Lorette, the magical milliner

Hello everyone! I hope I'm not disappointing, but this post isn't on one of the greatest comedic actresses of her day, nor on The Women (1939) from which this still is taken. Rather, it's on the most wonderful experience I had today that I'm simply bursting to share! I know that many of you kind and patient readers are discerning, film loving gentleman, so I appreciate your understanding with my continued break from reviewing, and look forward to your fashion advice. Indeed, your fashion advice.

Back story: I have a very fancy event tomorrow and thought to myself 'Self, what better excuse is there to wear a fabulous vintage hat?' 'Well, none that I can think of right now Jenny, let's do it!' Only I live in Burlington, Vermont and finding the Rosalind Russell inspired gem of my dreams is not such an easy endeavor . . . or so I thought. I headed down to the reliable Whistle Stop Antiques & Company on Flynn Ave but there were absolutely none to be found! I had tried the more conventional outlets, local second hand shops and thrift stores, but now the antique stores are sans chapeaus too? What's a gal to do? Just then, when I had nearly accepted defeat, the shop's thoughtful owner Mary told me about this incredible woman named Lorette, an eighty year old collector who lives off of Pine Street and often buys Mary out of most her hats. Perhaps if Mary called she'd let me go down and peruse her collection? Low and behold, Lorette was happy to help! She asked my name and Jennifer came out, the full name I rarely ever use reader, but the circumstances seemed such that I should have said Bette or Winifred or Norma (oh being born in the 80's!). Anywho . . . Lorette just needed an hour or so to get ready and then asked me to knock on her Alder Lane door.

Readers, do you ever have a most wonderful, spontaneous experience that inspires within you a renewed affection for most everything around you? For me, it became the little neighborhood I had never driven through, the beautiful, sunny fall day, and the fact that a mutual love of hats, and a local businesswoman to businesswoman chat, led me to a house I would never otherwise have visited and unique lady I would never otherwise have met.

Oh Lorette! After ringing the bell twice to little avail, I called and let her know I was standing right outside, and she kindly said "oh dear, I'll be right there!" I walked into a small room, wall to wall in Halloween decor, not the cheesy lawn type, but more of the quaint grandmother variety. Her walls were caked in photos, old and new, some from well before she moved in - in 1960. She also showed me pictures from the vintage fashion shows she participates in around town, "It's just so fun to get all dressed up, we do it so rarely these days." I hear that Lorette! I'm sorry to have no photos, but I felt a bit silly explaining about blogs and asking to take pictures of her house, perhaps on my next visit . . .

And then of course, the amazing displays of hats! Well reader, I simply couldn't go home with just one, I mean, I'm buying from a collector, it would seem a wasted opportunity. Below are my choices and I would love to hear which you think is the best to wear tomorrow. Don't be shy now, all opinions are welcome!

Although I know she won't read this, thank you so much Lorette, it was a truly memorable experience and is keeping this silly, millini smile on face!

The amazing 1920's black cap, side view, above, and, front view, below

Cake topper, how much do I love this blue-petaled number? Close up, above, and full shot, below


My kitty JC Pennys watching with very little interest . . . Emma could also care less


Darling lacy headpiece, it reminds me a bit of the current "not me" photo of Gloria Swanson

and last, but certainly not least, the I. Magnin poppy!

Well all, which should I wear tomorrow?

In time for Halloween . . .

Check that beauty out readers! Are you thinking, wow, that's a pretty awesome special affect, what movie is that from Jenn? No movie my friends, that pretty lady is on my thigh! Ha, take that increased chance of melanoma! Not from that mole, no no, no more . . .

Here's the bacitracin I put on her for a little size comparison . . .

I know, this has nothing to do with an amazing film I've just seen. But what's the point of having a blog if you can't go way off the beaten track every so often, hmmm?

Stitches!!

Husbands and Wives (1992)

Recently a friend recommended I rewatch Woody Allen's celebrated 1992 dramady Husbands and Wives. Without boring you with too much detail patient reader, Millie and I have experienced great sadness recently and I think this friend suspected I may benefit from Allen's musings on love, marriage, you know, passion versus friendship, happiness versus comfort, contentment versus loneliness. After all, no matter where we find ourselves, aren't these comparisons always being proposed?

Well, the short of it is that I'm bittersweetly glad to have watched Husbands and Wives, and here, my dear friends, is why.

(I must warn you - there is a somewhat veiled spoiler alert towards the very end, starting with "consider Sally's final lines". My apologies if you haven't seen the film, but I had to use some plot to state my point!)

The Basics: Gabe (Allen) and Judy (Mia Farrow) are getting ready to have dinner with their closest friends Sally (the incomparable Judy Davis) and Jack (Sydney Pollack) when the latter drop the very unexpected bomb that they are separating. Over the course of the next few years, broken into weeks and months, we watch how this decision transforms each character involved. Sally and Jack pursue other relationships, Judy intently questions her own marriage, Gabe lolls along contentedly in his marriage while his young, brilliant student Rain (Juliette Lewis) incites a dormant passion. As you may have guessed, shenanigans, in the form of musings on the essential, impermanent humans relationships, ensue. (Side note: Although I enjoying writing "shenanigans" because I simply love the repetition in each basics, what occurs here is much less lighthearted than cheeky shenanigans, but heavier, sadder shenanigans laden with Allen's bleak realization that true happiness with another person is the stuff of the movies. Just not this one.)

Husbands and Wives is without question one of Allen's finest films. The story is undeniably compelling, there is simply no way to watch it without questioning those fundamental parts of your character that have loved, lost, and experienced the awful awesomeness that is relationship-ing. The characters are not only well crafted, accessible, and entertaining, but expertly executed by the talented cast. And the creme de la creme? Judy Davis. I declare with no doubt in my mind (a real feat if you know me), Davis delivers the film's best performance.

If you see this movie for no other reason, watch it for Davis. She completely owns the role of Judy, really getting inside your head, making you believe all the more in the push and pull that break ups, dating, marriage, the whole wonderful, messy thing bestow upon us. The scene when she firsts starts dating again - well, if you haven't seen the film I won't ruin it for you, but it's hysterical! Brilliantly funny in a way only Allen can do, you know, bitter pessimism mixed with some with some perfectly timed sketch comedy. Like Rain says to Gabe "You make suffering so funny."

I have to admit, I am finding this post difficult to write. Perhaps it's because there is so much packed into Husbands and Wives and I feel my minor interpretation cheapens it somehow, as though I can't begin to articulate what it is that makes this film so pointedly accurate. Perhaps it's because I have some anger and resentment towards the ethos. I so badly want to believe there is more to love and relationships than Allen may claim; that happiness, openness, and long lasting partnerships are possible, not without challenges or difficulty of course, but obtainable. Through the short time we live with these characters we see the microcosm of relationships. We don't need the decades leading up to this point, with his characters' comfort levels and relative disenchantment with life and love it's all clear as day by the opening scene. What we get is the essence of relationships, according to Allen: from initial lust to rediscovering the self to falling into old patterns, to resignation. Sweet, conforming resignation.

Please don't misunderstand, I love Woody Allen, but I have to admit, this outlook, while convincing in so many ways, is just too depressing for me to swallow. Allen, in his clever way, both saddens me and then articulates my sadness (Allen you genius you!). Take this conversation between Gabe and Rain about her reading his recent manuscript:

G: Tell me your criticisms.
R: I was a little disappointed with some of your attitudes.
G: Like what? What attitudes? With what?
R: The way people just casually have affairs like that.
G: The book doesn't condone affairs. I'm exaggerating for comedy.
R: Are our choices really between chronic dissatisfaction and suburban drudgery?
G: I'm deliberately distorting it. I'm trying to show... ...how hard it is to be married.
R: You have to be careful not to trivialize things like that.

Allen's final treatment of his characters certainly leaves one to think
that's all we have: "chronic dissatisfaction" and "suburban drudgery"
which is of course, downright depressing.
My friend may say it is no less true, and perhaps that makes it beautiful,
but consider Sally's final lines:

 " We're doing fine. Really. We've learned to...
           ...tolerate our problems more. Don't you think?
           I've learned, anyway, that love is...
           ...not about passion and romance necessarily.
           It's also about companionship and...
           ...it's like a buffer against loneliness"

All of this is "a buffer against loneliness"?  I'm just not sure that's a pill
I'm willing to swallow.

What do you all think?  Are we on this earth merely to buffer against loneliness?
Are relationships really nothing more than tolerating some else so long as you gain
something, even just companionship?  Again, please don't misunderstand, 
Husbands and Wives is perfect, it's absolutely pitch perfect.  What are your thoughts?

Millie bees to knees meter (1 bee = blah, 10 bees = hoo-rah):  9.5

Slingbacks and Syrup (2008)

Working in downtown Burlington, I'm no stranger to the flyer. There are so many leaflets being dropped at Scribbles weekly that I rarely pay them notice lest they crowd my register or make a messy pile. Sad, I know reader, but I'm happy to announce that the tide is turning! Last week, a handsome older gentlemen, who looked vaguely familiar, came in and after buying some stickers urged me to attend a free screening of the new Vermont film Slingbacks and Syrup, a documentary on the creation of The House of LeMay, Burlington's one and only drag house.

Well, I took this flyer and thought to myself 'Jennifer, wouldn't this be an excellent opportunity to take advantage of the unique creative going-ons here in Burlington? And besides, you love drag queens!' Plus the flyer tuned me onto the not-so-highly-publicized Vermont International Film Festival which has been happening all weekend. So, with excitement and gratitude, I decided to attend the screening. (But I'm sure from the title of this post you guessed as much, you smarty you . . .)

The Basics: Slingbacks and Syrup follows one man, the filmmaker, director, writer, producer, handyman-of-it-all Russell Deher, as he moves to Vermont and befriends Bob Bolyard/Amber LeMay (the gentleman who came into Scribbles) and Mike Hayes/Marguarite LeMay, cofounder-mothers of The House of LeMay. We learn the fabulous backstory of Amber and Marguarite growing up in the Northeast Queendom and the Hot Damn Trailer Park, meet the other members, hear about the life and times of these men and they women they play, and shenanigans, of course, ensue.

Slingbacks and Syrup is pretty enjoyable, not because of the filmmaking really, although it's evident it's a major labor of love, but because of the characters involved. The House of LeMay does so well and has grown so much, in part, because of the warmth and positive energy flowing, seemingly endlessly, from its members. It's an inspired film that absolutely loves Burlington and its subjects.

What works best in the film is the history of this group and its members. I thoroughly enjoyed hearing the story of each man invovled, how he came to Vermont, what growing up was like not being out, the different stories of coming out, or not, to family and friends, not only as gay, but as a drag queen too. Plus the small business owner in me just can't help but root for another local organziation run by Vermont loving creatives, and oh yes, drag queens! Did I mention already that I love drag queens? Because I do. By the end of the film one really has a sense of knowing these ladies, and the intimate Vermont setting lends a genuine feeling of inclusion. We're all in on the fun! Hooray for drag queens making this world a more enjoyable place!

I almost feel guilty criticizing the film because it in no way sets out to be a big budget documentary exposing the lives of Vermont's most infamous drag set. But the truth is, I can't honestly say that I loved it. The complete over-the-topness of drag and The House of LeMay isn't nearly as present in the film as it should be. Sure, there are interviews and pictures and older footage of shenanigans ensuing, but the overall tone of the film is one of quiet friendliness more than all out outrageousness. And to be honest (well, aren't I always in this blog) a documentary about drag queens better feel more fab-you-lush.

Also, the choice of music was completely distracting. I understand this film didn't have a budget big enough for George Michael or Ms. Aretha Franklin, but the chosen tunes sounded like mid-level Strangefolk. The women behind us seemed to be enjoying it, but jam band tunes, in a drag documentary? I don't care if this is Vermont, you can't dance diva in a wig and four inch heels to jam! I'm terribly sorry reader to pan a group I haven't named, but I can't seem to find it online and erronously forgot to write it down last night during the credits. My sincere apologies.

Despite the fact that the movie wasn't, well, the cat's meow entirely, as I said before it was still enjoyable. Plus the crowd was great and being among all those lovely, liberal Vermonters at the Film Festival was a real treat! My suggestion: go see the actual LeMays then watch the movie, I have a feeling the real experience is a bit more deeelishious!

Millie bees to knees meter (1 bee = blah, 10 bees = hoo-rah): 6

Who's the crazy awesomest crazy?

In a recent comment, Jay spoke so highly of Ellen Burstyn's performance in Requiem for a Dream, which led to his list of favorite portrayals of downright batfodder crazy by some of Hollywood's finest. The List of Fabulous Women Playing Crazy in a Starring Role is born. Let's add to it, shall we? How would you rate the following? Who would you include? Let me begin also by saying that I am so excited to post this entry that I have given little thought to adding in depth to the list. Kind reader, please accept my apologies, as I am a wee bit sleepy and have not added as many contenders as I would have liked.

Faye Dunaway as Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest

Gloria Swanson as Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard



Ellen Burstyn as Sara Goldfarb in Requiem for a Dream



Bette Davis as Baby Jane Hudson in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?



Gena Rowlands as Mabel Longhetti in A Woman Under the Influence

I have to admit, there are a few films on our list that I haven't yet seen, which makes this vote, sadly, not fully informed. However, our vote, without question, goes to Bette Davis. For those of you who've never see What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? I fully endorse the immediate recitification of that situation. Davis delivers an achingly creepy, drippingly sinister Jane. Plus a the screen battle of these screen legends (Joan Crawford is her costar, however only Davis was nominated for an Academy Award), with all thier delicious jealousies and catty catness - honestly, how can you go wrong?

Now dear reader - kindly add to this list!

Want to be on Sidebar, please help!!

W. (2008)

This weekend, in a completely necessary vanity trip to Manhattan, I took in some plays, some museums, and yes, a huge Hollywood opening at a disgustingly sized Times Square theater. More on the trip in another post (I have so much to tell you guys!) but before that magic movie experience dwindles even more in this too full mind o' mine, let's review this pic - to the Milliemobile friends!

The basics: Oliver Stone takes on the life and times of America's least successful president, and quite possibly, its daftest - the one and only George W. Bush (Josh Brolin). The whole team is here, George Sr. (James Cromwell), Babs (Ellen Burstyn), Condi (Thandi Newton), "Vice" (Richard Dreyfuss), Laura (Wet Hot alum Elizabeth Banks), Carl (Toby Jones), "Rummy", Jeb, the list goes on. Yale, odd jobs, silver spoonage, governor, president, shenanigans ensue.

Okay, here's the thing, you might be saying to yourself there are two ways this movie could go: either it's going to pull a young Jane (my twin sis) and fall right outta that cherry smack dab on its face or pull a bald eagle and soar baby, soar. Well dear readers, W. does neither of these things. Somehow, Oliver Stone has managed to do both.

There are certain elements of W. that work incredibly well. It boasts some cleverly executed, politically charged moments that aren't heavy handed, but intriguing, heartfelt, and impassioned. The scenes between General Colin Powell (a very convincing Jeffrey Wright) and Dick Cheney almost make you feel like you're in the room with these fellas, like we've been a fly on the wall in just what the heck went on when the US decided to invade Iraq. The first meeting of Laura and George is adorable and sweet. Ellen Burstyn is a screen goddess and gives Barbara Bush the spine and spitfire the media never did. Banks, Cromwell, Jones, and Dreyfuss are all good.

And Brolin, ah handsome, watchable Josh Brolin. His portrayal of Bush is downright touching. I dare you not to have some sympathy for the man Stone and Brolin have chosen to show. He's not the shiniest letter on the "Welcome to Texas" sign, but he means well, he's loving and kind, and simply wants freedom available to those without it. He's a big, dumb loveable ox and somehow you just can't help wanting to give him a gentle stroke behind the ears. However, these elements, that in one way strike me as successful, lead the viewer to this conclusion: is W. simply a dumb misinformed/reformed sweet pea? And this, dear readers, is one of the problems with this film.

Why paint the picture that George Bush is not fully responsible for the action taken in his name? Why somehow excuse this behavior by saying, well, he really is a good guy, just misunderstood and in the wrong place and the wrong time. Sorry Mr. Stone, but this is unacceptable. What I can accept is that President Bush is a sweet simpleton, but that in no way makes the decisions he's made, and yes, he was there, he made them all, digestible. On top of this bizarre encouragement to change the man's public perception, are the misplaced film house moments that Stone infuses into the film, mixed of course with comical caricatures.

So here again another Janus moment: W. wants to have its arty scenes played with (not against, as they ultimately are) sketch comedy scenes. We've got these absurd floaty, Malick ripoff sequences drifting between Thandie Newton's irreverant portrayal of Condeleeza Rice as a bobble head (although her voice is spot on). The "seeing the light" and dream sequences are practically laughable (plus Mr. Stone did not intend for those in the front few rows to hold popcorn in their tummies well with his drowsy camera, thanks a lot sir!). Brolin and Burstyn had their characters' accents down and yet Cromwell uses his classic L.A. Confidential tone. What happened there? The result, as you may have guess smart reader, is a film pulled too thin.

Millie's bees to knees meter (1 bee = blah, 10 bees = hoo-rah): 5

Joans We Love

So with Mad Men, Project Runway finales, and this nasty little cold demanding I get some sleep, it's been a couple of slower movie days. But that does not mean, dear readers, I haven't been thinking about some of the silver screens best and brightest - particularly, the Joans! Who are your favorites? Can you guess them all . . . ? Let me know if there is a Joan on your list I may have missed!

Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist (2008)

I have to admit dear readers, I was feeling a little down in the dumps when I finished my Monday today at work. My dear friend (and first follower of this blog) Hannah Grace stopped by Scribbles (www.scribblesvermont.com for those not in the know) and we decided, what the heck, we're feeling blue, what better cure than the moviehouse? Well, this wasn't Dr. Zhivago at The Lumiere or anything, instead Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist at the Majestic 10. The cure for our ills . . .

Reader, I cannot even tell you what a mood changer this flick was (well, I suppose that's the point of this entry, so I will try to tell you). I was absolutely taken with it! It's sincere, delightful, and yes, dare I say, uplifting? I dare - it's uplifting! Nick and Norah's is thoroughly charming and I highly recommend you go see it.

The basics: Nick (Michael Cera): A mix-loving bassist in a queercore band called The Jerk Offs is heartbroken because his girlfriend of 6 months, an attractive but vapid little number, has kicked his little indy bum to the curb. Norah (Kat Dennings): A girl-after-my-own-heart-awkward- music-junkie who has a mix crush on Nick without actually knowing him. Both share a love of the same band that is having a secret show somewhere in the city. Trips to Manhattan, they meet, drunk friends, sleazy ex boyfriends, street meat, vomiting, in short: shenanigans ensue.

What I love so much about this movie is that fact that it only takes itself as serious as it needs to. With plenty of self awareness, it deftly walks that fine line between gaining a music snob's appreciation and inciting their contempt. And why shouldn't music lover's like this film? Mark Mothersbaugh did the soundtrack! Can't tell you how excited how I was to see his name in the credits. From The Cure and Vampire Weekend to a bunch of other really awesome bands and musicians that I have never heard of (and I could have sworn I heard The National) to original songs by Mothersbaugh, it's hard to not fall in love with the tunes as you loll rockingly along, thinking about just how cool you are.

The other bad mood bending factor? The acting. It's completely solid and totally convincing. Realism mixed with comedy, clever writing, and sneaky cameos? I'll take it! Realism, I don't mean it in the Henrik Ibsen sense of the word, but merely that these characters are so darn relatable, watching them feels like you've gone into your memories and somehow pulled out the movie you are seeing. Who hasn't been there, awkwardly flirting with the cute boy in his unwashed hoodie nervously laughing about your favorite Cure song? Just me . . . ? There is a genuine chemistry between these two actors that reminds you of being under 20, but not the bad parts, the newness and excitement of meeting ineteresting people who, could it be, understand you?

Kat Dennings is an actress whose characters you want to root for, with her tough shell, gorgeous lips, and stellar timing. She completely owns Norah; it's nostalgic for this here former misunderstood, unrequited, music lover of yesteryear. Michael Cera is downright loveable. I think I may actually have a crush on him now. Yes, I do. What's nice about his performance is its step in the more mature direction. I assure you, despite some similar mannerisms and timing, we are not dealing with George Michael here, Nick is a decidedly different character.

I seem to be showering nothing but praise onto this movie as though it were faultless. I should clarify by saying that for what it is, a big budget teen flick, it's way better than average and 100% rewatchable.

Millie's bees to knees meter (1 bee = blah, 10 bees = hoo-rah): 7.75

Funny Face (1957)

Hello everyone and welcome to Millie at the Pictures, my new movie junkie outlet! For those of you who don't know me, well, actually it's highly unlikely that anyone who doesn't know me will be reading this first entry, but what do you say to a little exposition anyway? My name is Jenny and I've been a film fan for quite long time. I have been jonzing for an outlet to share some of the movies I watch, especially the ones I actually like, and after my twin sis Jane started a blog I thought, a blog - well isn't that just the perfect little forum? Millie at the Pictures is born!

My taste is fairly eclectic (perhaps moreso than my late grandmother Mildred for whom this blog is named), but I have a terribly soft spot in my heart for the classics and this first entry is no exception. Not as early as I could go, but certainly deemed a classic by today's standards, 1957's Funny Face, with the incomparable Audrey Hepburn and Fred Astaire (their only onscreen pairing) is a delightful start!

The Basics: Quiet, intellectual bookstore clerk Jo Stockton (Hepburn) meets fashion editor Maggie Prescott (a thoroughly enjoyable Kay Thompson) and renowed photgrapher Dick Avery (Astaire) when they blow into her shop for an impromptu shoot. So taken with Jo, Dick decides she's the perfect girl for the "new face" of their magazine Quality (a Harper's Bazaar, Vogue type). Despite her initial resistance, Jo flies to Paris where all manner of shenangans ensue - including the chic, beat dance recently snatched by the Gap empire to sell Hepburn's signature skinny black pant. Oh, did I mention that it's a Gershwin musical?

Funny Face is completely adorable and entertaining, if you can get past the obvious datedness and the gaping "that would never happen in real life"s. As with many older movies, your suspension of disbelief has to be even greater, but, in my opinion, this also means the movie magic payoff is sizeable too. If you're in the mood for plain, honest fun, Funny Face is the perfect flick. I hope I'm not misleading, the film isn't purely fun and entertaining, Hepburn and Astaire are screen icons and the film, without any of the other humorous and delightful bells and whistles, is worth watching simply to see these two. Although, I do have to admit, the pairing is one area that demands suspension of disbelief. Astaire is much older than Hepburn (almost thirty years) and it seems fairly obvious that there is no way a romance between the two is plausible. But this is Hollywood in the '50's and something about Hepburn's commanding performance encourages one to accept the casting and curiously anticipate how it all unfolds . . .

The best part perhaps (besides Hepburn, who really is pure pleasure to watch onscreen. It's almost like she's not even real, she's so delicate and light, just radiant) is that Funny Face is in the cannon of films that use couture designers for costume design: in this case, Hubert de Ginvenchy. Ginvenchy - as soon as I saw that name I flipped! How exciting and the collection in no way disappoints! Plus, the gowns not designed by Givenchy were done by Edith Head, not sure you could find a happier Jenny to see those two collaborating. I find clothing from the late '50's very exciting, as it anticipates the more sensual, modish designs from the '60's but maintains the classic, highly flattering form the early '50's and late '40's. The photo shoot montage, shot on location in Paris, is the highlight of the film for me.

Millie's bees to knees meter (1 bee = blah, 10 bees = hoo-rah): 6.75