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#41
General JFC / Re: JFC and Milch - NewsFeed.
Last post by Sven2 - October 26, 2021, 02:22:18 PM10 HBO Shows That Should Get A Many Saints Of Newark-Style Origin Movie
The Many Saints of Newark has opened the doors for more justified prequel pictures to grow out of older HBO classics.
By Daniel Kurland
Published October 23
10.Carnivale Deserves A Return To Its Twisted World
Carnivale is arguably the closest that HBO has gotten to achieving the surreal magic of something like David Lynch's Twin Peaks. Carnivale's Season 1 is a masterpiece in patient storytelling and the payoffs that occur in the second season are truly awe-inspiring and indicate the massive scope of the series' ongoing war between the forces of good and evil.
There's such intricate lore to Carnivale that a prequel movie could be used to explore ancient Avatars, or it could focus on the exploits of a younger Brother Justin before he embraces his position as a Creature of Darkness.
9. John From Cincinnati's Endless Mysteries Would Benefit From A Prequel Full Of Answers
John From Cincinnati is one of the bigger blank checks to be taken on by HBO. The series was the highly anticipated follow-up series from Deadwood's David Milch, but the eccentric "surf noir" series left many audiences confused. John From Cincinnati is a truly bizarre story about the mysterious John Monad's indoctrination of a surfing community in California.
Much of the mystery in the series revolved around John's odd nature and what exactly was up with him. A prequel movie could dig into his origins and provide some closure in a way that the one-season canceled series never could.
8.The Wire Is Full Of Rich, Real Characters With More Stories To Explore
David Simon has turned out a number of prestigious series for HBO, but his five-season examination of Baltimore and its vulnerability to the drug trade and struggling infrastructure is still regularly considered to be one of HBO's magnum opuses. Each season of The Wire expands the story in a beautiful, natural way where it'd be easy to find areas to return to this world.
Curiously, The Wire did engage in some brief prequel stories that revolve around Proposition Joe, Omar Little, and McNulty and Bunk's first meeting. These are all excellent jumping-off points for a full prequel venture.
7. Oz Built A Brutal Playground That Has More Socially Relevant Stories To Tell
Oz deserves a certain level of reverence since it's one of HBO's very first original dramas. The unflinching look into a maximum-security prison lasted for six seasons and functioned as an enlightening character study and vehicle for social commentary.
Most of the characters in the series are truly burnt out by the end of the show, but a prequel that turns the clock back and looks at the start of the Oswald State Correctional Facility could be truly fascinating. The titular prison in Oz was as important of a character as any of the inmates or jailers.
6. Boardwalk Empire Is Filled With Fascinating Criminal Players
Stylistically, a Boardwalk Empire prequel film feels the closest in line with what's happened with the Sopranos' companion piece, Many Saints of Newark. Boardwalk Empire has a lot of the same creative team from The Sopranos and it expertly unpacks Prohibition-era Atlantic City through the lens of Steve Buscemi's Nucky Thompson.
The 1920s are so integral to Boardwalk Empire that the series' five seasons are quite focused on that decade. All of the characters have such fully realized histories that are rich with prequel adventures. A Boardwalk Empire prequel movie would have endless opportunities to explore.
5. The Larry Sanders Show's Perfect Deconstruction Of The Entertainment Industry Is Timeless
The Larry Sanders Show is pretty close to a perfect comedy and it's still one of HBO's very best, most consistent, and eerily prescient shows. The comedy adopts a mock behind-the-scenes aesthetic at a late-night talk show, which allows the fabricated on-screen veneer of Garry Shandling's host to come in contrast with his narcissistic true self.
4. Flight Of The Conchords Could Find Huge Laughs With A Look To The Past
Some of the best shows on HBO are the ones that don't overstay their welcome. Flight of the Conchords is exceptional comedy that helped put everyone involved with the series on the map and confirm their status as comedy legends. Flight of the Conchords is entirely content to engage in small-scale, absurdist storytelling that melds together with unconventional musical numbers.
Fans are hungry for more Conchords, so a prequel film that presents them as younger and even more clueless has lots of potential. It's completely unnecessary, but that's part of the reason why it'd make for such an odd delight.
3. There's More Human Drama To Mine In A Six Feet Under Prequel Film
Six Feet Under was a landmark show that lasted for five emotional seasons. It can get a little aimless in its middle years, but it absolutely sticks the landing and has a series finale that's widely considered to be perfect. After that conclusion, there's no reason to extend the story with a sequel, but a trip back to the past of the Fisher family's funeral home could actually be interesting.
A prequel movie that focuses on a young Ruth and Nathaniel Fisher as they begin their business and start their family is an interesting way to return to this world.
2. True Blood's Bon Temps Is A Hotbed For Paranormal Activity
True Blood became one of HBO's biggest shows for its seven steamy seasons. Horror programming has become the norm on television, but True Blood got in there ahead of the curve with its pulpy take on vampires, werewolves, and other supernatural beasts.
HBO has announced a reboot of True Blood, which indicates that there's clearly still an audience for the property. The original series effectively depicts Bon Temps as a beacon for strange activity. A prequel film that looks at Bon Temps' past, or the younger years of Bill and Eric, would be a big hit.
1. Entourage Is Ready To Detail Vinnie Chase's Salad Days
Entourage is one of the few HBO series that has gone on to release a sequel film after its conclusion. Entourage's depiction of the cavalier lifestyle of an actor on the cusp of their big break might have often felt disposable, but a strong network of characters was created.
Entourage was always at its best when it came down to human moments, not excess and wealth, which is why a more humble prequel film could be an entertaining pivot. Vinnie Chase's days as a struggling indie actor are discussed in Entourage, but it's rich enough to fully dive into that world.
from: https://www.cbr.com/hbo-shows-deserve-origin-movie-like-many-saints-newark/
The Many Saints of Newark has opened the doors for more justified prequel pictures to grow out of older HBO classics.
By Daniel Kurland
Published October 23
10.Carnivale Deserves A Return To Its Twisted World
Carnivale is arguably the closest that HBO has gotten to achieving the surreal magic of something like David Lynch's Twin Peaks. Carnivale's Season 1 is a masterpiece in patient storytelling and the payoffs that occur in the second season are truly awe-inspiring and indicate the massive scope of the series' ongoing war between the forces of good and evil.
There's such intricate lore to Carnivale that a prequel movie could be used to explore ancient Avatars, or it could focus on the exploits of a younger Brother Justin before he embraces his position as a Creature of Darkness.
9. John From Cincinnati's Endless Mysteries Would Benefit From A Prequel Full Of Answers
John From Cincinnati is one of the bigger blank checks to be taken on by HBO. The series was the highly anticipated follow-up series from Deadwood's David Milch, but the eccentric "surf noir" series left many audiences confused. John From Cincinnati is a truly bizarre story about the mysterious John Monad's indoctrination of a surfing community in California.
Much of the mystery in the series revolved around John's odd nature and what exactly was up with him. A prequel movie could dig into his origins and provide some closure in a way that the one-season canceled series never could.
8.The Wire Is Full Of Rich, Real Characters With More Stories To Explore
David Simon has turned out a number of prestigious series for HBO, but his five-season examination of Baltimore and its vulnerability to the drug trade and struggling infrastructure is still regularly considered to be one of HBO's magnum opuses. Each season of The Wire expands the story in a beautiful, natural way where it'd be easy to find areas to return to this world.
Curiously, The Wire did engage in some brief prequel stories that revolve around Proposition Joe, Omar Little, and McNulty and Bunk's first meeting. These are all excellent jumping-off points for a full prequel venture.
7. Oz Built A Brutal Playground That Has More Socially Relevant Stories To Tell
Oz deserves a certain level of reverence since it's one of HBO's very first original dramas. The unflinching look into a maximum-security prison lasted for six seasons and functioned as an enlightening character study and vehicle for social commentary.
Most of the characters in the series are truly burnt out by the end of the show, but a prequel that turns the clock back and looks at the start of the Oswald State Correctional Facility could be truly fascinating. The titular prison in Oz was as important of a character as any of the inmates or jailers.
6. Boardwalk Empire Is Filled With Fascinating Criminal Players
Stylistically, a Boardwalk Empire prequel film feels the closest in line with what's happened with the Sopranos' companion piece, Many Saints of Newark. Boardwalk Empire has a lot of the same creative team from The Sopranos and it expertly unpacks Prohibition-era Atlantic City through the lens of Steve Buscemi's Nucky Thompson.
The 1920s are so integral to Boardwalk Empire that the series' five seasons are quite focused on that decade. All of the characters have such fully realized histories that are rich with prequel adventures. A Boardwalk Empire prequel movie would have endless opportunities to explore.
5. The Larry Sanders Show's Perfect Deconstruction Of The Entertainment Industry Is Timeless
The Larry Sanders Show is pretty close to a perfect comedy and it's still one of HBO's very best, most consistent, and eerily prescient shows. The comedy adopts a mock behind-the-scenes aesthetic at a late-night talk show, which allows the fabricated on-screen veneer of Garry Shandling's host to come in contrast with his narcissistic true self.
4. Flight Of The Conchords Could Find Huge Laughs With A Look To The Past
Some of the best shows on HBO are the ones that don't overstay their welcome. Flight of the Conchords is exceptional comedy that helped put everyone involved with the series on the map and confirm their status as comedy legends. Flight of the Conchords is entirely content to engage in small-scale, absurdist storytelling that melds together with unconventional musical numbers.
Fans are hungry for more Conchords, so a prequel film that presents them as younger and even more clueless has lots of potential. It's completely unnecessary, but that's part of the reason why it'd make for such an odd delight.
3. There's More Human Drama To Mine In A Six Feet Under Prequel Film
Six Feet Under was a landmark show that lasted for five emotional seasons. It can get a little aimless in its middle years, but it absolutely sticks the landing and has a series finale that's widely considered to be perfect. After that conclusion, there's no reason to extend the story with a sequel, but a trip back to the past of the Fisher family's funeral home could actually be interesting.
A prequel movie that focuses on a young Ruth and Nathaniel Fisher as they begin their business and start their family is an interesting way to return to this world.
2. True Blood's Bon Temps Is A Hotbed For Paranormal Activity
True Blood became one of HBO's biggest shows for its seven steamy seasons. Horror programming has become the norm on television, but True Blood got in there ahead of the curve with its pulpy take on vampires, werewolves, and other supernatural beasts.
HBO has announced a reboot of True Blood, which indicates that there's clearly still an audience for the property. The original series effectively depicts Bon Temps as a beacon for strange activity. A prequel film that looks at Bon Temps' past, or the younger years of Bill and Eric, would be a big hit.
1. Entourage Is Ready To Detail Vinnie Chase's Salad Days
Entourage is one of the few HBO series that has gone on to release a sequel film after its conclusion. Entourage's depiction of the cavalier lifestyle of an actor on the cusp of their big break might have often felt disposable, but a strong network of characters was created.
Entourage was always at its best when it came down to human moments, not excess and wealth, which is why a more humble prequel film could be an entertaining pivot. Vinnie Chase's days as a struggling indie actor are discussed in Entourage, but it's rich enough to fully dive into that world.
from: https://www.cbr.com/hbo-shows-deserve-origin-movie-like-many-saints-newark/
#42
General JFC / Re: Poetry Almanac
Last post by Sven2 - October 18, 2021, 03:56:55 PMReturn for an Instant
What was it like, God of mine, what was it like?
—Oh unfaithful heart, indecisive intelligence!
Was it like the going by of the wind?
Like the disappearance of the spring?
As nimble, as changeable, as weightless
as milkweed seeds in summer . . . Yes! Indefinite
as a smile which is lost forever in a laugh . . .
Arrogant in the air, just like a flag!
Flag, smile, milkweed pod, swift
spring in June, clear wind! . . .
Your celebration was so wild, so sad!
All of your changes ended up in nothing—
remembrance, a blind bee of bitter things!—
I don't know what you were like, but you were!
--Juan Ramon Jimenez
translated by Robert Bly
What was it like, God of mine, what was it like?
—Oh unfaithful heart, indecisive intelligence!
Was it like the going by of the wind?
Like the disappearance of the spring?
As nimble, as changeable, as weightless
as milkweed seeds in summer . . . Yes! Indefinite
as a smile which is lost forever in a laugh . . .
Arrogant in the air, just like a flag!
Flag, smile, milkweed pod, swift
spring in June, clear wind! . . .
Your celebration was so wild, so sad!
All of your changes ended up in nothing—
remembrance, a blind bee of bitter things!—
I don't know what you were like, but you were!
--Juan Ramon Jimenez
translated by Robert Bly
#43
General JFC / Re: Poetry Almanac
Last post by Sven2 - September 06, 2021, 06:26:52 PMMidnights: La Jetee
Will the fires yes the
fires will consume us.
We will scatter our own
ashes, scatter them in a spiral
between lake and sky,
cadmium yellow sky.
The lovers, intertwined,
will speak of this
at lakeside, will say nothing
of this by water's edge.
They will taste the salt
on each other's lips
and discover the pain
of the salt light,
Will the fires yes the
fires will consume us.
We will scatter our own
ashes, scatter them in a spiral
between lake and sky,
cadmium yellow sky.
The lovers, intertwined,
will speak of this
at lakeside, will say nothing
of this by water's edge.
They will taste the salt
on each other's lips
and discover the pain
of the salt light,
salt where the sculptor
once signaled with his hands
a little to the left,
a little to the right,
amid the tides.
Is it he or I
who would say,
Out of salt we are made?
Only a fool
like myself
would write of this
at midnight
among the fires
when all
should be left
in silence.
--Michael Palmer
once signaled with his hands
a little to the left,
a little to the right,
amid the tides.
Is it he or I
who would say,
Out of salt we are made?
Only a fool
like myself
would write of this
at midnight
among the fires
when all
should be left
in silence.
--Michael Palmer
#44
General JFC / Re: Poetry Almanac
Last post by Sven2 - September 01, 2021, 04:36:02 PMMemory Is Sleeping
Sometimes remembering refuses us. Sometimes I'm
a shoreline the water of memory drags its palm across.
—Billy-Ray Belcourt
In a daisy field. In a garden. In a graveyard, in the sun, its valley.
In the sound of nothing. Your mother and father, two trees
in the distance. In the distance. In the sound of the whistle,
someone banishing you again. A hand in the distance, a greeting.
In a greeting, a question. How old are you? Six? Seventeen?
In your body, aging, an immediacy. A flower, a new arm.
Eat the apple. Your lips redden. The person you were,
you are always becoming. Their breath spilling over
your neck. A breath, a shore, a whistle, a knife. Where is the wind?
In love, the wounds you tend. A wound, a door, a lake, a fence.
Whatever is perpendicular to your becoming. Time is a terrible statue.
The tide will eat its skin. To prevent heartbreak, practice disappearing.
All the eels are missing. You are an expert in missing. A mouth,
a lock, a gate, a key. Open your mouth and throw the word yet
into the river. Into the river, your face leaking glass. A face,
a flood, a crystal, a dove. Someday, you will be in love again.
The sun, a wound on your windowsill. Light falls
on your dreams. It sounds like someone knocking.
--Sanna Wani
Sometimes remembering refuses us. Sometimes I'm
a shoreline the water of memory drags its palm across.
—Billy-Ray Belcourt
In a daisy field. In a garden. In a graveyard, in the sun, its valley.
In the sound of nothing. Your mother and father, two trees
in the distance. In the distance. In the sound of the whistle,
someone banishing you again. A hand in the distance, a greeting.
In a greeting, a question. How old are you? Six? Seventeen?
In your body, aging, an immediacy. A flower, a new arm.
Eat the apple. Your lips redden. The person you were,
you are always becoming. Their breath spilling over
your neck. A breath, a shore, a whistle, a knife. Where is the wind?
In love, the wounds you tend. A wound, a door, a lake, a fence.
Whatever is perpendicular to your becoming. Time is a terrible statue.
The tide will eat its skin. To prevent heartbreak, practice disappearing.
All the eels are missing. You are an expert in missing. A mouth,
a lock, a gate, a key. Open your mouth and throw the word yet
into the river. Into the river, your face leaking glass. A face,
a flood, a crystal, a dove. Someday, you will be in love again.
The sun, a wound on your windowsill. Light falls
on your dreams. It sounds like someone knocking.
--Sanna Wani
#45
General JFC / Re: DEADWOOD THE MOVIE
Last post by Sven2 - August 25, 2021, 04:17:33 PMMud, blood and a f---load of swearing: Is Deadwood the best Western ever?
By Karl Quinn
August 25, 2021
David Milch's down-and-dirty Western, which ran over three seasons from 2004 with a standalone movie in 2019, might just be the finest example of world building ever committed to screen. It's not just that its setting is so brilliantly conceived and meticulously detailed – it's that the gold-mining town of Deadwood, South Dakota (it was a real place) emerges before our very eyes as the series progresses.
As Deadwood grows from tents to timber shanties to a proper town, it's like Sim City made flesh. Though with its obsessive focus on actual human flesh and the many ways it can be corrupted, perhaps that should be Sin City.
Amid a multitude of magnificently realised characters, the chief protagonists are two: the brothel-owning, murder-dispensing, expletive-dripping Al Swearengen (Ian McShane), one of the greatest screen villains ever, and the trigger-happy lawman Seth Bullock (Timothy Olyphant). Both are based on historical figures, though series creator David Milch fleshes them out with great flourishes of lurid imagination.
At first glance the two men appear to represent diametrically opposed world views and moral positions, but on closer inspection it's clear they are really just different expressions of the same dynamic. Swearengen is drifting towards regulation, despite his predilection for havoc, while Bullock's professed commitment to the rule of law is in constant struggle with his impulse to summary violence. Together, they represent the tension between order and chaos that pertains in any society inching its way towards ostensible civilisation.
(In case all this relentless and wanton violence seems a bit far-fetched – hell, it's almost as dangerous as some of those quaint English villagers beloved of Inspector Morse and co – it's worth noting that legend has it that the real Deadwood hosted a murder a day at the height of its lawlessness in the late 1870s.)
But it's not just the world building that makes Deadwood so special – it's the words too. Milch came of age on Hill Street Blues, and co-created NYPD Blue (with Steven Bochco). Those shows were renowned for their gritty realism, but Deadwood steps it up a notch. It is the fullest, purest, foulest and most fast-talking expression of Milch's take on human struggle.
(For an insight into his life, which includes heroin, alcohol and gambling addiction, and his creative process, which includes dictating dialogue as it comes into his head, check out Mark Singer's superb 2005 profile of Milch in The New Yorker).
Al's almost-Shakespearean approach to cussing (Swearengen by name, swearing by nature) and his propensity for monologues delivered while being fellated or surrounded by topless brothel workers arguably paved the way for Petyr Baelish's similarly X-rated dissertations in the early seasons of Game of Thrones. At any rate, it's frequently hilarious, if your ears can withstand the battering.
That Deadwood never received anything like the attention or acclaim it deserved is a bit of a travesty, but it's not too late. For those brave enough to visit, a whole world of blood, mud and foul language awaits. Saddle up and git; there's gold in tham thar episodes.
from:
https://www.smh.com.au/culture/tv-and-radio/mud-blood-and-a-f-load-of-swearing-is-deadwood-the-best-western-ever-20210813-p58ihf.html
By Karl Quinn
August 25, 2021
David Milch's down-and-dirty Western, which ran over three seasons from 2004 with a standalone movie in 2019, might just be the finest example of world building ever committed to screen. It's not just that its setting is so brilliantly conceived and meticulously detailed – it's that the gold-mining town of Deadwood, South Dakota (it was a real place) emerges before our very eyes as the series progresses.
As Deadwood grows from tents to timber shanties to a proper town, it's like Sim City made flesh. Though with its obsessive focus on actual human flesh and the many ways it can be corrupted, perhaps that should be Sin City.
Amid a multitude of magnificently realised characters, the chief protagonists are two: the brothel-owning, murder-dispensing, expletive-dripping Al Swearengen (Ian McShane), one of the greatest screen villains ever, and the trigger-happy lawman Seth Bullock (Timothy Olyphant). Both are based on historical figures, though series creator David Milch fleshes them out with great flourishes of lurid imagination.
At first glance the two men appear to represent diametrically opposed world views and moral positions, but on closer inspection it's clear they are really just different expressions of the same dynamic. Swearengen is drifting towards regulation, despite his predilection for havoc, while Bullock's professed commitment to the rule of law is in constant struggle with his impulse to summary violence. Together, they represent the tension between order and chaos that pertains in any society inching its way towards ostensible civilisation.
(In case all this relentless and wanton violence seems a bit far-fetched – hell, it's almost as dangerous as some of those quaint English villagers beloved of Inspector Morse and co – it's worth noting that legend has it that the real Deadwood hosted a murder a day at the height of its lawlessness in the late 1870s.)
But it's not just the world building that makes Deadwood so special – it's the words too. Milch came of age on Hill Street Blues, and co-created NYPD Blue (with Steven Bochco). Those shows were renowned for their gritty realism, but Deadwood steps it up a notch. It is the fullest, purest, foulest and most fast-talking expression of Milch's take on human struggle.
(For an insight into his life, which includes heroin, alcohol and gambling addiction, and his creative process, which includes dictating dialogue as it comes into his head, check out Mark Singer's superb 2005 profile of Milch in The New Yorker).
Al's almost-Shakespearean approach to cussing (Swearengen by name, swearing by nature) and his propensity for monologues delivered while being fellated or surrounded by topless brothel workers arguably paved the way for Petyr Baelish's similarly X-rated dissertations in the early seasons of Game of Thrones. At any rate, it's frequently hilarious, if your ears can withstand the battering.
That Deadwood never received anything like the attention or acclaim it deserved is a bit of a travesty, but it's not too late. For those brave enough to visit, a whole world of blood, mud and foul language awaits. Saddle up and git; there's gold in tham thar episodes.
from:
https://www.smh.com.au/culture/tv-and-radio/mud-blood-and-a-f-load-of-swearing-is-deadwood-the-best-western-ever-20210813-p58ihf.html
#46
General JFC / Re: David Milch on L.A Heart o...
Last post by Interstellar50 - August 09, 2021, 02:54:13 AMYou write well, it's fun and it's very addictive.
#47
General JFC / Re: Further Days of JFC, His V...
Last post by Interstellar50 - August 09, 2021, 02:49:51 AMVery enjoyable read, thanks for writing on the board.
#48
General JFC / Re: DEADWOOD THE MOVIE
Last post by Sven2 - July 21, 2021, 04:59:45 PMWhat Deadwood Changed About The Real Al Swearengen
Deadwood's saloon owner Al Swearengen is based on a real person, but the series changed his background and personal life to make him more sympathetic.
By Robert Hutton
07.19.2021
Ian McShane's Al Swearengen in Deadwood is one of the most memorable characters in TV history and, like many characters on the show, he was based on a real-life resident of the historic frontier town. The real-life Swearengen was, like his fictional counterpart, the owner of the Gem saloon and brothel in Deadwood. That said, series creator David Milch and the other writers made several changes to the historic figure to make him a more compelling and sympathetic character.
Al Swearengen is often considered to be one of the complex antiheroes who defined the 2000s TV "Golden Age", alongside Tony Soprano or Walter White. He is established very early on in Deadwood as a conniving, ruthless businessman with a taste for profanity that borders on almost poetic. The complex role established McShane as a major actor and won him a Golden Globe and an Emmy nomination.
As Deadwood's story unfolds, Swearengen frequently butts head with Timothy Olyphant's Seth Bullock and his business rival Cy Tolliver (Powers Boothe). He also acts to help bring the camp together and develop into a more organized society, holding the first-ever town council meeting in the Gem and bribing legislators to legally recognize Deadwood. As the series progresses, Swearengen becomes more of a heroic figure, fighting to protect the town from the big money of George Hearst. In similar historic narratives like The Aviator, Deadwood also changes some key elements of Swearengen's life for dramatic purposes. These include his background, the timeline of his years in Deadwood, and the amount of influence he had. Deadwood made similar changes to most of the characters that appeared; for instance, both Trixie and Doc Cochrane were composites of multiple real-life people. Ultimately, the changes to Swearengen made him a more dramatically compelling figure.
The Real Al Swearengen's Life
Al Swearengen was born in 1845 alongside his twin brother Lemuel in what was then the Iowa Territory. He reportedly led a homebound life until the age of 30, when he moved to Deadwood and his first business was a saloon called the Cricket. In 1877 he closed it down and opened the Gem Theater, which despite its name was a dance hall, saloon, and brothel. This rough nature is depicted in Deadwood, where The Gem is not exactly Cheers. The Gem was a successful business, sometimes making as much as $10, 000 in one night.
Swearengen was ruthless in his pursuit of profit and was particularly cruel to the women he employed, controlling them through physical and psychological abuse. He was frequently arrested for assault and disturbing the peace. He deceived many young women as to what their work would be like when they came to Deadwood, before forcing them into prostitution. Interestingly, one of Swearengen's first dancers was Martha Jane Cannary, who would later become known as Calamity Jane. Jane is a major character in Deadwood portrayed by Robin Weigert, but the series doesn't explore her connection to Al in detail. The real Swearengen also had a turbulent personal life, going through women almost as fast as Don Draper. He married a woman named Nettie, who came with him to Deadwood in 1876 but quickly divorced him, citing spousal abuse. Swearengen married twice more while living in the frontier town, with both also ending in divorce. The Gem burned down in 1879 but was rebuilt as a larger and more extravagant saloon. In 1899, however, it burned down again and was not rebuilt.
After the final fire, Swearengen left Deadwood and married Odelia Turgeon. He died in 1904 in Denver at age 59. There are conflicting reports of his passing, with some stating he died penniless trying to hop a train. However, recently rediscovered newspaper accounts suggest Swearengen was murdered, dying of a head wound. If Deadwood had continued into the 20th century, it could have had a much more violent ending than the elegiac final minutes of Deadwood: the Movie.
The timeline of Al Swearengen's life is very different in Deadwood compared to the real-life figure. The series changes Swearengen's background, making him English instead of Dutch to match actor Ian McShane's British heritage. As part of this change, in the series Al is short for Albert instead of Alfred. The stories that Deadwood's Swearengen tells as part of his famous monologues suggest a much more colorful backstory than the real man - although perhaps Al shouldn't be taken at his word. The TV series also changes the chronology of Al's ownership of the Gem. The first season of Deadwood includes the famous events of 1876 that made the town notorious, including the killing of "Wild" Bill Hickock. This incident has been depicted in film numerous times, with everyone from Cary Grant to Jeff Bridges playing Wild Bill.
However, while Deadwood depicts the Gem as being an established saloon during this period, in reality, it didn't open until 1877. The series likely exaggerates the extent of Swearengen's political powers and ambitions too. The real Swearengen was indeed able to navigate the rough-and-tumble world of the Dakota territory, which likely included its fair share of bribes and dirty deals. The Gem was one of the few establishments that was able to avoid the real-life Seth Bullock's attempt to "clean up" the camp. There's little evidence of Al being the kind of community leader and mastermind he was in Deadwood.
Like canceled shows such as Veronica Mars, Deadwood received a revival in the form of a TV movie. It moves further from history, avoiding the topic of the Gem burning down and being rebuilt during the gap between the series and the film, which takes place in 1889. It gives Swearengen, on the verge of death from liver failure, a graceful departure, promising to leave the Gem to Trixie. As noted, the real Swearengen lived for another fifteen years and had no sentiment towards the women who worked for him. These changes show how Deadwood made Swearengen more sympathetic.
How Deadwood Made Al Swearengen A More Compelling Character
The real Al Swearengen was by all accounts, a brutal man and abuser who took advantage of desperate women and men. Early episodes of Deadwood don't shy away from this, showing Al beating Trixie, ordering the murders of multiple men and encouraging attacks on local Indigenous groups. However, he transitions into more of an antihero, a trajectory followed by many villainous characters like the MCU's Loki. This is especially true towards the series' end as he works to defend the community from Hearst's moneyed interests.
The real Swearengen may have had his own sentimental side and inner troubles, but it's hard to tell from the historical record. Milch's writing and McShane's performance flesh out a historical bully into a rich character who is motivated as much by trauma and fear as by greed. The tension between Swearengen's frequent brutality and coarseness and his more vulnerable care for his community makes him a compelling figure. This fits in with Deadwood as a whole, which showcases the tender and optimistic moments of forming a community alongside the brutality of the Old West.
Al Swearengen captivated viewers of Deadwood and helped propel Ian McShane on to more major roles in John Wick and American Gods as well as a cameo in Game of Thrones. The character had a real historical basis but Deadwood changed many elements to make for a more compelling narrative. Ultimately, it was the series' writing and McShane's performance that made Al Swearengen so memorable.
from:
https://screenrant.com/deadwood-al-swearengen-true-story-comparison-differences/
Deadwood's saloon owner Al Swearengen is based on a real person, but the series changed his background and personal life to make him more sympathetic.
By Robert Hutton
07.19.2021
Ian McShane's Al Swearengen in Deadwood is one of the most memorable characters in TV history and, like many characters on the show, he was based on a real-life resident of the historic frontier town. The real-life Swearengen was, like his fictional counterpart, the owner of the Gem saloon and brothel in Deadwood. That said, series creator David Milch and the other writers made several changes to the historic figure to make him a more compelling and sympathetic character.
Al Swearengen is often considered to be one of the complex antiheroes who defined the 2000s TV "Golden Age", alongside Tony Soprano or Walter White. He is established very early on in Deadwood as a conniving, ruthless businessman with a taste for profanity that borders on almost poetic. The complex role established McShane as a major actor and won him a Golden Globe and an Emmy nomination.
As Deadwood's story unfolds, Swearengen frequently butts head with Timothy Olyphant's Seth Bullock and his business rival Cy Tolliver (Powers Boothe). He also acts to help bring the camp together and develop into a more organized society, holding the first-ever town council meeting in the Gem and bribing legislators to legally recognize Deadwood. As the series progresses, Swearengen becomes more of a heroic figure, fighting to protect the town from the big money of George Hearst. In similar historic narratives like The Aviator, Deadwood also changes some key elements of Swearengen's life for dramatic purposes. These include his background, the timeline of his years in Deadwood, and the amount of influence he had. Deadwood made similar changes to most of the characters that appeared; for instance, both Trixie and Doc Cochrane were composites of multiple real-life people. Ultimately, the changes to Swearengen made him a more dramatically compelling figure.
The Real Al Swearengen's Life
Al Swearengen was born in 1845 alongside his twin brother Lemuel in what was then the Iowa Territory. He reportedly led a homebound life until the age of 30, when he moved to Deadwood and his first business was a saloon called the Cricket. In 1877 he closed it down and opened the Gem Theater, which despite its name was a dance hall, saloon, and brothel. This rough nature is depicted in Deadwood, where The Gem is not exactly Cheers. The Gem was a successful business, sometimes making as much as $10, 000 in one night.
Swearengen was ruthless in his pursuit of profit and was particularly cruel to the women he employed, controlling them through physical and psychological abuse. He was frequently arrested for assault and disturbing the peace. He deceived many young women as to what their work would be like when they came to Deadwood, before forcing them into prostitution. Interestingly, one of Swearengen's first dancers was Martha Jane Cannary, who would later become known as Calamity Jane. Jane is a major character in Deadwood portrayed by Robin Weigert, but the series doesn't explore her connection to Al in detail. The real Swearengen also had a turbulent personal life, going through women almost as fast as Don Draper. He married a woman named Nettie, who came with him to Deadwood in 1876 but quickly divorced him, citing spousal abuse. Swearengen married twice more while living in the frontier town, with both also ending in divorce. The Gem burned down in 1879 but was rebuilt as a larger and more extravagant saloon. In 1899, however, it burned down again and was not rebuilt.
After the final fire, Swearengen left Deadwood and married Odelia Turgeon. He died in 1904 in Denver at age 59. There are conflicting reports of his passing, with some stating he died penniless trying to hop a train. However, recently rediscovered newspaper accounts suggest Swearengen was murdered, dying of a head wound. If Deadwood had continued into the 20th century, it could have had a much more violent ending than the elegiac final minutes of Deadwood: the Movie.
The timeline of Al Swearengen's life is very different in Deadwood compared to the real-life figure. The series changes Swearengen's background, making him English instead of Dutch to match actor Ian McShane's British heritage. As part of this change, in the series Al is short for Albert instead of Alfred. The stories that Deadwood's Swearengen tells as part of his famous monologues suggest a much more colorful backstory than the real man - although perhaps Al shouldn't be taken at his word. The TV series also changes the chronology of Al's ownership of the Gem. The first season of Deadwood includes the famous events of 1876 that made the town notorious, including the killing of "Wild" Bill Hickock. This incident has been depicted in film numerous times, with everyone from Cary Grant to Jeff Bridges playing Wild Bill.
However, while Deadwood depicts the Gem as being an established saloon during this period, in reality, it didn't open until 1877. The series likely exaggerates the extent of Swearengen's political powers and ambitions too. The real Swearengen was indeed able to navigate the rough-and-tumble world of the Dakota territory, which likely included its fair share of bribes and dirty deals. The Gem was one of the few establishments that was able to avoid the real-life Seth Bullock's attempt to "clean up" the camp. There's little evidence of Al being the kind of community leader and mastermind he was in Deadwood.
Like canceled shows such as Veronica Mars, Deadwood received a revival in the form of a TV movie. It moves further from history, avoiding the topic of the Gem burning down and being rebuilt during the gap between the series and the film, which takes place in 1889. It gives Swearengen, on the verge of death from liver failure, a graceful departure, promising to leave the Gem to Trixie. As noted, the real Swearengen lived for another fifteen years and had no sentiment towards the women who worked for him. These changes show how Deadwood made Swearengen more sympathetic.
How Deadwood Made Al Swearengen A More Compelling Character
The real Al Swearengen was by all accounts, a brutal man and abuser who took advantage of desperate women and men. Early episodes of Deadwood don't shy away from this, showing Al beating Trixie, ordering the murders of multiple men and encouraging attacks on local Indigenous groups. However, he transitions into more of an antihero, a trajectory followed by many villainous characters like the MCU's Loki. This is especially true towards the series' end as he works to defend the community from Hearst's moneyed interests.
The real Swearengen may have had his own sentimental side and inner troubles, but it's hard to tell from the historical record. Milch's writing and McShane's performance flesh out a historical bully into a rich character who is motivated as much by trauma and fear as by greed. The tension between Swearengen's frequent brutality and coarseness and his more vulnerable care for his community makes him a compelling figure. This fits in with Deadwood as a whole, which showcases the tender and optimistic moments of forming a community alongside the brutality of the Old West.
Al Swearengen captivated viewers of Deadwood and helped propel Ian McShane on to more major roles in John Wick and American Gods as well as a cameo in Game of Thrones. The character had a real historical basis but Deadwood changed many elements to make for a more compelling narrative. Ultimately, it was the series' writing and McShane's performance that made Al Swearengen so memorable.
from:
https://screenrant.com/deadwood-al-swearengen-true-story-comparison-differences/
#49
General JFC / Re: Poetry Almanac
Last post by Sven2 - May 09, 2021, 06:27:52 PMThe Sky Over Berlin
Don't ask me how or why. Now and then
pigeons go astray, they go through
a window, a curtain, a mirror left half
open, and nothing can prevent their scattering
through the transparent sky of the soul, the way
watercolors disperse under the serendipity of water
drops. Don't ask me how or why
these mistakes happen, or if they even are
mistakes. How could I know whose hand
opens mirrors, whose hand precipitates
water? Sometimes, life chooses the wrong
piece, white moves for black, and then
an eagle appears under a coat, a word
on a bee's lips, a sad angel
sitting in a laundromat. They say
it happens to everyone, not only
those with wings. Comforting to know.
Comforting to know error is a part
of us, sustains us like air or blood,
that the best encounters are really
losses or confusions, accidents happening
three thousand feet above sea level over forgotten
cities, there where words ascend
like effervescent globules, and disappear.
--Gemma Gorga
Don't ask me how or why. Now and then
pigeons go astray, they go through
a window, a curtain, a mirror left half
open, and nothing can prevent their scattering
through the transparent sky of the soul, the way
watercolors disperse under the serendipity of water
drops. Don't ask me how or why
these mistakes happen, or if they even are
mistakes. How could I know whose hand
opens mirrors, whose hand precipitates
water? Sometimes, life chooses the wrong
piece, white moves for black, and then
an eagle appears under a coat, a word
on a bee's lips, a sad angel
sitting in a laundromat. They say
it happens to everyone, not only
those with wings. Comforting to know.
Comforting to know error is a part
of us, sustains us like air or blood,
that the best encounters are really
losses or confusions, accidents happening
three thousand feet above sea level over forgotten
cities, there where words ascend
like effervescent globules, and disappear.
--Gemma Gorga
#50
General JFC / Re: Mr.Milch In The News
Last post by Sven2 - April 21, 2021, 01:53:23 PMAn old article, from 2019, interesting by wide reaching, if maybe a little capricious, parallels.
Sven2
"A Continuous Unfolding": D-Day, David Milch, García Lorca, and the Return of "Deadwood"
By Stuart Mitchner
Tell me a story of deep delight.
— Robert Penn Warren
On the heels of the controversially rushed, truncated final season of Game of Thrones, HBO has released Deadwood: The Movie, the final chapter of David Milch's "story of deep delight," the series brought to an equally untimely and even more unfortunate end in 2006.
While the distinguished novelist/poet/critic Robert Penn Warren (1905-1989) may seem an unlikely godfather for such a work, the depth of his influence is made clear in Mark Singer's recent New Yorker article, "David Milch's Third Act." Anyone who has kept faith with Deadwood during the long wait for this moment should read Singer's piece, as well as Alan Sepinwall's outstanding appreciation in Rolling Stone. Far more significant than the revelation that Milch has Alzheimer's is what Singer's profile shows about how the lessons Milch learned from his mentor at Yale have given Deadwood the literary magnitude that sets it apart from other HBO masterworks like The Sopranos, The Wire, and Game of Thrones.
Referring to Warren, Milch says, "He was a teacher, but he was also always a searcher. He was respectful in sharing the pursuit and you felt you mustn't fail to bring anything but your best attention and respect for the transaction....You felt that you must suppress everything irrelevant or distracting.... You had in his presence an effect of a continuous unfolding. It wasn't so much an unfolding of a truth as it was of a passion ....The great blessing of Mr. Warren's presence was a rising up in one's heart of the desire to acknowledge that shared experience."
"Kubla Khan"
When Singer asks whether Alzheimer's "had given anything in return," Milch speaks of "a continuous sense of urgency ... an acute sense of time's passage." His suggestion "that time is ultimately the subject of every story" leads to a quote from Warren's poem "Tell Me a Story," lines that Milch has cited over the years "in classrooms, writers' rooms, personal encounters, lectures, and interviews":
Tell me a story.
Make it a story of great distances, and starlight.
The name of the story will be Time,
But you must not pronounce its name.
Tell me a story of deep delight.
The last two words echo in the "deep romantic chasm" of one of the most famous poems in English, Samuel Taylor Coleridge's "Kubla Khan." As he transcribes his laundanum dream, Coleridge hears "an Abyssinian maid/Singing of Mount Abora," and imagines his "deep delight" could he revive "Her symphony and song." In the opening stanza of Warren's poem, he recalls hearing the "great geese hoot northward" when he was a boy in Kentucky. Though he could not see them, "there being no moon/And the stars sparse," he "heard them." The experience of being involuntarily receptive to wonder and mystery, as expressed in Coleridge's visionary dream, similarly informs Warren's haunting line, "I did not know what was happening in my heart," which also evokes the wonders Deadwood achieves in its most poignant and powerful moments. Right now I'm thinking of the night scene near the end of the movie when Calamity Jane (Robin Weigert) and Joanie Stubbs (Kim Dickens) look up in "deep delight" at the slow magical fall of snowflakes as Milch concludes his "story of great distances and starlight."
In Walks Lorca
García Lorca is here because today, June 5, is his 120th birthday. So capacious is Milch's vision that it's possible to imagine an American incarnation of the Spanish poet walking down the muddy main street of Deadwood sometime between the shooting of Wild Bill and the snowy starlight Jane and Joanie delight in a decade later. Lorca would have a guitar, as he did when he was a student in Granada playing and singing Spanish folk music and making a name for himself before becoming a famous poet and playwright. There's a Deadwood ambiance in the "Gypsy Ballads," where "Rider and horse appear/With a long roll of the drum" and "Light like a deck of cards,/Hard and glossy and white,/Cuts in the brittle green/Horses rearing in fright." Or Lorca might sing of the "lunatic afternoon" in which "Angels of black took wing/To the far air of the West." He ends "Afternoon's Last Light" singing, "O unarriving Night,/Object of fear and dream,/How long the slanting sword,/How deep the driven wound!"
D-Day
Until Deadwood changed the dynamic, I was working on a D-Day sequel to last week's celebration of Whitman and Memorial Day, which ended with me smoking a Camel from the pack found on my bellygunner uncle's body after a freak training accident in February 1944. But for that, he might have been in one of the B-17s scouting the skies over Omaha Beach three months later.
Following the theme of cigarettes as a shared sacrament in films and fiction as well as real life, and guessing that Lorca must have been a smoker, I cast a line into the cyberstream and came up with Leslie Stainton's Lorca, A Dream of Life. It turns out that on the night of his arrest by Nationalist forces on August 16, 1936, Lorca was given a carton of (would you believe?) Camels by a friend. He was wearing "dark gray pants and a white shirt with a tie loosely tied around the collar" at the time, and when he demanded to know why he was beng arrested, he received a one-word answer, "Words."
Two nights later Lorca was handcuffed and driven to a small building six miles from Granada with a schoolteacher and two bullfighters known for left-wing politics. The poet offered the last of his Camels to a young guard who was on duty that night, asking if he could have a newspaper and "more tobacco." After humoring Lorca with smalltalk, the guard told him that they he and the other three were going to be killed. The sun had not yet risen when they were shot beside a stand of olive trees and buried in a nearby ravine.
In his introduction to The Poet in New York and Other Poems (1940), José Benjamin presents Lorca's murder as "the purest and clearest example of the martyrdom of an entire people."
"He Didn't Suffer"
Among the items the U.S. Army Air Force sent to my mother, along with the cigarettes and his dog-tag, was a large glossy photograph of a B-17 like the one my uncle died in, along with a letter to the effect that "he didn't suffer," and a handsome Citation of Honor signed by the commanding general of the Army Air Forces. The citation declares that "his sacrifice will help to keep aglow the flaming torch that lights our lives," so that "millions yet unborn may know the priceless joy of liberty." It ends: "We who pay him homage, and revere his memory, in solemn pride, rededicate ourselves to the fulfillment of the task for which he so gallantly placed his life upon the altar of man's freedom."
The Citation of Honor doesn't give my uncle's full name, which was Robert E. Lee Patterson, in honor of his grandfather, a Confederate general who served with Lee. His other grandfather, C.A. Davis, played the fiddle with Bat Masterson's band in Dodge City. I like to think he was with them when they performed in Deadwood at Al Swearengen's Gem or maybe Cy Tolliver's Bella Union. I still have the fiddle.
Telling the Story
The two characters from Game of Thrones I can imagine showing up in Deadwood are Jerome Flynn's earthy, wisecracking sellsword Bronn and of course Peter Dinklage's Tyrion Lannister, whose wit and eloquence qualify him to sling words with the likes of Ian MacShane's Al Swearengen. In the rushed conclusion of Game of Thrones it's left to Tyrion to tie up the labyrinth of loose ends in an uncharacteristically stilted speech: "What unites people? Armies? Gold? Flags? Stories. There's nothing more powerful in the world than a good story. Nothing can stop it. No enemy can defeat it."
As David Milch shows throughout Deadwood and most movingly in his interview with Mark Singer, it's the way you tell the story that counts. In quoting Milch on the influence of Robert Penn Warren, I found myself taking out lines (see the ellipses) for the sake of moving things along, not realizing that Milch was holding forth in the style of one of his characters. That said, I'll restore a characteristic omission. Speaking of his mentor, Milch says, "You had the feeling that there were two spirits residing in a holy place. And there was an absolute lack of self-consciousness to the process. A mutual absence."
When Singer, in his frank but delicate probing of Milch on how he deals with dementia, refers to his "ability to pull back from whatever is immediate and contemporary and go to a place—say, Deadwood—where your characters exist," Milch says, "I think that is the chief blessing of art, the opportunity to organize one's behavior around a different reality. It's a second chance. You pray to be equal to it, equal to its opportunities. We both know that some days you're better at that than others. In my case, there's a continuing unfolding discovery of the limitations of that vision."
In Deadwood: The Movie, David Milch and his cast and crew are more than equal to the many unfolding opportunities.
from: http://www.towntopics.com/wordpress/2019/06/05/a-continuous-unfolding-d-day-david-milch-garcia-lorca-and-the-return-of-deadwood/
Sven2
"A Continuous Unfolding": D-Day, David Milch, García Lorca, and the Return of "Deadwood"
By Stuart Mitchner
Tell me a story of deep delight.
— Robert Penn Warren
On the heels of the controversially rushed, truncated final season of Game of Thrones, HBO has released Deadwood: The Movie, the final chapter of David Milch's "story of deep delight," the series brought to an equally untimely and even more unfortunate end in 2006.
While the distinguished novelist/poet/critic Robert Penn Warren (1905-1989) may seem an unlikely godfather for such a work, the depth of his influence is made clear in Mark Singer's recent New Yorker article, "David Milch's Third Act." Anyone who has kept faith with Deadwood during the long wait for this moment should read Singer's piece, as well as Alan Sepinwall's outstanding appreciation in Rolling Stone. Far more significant than the revelation that Milch has Alzheimer's is what Singer's profile shows about how the lessons Milch learned from his mentor at Yale have given Deadwood the literary magnitude that sets it apart from other HBO masterworks like The Sopranos, The Wire, and Game of Thrones.
Referring to Warren, Milch says, "He was a teacher, but he was also always a searcher. He was respectful in sharing the pursuit and you felt you mustn't fail to bring anything but your best attention and respect for the transaction....You felt that you must suppress everything irrelevant or distracting.... You had in his presence an effect of a continuous unfolding. It wasn't so much an unfolding of a truth as it was of a passion ....The great blessing of Mr. Warren's presence was a rising up in one's heart of the desire to acknowledge that shared experience."
"Kubla Khan"
When Singer asks whether Alzheimer's "had given anything in return," Milch speaks of "a continuous sense of urgency ... an acute sense of time's passage." His suggestion "that time is ultimately the subject of every story" leads to a quote from Warren's poem "Tell Me a Story," lines that Milch has cited over the years "in classrooms, writers' rooms, personal encounters, lectures, and interviews":
Tell me a story.
Make it a story of great distances, and starlight.
The name of the story will be Time,
But you must not pronounce its name.
Tell me a story of deep delight.
The last two words echo in the "deep romantic chasm" of one of the most famous poems in English, Samuel Taylor Coleridge's "Kubla Khan." As he transcribes his laundanum dream, Coleridge hears "an Abyssinian maid/Singing of Mount Abora," and imagines his "deep delight" could he revive "Her symphony and song." In the opening stanza of Warren's poem, he recalls hearing the "great geese hoot northward" when he was a boy in Kentucky. Though he could not see them, "there being no moon/And the stars sparse," he "heard them." The experience of being involuntarily receptive to wonder and mystery, as expressed in Coleridge's visionary dream, similarly informs Warren's haunting line, "I did not know what was happening in my heart," which also evokes the wonders Deadwood achieves in its most poignant and powerful moments. Right now I'm thinking of the night scene near the end of the movie when Calamity Jane (Robin Weigert) and Joanie Stubbs (Kim Dickens) look up in "deep delight" at the slow magical fall of snowflakes as Milch concludes his "story of great distances and starlight."
In Walks Lorca
García Lorca is here because today, June 5, is his 120th birthday. So capacious is Milch's vision that it's possible to imagine an American incarnation of the Spanish poet walking down the muddy main street of Deadwood sometime between the shooting of Wild Bill and the snowy starlight Jane and Joanie delight in a decade later. Lorca would have a guitar, as he did when he was a student in Granada playing and singing Spanish folk music and making a name for himself before becoming a famous poet and playwright. There's a Deadwood ambiance in the "Gypsy Ballads," where "Rider and horse appear/With a long roll of the drum" and "Light like a deck of cards,/Hard and glossy and white,/Cuts in the brittle green/Horses rearing in fright." Or Lorca might sing of the "lunatic afternoon" in which "Angels of black took wing/To the far air of the West." He ends "Afternoon's Last Light" singing, "O unarriving Night,/Object of fear and dream,/How long the slanting sword,/How deep the driven wound!"
D-Day
Until Deadwood changed the dynamic, I was working on a D-Day sequel to last week's celebration of Whitman and Memorial Day, which ended with me smoking a Camel from the pack found on my bellygunner uncle's body after a freak training accident in February 1944. But for that, he might have been in one of the B-17s scouting the skies over Omaha Beach three months later.
Following the theme of cigarettes as a shared sacrament in films and fiction as well as real life, and guessing that Lorca must have been a smoker, I cast a line into the cyberstream and came up with Leslie Stainton's Lorca, A Dream of Life. It turns out that on the night of his arrest by Nationalist forces on August 16, 1936, Lorca was given a carton of (would you believe?) Camels by a friend. He was wearing "dark gray pants and a white shirt with a tie loosely tied around the collar" at the time, and when he demanded to know why he was beng arrested, he received a one-word answer, "Words."
Two nights later Lorca was handcuffed and driven to a small building six miles from Granada with a schoolteacher and two bullfighters known for left-wing politics. The poet offered the last of his Camels to a young guard who was on duty that night, asking if he could have a newspaper and "more tobacco." After humoring Lorca with smalltalk, the guard told him that they he and the other three were going to be killed. The sun had not yet risen when they were shot beside a stand of olive trees and buried in a nearby ravine.
In his introduction to The Poet in New York and Other Poems (1940), José Benjamin presents Lorca's murder as "the purest and clearest example of the martyrdom of an entire people."
"He Didn't Suffer"
Among the items the U.S. Army Air Force sent to my mother, along with the cigarettes and his dog-tag, was a large glossy photograph of a B-17 like the one my uncle died in, along with a letter to the effect that "he didn't suffer," and a handsome Citation of Honor signed by the commanding general of the Army Air Forces. The citation declares that "his sacrifice will help to keep aglow the flaming torch that lights our lives," so that "millions yet unborn may know the priceless joy of liberty." It ends: "We who pay him homage, and revere his memory, in solemn pride, rededicate ourselves to the fulfillment of the task for which he so gallantly placed his life upon the altar of man's freedom."
The Citation of Honor doesn't give my uncle's full name, which was Robert E. Lee Patterson, in honor of his grandfather, a Confederate general who served with Lee. His other grandfather, C.A. Davis, played the fiddle with Bat Masterson's band in Dodge City. I like to think he was with them when they performed in Deadwood at Al Swearengen's Gem or maybe Cy Tolliver's Bella Union. I still have the fiddle.
Telling the Story
The two characters from Game of Thrones I can imagine showing up in Deadwood are Jerome Flynn's earthy, wisecracking sellsword Bronn and of course Peter Dinklage's Tyrion Lannister, whose wit and eloquence qualify him to sling words with the likes of Ian MacShane's Al Swearengen. In the rushed conclusion of Game of Thrones it's left to Tyrion to tie up the labyrinth of loose ends in an uncharacteristically stilted speech: "What unites people? Armies? Gold? Flags? Stories. There's nothing more powerful in the world than a good story. Nothing can stop it. No enemy can defeat it."
As David Milch shows throughout Deadwood and most movingly in his interview with Mark Singer, it's the way you tell the story that counts. In quoting Milch on the influence of Robert Penn Warren, I found myself taking out lines (see the ellipses) for the sake of moving things along, not realizing that Milch was holding forth in the style of one of his characters. That said, I'll restore a characteristic omission. Speaking of his mentor, Milch says, "You had the feeling that there were two spirits residing in a holy place. And there was an absolute lack of self-consciousness to the process. A mutual absence."
When Singer, in his frank but delicate probing of Milch on how he deals with dementia, refers to his "ability to pull back from whatever is immediate and contemporary and go to a place—say, Deadwood—where your characters exist," Milch says, "I think that is the chief blessing of art, the opportunity to organize one's behavior around a different reality. It's a second chance. You pray to be equal to it, equal to its opportunities. We both know that some days you're better at that than others. In my case, there's a continuing unfolding discovery of the limitations of that vision."
In Deadwood: The Movie, David Milch and his cast and crew are more than equal to the many unfolding opportunities.
from: http://www.towntopics.com/wordpress/2019/06/05/a-continuous-unfolding-d-day-david-milch-garcia-lorca-and-the-return-of-deadwood/
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