View allAll Photos Tagged questioning
Does a fly every ask why insects keep getting caught in spider webs? If it could only read: www.nature.com/articles/srep02108
I always wonder... If, say... frogs don't have a soul (admittedly, who knows? :) ... at which point in evolution was the first "hu-man" blessed with one? Or is it all fairy tales for grown ups? Still we know there's a difference, but do we mistake a moderately higher level of consciousness with the ability to talk to God?
Frankly... I have no answers, obviously. I'd like to have some and I guess many of us might be happy with just a few, as well. Can't we have some? Depends on what "answers" mean to us, I'm afraid. I can't rely on faith alone, but it goes both ways and I don't reject any scenario.
ps - Real proud and happy about this :) Vatican chief astronomer just said belief in God and aliens is OK, even the contrary would not be real good :) Got a Jesuitical education... I must say this image is about that. About the questioning, hey, not the education... About tIme to reconcile beliefs and science. Or is it only the escape strategy from the loosing contender? Hhmmm... I'd like not to think so but I've been raised to put questions :)
c’mon... :-)
pps - OK Jay so I dedicate this image to Jose Gabriel Funes and to
YOU because you triggered the same thoughts in your own ways :) And you're both Zpanish zpeaking people. Don't call him Joze, though, if my old Vatican connections are still right... Don't... To some who might wonder... Don't we need to smile? Hehe, a pity Aristotle didn't sign with Disney, then...
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Please visit my website!
:::::www.johnathonpowers.com:::::
Location: Tomball, Texas
Date Taken: May 2015.
Camera: Hasselblad 500 C/M
Film: Kodak Tri-X 400 (shot at speed)
Format: 120 (medium format)
Lens: 80mm CF
Shutter Speed:
Aperture:
Development: Self developed in Kodak D76 1:1 for 9:45 mins.
Scanning: Scanned via betterscanning holders using an Epson v700 and Epson scan software.
Editing: Curves, levels, spot healing dust, and other minor adjustments were made in Lightroom.
Somehow the metal grating stays sturdy in place although I found myself questioning it every step of the way.
This is a collage on material I did for a collaborative project called Antinomy of War done with the Moving Ethos Dance Group. My work is questioning war in general.
She'sjust silent in the middle of the night,
Listening to every sounds and songs,
she is questioning her self,
What has been going on?
She closes her eyes and dreaming,
she is running away; don't know from what,
screaming till lost her voice, and yet in her dream...
Bright sun light through the window,
whispering a warm "good morning"
a kiss from morning breeze,
still the silent inside her heart,
with the same question without answer....
Larose
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Have a lovely weekend everyone~!
Like an Escher drawing.
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One of several projects, where as a harvester of images I stumble & lurch, part collector, part curator. Questioning time, presence, and possibility, amongst other ideas.
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I'm questioning my date on this shot. I'm about 99 percent sure that the water tank in the background was not there in 1992, so this slide might be misfiled.
There's no questioning who that shed roof belongs to.
A particularly fine looking cat that I photographed while out on a walk.
The full issue is available online at questioning.org/Feb2021/wondering.html
In this article I suggest thinking and planning strategies schools should be teaching students so they can wrestle with the challenges posed by horrible events like the pandemic.
The photo above shows one of my daughters and her two children heading toward a light house on one of the San Juan Islands, shot a dozen years back. It also appears on the cover of my book, "The Great Report" at fno.org/GreatReport/greatreport.html
Stack of two 4 minute images.Strobe with blue and magenta gel,flashlight with red gel and bare flashlight,sodium lights and full moon.View large for mister X!!
Ink and inkwash on paper
Jim Bodman
"My name is Jim Bodman and I'm the chairman of the Vienna Sausage Company in Chicago. And the building that we are currently standing in, which is on the north side of Chicago, on Damon near the corner of Fullerton, was built around 1970."
I loved this short story that I heard on the radio program: This American Life from July 2003. The title of the episode is
"Call in Colonel Mustard For Questioning." It reminds me of a character I have created, except this guy is the real thing, so I felt I had to draw this story. I once thought sending it to TAL as a completed pamphlet but alas it has sat in my file drawer so here it is. Text is transcripts from TAL's website.
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***** Selected for sale in the GETTY IMAGES COLLECTION on April 30th 2015
CREATIVE RF gty.im/552123677 MOMENT OPEN COLLECTION**
This photograph became my 590th image to be selected for inclusion and sale in the Getty Images 'Moment' collection, and I am very grateful to them for such an amazing opportunity.
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COFFEE TASTING KISSES
Caffè Artigiano, Hornby Street, just off of Robson. Early in the AM and I'm in need of my caffeine fix. I'm here for a reason, not simply by chance or else any corporate coffee house offering overpriced grinds and yesterdays cake would suffice.
The joint is relatively quiet right now, just a handful of early birds revelling in the delicious aromas of freshly ground coffee beans or grabbing a bite to eat to start the day before the rush sets in. Commuter zone in the big city, bored faces, blank expressions, dashed aspirations crushed on the rocks of a world of tedium and conformity.
Damn this modern day life and the frenetic pace that we lead like sheep, following the pack, never questioning why we do what we do, never stopping to smell the roses and take some time out to enjoy what we actually have. Not the commercialism nor Rolex around our wrists, but the purity of life, the wonder of our existence, the simple things that fall prey to the darkness all around us, victim of our need and greed.
I clear the table of all debris and distractions, every trace of the people who sat here before me. I like clean lines, a lack of clutter, room to think and move, nothing invading my personal space as I brush aside some sugar granules and a cellophane wrapper to an oatmeal cookie that offends my eyes as it covets the beautiful antique styled wooden table at which I sit.
My left hand rises slowly to reveal the Omega chrome bezel of my wrist watch flashing beneath the overhead strip lighting which tells me that it's just turned eight. The coffee parked up in front of me, teasing my senses is a work of art, I ask you, how can a simple coffee look so God damned appealing for a couple of measly bucks?
That old Omega reminds me of my own mortality. A parting gift from the only woman I ever truly loved and the only person to get close enough to me to scare me witless at the very prospect of giving up the only life that I have known ever since I was a rebellious and wayward kid. The soldier within me still yearns for leadership, like a scruffy mutt I await my orders before I commit to action.
Times change, people bend the truth, lips lie but memories stay as true and fresh as the day that they formed in your pathetic little mind. I'm the same man yet different from the one back then. Older and wiser, more resigned and bitter at life's misfortunes and twists of fate, I believe in always looking to the future, though a nod to the past sometimes keeps us from insanity.
The rich dark roasted beans seduce my taste buds as I take a sip, carefully placing lips to porcelain, cautious not to burn my flesh and take layers off the roof of my mouth in the process. But I needn't worry. Corporate poppycock, health and safety gone mad, rules and regulations regarding the safe operating temperatures of tea urns and coffee machines to safeguard against customer claims of injury and the subsequent backlash of claims and counter claims in the Canadian court rooms.
It's civilisation gone mad as newspapers daily tell us of fat heads playing the system and winning millions in damages for the grape that they slipped over on in Walmart whilst browsing for some breakfast fruit, the burns received from the hot apple pies that are served in MacDonald's or the Winnebago that crashed on cruise control when the driver left the drivers seat to go to the porta-loo thinking that the vehicle would just follow the road on it's own volition.
There is a dumbing down of society, a wiseing up to the intricacies of playing the system, screwing your fellow man and taking them for everything you can get. I could weep. Still, the Java tastes good as I completely destroy the delicate and ornate patterning that now swirls around like a tsunami in my neatly monikered cup, eyes subtly surveying the room as the people sit in their own little worlds.
To my right at a two seater table sits Miss Prissy knickers, Librarian looks, mousy hair that could do with a little TLC, glasses that could kill a man's passion at twenty yards and eyes glued to the pages of this weeks new Stephen King best selling paperback. She's a speed reader, well practised in the art of darting through those written words at a rate of knots, taking in the impactive detail, digesting the characterisation without a hint of emotion in her face. Not a twitch nor flicker of the eyebrows, not a muscle moved in the mouth, jeez, she'd make the perfect assassin with that poker face.
She's blissfully unaware of anything around her, devoted to the storyline, immersed. No hint of a wedding ring on her fingers, she's married to her job, resolutely single and has probably never had a decent lay in her entire life.
A guy passes by her table, emerging from the tight and compact dimensions of the wash-room at the rear of the coffee-house, discreetly placed and merging into the décor with an elegant simplicity. His hands are still slightly wet, beads of water tumbling from his flesh to the ground like jumpers from a blazing sky scraper.
He walks to the table and gathers up his belongings, checking his inner jacket pocket for his cell phone which he flicks open and checks, eyes registering a degree of disdain at not receiving whatever message he had hoped. A lovers words, a secret rendezvous, work details and directions, whatever, he's none too pleased as he pulls a set of car keys from his pocket, I catch a brief glimpse of yet another manufacturers corporate logo as he winks at the pretty young thing behind the bar who served him as she has each morning this week at the same time, same beverage, same price. People and habits, you just gotta love 'em.
" Have a good one Ray ", she says as he reaches the door and throws a smile back her way. I drain my cup of it's final liquid droplets and rise to my feet, pushing the wooden chair back a way before turning and making my exit through the door. The sunlight is bright and brilliant, piercing my retinas as I place my Ray bans on walk down the road about thirty five paces behind Ray. An unremarkable man of five feet ten inches in height, thirty six years old, married with two children. Samantha aged fourteen and David aged twelve. A picture of bliss with a neat condo on Beacon Avenue near the waterfront in Sidney, BC, two cars, a dog and two cats. The details from his file are fresh in my mind as I increase my pace to within twelve paces of the mark as he winds his way unwittingly towards the end of his life.
A gambling man by any standards, neatly attired, respectable and clean, though up to his neck in debt thanks to a dead cert bet that he obtained through a friend of a friend who just happened to hear a couple of guys in the know talking daydreams near the race track. I hate gamblers more than any other form of low life scum. The thin veneer of honesty and integrity whilst all the while they would sell their own grandma down the line if they thought it would fund their next certainty.
I learned long ago in life that there is no such thing as a certainty, other than the the ones of birth and death, and any fool who lives with that lie and hope deserves what's coming to him. In Ray's case it's a head full of nine millimetre full metal jacket for defaulting on his twenty five thousand dollar stake money that he borrowed form some very unsavoury dudes.
These are the sort of guys that would kill your family right out in front of you just to prove a point, not that that ever crossed Rays stupid head when the moment came to place the bet that he could never honour should the worse scenario play out, which it surely did.
He is striding casually, oblivious to my presence, unaware that he is now about a minute from his own death and that his wife and two children have already been taken care of by the men who shall remain nameless. You see, in this game, nothing is sacrosanct, not the solemn vows of marriage nor the bonds of love from a husband to a wife, a mother to her daughter, a father to his son.
You take the risk, you make the bet, you borrow the money and if you fail to deliver what's owed on time, well then let's just say that all hell breaks loose until the beneficiaries, who in this sad situation in fact benefited from a big fast zero in monetary gain terms, deem that the punishment has indeed been made to fit the crime.
My eyes are surveying the scene, looking ahead, my brain calculating angles and degrees, seconds and minutes of escapes routes from the scene of the crime before it has been committed. Lucky for me, Ray turns Eastwards and moves into a skinny alley between two buildings, like a set from a motion picture as I hone in on his footsteps and reach inside my coat pocket for the cold steel of the weapon. In a way I'm helping the hapless fool out, he has no idea that his family home is now a bloodbath resembling a shoot out scene from a Quentin Tarantino flick, everything he loved wiped out in an instant.
Well, I say everything, but of course that is not counting the blonde floozy twenty two year old from work that he has been enjoying after hours horizontal naked dancing with in the week that I have tailed and watched his every move. Me, I'm methodical if nothing else. I like to study the mark, learn their traits and characteristics, those little things that define who they are, daily details lost amidst the city lights and hubbub of noise and people. And what a sweet little thing his mistress is. I can almost hear her tears and see the droplets flood from the beautiful eyes when she discovers the awful truth that will hit the newspaper stands by the morning.
My hand emerges wit the silenced gun, the metal texture glistening under the sunlight as I come to a standstill right next to Ray who has stopped by the wall to pull a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. We exchange a glance as he suddenly sees the weapon and realizes that for him, there is no hiding now, no turning back the clocks.
" Please, whatever they are paying you, I can match it, double it.... name your price "
Quite understandably, the man is shaking with fear as he drops the unlit cigarette from his hand, those eyes begging my approval and acceptance like a scolded child looking to his fathers face. I'm just not the forgiving type sadly for Raymond Jacobs as I raise the silencer to within just a few inches from his right temple and reply.
" Really Ray. See, from where I am standing, you have little more than the pants you're now peeing and debts from the money you lost at the race track. Oh and by the way, Mr Stokes and Mr Reynolds both send you their warmest regards, and wish you to know that your wife and two children will be waiting for you somewhere in the afterlife. Hey, what's it to be, head or heart? "
Ray looks momentarily bemused as tears form in his eyes, " What? ", he says, stalling for time, an effort wasted on a cold hearted son of a bitch such as I. And after the silence comes the pain and as he begins to beg like an animal for his life, a mouth off all at a tangent spouting all manner of gibberish that is beyond my comprehension. Now me, I'm a tolerant man, I can suck it in with the very best of them, I can stand most anything in life except maybe the sight of a man crying like a baby. I hate it when a mark does that, I mean, come on fella, at least face your plight like a grown man and die with a little semblance of dignity would ya!
" Okey-dokey, head it is then my friend ", I calmly announce as I pump a single round round straight into his skull. A spurt of blood splatters across the cement wall behind, leaving a pattern like a map of Africa as the bullet pushes out with a mixture of bone fragment and brain matter. The shell embeds itself in the wall as the casing hits the floor with a glorious ping of metal on pavement. His body rocks upwards and back, falling to the ground like a sack of the proverbial, eyes registering the shock and pain of that moment of impact before I pump two further rounds into his heart. His ribcage rises one last time, the expellation of air from his lungs is loud and forced, followed by silence as the life bleeds out of his eyes. I holster my gun, checking the vicinity for unwelcome attention, though mercifully the coast is clear. I retrieve the shell casing from the ground, placing it into my pocket, and also the slug from the wall which comes out with a couple of prods of my bony fingers.
I hate clutter, I don't like debris and remnants left at the scene, it's just plain sloppy work.
The job is done, my work is finished, and my bank balance will be swollen by twenty large ones no sooner than I have contacted my keeper with confirmation of the kill. Time to vacate the scene before the cops come tumbling down upon me. The coffee is still on my mind and lips, staining my teeth and overwhelming my senses with the delirium of that Java buzz as I make good my exit. Coffee kisses from the bosses, Ray. At least you are reunited with your family now
As I begin walking along the corridor between the two buildings, ears prick up to the sound of coughing. Dust allergy perhaps, muted tone, stifled by a closed hand across the convulsing lips. Eyes hone in on the doorway slightly ajar to my immediate left where I stand. Dusty layers formed like a blanket through non use, finger prints and a palm fresh and staring me right in the face. I place my right hand onto the wooden textures of the old lock less door, perhaps once a storage room to one of the nearby shops, and press firmly as it creaks under protest and leaves a shadow across the floor that dances a tango of delight to the woman cowering in the shadows. Eyes meet for the first time and form a deep and abiding dislike for one another.
She darts past me like a frightened mouse and heads towards the network of quaint shops with faux period façades and cobbled stones. I cannot allow her to escape.
The hunt is on.......
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Written June 8th 2011
Photograph taken at 08:25am inside the Caffe Artigiano coffee house in Hornby Street, just off Robson Street in down town Vancouver, Canada on April 5th 2010.
Nikon D90 15mm 1/60s f/4.0 iso450
Tamron 10-24mm f/3.5-4.5 Di LC II. UV filter
The theme for Macro Mondays is Old/New, and it couldn't have come at a better time for me because I've been questioning whether I'm going to continue with the relatively new Nook or revert back to the old fashioned, page-turning paper book. There are certainly advantages to the Nook reader that I've been using for the past year: compact, convenient, push a button and download a book in seconds, economical ~ all are valid reasons to stick with it. But, it just doesn't feel the same. I love electronic gadgetry, and if I'd been born in the 1980s instead of the '30s, I'm sure I'd be an insufferable geek, but when it comes to reading, something I do a lot of, somehow turning on an electronic reader just isn't the same as opening a book. It helps that I have two large book stores less than two miles from our home, and browsing online just can't hold a candle to browsing through a book store, something I've missed doing lately. Another problem is I'm now reading a book I know my wife Sammy would love to read (Fall of Giants by Ken Follet), but I can't just hand it over to her when I'm finished; she'd never read a book on an electronic reader, if it were the last book on earth. So, I'm going to buy her a "real" copy, thus paying double for one book. I'm sure I won't be tossing out the Nook, but I do intend to get back to the book store, and, if my browsing turns up something I'd like to read, instead of pushing a button, I'm going to reach for my wallet and buy it.
REFORD GARDENS | LES JARDINS DE METIS
Spectacular view associated with wind gusts.
Visit : www.refordgardens.com/
VERTICAL LINE GARDEN 2018
Julia Jamrozik, Coryn Kempster
Buffalo, United States.
Visit: www.ck-jj.com
From the plaque:
Drawing on the formal language of historical garden design, and the contemporary means of mass-produced safety and construction material, the project is a strong graphic intervention that aims to produce an abstract field.
Defining a geometric zone out of tightly spaced parallel lines of stretched commercial barrier tape , the installation introduces ordered man-made elements into the cultivated natural environment of the Reford Gardens. Through this juxtaposition, a dialogue between the two spheres is created based on the shared theme of protection and necessary safe-guarding while questioning the definition of what is truly natural.
As one approaches and then walks around and through the installation the changing viewpoint will allow the shifting of the tape lines in space and thus varied views of the overall composition. Further the movement of the lines with the changing of the climate, the wind and the sun will ensure a dynamic optical and auditory engagement for the audience. As visitors enter and inhabit the space by occupying the provided loungers, the fluctuating appearance of the installation is further enhanced.
In the 2015 version of the garden, we have decided to alter the colours of the field and provide and to provide canpy elements which will not only provide shade but also give a different experiential perspective of the banner tape.
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Texte de la plaque:
S'appuyant sur le langage formel de la conception du jardin historique, sur des moyens modernes de sécutité et sur des matériaux de construction produits en massa, le projet se veut une intervention graphique cherchant à créer un champs abstrait.
Des lignes parallèles de rubans de sécurité étroitement espacés définissent une zone géométrique. Cette installation d’éléments ordonnés prend place dans un milieu d’aspect naturel. Par cette juxtaposition, un dialogue entre les deux se crée basé sur le thème commun de la protection et de la sauvegarde , tout en s’interrogeant sur la définition de ce qui est vraiment naturel.
En s’approchant, en marchant autour et au travers le jardin, le point de vue change, ce qui permet le déplacement des lignes dans l’espace pour offrir de nouvelles perspectives sur la composition globale. Outre le mouvement des lignes, les changements de climat, le vent et le soleil procurent aux visiteurs des expériences visuelles et auditives dynamiques. Lorsque les visiteurs entrent et habitent l’espace en s’assoyant sur les chaises, l’aspect fluctuant de l’installation est renforcé.
Dans la version 2015 du jardin, les couleurs des rubans sont différentes et trois canopées ont été ajoutés. Ce qui va non seulement fournir de l’ombre mais aussi offrir une perspective expérientielle différente sur les rubans de sécurité.
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Visit : www.refordgardens.com
From Wikipedia:
Elsie Stephen Meighen - born January 22, 1872, Perth, Ontario - and Robert Wilson Reford - born in 1867, Montreal - got married on June 12, 1894.
Elsie Reford was a pioneer of Canadian horticulture, creating one of the largest private gardens in Canada on her estate, Estevan Lodge in eastern Québec. Located in Grand-Métis on the south shore of the St. Lawrence River, her gardens have been open to the public since 1962 and operate under the name Les Jardins de Métis and Reford Gardens.
Born January 22, 1872 at Perth, Ontario, Elsie Reford was the eldest of three children born to Robert Meighen and Elsie Stephen. Coming from modest backgrounds themselves, Elsie’s parents ensured that their children received a good education. After being educated in Montreal, she was sent to finishing school in Dresden and Paris, returning to Montreal fluent in both German and French, and ready to take her place in society.
She married Robert Wilson Reford on June 12, 1894. She gave birth to two sons, Bruce in 1895 and Eric in 1900. Robert and Elsie Reford were, by many accounts, an ideal couple. In 1902, they built a house on Drummond Street in Montreal. They both loved the outdoors and they spend several weeks a year in a log cabin they built at Lac Caribou, south of Rimouski. In the autumn they hunted for caribou, deer, and ducks. They returned in winter to ski and snowshoe. Elsie Reford also liked to ride. She had learned as a girl and spent many hours riding on the slopes of Mount Royal. And of course, there was salmon-fishing – a sport at which she excelled.
In her day, she was known for her civic, social, and political activism. She was engaged in philanthropic activities, particularly for the Montreal Maternity Hospital and she was also the moving force behind the creation of the Women’s Canadian Club of Montreal, the first women club in Canada. She believed it important that the women become involved in debates over the great issues of the day, « something beyond the local gossip of the hour ». Her acquaintance with Lord Grey, the Governor-General of Canada from 1904 to 1911, led to her involvement in organizing, in 1908, Québec City’s tercentennial celebrations. The event was one of many to which she devoted herself in building bridges with French-Canadian community.
During the First World War, she joined her two sons in England and did volunteer work at the War Office, translating documents from German into English. After the war, she was active in the Victorian Order of Nurses, the Montreal Council of Social Agencies, and the National Association of Conservative Women.
In 1925 at the age of 53 years, Elsie Reford was operated for appendicitis and during her convalescence, her doctor counselled against fishing, fearing that she did not have the strength to return to the river.”Why not take up gardening?” he said, thinking this a more suitable pastime for a convalescent woman of a certain age. That is why she began laying out the gardens and supervising their construction. The gardens would take ten years to build, and would extend over more than twenty acres.
Elsie Reford had to overcome many difficulties in bringing her garden to life. First among them were the allergies that sometimes left her bedridden for days on end. The second obstacle was the property itself. Estevan was first and foremost a fishing lodge. The site was chosen because of its proximity to a salmon river and its dramatic views – not for the quality of the soil.
To counter-act nature’s deficiencies, she created soil for each of the plants she had selected, bringing peat and sand from nearby farms. This exchange was fortuitous to the local farmers, suffering through the Great Depression. Then, as now, the gardens provided much-needed work to an area with high unemployment. Elsie Reford’s genius as a gardener was born of the knowledge she developed of the needs of plants. Over the course of her long life, she became an expert plantsman. By the end of her life, Elsie Reford was able to counsel other gardeners, writing in the journals of the Royal Horticultural Society and the North American Lily Society. Elsie Reford was not a landscape architect and had no training of any kind as a garden designer. While she collected and appreciated art, she claimed no talents as an artist.
Elsie Stephen Reford died at her Drummond Street home on November 8, 1967 in her ninety-sixth year.
In 1995, the Reford Gardens ("Jardins de Métis") in Grand-Métis were designated a National Historic Site of Canada, as being an excellent Canadian example of the English-inspired garden.(Wikipedia)
Visit : en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elsie_Reford
Visit : www.refordgardens.com/english/
LES JARDINS DE MÉTIS
Créés par Elsie Reford de 1926 à 1958, ces jardins témoignent de façon remarquable de l’art paysager à l’anglaise. Disposés dans un cadre naturel, un ensemble de jardins exhibent fleurs vivaces, arbres et arbustes. Le jardin des pommetiers, les rocailles et l’Allée royale évoquent l’œuvre de cette dame passionnée d’horticulture. Agrémenté d’un ruisseau et de sentiers sinueux, ce site jouit d’un microclimat favorable à la croissance d’espèces uniques au Canada. Les pavots bleus et les lis, privilégiés par Mme Reford, y fleurissent toujours et contribuent , avec d’autres plantes exotiques et indigènes, à l’harmonie de ces lieux.
Created by Elsie Reford between 1926 and 1958, these gardens are an inspired example of the English art of the garden. Woven into a natural setting, a series of gardens display perennials, trees and shrubs. A crab-apple orchard, a rock garden, and the Long Walk are also the legacy of this dedicated horticulturist. A microclimate favours the growth of species found nowhere else in Canada, while the stream and winding paths add to the charm. Elsie Reford’s beloved blue poppies and lilies still bloom and contribute, with other exotic and indigenous plants, to the harmony of the site.
Commission des lieux et monuments historiques du Canada
Historic Sites and Monuments Board of Canada.
Gouvernement du Canada – Government of Canada
© Copyright
This photo and all those in my Photostream are protected by copyright. No one may reproduce, copy, transmit or manipulate them without my written permission.
This shot of a Snowy Egret was taken at W. Ninth Street, Santa Rosa, CA
Have a fabulous weekend everyone!
I learned something new about Della today. She is not thrilled about coming up behind me and standing between my legs. Seems funny for a dog who is never far from my side!
I had done an imitation shot with Tug for 12 months for dogs and liked the way it came out so I thought I would try the same photo with Della. I never imagined she would be uncomfortable doing this shot. However, you can tell from her expression that she just can't seem to understand what we are doing. Maybe she thought she was going to trip me or something. You don't need a leash when you walk this girl, she always keeps track of where I am. She was happy to be done with the photo shoot and to have me kick the ball around for her.
Now Tug, you can just tell by looking at his goofy face (as seen on my photo stream) that he wasn't bothered at all with standing between my legs.
Oh yes, the shot I was imitating was Dave's photos of Bruno and Eva when he has them between his legs during each season of the year.
Mental Constructs: the cornerstone of self-improvement
Think about what moved you to self-improvement in the first place.
I guess that it probably was some frustration or some obstacle on the pursuit of an objective, which made you stop, step back, and think that maybe it was your own behavior or attitude which needed to change, rather than external circumstances.
Hopefully you solved your problem.
Nonetheless, the assumption you made — that you could change your own point of view and beliefs — would have not been possible for normal people before some centuries ago.
Before the birth of Kantian philosophy and then psychology, people could not even imagine that they had an inner life, that their psychology was separate from external reality, and that the former was viable to errors, and to be even doubted and changed. Your banal assumption is then the product of centuries of philosophical speculation by the finest minds humans have ever known.
What’s truly interesting about that idea though, is that its explicit content — that we can change our way of seeing things — is at once the application of such content to yourself. By thinking that maybe your way of seeing things can be modified, you are indeed already influencing your though patterns. You are moving your focus on different elements, from external elements, to your own thought process.
The consequences are real: your actions might change, your empathy towards others might too — maybe you’ll stop thinking you are right, and you might start thinking that your opinion is one among many. You might experiment with new ways to deal with people, or do things.
There nowadays exist entire professions devoted to studying and influencing our perceptions of things: psychologists, psychiatrists, marketers, politicians, philosophers, journalists. The common thread is the basic, uninteresting idea that our ideas, feelings and reality might not coincide. That we might be wrong.
Welcome to mental constructs.
The anatomy of Mental constructs
The example above is the father of mental constructs, while being a mental construct itself.
Mental constructs are simply the set of ideas and beliefs that we hold. While this seems easy on the surface, truth is that most mental constructs are so deeply ingrained in us, and backed up by so many experiences and emotional baggage, that we fail to see them as opinion, not facts.
Furthermore, I like referencing to them as constructs, rather than only beliefs, because they they indeed possess entire scaffolds to back them up, and we mostly experience them as entire world views, rather than individual ideas. This makes it even harder to separate them from facts.
Mental constructs literally form the structure of our world. This is because they orient our attention, and therefore actions in the World. They give meaning to our experiences. They are meaning itself. Experience without it would be raw data, as much as a foreign language is just mere sound before you know not only its words, but its rules as well.
The very idea of “World” is a mental construct.
We can’t ever really escape mental constructs, nor should we. The very beliefs which might not be fully accurate are the same ones that allow us to feel emotions and give richness to experiences.
The power of Mental Constructs
Mental constructs are power itself, as philosopher Michel Foucault held. They are since power itself is the desire to influence the world, and we define what is the world, and how to influence it, by mental constructs.
Mental constructs form the invisible net through which you live your life, the maze which you try to navigate and which determines which choices you’re allowed to take, and which ones seem inaccessible to you.
Your emotions are products of them, since emotions are our reaction to our perception of events. Between events and feeling stand the transparent world of ideas and beliefs, which determine if we feel sadness or joy, anger or calm.
We like to think that events are reality: we do since events are tangible, and therefore more readily available. Thoughts are not. We also do since most of our mental constructs are strongly backed up by hard emotions, since they constitute our most fundamental mean of power and security in life.
Mental constructs are the fabric of our worlds, and this is not going to change.
What can we do about it?
Some practical tips to use mental models
1)Discerning emotions, thoughts and facts
The basic tip is one from Cognitive Behavioral Therapy.
When living an experience, learn to discern between emotions and thought, and thought and facts.
You do this by questioning “is this an emotion, a thought, or a fact?”. Everyone gets this wrong from time to time. “I feel you are right” is actually an opinion, and should say “I think you are right, therefore I feel secure”.
The above tool is useful, and is taught in CBT sessions to patients, because emotions, thoughts and facts need to be dealt with differently.
Emotions need to be accepted as they are and experienced. They cannot be directly changed.
Facts must be accepted, but can be influenced with action.
Opinions can be seen, accepted but also questioned. “How much is this opinion realistic, and useful?”. This is the question to apply to opinions, after you’ve spotted it out.
Problems start when:
you treat emotions as facts, so you try to force them to change, you deny them, or you apply judgement (so called secondary beliefs) to them, thus making the feeling usually worse
you treat thoughts as facts or emotions, therefore forgetting that they can be questioned in their usefulness
It’s usually hard to treat emotions as thoughts since emotions are more direct and hardly get mistaken for something colder like a thought.
It is usually helpful to start from emotions, as they are directly noticeable due to their physical quality, then discern the event or fact associated to it, and last individuate the thought which stands in the middle. Thoughts are more elusive and usually taken for granted, so they are harder to pinpoint at first.
2)Finding alternatives to thoughts
Try it now. Pick a thought you had recently, maybe about an argument you had. Try for a moment to imagine an alternative explanation to it. Maybe you thought “they’ve been really rude to me”. Try to think “they behaved rudely, but maybe I need to understand their reasons”. Now check your emotions. Do you feel a difference? At first you felt resentful, annoyed. Now you feel calmer.
This brief experiment is simply to show you how experimenting with different perspectives can truly shift our feelings about a situation, and it also show how two different opinions are not more or less real, as they both feel true when you hold them.
It is not “lying to ourselves” as we do this all the times, albeit unknowingly.
The knowledge of mental models hopefully give you the tool to be more in control of your inner state in a conscious way.
A core idea is that of experimenting with new perspective after you’ve spotted an opinion. This is since we all hold our opinions very dearly and trying to force them to change can actually work against us, causing negative emotions and self-judgement to take place.
3)Accept your emotions, be compassionate of your mental constructs
Emotions are experientially closer to facts than opinions, because they are experienced in the body. Emotions cannot really be influenced directly (without the use of substances) but can be influenced modifying opinions and facts (although the latter are always filtered by mental constructs).
We often feel bad for some emotions we experience, or some thoughts we entertain. You might feel shame, or guilt. These are usually the consequence of secondary thoughts which we formulate about our own emotions.
Fact is, our mental construct were mostly there before we even noticed them. We are not to be held responsible for their creation (nor are our parents). Most importantly, we can put them in perspective and even experiment with alternative ones.
We can react to our own mental constructs, and work on building more useful ones.
An useful mental construct is to see them as something we were endowed with during our growth, but which are passible of change, and improvement.
4)In every situation, know a mental construct is in action
We often get stuck in life and feel there is no way out of situation when we forget that we are employing a mental construct to interpret it.
We see reality and our emotions so tied that we deduce they must be one.
The knowledge of mental constructs lets you now that the key to your wellbeing is really inside of you, not in some deep way but simply in your possibility to choose the mental construct which you live by.
Often facts need to change to make us finally well-off, but cannot influence facts until we come to see them as passible of being acted upon, and that comes through a change of mental construct.
Change comes after we decide we can change, or something makes us realize that we can do it.
The way you see and approach a situation determines the elements you’ll pay attention to, and the action you will take.
By knowing this and reminding yourself of it, you will hopefully feel more empowered and less victim to circumstances.
To conclude
Mental constructs are at work continuously in our lived. There is no escape from them.
While this might seem a prison, and we might never come to see reality as it is, it actually is the source of great power. The power to, literally, choose the form of the world we live in.
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She just delivers!
One rose, old, contained to 8mx4m by pruning, not desire, she does this performance every year from hundreds of tiny buds. Yes, this needed a wider field of view than those I've favoured lately! A wider view, and this is still a pinhole view of her magnificence…
If Rosa 'Cécile Brünner' has flaws they are that she is not a recurrent flowerer, and her scent is, well, mild. But she delivers without complaint. If I desire, she can be pruned once her blooming finishes without fear for her next blossoms, in Spring, a year away.
With roses, you don't seem to get everything. Among my climbers "Albertine" has the most magnificent scent, but is so thorny I call her razor wire. "Jude the Obscure", likewise fragrant, has gentler thorns, but doesn't climb, and like the fall of ginkgo leaves, drops her petals on a whim; all at once.
I wonder: is this reliability and variability why we love and hate these beauties, all in the one breath?
I was questioning why WH Smith remains open but I’ve looked it up and newsagents, corner shops and post offices are on the list of shops allowed to open.
These three Met police officers have taken stuff out of his pockets and are questioning him about the contents. The young guy looks pretty miserable - that is obvious. AND very scared - one up against three!
But the police are just carrying on ,
insensitive to the realities of what is actually going on.
If they were more up with the times (which they are not, here)=there would have been a more racially mixed group of officers.
AND they would have been more aware of his age, and of how frightened he was feeling.
He is just a kid.
And the big White bloke at the back, is actually holding him down…..This is Peckham, where half the population is Black!
In London, young Black males are NINETEEN times more likely to be stopped and searched than White males! Yes - NINETEEN times! AND 70% of them are innocent!
Would I have had any rights, as a concerned citizen to have watched them more closely, and have intervened to offer the victim the support that he so badly needs here?
I don’t rightly know but I mean to find out….
PeterTownsend7: Questioning #Islam' from PTownsend. #maga #pjnet #trump #isis #hillaryshuma … t.co/2Kqggc5eot (via Twitter twitter.com/Luandrew169/status/767938294969671680)
© Cynthia E. Wood
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Ten Things I Have Learned by Milton Glaser,
Graphic Designer b. 1929
Part of AIGA talk given in London
November 22, 2001
1
YOU CAN ONLY WORK FOR PEOPLE THAT YOU LIKE.
This is a curious rule and it took me a long time to learn because in fact at the beginning of my practice I felt the opposite. Professionalism required that you didn’t particularly like the people that you worked for or at least maintained an arms length relationship to them, which meant that I never had lunch with a client or saw them socially. Then some years ago I realised that the opposite was true. I discovered that all the work I had done that was meaningful and significant came out of an affectionate relationship with a client. And I am not talking about professionalism; I am talking about affection. I am talking about a client and you sharing some common ground. That in fact your view of life is someway congruent with the client, otherwise it is a bitter and hopeless struggle.
2
IF YOU HAVE A CHOICE NEVER HAVE A JOB.
One night I was sitting in my car outside Columbia University where my wife Shirley was studying Anthropology. While I was waiting I was listening to the radio and heard an interviewer ask ‘Now that you have reached 75 have you any advice for our audience about how to prepare for your old age?’ An irritated voice said ‘Why is everyone asking me about old age these days?’ I recognised the voice as John Cage. I am sure that many of you know who he was – the composer and philosopher who influenced people like Jasper Johns and Merce Cunningham as well as the music world in general. I knew him slightly and admired his contribution to our times. ‘You know, I do know how to prepare for old age’ he said. ‘Never have a job, because if you have a job someday someone will take it away from you and then you will be unprepared for your old age. For me, it has always been the same ever since the age of 12. I wake up in the morning and I try to figure out how am I going to put bread on the table today. It is the same at 75, I wake up every morning and I think, how am I going to put bread on the table today? I am exceedingly well prepared for my old age, he said.
3
SOME PEOPLE ARE TOXIC; AVOID THEM.
This is a subtext of number one. There was in the sixties a man named Fritz Perls who was a gestalt therapist. Gestalt therapy derives from art history, it proposes you must understand the ‘whole’ before you can understand the details. What you have to look at is the entire culture, the entire family and community and so on. Perls proposed that in all relationships people could be either toxic or nourishing towards one another. It is not necessarily true that the same person will be toxic or nourishing in every relationship, but the combination of any two people in a relationship produces toxic or nourishing consequences. And the important thing that I can tell you is that there is a test to determine whether someone is toxic or nourishing in your relationship with them. Here is the test: You have spent some time with this person, either you have a drink or go for dinner or you go to a ball game. It doesn’t matter very much but at the end of that time you observe whether you are more energised or less energised. Whether you are tired or whether you are exhilarated. If you are more tired then you have been poisoned. If you have more energy you have been nourished. The test is almost infallible and I suggest that you use it for the rest of your life.
4
PROFESSIONALISM IS NOT ENOUGH or THE GOOD IS THE ENEMY OF THE GREAT.
Early in my career I wanted to be professional, that was my complete aspiration in my early life because professionals seemed to know everything - not to mention they got paid for it. Later I discovered after working for a while that professionalism itself was a limitation. After all, what professionalism means in most cases is diminishing risks. So if you want to get your car fixed you go to a mechanic who knows how to deal with transmission problems in the same way each time. I suppose if you needed brain surgery you wouldn’t want the doctor to fool around and invent a new way of connecting your nerve endings. Please do it in the way that has worked in the past.
Unfortunately in our field, in the so-called creative – I hate that word because it is misused so often. I also hate the fact that it is used as a noun. Can you imagine calling someone a creative? Anyhow, when you are doing something in a recurring way to diminish risk or doing it in the same way as you have done it before, it is clear why professionalism is not enough. After all, what is required in our field, more than anything else, is the continuous transgression. Professionalism does not allow for that because transgression has to encompass the possibility of failure and if you are professional your instinct is not to fail, it is to repeat success. So professionalism as a lifetime aspiration is a limited goal.
5
LESS IS NOT NECESSARILY MORE.
Being a child of modernism I have heard this mantra all my life. Less is more. One morning upon awakening I realised that it was total nonsense, it is an absurd proposition and also fairly meaningless. But it sounds great because it contains within it a paradox that is resistant to understanding. But it simply does not obtain when you think about the visual of the history of the world. If you look at a Persian rug, you cannot say that less is more because you realise that every part of that rug, every change of colour, every shift in form is absolutely essential for its aesthetic success. You cannot prove to me that a solid blue rug is in any way superior. That also goes for the work of Gaudi, Persian miniatures, art nouveau and everything else. However, I have an alternative to the proposition that I believe is more appropriate. ‘Just enough is more.’
6
STYLE IS NOT TO BE TRUSTED.
I think this idea first occurred to me when I was looking at a marvellous etching of a bull by Picasso. It was an illustration for a story by Balzac called The Hidden Masterpiece. I am sure that you all know it. It is a bull that is expressed in 12 different styles going from very naturalistic version of a bull to an absolutely reductive single line abstraction and everything else along the way. What is clear just from looking at this single print is that style is irrelevant. In every one of these cases, from extreme abstraction to acute naturalism they are extraordinary regardless of the style. It’s absurd to be loyal to a style. It does not deserve your loyalty. I must say that for old design professionals it is a problem because the field is driven by economic consideration more than anything else. Style change is usually linked to economic factors, as all of you know who have read Marx. Also fatigue occurs when people see too much of the same thing too often. So every ten years or so there is a stylistic shift and things are made to look different. Typefaces go in and out of style and the visual system shifts a little bit. If you are around for a long time as a designer, you have an essential problem of what to do. I mean, after all, you have developed a vocabulary, a form that is your own. It is one of the ways that you distinguish yourself from your peers, and establish your identity in the field. How you maintain your own belief system and preferences becomes a real balancing act. The question of whether you pursue change or whether you maintain your own distinct form becomes difficult. We have all seen the work of illustrious practitioners that suddenly look old-fashioned or, more precisely, belonging to another moment in time. And there are sad stories such as the one about Cassandre, arguably the greatest graphic designer of the twentieth century, who couldn’t make a living at the end of his life and committed suicide.
But the point is that anybody who is in this for the long haul has to decide how to respond to change in the zeitgeist. What is it that people now expect that they formerly didn’t want? And how to respond to that desire in a way that doesn’t change your sense of integrity and purpose.
7
HOW YOU LIVE CHANGES YOUR BRAIN.
The brain is the most responsive organ of the body. Actually it is the organ that is most susceptible to change and regeneration of all the organs in the body. I have a friend named Gerald Edelman who was a great scholar of brain studies and he says that the analogy of the brain to a computer is pathetic. The brain is actually more like an overgrown garden that is constantly growing and throwing off seeds, regenerating and so on. And he believes that the brain is susceptible, in a way that we are not fully conscious of, to almost every experience of our life and every encounter we have. I was fascinated by a story in a newspaper a few years ago about the search for perfect pitch. A group of scientists decided that they were going to find out why certain people have perfect pitch. You know certain people hear a note precisely and are able to replicate it at exactly the right pitch. Some people have relevant pitch; perfect pitch is rare even among musicians. The scientists discovered – I don’t know how - that among people with perfect pitch the brain was different. Certain lobes of the brain had undergone some change or deformation that was always present with those who had perfect pitch. This was interesting enough in itself. But then they discovered something even more fascinating. If you took a bunch of kids and taught them to play the violin at the age of 4 or 5 after a couple of years some of them developed perfect pitch, and in all of those cases their brain structure had changed. Well what could that mean for the rest of us? We tend to believe that the mind affects the body and the body affects the mind, although we do not generally believe that everything we do affects the brain. I am convinced that if someone was to yell at me from across the street my brain could be affected and my life might changed. That is why your mother always said, ‘Don’t hang out with those bad kids.’ Mama was right. Thought changes our life and our behaviour. I also believe that drawing works in the same way. I am a great advocate of drawing, not in order to become an illustrator, but because I believe drawing changes the brain in the same way as the search to create the right note changes the brain of a violinist. Drawing also makes you attentive. It makes you pay attention to what you are looking at, which is not so easy.
8
DOUBT IS BETTER THAN CERTAINTY.
Everyone always talks about confidence in believing what you do. I remember once going to a class in yoga where the teacher said that, spirituality speaking, if you believed that you had achieved enlightenment you have merely arrived at your limitation. I think that is also true in a practical sense. Deeply held beliefs of any kind prevent you from being open to experience, which is why I find all firmly held ideological positions questionable. It makes me nervous when someone believes too deeply or too much. I think that being sceptical and questioning all deeply held beliefs is essential. Of course we must know the difference between scepticism and cynicism because cynicism is as much a restriction of one’s openness to the world as passionate belief is. They are sort of twins. And then in a very real way, solving any problem is more important than being right. There is a significant sense of self-righteousness in both the art and design world. Perhaps it begins at school. Art school often begins with the Ayn Rand model of the single personality resisting the ideas of the surrounding culture. The theory of the avant garde is that as an individual you can transform the world, which is true up to a point. One of the signs of a damaged ego is absolute certainty.
Schools encourage the idea of not compromising and defending your work at all costs. Well, the issue at work is usually all about the nature of compromise. You just have to know what to compromise. Blind pursuit of your own ends which excludes the possibility that others may be right does not allow for the fact that in design we are always dealing with a triad – the client, the audience and you.
Ideally, making everyone win through acts of accommodation is desirable. But self-righteousness is often the enemy. Self-righteousness and narcissism generally come out of some sort of childhood trauma, which we do not have to go into. It is a consistently difficult thing in human affairs. Some years ago I read a most remarkable thing about love, that also applies to the nature of co-existing with others. It was a quotation from Iris Murdoch in her obituary. It read ‘ Love is the extremely difficult realisation that something other than oneself is real.’ Isn’t that fantastic! The best insight on the subject of love that one can imagine.
9
ON AGING.
Last year someone gave me a charming book by Roger Rosenblatt called ‘Ageing Gracefully’ I got it on my birthday. I did not appreciate the title at the time but it contains a series of rules for ageing gracefully. The first rule is the best. Rule number one is that ‘it doesn’t matter.’ ‘It doesn’t matter that what you think. Follow this rule and it will add decades to your life. It does not matter if you are late or early, if you are here or there, if you said it or didn’t say it, if you are clever or if you were stupid. If you were having a bad hair day or a no hair day or if your boss looks at you cockeyed or your boyfriend or girlfriend looks at you cockeyed, if you are cockeyed. If you don’t get that promotion or prize or house or if you do – it doesn’t matter.’ Wisdom at last. Then I heard a marvellous joke that seemed related to rule number 10. A butcher was opening his market one morning and as he did a rabbit popped his head through the door. The butcher was surprised when the rabbit inquired ‘Got any cabbage?’ The butcher said ‘This is a meat market – we sell meat, not vegetables.’ The rabbit hopped off. The next day the butcher is opening the shop and sure enough the rabbit pops his head round and says ‘You got any cabbage?’ The butcher now irritated says ‘Listen you little rodent I told you yesterday we sell meat, we do not sell vegetables and the next time you come here I am going to grab you by the throat and nail those floppy ears to the floor.’ The rabbit disappeared hastily and nothing happened for a week. Then one morning the rabbit popped his head around the corner and said ‘Got any nails?’ The butcher said ‘No.’ The rabbit said ‘Ok. Got any cabbage?’
10
TELL THE TRUTH.
The rabbit joke is relevant because it occurred to me that looking for a cabbage in a butcher’s shop might be like looking for ethics in the design field. It may not be the most obvious place to find either. It’s interesting to observe that in the new AIGA’s code of ethics there is a significant amount of useful information about appropriate behaviour towards clients and other designers, but not a word about a designer’s relationship to the public. We expect a butcher to sell us eatable meat and that he doesn’t misrepresent his wares. I remember reading that during the Stalin years in Russia that everything labelled veal was actually chicken. I can’t imagine what everything labelled chicken was. We can accept certain kinds of misrepresentation, such as fudging about the amount of fat in his hamburger but once a butcher knowingly sells us spoiled meat we go elsewhere. As a designer, do we have less responsibility to our public than a butcher? Everyone interested in licensing our field might note that the reason licensing has been invented is to protect the public not designers or clients. ‘Do no harm’ is an admonition to doctors concerning their relationship to their patients, not to their fellow practitioners or the drug companies. If we were licensed, telling the truth might become more central to what we do.
i stopped talking
i stopped thinking
and analyzing and questioning and seeking
answers
i sat alone.
i sat empty.
and I felt.
I ached.
and i try to listen to the things i told you
so matter of factly
and they stopped making sense.
i understand why my words meandered around your deaf ears.
i spoke through you.
i don't know who that was talking
i don't know where I went.
i’m only just beginning to feel what i've done.
and wish it undone.
The Lost World (20th Century Fox, 1960).
youtu.be/h1CLA-gJbmA?t=5s Trailer
Irwin Allen, the producer who would go on to make the disaster film a huge success in the seventies, brought us this Saturday afternoon fodder with giant lizards posing as dinosaurs. Starring Michael Rennie, David Hedison, Claude Rains and Jill St. John.
Intended as a grand sci-fi/fantasy epic remake of Arthur Conan Doyle's classic novel. The first film adaptation, shot in 1925, was a milestone in many ways, but movie making and special effects had come a long way in 35 years. Irwin Allen's Lost World (LW) & 20th Century Fox version was derailed on the way to greatness, but managed to still be a respectable, (if more modest) A-film. Allen's screenplay followed the book fairly well, telling of Professor Challenger's expedition to a remote plateau in the Amazon upon which dinosaurs still lived. Aside from the paleontological presumptions in the premise, there is little "science" in The Lost World. Nonetheless, dinosaur movies have traditionally been lumped into the sci-fi genre.
Synopsis
When his plane lands in London, crusty old professor George Edward Challenger is besieged by reporters questioning him about his latest expedition to the headwaters of the Amazon River. After the irascible Challenger strikes reporter Ed Malone on the head with his umbrella, Jennifer Holmes, the daughter of Ed's employer, Stuart Holmes, offers the injured reporter a ride into town. That evening, Jenny is escorted by Lord John Roxton, an adventurer and big game hunter, to Challenger's lecture at the Zoological Institute, and Ed invites them to sit with him. When Challenger claims to have seen live dinosaurs, his colleague Professor Summerlee scoffs and asks for evidence. Explaining that his photographs of the creatures were lost when his boat overturned, Challenger invites Summerlee to accompany him on a new expedition to the "lost world," and asks for volunteers. When Roxton raises his hand, Jenny insists on going with him, but she is rejected by Challenger because she is a woman. Ed is given a spot after Holmes offers to fund the expedition if the reporter is included. The four then fly to the Amazon, where they are met by Costa, their guide and Manuel Gomez, their helicopter pilot. Arriving unexpectedly, Jenny and her younger brother David insist on joining them. Unable to arrange transportation back to the United States, Challenger reluctantly agrees to take them along. The next day, they take off for the lost world and land on an isolated plateau inhabited by dinosaurs. That evening, a dinosaur stomps out of the jungle, sending them scurrying for cover. After the beast destroys the helicopter and radio, the group ventures inland. When one of the creatures bellows threateningly, they flee, and in their haste, Challenger and Ed slip and tumble down a hillside, where they encounter a native girl. The girl runs into the jungle, but Ed follows and captures her. They then all take refuge in a cave, where Roxton, who has been making disparaging remarks about Jenny's desire to marry him solely for his title, angers Ed. Ed lunges at Roxton, pushing him to the ground, where he finds a diary written by Burton White, an adventurer who hired Roxton three years earlier to lead him to the lost diamonds of Eldorado. Roxton then admits that he never met White and his party because he was delayed by a dalliance with a woman, thus abandoning them to certain death. Gomez angrily snaps that his good friend Santiago perished in the expedition. That night, Costa tries to molest the native girl, and David comes to her rescue and begins to communicate with her through sign language. After Gomez goes to investigate some movement he spotted in the vegetation, he calls for help, and when Roxton runs out of the cave, a gunshot from an unseen assailant is fired, nearly wounding Roxton and sending the girl scurrying into the jungle. Soon after, Ed and Jenny stray from camp and are pursued by a dinosaur, and after taking refuge on some cliffs, watch in horror as their stalker becomes locked in combat with another prehistoric creature and tumbles over the cliffs into the waters below. Upon returning to camp, they discover it deserted, their belongings in disarray. As David stumbles out from some rocks to report they were attacked by a tribe of natives, the cannibals return and imprison them in a cave with the others. As the drums beat relentlessly, signaling their deaths, the native girl reappears and motions for them to follow her through a secret passageway that leads to the cave in which Burton White lives, completely sightless. After confirming that all in his expedition perished, White tells them of a volcanic passageway that will lead them off the plateau, but warns that they must first pass through the cave of fire. Cautioning them that the natives plan to sacrifice them, White declares that their only chance of survival is to slip through the cave and then seal it with a boulder. After giving them directions to the cave, White asks them to take the girl along. As the earth, on the verge of a volcanic eruption, quakes, they set off through the Graveyard of the Damned, a vast cavern littered with dinosaur skeletons, the victims of the deadly sulfurous gases below. Pursued by the ferocious natives, Roxton takes the lead as they inch their way across a narrow ledge above the molten lava. After escaping the natives, they jam the cave shut with a boulder and, passing a dam of molten lava, finally reach the escape passage. At its mouth is a pile of giant diamonds and a dinosaur egg. As Costa heaps the diamonds into his hat, Challenger fondles the egg and Gomez pulls a gun and announces that Roxton must die in exchange for the death of Santiago, Gomez' brother. Acting quickly, Ed hurls the diamonds at Gomez, throwing him off balance and discharging his gun. The gunshot awakens a creature slumbering in the roiling waters below. After the beast snatches Costa and eats him alive, Ed tries to dislodge the dam, sending a few scorching rocks tumbling down onto the monster. Feeling responsible for the peril of the group, Gomez sacrifices his life by using his body as a lever to dislodge the dam, covering the creature with oozing lava. As the cave begins to crumble from the impending eruption, the group hurries to safety. Just then, the volcano explodes, destroying the lost world. After Roxton hands Ed a handful of diamonds he has saved as a wedding gift for him and Jenny, Challenger proudly displays his egg, which then hatches, revealing a baby dinosaur. The End.
The 50s had seen several examples of the dinosaur sub-genre. LW is one of the more lavish ones, owing to color by DeLuxe and CinemaScope. The A-level actors help too. Claude Rains plays the flamboyant Challenger. Michael Rennie plays Roxton, perhaps a bit too cooly. Jill St. John and Vitina Marcus do well as the customary eye candy. David Hedison as Malone and Fernando Lamas as Gomez round out the bill.
The first film version of LW was a silent movie shot in 1925: screenplay by Marion Fairfax. The film featured stop-motion animated dinosaurs by a young Willis O'Brien. Fairfax followed Doyle's text, but Fairfax added a young woman to the team, Paula White. Ostensibly trying to find her father from the first failed expedition, she provided the love triangle interest between Malone and Roxton.
Allen's screenplay tried to stick to Doyle's text as much as Hollywood would allow. It carried on Fairfax's invention of the young woman member of the group as triangle fodder. Fairfax had Doyle's ape men (ape man) but omitted the native humans. Allen had the natives, but no ape men. Allen revived the Gomez/revenge subplot, which Fairfax skipped. Doyle's story had Challenger bringing back a pterodactyl. Fairfax made it a brontosaur who rampaged through London streets (spawning a popular trope). Allen suggested the baby dinosaur traveling to London.
Willis O'Brien pitched 20th Century Fox in the late 50s, to do a quality remake of LW. He had gained much experience in the intervening 35 years, so his stop-motion dinosaurs were to be the real stars. Fox bass liked the idea, but by the time the ball started rolling, there was trouble in studioland. Fox's grand epic Cleopatra was underway, but was already 5 million dollars over budget. Cleo would nearly sink 20th Century Fox when it was finally released in 1963. To stay afloat, all other Fox films' budgets were slashed. Allen could no longer afford the grand O'Brien stop-motion.
Allen's production is often criticized for its "cheap" dinosaurs, which were live monitor lizards and alligators with fins and plates and horns glue onto them. (more on that below) These were already a bit cheesy when used in the 1940 film One Million B.C.. O'Brien is still listed on the credits as "Effects Technician," but all Allen could afford was lizards with glued on extras. Somewhat amusingly, the script still refers to them as brontosaurs and T-Rexes.
The character of Jennifer Holmes starts out promising. She's a self-assured to the edges of pushy, and is said to be able to out shoot and out ride any man. Yet, when she gets to the Amazon jungle, she's little more than Jungle Barbie, dressed in girlie clothes and screaming frequently. She even does the typical Hollywood trip-and-fall when chased by the dinosaur, so that a man must save her.
Bottom line? FW is a finer example of the not-quite-sci-fi dinosaur sub-genre. The actors are top drawer, even if some of their acting is a bit flat. Nonetheless, FW is a fair adaptation of Doyle's
classic adventure novel, given the constraints of Hollywood culture.
The Movie Club Annals … Review
The Lost World 1960
Introduction
There was absolutely nothing wrong with Irwin Allen's 1960 production of The Lost World. Nothing. It was perfect in every way. I therefore find myself in the unique and unfamiliar position of having to write a rave review about a Movie Club movie that was entirely devoid of flaws.
Faced with such a confounding task, I half-heartedly considered faking a bad review, then praying my obvious deceptions would go unnoticed. But the patent transparency of my scheme convinced me to abandon it posthaste. After all, leveling concocted criticisms at such an unassailable masterpiece would be a futile and tiresome exercise, the pretense of which would escape nary a semi-cognizant soul.
Thus, having retreated from my would-be descent into literary intrigue, I start this review in earnest by borrowing a quote from the legendary Shelly Winters, spoken during the 1972 filming of Irwin Allen's The Poseidon Adventure:
"I'm ready for my close up now, Mr. Allen.” Shelly Winters, 1972
Review
A bit of research into the casting choices of Irwin Allen, who wrote, produced, and directed The Lost World, begins to reveal the genius behind the virtuosity.
The first accolades go to Irwin for his casting of Vitina Marcus, the immaculately groomed Saks 5th Avenue cave girl with exquisite taste in makeup, jewelry, and cave-wear. No finer cave girl ever graced a feature film.
Vitina Marcus, as The Cave Girl
She was the picture of prehistoric glamour, gliding across the silver screen in her designer bearskin mini-pelt, her flawless coiffure showing no signs of muss from the traditional courting rituals of the day, her perfect teeth the envy of even the most prototypical Osmond. Even her nouveau-opposable thumbs retained their manicure, in spite of the oft-disagreeable duties that frequently befell her as an effete member of the tribal gentry.
By no means just another Neanderthal harlot, Vitina had a wealth of talent to augment her exterior virtues. Her virtuoso interpretation of a comely cave girl in The Lost World certainly didn't escape the attention Irwin Allen. In fact, he was so taken with her performance that he later engaged her services again, casting her as the Native Girl in episode 2.26 of his Voyage to The Bottom of The Sea TV series.
Leery of potential typecasting, Vitina went on to obtain roles with greater depth and more sophisticated dialogue. This is evidenced by the great departure she took from her previous roles when she next portrayed the part of Sarit, a female barbarian, in episode 1.24 of Irwin Allen's The Time Tunnel TV series.
Vitina, as Sarit
Vitina's efforts to avoid typecasting paid off in spades, as she was soon rewarded with the distinctive role of Girl, a female Tarzanesque she-beast character, in episode 3.14 of The Man From U.N.C.L.E. TV series.
Lured back from the U.N.C.L.E. set by Irwin Allen, Vitina was next cast in the role of Athena (a.k.a. Lorelei), the green space girl with the inverted lucite salad bowl hat, in episodes 2.2 and 2.16 of the revered Lost in Space TV series.
And with this, Vitina reached the pinnacle of her career. For her many unparalleled displays of thespian pageantry, she leaves us forever in her debt as she exits the stage.
For those who would still question the genius of Irwin Allen, I defy you to find a better casting choice for the character of Lord John Roxton than that of Michael Rennie. Mr. Rennie, who earlier starred as Klaatu in The Day the Earth Stood Still, went on to even greater heights, starring as The Keeper in episodes 1.16 and 1.17 of the revered Lost in Space TV series. Throughout his distinguished career, Mr. Rennie often played highly cerebral characters with
unique names, such as Garth A7, Tribolet, Hasani, Rama Kahn, Hertz, and Dirk. How befitting that his most prolific roles came to him through a man named Irwin, a highly cerebral character with a unique name.
The selection of David Hedison to play Ed Malone was yet another example of Irwin's uncanny foresight. Soon after casting him in The Lost World, Irwin paved Mr. Hedison's path to immortality by casting him as a lead character in his Voyage to The Bottom of The Sea TV series. Although Voyage ended in 1968, Mr. Hedison departed the show with a solid resume and a bright future.
In the decades following Voyage, Mr. Hedison has been a veritable fixture on the small screen, appearing in such socially influential programs as The Love Boat, Fantasy Island, Knight Rider, The Fall Guy and The A Team. Mr. Hedison's early collaborations with Irwin Allen have left him never wanting for a day's work in Hollywood, a boon to the legions of discerning fans who continue to savor his inspiring prime time depictions.
Irwin selected Fernando Lamas to play Manuel Gomez, the honorable and tortured soul of The Lost World who needlessly sacrificed himself at the end of the movie to save all the others. To get a feel for how important a casting decision he was to Irwin, just look at the pertinent experience Mr. Lamas brought to the table:
Irwin knew that such credentials could cause him to lose the services of Mr. Lamas to another project, and he took great pains to woo him onto the set of The Lost World. And even though Mr. Lamas never appeared in the revered Lost in Space TV series, his talent is not lost on us.
Jay Novello was selected by Irwin Allen to play Costa, the consummate Cuban coward who perpetually betrays everyone around him in the name of greed. In pursuing his craven calling, Mr. Novello went on to play Xandros, the Greek Slave in Atlantis, The Lost Continent, as well as countless other roles as a coward.
Although Mr. Novella never appeared in the revered Lost in Space TV series, his already long and distinguished career as a coward made him the obvious choice for Irwin when the need for an experienced malingerer arose.
Jill St. John was Irwin's pick to play Jennifer Holmes, the "other" glamour girl in The Lost World. Not to be upstaged by glamour-cave-girl Vitina Marcus, Jill played the trump card and broke out the pink go-go boots and skin-tight Capri pants, the perfect Amazonian summertime jungle wear.
Complete with a perfect hairdo, a killer wardrobe, a little yip-yip dog named Frosty, and all the other trappings of a wealthy and pampered prehistoric society, Jill's sensational allure rivaled even that of a certain cave girl appearing in the same film.
With the atmosphere rife for an on-set rivalry between Jill and Vitina, Irwin still managed to keep the peace, proving that he was as skilled a diplomat as he was a director.
Claude Rains, as Professor George Edward Challenger
And our cup runneth over, as Irwin cast Claude Rains to portray Professor George Edward Challenger. His eminence, Mr. Rains is an entity of such immeasurable virtue that he is not in need of monotonous praise from the likes of me.
I respectfully acknowledge the appearance of Mr. Rains because failure to do so would be an unforgivable travesty. But I say nothing more on the subject, lest I state something so obvious and uninspiring as to insult the intelligence of enlightened reader.
Irwin's casting of the cavemen mustn't be overlooked, for their infallibly realistic portrayals are unmatched within the Pleistocene Epoch genre of film. Such meticulous attention to detail is what separates Irwin Allen from lesser filmmakers, whose pale imitations of his work only further to underscore the point.
To be sure, it is possible to come away with the unfounded suspicion that the cavemen are really just a bunch of old white guys from the bar at the local Elks lodge. But Irwin was an absolute stickler for authenticity, and would never have allowed the use of such tawdry measures to taint his prehistoric magnum opus.
In truth, Irwin's on-screen cavemen were borne of many grueling years of anthropological research, so the explanation for their somewhat modern, pseudo-caucasian appearance lies obviously elsewhere. And in keeping with true Irwin Allen tradition, that explanation will not be offered here.
1964 - Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea, Season One, Episode 7 - "Turn Back the Clock", featuring Vitina Marcus as The Native Girl. Produced by Irwin Allen.
And then there was Irwin Allen's masterful handling of the reptilian facets of The Lost World, most notably his inimitable casting of the dinosaurs. His dinosaurs were so realistic, so eerily lifelike, that they almost looked like living, breathing garden variety lizards with dinosaur fins and horns glued to their backs and heads.
The less enlightened viewer might even suppose this to be true, that Irwin's dinosaurs were indeed merely live specimens of lizards, donned in Jurassic-era finery, vastly magnified, and retro-fitted into The Lost World via some penny-wise means of cinematic trickery.
But those of us in the know certainly know better than that, as we are privy to some otherwise unpublished information about The Lost World. The lifelike appearance of the Irwin's dinosaurs can be attributed to a wholly overlooked and fiendishly cunning approach to the art of delusion, which is that the dinosaurs didn't just look real, they were real.
While the world abounds with middling minds who cannot fathom such a reality, we must follow Irwin's benevolent leanings and temper our natural feelings of contempt for this unfortunate assemblage of pedestrian lowbrows. In spite of Irwin's superior intellect, he never felt disdain toward the masses that constituted his audiences. He simply capitalized on their unaffectedness, and in the process recounted the benefits of exploiting the intellectually bereft for personal gain.
The purpose of all this analysis, of course, is to place an exclamation point on the genius of Irwin Allen, the formation of his dinosaur exposé being a premier example. Note how he mindfully manipulates the expectations of his unsuspecting audience, compelling them to probe the dinosaurs for any signs of man-made chicanery. Then, at the palatial moment when the dinosaurs make their entry, he guilefully supplants the anticipated display of faux reptilia with that of the bona fide article.
Upon first witnessing the de facto dinosaurs, some in the audience think they've been had, and indeed they have. Irwin, in engineering his masterful ruse, had used reality as his medium to convey the illusion of artifice. His audience, in essence, was blinded by the truth. It was the immaculate deception, and none but Irwin Allen could have conceived it.
Indeed, the matter of where the live dinosaurs came from has been conspicuously absent from this discussion, as the Irwinian technique of fine film making strongly discourages the practice of squandering time on extraneous justifications and other such trite means of redundant apologia. For the benefit of the incessantly curious, however, just keep in mind that Irwin Allen wrote and produced The Time Tunnel TV Series, a fact that should provide some fair insight into his modis operandi.
Carl R.
The Lost World (20th Century Fox, 1960).
youtu.be/h1CLA-gJbmA?t=5s Trailer
Irwin Allen, the producer who would go on to make the disaster film a huge success in the seventies, brought us this Saturday afternoon fodder with giant lizards posing as dinosaurs. Starring Michael Rennie, David Hedison, Claude Rains and Jill St. John.
Intended as a grand sci-fi/fantasy epic remake of Arthur Conan Doyle's classic novel. The first film adaptation, shot in 1925, was a milestone in many ways, but movie making and special effects had come a long way in 35 years. Irwin Allen's Lost World (LW) & 20th Century Fox version was derailed on the way to greatness, but managed to still be a respectable, (if more modest) A-film. Allen's screenplay followed the book fairly well, telling of Professor Challenger's expedition to a remote plateau in the Amazon upon which dinosaurs still lived. Aside from the paleontological presumptions in the premise, there is little "science" in The Lost World. Nonetheless, dinosaur movies have traditionally been lumped into the sci-fi genre.
Synopsis
When his plane lands in London, crusty old professor George Edward Challenger is besieged by reporters questioning him about his latest expedition to the headwaters of the Amazon River. After the irascible Challenger strikes reporter Ed Malone on the head with his umbrella, Jennifer Holmes, the daughter of Ed's employer, Stuart Holmes, offers the injured reporter a ride into town. That evening, Jenny is escorted by Lord John Roxton, an adventurer and big game hunter, to Challenger's lecture at the Zoological Institute, and Ed invites them to sit with him. When Challenger claims to have seen live dinosaurs, his colleague Professor Summerlee scoffs and asks for evidence. Explaining that his photographs of the creatures were lost when his boat overturned, Challenger invites Summerlee to accompany him on a new expedition to the "lost world," and asks for volunteers. When Roxton raises his hand, Jenny insists on going with him, but she is rejected by Challenger because she is a woman. Ed is given a spot after Holmes offers to fund the expedition if the reporter is included. The four then fly to the Amazon, where they are met by Costa, their guide and Manuel Gomez, their helicopter pilot. Arriving unexpectedly, Jenny and her younger brother David insist on joining them. Unable to arrange transportation back to the United States, Challenger reluctantly agrees to take them along. The next day, they take off for the lost world and land on an isolated plateau inhabited by dinosaurs. That evening, a dinosaur stomps out of the jungle, sending them scurrying for cover. After the beast destroys the helicopter and radio, the group ventures inland. When one of the creatures bellows threateningly, they flee, and in their haste, Challenger and Ed slip and tumble down a hillside, where they encounter a native girl. The girl runs into the jungle, but Ed follows and captures her. They then all take refuge in a cave, where Roxton, who has been making disparaging remarks about Jenny's desire to marry him solely for his title, angers Ed. Ed lunges at Roxton, pushing him to the ground, where he finds a diary written by Burton White, an adventurer who hired Roxton three years earlier to lead him to the lost diamonds of Eldorado. Roxton then admits that he never met White and his party because he was delayed by a dalliance with a woman, thus abandoning them to certain death. Gomez angrily snaps that his good friend Santiago perished in the expedition. That night, Costa tries to molest the native girl, and David comes to her rescue and begins to communicate with her through sign language. After Gomez goes to investigate some movement he spotted in the vegetation, he calls for help, and when Roxton runs out of the cave, a gunshot from an unseen assailant is fired, nearly wounding Roxton and sending the girl scurrying into the jungle. Soon after, Ed and Jenny stray from camp and are pursued by a dinosaur, and after taking refuge on some cliffs, watch in horror as their stalker becomes locked in combat with another prehistoric creature and tumbles over the cliffs into the waters below. Upon returning to camp, they discover it deserted, their belongings in disarray. As David stumbles out from some rocks to report they were attacked by a tribe of natives, the cannibals return and imprison them in a cave with the others. As the drums beat relentlessly, signaling their deaths, the native girl reappears and motions for them to follow her through a secret passageway that leads to the cave in which Burton White lives, completely sightless. After confirming that all in his expedition perished, White tells them of a volcanic passageway that will lead them off the plateau, but warns that they must first pass through the cave of fire. Cautioning them that the natives plan to sacrifice them, White declares that their only chance of survival is to slip through the cave and then seal it with a boulder. After giving them directions to the cave, White asks them to take the girl along. As the earth, on the verge of a volcanic eruption, quakes, they set off through the Graveyard of the Damned, a vast cavern littered with dinosaur skeletons, the victims of the deadly sulfurous gases below. Pursued by the ferocious natives, Roxton takes the lead as they inch their way across a narrow ledge above the molten lava. After escaping the natives, they jam the cave shut with a boulder and, passing a dam of molten lava, finally reach the escape passage. At its mouth is a pile of giant diamonds and a dinosaur egg. As Costa heaps the diamonds into his hat, Challenger fondles the egg and Gomez pulls a gun and announces that Roxton must die in exchange for the death of Santiago, Gomez' brother. Acting quickly, Ed hurls the diamonds at Gomez, throwing him off balance and discharging his gun. The gunshot awakens a creature slumbering in the roiling waters below. After the beast snatches Costa and eats him alive, Ed tries to dislodge the dam, sending a few scorching rocks tumbling down onto the monster. Feeling responsible for the peril of the group, Gomez sacrifices his life by using his body as a lever to dislodge the dam, covering the creature with oozing lava. As the cave begins to crumble from the impending eruption, the group hurries to safety. Just then, the volcano explodes, destroying the lost world. After Roxton hands Ed a handful of diamonds he has saved as a wedding gift for him and Jenny, Challenger proudly displays his egg, which then hatches, revealing a baby dinosaur. The End.
The 50s had seen several examples of the dinosaur sub-genre. LW is one of the more lavish ones, owing to color by DeLuxe and CinemaScope. The A-level actors help too. Claude Rains plays the flamboyant Challenger. Michael Rennie plays Roxton, perhaps a bit too cooly. Jill St. John and Vitina Marcus do well as the customary eye candy. David Hedison as Malone and Fernando Lamas as Gomez round out the bill.
The first film version of LW was a silent movie shot in 1925: screenplay by Marion Fairfax. The film featured stop-motion animated dinosaurs by a young Willis O'Brien. Fairfax followed Doyle's text, but Fairfax added a young woman to the team, Paula White. Ostensibly trying to find her father from the first failed expedition, she provided the love triangle interest between Malone and Roxton.
Allen's screenplay tried to stick to Doyle's text as much as Hollywood would allow. It carried on Fairfax's invention of the young woman member of the group as triangle fodder. Fairfax had Doyle's ape men (ape man) but omitted the native humans. Allen had the natives, but no ape men. Allen revived the Gomez/revenge subplot, which Fairfax skipped. Doyle's story had Challenger bringing back a pterodactyl. Fairfax made it a brontosaur who rampaged through London streets (spawning a popular trope). Allen suggested the baby dinosaur traveling to London.
Willis O'Brien pitched 20th Century Fox in the late 50s, to do a quality remake of LW. He had gained much experience in the intervening 35 years, so his stop-motion dinosaurs were to be the real stars. Fox bass liked the idea, but by the time the ball started rolling, there was trouble in studioland. Fox's grand epic Cleopatra was underway, but was already 5 million dollars over budget. Cleo would nearly sink 20th Century Fox when it was finally released in 1963. To stay afloat, all other Fox films' budgets were slashed. Allen could no longer afford the grand O'Brien stop-motion.
Allen's production is often criticized for its "cheap" dinosaurs, which were live monitor lizards and alligators with fins and plates and horns glue onto them. (more on that below) These were already a bit cheesy when used in the 1940 film One Million B.C.. O'Brien is still listed on the credits as "Effects Technician," but all Allen could afford was lizards with glued on extras. Somewhat amusingly, the script still refers to them as brontosaurs and T-Rexes.
The character of Jennifer Holmes starts out promising. She's a self-assured to the edges of pushy, and is said to be able to out shoot and out ride any man. Yet, when she gets to the Amazon jungle, she's little more than Jungle Barbie, dressed in girlie clothes and screaming frequently. She even does the typical Hollywood trip-and-fall when chased by the dinosaur, so that a man must save her.
Bottom line? FW is a finer example of the not-quite-sci-fi dinosaur sub-genre. The actors are top drawer, even if some of their acting is a bit flat. Nonetheless, FW is a fair adaptation of Doyle's
classic adventure novel, given the constraints of Hollywood culture.
The Movie Club Annals … Review
The Lost World 1960
Introduction
There was absolutely nothing wrong with Irwin Allen's 1960 production of The Lost World. Nothing. It was perfect in every way. I therefore find myself in the unique and unfamiliar position of having to write a rave review about a Movie Club movie that was entirely devoid of flaws.
Faced with such a confounding task, I half-heartedly considered faking a bad review, then praying my obvious deceptions would go unnoticed. But the patent transparency of my scheme convinced me to abandon it posthaste. After all, leveling concocted criticisms at such an unassailable masterpiece would be a futile and tiresome exercise, the pretense of which would escape nary a semi-cognizant soul.
Thus, having retreated from my would-be descent into literary intrigue, I start this review in earnest by borrowing a quote from the legendary Shelly Winters, spoken during the 1972 filming of Irwin Allen's The Poseidon Adventure:
"I'm ready for my close up now, Mr. Allen.” Shelly Winters, 1972
Review
A bit of research into the casting choices of Irwin Allen, who wrote, produced, and directed The Lost World, begins to reveal the genius behind the virtuosity.
The first accolades go to Irwin for his casting of Vitina Marcus, the immaculately groomed Saks 5th Avenue cave girl with exquisite taste in makeup, jewelry, and cave-wear. No finer cave girl ever graced a feature film.
Vitina Marcus, as The Cave Girl
She was the picture of prehistoric glamour, gliding across the silver screen in her designer bearskin mini-pelt, her flawless coiffure showing no signs of muss from the traditional courting rituals of the day, her perfect teeth the envy of even the most prototypical Osmond. Even her nouveau-opposable thumbs retained their manicure, in spite of the oft-disagreeable duties that frequently befell her as an effete member of the tribal gentry.
By no means just another Neanderthal harlot, Vitina had a wealth of talent to augment her exterior virtues. Her virtuoso interpretation of a comely cave girl in The Lost World certainly didn't escape the attention Irwin Allen. In fact, he was so taken with her performance that he later engaged her services again, casting her as the Native Girl in episode 2.26 of his Voyage to The Bottom of The Sea TV series.
Leery of potential typecasting, Vitina went on to obtain roles with greater depth and more sophisticated dialogue. This is evidenced by the great departure she took from her previous roles when she next portrayed the part of Sarit, a female barbarian, in episode 1.24 of Irwin Allen's The Time Tunnel TV series.
Vitina, as Sarit
Vitina's efforts to avoid typecasting paid off in spades, as she was soon rewarded with the distinctive role of Girl, a female Tarzanesque she-beast character, in episode 3.14 of The Man From U.N.C.L.E. TV series.
Lured back from the U.N.C.L.E. set by Irwin Allen, Vitina was next cast in the role of Athena (a.k.a. Lorelei), the green space girl with the inverted lucite salad bowl hat, in episodes 2.2 and 2.16 of the revered Lost in Space TV series.
And with this, Vitina reached the pinnacle of her career. For her many unparalleled displays of thespian pageantry, she leaves us forever in her debt as she exits the stage.
For those who would still question the genius of Irwin Allen, I defy you to find a better casting choice for the character of Lord John Roxton than that of Michael Rennie. Mr. Rennie, who earlier starred as Klaatu in The Day the Earth Stood Still, went on to even greater heights, starring as The Keeper in episodes 1.16 and 1.17 of the revered Lost in Space TV series. Throughout his distinguished career, Mr. Rennie often played highly cerebral characters with
unique names, such as Garth A7, Tribolet, Hasani, Rama Kahn, Hertz, and Dirk. How befitting that his most prolific roles came to him through a man named Irwin, a highly cerebral character with a unique name.
The selection of David Hedison to play Ed Malone was yet another example of Irwin's uncanny foresight. Soon after casting him in The Lost World, Irwin paved Mr. Hedison's path to immortality by casting him as a lead character in his Voyage to The Bottom of The Sea TV series. Although Voyage ended in 1968, Mr. Hedison departed the show with a solid resume and a bright future.
In the decades following Voyage, Mr. Hedison has been a veritable fixture on the small screen, appearing in such socially influential programs as The Love Boat, Fantasy Island, Knight Rider, The Fall Guy and The A Team. Mr. Hedison's early collaborations with Irwin Allen have left him never wanting for a day's work in Hollywood, a boon to the legions of discerning fans who continue to savor his inspiring prime time depictions.
Irwin selected Fernando Lamas to play Manuel Gomez, the honorable and tortured soul of The Lost World who needlessly sacrificed himself at the end of the movie to save all the others. To get a feel for how important a casting decision he was to Irwin, just look at the pertinent experience Mr. Lamas brought to the table:
Irwin knew that such credentials could cause him to lose the services of Mr. Lamas to another project, and he took great pains to woo him onto the set of The Lost World. And even though Mr. Lamas never appeared in the revered Lost in Space TV series, his talent is not lost on us.
Jay Novello was selected by Irwin Allen to play Costa, the consummate Cuban coward who perpetually betrays everyone around him in the name of greed. In pursuing his craven calling, Mr. Novello went on to play Xandros, the Greek Slave in Atlantis, The Lost Continent, as well as countless other roles as a coward.
Although Mr. Novella never appeared in the revered Lost in Space TV series, his already long and distinguished career as a coward made him the obvious choice for Irwin when the need for an experienced malingerer arose.
Jill St. John was Irwin's pick to play Jennifer Holmes, the "other" glamour girl in The Lost World. Not to be upstaged by glamour-cave-girl Vitina Marcus, Jill played the trump card and broke out the pink go-go boots and skin-tight Capri pants, the perfect Amazonian summertime jungle wear.
Complete with a perfect hairdo, a killer wardrobe, a little yip-yip dog named Frosty, and all the other trappings of a wealthy and pampered prehistoric society, Jill's sensational allure rivaled even that of a certain cave girl appearing in the same film.
With the atmosphere rife for an on-set rivalry between Jill and Vitina, Irwin still managed to keep the peace, proving that he was as skilled a diplomat as he was a director.
Claude Rains, as Professor George Edward Challenger
And our cup runneth over, as Irwin cast Claude Rains to portray Professor George Edward Challenger. His eminence, Mr. Rains is an entity of such immeasurable virtue that he is not in need of monotonous praise from the likes of me.
I respectfully acknowledge the appearance of Mr. Rains because failure to do so would be an unforgivable travesty. But I say nothing more on the subject, lest I state something so obvious and uninspiring as to insult the intelligence of enlightened reader.
Irwin's casting of the cavemen mustn't be overlooked, for their infallibly realistic portrayals are unmatched within the Pleistocene Epoch genre of film. Such meticulous attention to detail is what separates Irwin Allen from lesser filmmakers, whose pale imitations of his work only further to underscore the point.
To be sure, it is possible to come away with the unfounded suspicion that the cavemen are really just a bunch of old white guys from the bar at the local Elks lodge. But Irwin was an absolute stickler for authenticity, and would never have allowed the use of such tawdry measures to taint his prehistoric magnum opus.
In truth, Irwin's on-screen cavemen were borne of many grueling years of anthropological research, so the explanation for their somewhat modern, pseudo-caucasian appearance lies obviously elsewhere. And in keeping with true Irwin Allen tradition, that explanation will not be offered here.
1964 - Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea, Season One, Episode 7 - "Turn Back the Clock", featuring Vitina Marcus as The Native Girl. Produced by Irwin Allen.
And then there was Irwin Allen's masterful handling of the reptilian facets of The Lost World, most notably his inimitable casting of the dinosaurs. His dinosaurs were so realistic, so eerily lifelike, that they almost looked like living, breathing garden variety lizards with dinosaur fins and horns glued to their backs and heads.
The less enlightened viewer might even suppose this to be true, that Irwin's dinosaurs were indeed merely live specimens of lizards, donned in Jurassic-era finery, vastly magnified, and retro-fitted into The Lost World via some penny-wise means of cinematic trickery.
But those of us in the know certainly know better than that, as we are privy to some otherwise unpublished information about The Lost World. The lifelike appearance of the Irwin's dinosaurs can be attributed to a wholly overlooked and fiendishly cunning approach to the art of delusion, which is that the dinosaurs didn't just look real, they were real.
While the world abounds with middling minds who cannot fathom such a reality, we must follow Irwin's benevolent leanings and temper our natural feelings of contempt for this unfortunate assemblage of pedestrian lowbrows. In spite of Irwin's superior intellect, he never felt disdain toward the masses that constituted his audiences. He simply capitalized on their unaffectedness, and in the process recounted the benefits of exploiting the intellectually bereft for personal gain.
The purpose of all this analysis, of course, is to place an exclamation point on the genius of Irwin Allen, the formation of his dinosaur exposé being a premier example. Note how he mindfully manipulates the expectations of his unsuspecting audience, compelling them to probe the dinosaurs for any signs of man-made chicanery. Then, at the palatial moment when the dinosaurs make their entry, he guilefully supplants the anticipated display of faux reptilia with that of the bona fide article.
Upon first witnessing the de facto dinosaurs, some in the audience think they've been had, and indeed they have. Irwin, in engineering his masterful ruse, had used reality as his medium to convey the illusion of artifice. His audience, in essence, was blinded by the truth. It was the immaculate deception, and none but Irwin Allen could have conceived it.
Indeed, the matter of where the live dinosaurs came from has been conspicuously absent from this discussion, as the Irwinian technique of fine film making strongly discourages the practice of squandering time on extraneous justifications and other such trite means of redundant apologia. For the benefit of the incessantly curious, however, just keep in mind that Irwin Allen wrote and produced The Time Tunnel TV Series, a fact that should provide some fair insight into his modis operandi.
Carl R.
"The British Library, a colourful work, celebrating and questioning how immigration has contributed to the British culture that we live in today. Shelves of books covered in colourful wax fabric fill the Sunley Gallery, their spines bearing the names of immigrants who have enriched British society. From T.S. Eliot and Hans Holbein to Zaha Hadid, The British Library reminds us that the displacement of communities by global war has consequences that inform our lives and attitudes today."