Chapman University opens permanent Huell Howser exhibit; LA residents dealt with location shooting problems 100 years ago; Teaching adults to ride bikes.
Boston Marathon bombing: Studio City runner returns to race
In 2013, Off-Ramp host John Rabe talked with marathoner Renee Opell after she narrowly escaped the carnage of the Boston Marathon bombs. John called Renee again today and found out she's got her ticket for this year's marathon. Runners don't like it when you keep them from finishing what they started.
"We were having a glorious day, the weather was perfect, and we were moving along at a pretty steady pace," Studio City resident Renee Opell told us about running Boston Marathon April 15, 2013, with two friends. The group stopped to take a picture of themselves near the finish line. "Come on, let's go, we're almost done," Opell said. Then, the first explosion went off — just 30 yards away. But if they hadn't stopped? It's a cosmic question that Opell and her friends can't avoid.
"It is the best picture of my life, no doubt about it, and I kind of chuckle when I think about telling them to hurry up. But honestly, it kept us away from a bad place."
Now, Renee and her friends, Phil Kent and Jennifer Hartman, are in the final stages of prepping for running the Boston Marathon on Monday, April 21. Yes, they're going back. In fact, they were invited back by race officials.
RELATED: Listen to the complete Off-Ramp interview with Renee Opell in 2013
Did the three friends talk about the bombings over the past year? "We talked a lot about it right after the bombing, and for the weeks following. And for me personally, I had a little PTSD, and sudden noises certainly shook me up." But she knows they were fortunate, "and for my personal satisfaction, I look forward to going beyond the finish line this year."
You're not scared, I asked? "I have no trepidation," Opell said Tuesday. "I'm very excited to go back and run the race from start to finish this year. I never felt that I would stay away from a marathon."
RELATED: BAA confirms expanded field for 2014 Boston Marathon
And neither do the 20 additional people from her local running group who will be accompanying them —as well as the 9,000 other runners who will be racing this year in Boston.
She laughs in agreement when I ask if this is a big middle finger to the terrorists. "Absolutely. You can't squelch a runner. We're gonna show up; we're gonna show them. And I think the country is counting on us to do that as well."
RH Greene reevaluates Wm Friedkin's 'flop,' 'Sorcerer'
UPDATE 4/7/2014: Cinefamily is showing a restored version of "Sorcerer" April 16 - 24, with a special appearance from Friedkin himself on April 16.
(A new revival of director William Friedkin's notorious 1977 box office failure Sorcerer has contributor RH Greene thinking about other ambitious cinematic flops from the "New Hollywood" era, and how time has been kind to them. Sorcerer screens May 9 at the American Cinematheque's Aero Theatre. Greene says a first-ever DVD and Blu-Ray release is currently rumored to be in the works.)
The New Hollywood Directors of the 1970s are remembered for making great movies, including The Godfather, Jaws, Taxi Driver, The French Connection, and Annie Hall. Their failures were equally legendary. In 1980, Deer Hunter director Michael Cimino made a Marxist western called Heaven's Gate. The film flopped so mightily it took down a studio.
Two years later, Francis Coppola released One from the Heart, a small romantic comedy that somehow metastasized into one of the most costly failures of all time. But if there's one New Hollywood movie that has hubris written all over it, William Friedkin's Sorcerer might be it.
The title is oblique, but suggested to audiences a follow-up to Friedkin's mega-hit The Exorcist, which Sorcerer emphatically is not. It's an existential parable about four desperate criminal anti-heroes hired to haul decomposing dynamite through a jungle, and there is nothing like a hero to root for.
Sorcerer was a runaway production; Friedkin overspent his approved budget by around 700%. It's also a remake of a French masterpiece, and it therefore virtually invited critics to make invidious comparisons.
Last but not least: the film's first 20 minutes are in various foreign languages. With subtitles. And oh yeah. Sorcerer is also one of the great American films of its time.
Released in 1977 during the summer of Star Wars, Sorcerer was chased out of theaters to give Luke Skywalker more screens. In a sense, Star Wars never relinquished those movie houses, because Sorcerer is exactly the kind of challenging studio fare the Star Wars phenomenon rendered all but obsolete.
Star Wars is pure escapism, while Sorcerer is a riveting cinematic essay about the futility of human purpose -- an anxious spectacle of emptied men caught in postures of jeopardy and despair. It's a film about Purgatory, not even Hell, about lost men who expiate their crimes through suffering. Or try to, anyway.
The audacious bleakness of the vision is matched to riveting, hallucinatory imagery, including: a broken-nosed bride, reciting her vows beneath two black eyes. Two oversized trucks slow-rolling across a rope bridge while it heaves beneath them like a wakening monster; and Roy Scheider's unraveling gangster Jackie Scanlon, ranting like Ahab as he veers through a dead volcanic landscape weirder than the Moon.
In Billy Wilder's Sunset Blvd., forgotten silent movie star Norma Desmond grieves for a lost era saying, "I'm still big. It's the pictures that got small." Sorcerer is still big too. As is Heaven's Gate, by the way. And Warren Beatty's Reds. And Dennis Hopper's The Last Movie. And many another alleged fiascoes perpetrated by the screen lions of a bygone time.
Say what you will: the blunders of the New Hollywood era took raw risks in the name of art and originality, claiming what Orson Welles called a primary right of the artist, which is the right to fail. How riveting they seem in the time of John Carter and Battleship. And how remarkable that directors like William Friedkin occasionally failed themselves all the way to a masterpiece.
The late Yasiel Puig, and other tales from the Dodgers Home Opener
KPCC's Ben Bergman drew Home Opener duty (curse him!) and talks with Off-Ramp host John Rabe about Puig, Tommy's trattoria, Vin Scully, and his Ben's Dodger Dog limit.
Huell Howser: 'California's Gold' host had a clear vision for show
Just this past week, Chapman University unveiled a brand new exhibit dedicated to Huell Howser, the late host of public television's "California's Gold." There's a replica of Huell's office, pieces from Huell's art collection and tons of artifacts from Huell's long TV career.
Off-Ramp producer Kevin Ferguson went to the exhibit's opening and ran into Michael Garber, who edited Huell's work from 2004 until his last episode.
"I had heard of Huell, because I had seen him on KCET every so often, when I'd be flipping around on a Sunday afternoon," said Garber. "There'd be this guy running around California with a hand mic asking people questions."
Garber eventually got a job at KCET, but it wasn't until 2004 that he ended up with Huell Howser. He heard Howser was looking to hire a digital editor through Craigslist, of all places.
"We set up a meeting, I showed him some of the whiz-bang things I could do, like real time color correction," said Garber. "I made his face purple or something...That really impressed him!"
Garber worked with Huell on over 500 episodes, and while he acknowledges the show has a raw feel, the editing was very intentional.
"Huell, in particular, was extremely controlling in the edit room. He really knew what he wanted and it was an experience learning to let go as an editor," said Garber. "He wanted the scene to play out for itself."
In 2011, Garber himself made an appearance on "Visiting with Huell Howser," and talked cow tongue. In an earlier episode, the editor saw Huell balk at the idea of eating the bovine tasting organ.
"I was incensed in the edit session," said Garber. "I grew up watching my mom eat tongue sandwiches at delis and loving tongue."
Howser decided to give Garber an opportunity to air his grievances on TV, and the two filmed an entire episode at Langer's Deli to cow tongue.
"I was nervous," Garber said. "As soon as he started asking questions and put his hand on my shoulder, I thought 'OK.' He's directing this journey, he knows what's gonna look good on camera."
Adult bike riding classes in Los Angeles show it's never too late to learn
Did you know one in nine adults don't know how to ride a bike?
If you're one of those nine and living in Los Angeles, here's your chance: Cyclists Inciting Change Through Live Exchange, or CICLE, offers a monthly two-hour “Learn To Ride For Adults” class that will teach you how to get up on two wheels.
On a sunny Sunday morning in Eagle Rock, cars zip by on the 2 Freeway. But in the Macy's parking lot along Colorado, it’s spacious, quiet, and nearly empty as a CICLE class starts up. Sherene Hulugalle's here for her second time.
"When I first came I was terrified, I was sweating, actually," she said. "But there’s nothing to be afraid of. Especially the method they use, where you can keep your feet down. It kind of — you know — it takes away the anxiety."
CICLE keeps the class small — five students is about average. But today, there are just three. Dan Dabek, CICLE's director, estimates that in the three years he’s been teaching the class, he’s taught 175 to 200 adults how to ride.
"I think that a lot of people have tried riding bikes or they’ve had experience maybe as children or as adults and sometimes those experiences weren’t positive," said Dabek. "And those are things that people carry with them in the class, and that’s a big hurdle that we try to overcome in the class."
Hulugalle agreed — she's no exception.
"As a child I tried and failed, because my brothers would put me at the top of a hill, and watch me fly down," she said. "So I kind of gave up on the idea for 40 years."
The class moves in tiny steps. After putting on their helmets and sitting on their saddles, instructor Julia Lippe-Klein has the students start by scooting the bikes around the parking lot with both feet on the ground. Pedals haven't even entered into the picture.
"With each exercise today, they’re building on each other," said Lippe-Klein. "So you’re actually just gonna be walking the bike, you’re sitting on the bike, you’re gonna be using your feet to move your forward."
Unlike kids, Dabek said, adults tend to over think matters like this. Riding a bike doesn't happen in your head — it’s about motor skills. Dabek and Klein’s challenge is to get students doing more feeling than thinking, so they can commit the process to muscle memory.
In today’s class, everyone seems to be doing okay — until it’s time to turn. Hulugalle's beginning to struggle as she attempts a couple zig-zag maneuvers.
"I hate it. I just hate it," she said. "I just have a thing about zig zags. I don’t want to ever turn. I want to go straight."
When the class's two hours are up, some students are close, but just short of success. No one feels daunted, though. They’re all looking forward to the day they know they’ll be on a bike.
"I just want to ride on Venice Beach. I mean, that’s like my big thing right now," said Hulugalle. "And I’m not in a rush, I don’t know why. I’m the most impatient person on earth. But this thing, I’m not in a rush. I just feel I’ll get it. And when I do, I’ll ride."
CICLE’s “Learn To Ride” class for adults costs $30, or $40 with bike rental, but fee waivers are available. See CICLE's website for scheduling and more info.
Atomic Age Covina Bowl to close, preservationsists very concerned
UPDATE 3/3/2017: We learned this week that the Covina Bowl - designed by Gordon Powers, profiled below - is scheduled to close later this month. When I asked the LA Conservancy's director of advocacy, Adrian Scott Fine, to rate how worried he is, he said it's a 10 out of 10. Fine told me the building is eligible for a place on the National Register of Historic Places, but that won't ensure it will survive. The Conservancy is working to find a solution that could allow some development on the property and keep the building from being demolished. Listen to the bonus audio for my whole conversation with Fine. -- John Rabe
Back when bowling was an institution, not just for birthday parties, Gordon Powers' architectural firm crisscrossed the nation building Atomic Age shrines to bowling. And don't call them bowling alleys, Powers says these are bowling centers, often with 40 or more lanes. Now 97 and retired, Powers lives in Garden Grove.
Powers says said bowling really took off with the invention of one machine: the automatic pinspotter. "It changed bowling because, up to that time, the pin boys either were high school kids sometimes, but mostly they were alcoholics." Not so family oriented, he says. "But as soon as they got the automatic pinspotter, all of that changed because you could bowl at any time of day or night and you didn't need any of these other people. So, bowling took off from there."
Powers, an Oregon Native, didn't get work as an architect until he was 32. Before that he was flying planes for the military. The firm he co-founded had a special connection to American Machine and Foundry -- better known as AMF -- one of the biggest names in bowling. Soon, Powers and his firm designed structures in Pennsylvania, Arizona and here in Southern California. And these aren't drab buildings in shopping parks: A-frames tower overhead, sparkling atom road signs light up the way, and Jetsons-esque marquees beckon families to spend their Friday nights inside.
At the Covina Bowl, you can see why some preservationists call it Powers' masterwork. There's the ancient ruin geometric cement work at the entrance, the sharp pointed roofline, the colorful glasswork in the Pyramid Room restaurant. The place has kept the diehard, early afternoon bowlers coming back for decades.
In the Fifties, Powers and his firm even worked with a group of investors lead by Walt Disney to build a huge bowling complex in Denver. The investors held all of their planning meetings at Chasen's in Beverly Hills and Powers was delighted that he was invited.
"All the great people were in this: Jack Benny and Bing Crosby and John Payne, a bunch of them. We built an 80-lane (center) and a full-sized Olympic swimming pool, under glass, in Denver. Walt wanted to put a wave machine in, but we couldn't figure out how to do it without it slopping over," Powers says.
Although Powers says he has never considered himself an avid bowler, he did pick up the pastime when he was younger. He figured it was required if he was going to be building so many bowling centers. In fact, Powers and his firm -- Powers, Daly and DeRosa -- built so many bowling centers that today it's difficult for Powers to keep tabs on them all.
These days Powers spends a lot of his time training Labradors. But at his home, there are still some reminders of his earlier life, when he was king of the bowling center. Like a 1958 issue of Life magazine with a full spread featuring Powers' Futurama and Willow Grove bowling centers.
How Hollywood productions disrupted the city 100 years ago
Michael Holland, the L.A. City Archivist, wrote this story for the city employee newspaper Alive!
You’ve seen them: signs announcing a film shoot on your block. The trucks of equipment, lighting, and makeup trailers taking up all the parking. The mess left behind by the crew.
Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the very same problems confronted city park officials 100 years ago when the brand new movie industry started filming on city property.
In the city archives, we have minutes of meetings held by Parks Department commissioners, plus some day-to-day correspondence. They show the challenges of an underfunded department dealing with issues like park access and environmental damage.
For instance, there was a movie crew shooting in Griffith Park in April 1914. The park superintendent reported that the crew was using one of the canyons just east of Vermont for a wagon train scene involving 300 men, 100 horses and 20 wagons. He writes:
“The canyon was covered with the ordinary sage and greasewood, but after the horses had milled around in it for about two hours, all the vegetation had ground to dust. … I would like to ask if there is any limit to the size of a company, as such a large outfit changes the whole appearance of a place in a few hours.”
The commissioners then limited livestock to 25 head at any one time.
The movie studios were like today’s tech start-up companies that began with very few rules to deal with. They did pay for shooting permits – $1 a month in 1914 – and took their scenes wherever they could get them. A burning building with firemen on scene? Great! A parade in downtown L.A.? Fantastic! Get your actors into the middle of the action? All good!
That is, unless you were running one of the busiest city parks just down the street from one of the most iconic studios in history. The Mack Sennett Keystone Studio was just a mile north of Echo Park.
From 1915: panoramic view of the Mack Sennett's Keystone Studios at 1712 Allessandro Ave. (later renamed Glendale Boulevard) in Edendale. Image: LAPL/Pacific National Bank Collection
A typical park comedy would involve a park bench or two, a pretty girl and a guy making a nuisance of himself. Throw in another couple and a cop, and you had the recipe for a Keystone comedy.
When the city drained Echo Park Lake in 1913 for maintenance, Keystone shot scenes with Mabel Normand in a rowboat stuck in the lake bottom. Ford Sterling was the jilted rival who had opened the valve and drained the lake. The movie was titled “A Muddy Romance.”
Watch the Keystone comedy, "A Muddy Romance," filmed in a drained Echo Park Lake
But all the filming destroyed the beauty of the park, and so, in the spring of 1914, park commissioners banned film companies from the park. When Keystone complained to City Hall, the commission responded that the moviemakers “take all kinds of liberties and show no regard whatever for the fact that the parks are for the benefit and enjoyment of the citizens and not for the exploitation by any industry.”
Meanwhile, as the industry matured, a new trade group accepted a permit and fee structure from the Parks Department. A sliding scale began at $5 a day for one actor and ran up to $35 for 25 actors or more. The same livestock that scarred Griffith Park in 1914 now cost $1 per head per day. A new $250 monthly permit allowed the studios to shoot in almost any city park.
But when the Echo Park ban was finally lifted, Mack Sennett had given up the Keystone brand. Filmmakers like him would continue to use parks and city streets in their movies, but they would reflect a more urban city that had also changed from the one their audiences had fallen in love with.