They’ll love it in Pomona.

It snowed over the weekend but did not stick.

I am loving the HBO series True Blood but I wanted to read the books which you can buy as a set now at Amazon. Sookie Stackhouse Box Set it looks to be a good read.

All the plants withered after the hard freeze last night. I find the bleakness of the weather lonely and cold. But the holidays are coming and people will soon be so happy and hang lights to fight the darkness and carols will be sung and Yule will be celebrated around the world in its many guises.

I love the music they are already playing on the radio.

I like to watch Film Noir and we watched Sunset Boulevard last night. Poor Joe – should have seen it coming with the miniature rabbit’s foot attached for luck to his keychain. Not much luck for the rabbit I have always said. And that dead monkey, yipes… Joe you should have just turned around – Monkeys are the artists Quiji board. Mark Ryden, David Dalamere, Nancy Griffith. A dead monkey is never a good sign.  Joe was screwed the moment he let Norma put him in a monkey suit and danced the tango. Joe is the new monkey.

Joe: You’re Norma Desmond. You used to be in silent pictures. You used to be big.
Norma (bristling): I am big. It’s the pictures that got small.
Joe: I knew there was something wrong with them.

Indignant, Norma laments the rise of talkies and the demise of the silents:

 

They’re dead, they’re finished! There was a time in this business when they had the eyes of the whole wide world. But that wasn’t good enough for them. Oh, no. They had to have the ears of the world, too. So they opened their big mouths, and out came talk. Talk! Talk!

Joe jokes about the effects of sound on movies: “That’s where the popcorn business comes in. Buy yourself a bag and plug up your ears.” Norma doesn’t believe that the actors of the talkies era can compete with the stars of the silent era. She refuses to leave her Hollywood past behind:

 

Look at them in the front offices – the masterminds! They took the idols and smashed them. The Fairbanks and the Gilberts, the Valentinos! And who have we got now? Some nobodies.

Joe doesn’t want to take the blame: “Don’t blame me. I’m not an executive. Just a writer.” Norma criticizes Joe as a screenwriter as well as any others responsible for bringing words and sound to the movies: “You are. Writing words, words, more words! Well, you’ve made a rope of words and strangled this business. Ha, ha. But there’s a microphone right there to catch the last gurgles, and Technicolor to photograph the red, swollen tongue.” She orders him out. He sarcastically replies with a reference to Grauman’s Chinese Theatre in Hollywood: “Next time, I’ll bring my autograph album along, or maybe a hunk of cement and ask for your footprint.”

As he descends the stairs, she pursues him and asks about his screenwriting: “Are you or aren’t you?” He replies: “That’s what it says on my Guild card,” and then explains about his last script and how hazardous it is to be a screenwriter, in a day and age when Hollywood requires hack work:

 

The last one I wrote was about Okies in the Dust Bowl. You’d never know because, when it reached the screen, the whole thing played on a torpedo boat.

sunsetboulevardwilliamholden

“Psychopaths sell like hot cakes.”  my favorite line….still so true. 

I think I’ll be Norma for Christmas.

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