"Let's Go to the Movies!" "No, I'd Rather Stay Home." by Shirley Martin

 Recently I saw a wonderful musical from the early fifties, "Showboat."  Whenever I mention this movie to a friend, I invariably get the reply that they don't make movies like that anymore. Doubtless there are many who may not care for musicals, but I feel that there are many more who miss the films of yesterday.

    Oh, for those great dramas from the '40s, black and while films such as "Laura" or the very suspenseful "Woman in the Window." Those films of yesteryear, with their great plots and intriguing story lines, are sorely missed. Actors employed good diction then, an attribute sadly absent from today's movies, when we're forced to turn the volume up on the remote, just so we can understand what the actor is saying. 

    The early '40s covered World War II, so war movies proliferated during this period. Movies such as "A Walk in the Sun" or "Purple Heart" told a great story, well done. Unfortunately, many war movies were poorly made, with American actors posing as German soldiers and speaking English with a German accent.

    As a kid growing up in the forties, going to the movies was the high point of my week. My older brothers and I walked several miles to the nearest theater. For a dime, we saw the feature film, plus various extras, such as Movietone News, "The Phantom" (an adventure series), The Three Stooges and/or "The Passing Parade", a special interest extra. Often, the theater showed a sing-a-long, with words to the song on the screen, so that the entire audience could sing. (Yes, I know. Corny.)

    The early fifties heralded musical extravaganzas like the aforementioned "Showboat," "Carousel," "Kiss Me, Kate" and many more, all in technicolor. This period also brought us biblical epics, such as "The Robe" and "The Ten Commandments." 

    An innovation of the fifties were drive-in theaters, soon dubbed "passion pits."  (I wonder why!)

    My mother was born in 1906, so she came of age when silent movies were still in vogue. One memory must have stood out in her mind. The film showed a train hurtling down the track. Everyone in the audience jumped from their seat and ran out. They thought the train was coming after them!

    We've come a long way since then. These days, more sophisticated audiences are treated to realistic battle scenes, with all of its attendant blood and gore. On the other hand, special effects can create a truly enjoyable movie, such as the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy, with its terrifyingly realistic monsters and walking, talking trees. Great battle scenes here, without the gore. 

    As we ventured into the '70s, former restraints and restrictions fell away. Sex, violence, nudity and foul language became common movie fare. These changes prompted a codification of movies, from G for general audiences, to PG (parental guidance), and on to PG-13 and R rated. It remains a mystery--at least to me--why Hollywood produces so many R-rated films, since by their very content viewership is reduced.

    Another change came with the seventies, this one quite undesirable. For reasons I can't  understand, theatergoers--not all of them, but many--became unbearably rude. Lots of people, with apparently nothing else to do on a Saturday night, headed for the movie theater and loaded up at the concession stand with a large bag of popcorn, munching throughout the movie. But it didn't end there. These same people threw the box on the floor when they were finished, then headed to the concession stand again to get a soft drink, all this while most moviegoers just wanted to watch the film.

    Just in time, video cassettes came on the scene. Now you could watch a movie in the comfort of your living room, and not worry about noisy theatergoers. Now, too, DVDs have replaced video cassettes. You can find a wide range of movies at your local library or rent them through Netflix. And you can buy them from Amazon. With streaming, you can watch movies on the Internet. Actually, there are many movies you can access with just a click of the cursor.

    Watching movies is fun again.

    And if, besides watching movies, you like to read, do I have a great selection for you. Click on this link:

http://amzn.to/1zN7YAq  and you'll find my historical, paranormal, and fantasy romances. Two of them--"Night Secrets" and "Dream Weaver" are also in print. Check at your local bookstore. 

Shirley Martin

http://bookswelove.net/authors/shirley-martin/#

   

THE WIZARD OF OZ and me

 

 

 

It’s seventy five years since the movie of the Wizard of Oz was made. It’s one hundred and fourteen years since the book was written, but everyone—probably everywhere—knows the story well. The movie images, especially, lurk in the back of the mind of every one who has ever seen it, whether in the movie theater or on the small screen at home.  From the tornado to the dramatic switch from drab reality to full color fantasy, everything about it was a visual treat, especially back in the days when such "special effects" were new, and we weren’t plied on a daily basis with mind-boggling CG.

I think everyone has their own recollection of the first time they saw The Wizard of Oz. I certainly do, and the memory is not entirely a happy one. I was born long enough ago to have seen the movie for the first time in a local theater. Nothing beats the screen for overwhelming effect, even when this screen was small by current standards.  The Little Art Theater, as it was called, was basically a long narrow room with a screen and little stage at one end. It occupied the middle of a 19^th Century three story, block-long brick building, the kind that lined most typical downtowns. The local college crowd viewed avant garde foreign films there—auteurs like Bergman, Renoir, Pasolini—hence the name, but our theater also showed standard Hollywood fare, because, then as now, folks need to make a living.  

 

 

My blonde, blue-eyed Aunt Jean, (now, unimaginably, gone,) took my Cousin Michael and I to see The Wizard of Oz. I can't have been more than six, perhaps even younger. Aunt Jean was a lady of standing in our little town, so I have a memory of her in a blue and white checked shirtwaist dress, low heels, a hat and white gloves. My cousin was younger, but we were both near-sighted, so we sat near the front on the aisle, if memory serves.  In those days, we both peered around the shoulder of whoever was in front of us, perched on the edge of our seats. Nevertheless, then as now impressionable, I was immediately swept away, (just like poor Dorothy!) into the fantasy.

The first scary thing was when wicked Agnes Gooch took away Toto to be put down. I had recently owned a puppy, one that had been squashed in the road right before my eyes, so I was familiar with the pain and sorrow of loss that comes at the death of a fur friend. Next, came the tornado. My home town is in western Ohio, so I was on a first name basis with those, too. I’d seen the fear grow in my father’s eyes whenever he studied our stormy, threatening, lightning-filled skies, searching for any sign of oncoming catastrophe.

Nerves already on edge, for me the grand finale came when the green-faced witch and her awful minions, the flying monkeys, took over the screen.  I was so far submerged in the fantasy that what happened next might have been expected. When the monkeys came flying to tear the poor Scarecrow apart, leaving his strawy insides all over the road—well, in sixties parlance—I flipped, and began to scream at the top of my lungs.

 

 

My aunt was mortified, as was my younger cousin—who was, as he pointed later when the dire subject came up again - a boy, and therefore impervious to fear. I was whisked out of my seat and marched into the lobby. Here, away from the movie, fear of my Aunt’s displeasure quickly displaced the nightmare in which I'd been submerged. I remember standing, sobbing under the too bright lobby lights, with my Aunt shaking me and scolding. 

 “Now, Judy Lee! If you don’t stop that nonsense at once, I will never take you to the movies ever again!” 

Eventually, we returned to the dark theater. I remember drowning in embarrassment and holding back from my earlier willing immersion in the story so the shameful loss of control wouldn't attack again. 

Fashions in child-rearing have certainly changed, but even now I bear my Aunt no ill-will, because according to the rules of the world in which we lived, her reaction was the correct one.  It's an amusing memory, I guess, and also one that is "period correct."

Anyway, Happy 75th Birthday to the Wicked Witch and all her minions. I've thought of her far more often over the years than I have of Dorothy.

 

 ~~Juliet Waldron

 

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learn more about my historical novels at:

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