How do I explain Deanna Durbin?

December 4, 1921 – April 2013

Deanna Durbin was one the most special, talented, beautiful, joyful actresses of the 1930s and 1940s. That is her legacy. She intentionally ended her short career at its height, because she didn't need the career. She was a wonderful actress and singer and person.

She is the definition of multifaceted; there are so many things that could be written about her.

Yet, I have no words.

I am not a writer of serious reality. 

How do I even attempt to explain her importance in my life, without sounding crazy or maudlin or something worse?

I feel terrible grief for someone I did not know. I never met her. I never had any contact with her (except for one lovely instance). But, I can think of no other person -- aside from family and friends -- who has been more present in my life. 

I suppose I could write about her independence, her persona, her uniqueness, as being inspiring to me. 

And, it's technically true. But, it also seems trite. And easily definable. 

Of course, even writing that it is indefinable -- seems trite. 

I grieve a loss. Deanna Durbin has been at the forefront and the background throughout my life.

The first time I was ever allowed to stay up until midnight on New Years Eve (age nine), I spent it watching Lady on a Train on VHS and drinking tea with a friend I still know well. We haven't watched it together since then (nearly ten years), but both of us instantly understand if either of us claim, "It's a pipe!"

My library used to have an entire half shelf dedicated to just Deanna Durbin VHS. I ran to them every time. I watched each one over and over (I had seen all but one of her films before age ten). I remember doing chores with the movies playing in the background. I chose the specific moments to vacuum, so I didn't have to pause the movie. 

I remember being ten and my older sister was house-sitting and she let me stay with her one night. It was so exciting... and we definitely watched a Deanna Durbin movie. 

I remember meeting a new friend in Sunday School when I was eight. She was new and seemed super-cool and I somehow got up the nerve to introduce myself and conversation quickly turned to Deanna, as you do (or as eight-year-old Millie does). AND SHE KNEW AND LOVED DEANNA TOO. We were fast friends and I used to go to her house to watch Deanna movies (her mother had bought like five off of Ebay). I still keep in touch with her.

The first time my family got internet in the house, I was probably eleven. My mum told me that I could print off one page of anything I wanted. Of course, I printed off a photo of Deanna Durbin. It's still tacked up in my room. 

When I was fourteen, I sent a barely legible and terribly written note of complete adoration off to France. I think I listed my favorite movies and songs in order or something equally frightening. Being the dork I am, I didn't send a photo to be signed or an SASE or anything, because I didn't think it would ever even reach her. She was an extremely private person and she had completely left Hollywood forty-five years before I was even born. A couple of weeks later, this arrived in the mail.

I don't think anything else could more describe who Deanna Durbin was: genuine, sweet, caring, real, kind. I never doubted it, but she proved her persona to me in one envelope.

I'm not sure when I first watched one of her films. It was probably Three Smart Girls -- and I was probably like eight months old.

I do, however, vividly remember seeing a Can't Help Singing VHS from the library sitting on top of the TV when I was six. I watched it and was utterly transfixed and gone and never coming back. 

She was gorgeous and plucky and lovely and funny and adorable and she just sang perfect classical opera at random moments.

And six-year-old me could not imagine anything better.

A lot of times, you'll hear girls talking about what they "played at" when they were little. Some talk about pretending to be a princess. And others say that they were warriors, not some wimpy princess.

I was above all of that. I was stinkin' Deanna Durbin. And I sang opera songs and everyone loved me, because it was physically impossible for them to dislike me. 

In my daydreams, as in many of her films, not all people started out liking me. But, then I wowed them with my personality and did nothing else and they adored me.  

I have an absolute suspicion that my life spent being insane and more-than-slightly annoying, but absolutely myself (despite trying to hide it much of the time), is due in large part to Deanna. It works a little better when you are perfection-personified, but still -- it's a good value. 

Seven-year-old me didn't watch Deanna movies for the same reasons as their original Depression audiences. For me, it wasn't about providing relief from the daily life. She was actually a part of my daily life. 

It probably sounds delusional and crazy and I know.

But, I will miss her.

And, I'm not even gonna say something about her living on through her work. It's definitely true and my two-year-old niece sits transfixed at the sight of her (she did, however, tell my sister to turn off It Started With Eve, because Charles Laughton is "scary").

It's true, but right now I'm grieving a loss.

I didn't know her; I wasn't related to her, but I grieve a loss the same. I couldn't possibly disentangle her image or her voice from the years of my life. 

I have a Deanna CD (given to me when I was probably eleven by the afore-mentioned Sunday School friend) that's been playing while I write this post. And I had to stop when "Waltzing in the Clouds" played, because there are so many times of joy and pain and fear and awesomeness -- of life -- that I remember listening to that song during. 

These recounting of memories could go for another 158,000 words, but I've already made this post more about me than Deanna. 

But, maybe that's the only way to explain. 

I find it impossible to describe Deanna Durbin's peculiar and particular impact on me, so I've tried to explain my reaction to this peculiar and particular impact. 

It's messy and maudlin and makes little sense, but I had to write something. 

I'm sure I'll be posting more in the next few days. 

I need to properly acknowledge and pay tribute to her extraordinary-ness. 

But, for now, I can only say good-bye to a truly lovely human. 

-Millie

The Ceremony (1963): YOU ALL NEED TO GO WATCH IT IMMEDIATELY AND/OR BEFORE MAY 1ST!

{Pay no attention to the poster's taglines; they are wholly inaccurate.}

So, today, I made the horrible discovery that half of my Netflix queue is expiring on the first of May. Literally half. Some of these movies have been on the queue since I started Netflix in 2010. It's all the movies that I keep "meaning to see." Unfortunately, it's also all the movies that are not available LITERALLY anywhere else in the world (a few, like this one, have been recently made available for MOD. BUT STILL).

Dozens of low-budget/independent movies from the '40s, '50s, and '60s are just disappearing forever. And, it's affecting every genre, year, studio, director, even country of origin. And, for some strange reason, every Vincent Price movie is going away. I know this, because I happen to have every Vincent Price movie on my queue.

I have managed to narrow it down to 35 essential films. But, I'm just not sure that I'll be able to watch them all in a day and a half.

Actual sadness. Possible tears. Probable need to re-evaluate my life.

I'm not even joking. When I discovered this, this afternoon, I began to uncontrollably/unintentionally-quietly-under-my-breath sing Marius and Cossette's part of "One Day More" (despite the fact that I've always hated their characters). It just fit:

I did not live until today.
How can I live when we are parted?
Tomorrow you'll be worlds away
And yet with you, my world has started!
Will we ever meet again?
I was born to be with you.

So, yeah. I am a normal, mentally well-developed, social 19-year-old female.

I JUST REALLY LOVE MY NETFLIX.

Anyway, at the top of the essential 35, was this actual perfection of a movie.

The Ceremony was produced and directed by its star -- the master of being beautiful and sad at the same time -- Laurence Harvey.

Now, I quite like Laurence Harvey. But, he seems to be a very divisive person in the classic film world: people either love him or hate him, to borrow the colloquialism.

Part of my reason for loving him is probably built on sheer relief that he's not Lawrence Tierney. When I was younger, I used to always confuse the two names. This was terrible because I have lived in absolute terror of Tierney since I saw Born to Kill. I was ten. I had just seen Laura and LOVED IT. And, my library had a little film noir section that had Born to Kill in it, so I checked it out. And then I watched it. And then, IT WAS NOT LIKE LAURA. Ten-year-old Millie thought that film noir meant a brilliantly filmed detective story with a happy ending.

That is not the definition of film noir, I was to discover sadly.

Anyway, to recap, I adore Laurence Harvey for several reasons: 1) He is not Lawrence Tierney; 2) He is a brilliant actor; 3) He is quite beautiful and sad; 4) He is so perfectly "conflicted"; 5) He is an awesome Columbo villain.

All of these shining attributes (minus the final one, obviously) are on full display in The Ceremony.

It's a very odd movie. And the only real review I could find of it online described it as "pretentious." And, I totally get that. But, it's also perfect.

The cast (and crew) is mind-bogglingly great and diverse. Sarah Miles, Robert Walker Jr, John Ireland, Noah Purcell --- AND ROSS MARTIN. (Plus, so many others from many different countries.)

I did not know that Mr. Ross Martin was going to be in this, and I almost screamed when I saw him smiling evilly, walking down a hallway with a mustache on. It was genuinely exciting.

He did not disappoint. As the main antagonist, he is fascinating and frightening.

"And I'm Javert. Do not forget my name!"

Another great piece of this movie is its cinematography. It was unique and definitely interesting. I think it elevated an already good film. Some of the framing choices were particularly poetic.

{I would insert a particularly poetic screenshot, but all of the ones I took seem to be devastatingly spoilerific.}

And there were like 500 close-ups of Laurence Harvey being sad and beautiful. So, good work, director Lawrence Harvey and cinematographer Oswald Morris!

The film is about Laurence Harvey on death-row in a Tangiers (I believe) prison. His brother is Robert Walker Jr. and his girlfriend is Sarah Miles. They are plotting his escape, but Ross Martin is determined to execute him.

This movie has a message. I'm not quite sure what the message is, and maybe that's purposeful. If it wasn't, I still think that there is value in the actual output.

The movie was brilliantly acted, well-put-together, and genuinely interesting. It made me engage and think.

It did not follow cliches. At times, this made it feel a bit surreal. At other times, it made it feel fresh and realistic.

!SPOILER ALERT! 

The ending scene goes into that surreal freshness; as does the scene when he escapes and the three of them fall into a fit of laughter.

!END SPOILER ALERT!

Overall, I absolutely recommend The Ceremony. And, you really need to watch it before Wednesday. And then you need to come back and tell me what you thought.

-Millie

Annette Funicello.

October 22, 1942 – April 8, 2013

I'm finding real difficulty writing this post. I have so many things I want to say about the brilliance of Annette and why she is so important to me, but I just don't have the words. 

For me, Annette is the essence of a feeling, an emotion, of a time in my life.  

 

 When I was very young, I watched Annette in the form of Merlin Jones and The Monkey's Uncle -- incessantly. I actually remember my sister being home from college on her birthday and requesting The Monkey's Uncle to rent. Instead, my mum bought it on VHS (we owned around ten movies on VHS, so this was big).

I LOVED Annette.

There is still legitimately nothing better than Annette fronting The Beach Boys and singing the title song.



When I was 13, I watched Bikini Beach. And then I watched every Beach Party movie ever made. I cannot even describe my love for these movies. I will defend them against all critics -- and especially the "dismissers." Those are the people who condescend to call the films "harmless fun" or "light-weight camp." Whatever.



There's just something about those movies. They almost define my teenage years (as I look back, now, at the elderly age of 19). These aren't about teenagers without cares. They have worries and fears, but they just all seem to be delayed. Annette is forever getting on Frankie to think about the future and grow up. But, Frankie's response is always, "Tomorrow."

There is something about that so deliciously appealing to a fifteen-year-old. I had my worries; I was thinking about the future. But, it was delayed. At sixteen, I started attending college full-time -- but when I was done with class/assignments, I just came home and watched movies or worked on art projects or hung out with friends. Everything was always in the future.

I'm not saying that now I'm a haggard, responsibility-laden nineteen-year-old. BUT, I do have commitments and a job and I have to figure out how to pay for college (it isn't free anymore when you're out of high school, apparently). So, the beach party movies are still deliciously appealing. It isn't so much about watching a little comedy, as it is about entering an absolutely absurdist world full or happiness and joy and loveliness.

And yes, it was an absurdist world. But, there's a reason why the Frankie + Annette movies are some of the best of the genre: Annette anchors them. And she anchors them with realism. It's just that her realism happened to be genuine happiness and joy and loveliness.

A tribute I made to the Beach Party movies: 



It's impossible to watch Annette in anything (and believe me, I have watched her in almost everything) and not be happy seeing her.  She wasn't annoyingly cheerful or perky, she was just Annette.

 And her music is of similar construction. Her style is inimitable. Her music is impossibly bouncy and fun or it's soft and wistful.

Magic Spell


This Time It's Love


Pajama Party:


When You Get What You Want:



I'll always love Annette. She was gorgeous, talented, kind, sweet, wonderful, and full of courage.

I'm glad that now she's at peace and at rest.

-Millie

Annette.

October 22, 1942 – April 8, 2013

Rest in peace, sweet lady.

-Millie

I'm at work now, but I will write a more proper tribute later.

15 Favorite Hitchcock Films

Photo of the Day!

March Playlist

I randomly decided to post a completely random (there's a pattern in my life) mix that I am currently listening to.

I was inspired by the fascinating weather that Glorious Washington experiences every March. Never can it decide to be winter or spring, changing from day-to-day and throughout the day. Occasionally, we get a bit of summer (Washington summer, so, 60 degrees) thrown in too.

So yeah. My current mood music.

Marchness from MillieRain on 8tracks Radio.