“I sure do wish that Danny and Gordo would wear helmets if they’re going to ride that Harley all the over the field. They might hit TC, and that would be a disaster for everyone involved…” Read more →
Conversations Real & Imagined
CONVERSATIONS REAL & IMAGINED: LAST NIGHT AT THE BALLPARK
STALKING THE ELUSIVE BIRD
Yesterday would have been the 57th birthday of my favorite baseball player of all-time, Mark Fidrych. It was declared “Bird Day!” by fellow writer, friend, and Fidrych follower Dan Epstein. Sports Illustrated photographer Joe McNally wrote a wonderful reminiscence about the Bird which brought tears to my eyes. I wish thinking about my favorite ballplayer didn’t do that as often as it does, but so it goes.
Unfortunately, I haven’t written much of anything about Fidrych after he died a tragic and terrifying death at the hands of his beloved truck, back in 2009. As Dan said about writing about the Bird, “it should have been as easy as falling off a dugout bench.” But it’s not.
REMEMBERING THE MOVIEGOER
For the Twin Cities film community, Terry Blue was a fixture at theaters around town. You couldn’t miss him: red haired, moving at clip that suggested he had important places to go (he would probably say that your theater was the most important place at the moment), he would come in, pay for his seat, head into the theater to save said seat (which was always the same), and then return to the lobby where he would proceed hold court over the crowds of people heading in, or his small group of friends. Terry usually bought a Coke; always had a maroon briefcase stuffed with papers of some sort (probably including notes for his Cobalt Blue List, his top 30 movies of the year); and he could be counted on to have opinions–strong, strong opinions–on any and all movies currently playing, movies from the past, movies you’d seen, movies you hadn’t seen, movies you hadn’t heard of.
CONVERSATIONS REAL & IMAGINED: THE WRECK OF ALVIN FITZSIMMONS
Marty, 1953 (an episode of the Philco-Goodyear Television Playhouse). Directed by Delbert Mann, written by Paddy Chayefsky. Starring Rod Steiger, Joe Mantell, Nancy Marchand, and Esther Minciotti
From the files of “street” critic Guy Fresno.
Did I ever tell you about my pal Alvin Fitzsimmons? A short, mealy little guy, nice guy, one of those squirts who does one thing really well and bumbles about in everything else. Actually, I take that back: Alvin did quite a few things well, really well. First of all, from a young age he showed a pretty God damn amazing talent at flower arranging. Seriously. Dude got himself a job at Roethke Flowers, well after the poet clan left it behind, and he was good. That’s all he did in short order–kid went from deliveries and pushing a broom to making bouquets for brides in just a few months. Too bad he thought it was “girly”. I’ll grant him that it didn’t pay anything, but he went and became an actuary.
Conversations Real & Imagined: Mad Men (and Women)
All That Heaven Allows, 1955. Directed by Douglas Sirk, written by Peg Fenwick. Starring Jane Wyman, Rock Hudson, Agnes Moorhead, Conrad Nagel, Gloria Talbott, William Reynolds, and Hayden Rorke.
From the files of street critic Guy” Fresno.
All notes found scribbled on both sides of seventeen pages of RC Cola stationary, and included with a packet of photographs of the first meeting of the “New Underground Detroit Cinema Society That Tells Mike Ilitch to Go Fuck Himself and His Expensive (and Discrimanatory [sic] Against Homeless) Fox Theater”.
These are blurry shots of a Douglas Sirk film festival that Guy curated in the basement of the abandoned Michigan Central Railroad Station. Also included was a bill, for $52, payable for a copy of the lost Barbara Loden script about Ida Lupino. All of which came packed in a greasy Dunkin’ Doughnuts box that had been wrapped, like a cocoon, in cheap packing tape.
Pay attention, now, because it must be known about Douglas Sirk. You wouldn’t think an old bike-riding and half homeless man such as myself would dig a man like Douglas Sirk. Douglas Goddam Sirk, who was one of the fucking best, the best, a director who knew what emotion was, and more, he knew how to be a zombie and how not to be a zombie. Like All That Heaven Allows. That’s a zombie movie, and it’s more terrifying than any of that blue-faced, vein-chomping crap that Romero shits out every few years.
CONVERSATIONS REAL & IMAGINED: THE CAT WHO OUTLIVED CHRIST
“Baby” is thirty-seven years old. This is the claim of one Al Palusky, of Duluth, who considers the black, long-haired cat to be his best friend. This is not news to Al’s wife Mary. “When we were married Al’s priest told him that he couldn’t call Baby his best friend anymore,” she said. Al just shrugged and added, “It’s true, he’s still my best friend.”
CONVERSATIONS REAL & IMAGINED: “WE WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG”
On a perfectly sunny day for a baseball game, as thousands of fans swarmed to the dust heap that is to be the future home of the new Twins Stadium, a good half-mile away a small but dedicated group of curmudgeons gathered outside Cuzzy’s Bar on Washington Avenue. They were preparing for their own little celebration.
“We’re geniuses, you know,” boasted Julian Loscalzo, chewing on a fat cigar and quaffing the first of many beers. “My good, personal friend Sid Hartman used to call us geniuses, back when he was all for the Dome,” he explained, his words punctuated by hoarse laughter. “We’ve proven him wrong by actually being geniuses.”
CONVERSATIONS REAL & IMAGINED: COOL HAND LYNCH
Inside a booth at the recent Back to the ’50s classic car show at the Minnesota State Fairgrounds, Sven Lynch labored in the sweltering heat over a slim stripe on the side of a black ’36 Ford coupe. Various gawkers had gathered, including a pair of corpulent, bearded twins clad in matching Twins shirts, a pock-marked kid wearing religious slogans, and a parade of purists dismayed that Lynch would dare to gild the lily of a classic auto. Lynch steadied one hand with the other, drawing a flawless canary-yellow line. His panache, not surprisingly, prompted one spectator to inquire about a custom job. “Sorry,” Lynch told the man without glancing up from his work. “By then I’ll be back in Stockholm.”
The Twin Cities boasts not a few pinstripers, but none are as highly regarded as Mr. Lynch—or “Von Sven” as he’s known when behind the brush—who has become the reigning pinstripe king of Sweden. Unlike most of today’s custom painters, Von Sven, a Twin Cities native, is decidedly old-school. He eschews stencils, choosing instead to eyeball a particular hot rod before creating a complex and utterly wicked design on the fly. Each of his pinstripes is unique.
CONVERSATIONS REAL & IMAGINED: THE CHILL SHACK
“I made this so that my daughter Ayla and her friends from Watershed [High School] could have a place to hang out,” said Phil Vandervaart of his “Logville Café.” The café is a sort of a miniature shed/diner amalgamation, a rec-room that ascended from the basement and set up in Vandervaart’s South Minneapolis backyard. Its walls, made of cast-off goods from his sign-painting job, are a testament to his faith in the re-use philosophy—as are the used chairs scattered around the fire pit and the giant spools used for fencing.
Ayla has since left home for college, but her friends can still be found at the café, nursing cups of Vandervaart’s strong coffee while lounging in salvaged wood booths from a long-gone diner.
The structure is partly sheltered by a black locust tree hung with a trio of vintage plastic rocking horses. As the tree ages, Vandervaart hopes the wood will envelop the horses, so that someday, if he has to cut it down, he might have an intriguing piece of art on his hands.
“We do three things with old stuff—turn it into art, use it, or burn it,” Vandervaart said. He knocked on an old sign, pulled from the set of Feeling Minnesota. “These old things deserve to go that way. They’ve served humanity well.”
This article originally appeared in The Rake magazine.
CONVERSATIONS REAL & IMAGINED: THE MAN BEHIND THE CAMERA
Phil Harder is an expert at making something out of nothing. He lives with his wife and son in an 1890s house he remodeled himself, an amalgam of retro styles and one of the last private residences fronting the Mississippi River in Minneapolis. He helps organize impromptu movie screenings on a nearby island, motoring friends out to watch old footage salvaged from dustbins. He’s also gone from shooting music videos with a Super 8 and pocket change to becoming one of the country’s most in-demand video directors, making spots for Prince and the Foo Fighters in addition to iPod commercials.
So what can we expect now that Harder is set to direct his first full-length feature film, with a $3.4 million budget and Thora Birch (American Beauty) eager to play the lead? Tuscaloosa may well be one of the most original movies to emerge from Minnesota.
