Singular Triad

 
The painfully uneven slow-walk back toward normality (which itself seems abnormal by now) means there is still much time in evening hours to entertain oneself by oneself. Here are three of my picks for the job from the past week.
 
The Glass Slipper (1955)
 
It is my habit once every week or two to randomly pick a movie from my DVD collection. Well, almost randomly. My DVDs are arranged chronologically: not meticulously by precise release date but by decade. A 1938 could be bracketed by a 1934 and 1936 but there won’t be a 1948 separating any two from the ‘30s; this is more than sufficiently ordered for my purposes. So I have an idea of the probable age range of the movies toward which I reach with eyes closed when I stand (or crouch) in front of one general area of the shelves, but the particular movie on which a finger alights is still a surprise. My reasoning is that if I really don’t want to watch the movie I blindly pick (even though I want to watch some movie or I wouldn’t be picking at all) it shouldn’t be taking up shelf space. (The true turkeys already largely have been removed by this process.) I often have doubts about what gets selected in this way, but rarely do I regret the pick after the first 10 minutes of playing it.
 
There were no regrets at all about last night’s DVD. Filmed five years after Disney’s animated hit Cinderella, MGM’s 1955 The Glass Slipper is the most interestingly off-beat iteration of the story ever made by a major studio. The production reportedly was a nightmare for many of those involved: screenwriter Helen Deutsch stressfully (but successfully) fought constant interference from the producer, director Charles Walters fought (unsuccessfully) against the ballet dream sequences, and Michael Wilding (the Prince) tried repeatedly to resign from the role because he thought he was unsuitable for the part. Only Leslie Caron enjoyed the experience. Yet, it works. Even Walters’ self-doubt, to the extent it manifests on screen, humanized a character that might have seemed too arrogant otherwise.
 
Caron’s Ella (the nickname “Cinderella” is a taunt) is temperamental, tomboyish, and feisty. On her first meeting with the prince, who pretends to be the son of the palace cook, she pushes him into a pond. In case we don’t get that she lashes out at others because she feels bad about herself, Walter Pidgeon explains her motivations in Freudian fashion in a voiceover that verges on parody of the Disney technique. The village crazy lady acts as the fairy godmother of the tale. The dream sequences with Les Ballets de Paris are trippy – an out-of-fashion but wholly applicable adjective. As in many films from the era the pacing isn’t rushed, but with a total length of 93 minutes the film doesn’t have time to drag.
 

The film is utterly enjoyable. It is the only movie version of the story I would watch again of my own accord rather than as an indulgence to company.
** **
 
Ways to Die in Glasgow by Jay Stringer
 
“Write what you know” is the standard advice to aspiring writers. It shouldn’t be taken too literally. It is highly unlikely that a science fiction author knows much about what life is like on the fourth planet of the Trappist-1 star system unless he happens to have been abducted by aliens from there. He isn’t thereby forbidden to write about it. Still, it helps if whatever drama plays out there in his story is grounded in his own experience. For example, fine author of Golden Age sci-fi Harry Harrison in the early days of his career lived in a small Mexican town; he later wrote that the residents of that town were the basis for characters in his novels and short stories. The standard advice is soundest, of course, in novels that strive for realism. The top three of my go-to contemporary mystery/suspense writers definitely benefit from it: South African author Deon Meyer, fellow New Jerseyan Harlan Coben, and Glaswegian Jay Stringer. Even if you’ve never been to Cape Town, Livingston, or Glasgow, the three authors’ intimate feel for the physical and cultural milieus of their hometowns draw you in effectively.
 
I first became aware of Jay Stringer from a brief description in an ER Hamilton book catalogue of his 2016 How to Kill Friends and Implicate People. I bought and enjoyed the darkly humorous mystery in which he breaks a number of writing-class rules and gets away with it nicely. The book also introduced me to Sam [Samantha] Ireland, a recurring PI in his novels. This week’s read, Ways to Die in Glasgow, is another Sam Ireland mystery written in Stringer’s characteristic style of multiple alternating POVs.
 

Mobster Rab Anderson has grown tired of the criminal life and has found he can make money and become a minor celeb by writing books about it instead. This doesn’t sit well with people who might be implicated in those books including crooked cops. Rab is kidnapped while an attempted hit on his rough-edged nephew Mackie goes awry. A prestigious law firm then hires Sam to serve papers on Rab. She has to find him first, which puts her in the middle of whatever is going on. Whatever it is involves police, politicians, wealthy developers, organized crime, and well connected legal firms – and murders.
 
The noir novel is fast-faced and bloody while the humor is Chandler-esque with a Scottish accent. Good stuff.
** **
 
Harley Quinn
 
As I’ve mentioned in other blogs, there are some pop culture things I watch, hear, or otherwise sample just to be part of the conversation – and perhaps in-person conversations will be something that happen again someday. More often than not I don’t much care for them, but the HBO animated series Harley Quinn proved enjoyable.
 

The character Harley Quinn has been one of DC’s most bankable villains since her first appearance in the early 90s. For two decades, however, the franchise floundered in its attempts to make proper use of her. The movie The Suicide Squad failed critically but it was profitable anyway, mostly thanks to Margot Robbie’s version of Harley. The subsequent Birds of Prey fared far worse. DC finally regained its footing in print with an intelligently revamped origin story Harleen (which I reviewed last year here) by Croatian author Stjepan Sejic who details the emergence of Dr. Quinzel’s shadow self under the influence of Joker. In 2019 the animated series Harley Quinn came to the small screen with Kaley Cuoco voicing Harley and Alan Tudyk as Joker.
 
Creators Justin Halpern, Patrick Schumacker, and Dean Lorey were executive producers on The Incredibles and bring some of the same irreverence and humor to this show. Harley Quinn, unlike The Incredibles however, is R-rated and brutal – but still smartly written and funny.
 
In Season 1, Harley, with a figurative and literal push from Poison Ivy, finally breaks free of her dependence on Joker but without returning to her old persona Harleen Quinzel. She attempts a reconciliation with her parents but ends up confronting them over the damage they did to her psyche – the confrontation is not bloodless. To take over Gotham she assembles her own gang of villains including a bumbling Bane and a foul-mouthed Dr. Psycho in order to challenge the Legion of Doom in which her ex Joker is a prominent member. The supposed good guys (e.g. Batman, Gordon) are almost uniformly pompous, self-righteous egotists reminiscent of Captain Hammer in Whedon's Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. The villains would be humanly likable were it not for their propensity for casual murder. Season 2 continues Harley’s evolution including her relationship with Ivy. The show isn’t afraid to be incorrect (an increasingly rare attribute), and when it is politically correct it isn’t preachy about it. The mix is a lot of fun, though very much over the top in violence. Recommended, but not for the easily offended.
 

The other Harley isn’t bad either

The Pretty Reckless - Harley Darling