6/6/23
Newsletter #359
The Crack of Dawn
Today is June 6, making it the 79th anniversary of D-Day, which occurred on June 6, 1944. June 6 is also the anniversary of the Battle of Belleau Wood, which began on June 6, 1918 — 105 years ago. D-Day was the turning point of WWII, which lasted eleven more months in Europe; and Belleau Wood was the turning point of WWI, that lasted for six more months. In both cases it was American intervention that turned things around.
In 2008 I was arrested for drunk driving (at 0.09 I was 0.01 over the limit, but I was still over the limit), and even though it was my first offense, I was sentenced to ten days in Oakland County Jail, just about a mile up the road here. I was put into what they euphemistically call an “8-Man Cell,” which means that it holds 10 guys. My cell was in a row of about 8 cells, each with its own TV just outside the bars. The population was 90% young black men, under 35. The noise was overwhelming. Everybody yelled at everybody else all the time: all day and all night. To change stations on the TVs, somebody used a rolled-up magazine, known as the “remote control.” Although all of the TVs were turned up loud, you couldn’t make out a word of what was being said. The din was painful.
However, you don’t need to be able to hear to play Jeopardy because they write out the question (the answer, actually) and you can just read it. So, Jeopardy came on. I jumped off my bunk, stuck my face through the bars for a closer look, and began to play the game. Although rusty, I still did pretty well – I’ve always been pretty good at Jeopardy, but never close to being really good – and the young men in my cell took note. Little did I know that Jeopardy was on in rerun four times a day.
Every three or four hours someone would announce, “Yo, Ol’ School, Jeop’dy on.” Ole’ School was me. I had a jail nickname. And like a trained monkey, I would jump off my bunk, stick my face through the bars and play the game, stating my questions loudly so they could hear, “Who was Thomas Edison?” And if I got it right – and given the proper categories like, “Movies” or “Oscars,” I’m a killer – my cellmates would cheer me on. And I just went with it because what else was there to do? Besides, everybody enjoyed it, and it was fun.
My greatest moment of triumph came when Alex Trebeck said, “He wrote the Sabre Dance.” I said, “Who is Aram Khachaturian?” The three panelists were stumped, and Alex gave the question, “Who is Aram Khachaturian?” and my cellmates went nuts. “Get the fuck outta here!” “Nobody knows that shit,” “My man, Ol’ School.” I climbed back into my bunk, as well satisfied as I could possibly be, considering I was in jail.
And now for something completely different.
There is a selection on your remote control that allows you to choose Aspect Ratios, but nobody uses it. Nor should they. The Aspect Ratio is up to the filmmaker. What, you may be asking, is an Aspect Ratio? It is the difference between the width and the height of the picture and is stated in two numbers: 1.33:1, meaning that it’s 1.33 wide and 1.00 tall. 1.33:1 was the unspoken Aspect Ratio for all movies from the beginning of motion pictures in 1890 to 1953, with the introduction of CinemaScope, which was 2.35:1 – almost two-and-a-half times wider than it was tall. And then for reasons all on its own, somewhere in the 1950s, movies just settled at 1.85:1 – almost two-to-one, but not quite. In any case, you don’t have to choose, the filmmaker chooses – theoretically.
OK, you may be asking, who gives a shit? I have a point. Maybe not a good one, but I am going somewhere. Stick with me.
Right from the beginning, when everybody used 1.33:1 as the standard, what that really meant was that most people used 1.33:1, but a full frame of 35mm is 3x2, or 1.5:1.
What I’m saying is, there always was more picture than what you were being shown – there was the stuff around the edges. But when 2.35:1 came in it turned everything upside down. Then, to make matters worse, 1.85:1 came in, and then projectionists – perhaps the least-trained and dumbest member of the production line that brought you this movie – got to choose between three Aspect Ratios? Them? That meant that they were going to get it wrong at least a third of the time.
They changed the Aspect Ratio of television during the time I worked in it. It was 3x2, which worked perfectly for all old movies, but they changed it to 1.85:1. I think this was season three of Xena, and we were informed to keep light stands out of the frame. Since I never allowed light stands, C-stands, or anything else that shouldn’t be in the shot to be in the shot, no matter what anyone said, I was cool. But sadly, there was quite a while there when filmmakers actually believed that their film would only be shown the way they specified. Except that once it went to video, anything could happen.
This isn’t really a point, it’s more of an amusing memory.
I love Barbra Streisand and listen to her regularly. However, I don’t think she was really suited to be a director. When she was on Inside the Actor’s Studio years ago, and James Lipton gave her a big build up (and I improvise), “Then came a monumental change in her career. Yentl. Finally, Barbra Streisand was not only the star and the producer, she was now also the director. And what a directorial debut it was.” It then cut to a shot from Yentl. A wide shot of a room with her sitting on a bed, dressed as a 16-year-old boy. She sings, “Papa, can you hear me?” which sounded suspiciously like, “Tommy, can you hear me?” to me, then the camera began to unsteadily push in.
They must have told her it would never be shown in any other Aspect Ratio but 1.85:1. They lied. This was TV and they were showing the full 4x3. And there was the boom microphone dropping in, not once, not twice, but three times during the one camera move. I don’t know what Barbra saw sitting there in the theater, but I hope she didn’t see what I was seeing.
It is day, but alas, it is cloudy. That counts too.