Just a few hours earlier, I was going through my DVR and I discovered that I had recorded, off of TCM, a film called A Day In The Death of Donny B. That title immediately caught my attention (and I imagine that the title is probably what inspired me to record the film in the first place). A Day In The Death of Donny B sounds like the title of something that would have come out of Andy Warhol’s Factory in the late 60s, maybe starring Joe Dallesandro as Donny B and Edie Sedgwick as herself.
So, of course, I simply had to watch it to discover just who Donny B was and how many days it would take him to die. Add to that, I also noticed that the film only lasted 15 minutes, making it the perfect viewing experience for someone, like me, who has absolutely no attention span.
Anyway, I watched it and I discovered that it’s not a Warhol film. However, it was filmed in 1969 and it contains a lot of cinéma vérité-style footage of the slums of New York City, which means that it takrd place in roughly the same world as some of Warhol’s films. It turns out that The Death of Donny B was produced by the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration. It’s an anti-drug film, obviously designed to speak to young and black audiences.
The film follows an African-American addict named Donny B as he wanders through the shadows of New York City and tries to scrounge up enough money to buy heroin. While we watch him go about his day, we listen to voice overs from former addicts and some of Donny’s family members. They all agree that Donny is basically a huge loser. Donny B. is credited as playing himself and he has a definite screen presence, even if he looks a bit too healthy for someone who, we’re told, shoots heroin several times a day.
The film itself is shot in harshly beautiful black-and-white and the soundtrack features a droning song (credited to someone named Harry Holt) that, for the most part, consists lyrically of: “It’s a day in the death of Donny B…” and trust me, that song will get stuck in your head. Today, of course, the main appeal of The Death of Donny B is that it’s a time capsule of when it was made. For those of us who might be curious as to what New York was like back in the dangerous 1960s, The Death of Donny B is our time machine.
And you can watch it below!
And if you happen to be Donny B, leave a comment below because we would love to hear from you!
I have to be honest. Up until this point, I haven’t had much enthusiasm for seeing The Suicide Squad and it’s always going to bother me that Jared Leto chopped off all of his beautiful hair. However, the latest Suicide Squad trailer is actually pretty entertaining! If the very least, it deserves some credit for its use of Bohemian Rhapsody…
I’ll be the first to admit I’m no expert on Spaghetti Westerns. I’ve probably seen more than the average filmgoer though, and have learned to appreciate them over the years. If I were to make a Top Ten favorite film list, Sergio Leone’s THE GOOD THE BAD AND THE UGLY would definitely make the grade. Recently I watched THE BIG GUNDOWN for the first time, and while it doesn’t quite measure up to classic status, it does serve as a good example of what the genre’s all about.
Lee Van Cleef was fresh off his success in two Leone/Clint Eastwood Spaghettis (FOR A FEW DOLLARS MORE and the aforementioned film) when he was cast in this Sergio Sollima saga. Van Cleef, who struggled for years as a villainous second banana in Hollywood, was now an international star, and THE BIG GUNDOWN was his first leading role. He plays the steely-eyed, steel nerved Jonathan…
Let’s all wish Edgar Allan Poe a happy 207th birthday! In honor of the occasion, here’s four different actors reading The Raven!
First here’s Vincent Price!
And now it’s time for Christopher Lee!
Check out James Earl Jones!
And, of course, we have to include Christopher Walken!
And here’s the poem, in all its glory. Read it aloud in your own voice!
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. “’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door— Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore— For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door— Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;— This it is and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;— Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?” This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”— Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore— Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;— ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door— Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door— Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore— Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door— Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered— Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before— On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.” Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore— Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore— What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er, But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er, She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore; Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!— Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted— On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore— Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore— Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting— “Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted—nevermore!
Growing up it was unavoidable that I would end up loving the rock band Eagles. It was something I pretty much had no choice in the matter. I blame my Dad for this situation. I say this with love because The Eagles is that one band that’s become part of the American pop consciousness.
The band formed in 1971 with Don Henley, Glenn Frye, Bernie Leadon and Randy Meisner. They would make their debut album a major success and follow it up with a sophomore effort that was just as critically-acclaimed as much as it was a success with the public. It was from this second album that today’s “Song of the Day” comes from and also one of my Dad’s favorite songs from the band. It was his second favorite after “HotelCalifornia”and would be part of his regular listening rotation during long drives to and from home and work.
While I would dismiss the band in my youth as was typical of most children who wanted to branch out from their parents when it comes to what they like. In the end, as time went by I would fall in love with the band. Some looked at Don Henley as the architect of the band’s success and one would not be wrong, but I always thought that Glenn Frye was the soul of the group. As lead vocals for the band he gave the band’s song the emotion it needed to resonate with the listening audience.
This is why it was saddening news to hear that Glenne Frye passed away earlier today after a long battle with ill-health. Here’s to the soul of the Eagles as we slowly stare at another tequila sunrise as we say goodbye to Glenn.
RIP Glenn Frye
Tequila Sunrise
It’s another tequila sunrise Starin’ slowly ‘cross the sky, said goodbye He was just a hired hand Workin’ on the dreams he planned to try The days go by
Ev’ry night when the sun goes down Just another lonely boy in town And she’s out runnin’ ’round
She wasn’t just another woman And I couldn’t keep from comin’ on It’s been so long Oh, and it’s a hollow feelin’ when It comes down to dealin’ friends It never ends
Take another shot of courage Wonder why the right words never come You just get numb It’s another tequila sunrise,this old world Still looks the same, Another frame, mm…
And look at all those American flags!!! Wow! I had no idea that North Bay, Ontario, Canada had a United States appreciation day where they take down all the Canadian flags that normally line the street to put up Old Glory. Actually, the city behind the title card is Littleton, New Hampshire, but the movie was done in North Bay, Ontario, Canada. However, they did take down the Canadian flags that normally line that city’s Main Street. Unfortunately, I don’t know the city they show just before the title card. Only so much I can do.
This time it was really easy to figure out. While they do make sure the license plates are Illinois…
and American flags are even in the windows of motels…
they left plenty of local business names just lying around.
They even directly reference this coffee house and it really exists on 473 Fraser Street North Bay, Ontario.
Figuring out Littleton, New Hampshire goes to the Hunkins & Eaton Insurance Agency, Inc. sign that just barely shows for a second before the camera pans up to the shot at the beginning of this review.
With that out of the way for now. This is Hallmark’s new mystery series. It takes place in the small town of New Chapel, Illinois, which is only about 4,000 km by car from Eden Lake, Minnesota where Hannah Swenson runs her bakery.
It starts off by introducing us to a dead man walking named Elvis. Abby Knight, played by Brooke Shields, once knew the man who has since run on hard times.
After speaking in exposition dialog to introduce us to her, the flower shop called Bloomers, and her employee, Brooke sits down to have a talk with her daughter. A daughter who, I kid you not, is attending Mills College. Mills College which, according to Brooke’s flower shop friend, is “far enough away to live on campus, but close enough for Mom to drop in.” I had no idea Mills College had moved from the Bay Area to near Illinois, Ontario, Canada.
Oh, and just in case we thought she was on vacation and not in the middle of classes.
This scene only exists to tell us that Brooke used to be a lawyer, but stopped when her husband died and opened a flower shop instead because “none of it just seemed as important.” In other words, her husband died so that the character will be able to be a detective and Beth Davenport from The Rockford Files at the same time. Works out because her neighbor Marco Salvare, played by Brennan Elliott, shows up next at the flower shop. He owns a bar and was a PI. Oh, and Brooke’s car got hit by another car that may have been involved with the murder that happens soon.
And by soon, I mean now. Someone turns up dead at the Canadian American flag waving motel, Elvis is a suspect, and Brooke and Brennan are on the case. Not for any real good reason. They are really just busy body snoops, which is one of the reasons I kind of like this series already. Normally that would drive me nuts, but it makes them made for each other in this series. I liked that.
With Brooke on the case, she goes on her iPad to read a screenshot of a newspaper article about the murder, which apparently took place on November 2nd, 2016.
Then she goes to the family album of her photos on the iPad where we see a picture of her husband who may have died the day before during a fishing trip. Either that or she only got around to importing her family photos onto her tablet the day before on November 1st, 2016.
Next we are introduced to this series’ version of Norman from Murder, She Baked, but he barely exists in this movie. Then there’s a little girl talk back at the flower shop that I’m pretty sure has no customers that come into it. This is followed by a scene where Brooke sits down with a woman who wants a divorce so that we make sure we still remember she was a lawyer. Oh, and something plot related about a Green Thumb Nursery. I couldn’t care less about the plot because just like watching The Big Sleep (1946), you are watching for the Brooke and Brennan back and forth, not the plot. Also, Beau Bridges is in this as a sounding board and in case we need more exposition. Whatever is needed, you can count on Beau. I mean the man got the scroll weapon and he almost beat mega turtle at the end of level three in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for the NES back in 1989. He can do anything.
Time to hit the “Internet” running locally at file:///C:/Users/Mike/Desktop/sc20-Chicago-GreenTumb/results1.html AKA ExploreNet to look up the Green Thumb Nursery.
The local URL’s keep popping up in the lower left hand corner as a tooltip while she continues to browse the local filesystem for info on the nursery. I wonder who this Mike is? Did she take actor Michael Vincent Dagostino’s laptop? He plays a detective in the movie.
Anyhow, after Brooke reminds us again she was once a lawyer, she walks pass some street signs to make sure we know this shot took place at the intersection of McIntyre Street and Plouffle Street.
Then Brooke and Brennan visit the Green Thumb Nursery to forward the plot and have some more back and forth. Might as well mention now that Brooke has some weird pseudo-feminist lines in this. You know those lines somebody who thinks they are a feminist, but really are just looking for any excuse to pick a fight over say. There’s only a couple of them, but it’s kind of weird. Maybe she can argue with Calista Flockhart about the semantics of calling her Supergirl.
Now they go on a stakeout! By that I mean they have some humorous lines and talk in exposition dialog. Who cares! All you need to know is that with a little more work they could be fun as a mystery solving couple in this franchise. And no, despite being written by Gary Goldstein, there will be no mention of Brooke’s feet. More plot and dead flowers left for Brooke, then finally Elvis is charged with second degree murder.
Plot, plot, plot. Nursery looks awfully shady and we know that’s where the mystery is going to lead us. Now Brooke and Flower Shop Norman take a trip to Partners Billards & Bowling Center on 361 Main St East.
After more talking between characters, an inspector shows up and shuts down Brooke’s flower shop. Now it’s personal! I know this because I have almost run out of screenshots. Luckily, I have two more funny things to show before I close up this review. Also, Elvis is found hung dead in his cell. Winding down now.
At the nursery, Brooke noticed that one of the guys carried a gun. She asked him why and he gave a lame answer. No joke, I immediately said to my Dad that he should have said that they carry rare orchids and people try to steal them. So of course she figures out that an orchid bulb is hidden inside a pot of Mum flowers. Yep. This is also when Hallmark popped up to tell us that if we don’t like this series then not to worry cause it can go the way of Wedding Planner Mystery if necessary.
And now the final goof, and it’s a whopper. She goes online to read an article about expensive orchids. Take a good look.
“U.S. inspectors broke the Kolopaking case in 1993, when they discovered he had sent 60 boxes of rare orchids into the United States via the West Coast clearinghouse for international mail in Oakland.”
“Fisher said the biggest threat to orchids is loss of habitat: Each year, millions of acres of rain forest, where billions of orchids live, are cut or burned down for mining, timber, farming and development.
He added that orchids taken from the wild are now growing in greenhouses and new plants including hybrids are made from them. ‘There are a lot of species in greenhouses that don’t exist in the wild any more due to habitat loss.’
Law enforcement officials insist that smuggling can hasten the death of a species. They contend that over-collection often takes place when a rare orchid’s habitat is nearly destroyed.”
I think Brooke Shields should contact Brooke Burns of the SFPD. Her and The Gourmet Detective should get right on this. This clearly means that Darcy from A Gift Of Miracles who plagiarized her PhD research pitch from an actual WWF report was writing under the pseudonym of Samson O’Doyle three years before the events of that film.
Obviously Brooke does figure it all out and brings the criminals to justice. The mystery is okay at best. It’s not too difficult to follow. Take the fact that the majority of this review is made up of jokes to tell you how enthralling the plot is. There’s a fair amount of setup here so don’t expect to escape a lot of those types of scenes and the exposition dialog that comes with them. The promise here is the stuff between Brooke Shields and Brennan Elliott. I really have a feeling this one is heading for the same bin as My Gal Sunday, Wedding Planner Mystery, and The Mystery Cruise, but if not, then I hope they really polish up the dialog and just drop the unnecessary extra guy. That kind of works on Murder, She Baked, but here I didn’t feel it added anything. Just have Abby and Marco hook up so we can enjoy them being screwball comedy murder mystery solvers. Otherwise, I am not looking forward to a poor man’s Murder, She Baked with touches of The Gourmet Detective.
Born and raised in segregated Fort Scott, Kansas, Gordon Parks was eleven years old when three white boys tossed him into the Marmaton River, knowing that he couldn’t swim. Parks ducked underwater until the boys left so that they would not see him make it to land. When Parks told his teachers that he wanted to go to college, he was told that it would be a waste of money. After his mother died, a 15 year-old Parks found himself living on the streets and struggling to survive. He worked as a singer, a piano player, a busboy, and even in a few brothels. It was while working as a waiter in a railroad dining car that he first saw the photographs in magazines and realized that he wanted to be a photographer.
Parks was 25 when he bought his first camera and soon, he was both documenting everyday African-American life and working as a fashion photographer. At a time when segregation was still the law of the land, Parks became one of the most prominent and acclaimed photojournalists in America. Parks would eventually branch out into film directing, becoming the first African-American to direct a major studio film when, in 1969, he directed The Learning Tree for Warner Bros.
Through the Shattered Lens 