80-year old portrait artist Don Bachardy saw Angelina Jolie naked, Kevin Ferguson saw something disturbing in "Batman Returns," Jerry Siegel's daughter sees him in his Superman typewriter.
Looking for a good Hanukkah TV special? Try 'Santa Claus is Comin' to Town'
I used to feel sorry for my Jewish friends at Christmastime, and not just during the slightly sad Christmas dinners we sometimes shared down in Chinatown.
What got to me more was the sense of encirclement I was sure they felt, as White Christmas, Silent Night, Adeste Fidelis and all the usual suspects erupted from every speaker in America, while Rudolph, Charlie Brown, and the Grinch invaded every TV screen. I was raised a Catholic, and sometimes all that makes me feel encircled too.
On TV, there was virtually nothing Hanukkah-related to compare to the annual Christmas hits. And when I thought about Jewish families, and especially their kids, this seemed like a serious lack. Because TV? It's still our communal hearth this time of year, and the essence of community is inclusion.
Well, despair not, children of Abraham, because I'm here to share an epiphany I had maybe 15 years ago, when I watched the big holiday specials with similar thoughts in mind. It turns out Hanukkah has its own annual TV celebration. A richly beloved program that's a cultural institution, and easily the coolest holiday show of all -- because it's gently subversive, and it hides in plain sight.
Ladies and (merry) gentlemen, I give you: Arthur Rankin and Jules Bass' 1970 masterwork Santa Claus is Comin' to Town: an origin myth for Santa, and almost as Jewish thematically as the annual Chabad telethon.
To begin with--the villains. They're Nazis, okay? They wear Kaiser Wilhelm Pickelhaube helmets, and their leader is called Burgermesiter Meisterburger, and the accent it straight out of Stalag 17.
The scariest moments in the special are when the Burgermeister's minions gather up Santa's first toys just after they're delivered and then burn them in front of the children they were meant for, the way the Nazis burned books at Wartburg.
By this point in the film, here's what we know about Santa: he's a foundling, who was delivered to his destiny on a winter wind the way Moses was carried by the Nile in the bulrushes. The elves who adopted him are ruled by a matriarch: Tante Kringle -- the Yiddish word for "aunt."
So Santa? He's a Jew.
And he's increasingly a freedom fighter, bringing toys to the children despite the Burgermeister's anti-toy decrees.
Important to note: the Burgermeister is one of the few villains ever created by teleplay writer Romeo Mueller who isn't redeemed in some way. Mueller wrote the script for the Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer special too, and you probably remember what a softie the abominable snowman turned out to be. But even cartoon Nazis couldn't be forgiven so easily. So it's only when time marches on and history rounds a few more bends that the Burgermeister is forgotten.
And Santa and his ragged band? Why, they leave the land of their sorrows and trials, and make what can only be called an Exodus, across trackless wastes, to found their own Promised Land at the North Pole.
Call it Santa's Village, or call it Israel. What I call it is an ingenious exploration of one religious community's core foundation myths, using the syntax of another's.
It makes Santa Claus is Comin' to Town a rich, cross-cultural experience if you know where to look.
Just like a good Christmas dinner.
In Chinatown.
(RH Greene is a writer and filmmaker. His latest film is Vampira and Me.)
Getty Villa shows off a treasure trove of Roman silver a French farmer almost destroyed
Off-Ramp commentator Marc Haefele reviews "Ancient Luxury and the Roman Silver Treasure from Berthouville," at the Getty Villa through August 17, 2015.
A French farmer in the days of "Les Miserables" does with his new field just what any farmer anywhere would do with a new field. He digs it up to see what it’s like. The farmer’s name was Prosper Taurin and he struck buried treasure in a story straight out of an old fairy tale. Fifty pounds of precious classic silver dishes and statuary up to 1,600 years old, much of it embossed with deep reliefs of gods and goddesses at play, with cupids and centaurs and even some winsome, buxom centauresses.
It was all too much for the rustic, pious Monsieur Taurin. Such pagan sensuality had to be diabolical. He didn’t even dare to touch it. Instead, he used his pickax to rake the priceless pieces into a large sack, causing some irreparable damage. Taurin didn’t care. Melted down, the treasure would be worth some $8,000 — perhaps enough to buy the biggest field in all of Normandy.
Luckily for us, someone convinced him the treasure might be worth even more as antiquities. Which is why the so-called Berthouville Treasure can now be beheld in its total, restored splendor at the Getty Villa.
(Mercury, Roman, A.D. 175-225; silver and gold. Bibliothèque nationale de France)
Its 60 pieces belonged to a temple dedicated to Mercury, god of messengers and thieves. Why his priests decided to bury the treasure, sometime after 200 AD, we know almost nothing. Scholar Isabelle Fauduet suggests that German tribal raids disrupted this region that had been peaceful and prosperous for centuries. Most of the objects were from worshipers, seeking divine favors or giving thanks for good fortune. Many have names of the donors scratched on them. The biggest donor was named Quintus Domitius Tutus. But we know nothing about him but his name.
Then the priests went away, and left the fruits of devotion below the rich soil. There is a silver statue of Mercury, about a third life size, the largest classical silver statue known. There is a smaller, less complete version of the same. There are great silver cups, each weighing nearly two pounds, envined with beautiful little characters enacting scenes from Homer and the Greek myths. The Getty’s curators suggest these originally were literally conversation pieces — that the dinner guest handed any particular cup or gilt ewer was expected to tell the story it illustrated, with suitable embellishment.
(Beaker with Imagery Related to Isthmia and Corinth, Roman, A.D. 1-100; silver and gold. Poseidon (Neptune) and Demeter (Ceres). Bibliothèque nationale de France)
Knowing those stories was a basic indication of classical literacy, even in the faraway Imperial north of what was to become France.
Let’s imagine that holiday meals then were as strained as they are today. But instead of just clenching your teeth while grandpa talked about how much better things were under the reign of old Emperor Nero, you could pick up your drinking cup and stop all conversation by saying, “Did you ever hear the story about how Hercules got Queen Omphale’s housekeeper pregnant back when he was disguised as a woman in her court? See, it’s all right here on my cup. Let me tell you.” For the Berthouville treasure is more than tableware … it’s a reservoir of tradition.
As though this trove were not enough, the exhibit at the Getty Villa also includes later serving plates from all over the disintegrating Roman Empire. They suggest that, continuing for nearly 300 years after Christianity became Rome’s official religion, classical mythology still had a grip on domestic tradition. The Roman People may have worshiped Jesus on Sunday, but as late as 600AD, some were still serving dinner on plates that showed Hercules strangling the Nemean lion.
(Plate with Hercules Wrestling the Nemean Lion (detail), Roman, A.D. 500-600; silver. Bibliothèque nationale de France)
And, you assume, sharing stories of Herk’s mighty deeds.
Correction: An earlier version of this story misstated the age of the silver items. KPCC regrets the error.
'The Devil Is a Part-Timer': Japanese anime with a kinder, gentler Satan
The Japanese anime "The Devil Is a Part-Timer" offers the kind of take-no-prisoners humor American animation seems to have abandoned. And the premise is so outrageous, it may give fundamentalists heart attacks.
Here’s the story: After a titanic battle in an alternate reality, Satan, the Lord of Demons, is hurled through an inter-dimensional portal with his general Alciel and his archenemy, the Heroine Emilia. The portal dumps them in contemporary Tokyo, without their accustomed supernatural powers — or any means of support. After a run-in with the police, Satan and Alciel take the names Mao and Shiro, and rent a minuscule apartment in a run-down old building.
Mao gets a job at the fast-food outlet MgRonalds, where he’s praised as a model employee. He’s delighted when he’s promoted to assistant manager. One of his co-workers falls for him. Inevitably, other characters — both friends and foes — cross the barrier to Earth, complicating life there. Mao astonishes everyone by being so nice. As his powers return, he protects his friends, aids innocent bystanders and repairs the damage the battles with his foes inflict on the city. Voice actor Josh Grelle makes Mao so likable, this improbable behavior feels believable.
Eventually Mao has to confront the cruel angel Sariel in a climactic battle. But the filmmakers once again juxtapose the fantastic and the mundane with hilarious results. His powers restored, a muscular, winged version of Mao begins the fight taking off his MgRonalds uniform and carefully folding it. Any damage to that uniform would be deducted from his salary! Clad in his boxers, he literally beats the hell out of Sariel, makes sure his friends are safe and repairs the nearby buildings. Then he puts his uniform back on so can start his shift at MgRonalds.
The moment is hilarious, perfectly in character and impossible to imagine in an American animated series. Despite the often-outrageous antics of "The Simpsons" and "South Park," American audiences don’t expect this kind of blending of the mundane and the absurd from human characters, let alone the Lord of Demons.
"The Devil Is a Part-Timer" is based on a series of 11 light novels by Satoshi Wagahara; the novels and the manga adaptation are slated to be published in America in 2015. The animated version’s first season ends with the quarrelsome cast ready for a new adventure. Viewers on both sides of the Pacific are hoping a second season will follow.
Rain v Sun song mashup — what are your favorite weather songs?
AFTER you've checked your roof for leaks, made sure the kids are safe at school, and briefed yourself on all the serious news about the rainstorm, check out this musical mashup ...
It sure seems like songs about rain are better than songs about the sun. IMHO The Who's "Reign O'er Me" handily beats The Beatles' "Good Day Sunshine," and even Gordon Lightfoot's kinda whiney "Rainy Day People" is better than John Denver's kinda whiney "Sunshine on My Shoulders."
I will admit it's a tossup between Anne Peebles' "I Can't Stand the Rain" and Bill Withers' "Ain't No Sunshine."
Please weigh in yourself in the comments below, pass along the mashup (you can listen above!) to people whose roofs are leaking, and nominate YOUR favorite weather songs.
San Fernando Valley Museum of History opens in Northridge
In a small office park in Northridge, just off Nordhoff street, you'll find Los Angeles' newest museum: the Museum of the San Fernando Valley is a small, volunteer-run museum dedicated to telling the story of America's suburb.
The museum has been around for almost 10 years now — it originally got started in 2005 as a collaboration between the area's different historical societies. But until recently, the Museum of the San Fernando Valley had no brick and mortar home. That changed when the museum set up shop in its Nordhoff location in November of this year. Now, with regular hours and free admission, the museum is open for the public to explore.
Scott Sterling is the president of the museum. His family has lived in the San Fernando Valley for three generations — over 100 years. He said the history of the San Fernando Valley follows a pretty typical California trajectory: Native Americans, Spanish settlers, American expansion. But the 20th century defined the Valley.
"A lot of the movie stars in Hollywood that were on the other side of the hill, they started moving over here to get a country house — a house out in the country," he said.
Directors began using the Valley for film shoots, too. "The Karate Kid," "Boogie Nights," "E.T." all were shot in the San Fernando Valley. "'It's a Wonderful Life' was shot in Encino in the summer time — that snow scene, going down that street."
The museum has exhibits featuring movie star photography, the Valley's large military veteran population and a space for local artists. Sterling said he wants the museum to be a starting-off point for visitors to the area.
"The Valley seems to be the lost middle child," he said. "People are always going over to Los Angeles for their culture. What I want them to see is that we have a great culture here in the San Fernando Valley. And that this is just the beginning. We can send them to all the other historical societies — they have their headquarters in some old buildings in the San Fernando Valley, buildings that people should see."
The Museum of the San Fernando Valley is open Tuesdays 1 p.m. - 8 p.m., Thursdays 1 p.m. - 6 p.m. and Saturdays 1 p.m. - 6 p.m. Admission is free. For more info, check out their website.
This Saturday — 12/13/14 — set to be huge for Vegas weddings
For most of us, except for Keith Richard and some newborns, this Saturday is the last sequential date: 12/13/14. The next time it happens will be Jan. 2, 2103 (1/2/3). So as you can imagine, it's a big date for weddings — especially since it falls on Saturday, everyone's favorite wedding day.
And, besides Martha Stewart, who knows more about weddings than Brian Mills? Nobody. Because Mills is not only the general manager of Viva Las Vegas Wedding Chapel in Las Vegas, but one of their ministers, who might perform your ceremony dressed as Dracula or James Bond.
Mills says the chapel performs four ceremonies at one time, every half hour. Saturday, they're slated to perform 120 weddings. That's only half the volume they did on 11/11/11, but it'll still be the biggest day of the year.
"Number one," Mills says, "it makes it easy to remember your anniversary. For some guys, that's a big deal. And I think some people want something quirky or fun about their date."
7/7/7 was big, Mills says, and 8/8/8 is auspicious for many Asians, so it drew a lot of weddings. But even 6/6/6 was popular. "Not only do we do traditional weddings, like everybody else, we're the only themed wedding chapel in the world, so I think I personally did 12 or 13 gothic weddings on 6/6/6, as the Grim Reaper or Dracula."
If you want in on the day, Mills says there are some early morning and late night spots still available. Or you can just sit at home and watch people getting married on their Chapel Cam.
Don Bachardy's 'Hollywood': Celebrity portraits and time machines
As it should, the cover of "Hollywood," artist Don Bachardy's huge new collection of portraits of the industry's famous and not-so-famous, tells the whole story:
The book includes 50 years of Bachardy's unflinching "psychological portraits" of people we're used to seeing in airbrushed headshots. There's Bachardy, looking like what he is: an 80-year-old man — not the talented twink who captured writer Christopher Isherwood's heart in 1953. It's Bachardy's self-portrait of "the artist as an old man," if you will.
"If I came out looking 21 and lovely, they'd say 'Hey! That's not fair!' Age is fascinating, but at the same time I hate turning into a gorgon in my own mirror."
(Don Bachardy and Christopher Isherwood, soon after they met.)
So there's Jack Lemmon in 1992, looking a lot older than his 67 actual years, a man who's seen a lot:
(Jack Lemmon, 1992, by Don Bachardy. Glitterati Incorporated)
Bachardy paints a lot of nudes, but very few show up in "Hollywood." Teri Garr is one of the few, but since we don't want to break the Internet, here's a standard portrait:
(Teri Garr, 1979, by Don Bachardy. Glitterati Incorporated)
And it looks like success might have spoiled Tab Hunter.
(Tab Hunter, 2006, by Don Bachardy. Glitterati Incorporated)
In a long interview at his home in Santa Monica, Bachardy said he began drawing faces when he was a boy — mostly of movie stars. Seeing them on the screen helped them to come alive for him, he said.
At 18, when he started his 33-year relationship with novelist and screenwriter Christopher Isherwood, Bachardy suddenly had access to many of the people he'd been drawing. "And to have them sitting in front of me in the flesh!?" It was "scary, but the best kind of scary: exciting scary."
Bachardy began doing his portraits in pencil or ink, then switched to acrylic and color as he gained confidence. Color lets him express much more of the emotion he picks up on in sittings that can last 3 or 4 hours. (Some sitters couldn't take it, like Gov. Jerry Brown.)
Among the 300 images are a number of repeat sitters. Their portraits offer a different sort of time machine. Screenwriter and director Mary Agnes Donoghue, for instance, ages before our eyes in 1971, 1989, and 1998 portraits. These are people he might see socially over the years, but after doing the portraits, "I'm sometimes quite stunned! Oh my gosh! He or she has changed so much since the last time we worked together. But I can't do anything about that. I must record what I see while I'm looking at it. So, sometimes my sitters are quite shocked when they see what I've done."
A friend who's sat for Bachardy says there's a rule. You hate your portrait, but your friends all say it captures you perfectly.
Make sure to listen to our interview above to hear much more from Don Bachardy, including what happened when Angelina Jolie came in for her first sitting.
9 versions of Jose Feliciano's 'Feliz Navidad' you never knew existed
KPCC news editor Oscar Garza says by simply playing Jose Feliciano's "Feliz Navidad," we risk implanting one of the most insidious ear worms in the history of recorded music. But did you know there are several covers of the song? Don’t say you weren’t warned.
I love Jose Feliciano’s music, but ‘tis the season when the incessant strains of this song can drive you mad. It’s apparently three minutes long, but I wouldn’t know: I only listen for as long as it takes to reach for the dial.
And I get plenty of chances: Every year, “Feliz Navidad” makes Billboard magazine’s top 10 list of most-played holiday songs. And that’s been going on since 1970. That simple, repetitive melody is the key to its success — and also what turns me into a Grinch.
You wouldn't know it, but dozens of other artists have also recorded the song. I’m surprised there isn’t a satellite radio station devoted to the song. The songwriting royalties alone have likely made Feliciano a very, very rich man. I bet everything he owns is lined in fur. Anyway, here’s our Christmas present to you—a listener’s guide to “Feliz Navidad.”
1. Los Straitjackets: This luchador mask-wearing band goes instrumental, with twangy guitars instead of a vocal. This is what Surfin’ Santa listens to.
2. Jon Secada: Somehow, singer Secada has managed to suck the “feliz” out of the song.
3. Celine Dion: Canada, we know we haven’t always been neighborly, but what did we ever do to deserve this?
4. Michael Buble: Yet another Canadian takes a stab. Buble does a duet here with the Mexican singer Thalia. Ack! Attacks on both our borders!
5. The Wiggles: This goes for this Australian children's band, but my advice also goes for versions by the Cheetah Girls, Dora the Explorer and the Rugrats: Parents, even if your kids have been more naughty than nice, don’t subject them to this.
6. It Dies Today: I’d never heard of the metal band It Dies Today, but its name says exactly what should happen to this rendition.
7. Glee: At the other end of the spectrum, the cast from “Glee.” Of course, it’s peppy. Annoyingly peppy.
8. Reggae: Whoa! A reggae version from Freddie McGregor. Nice. But I don’t think that’s mistletoe he’s smoking, mon.
9. Los Huracanes del Norte: Norteño legends Los Huracanes del Norte turn the song into a fine cumbia. This is easily the best of the bunch. The problem is, you won’t hear this, or any other passable version in stores, on the radio, or in elevators. Blame it on lazy programmers or on automated playlists.
Whatever the reason, you’ll only hear Feliciano’s original … Good luck getting it out of your head. And with that, to you and yours, have a feliz — er — a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Superman creator Jerry Siegel's typewriter hits the Paley Center
Every machine in Steve Soboroff's typewriter collection tells a different story, and one of them comes from a planet called Krypton.
The keys of Julie Andrews' IBM Selectric match her electric blue eyes; the Unabomber's is missing some parts, which he used to make bombs; and Jerry Siegel's black Royal, his daughter says, holds his spirit, which gave itself to Superman, articles in Stars & Stripes and many other projects.
These and 25 other famous typewriters — profiled in 2012 on "Off-Ramp" — are now on display at the Paley Center for Media in Beverly Hills. Laura Siegel Larson and her son Michael Larson were at the opening celebration, and I caught up with them at a Royal Portable Quiet Deluxe that was, Laura says, Siegel's "pride and joy. He loved this portable typewriter, and he took it all over with him." (Siegel wrote Superman, while Joe Shuster illustrated it.)
Typewriters, Laura says, are fundamentally different from word processors. "It's just you and this machine that becomes a friend of yours. And it's your collaborator, cohort, as you're doing things. Computers, because they're electronic, have a life of their own, so you can't kind of blend your personality with them as easily as on a typewriter."
Laura, now an advocate for creators' rights after years fighting for her father's intellectual property rights with Superman, says she let the Royal become part of the Soboroff collection because Soboroff uses the machines for auctions that have raised hundreds of thousands of dollars for journalism scholarships, and because it was time.
"I had to process the passing of my dad and mom, and this is something that will inspire people. I believe that the vibration of the person that has typed on a typewriter, sort of never leaves it, and there's something special about each one. And so I wanted people to make contact with my dad and their own creativity."
Make sure to listen to the audio (click the button on the left) for the full interview, which includes Laura's son Michael, a writer who feels a similar kinship with his laptop.
The Soboroff Collection is at the Paley Center for Media, 465 North Beverly Drive
Beverly Hills CA, through Jan. 4.
Fire ravages builder Geoff Palmer's newest downtown Italian-aint apartment house
There's no question, says Off-Ramp commentator Marc Haefele, that developer Geoff Palmer hit the sweet spot with his apartment blocks. Long before downtown LA became hip, he started building the Italian-looking apartment buildings with the Italian-sounding names: the Orsini, the Piero, the Visconti, and the Medici. And he did it on land that wasn't considered developable.
Monday, fire did $10m damage to part of the DaVinci complex, just a few days after Marc filed a long report for Los Angeles Magazine on the storied developer:
For Palmer ... the Italianate buildings also honor the city’s founders. “The Italians actually settled L.A. before the Spanish and Chinese,” he says. That may be a rather unusual reading of the area’s history, which typically maintains that Spanish settlers founded L.A. in 1781, but Palmer has long demonstrated a tendency to go his own way.
-- Marc Haefele in December's Los Angeles Magazine
Marc says Palmer successfully fought laws requiring builders like him to include affordable housing in their developments, and proved the point in court. "So basically, he eliminated those laws as far as the city of Los Angeles is concerned, they no longer exist. Housing advocates say there's no political will now to build affordable housing downtown. This isn't all Palmer's fault, but the he's the guy who actually legalized the elimination of the affordable housing element."
MORE on Palmer from Ben Bergman in the KPCC blog, The Breakdown
Click on the audio at left to hear both my conversation with Marc this week, and our report from the site of the 1887 Geise House, which Palmer's workers destroyed in 2003.
'It's a Wonderful Life' — unless you're Cosby, Ghomeshi, or Sterling
It's the film almost everybody loves, except for that one minor detail. As the popularity of "It's a Wonderful Life" grew over the years, filmmaker Frank Capra's fan mail changed. Nearly every letter started to ask, "Mr. Capra, why did you let Mr. Potter keep the money?"
In the film's climax, Lionel Barrymore's Mr. Potter, the bitter, wheelchair-bound miser, whose predatory lending practices nearly destroy Bedford Falls, accidentally comes to possess the $8,000 Jimmy Stewart’s Bailey Building and Loan needs to avoid bankruptcy. It isn't Potter's money, but he keeps it anyhow, setting in motion the crisis that defines a dark film's harrowing but redemptive finale.
WHOAH! In a nasty part of downtown LA, there's a harpsichord factory!
George is saved by the many people he's helped down the years. In his hour of need, they shower him with quarters, dimes, and paper money, in an orgy of communal generosity that saves the day. But as the film fades to black, Potter is still out there, his larceny undetected. It's a storytelling choice so notorious, it spawned a classic "Saturday Night Live" sketch about a "lost ending," where Mr. Potter gets beaten to a pulp:
To audiences used to seeing the guilty punished, letting Potter get away with it feels like bad filmmaking. To me, it's always been a sign of Capra's greatness. Because to view "It's a Wonderful Life's" ending as a happy one, you have to embrace its value system, which is that money and power are booby prizes. Friendship, love and altruism are the values that make life worth living. And I've been struck by the wisdom of "It's a Wonderful Life's" vision again and again in 2014, a year filled with real life Potters, who often got to keep their worldly trappings , but who were dis-invited from the communal banquet of everyday life.
I can remember sitting in my car last April, unable to turn off the radio, as the NBA announced the banishment of Clipper's owner Donald Sterling for his racist comments. In the end, a show of solidarity, encompassing ballplayers, owners, coaches and NBA brass — the pro-basketball equivalent of Bedford Falls, rallied to save some vision of a better self.
The Year of the Big Shun was born.
(Former CBC Radio hostJian Ghomeshi. Image: CBC)
Then, we have Jian Ghomeshi, the hipster with the clenched fists, whose syndicated Canadian chat show shared KPCC's airwaves. Ghomeshi made himself into a spokesmodel for public radio values: Inclusiveness. Intellectual curiosity. Tolerance. Then, in one remarkable news cycle , Ghomeshi's musical protégé, his former bandmates, and his agent all joined with his former employers at the CBC and much of his fan base in denouncing him. Even his PR firm abandoned him, and now he's been arrested and charged with assault.
And all of this was just a prologue to the sad spectacle of watching Bill Cosby's legendary career come crashing to the ground over the past few weeks.
LISTEN to the deafening silence from Bill Cosby on NPR's "Weekend Edition"
We shunned them. Like Capra's Mr. Potter, when the circle was drawn, they stood outside.
(Edward Hopper's "Nighthawks at the Diner.")
This holiday season, I've been daydreaming. I see Jian Ghomeshi and Bill Cosby sitting at separate tables in some imaginary diner in this, the year of the Big Shun. In a corner booth, Mel Gibson, a regular, murmurs epithets and punches air. Donald Sterling is tracing out legal stratagems on a cocktail napkin with a cramped and trembling hand.
There's a TV on, the way there always is in any sad cafe. On the black and white screen, a smiling young hero has just come home from a good war. He raises his glass to make a toast: "To my brother George! The richest man in town!"
The Big Shun. It's powerful stuff. Let's use it sparingly, and only as necessary. And see you at the party.
LA Music Center 50th Anniversary: Who was Dorothy Chandler?
On December 6, 1964 — 50 years ago this week — the Music Center opened. Home now to the Mark Taper Forum, the Ahmanson Theater and the Walt Disney Concert Hall, the Music Center originally consisted of just one building: the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, which still hosts music today.
Dorothy Chandler — born Dorothy Mae Buffum — was the wife of Los Angeles Times publisher Norman Chandler. For almost 10 years she made the building of a concert hall in Downtown Los Angeles her driving cause: she lobbied politicians, spoke before the Los Angeles County Board of Supervisors, and solicited donations from her wealthy friends.
Chandler died in 1997, but among her many descendants is Harry Chandler, her grandson. Harry was there on opening day, and shared his memories of his grandmother with KPCC's Patt Morrison.
On Opening Day at the Music Center
As an 11 year old boy, I wasn't exactly thrilled by classical music, or long ceremonies. So, while I was very proud of Mama Buff — as we called her — it wasn't my finest and most fulfilling afternoon in my life. There were a lot of speeches. A lot of people I didn't know. I was seated front row on the aisle, so I couldn't — I had to behave.
Finally, the concert started. After about 20 minutes, I was kind of bored. And I had secreted in my coat pocket a little AM/FM radio. And so I discreetly put the little earphone on and tried to tune in to KRLA, which was the Pasadena rock station of the era. Unfortunately, the Pavilion was so well built that I could get no signal.
On being Dorothy Chandler's grandson
I remember a lot about her personality. And then in later years, after her husband Norman passed away, I was her main escort [to the music center].
She was very regal. And that was her mannerisms. Even as a grandmother, she was not a grandma that put me on the knee and bounced me when I was a kid. Often, the only times we would see her during the year would be at the holidays.
And my two great memories of that are: we had finger bowls, which is the only place I've ever had finger bowls. So you had to wash your fingers before your meal. And then, she required all her grandkids, after the meal, to stand up one by one and make a toast!
On the Music Center's legacy, as Downtown LA expands its artistic reach
Look at Paris: what's the core of arts in Paris? The Louvre has been there for generations, but they have so many great new things. So I don't think it matters whether it's the core. Certainly, if you want to hear symphony, you come here. If you want to hear opera, if you want to watch great theater. To me it just kind of helped create the momentum by putting this building and this music center together.
On attending Music Center concerts with Dorothy Chandler
One of my special memories was with my grandmother, we went first to dinner. And at our table was Zubin [Mehta, the conductor and music director for the Los Angeles Philharmonic]. I had met him in passing, but never really had him for dinner. And he was conducting that night. So what was really great was to spend the whole evening dinner with him and then watch him go out on the stage. And of course we had those wonderful seats that Dorothy had. Somewhere, in that moment of bowing to the audience he tipped his head and looked up at us. He gave a little expression — that felt pretty great.
It was great. Zubin is a very interesting man, he's very cultured. But he was also very deferential to Mrs. C, as he called her. My wife was at that dinner, and during the course of the evening Mama Buff said something about women as a gender. It was kind of horribly outdated, what she said. I took it upon myself to say, "Well, I'm not sure modern women might agree with that statement."
Suddenly, she went cold. Dead cold. And she looked at me. I don't think someone had interrupted — not interrupted — someone had taken issue with her statement in quite a while. So during the whole performance, as much fun as it was watching Zubin conduct, she never looked at me. She never was warm. She was upset. And this continued all the way down to the parking garage. I drove her home — not a word, not even a look.
My wife was smart enough to stay in the car while I walked her up to her front door. We rang the front door, and she had her back to me. I didn't know what to expect. And suddenly she turned around, and she was in tears. And she said: "Thank you. Only my grandson would have told me when I was wrong, and I appreciate that."
The Music Center celebrates its 50th anniversary with a handful of events. Check the Music Center's website for details and info.
A Charlie Brown Christmas almost didn't get aired
"Christmas is coming, but I'm not happy. I don't feel the way I'm supposed to feel. I just don't understand Christmas, I guess." -- Charlie Brown in A Charlie Brown Christmas
On December 12, 1965, a little boy with a round head walked onto more than 15 million American television screens, and became an instant success. But A Charlie Brown Christmas almost didn't air.
Charlie Brown and the gang from Charles Schulz's "Peanuts" had already been animated for TV commercials and titles, but this Christmas show established a pattern for "Peanuts" specials over the next four decades: intelligent stories, stylized animation, real children's voices and a stylish jazz score. Yet A Charlie Brown Christmas had been made quickly and on a minimal budget. Director Bill Melendez feared he'd ended Charlie Brown's TV career before it really began. CBS executives more accustomed to the madcap pace and slapstick humor of Hollywood theatrical cartoons dismissed it as "flat" and "slow." They only aired it because it was already scheduled and they had nothing to show in its place.
But A Charlie Brown Christmas beat Gomer Pyle, The Man from U.N.C.L.E. and The Beverly Hillbillies in the ratings, won an Emmy and a Peabody Award, and made the half-hour animated special a staple of network television. Chuck Jones' adaptation of Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas followed in 1966, and Rankin-Bass' Frosty the Snowman aired in 1969.
As an animation critic, I've sat through dozens of holiday jollifications over the years. The Chipmunks, the Flintstones, the Smurfs, Yogi Bear, He-Man and Fat Albert have all celebrated Christmas. Countless little animals and kids have "saved" Christmas and kept Santa from forgetting one kid or one town. Elves have reconnoitered houses for Santa's arrival, and reindeer noses have shown through snowy nights. Most holiday specials have been as saccharine and empty as a Twinkie. Only A Charlie Brown Christmas talks about what the holiday actually celebrates.
Bill Melendez told me that when he first read in the script that Linus would recite the Gospel according to St. Luke, he told Charles Schulz, "This is religion. It just doesn't go in a cartoon." Schulz looked at him very coldly and said, "Bill, if we don't do it, who will? We can do it."
And they could. Ironically, Linus' recitation -- one of the most memorable speeches in television history -- gives A Charlie Brown Christmas an honesty that appeals to people of all faiths - and no faith. Almost 50 years after its debut, it's a special that is actually special.
Charles Solomon is author of the newly published The Art and Making of Peanuts Animation: Celebrating Fifty Years of Television Specials.