In an interview with Jan Brachmann, Liv Ullman recounts how she organised a meeting between Woody Allen and Ingmar Bergman while she was in New York playing Nora and Bergman was also in town. “Woody Allen is completely different in real life. He turned up in a limousine driven by a white-gloved chauffeur. He entered Ingmar’s room, where I introduced them, and said nothing! Two geniuses who could do nothing but stare at one another in silent amazement. They sat down to eat, Ingmar ordered meatballs, Woody Allen ordered meatballs. He copied everything Ingmar did. Neither of them said a word. On the way home in his limousine, Woody Allen suddenly grabbed my arm and sighed: ‘Thank you, Liv!’ As soon as I got home I call a call from Ingmar: ‘Thank you, Liv!'”
Here, full article in German.
Jammin’ the Blues is a 1944 short film in which several prominent jazz musicians got together for a rare filmed jam session. It featured Lester Young, Red Callender, Harry Edison, Marlowe Morris, Sid Catlett, Barney Kessel, Jo Jones, John Simmons, Illinois Jacquet, Marie Bryant, Archie Savage and Garland Finney. Barney Kessel is the only white performer in the film. He was seated in the shadows to shade his skin, and for closeups, his hands were stained with berry juice. The movie was directed by Gjon Mili. Producer Gordon Hollingshead was nominated for an Academy Award for this footage in the category of Best Short Subject, One-reel. In 1995, Jammin’ the Blues was selected for preservation in the United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress as being “culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant.”
I’ve returned to Cioran recently. His essay on de Maistre in Anathemas and Admirations contains some of the most beautiful and intelligent lines I’ve read in months. The essay itself is a model of bemused, respectfully hostile criticism. Bits of Cioran the aphorist are undeniably precious, but there is value there. He was the real thing.
An aside- Badger may recall with me the Romanian gentlemen who would spend hours on the patio of the bookstore in Baton Rouge smoking and yelling at each other. I miss those guys, and feel somehow responsible for the fact that our pre-fabbed version of cafe culture was so woefully inadequate. The romantic, excitable temperaments that shone from those gentlemen deserved more than that cheap furniture on a slab of concrete surrounded by Walmart, Petsmart, fast food joints, etc etc.