Thursday, May 2, 2013

"The War Follies"

"The War Follies" is my 90 minute satiric documentary on WW II that I made during my 7 years (it was biblical) as a "Homeless Guest".  I fun house mirrored the movie experience of the 40s with a newsreel and a cartoon (music/poems) and a Feature Film featuring the beginning, the fighting and the aftermath of the War stressing equality and forgiveness.  

The picture quality suffers from being many generations away from the original but I never got the money to complete post production.  Some times this video stalled but patiently came around.  Let me know if you have any problems.  The address is for just "The War Follies" but clicking on my name takes you to other stuff, including the hour at MoMA.

The Documentary Poet

The Documentary Poet

Came up with a title, "Documentary Poet", that seems to describe me and separates me from my peers.

There are the wordless visual musical poems: "The Headcracker Suite", "Game Today" (my son at 6 just turned 50), "Aerial Ballet" (Wide World of Sports), "Your Father's Mustache" (Football Anger), and "That Football Thing" (animated football, a la Mondrian);

The game highlights like "The Raven", "The Fairy Tale" and "The Circus";

The poem/essays like "The Football Follies" (PR film satirizes PR films), "Sonny Jurgensom Tribute" (nom for writing Emmy), "Baseball: No Place to Hide",  "Cliff Climbing in Wales" (metaphysical "American Sportsman", Teddy winner), "Gung-Ho Din" parody, "The Joggers" with rock score, and "The School of Dance" (Prez Nixon fave);

The poetic feature reporter:  "Discovering Flowers Jogging", "Breaking Ankle Jogging", "Mass. Ave." (I become street), "Disco Laundromat" (holocaust survivor), "Met Singer Commutes From Detroit", "The Statue" (An amateurs gift of Love) and "Night Mare" (painting explained).

Hosting a Public Access metaphysical show in LA where I translated a dog's lecture, "Honey on Love" and discovered "The Cosmic Orgasm"!

All or most of this stuff will be on my account with

Simply, Simon


Today is Barbra Striesand's 71st birthday and in reading her bio in IMDB was this sentence: "[on Dustin Hoffman] We were in the same acting school when I was sixteen, seventeen years old. I used to baby-sit to get free acting lessons, and he was the janitor."  That is the same time I attended Allan Miller's private classes with Barbra.  That means both Barbra and Dustin were in my fucking class!  I was friendly with Streisand, she dated my best friend and hung out with our gang of Beatnik Actors who worshipped Marlon and studied with Miller.  Miller was a hot-shot teacher at The Actor's Studio but taught the method privately to avoid The Studio's stringent, subjective auditions.

I don't remember Hoffman being in my classes unless he was that skinny, creepy kid who looked like he never bathed and twitched around like a cockroach.  Holy shit!  The real fucking DUSTIN HOFFMAN IS RATZO RIZZO!!!

We did an exercise in class where you had to sing a nursery rhyme, but you could only use one note throughout and not get self-conscious in front of your peers.  It sounded terrible!  If you did it right all your discomfort came out emotionally in your voice.  Barbra nailed it every time because every time she did it, you cried.  I only had that reaction one other time towards another classmate, THE CREEP!  I dismissed it as "even a broken watch is right twice a day" but didn't realize I had a glimpse at a student's emerging greatness.

I should recuse myself because of that much later time at PJ Clarke's when my party was waiting for a table, standing for half an hour; and when one opens up, that great fucking asshole, Dustin Hoffman waltzes in and takes our fucking table!