store and choosing stuff to take to the dressing room. I have nearly come to regard buying ready-to-wear clothing as cheating. 

Despite the struggle to learn such a complicated skill, it has been extremely satisfying to keep trying to make this shirt. OK, it was designed by Kerstin Martensson, dedicated educator and founder of the Kwik Sew pattern company, and my personal creativity has merely consisted of choosing the fabric, the thread and the buttons. But the struggle, the angst, the incredible amount of time pondering the instructions and trying to figure out what they mean, and then trying many times to achieve them--- all this investment of my spirit and my essence in this most basic of clothing items is wildly inspiring. Shall I make five more shirts from the same pattern to really master it? Maybe I need to study online with a master shirt maker. Or actually apprentice to one myself.

What I think I'll do is to have and enjoy my respect for tailoring, for the art of shirt making, for being careful and exact, and for taking time to actually make the shirts, and---let’s move on to sewing with SILK!

Please enjoy the illustrated shirt saga below.

Cuffs! Clockwise from left, Shirt#1 (the muslin), Shirt#2, Shirt #3

Collars on their stands! 

This is the muslin, the practice shirt. People who sew will spot 10 horrendous flaws immediately!

Shirt #2  Much better! It was still a practice shirt, made for $6, with fry-yourself-in-the-sun polyester fabric.

The best, Shirt#3. A soft cotton lawn pima fabric, total cost:$26. If in the Vogue September issue, $1,600!