(Rabbit Proof Fence – directed by Philip Noyce, cinematography by Christopher Doyle)
The Last Wave
In 1969, Gulpilil’s skill as a tribal dancer caught the attention of British filmmaker Nicolas Roeg, who had come to Maningrida scouting locations for a forthcoming film. Roeg promptly cast the sixteen-year-old unknown to play a principal role in his internationally acclaimed motion picture Walkabout, released in 1971. Gulpilil’s on-screen charisma, combined with his acting and dancing skills, was such that he became an instant national and international celebrity. He travelled to distant lands, mingled with famous people, and was presented to heads of state.[1] During these travels to promote the film, he met and was impressed with John Lennon, Bob Marley, Muhammad Ali, and Bruce Lee. (Via Wiki)
Sondheim’s best-known works as composer and lyricist include A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum (1962), Company (1970), Follies (1971), A Little Night Music (1973), Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (1979), Sunday in the Park with George (1984), and Into the Woods (1987). He was also known for writing the lyrics for West Side Story (1957) and Gypsy (1959).
“When I showed him the finished film, he said, ‘You treated me gently and royally, for which I’m grateful,'” says Miranda. “And then he wrote me and said, ‘But the last phone message to Jon, the language feels a little trite. I don’t feel like I would ever really say that. Can I rewrite it?’ I was like, ‘Gosh, a rewrite from Stephen Sondheim — do I accept this?'”
There was only one problem — Whitford had already wrapped his work on the project and was unavailable to re-record it. Sondheim offered to record the new version for Miranda, and it’s his voice that audiences can hear in the final cut.
“It makes me weep to even think about,” gushes Miranda. “Because he was such a mentor to Jon and generations of songwriters. But yes, he rewrote that message and recorded it himself and just sent it to me.”
He’s not good, he’s not nice, he’s Stephen Sondheim.
Think in ways you’ve never thought before.
If the phone rings, think of it as carrying a message
Larger than anything you’ve ever heard,
Vaster than a hundred lines of Yeats.
Think that someone may bring a bear to your door,
Maybe wounded and deranged; or think that a moose
Has risen out of the lake, and he’s carrying on his antlers
A child of your own whom you’ve never seen.
When someone knocks on the door, think that he’s about
To give you something large: tell you you’re forgiven,
Or that it’s not necessary to work all the time, or that it’s
Been decided that if you lie down no one will die.
Robert Bly
(Hagiwara Kenichi or known as Sho-Ken and Jakucho Setouchi – from the Magazine Jakucho 2009) Hagiwara Kenichi and Jakucho Setouchi were very close, she was his surrogate mother. In this magazine their trips to Yokahama and Kyoto and their daily conversation were recorded. Hagiwara Kenichi passed away a few years ago.
Distant Rain records a conversation between the eloquent American poet Tess Gallagher and the renowned Japanese novelist and Buddhist nun Jakucho Setouchi that took place in 1990 at Jakuan, Setouchi’s home temple, in Sagano, Japan.
Gallagher had recently experienced the death of her husband, Raymond Carver, an internationally renowned short story writer. In a frank and at times humorous exchange, the two women trade observations about love and loss, and about the role of writing in coping with grief.
Their words, reproduced in both English and Japanese, unfold accordion-style across the rich colors and striking imagery of artist Keiko Hara’s wood-block and stencil prints. Complemented by the exquisite lettering of typographer Maki Yamashita and under the guidance of master bookbinder Atsuo Ikuta, Distant Rain is not only a moving tribute to the sustaining power of love but also a stunning example of the art of book design
(For Hagiwara Kenichi, the last time he visited Ten Ryu Mon in Kyoto was 25 years ago)
“Cannes is a good place for me,” claims Dean Stockwell, shortly after PARIS, TEXAS (one of his two new pictures) won the Grand Prize at the 1984 Cannes Film Festival. He has twice shared acting honors at Cannes, with Bradford Dillman and Orson Welles for Compulsion (1959) and with Ralph Richardson, Katherine Hepburn and Jason Robards, Jr. in Long Day’s Journey Into Night (1962). And it was there that he met his wife, Joy: “It was in 1976, at one o’clock in the morning, on the beach in front of the Carlton Hotel.” Says Stockwell: “Between Paris, Texas and Dune (in which he plays Dr. Yueh), I think I’ve got a pretty good start on what amounts to a third career.”
(Dean Stockwell photo by Dennis Hopper)
“Long Day’s Journey Into Night,” states Stockwell, “was as intense and rewarding an experience as I’ve had. It’s a small cast, and one of the greatest plays of the century by one of the greatest American playwrights. We rehearsed it six weeks with a brilliant director, Sidney Lumet. I feel that the film is the best American film made from a play – that I’ve ever seen. There was no screenplay. Some cuts were made to make it feasible for a film – but nothing was transposed. It was very gratifying.”
In the book, Kate, by Charles Higham, Sidney Lumet is quoted: “Dean would come in with a bottle of vodka, and Kate at first almost did what she did to him in the movie – struck him. She was so angry at him – out of love. But she was tender to him. The first day of work was cold, and he had forgotten to bring an overcoat. The next day, there was a coat in his dressing room; she had gone out after shooting and bought him one. She always had an enormous affinity for heavy drinkers – maybe because of Tracy.”
Darrow was the inspiration for the character of Johnathan Wilk in the 1956 novel Compulsion, a thinly fictionalized account of the Leopold and Loeb case. In 1959, the novel was adapted into a film of the same name, starring the legendary filmmaker Orson Welles as Wilk. Welles, whose closing monologue was the longest ever committed to film at that time, shared the Best Actor award with co-stars Bradford Dillman and Dean Stockwell.
Dean Stockwell made three remarkable films in his mid-career starting with Compulsion followed by Sons and Lovers and Long Day’s Journey into Night.
Sons and Lovers
Of Sons and Lovers, Stockwell maintains, “It’s a classic film. It holds up – over a long period of time. It had a brilliant cast, and I feel it was a pretty damn good rendition of that book.” Sons and Lovers headed the National Board of Review’s 10 Best Films of 1960 list. It tied with The Apartment as the NY Film Critics Best Film. In his FIReview, Henry Hart wrote: “Rarely has so honest and meaningful a novel been turned into so good a motion picture.” He noted, “Stockwell does things . . . an actor twice his age would be proud of,” and added, “I think the thing about his performance that fascinated me most was his seemingly spontaneous use of bits of business which seemed to come . . . from his feeling for the character.”
The O’Neill classic, says Stockwell, “remains one of my favorite films. And Paris, Texas is certainly another. The film was put together and shot in a most unusual way. Sam Shepard, probably our leading playwright right now, wrote the screenplay. But, as we started, it was simply a synopsis, a breakdown of scenes – with no dialogue at all. At the time, Sam was shooting Country, which opened the New York Film Festival. Everyday, when he got through acting, he would type out dialogue for Paris, Texas.” (Interview with Dean Stockwell)
Dean Stockwell, Blue Velvet – It’s not easy to out-bizarre your fellow cast members in a David Lynch movie, but Dean Stockwell managed to do just that in his one-scene turn as Frank Booth’s (Dennis Hopper) unctuous, kabuki-faced, satin-jacketed mentor in malevolence, Ben. The mellow yin to Hopper’s manic yang, Stockwell’s eerie lip-synching rendition of Roy Orbison’s “In Dreams” just barely hints at what lies inside the depraved mind of the drug dealer/pimp. (via)
“I hate to admit it, but you can’t do a role unless it’s somewhere in your psyche. People don’t realize how vast the subconscious is. It’s like infinity.” Dean Stockwell.
Camus had met Maria Casares, later star of Cocteau’s Orpheus but already an established actress, in 1944. Daughter of a rich Spanish Republican, a refugee from Franco, she was a passionate, wilful, intelligent woman. She was probably the only one of his lovers who had a relationship of equality with him. In addition, Todd says, ‘If he was a Don Juan, she was a Don Juana’.
in 
and Maria Casarès
