Movies, by Gillian

I have never been a really fully-paid-up member of the movie-goers club. In fact I seem to have had, over my lifetime, something of a love/hate relationship with movies. The love side has been made up mostly of documentaries, or what they call 'docudramas', which probably makes me something of a dull person to be around; someone who prefers, for the most part, fact over fiction. Strangely, though, the opposite is true of books. I rarely read non-fiction books, much preferring to escape into the land of make-believe.

Perhaps it is in fact that very make-believe which has tripped me up. My childhood, in the time and place that it was, related little to movies. There were cinemas in the towns in the England of the 1940's and '50's but I and my family and friends had no way to get to them. There were early TV's, too, in some places, but non of us had one. So escape was down to books. And once you are accustomed to using your own imagination, making the written story and characters look exactly the way you want them, it's hard to switch happily to strangers creating the images for you.

And then, of course, there was the gay thing. Though barely even subliminal, in my youth, it was there. Reading the book, I could make Jane Eyre's obsessive love be for a somewhat androgynous Rochester. I could even, and this requires some strength of imagination, believe me, picture poor innocent Catherine Earnshaw with a vaguely unisex Heathcliff. But when, later in life, I saw the Wuthering Heights movie with that darkly menacing Laurence Olivier, he was so completely masculine that all fantasy faded. So, I couldn't really get into movies because they were so overwhelmingly, 100% at that time, heterosexual. So was literature, but anyone can take it wherever they want. These days, of course, we say that ol' Larry was bisexual, if not homosexual. But either way he's completely masculine. Books offer more options than movies.

One member of this Storytelling group, who rarely attends now, wrote one day of trying so hard to hide his infatuation with Tab Hunter. I cannot recall that day's topic, but I had written of my attempts to fake an attraction to Tab Hunter. I bought, in our nearest Woolworth's, a black and white pin-up photo of him, to attach to my school desk. Oh the sad irony of it, I thought. Two of us, sixty years ago, thousands of miles apart, trying so hard to use Tab Hunter - and why him, I ask myself - to define, or not define, our homosexuality. Thank God, those days are largely gone.

Now, when there is such vast choice of movies, I have favorites of all kinds. But I have still never fully embraced 'going to the movies', except for drive-ins which I always found to be great fun. For the most part, movies became more attractive to me when they became readily available from the comfort of my own home and my own couch.

One of my very favorite, totally fictional, movies, is 'Cloudburst', with Olympia Dukakis; the story of two old lesbians running off to Canada to be married. It is funny and sad: that perfect combination that creates fiction at it's best. I also watch 'The History Boys' every time it's on TV. A wonderful 'docudrama', which Betsy and I had somehow missed until it appeared on TV a couple of weeks ago, is ' Freeheld', the true story of a New Jersey police lieutenant, dying of cancer, fighting for her registered partner to receive her pension after her death, as would be the case with a heterosexual couple. There are endless documentaries, not to mention a full-length movie, about Alan Turing and all he suffered for his homosexuality. It's not that all I ever watch is movies, truth or fiction, depicting the plight of members of the GLBT community; but they exist.

That is an ever-amazing thing to me.

They exist.

Movies and I have followed the same path. We have been on a long journey, but we have arrived. And we will never, can never, go back. No matter what rhetoric spews from the mouths of those filled with hate, from Anita Bryant to our newly anointed vice-presidential candidate, we cannot, and they cannot, undo what we have done. I, and all of us here, now know ourselves. Everyone else know us. We tell our stories and the movies tell our stories; not the stories of us, in this room, perhaps, individually, but of us, anywhere and everywhere, collectively. We have travelled from invisibility to out and proud.

If John Cray and I were kids today, we could, at least in many schools, each embrace some modern equivalent of Tab Hunter quite openly; I with indifference and John with passion. Movies have played a huge part in our journey and we owe a debt of gratitude to those who conceived them, financed them, produced them, and above all to the many straight actors who were brave enough to act the part of a gay or lesbian in the early days, when they put their careers at risk by doing so.

In fact, As Roger Ebert, long-time film critic. stated so beautifully,

“We live in a box of space and time. Movies are windows in its walls. They allow us to enter other minds, not simply in the sense of identifying with the characters, although that is an important part of it, but by seeing the world as another person sees it.”

Through movies, others perhaps learned not only to see us, to know us, but, just for a short time, to be us.

© July 2016 

About the Author 

 I was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30-years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have been with my wonderful partner Betsy for thirty-years. We have been married since 2013.

Hysteria, by Gillian

The old black-and-white movie flickers and jumps. A woman screams. And laughs. And cries.

'You're hysterical,' booms a strong male voice.

A strong male hand slaps the woman's cheek. Silence; followed by a quiet sobbing.

That is hysteria in the movies.

I actually don't think I have ever experienced that kind of hysteria; my own or anyone else's. Perhaps it has never actually existed, outside of old movies. Or perhaps I have simply been extremely fortunate, having lived a life free of horrifying experiences which might create hysteria in myself or others.

No, I have not had to live such nightmares; but certainly I have seen them unfold on the TV. I have watched everything from terrorist attacks to mass shootings, from earthquakes and mudslides to tsunamis, hurricanes, and tornadoes. I have seen people's response to such things. But, you know, I honestly cannot recall hysteria. People run, sometimes screaming, but that is a simple reaction to danger - the good old fight or flight response. I have seen tears: strangers enfolding each other in comforting arms, injured individuals sitting on the ground, alone and confused. That is shock and grief. It is not hysteria. Desperate people wave to helicopters from rooftops barely protruding from floodwaters. They shout for help from beneath heaps of rubble. These are people trying to save themselves. They are not hysterics. It makes little sense to me that hysteria should be encouraged by Mother Nature, anyway. She has given us an overwhelming survival instinct. We will do whatever it takes to live. Hysteria is counterproductive; it interferes with our ability to save ourselves. I'm sure it's not listed on Mother Nature's list of approved survival tactics.

On the other hand, a much more dangerous form of hysteria is alive and well and ever expanding, especially in recent years with the phenomenal growth of social media; mass hysteria. Until recently, this kind of group emotion was of necessity engendered in a group - a physical group of people close together, shoulder to shoulder, acting in ways none of them would have alone. The New Year's Eve festivities downtown are great fun until a few idiots begin to egg each other on to break some windows. Before anyone realizes what is happening, dozens or even hundreds of people are heaving anything handy through windows, and the looting starts. Mass hysteria tends to lead to mass arrests. The soccer game is over and the crowds wending their way towards the stadium exits. A gang of lager-louts, till now only a little obnoxious as they react to the home team's win or loss, begin an argument with opposing supporters. Voices get louder. Voices get angry. One man swings a fist. In seconds dozens of fists are swinging. Innocent bystanders rush for the streets. Hundreds are trampled in the panic; dozens killed and injured. And even without physical violence, hysteria is ugly. Just watch our political conventions.

Lately an even more frightening, more pervasive, form of mass hysteria has appeared, fomented by social media. An angry young man no longer needs to fly to Syria and attend a mosque frequented by violent extremists to become what we now chose to call 'radicalized'. He can work himself into a frenzy of hatred and bigotry simply by reading what is offered in great abundance on his iPhone or laptop. He barely needs to get up off the couch. Perhaps he will never appear on any no-fly- or watch-list, but he is every bit as dangerous as those who do.

Mass hysteria is almost as scary even when involving no actual violence. These days all it takes is sound bites; Obama was not born in this country, Hillary is a crook. Repeat it often enough via all forms of social media, but particularly TV, and some of those listening will repeat it. Some of those hearing it will then repeat it, and in twenty-four hours there is this ground-swell of mass hysteria all based on a lie.

But strangely, I have observed recently, social media can create something which seems to me even stranger; almost the antithesis of hysteria. But if the opposite of hysterical is calm, this is behavior surpassing anything the word suggests to me. It is a level of denial for which I think we have no word. It seems to have appeared along with the universal inclusion of cameras in cellphones.

On the TV screen I see a man almost up to his armpits in swirling water. He holds one arm above his head, gripping his phone in his hand. Debris of all kinds swirls around him in the rising waters of Tropical Storm Sandy. He shouts breathlessly into his phone, capturing the image of himself struggling to remain upright. His commentary, as played on the television, consists mainly of beeps.

'I'm here in bleeping New Jersey, in my own bleeping house. I'm standing in my bleeping kitchen, man. I don't see how the bleep I'm gonna bleeping get out of here.'

He turns the camera off himself to show a jerky unfocused view from a window.

'And over there it bleeping looks like every bleeping thing is on fire, man. How the bleeping bleeping bleep do you get bleeping fire on bleeping floods? Bleep. Bleep.

I gotta bleeping get up to the bleeping roof. Bleep ... bleep ......'

After a few seconds of wildly gyrating film of ceiling and walls and water, everything goes blank and silent.

You see more and more of these death-defying shots, movies, and commentaries. People seem increasingly more interested in capturing their own images for posterity than in saving their own lives. Mother Nature must be very confused and frustrated!

Or perhaps she's happy to see them go, cleansing the gene pool.

My very favorite so far, and I say so far because I reluctantly doubt that this new phenomenon is going away, is a still shot of a young woman in a bikini who obviously waited for the perfect moment to get a selfie as the tsunami waves broke through the windows behind her.

What is wrong with these people? I have no training as a psychologist, but I'm not too sure that your average shrink understands why people act this way, though there is, doubtless, at this very moment, at least one Ph.D student studying the topic.

Apparently the two people I have just described must somehow have survived. We have the content of their presumably intact phones. But how many, I have to wonder, have died in the grip of this strange 'anti-hysteria'? I am starting to think that a good old-movie style face-slapping bout of hysterics might look downright healthy.

© August 2016

About the Author

I was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30 years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have been with my wonderful partner Betsy for thirty years. We have been married since 2013.

The Drain, by Louis Brown

The Drain and Psycho film of Alfred Hitchcock

(1) Brain Drain

(2) Donald Trump said he is going to drain the swamp in Washington D. C., meaning he intends to curtail the all-pervasive power of the lobbyists. Unfortunately I think that means he is going to give them even more power, and the voice of the advocates for working people and the American public will grow even weaker.

(3) People in the government or commentators who still can be believed:
     (a) Van Jones
     (b) Elizabeth Warren
     (c) Bernie Sanders
     (d) Tulsi Gabbard of Hawaii
     (e) Nina Turner

(4) 11-22-2012 Psycho (1960 film), 

     produced by Alfred Hitchcock (who died in 1980)

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia This article is about the 1960 film. For the sequels, see Psycho (franchise). For the 1998 remake, see Psycho (1998 film). Psycho is a 1960 American psychological horror film directed and produced by Alfred Hitchcock, and written by Joseph Stefano, starring Anthony Perkins, Janet Leigh, John Gavin, Vera Miles and Martin Balsam, and was based on the 1959 novel of the same name by Robert Bloch. The film centers on the encounter between a secretary, Marion Crane (Leigh), who ends up at a secluded motel after stealing money from her employer, and the motel's disturbed owner-manager, Norman Bates (Perkins), and its aftermath.[4]

… slasher film genre.

Plot During a lunchtime tryst in Phoenix, Arizona, a real estate secretary named Marion Crane discusses with her boyfriend, Sam Loomis, how they cannot afford to get married because of Sam's debts. After lunch, Marion returns to work, where a client drops off a $40,000 cash payment on a property. Her boss asks her to deposit the money in the bank, and she asks if she can take the rest of the afternoon off. Returning home, she begins to pack for an unplanned trip, deciding to steal the money and give it to Sam in Fairvale, California. Driving on, Marion encounters a sudden rainstorm and decides to stop for the night at the Bates Motel; the proprietor, Norman Bates, invites her to a light dinner after she checks in. She accepts, but then hears an argument between Norman and his mother about bringing a woman into her house. They eat in the motel parlor, where he tells her about his hobby of taxidermy and his life with his mother, who is mentally ill and forbids him to have a life outside of her. Returning to her room, Marion decides to go back to Phoenix to return the stolen money. She prepares to take a shower, unaware that Norman is spying on her. * [The Prompt] As she [Janet Leigh as Marion Crane] is showering, a shadowy female figure suddenly comes in and stabs her to death with a chef's knife. [the viewer looks at her blood flow down the shower drain.] Norman discovers the murder and meticulously cleans up the crime scene, putting Marion's corpse and her possessions—including the embezzled money—into the trunk of her car and sinking it in the swamps near the motel. A week later, Marion's sister Lila arrives in Fairvale and confronts Sam about the whereabouts of her sister. A private investigator named Arbogast approaches them and confirms that Marion is wanted for stealing the $40,000 from her employer. He eventually comes across the Bates Motel, where Norman's behavior arouses his suspicions. After hearing that Marion had met with Norman's mother, he asks to speak with her, but Norman refuses. Arbogast calls Lila and Sam, informing them of what he has discovered and saying he intends to speak with Norman's mother. He goes to the Bates' home in search of her; as he reaches the top of the stairs, Mrs. Bates suddenly appears from the bedroom and murders him. When Lila and Sam do not hear from Arbogast, they go to the local sheriff, who informs them that Mrs. Bates has been dead for ten years; she had killed herself and her lover. Concerned, Lila and Sam make their way to the motel. Norman takes his unwilling mother from her room, telling her he needs to hide her for a while in the fruit cellar.

At the motel, Lila and Sam meet Norman. Sam distracts him by striking up a conversation while Lila sneaks up to the house. When Norman eventually realizes what they want, he knocks Sam out and rushes to the house. Lila sees Norman approaching and attempts to hide by going down steps that lead to a cellar. There she finds Mrs. Bates sitting in a chair. Lila turns her around and discovers that she is in fact a mummified corpse. Lila screams as a figure comes running into the cellar: Norman, holding a chef's knife and wearing his mother's clothes and a wig. Before Norman can attack Lila, Sam, having regained consciousness, subdues him.

At the local courthouse, a psychiatrist explains that Norman had murdered Mrs. Bates and her lover 10 years prior out of jealousy. Before, they had been living a solitary life together after his father's death, until she met this new man. Unable to bear the guilt, he exhumed her corpse and began to treat it as if she were still alive. In order to preserve that illusion, he recreated his mother in his own mind as an alternate personality, often dressing in her clothes and talking to himself in her voice. The "Mother" personality is as jealous and possessive as the real Mrs. Bates had been: Whenever Norman feels attracted to another woman, "Mother" flies into a rage and kills her. As "Mother", Norman had killed two missing girls prior to Marion, as well as Arbogast. The psychiatrist then says the "Mother" personality has taken permanent hold of Norman's mind. While Norman sits in a holding cell, Mrs. Bates' voice is heard protesting that the murders were Norman's doing and that she "wouldn't even harm a fly." Meanwhile, Marion's car is pulled out of the swamp.

Cast * Anthony Perkins as Norman Bates * Janet Leigh as Marion Crane * Vera Miles as Lila Crane * John Gavin as Sam Loomis * Martin Balsam as Detective Milton Arbogast * John McIntire as Al Chambers * Simon Oakland as Dr. Fred Richmond * Frank Albertson as Tom Cassidy * Pat Hitchcock as Caroline * Vaughn Taylor as George Lowery * Lurene Tuttle as Mrs. Chambers * John Anderson as California Charlie (used car salesman) * Mort Mills as Highway Patrol Officer * Virginia Gregg, Jeanette Nolan, and Paul Jasmin as voice of Norma Bates

Janet Leigh
Leigh in The Naked Spur (1953)
Born Jeanette Helen Morrison July 6, 1927 Merced, California, U.S.
Died October 3, 2004 (aged 77) Los Angeles, California, U.S.
Cause of death Heart attack
Resting place Westwood Village Memorial Park Cemetery
Occupation Actress
Years active 1947–2004

Spouse(s) John Carlisle (1942; annulled) Stanley Reames (1945–1949; divorced) Tony Curtis (1951–1962; divorced) Robert Brandt (1962-2004; her death)
Children Kelly Curtis Jamie Lee
Janet Leigh (born Jeanette Helen Morrison; July 6, 1927 – October 3, 2004) was an American actress and author. She is best remembered for her performance in Psycho, for which she was awarded the Golden Globe Award for Best Supporting Actress and received an Academy Award nomination. She was the first wife of actor Tony Curtis and the mother of Kelly Curtis and Jamie Lee .

Anthony Perkins
Anthony Perkins in 1975, by Allan Warren
Born April 4, 1932
New York, New York, U.S.
Died September 12, 1992 (aged 60) Los Angeles, California, U.S.
Cause of death AIDS-related pneumonia
Nationality American
Occupation Actor, musician
Years active 1953–1992
Spouse(s) Berry Berenson (1973–1992, his death)
Children Oz Perkins Elvis Perkins
Parent(s) Osgood Perkins Janet Esselstyn Rane
Anthony Perkins (April 4, 1932 – September 12, 1992) was an American actor and singer. He was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor for his second film, Friendly Persuasion but is best known for playing Norman Bates in Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho and its three sequels. His other films include The Trial, Phaedra, Fear Strikes Out, Tall Story, The Matchmaker, Pretty Poison, North Sea Hijack, Five Miles to Midnight, The Black Hole, Murder on the Orient Express, Mahogany, and Crimes of Passion.
Early Life Perkins was born in New York City, son of stage and film actor Osgood Perkins and his wife, Janet Esselstyn (née Rane). His paternal great-grandfather was wood engraver Andrew Varick Stout Anthony.[1] He was five when his father died.[2] Perkins was a descendant of a Mayflower passenger, John Howland. He attended Brooks School, Browne & Nichols School, Columbia University and Rollins College, having moved to Boston in 1942.[3]

Jamie Lee Curtis (born November 22, 1958) is an American actress and author. She made her film debut in 1978 by starring as Laurie Strode in John Carpenter's Halloween (1978). A big hit, the film established her as a notable actress in horror, and she subsequently starred in Halloween II (1981), The Fog (1980), Prom Night (1980), Terror Train (1980), and Roadgames (1981), gaining the status of "scream queen" to mainstream audiences. Curtis has since compiled a body of work that spans many genres, including the cult comedy films Trading Places (1983), for which she won a BAFTA Award for Best Actress in a Supporting Role, A Fish Called Wanda (1988), and True Lies (1994), for which she won a Golden Globe for Best Actress in Musical or Comedy.

I occasionally saw Anthony Perkins walking around Greenwich Village

© 22 November 2016

I was born in 1944, I lived most of my life in New York City, Queens County. I still commute there. I worked for many years as a Caseworker for New York City Human Resources Administration, dealing with mentally impaired clients, then as a social work Supervisor dealing with homeless PWA's. I have an apartment in Wheat Ridge, CO. I retired in 2002. I have a few interesting stories to tell. My boyfriend Kevin lives in New York City. I graduated Queens College, CUNY, in 1967.

Greens, by Ray S

“Greens” is the color of my green bucks. Last Friday in a fit of self indulgence I took some eight and a half of them and went to the movies.

Alright, I got around that subject matter and now with your indulgence, you get to try to survive some more of the results of my attempting to keep up with the rest of you, my storytellers. Not hardly literature, just the incidental “off the wall” stuff I usually come to this séance with.

I bet you’ve guessed already—a movie review instead of my favorite recipe for Caesar salad.

First, I will certainly understand should you wish to close your ears and eyes while I get on with this little essay. It won’t take long and not likely to enlighten you, unless you’re a Woody Allen movie freak. Yes, the local Esquire movie palace (somewhat diminished) is showing his latest effort CAFÉ SOCIETY. If you have followed Allen’s cinema career you might recognize his timeless and sometimes tired themes—but soldier on and you will discover a new and magic story-line with each of his many films.

Of course, he has continued to mine the nostalgia store with Café’s pre-WWII setting. Most of you are too young to relate to this time and will see this aspect as quaint and maybe “Was it really like that then?” Well, yes, only Hollywood always goes them one better. You know, bigger than life.

That said about the book drop, Allen has written a charmingly witty story that will catch your imagination and keep you waiting for the next curveball which he so adept at throwing or tossing in this case.

The ethnicity of the players, the reality of human nature and how it molds each of us in so many different ways is well portrayed. The voice-over, if not read by the author-director himself, could easily pass for him, as well as the actor who plays the lead. A 20-something mensch from New York turned loose in 1939 Hollywood.

Enough already! If you want some escape that isn’t mind-numbing violence or sci-fi, take the afternoon off for some off-the-wall Woody Allen time.

© 8 August 2016

About the Author

Communications, by Ricky

"What we've got here is …. failure to communicate" is a movie line from Cool Hand Luke spoken by Paul Newman that is perfectly delivered, humorously and sarcastically, in keeping with the character's personality. Unfortunately for Luke, the senior guard was not amused, receptive, or tolerant of the mocking of the Captain's phrase. Herein lies the difficulty with communicating with anyone; words.

The Captain and the Boss were communicating a message to Luke but their words were not precise enough for Luke to clearly understand. Thus, the Captain and the Boss were the ones who failed to communicate. They should have made it perfectly clear that if Luke tried to escape again, he would be shot dead; they didn't and Luke died.

Words arrive containing varying numbers of syllables, shades of meaning, and ease of pronunciation. The definition of words can be modified from the original by common usage, which tends to happen because members of society do not learn enough vocabulary so they can pick the perfectly accurate but seldom used word. Some people use many long words and complex sentences to communicate simple ideas; a practice which often leads to misunderstandings. There are yet others who can communicate powerful ideas using simple and everyday words. An example is Abraham Lincoln's statement, “You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can not fool all of the people all of the time.” Do you suppose Lincoln was warning other politicians, warning the public, or giving politicians a tip on how to get elected?

Some communications take on a life of their own and are so common in usage as to become cliches. “Houston, we have a problem.” is one of those. The phrase originated following the Apollo 13 disaster. Unfortunately, no one ever said those words. Here is the actual conversation between the Houston command center and Apollo 13.

John Swigert: 'Okay, Houston, we've had a problem here.' Houston: 'This is Houston. Say again please.' James Lovell: 'Houston, we've had a problem. We've had a main B bus undervolt.'

For dramatic effect, the movie of the events surrounding Apollo 13, altered the exact words. The incorrect phrase was picked up by the movie going public and now is commonly used to indicate any problem not just very serious ones.

Likewise,"Beam me up, Scotty" is a catchphrase that made its way into popular culture from the science fiction television series Star Trek. Though it has become irrevocably associated with the series and movies, the exact phrase was never actually spoken in any Star Trek television episode or film.

"Beam me up, Scotty" is similar to the phrase, “Just the facts ma'am”, attributed to Jack Webb's character of Joe Friday on Dragnet; "It's elementary, my dear Watson", attributed to Sherlock Holmes; "Luke, I am your father", attributed to Darth Vader; or "Play it again, Sam", attributed to Humphrey Bogart's character in Casablanca; and "We don't need no stinkin' badges!" attributed to Gold Hat in The Treasure of the Sierra Madre. All five lines are the best known quotations from these works for many viewers, but not one is an actual, direct quotation. Yet each of them conveys an idea, concept, and image that communicates very well because a large number of people have seen the source of the misquoted dialog and the erroneous version has become ubiquitous in our culture.

Communication also suffers when the sender and the receiver are not talking about the same concept or idea. Remember the dialogue between Tom Hanks and Elizabeth Perkins in the movie "Big"?

Susan: I'm not so sure we should do this. Josh: Do what? Susan: Well, I like you ... and I want to spend the night with you. Josh: Do you mean sleep over? Susan: Well, yeah. Josh: OK ... but I get to be on top.

One conversation between two different people, but on two incompatible topics. This particular conversation also illustrates the effect differences in age and experience (or lack thereof) can have upon the inferred meaning of the words heard.

Yet another problem with communication arises when one party doesn't understand the clear and plain message he was given or does not take it seriously. While in the Air Force, one of my commanding officers was a colonel and a pilot. He related to me the following.

Before becoming a pilot he was a navigator on a military transport aircraft approaching his U.S. destination after crossing the Atlantic Ocean. The plane was understandably low on fuel. Their primary destination had bad weather to the point that they could not land and there was just enough fuel to make it to the alternate airport. The navigator called the traffic controller for permission to depart for the alternate destination. He was told to standby to which he replied that they needed to leave now or not have enough fuel to make it. Again he was told to standby. He repeated the situation yet again and was told to standby. At this point the pilot called on the intercom asking if they had permission to depart for the alternate airport. The navigator told him yes even though no permission was given. The person on the ground did not appreciate the gravity of the situation and let himself be bogged down with control issues.

Sometimes the person initiating the communication sends an accurate message composed of factual data but in reality doesn't state the actual issue. For example, when I was young I once told my mother that my urine was runny (a fact), which did not impart any information to her. The real issue was I had diarrhea. Another example would be the numerous politicians who when asked a question answer with information not directly related to the question. I think they have a condition known as “Diarrhea of the Mouth”.

The moral of this essay: Be gay when the concept or idea or message goes through without resulting in chaos. The word gay is used correctly, but did it, the other words, and the sentence structure combine to confuse or clarify the message? This is yet another example of the potential for a message to get “lost in translation” when there is a poor choice of words and grammar by the sender.

The real moral of this essay: In your next life, pay attention in language class.

© 22 April 2012

About the Author

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com

Movies, by Pat Gourley

Unlike many of my gay male brethren in particular, I am not a great fan of the big screen.  A consistent theme in my life has been to almost exclusively read non-fiction books and that spills over these days to rarely seeing any movie that is not a documentary. I am fond of anything dealing with political themes but in rather cowardly fashion I suppose I do avoid films on the climate crisis. I find them very valuable but so disturbingly truthful and realistic I can’t watch. I suppose I do watch documentaries because I am lazy and it’s easier to just sit back and have it all laid out for me. Reaching for the popcorn is easier than reading and having to continually turn the page.

Perhaps this avoidance to film dates back to the first movie I ever saw in a theatre and that was Disney’s Old Yeller. A quick refresher: the movie takes place in Texas in 1869 and the star is a loveable yellow lab, who would put Lassie to shame any day. Yeller of course had the advantage of being teamed up with a much more relatable friend in 15 year old Travis. Lassie was burdened with Timmy who seemed destined in every episode to make really stupid choices that only his dog could save him from. What of course so seared Old Yeller into my psyche was that he gets rabies fighting off a predatory wolf and has to be shot by Travis. I never really got past this despite the Disney attempts to soften the ending with a new puppy for the family. Sorry, the damage was done. I actually don’t think I saw any movies after that until the James Bond movies came out and the obvious draw for me to these films was James and not any of the Fox-News-personality-type female sexual partners central to every Bond film.

I do though appreciate how important film is to the LGBT community and the tremendous impact this can have in both very positive ways and damagingly negative reinforcement of out internalized homophobia. So much of our early coming out is the struggle to find the “other”, a soul we can relate to. The search to find someone else like us is often relentless. The game-changing realization that I am not alone is certainly a recurring theme bringing us back again and again to celluloid escapism as a way to soothe our pain. Gay men in particular may want to be fucked by the leading man but it is the strong female leads that have been our succor for decades and we grasp at any hit of a queer character or theme.

Perhaps the singular patron saint of the tortured history of Queers and their portrayal in film was Vito Russo. He is best known for his landmark book the Celluloid Closet, still easily available and I suspect or hope a copy or two is in The Center’s library. Russo was one of the founders of GLAAD in 1985; previously know as the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation. In recognition of bisexual and trans-persons the organization is now just GLAAD and no long an acronym.  GLAAD was initially formed in response to the hateful and vile portrayal of persons with AIDS by the New York media particularly the New York Post. Vito Russo himself died from AIDS in 1990.

GLAAD remains quite active today keeping a watchful eye on all forms of media for inaccurate portrayals of Queer folk. They have developed their own criteria for analyzing how LGBT characters are portrayed called the Vito Russo Test. This link is to their web site: http://www.glaad.org

This Vito Russo Test is patterned after the “Bechdel Test” which is used to look at how women are portrayed in film. I have included the criteria for the Russo test and they are as follows:

1.The film contains a character that is identifiably lesbian, gay, bisexual, and/or transgender.

2. That character must not be solely or predominantly defined by their sexual orientation or gender identity. I.E. they are made up of the same sort of unique character traits commonly used to differentiate straight characters from one another.

3. The LGBT character must be tied into the plot in such a way that their removal would have a significant effect. Meaning they are not there to simply provide colorful commentary, paint urban authenticity, or (perhaps most commonly) set up a punchline. The character must matter.

These criteria are taken from GLAAD’s 2016 Studio Responsibility Index. Unfortunately, this year out of 22 films with significant LGBT characters only 8 or 36% have met these criteria and that is apparently a significant decrease from recent years. http://www.glaad.org/sri/2016/vitorusso

Our struggle continues; so to the barricades brother and sisters or at least to the theatres with a discriminating eye.

© 25 July 2016

About the Author  

I was born in La Porte Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California. 

Movies, by Will Stanton

My taste in movies is somewhat eclectic, yet I do insist upon good quality in order for me to thoroughly enjoy them, rather than merely tolerate them. To me, good quality means intelligent thoughtfulness and experienced creativity in all aspects of film-making.  Among other criteria, the movie should have a theme that is worth watching and considering.  That usually means adult topics.  I will clarify what I mean with a few just a few movie examples.

Already, that leaves out so many Hollywood movies of today that are based upon comic books and their almost endless sequels, impossible action-adventures with superheroes and villains. Apparently, the scripts are written by Southern-California twenty-year-olds with little formal education and virtually no cultural upbringing.  They are not interested in making good quality movies; they just want to make lots of money, catering to easily satisfied audiences.

I also have developed over the years a concerned sense that such “100% good guys versus 100% bad guys” themes indoctrinate Americans, e.g., adolescent boys with limited rational capabilities, into believing that all challenges in life are threatening and physical, as opposed to cerebral and spiritual, and that we must attack and kill the enemy to solve all of our problems.  The degree of gratuitous violence in so many movies worries me.  It stands to reason that this general behavior now is reflected throughout our society, ranging from pervasive lack of civility, pervasive crime, mass-shootings, unwarranted wars, and bad votes.

I also find even the dialogue and acting often distasteful.  So many young American actors regularly are supplied lines that are supposed to sound clever and cool, reflecting affected self-assuredness, hubris, and arrogance.  Also, their facial expressions and body-language are so affected, portraying arrogance or even physical threat to others.  I cringe each time I hear and see such behavior.  I prefer natural, unaffected portrayals.

In contrast to banal films, there have been many movies and television series that I have admired and, consequently, often have watched more than once.  Some are from independent film-makers.  A good number of these have been British or other foreign film-companies, writers, directors, and actors, who demonstrate a high degree of maturity and professionalism.

For example, the superlative 1979 BBC series “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy” is one of the all-around best-quality productions I ever have seen.  To begin with, the superb writer of the book, David Cornwell (pen-name “John le Carré”), has worked for both British MI5 and MI6, most likely has continued his contacts, and obviously knows what he was talking about.  Secondly, this well-informed, highly intelligent man writes honestly, reflecting the good, bad, and often mediocre behavior and character of governments and human beings.  Then, the screenplay-writer also was excellent, as well as the director and all of the crew.  For the leading role, they chose the consummate actor Sir Alec Guinness as George Smiley.

Once word of that selection got about, the casting-director had his choice of the very best actors in all of Britain.  In addition to their great experience and professionalism, their appearances, voices, and mannerisms fit the roles like a glove.  Unfortunately, a discerning viewer must obtain the uncut, British Region-2 DVDs for the best experience and clearest plot-development, for some crucial scenes were cut for U.S. audiences in order to force the episodes into one-hour time-slots; and the idiots used those shortened episodes for the American DVDs.  Also, don't bother to watch the more recent movie-version.  I gave it a C- rating in my review on Amazon.

For theater-movies, I admire many aspects of New Zealand director Peter Jackson's “Lord of the Rings.”  For the thousands of people involved over several years in this major project, this effort was a labor of love.  So much care went into making these films that, for example, the set for Hobbiton was constructed and planted way in advance of filming so that the flora would have a chance to develop.  Professional sword-smiths were hired to create masterpieces for the major characters.  Fine-tuning the script continued to the very last minute, requiring the London Symphony Orchestra to also  fine-tune their  sound-track recordings.  Even after Jackson won the Oscar with the final episode, “Return of the King,” he had his crews continue filming to make improvements for the DVD sets to come.  I know of no other film-project that has done this.

American independent film-makers and foreign film-makers have made many films over the years that explore human nature and realistic situations, such as docudramas like the acclaimed, German film “The Bridge.”  Based upon a true, 1945 event in the last days of the war, schoolboys were forced into uniforms and ordered to guard a small bridge in their own village, the very route American tanks were approaching.  One boy was severely wounded.  All the others perished.  The western allies required Germans to view the film to further emphasize the terrible consequences of their too easily having let themselves be led in to a catastrophic war.  “The Bridge” is considered to be one of the two best anti-war films made.

I also appreciate serious fiction, such as the British “Remains of the Day” that explored the unnecessary self-denial and repressed emotions of an all-too-traditional butler.  I realize, as much as I appreciate these films, that many people who are used to hyperkinetic, childish adventure-films, don't care for mature, cerebral films because these are regarded as “too slow, too boring.”  As a matter of fact, just such a person gave me his copy of the “Remains” DVD because he was disappointed that it didn't have more action and wartime violence.

One of my all-time favorite films is Italian director Luchino Visconti's prize-winning “Death in Venice” based upon, what many literary critics declare to be, “the best novella of the twentieth century” and written by “the best novelist of the twentieth century” Thomas Mann.  The Cannes Film Festival awards once held a retrospective contest covering films from a quarter of a century.  “Venice” won the grand prize and was declared “a masterpiece.”  The cinematography alone is a masterpiece with many scenes resembling tableau-artwork.   The lead actor Dirk Bogarde deserved  “best-actor”  awards from all such contests.  Most of the sublime accompanying music is by the great composer Gustav Mahler.

Because of my interest in the remarkable voices and music of the European Baroque era, I like the unique, Golden-Globe-winning film “Farinelli,” loosely based upon the reputation of the acknowledged greatest singer in history, Carlo Broschi, stage-name “Farinelli.”

As entertaining as the film is, anyone who has bothered to learn history knows that the screenplay accurately reflects only about 10% of the real person, 20% based upon the reputation of other contemporary singers, 20% based upon the Baroque culture and opera of the time, and 50% simply made up to entertain the audience.  Even so, I enjoy the film.  There is no other like it.  I recommend the music CD.

I do admit, however, that not all the films which I enjoy are worthy of winning Cannes' Palme d'Or, perhaps the most prestigious film award.  Even my most sober friends and I have enjoyed the “Harry Potter” movies.  In addition to their being very imaginative, they seem to succeed as an antidote to the banality of the real world, even despite the scripts' frequent egregious errors in diction, grammar, and style.  And, I have to admit also that I often have watched some good quality films and DVDs simply because I am inclined to identify with attractive characters whose attributes and lives appear more interesting and satisfying than, too often, my own life.  I'm not sure that the practice of watching such films is of any practical purpose, but they are a captivating distraction.  Still, some are included in my DVD collection.

And, last of all, if I suddenly became a billionaire, I would like to produce to perfection several films based upon topics dear to my heart.  Of course, that is a real fantasy.

© 31 May 2016 

About the Author 

I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories.  I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones.  Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group.  I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.

Movies, by Ray S

Last week, well for Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and finally Thursday nights I went to the movies. It was one of the longest horror stories I’ve ever witnessed. It all took place on my TV screen rather than the screen at the Mayan or Esquire Theatres.

What I watched made watching the horrors of Atlanta burning during “Gone with the Wind” or the horror of Marlon Brando chewing the scenery in “Apocalypse Now” seem comparable to Judy Garland’s rendition of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” There was no comparison.

In other words the apotheosis of Emperor Trump at the Republican National Convention was scarier than hell and totally demoralizing. What was even more terrifying was to see and hear all of the great unwashed reaching orgasmic nirvana in the middle of Cleveland, Ohio, and with the world watching. “Have they no shame?”

To some it may be reassuring that our nation will be elevated to its rightful place in the world on January 20, 2017. No longer will the USA remain the weak, second-class rubbish heap of corrupt Democrat despots that have destroyed everything our country stood for. Quote: “Leave it to me, I’ll take care of everything MYSELF or maybe one of my very photogenic progeny;” even that lost lamb on Thursday who couldn’t seem to find a place to stand. A nice touch at the end through was when the child received a light nudge from our soon-to-be king. The royal family stood together along with Mr. and Mrs. Pence. Makes one wonder if the government will have to outdo Harry Truman and add a bedroom wing to the White House.

This may not be popcorn in theater # 2, or the main floor seating with your own recliner, but it promises to be one hell of a Movie.

Remember to paraphrase Margo Channing in “All About Eve”. “Fasten your seat belts; it’s going to be a bumpy ride tonight”!

© 23 July 2016

About the Author

Two Good Movies, by Nicholas

I remember seeing a cartoon one day in The New Yorker magazine, a publication famous for its topical cartoons. It showed two men, presumably gay, walking out of a movie theatre that was showing some male-female romantic movie. One man says to the other: “I’m tired of extrapolating.”

He meant, of course, he was tired of seeing great loves and the truths of great romances, their trials, tribulations, joys and triumphs, played out on the big screen by hetero couples from whom we could all learn about love by pretend-identifying with one or both of the individuals. Sort of, love in the abstract. Love is universal and I shouldn’t be concerned that the people shown don’t really look or act like me and my lovers. I should “extrapolate,” imagine myself and my dilemmas and joys through them.

That is, of course, a bunch of crap. And fortunately, we don’t have to put up with that so much anymore.

This past weekend Jamie and I saw two movies at the Q Cinema film festival at the Denver Film Society not far from our house. On Friday we saw a dramatic film called Lazy Eye. It might soon show up in commercial release and I highly recommend seeing it. The story is a fairly ordinary one of two men who briefly had a passionate connection years back when both were young. They are in their middle-age 40’s now. There’s been no contact between them for years until one finds the other and we’re off and running. They reconnect and the passion soars. Problem is, one has gone on to another relationship and even married another man. Of course, despite old yearnings, it does not work out. How they get to that point of finally separating is the beauty of the story and the film.

Someone remarked that the story could have been any couple, not necessarily a gay couple. It could have been told that way. But it wasn’t. It was told by, for and about gay relationships. I didn’t have to extrapolate. Straight viewers seeing this move could do the extrapolating now.

Moreover, the story involved two men comfortably and completely out. Being gay was not the issue. No angst about anybody’s sexual identity. At this point in my life, I have to say I am totally over coming out stories. I don’t think the words gay or homosexual are even mentioned in the movie. We are seeing the fully realized story of two men who were in love long ago and maybe could be now if it weren’t for the fact of other choices being made since.

It was a joy to see people who are gay working out their lives without any specter of closets and prejudices hanging over them. The story was our story, my story.

The other movie we saw was a documentary called Political Animals and tells the stories of the first four lesbians elected to the California state legislature in the 1990s and later. It’s notable that the first gays elected to that legislature were women. Gay men in the 1990s were too busy caring for ill friends and lovers. One of the women—Carole Migden who made an appearance at the showing—I know personally and we got to reminisce about lesbian and gay movement days in San Francisco. I was a journalist then and covered politics.

These four brave pioneering women politicians accomplished a lot like protections for queer youth in schools and the first statewide domestic partnership recognition. The vile things they had to hear said about them and all gay people in legislative debates is an astonishing history lesson. They were brilliant political strategists. It’s moving to hear their stories about how their politics was not about abstract ideas and policies but about their own personal lives. It was their story, our story, my story.

I recommend both these movies.

© July 2016 

About the Author 

Nicholas grew up in Cleveland, then grew up in San Francisco, and is now growing up in Denver. He retired from work with non-profits in 2009 and now bicycles, gardens, cooks, does yoga, writes stories, and loves to go out for coffee.