I Got It From My Mama

Transcribed by Odienator

When I quote her, readers always ask if I make up the things my mother says. I do not. There is no way in Hell I’m that good a writer. So when you read this true story, be advised that I am quoting my mother verbatim. In fact, I am going to stage this as a little mini-play, so you can have Mom tell you the tale she told me. 

Some things you should know: My mother looks half her age. Once, she got proofed at the casino, but I didn't. Another time, they thought she was my sister's sister. After 5 kids, she still looks good. She and Dick Clark have that arrangement with the Devil, I think. She always has nice clothes and 8 million matching pocket books to go with them.

To set the scene: I went to Mom’s last week. She asked me to fix the E-mail in her PC. My Mom sits on the carpet  in front of a low computer stand with the keyboard on her lap to use the computer, so I had to do the same to fix it. This led to problems for me, which led to the story my brother and I were told by our mother.

ME

(getting up from the PC after several minutes sitting on the floor)

Ow! Ow! (popping noises as joints come to life)

MOM

What’s your problem?

ME

My back and knee are killing me from sitting on the floor like that!

MOM

You getting old, huh?

ME

Cut me some slack. I’m 41 years old.

MOM

You’re what?

ME

I said I’m forty-wuh—

MOM

Fuck boy! You’re older than me!

BROTHER

(Laughs)

ME

How is that possible?

MOM

I stopped aging at seventeen. I gave y’all the opportunity to do so as well. Guess you didn’t take it.

ME

Whatever, Ma.

MOM

Look at this!

(Sits down on the floor, then gets up quickly. She does this several times.)

MOM

See! Just like a teenager. You couldn’t even get up!

(Does it several more times, a few in dramatic, theatrical fashion)

ME

You gonna get stuck down there.

MOM

(getting up)

I’m still young and I still got it.

(My brother and I look at each other. He rolls his eyes.)

MOM

Listen. I went to the track with your father last week. Goddamn penny slot machines ate my 80 dollars. I was wearing this belt--

(Leans to the side so we can see the belt. It says “Kiss Me” on it.)

MOM

—and this fresh little old White man sat next to me. He pointed to my belt and said (in old man voice) “I sure wish I could do that!” Then he said “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna bother you.” I said to myself, I know D-A-M well you’re not. But he was persistent.  “Can I sit here and play along?” I looked at him and nodded.  He was a dapper old man, dressed in a suit with a hat like they wore in old musicals, like what my father used to wear when I was a little girl. I swear, he looked like he could just tip his hat and tap dance away.

(Touches the brim of an imaginary hat, slants to the side and starts mock-tapping)

(singing)

I’m tap dancin’ and singin’ da BLUUU-UUUUES!

(shuffles off to an imaginary stage left. Starts walking back to where she was standing before)

Anyway, after about 5 minutes of me pressing on that stupid ass slot machine, the old man got bold. “Excuse me, but you are so beautiful. Please, can I buy you lunch at the restaurant over there when you’re finished?” I smiled and said, “No thank you, “ but he was not having it. “Oh please?!” he said, touching the brim of his hat and leaning forward. “I’ll be right over there at those slot machines. Look for me, beautiful!”

BRO

Where was Daddy when this was happening?

MOM

He was upstairs shoveling his money into the horse’s ass.

ME

Ma!!

MOM

Anyway, I kept giving my money to the slots, like a jackass. The old man came back. I saw him out the corner of my eye, just shuffling over with his little hat and his dress suit. I’m waiting for Cab Calloway music to start playing and him to start dancing. “I’m back!” he said. “And I still want to take you to lunch, beautiful.” I just wanted him to go away, but I didn’t want to be mean.

ME

That would be a first!

MOM

Don’t make me slap the shit out of you!

(Looks at Odie. She’s serious. Odie moves out of her reach)

MOM

So I told him I was on a diet. “Oh come on, you?!” he said. “You’re perfect, beautiful. Now how about lunch?” He tipped his hat and winked at me. When he realized his charm only went so far, he said “OK. OK. Can I at least give you my phone number? You come here often.” He wrote his number on a napkin and gave it to me. “Don’t make me wait, beautiful,” he said, “I won’t be around forever.” Then he tipped his hat and left. I threw his number in the garbage can after he left.

ME

Just like a woman! Instead of telling him you were married, you teased the poor man! You probably flirted with him like that bear on Bugs Bunny. “Tell me MORE about my eyes!”

BRO

(laughing)

He could have been rich! Wouldn’t you feel messed up if he were?

ME

You’ll be watching the news, and they’ll show his picture and say (in newscaster voice) “The richest man in the state died today. Having no sweethearts or family, he left his multimillion dollar estate to his tap dancing cat named Singin’ Da Blues.” They show the cat, and it has a hat on just like the old man!

MOM

Shit boy, I told you before all that doesn’t matter. You can’t take it with you when you go. What’d I tell you all the time? You’re born with nothing, you die with nothing. All that stuff stays here.

BRO

But if you had it, what would you do with it? Say you hit the lottery. What would you do?

MOM

Spend it. Every last dime.

BRO

But what about our inheritance?!!

MOM

Y’all don’t have an inheritance now! You can’t miss what you don’t have!

BRO

Aw, that’s messed up!

MOM

But also like I told you before: If I got rich, I know a way to take it all with me.

ME

Remind me. How?

MOM

I’d spend it all on me! I’d get a new wardrobe, some new hair. Then I’d go to Nip/Tuck, get me some lipo—

ME

Which you don’t need!

MOM

—get a facelift to get rid of these wrinkles—

ME

Which you don’t need!

MOM

—get my tits put back where they used to be—

ME

JESUS! MA!

MOM

—and when I’m dead and gone, and people come up to look at me in that coffin (crosses arms to simulate resting in peace) they are going to see me looking beautiful and dressed to the nines and they gonna nod and say “Yup. Bitch took it all with her!”

ME

(looking at BRO)

Now I know she’s gone senile. I’m goin’ home.

MOM

Leave if you want to. Go on! You just mad because your mama ain’t creaky like your old ass is. Get back down on the floor and try to get up again! I dare you.

ME

I’m outta here. Bye, Ma.

MOM

I still got it. Rich White men talkin’ to me and everything. You just can’t deal! Your mama still got it, boy!

She damn sure does.

El Amigo De John Sayles

by Odienator

Odie On Demand strikes again at Roger Ebert's On Demand Blog. This time, it's John Sayles' Amigo, the director's 17th feature.

There is something to be said for the economy in John Sayles' movie titles. He gets his point across in five words or less. The theatrical films he has written and directed bear the names of locations ("Matewan," "Sunshine State," "Silver City," "Limbo") or are deceptively simple descriptive statements ("The Secret of Roan Inish," "The Brother From Another Planet," "Return of the Secaucus Seven," "Amigo"). All 17 titles average out to just under 3 words per movie moniker (actually, 2.5), which means Sayles' 18th movie must star the king of the three word movie title, Steven Seagal. Laugh if you must, but IMDb will tell you Sayles once wrote a film for Dolph Lundgren. Seagal is only a "Marked for Death" sequel away, should Mr. Sayles take my advice.

In the meantime, his 17th film opens September 16th On Demand. "Amigo" follows the path running through much of Sayles' work: It is politically aware, occasionally melodramatic and maintains a certain intimacy despite sprawling across multiple characters and stories. Bitter irony and blatant humanism peacefully co-exist as Sayles' heroes, heroines and villains struggle to maintain the dignity he inherently believes they have.

Read the rest here.

Tell Gobby All About It: Born To Be Bad

by Odienator

(This is part of the Nicholas Ray Blog-A-Thon over at Cinema Viewfinder.)

In 1950, cinematic women lost their damn minds. Eve Harrington longed for the spotlight, and was willing to wrestle it from Margo Channing by any means necessary. Norma Desmond longed for the spotlight too, and was willing to obtain it by shooting a gigolo in the back under the guise of “madness.” These characters are well known, classic dames of the cinema, but there’s another, lesser-known schemer vying for the Bad Girl title in 1950. Her name is Christabel Caine, and the adulation she seeks isn’t from the audience, it’s from Dead Presidents and the rich men who consort with them.  Like Salt and Pepa, Christabel will take your man while making you look like the villain in the process. Then she’ll attempt to divorce him and take half his shit. It doesn’t matter if you’re her innocent cousin or the man she really loves. She’ll toss you under the bus while lying and denying all the way to the bank. “Who me? What bus?” she’ll ask innocently.

Innocent is a trait normally played by Joan Fontaine, the actress who embodies the bad girl whose characteristics are described in the title of Nicholas Ray’s 1950 soap opera, Born to be Bad. Remember how you feared Cary Grant was poisoning Ms. Fontaine with that ominous glass of milk in Suspicion? After Born to Be Bad, you’ll not only root for Cary to be the killer, you’ll be spooning poison into her milk like it was Nestle Quik.  Christabel is unrepentant and irredeemable, and Fontaine relishes the change of pace. She and her director know this is 100% Grade-A soapy kitsch that requires its lead to go full-court bitch, plowing down all comers as she slam-dunks her way into the society pages. Christabel’s surname, Caine, made me think of another unrepentant soap diva, All My Children’s Erica Kane. Since I’ve loved watching my “stories” ever since I was a kid, I knew I’d get a kick out of Born to Be Bad.

Bad is a battle of good and bad Joans, Leslie and Fontaine, respectively. Leslie’s Donna is Christabel’s cousin. She’s engaged to a very wealthy Howard Hughes clone played by Zachary Scott. She is leaving her job after the wedding, and thinks Christabel would be a good fit as a replacement. Christabel purposely shows up a day early, pretending to be embarrassed by her faux pas. In reality, she knew Donna was attending a big socialite party that day, and her cousin would be way too nice not to invite her to tag along. Out of the kindness of her own heart and the stupidity of her own naivete, Donna allows her to stay. Her name may be Donna, but she’s more like another character on Sanford and Son, Lamont. She’s a big dummy for not kicking Christabel to the curb.

Christabel plans to kick Donna to the curb, though. While Donna is out at a bash, Christabel awakens to find cynical, abrasive writer Nick Bradley in the house. It’s a Meet Not-So-Cute, as Christabel is terrified and Bradley, in the guise of Robert Ryan, is suitably gruff and smart-mouthed. Ms. Caine’s loins are intrigued by Bradley, but her brain and her pocketbook remain fixated on Donna’s fiancée, Curtis. With Nick, she enters into what he would later call a “sex attraction,” biding her time before making her move on her sugar daddy.

Christabel’s racket is to feign innocence while underhandedly shaping the scenario to suit her. She uses her uncle and aunt’s influence to get closer to Curtis, then becomes Iago to his Othello. Instead of selling infidelity, Iago Caine peddles golddigger insurance. Curtis is worried that Donna is, to quote Biggie Smalls, trying to stick him for his paper. Instead of hollering “we want prenup, we want prenup!” like Kanye West, Curtis trusts his fiancée because, well, she’s trustworthy. Leave it to Ms. Caine to bring the snake to this Garden of Eden. Christabel becomes that bug in Curtis’ ear, whispering that he should conduct a “test” on Donna to gauge her intentions. Insecure Curtis falls for the bait, never once noticing that his soon-to-be cousin-in-law knows way too much about the ways of the greedy.

“Oh, Curtis, why?!!!” asked the woman in front of me at NYC’s famous (and allegedly pervert-ridden) Film Forum. Until the theater ran Born to Be Bad, I had no idea it existed. This after listening to Joan Leslie talk about her career at the Castro Theater’s Noir City Festival in 2009. (Aside: I covered that festival in 2010). Because Fontaine is so good at seeming to be innocent, that’s why, I wanted to tell my fellow audience member. We know better, and so does Nick Bradley. Ray is surprisingly, hilariously explicit in explaining the real reason Bradley is willing to put up with Christabel and her Christabelshit: Her pussy is da BOMB. Every time Bradley kisses her, Ryan grabs Fontaine and practically swings her around like a rag doll, slamming his face into hers with lip-bruising force. Even Curtis does it. Nobody kisses Donna like that, and when she exits Curtis’ life after being unfairly accused, nobody expects Curtis to start singing Ritchie Valens songs.

Only one other man sees through Christabel’s shenanigans, and Born to Be Bad wouldn’t be the classic it is without him. According to imDB, Mel Ferrer plays Gabriel Broome, but he calls himself Gobby. Gobby paints pictures of society dames, pictures that hang over the fireplaces of mansions throughout town. The pictures are over the fireplace, but Gobby’s personality is IN the fireplace: he’s flamingly gay and absolutely fabulous. I’ve read reviews that question this, but you don’t need to be Liza Minelli to see that Ferrer is clearly testing the censors with his portrayal of the BFF. “You don’t care very much for women, do you?” Christabel asks. Gobby replies “My dear girl, apart from painting my major occupation is convincing women that I'm harmless.” Ferrer’s delivery drips with sarcasm: These are some dumb ass, unobservant women!

Christabel also tries to outsmart Gobby, but he’s not having any of that. “This is Gobby,” he tells Christabel after catching her in a lie, and his reasons for painting her picture have little to do with artistry and everything to do with impending scandal. The price will go up if Christabel is successful, and Gobby’s gallery will be swarmed by a bunch of open wallets and purses.  It’s a tribute to Ray and his screenwriters that the uber-macho Nick Bradley and the anti-macho Gobby get the film’s best lines.  Ryan sinks his teeth into the hilarious macho dialogue: “How many times do I have to tell you how much you love me?” he asks Christabel. And Gobby’s one-line takedown of a society woman at a party is worth the price of renting Born to Be Bad.

Fontaine is excellent, and almost as much fun as Ferrer. After a particularly duplicitious move by Christabel, the woman in front of me yelled at the screen. "TWO FACED BITCH!!!' she exclaimed, much to the approval of the audience. That woman couldn't count. Christabel isn't two-faced. This bitch has EIGHT faces. Fontaine is a joy wearing all of 'em.

Fontaine may be good, but the film's best performance belongs to Joan Leslie. She has to be the beacon of virtue, the victimized, without being so damn boring we don't feel some guilt for loving Christabel's villany. Leslie gives a superb, nuanced turn that's more complex than the film warrants or deserves. My favorite Leslie movie is still The Hard Way (Ida Lupino--she scares the shit out of me!), but Born to be Bad is a fine runner up.

Despite coming out two months before All About Eve, Born to Be Bad shares some eerie similarities. with my favorite movie of all time. Gobby is Addison, Nick Bradley is macho like Bill Sampson and Christabel is obviously Eve. Also like my favorite movie of all time’s Eve and Addison, Gobby and Christabel get exactly what’s coming to them as a result of their unholy alliance. Gobby’s last scene shows that he, like Addison, benefited most from the bad girl’s evil plans. Now if only the filmmakers had spun off Gobby, making him a gossip columnist at odds with Hedda Hopper and Luella Parsons. Now that would have been fierce.

I'm late, but so what, dammit! Click here for the blog-a-thon.