matt scudder – nostalgic nyc noir

 My dad was a huge fan of the prolific author Lawrence Block. Block is best known for two series of books, one following ex NYC cop Matthew Scudder and his battles with alcohol and guilt, as well as a light-hearted series about the charming burglar Bernie Rhodenbarr, who always seems to find himself on a job in a fabulous residence that also happens to contain a dead body. Most of the Scudder novels are included with my Audible subscription, so I have been enjoying revisiting a few that I read years ago and discovering some new (to me) ones. But mostly I have enjoyed time-traveling with Scudder to New York City in the 1970s and 1980s, a time before the internet and 24-hour cable news and so many other scourges of our times.

Matthew Scudder has a tragic backstory and spends a good deal of his time in coffee shops, ginmills, and walking the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, as he tries to “do favors” for friends. After he quit the force he started drinking – and also functioning as a quasi private eye. Even under an alcohol haze he can put his considerable talents to helping track down assorted murderers and ne’er-do-wells. Block loves to underline the day-to-day repetitiveness of city life as Matt drops numerous dimes in payphones, hops into cabs or rides subways and mass transit trains all over the boroughs of New York to solve a case – all while hitting his favorite watering holes several times a day to drink his favorite concoction – coffee with a shot of bourbon – it helps him keep his drunk on while also keeping him awake.

When the Sacred Ginmill Closes (1986) by Lawrence Block

What is most interesting about Scudder is his unapologetic manner – he doesn’t pretend or aspire to be a hero. He is dogged, determined, and sometimes enacts his own sense of justice. He is the first to talk of his many flaws. Most of the talk, the dialogue in these books, is first-rate. Block has a way with words, but especially with conversation between characters. This hits its apex in When the Sacred Ginmill Closes, a story the now sober Scudder tells while looking back on his hard-drinking days with his even harder-drinking buddies.

The best audio versions of these books are by readers who really seem to capture the character of Matthew Scudder, as well as being able to act out the other characters convincingly. Strangely, the weakest reader so far has been the author himself, who voices perhaps his best-known Scudder novel, Eight Million Ways to Die. It is a pivotal book in the series, as it chronicles Scudder hitting his lowest point with the booze and taking his first tentative steps towards quitting it and joining Alcoholics Anonymous. Block’s reading of the novel at the beginning is rote – but his delivery does seem to come alive as Matt sobers up. This may have been intentional, but frankly the other books are far more enjoyable for listeners, books where the voice actors can act, not just read.

That minor quibble aside, I am really enjoying my recent foray into nostalgic NYC noir. I’ve listened to the first seven books in the series. There are seventeen novels and numerous short stories featuring this classic detective (even if Matt wouldn’t call himself one). Favorite narrators in the series so far are Alan Sklar and Mark Hammer. There are numerous non-PC attitudes expressed by many characters, as to be expected of NYC low-lifes circa ’70s-’80s, but some readers/listeners might find the racial, homophobic and ethnic slurs offensive. Matt Scudder never projects such views, but runs across or spends time with characters who do.

The Sins of the Fathers (1976) – narrated by Alan Sklar

In the Midst of Death (1976) – narrated by Alan Sklar

Time to Murder and Create (1977) – narrated by Alan Sklar

A Stab in the Dark (1981) – narrated by William Roberts

Eight Million Ways to Die (1982) – narrated by Lawrence Block

When the Sacred Ginmill Closes (1986) – narrated by Mark Hammer

Out on the Cutting Edge (1989) – narrated by Dan Butler

First published on Cannonball Read

books to film: pal joey and BUtterfield 8

After recently reading Truman Capote's Breakfast at Tiffany's, I decided that I not only wanted to continue with my book-to-film theme, but keep it centered in New York City, too. That led me to John O'Hara's  Pal Joey and BUtterfield 8.

John O'Hara - Four Novels of the 1930s

I had heard for years that the 1957 film version of Pal Joey was nothing like the 1940 Rodgers and Hart Broadway musical - Gene Kelly apparently portrayed him as a genuine no-good crumb (as Joey would say). In the film Frank Sinatra isn't exactly an angel, but he has enough of the proverbial heart of gold to win the love of sweet Kim Novak. Not only does the original O'Hara text outline Joey's not-so-nice persona, but it is an epistolary novel, including a series of Joey Evans' missives to his "dear pal Ted." Down on his luck nightclub MC and singer Joey Evans is always trying to get his more successful friend Ted to help him get a job in New York, where Ted seems to be doing very well in his own musical career, but clearly Ted isn't biting. The novel started as a story that O'Hara submitted to The New Yorker, first published in 1938. It was so popular he wrote more and more, until they were compiled published as a novel in 1940. To the delight of the reader, your pal Joey writes like he talks, which, a la Derek Zoolander, is not too good:

Dear Friend Ted
That is if I can call you friend after the last two weeks for it is a hard thing to do considering. I do not know if you realize what has happen to me oweing to your lack of consideration. Maybe it is not lack of consideration. Maybe it is on purpose. Well if it is on purpose all I have to say is maybe you are the one that will be the loser and not me as I was going to do certan things for you but now it does not look like I will be able to do them.

From the 1957 film, Frank Sinatra as your pal Joey with mice Kim Novak and Rita Hayworth

Pal Joey is a mostly funny read. Joey is grasping, but mostly clueless. He does seem to have a pretty good talent for the music and jazz of the time, but his human relations skills are less than zero, especially with the "mice" (Joey's slang for girls) that he encounters along the way. Joey doesn't seem to be doing much better with his career by the end of the novel than he did when it started, which adds to the realism, and even humor of the piece. Joey may have been a heel, but his persona has lived on entertainingly in print, stage, and screen.

1935's BUtterfield 8 was made into a successful film in 1960, starring Elizabeth Taylor (who won the Oscar for Best Actress) and then-husband Eddie Fisher, right before she went on to make the blockbuster Cleopatra. The story centers on Gloria Wandrous, a young woman who lives her life freely - sleeping with men that she likes, while searching for a meaningful life. Gloria is a complicated person. It is revealed, midway through the novel, that she was a victim of child sexual abuse. She is quite frank and flirtatious with her closest friend, commercial artist Eddie, who seems to be her only true friend. Gloria is getting tired of her itinerant life and believes that she has fallen in love with her latest lover, married man Weston Liggett. But will she be able to get past her malaise and open herself to love and a life with Liggett?

From the 1960 film, Elizabeth Taylor in her Oscar-winning turn as Gloria Wandrous in BUtterfield 8

“On this Sunday morning in May, this girl who later was to be the cause of a sensation in New York, awoke much too early for her night before. One minute she was asleep, the next she was completely awake and dumped into despair. It was the kind of despair that she had known perhaps two thousand times before, there being 365 mornings in a calendar year.”

The book, although interesting to read and progressive for its time, has problems. Gloria is racist and abusive to her mother's black maid as a matter of course. She is the recipient of sexist behavior, which is not surprising, considering the time the story takes place, but that same sexism is also ultimately worked into the plot. Why is Gloria made to "pay" for her choices and behavior while her partner, Liggett, seems to get off scot free? That can happen frequently in life, but did the reader in 1935 accept her fate as unjust or inevitable? Events in the 1960 film may have been depicted as tragic, but seemed equally cliché. BUtterfield 8 seems a precursor, almost a companion story to Breakfast at Tiffany's. The authors each presented interesting, free-spirited women as their protagonists, but in the end, don't seem to know what to do with them.


This post also appears on Cannonball Read 11

favorite movie #110 - holiday edition: miracle on 34th street

Favorite movies that have had an impact on me - #110 - Miracle on 34th Street (1947) - Maureen O'Hara os a divorced single career mom (a pretty unusual person to be portrayed in Hollywood films of the 40s), who is trying to stay strong for her little girl (Natalie Wood). Bout sometimes strong can seem tough, or even brittle. Along comes a man (Edmund Gwenn) who may or may not be Kris Kringle, but can tell that she and her daughter could use some magic in their lives. The movie is still magic and it and its Macy's New York City setting is beautiful to behold in black and white, especially in HD on a big TV screen.

favorite movie #100 - holiday edition: desk set

Favorite movies that have had an impact on me - #100 - Desk Set (1957) - Tracy and Hepburn. Librarians. New York City at Christmas. The early integration of computers (super-computer EMERAC) into the working world. Desk Set is just fun, fun, fun. Gig Young plays his usual leading-lady's-second-choice role and Joan Blondell and Dina Merrill get a few snappy lines as Katharine Hepburn's friends and research library assistants. Desk Set is Tracy and Hepburn's first color outing and their eighth and penultimate film together. They are always a wonderful screen duo, but this is my favorite of their teamings.

Richard Sumner (Spencer Tracy) introduces Bunny Watson (Katharine Hepburn) to EMERAC

The gals check out EMERAC (L-R: Joan Blondell, Dina Merrill, Sue Randall, Katharine Hepburn

Richard Sumner takes Bunny Watson "out" for lunch

Bunny Watson (Katharine Hepburn): Just for kicks. You don't have to answer it if you don't want to. I mean, don't dwell on the question, but I warn you there's a trick in it: If six Chinamen get off a train at Las Vegas, and two of them are found floating face down in a goldfish bowl, and the only thing they can find to identify them are two telephone numbers - one, Plaza Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh, and the other, Columbus Oh-1492 - what time did the train get to Palm Springs? 

Richard Sumner (Spencer Tracy): Nine o'clock. 

Bunny Watson: Now, would you mind telling me how you happened to get that? 

Richard Sumner: Well, there are eleven letters in Palm Springs. You take away two Chinamen, that leaves nine. 

Bunny Watson: You're a sketch, Mr. Sumner. 

Richard Sumner: You're not so bad yourself.

Link to Christmas: It's holiday season in New York, right before the Christmas break

p.s. It's got a 100% rating on Rotten Tomatoes!

favorite movie #59: it's always fair weather

Favorite movies that have had an impact on me - #59 - It's Always Fair Weather (1955) - When most people think of classic Gene Kelly films, Singin' in the Rain, On the Town, and An American in Paris come to mind. But my personal favorite Kelly film is It's Alway Fair Weather. A story about three GIs who plan to meet again after ten years home from the war, it could be described as the dark side of On the Town. Ted (Kelly), Doug (Dan Dailey), and Angie (choreographer Michael Kidd, in his first onscreen role) have led very different lives since they were in the army together, and after a few minutes of being back together frankly loathe one another. A bored Ted tries to pick up Jackie (Cyd Charisse), an advertising executive who decides the boys' story is just what her late-night television show could use — some real schmaltz. The film is prophetic in its criticism and depiction of reality television and its phony host (Dolores Gray). There are some great set pieces, with the trio dancing with garbage can lids on their feet, Cyd Charisse charming the denizens of a fight club ("Baby You Knock Me Out"), and the best number of all, "I Like Myself," with Gene Kelly tap dancing on roller skates. Yes, I said that right. Gene Kelly dances on roller skates. The script (and song lyrics) are by Betty Comden and Adolph Green and the music by André Previn. Kelly co-directed with Stanley Donen, their last film together.

The only odd note in the film is that Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse didn't have any dance numbers together. I found this on YouTube. It must have ended up on the cutting room floor.

favorite movie #53: bell, book, and candle

Favorite movies that have had an impact on me - #53 - Bell, Book, and Candle (1958) - A middle-aged Jimmy Stewart may seem a strange choice for a romantic lead, but he was, like Cary Grant, still the go-to star for such films in the 1950s. For his two most romantic roles of this era his co-star and object of his affections was the lovely Kim Novak — in Vertigo and Bell, Book, and Candle, both released in 1958 — in May and November, respectively. While Vertigo is a mystery about obsessive, voyeuristic love told only the way Alfred Hitchcock could tell it,  Bell, Book, and Candle is a light-hearted comedic romance about a witch who falls for her upstairs neighbor — it was one of the inspirations for the long-running television show Bewitched. Stewart and Novak have great chemistry here, as they did in their previous film. Jack Lemmon, Elsa Lanchester, Hermione Gingold, and Ernie Kovacs are all fun in supporting roles. One wonders if Jack Lemmon's trick with the street lamps of Greenwich Village might have inspired author J.K. Rowling almost forty years later ...

Novak poses with her familiar, Pyewacket

It's also an Xmas movie!

Kim Novak wears bewitching costumes by Jean Louis

the truth about cats and werewolves

I've been in the mood for classic horror paperbacks lately. I recently read Whitley Strieber's Hunger trilogy and liked the first book, so thought I'd try two more of his earlier works. His first book. The Wolfen, was written in 1978. It follows two New York City police officers, Rebecca Neff and George Wilson, who try to solve a seemingly unsolvable case — the brutal attack of two fellow officers. All the signs seem to point to an animal attack, but not just any ordinary animal. The book is fast-paced, and for the most part a great read. Strieber tries to force an uncomfortable and implausible romance between Neff and Wilson. This was handled much more smoothly and believably in the movie version of the book starring Albert Finney in 1981. That movie, although with some changes, like bringing in a Native American mystical element, helped underscore the book's commentary on the state of the city — especially the burned-out Bronx and other abandoned areas and their homeless populations. Disposable people can easily become prey. But I really did enjoy the book, especially the sections where the reader gets to follow the wolf pack and get into their heads.

Albert Finney in Wolfen

Finney and Gregory Hines

Finney gets up in the world to talk to Edward James Olmos, with the WTC (sniff) in the background

In 1986 Strieber released Catmagic, an interesting take on Wicca. It must have seemed quite strange at the time. Reading it today, some of the actions of the coven seem quite benign, and their rituals not that far from your average Renaissance Faire. But of course Strieber takes it to another level, mixing (not aways successfully) the white magic of the coven and the not very benign scientific efforts of a messed-up doctor to stop a life and then bring it back — a la Frankenstein. Add to the mix a perverted evangelical  preacher and things really get crazy. And did I mention the huge black tomcat who just might be an agent of Death? As wacky as things get, the book is never boring and there were some sections I liked a lot.

Previously published on Cannonball Read 10

la vie boheme

When my kid was just a little one, around 5 or 6, Rent was one of her favorite movies. She loved the music. I may have fast-forwarded through some of it, but she picked up on the emotions and the love stories and that Angel got sick and died. When stars Anthony Rapp and Adam Pascal came to DC to do a live concert version of the play we went to see it with my cousin Ann. Today we watched it and her 14 year-old self got all of the story this time around. She remembered some of the songs and we cried again when Angel died, but this time she really understood it. We talked about opera and AIDS and New York City and drugs and lofts and leases and rent. I know a lot of people probably don't like the film version of this beloved show, but I do. When it was at its height I was living La Vie Boheme in NYC and couldn't really afford to go to the theater. With much of the original cast reprising their roles, this is a real treat. Despite the sadness that permeates most of the characters' lives, many of the numbers are filled with joy and exuberance. This is one of my favorites, set in the Life Cafe, one of my old haunts, which is unfortunately, no more.

This number really spoke to me today. Besides the obvious sticking it to the man theme that all artists enjoy, it seemed to underline the fact that certain societal divides are nothing new, but always worth fighting for. It doesn't matter if you relate to any or all or even none of the items on the song's list, but everyone should be be able to live their lives as they choose, and even celebrate those choices. Viva la vie boheme.

favorite movie #18 : after hours

Favorite movies that have had an impact on me - #18 - After Hours (1985) - You can have Raging Bull and Goodfellas. For me, this is Martin Scorsese at his best (along with his short about a painter, “Life Lessons,” from New York Stories). Griffin Dunne discovers how dangerous it is to go downtown, as he is led from one strange experience to even stranger ones late at night in SoHo. A great cast of characters, including Rosanna Arquette, Teri Garr, Linda Fiorentino, and John Heard are along for the ride.

Paul Hackett (Griffin Dunne) has no money for a subway token] 

Paul: Couldn't you just give me one token, please? 

Subway Attendant: I can't do that. I may lose my job. 

[Paul looks around and sees no one else in the station] 

Paul: Well, who would know... exactly? 

Subway Attendant: I could go to a party, get drunk, talk to someone... who knows?

favorite movie #9: the seventh victim

Favorite movies that have had an impact on me - #9 - The Seventh Victim (1943) - When I moved to NYC to go to art school revival theaters were everywhere, and this movie buff took full advantage. One of the first groups of films that I saw at Cinema Village were all produced by Val Lewton, and this little-known film became an all-time favorite. Like me, its protagonist (Kim Hunter) was a young girl trying to make her way in a strange and sometimes scary big city. Throw in a beautiful mysterious missing sister (Jean Brooks), a dashing psychiatrist (Tom Conway), and some devil worshippers and you've got a great B horror movie.

throwback thursday: ginger miso dressing

The kid loves going to the supermarket with me, because it's an endless buffet. And she has always been all about the buffet. Exotic chips and flavored popcorns are available to sample. And then ask mom if we can buy a bag, which are usually, curiously, on a two-for-one sale. Hmmm ... The man behind the cheese counter at our local Publix knows her by name, and when he sees her coming he always slices up some Manchego or some other cheese he thinks she might like. And she does. It is great to watch her broaden her horizons along with her palate.

Lately, at Whole Foods, she has become enamored of cucumber slices on offer that are being used to tout a ginger miso salad dressing. She likes it so much that the last time we went she insisted I try it and buy it. I did and did. Not only was I impressed by the kid wanting a salad dressing (she's not much for salad, but will eat her own version of crudités that we have dubbed "bits and pieces"), but I was immediately brought back, with one bite, to my own salad days in New York City in the '80s.

It had outdoor seating for warm days ... (photo from Yelp)

An art student never has much money. What little I had went towards art supplies, and maybe a vodka drink on a night out from time to time. Food was always a secondary concern, but when hunger did strike, one of the places my friends and I frequently found ourselves was at Dojo's on St. Mark's Place. Dojo's was (presumably) healthy food, and even better, it was cheap. Plus, they served alcohol, so some sake or a Rolling Rock would sometimes sneak their way in to our evening menu. My friend Sibylle introduced me to the place, and one of its signature dishes, chicken sukiyaki salad with carrot ginger miso dressing. Mixing the noodles and the greens may have been funky enough, but it was the ginger miso dressing that made it a dish to reorder and reorder. The dressing also appeared on their soy burgers and I'm sure lots of other recipes, but it was the chicken sukiyaki salad that became our go-to fuel.

New York has changed immeasurably since those days, and a quick online search has confirmed what I feared, that Dojo's is long closed. But those memories of fun evenings and delicious ginger miso dressing remain.

throwback thursday: 14th street

My dad was born on 14th Street in New York City, and at least, c. 2000, the building was still standing. Here's a photo from a trip we made to the city from our home in N.J. (probably to see a Yankee game) in the 1970s. The building is the first brownstone, with Allen's Bar at the ground level.

Here's a close-up shot, with my mom and me standing in front of Allen's Bar. The family had more than one apartment in the building. The family patriarch, my great grandfather Don Peppino, a retired chef, had an office in the front of the building, where he would see patients. After he retired from the restaurant he spent his time as a healer. The family lived in rooms at the back of the building. In summertime Don Peppino would sit out on the roof and dry tomatoes, which he would later use to make sauce. Apparently the building also once featured a stoop, and a shop that sold prosthetics and wheelchairs was the storefront in the 1930s.

Here's a color polaroid from 1999 or 2000, from when I last lived in NY. The storefront was still a bar, but with a different name, and the bike store was gone. A satellite dish was now on the roof, but for the most part times didn't seem to have changed all that much. I'm not sure what I'd find there today.

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farewell, cedar tavern

I follow Jeremiah's Vanishing New York's posts on Facebook. It's sort of a love/hate experience to read them. I appreciate that he is a cry in the wilderness to a disappearing city, but I can't deny that it makes for a pretty depressing read most of the time, like a recent post about the death of Dojo's, one of my past favorite haunts. Au revoir Chicken sukiyaki salad with carrot ginger dressing.

I guess everyone believes that their time in New York (or wherever they spent their heyday, usually in their 20s and 30s) was the best time. I grew up hearing about my dad's glory days in New York, so I had his vision of the city to compare with my own when I went there to go to art school in the '80s. My first year in the city I lived at Union Square West, which was just a few short blocks from school — Parsons School of Design.

I tentatively explored my new neighborhood, either alone or with roommates or classmates. We walked everywhere, ranging in the beginning only as far north as 23rd Street and as far south as Grand Street and Little Italy. As a young art student one of the first places I wanted to check out was the nearby Cedar Tavern, which was on University Place. The (I believed) former hang-out of the legendary Abstract Expressionists. A bunch of us would go there from time to time, trying to soak up some old Jackson Pollock or Franz Kline vibes from the worn, heavily lacquered, wooden tables.

The (second) Cedar Tavern

Franz Kline

Jeremiah's Vanishing New York recently pointed me to a New York Times article, "Bye-Bye Bohemia," by Lee Siegel, bemoaning the fate of the Tavern's location at 82 University Place — from fabled artist's dive to a "wax center." The Cedar Tavern apparently closed in 2006 (I left the city for good in 2000). As the article points out, the bar that Pollock and Co. used to frequent was actually originally on Eighth Street and University Place, and closed in the early '60s, so in the '80s we were actually chasing phantoms in a second location. But still, they were fun dreams to chase.

Nothing is sacred or lasts, one of the anti-perks and realizations of adulthood. Am I really upset that where I once tried to soak up some Ab-Ex art history will now be a waxing salon? Just a little bit. If there is anything that that endures about New York it is the fact of its constant state of change. What does seem to be a shame is that a little hole-in-the-wall bar, even if it wasn't even the "right" one, will never again be a destination for a young artist's pilgrimage. Where will people go if they want to try and recapture a sense of New York's painting past, of a '50s Bohemia? The grid endures. One might not be able to walk into the Cedar Tavern anymore, but you could stroll over to 46 East Eighth Street and imagine Pollock trying to stagger home after a long, alcohol-fueled night. At least until the area's leveled to make room for a Walmart or Ikea.

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• the case of the broken glass

the case of the broken glass

The first year that I went to college, art school, Parsons School of Design in New York City, I lived in their "dorms," a few floors in a high-rise on Union Square. The understanding was that by the end of the year students would need to find other accommodations  to make room for next year's influx of art students. I looked at a few places over the summer, but nothing was working out, until I lucked into a place in Park Slope, sharing it with a girl who modeled in one of my art classes. The real bonus was that as nice as she was, she spent a lot of time at her boyfriend's place, so for the most part, although it sometimes got lonely, I had a large, railroad apartment to myself. During that sophomore year my roommate eventually moved out, and when one of my classmates found himself out of his latest digs I was more than willing to share my good fortune, telling him to come and stay until he found his own place.

I was a bit of a stray collector in those days. I never intended to have my classmate become my permanent roommate, but if that had worked out, I probably would have been fine with it. But that's not how things worked out. It's always hard to live with people. We all have our quirks. I had grown up with a brother, so I was used to hair left in the shower, or the toilet seat being up. Those really weren't  a big deal. But being sneaky or dishonest was a deal-breaker.

"A Broken Glass," by Kit Umscheid

So what happened? 

We were living in Brooklyn, but we both would also still go home and visit our families on the weekend from time-to-time; my family in New Jersey, his in upstate New York. I had returned from such a weekend to find a sink full of dishes — again, not exactly a big deal, just a small annoyance. I didn't have that many glasses or dishes, so would have to wash what was in the sink to be able to use them. I turned on the water and grabbed a sponge and some dish soap and started washing the plates and forks, my mind drifting. I then reached for a juice glass, putting the sponge inside, and turning it, twisting it, to get the suds over the inside of the glass. Suddenly I glanced down into the sink and wondered why it reminded me of the shower scene in Psycho. Blood was swirling down the drain. I looked from the bottom of the sink to the glass and my hand. My hand was bleeding, between the thumb and index finger. The glass had been broken, perfectly, horizontally, and then put back together. Put back into the sink. As if done by a three year old. Maybe she won't find out. She won't know that I did it. What a jerk. Luckily, the gash wasn't deep enough to warrant stitches, but I still have a scar.

I gave him until the end of the week. I never really got angry with him, or scolded him, or told the story (much), but we were never really friends after that incident. Understandably. A few months later, as I was going through some of my books in a bookcase I heard something drop down to the floor behind it. I fished out the object. It was my grandmother's pinking shears, broken, hidden behind some pieces of trimmed cardboard. He had used my seamstress grandmother's pinking shears to cut thick cardboard for some project. And then apparently broken them and hidden them. What sort of infantile behavior would do crap like this? Twice?

Things get broken. It happens. But every once in a while I have to wonder how and why this brand of sneakiness, something that I have dealt with on occasion with my daughter — who's nine years old — had extended into adulthood. Granted, twenty-somethings are not as grown-up as they think they are, but to put a broken glass back in a sink instead of just throwing it out. It still boggles my mind.