Dancing Bread Rolls

First, quizzes! We can settle this “who do you identify with the most” question with a truly ungodly number of internet quizzes!!! (WARNING: some of these are ridiculously bad and/or horribly spelled.)

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

You can even comment with all 15 of your results! Really, you can ;)

Come on, you know you want to… especially you, Dr. Campbell.

I first read Little Women when I was seven. (Given to me, surprisingly, by my dad. But he’s a feminist. So that makes sense.) I was so fond of it at the time that my parents bought me the book on tape (with a full cast!) for my eighth birthday. I spent a whole summer listening to it over and over and over.

I’d forgotten most of it until I picked up the book again yesterday. Suddenly, I was remembering exact passages and dialogue. Apparently I still have huge chunks of this book memorized, even after 12 years. Wow.

I’m going to wait until I finish the entire thing (again) before I identify myself with a particular character. When I was little, however, I considered myself to be a combination of Jo and Amy. My personality matched Jo’s fairly well, and–let’s face it–I wanted to be her, just like everyone else. However, Amy is the artist, something that I also identified with. There was something about her personality that, while not always positive and frequently self-serving, also reminded me of myself. So I guess we’ll soon see who I am now….

Re-reading Little Women is eerie, in a way, because I find myself anticipating specific lines and mental images that I didn’t know even existed anymore are flooding back with each scene. I also remember the tones of the actresses in the full-cast tape version for certain lines. It’s a very weird feeling, and also slightly distracting. I find myself putting the book down every couple of pages and gazing off into space, remembering what it was like reading it before. It hasn’t changed as much as I expected it to, though the idea that it would change is irrational. Perhaps my original attitude towards it is so cemented into place that it hasn’t changed in twelve years. Hmm…

Because I just couldn’t stay away from Hammett…

Length of sentences in the first paragraph of each chapter:

The Body in China Street: 14, 12, 21

The Hat Trick: 33, 27, 19
The Cyclone Shot: 20, 11, 8, 6, 40
The Dog House: 20 (dialogue)
The Hospital: 9 (dialogue)

The Observer: 12, 14 (dialogue)

The Henchmen: 11, 9, 14, 49, 19
The Kiss-Off: 49, 32
The Heels: 35 (dialogue)
The Shattered Key: 4, 13, 12, 6, 6

I also decided to look at Hammett’s initial descriptions of each character. (Do whatever you like with this data. It’s too early in the morning for my mind to be functioning properly.)

I plotted each one so you can see the individual trends, then stuck them all on one graph for comparison.

—

**One interesting thing that I ran into is that both Ned and Janet aren’t really given formal, initial descriptions, unlike the other characters. This suggests (once again) that Ned and Janet are on equal footing not only in terms of intellect, but also as far as Hammett’s attitude toward them is concerned. They are both treated as main characters by omission of the usual introductions.

I have decided, possibly foolishly, to analyze text patterns found in The Glass Key. The idea was raised that a pattern should be explored not only in a single paragraph of text, but across the whole novel. I chose to do this because:

1. I have no life.

2. I’m sick, and therefore have no desire for a life, despite it being Friday night.

3. Hammett is my substitute for a life.

4. I feel a little guilty about being so far behind on blog posts last week.

5. This numbered list is ending now.

I have utilized the handy random number table found here to select 10 page numbers, and then simply analyzed sentence word count in each page. (I considered doing it for the first paragraph on each page, but the paragraphs are frequently filled with dialogue, which makes it a little difficult to identify real paragraphs.) *NOTE: I am using my copy of The Glass Key, which I borrowed from the library (resulting from an irrepressible desire to save money) and is, in fact, a collection of all of Hammett’s works. Therefore, the page numbers are not the same as the ones in the class copies of the novel. The Glass Key is on pages 591-777. This difference is unimportant and won’t change the data significantly. I knew there was a reason* I took AP Stat in high school.

*other than masochism

Here are the graphs of each page…

655:

641:

637:

713:

692:

747:

673:

734:

715:

718:

So there it is. Let me know if you want me to do anything else with the data; it’s only 8pm and I’ve got the rest of the night to fill with similarly geeky pursuits…

Oh, how fun typing is when you’re sniffling every other word. Bah.

In a way, I felt like Miller’s Crossing was somewhere in between The Glass Key and Yojimbo. It didn’t hold as true to Ned’s personality in the book as Sanjuro in Yojimbo, but it wasn’t quite as far away as “Ed” in The Glass Key. Certain plot points were more identifiable as parallels to those in the book, while others were obviously constructed for the film alone. Miller’s Crossing has the same themes and character personalities as the book, but the actual events are altered slightly, and lines are invented. Granted, these invented plot twists and lines are occasionally brilliant. For example, Tom and Leo’s exchange: “You and I have faced worse odds.” “Never without reason. It helps to have one.” Also, Leo’s single-handed annihilation of the hit men iss spectacular.

These things were added for the same reason things were added in the old version of The Glass Key: audience appeal. However, the Coen brothers accomplish this much more successfully–not to mention with more style–than Heisler.

The most obvious deviation from the book–for me, at least–is the dramatic alteration of the relationship between the protagonist and femme fatale. Verna just seems too obvious, too unrefined. While Leo and Tom are fairly accurate versions of their literary counterparts, Verna’s personality and actions stray too far from Janet’s. However, the same end is accomplished (Leo’s break with Tom), so this is a fairly small complaint. Her involvement with Tom slightly changes the audience’s perception of him. In the novel, Ned has his faults, but is generally being kicked around by fate (or Jeff). In Miller’s Crossing, he’s not quite the martyr he is in The Glass Key. Tom has a fairly casual sexual relationship with Verna–despite his friendship with Leo. This betrayal of friendship changes his character subtly, making him just a little more responsible for resulting events. The audience tends more towards fascination and curiosity, rather than sympathy. This was an excellent film-making choice, because it forces the audience to focus more on the intricacies of the plots and characters by limiting emotional responses to Tom. This detachment is something that is not present (at least to the same degree) in The Glass Key or Yojimbo.

As far as the other characters go, Shad and Jeff’s personalities seem to be, in a way, reversed. Johnny Caspar is almost affectionate with Tom, and has the same reckless, violent impulses as Jeff, whereas Eddie Dane has Shad O’Rory’s intensity and astuteness.

The introduction of Bernie’s character lends a third element that, while missing in the book, works surprisingly well in the film, and further justifies Tom’s mistrust of everyone.

“Nobody knows anybody. Not that well.”

I finally managed to watch Yojimbo on Friday afternoon, which means that I’m about three class sessions behind with blog posts. Argh.

Aesthetically, this film is nearly perfect. Lots of attention was obviously given to shot composition and lighting. (As should be the case in any movie, but–sadly–isn’t always.) The music was also an element that immediately caught my attention. It was an interesting mix of dramatic movie soundtrack-type music and traditional Japanese musical elements and instruments.

The comical aspects of this film seemed much more intentional than those in The Glass Key. It was fairly clear when Kurosawa was trying to get a laugh out of the audience and when he wanted it to be taken seriously. This wasn’t nearly as clear in the earlier version of The Glass Key that we watched. (Half the time we were laughing, it was at the unbelievable corniness of the film.) These observations can probably be extended to the film in general–Yojimbo was far more polished than its earlier counterpart. This is the difference between “classic film” and “genre film” as discussed in class on Friday. Yojimbo takes its role as a film and a work of creative expression more seriously than The Glass Key, which seemed mainly a conglomeration of elements geared towards attracting the indiscriminating masses.

 The only criticism I have of Yojimbo (and it’s a very small one) is its occasional inconsistency with Japanese culture and behavioral and speech conventions. Of course, I’m not claiming to be an authority on Japanese history and customs, but I speak the language *relatively* fluently, having studied Japanese language and culture for four years in high school. The thing that struck me most about the characters in this movie was that they seemed a little too Americanized. Yes, it is essentially a western, but that doesn’t mean that they had to pick up the conventions of American film acting. Many of the characters were rude or tactless in a way that would be culturally unacceptable in Japan, especially at that point in history. The fact that most of these characters are outlaws may explain some of this disregard for subtlety, but I think it was exaggerated to an unncecessary degree. It was just a little too dramatic, and one thing that I really admire about Japanese cinema in general is the deftness with which meaning is delivered–not much is said, and facial expressions tend to be relatively closed. However, even this attribute (which we would consider lack of emotion) can in itself provide the viewer with far more–and deeper–insight into the characters. Perhaps Kurosawa, catering to both the artistically-minded and the masses, expected that the majority of his audience would have lacked the patience for this kind of observation and analysis. Or maybe he simply wanted to shock Japanese audiences with the brutality and social roughness of his characters.

After all, he is the only director I know who can get away with at least seven wipe transitions in one film without it seeming even slightly corny.

As far as its value as an adaptation goes, Yojimbo is a fairly loose version of The Glass Key. There is no clear Paul Madvig character. Kurosawa seems to have infused Sanjuro with nearly every aspect of Ned Beaumont’s personality without copying any of the other plot details, with the exception of the kidnapping and beating scene. He’s thrust Sanjuro/Ned into various situations, then had him act according to his literary personality. Kurosawa did a much better job of capturing Ned in Sanjuro than in the older version of The Glass Key. So while the earlier version is slightly more faithful to the book’s original plot, Sanjuro in Yojimbo is a more accurate portrayal of Ned Beaumont.

Finally, I’m afraid I have to agree with several of the class members on the issue of Inokichi and Sanjuro. He obviously has a bit of a crush on Sanjuro. But do we blame him? ;)

I found our class discussion very surprising. I think the most interesting thing I learned was about lighting cigarettes as a sign of sexual entanglement and/or desire. Wasn’t aware that the meaning of the gesture was quite as overt as that. I’m not surprised about the sexual subtext in an old film–often, older movies have a greater amount of sexual suggestion than newer ones. Sure, they actually SHOW sex in new movies, but they’re not nearly as suggestive nowadays. I’m constantly shocked when I go back to old films I haven’t seen since I was a little kid, because there’s so much implied that I just didn’t catch when I was younger.

I just watched Harvey (great movie, by the way) (yay, Jimmy Stewart) (mmm, parentheses) today, and was shocked at the amount of either sexual implication or even DISCUSSION going on in a movie from that time period. I just hadn’t remembered that about it. By the way, can a giant invisible rabbit be considered a phallic symbol? Hm.

So I guess I shouldn’t be shocked, because the only difference in sexual content between old movies and new ones is simply how overt it is. In fact, I would argue that in some ways old films are far worse (or better, depending on perspective) because they include MORE sexual subtext due to the fact that they can’t show anything even remotely sexual on screen. As for Jeff’s illicit homosexual love for “Ed”, I haven’t decided if there’s enough evidence to support that yet. It’s an interesting thought.