220 Quiz Answer

Madame Defarge is a fictional character in the book A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens.
(Also for Three Word Wednesday and ABC Wednesday: "S" is for "special")

There’s been quite a lot in the news lately about executions.

What has set it off, of course, is the famous botched attempt to do away with someone legally in Oklahoma on April 29. 

For many years there have been those who are in favor of the death penalty and those who are against.  My guess is that even those solidly for executions might be against the procedure if they knew it was to be a lethal injection attempted by non-skilled types using questionable drugs, obtained questionably, like the three-drug cocktail they tried using in Oklahoma. 

As soon as those involved realized what a massive botch it was becoming, what a strain it was for everyone, they tried to stop the execution.  Evidently no one had thought much about how you can stop killing someone once you’ve started. 

But I didn’t really want to talk about lethal injections, ruined or not, today.  I got to thinking about the folks for whom executions are a kind of entertainment.  They are execution junkies.  They want to be on the scene as the deed is done.

They try to be on the list of the spectators, mostly media types, who carefully watch the procedure, recording all that’s happening. 

I became especially interested in a woman who became known for this proclivity, showing up at executions so often she achieved a sort of fame.

Now you’d think that anyone who had such a passion to witness legal killings would be a special person.  She was special.

In fact, to come right out with it, she was odd.

You see, what was strange about her was this: she was a hobbyist.  She knitted.  No matter where she was she would always have with her yarns and needles; especially if she was lucky enough to attend an execution.

In spite of any problems the executioners might have with the executionee, she would go on knitting away, avidly taking in all the action, creating another pair of socks for some more or less lucky relative.

Oh, and one other thing about her.  She wasn’t just special, she was totally a work of fiction.

I’ll bet my best pair of hand-knitted sox that quite a number of you remember reading about her.

What the Dickens was her name?

219 Quiz Answer

In the dramatic arts, The Method is a group of techniques actors use to create in themselves the thoughts and feelings of their characters, so as to develop lifelike performances.

(Also for Three Word Wednesday and ABC Wednesday: "R" is for "real")

It happened back in the 1950s.  There was an earthquake in Manhattan.

(Odd, because they almost never had earthquakes in New York City.)  But this was a different kind of seismic event.

                                                        

A young actor named Marlon Brando was appearing in a play and was sort of shaking the earth, or at least his audiences, with a hugely different style of acting.  It was raw, vivid, real.

What was the theatre like before, say, World War II? 

Well, the art of acting in America then emphasized diction, fencing, dancing and singing.  And the business was very successful: there were a great many productions – mysteries, musicals, classical dramas and drawing-room comedies (“Tennis, anyone?”).  But in dramatic terms it was all rather weak; the school of realism of Ibsen and Zola had not impacted Yankee actors and directors.

This new type of dramatic presentation required the actors to use what was called “emotional memory.”  They had to find within themselves the means to express the emotion they were trying to portray on stage.

If the script called for a murderous rage, the actors should look deep in their pasts, into their emotional memory, to find a moment when, maybe as a child, they had felt this same murderous rage against another kid who was tormenting them.

An interesting idea.  It had literary justification.  Surely you’re familiar with Marcel Proust, who dipped the little cookie known as a “madeleine” into his cup of tea and experienced a whole world of – emotional memory.                                

                            

It was an American thing.  The great actors of the United Kingdom, Sir Laurence Olivier and others, for example, looked with amused condescension on these strange Yankee rituals.  They believed that it was training, technique and talent that made for great acting, not necessarily personal emotional involvement.
 

The story is told of a famous British actor who played a tempestuous scene and was later asked by an eager drama student what he had been thinking about during his shouting and groaning in that wildly emotional moment on stage.

“The size of the house,” he replied; “how many tickets had been sold.”

But there must have been something to the American deal.  For quite a number of years, thanks to Brando and other such stars, this was taken up by thousands of American actors who adopted this style and would take it to a point where it was a bit absurd.  They had to have time out to dig deeply into themselves before they felt they were ready to deliver their lines in a play or a film.

Starting back in the Fifties, this way of doing things got to be well known; it entered into our national consciousness.  It had a name.  What was its name?

218 Quiz Answer

Last week's "Cleopatra" question was a tough one; only three correct answers.  This week's, "Acme," just about everyone got right.  My thanks to those who took part.

This is a Roadrunner, a bird of the genus Geococcyx, a member of the cuckoo family.  (He’s called a member of the cuckoo family because the whole family is a little odd.)

In recent years, there have been attempts on the part of some to suggest that the renowned Roadrunner of cinema fame was never anything more than a cartoon character, but the facts belie such accusations.     

The motion picture series that was popular for so many years, featuring the Roadrunner and his adventures with a Coyote, were an early form of reality programming.  It can now be stated that it was no cartoon; the Roadrunner existed and the Coyote, of brownish hue, also was real.  The important point about the film series is that the Coyote was quick but the Roadrunner was quicker.

Doctor Nestor Vogelsang, who holds advanced degrees in chronic ornithology and bird psychology at the eastern campus of the University of Northwestern South Dakota, has studied the bird – specifically the Roadrunner who stars in the Roadrunner-Coyote film series – for several decades.

“No question the creature is real,” Dr. Vogelsang reports.  “As is easily verified, it has feathers, and to the scientific community feathers often indicate a bird.”

In addition, the Coyote on the screen was always hungry; coyotes usually are.  (The latin name for coyote, according to the movie series, is “Appetitius Giganticus.”)  And the Roadrunner would have provided a decent meal, along with a suitable white wine, if it could ever be caught.

But that, of course, was the problem.

The Roadrunner, whose name originally was Runroader, always managed to burn up the roads to evade the oncoming Coyote, even though the latter employed various hi-tech devices to effect a capture.  All of these hi-tech instruments were developed and marketed by a certain corporation of Tipover Junction, California.

There are other malcontents who loudly proclaim, without the slightest shred of evidence, that this corporation also didn’t exist, that it too was just part of the cartoon presentation.

That is manifestly absurd.

The highly moral company is known throughout the barely civilized world as the firm that markets such highly successful products as Earthquake Pills, Portable Holes and Jet-Propelled Roller Skates.

Which brings us to our weekly quiz question: What was the name of that corporation?  [No googling, now. J]

217 Quiz Answer

 

 

Act II of “Antony and Cleopatra”  CLEOPATRA's palace.

Enter a Messenger:

Madam, madam…

CLEOPATRA

Antony is dead!?

Messenger

First, madam, he is well.

CLEOPATRA

If thou say Antony lives, is well,
Or friends with Caesar, or not captive to him,
I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail
Rich pearls upon thee.

Messenger

Madam, he's well.

CLEOPATRA

Well said.

Messenger

And friends with Caesar.

CLEOPATRA

Thou'rt an honest man.

Messenger

Caesar and he are greater friends than ever.

CLEOPATRA

Make thee a fortune from me.

Messenger

But yet, madam,--

CLEOPATRA

I do not like 'But yet,' fie upon 'But yet'!
Messenger

He's bound unto Octavia.

CLEOPATRA

For what good turn?

Messenger

For the best turn.  In the bed.

Madam, he's married to Octavia.

CLEOPATRA

The most infectious pestilence upon thee!

Messenger

Good madam, patience.

CLEOPATRA

Horrible villain!  I'll unhair thy head.

Messenger

Gracious madam,
I that do bring the news made not the match.

 Cleopatra in “Antony and Cleopatra,” often behaves childishly and with relentless self-absorption; nevertheless, her charisma, strength, and indomitable will make her one of Shakespeare’s strongest, most awe-inspiring female characters.

(Also for Three Word Wednesday and ABC Wednesday: "P" is for Philadelphia)

I loosely - very loosely - based the following scenelet upon a famous character in a Shakespeare play.  Your assignment, if you choose to accept it is, which character?

(Mitch has lunch with an old friend, Gail, a young woman he’s known since high school.)

“How long have you been back in L A?”

“It’s been a week or so now.  Gail, I’m sorry I haven’t called.  They made me a department head and it's almost as if I were quarantined, I've been that busy.”

“Sure, but Mitch, you’re practically my oldest friend.  You could have taken just a moment to call and say you were back.  You know I always want to know what’s going on in Philadelphia.”

“Well, outside of the occasional acrid smell here and there it's a pretty fine town."

“What about other items of interest in Philly?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know dam’ well what I mean.” 

“Oh, him.”

“Yes, him.”

“Oh, Greg’s fine.  Didn’t see him much, what with me being so busy.  He seems to be doing okay.”

“He promised me he’d be back in Los Angeles in a month.  According to the date on the morning paper this is the sixth week.”

[Antony Pic 2, right]

“Gail, listen.  You know I don’t have any control over what Greg does.  I can tell you this.  He told me that the time he spent with you on the beach in Southern California was the happiest time of his life.”

“He said that – ‘happiest’?”

“Right.”

“It’s really wonderful I have a good friend like you I can talk to, Mitch.  You see, there’s this problem, the problem so many females are faced with.  If I call him, or email him, or whatever - which I’m dying to do - I come across as needy and someone to be pitied.  If I just sit here and say nothing, I come across as someone who’d just as soon forget the whole deal.”

“Well, Gail, I’m no Doctor Drew; I wouldn’t be able to offer any helpful advice.  There is something, though, that I have to tell you.”

“H’mm.  I don’t like the way this is heading.”

“He – uh – he met this girl.”

“I see.  What’s her name?”

“Joanne.”

“’Joanne.’  Sounds kind of frumpy.”

“Well, I guarantee that she isn’t in the same ballpark with you, as far as looks are concerned.  Greg told me you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever known.”

“So he stays in Philadelphia with Miss Frumpy?  How does that make sense?”

“Gail, here’s the bad news.  Joanne is the daughter of Greg’s boss, the CEO of the Corporation.  To be brutally honest, it seems that alone makes her very attractive.  So I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you - they were married last week.”

“What!  You came here to tell me Greg’s married?  I thought you were my friend!  I never really liked you anyway; get out of here - I wish you’d never called!  “

“Gail, come on, don't get so dramatic.  I knew you’d be upset.  But you know the rule: don’t attack the messenger.”

“Who the hell else can I attack!?”

 

216 Quiz Answer

 

Ezra Pound was one of the greatest writers of the past century, a major figure of the modernist movement.  There was Yeats, Joyce, Eliot – and Pound.

(Also for ABC Wednesday: "O" is for "orneriness")

I am a poet.

 

I am one of the greatest of the modernist movement.

 

One aspect of my work was to use ancient Chinese poetry as my source.  And in my translations I created a unique literary style.  As an example, take this poem to a little girl:

 

“Tree you are, moss you are.

You are violets with wind above them.

A child - so high - you are,

And all this is folly to the world.”     

 

I explained my method with Chinese poetry in this way: “The blossoms of the apricot blow from the east to the west, and I have tried to keep them from falling,”

 

But just when you believed you understood me, the peaceable poet, I wrote this: ''Modern civilization has bred a race with brains like those of rabbits and we artists who have been so long the despised are about to take over control.''

 

And for sheer orneriness, this: ''The modern artist must live by craft and violence. His gods are violent gods.”

 So now…

 

Think on these things.  Think on the lightness, the delicacy of my poetry.

 

“A child – so high – you are.”

 

Think how I tried to keep the Confucian apricot blossoms from falling as they blew from east to west.

 

And think too…

 

That you kept me, certainly one of the greatest poets of the age, locked like a caged animal, in an actual animal’s cage.

 

And then answer this.

 

Who am I?

 

Berowne's 215

(Also for Three Word Wednesday and ABC Wednesday: "N" is for "new")

From time to time, I’ve paused in my weekly quiz questions to write a little about some of my life experiences.  Folks have been kind enough to show interest in such posts, and Tess K. has been tolerant and welcoming – so here’s another.

Around the year 1950 television was just starting out as a mass medium.  And Berowne was just starting out as an announcer.   The fabulous salaries for tv announcers, by the way, were very much in the future. 

Here is a picture, taken aeons ago, of young Berowne, struggling to make a living on a new – also young, also struggling – television station.  As you can see, there was a sort of perversion of production values; it looked like they had just set up a flat and hung someone’s shower curtain on it.  That was it for set décor.

The TV show I emceed was titled the Weekly Starshine Theatre and it was a fairly grandiose name for what was usually an old cowboy movie, featuring old cowboys, which had been produced back in the days when a new and fascinating element – sound – had only recently burst upon the film industry.

Not many cinema folk of that early day understood much about sound equipment, which was why the actors in a film carried on impassioned conversations by shouting at each other, hoping they’d be heard by the mikes hidden behind flower pots and such.

But I couldn’t have cared less.  I was on TV.  Not many could say that.  Not many were watching, either.

The sponsor was a famous grocery chain and their ad agency had the idea that, in addition to dazzling our audiences with topflight entertainment, like wornout old movies, there would also be a weekly “live” feature.  In the moments when the film paused, I was to introduce each week a different actual grocery-store manager of the sponsor and chat with him on camera.  Who wouldn’t be interested in that?

So there I was, standing with that first week’s store manager, Herman Schlumpfbinder or something like that.  He had been given lines to memorize:  “Say, that was a corking good film,” he was to recite.  “It’s great to see the fine old movies!” 

I wondered which copywriter in the ad agency was responsible for the phrase “corking good.”  Who talked like that?  But I said nothing, thinking it was possibly some sort of secret store manager code that I didn’t understand.

Things did not go smoothly; they rarely did in those days.
 

I think it’s hard for folks today to realize what tv meant in that early era. It was all so new.  As we waited for our cue I suddenly realized that Mr. Schlumpf-etc. did not look at alI well.  I could see that this magical new thing called television was just too much for him; he was overcome with stage fright.  He was clearly shaking and sweat was visibly pouring off him in rivulets.

I could have lived with that, but his condition affected me.  I feared what he might say or do and how I might have to respond.  I began shaking myself. 

Finally the cinematic masterpiece that was on the screen paused and I introduced my guest.  For a while he just stood there, staring at the camera, shaking and sweating and making odd little noises.  Then he pulled himself together and, suddenly animated, blurted out a single word: “Corking!”

I wondered what our TV audience, all two dozen of them, made of that.  Anyway, after that week’s episode the ad agency cancelled all future store manager interviews. 

214 Quiz Answer

Aaron Burr was the third Vice President of the United States; he served during President Thomas Jefferson's first term.  In 1804 Burr killed his political rival Alexander Hamilton in a famous duel. Burr was never tried for the illegal duel, and all charges against him were eventually dropped, but Hamilton's death ended Burr's political career.


(Also for Three Word Wednesday and ABC Wednesday: "M" is for "madness")

As you may be painfully aware, the U S political races seem to be in full swing.  TV screens present the usual eager candidates claiming that their opponents are listless, incompetent blackguards, among other things.

Of course, this is nothing new; such vituperation has been more or less normal for generations.  It got me to thinking of a couple of our political figures of the past.

I thought of two chaps especially.  As far as they were concerned, they proceeded normally with their careers; in other words they each spent a lot of the time trash-talking, as we say today, the other.

There was a slight difference, however.

In our time quite a number of folks have made derogatory remarks about our Vice-President and he has done what he could to respond to his critics. 

Politicians generally are accused of being moody, talking a lot and doing nothing.  So it’s fascinating that there was a part of our history when we had one Veep who did plenty.

As to whether this turned out to be good or bad, there is no question.  It was bad. 

He stepped over the line.  He broke the rule.

Written or unwritten – or both - it was a solid rule, and politicians then and now did not break it.

You see, he shot the guy who was responsible for most of the trash talk against him, shot him and killed him.

If this was a story happening in our time and written as a farce, the Vice President would have been cheered by many, or at least by the NRA, and perhaps he would have gone on to be featured on TV talk shows as a successful celebrity, later appearing on “Dancing With the Stars.”   J

However, in those benighted days there was no television and many folks, including even those who had been his most ardent supporters, turned against him.  "Politicians shooting each other; it's horrible, it's madness!" they cried.  "It's got to stop!"

Well, that’s the story.  I guess I should cut this short; I don’t want to incite any political types of our time into similar action.

As for the weekly quiz question, what was the name of the Veep?

 

213 Quiz Answer

The answer: Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats was a collection of whimsical poems by T. S. Eliot that became the basis for the musical Cats.
Bustopher Jones is not skin and bones -
In fact, he's remarkably fat.
He doesn't haunt pubs - he has eight or nine clubs,
For he's the St. James's Street Cat!
He's the Cat we all greet as he walks down the street
In his coat of fastidious black:
No commonplace mousers have such well-cut trousers
Or such an impeccable back.
In the whole of St. James's the smartest of names is
The name of this Brummell of Cats;
And we're all of us proud to be nodded or bowed to
By Bustopher Jones in white spats!

(Also for Three Word Wednesday and ABC Wednesday: "L" is for Lawrence.)
Folks always seem to do well with musicals on this quiz.  So how about another?  I wrote the following scenelet, hoping it might remind you of a well-known musical.  Give us its name.

“I’m surprised you don’t like Lawrence.  Everyone else does.”

“Not everyone.”

“Well, they’re putting him up for membership in our club so you should try getting along with him.”

“I get along with him fine.  He just has a personality that’s irritating.”

“What are you talking about?  Do the words jovial and friendly mean irritating?  Because that’s what he is most of the time.”

“No, the words pompous and pretentious mean irritating.  He appears to be operating under the belief that he’s the prime minister or something.”

“Ah.  You’re talking about that outfit he wears.”

“That’s part of it.  Black.  All black, every day.  He looks positively gaunt.”

“Why man, that’s the fashion of the time.  You don’t keep up with things.”

“And then there are the…”

“I see what you’re getting at.  It’s the spats, isn’t it?  That’s what irritates you.”

“Who wears spats, for god’s sake, in this day and age, just to walk around town?”

“Well, I guess you’re right; that is a bit pretentious.”

“And they’re bright white.  Along with that black getup, the spats are positively dazzling.  They’re like headlights.”

“So that’s it?  That’s all the vile things you can think of against him?  His white spats?”

“Well, actually, if he’s going to be a new member, someone should sit down with him and talk a bit about diets and such.   Someone as fat as he is should spend more time at the salad bar.”

“Please.  Surely you should be aware that it’s highly inappropriate these days to criticize someone as ‘fat.’  You might phrase it, he is somewhat overweight.”

“Somewhat overweight?  He’s a butterball!  He gives new meaning to the word ‘rotund.'  He's so fat he's starting to decompose."

“You go too far, as usual.  However, he does like to eat.”

“Right.  If you see him in a hurry there’s probably curry at his favorite restaurant.”

“Well, who knows?  It may lend our group some class if we’ve got a member who always wears white spats.”