***Once Upon A Time In China- Somerset Maugham’s “Painted Veil"- A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the film, The Painted Veil.
DVD Review

The Painted Veil, starring Naomi Watts, Edward Norton, based on a novel by W. Somerset Maugham, Warner, 2006

Several years ago I reviewed a film, Reds, about the torrid love affair between pre-World War I radical journalists John Reed and Louise Bryant where the Russian revolution of 1917 was used a backdrop for much of the story line. I commented then that that approach had the focus in reverse of what was compelling about the film, the love affair small against the backdrop of the great historic event that swept the pair up in its wake. I then stepped back and went on to tip my hat to the right of an artist to use whatever creative license was at hand in order to tell his or her story. Those same sentiments apply here where the film under review, a film based on British author W. Somerset Maugham’s novel of the same name, The Painted Veil, tells the story of another tortured love affair set against the backdrop of the Chinese revolution of 1925-27. Except here the revolution is even more of a background echo.

Of course the period in question, in the aftermath of the decimation of the flower of British youth of all classes in the devastation of World War I, is the period of the slow decline of the British Empire. That empire however still included a not unimportant outpost in tumultuous China. And the bulk of this story takes place there. And a rather old-fashioned Victorian story it is. A younger daughter of the upper-middle class under pressure to get married (and married properly, but mainly married), played by Naomi Watts, and a British civil servant doctor stationed in that British outpost in Shanghai and in need of a wife, played by Edward Norton, meet in London, get married despite barely knowing each other and leave for China. However , as is plain, this is not a marriage made in heaven, no way. Like many such arrangements it is merely a matter of convenience.

And that mismatch, that inevitable tension, is just the kind of plot line that Maugham was good at in previous efforts of his that I have viewed (and also read) The Razor’s Edge and the more famous Of Human Bondage. The pair are trapped in a no man’s land so, of course, someone has to stray off the reservation. In this case Ms. Watts has an affair with another British civil servant in order to get out from under. Said British civil servant already is married, very married, and in no mood to get divorced. Such stories clutter all of literature although not all are filled with perfidious civil servants with meal ticket wives as an excuse.

Naturally Mr. Norton stumbles onto the affair, ruefully offers a divorce under conditions that cannot be met, and so the unhappy couple are held together by some unholy glue as they are off to the outback in order to stem a cholera epidemic. And here is where Maugham’s plot line shines. Through a very tortured set of ups and downs they actually come to under stand and love each other, although in the end it is only for one bright moment. Thus Maugham is forgiven, just this minute, for back-dropping the Chinese revolution. This is strictly an old-fashioned love story that may not appeal to the more modern sensibility, but it should.

***Poet's Corner- T.S. Eliot's "The Hollow Men"- A Poem For Our Hard Times-The World Ends With A Bang, The Bang Of Revolution, Not A Whimper Though

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for poet T.S. Eliot's The Hollow Men.

Markin comment:

Praise be that Marxists take no particular notice of preferences in literature(or poetry, music, art, and other cultural tastes) except as literary figures are active counter-revolutionaries, etc., of course otherwise I would be in deep trouble here. T.S. Eliot "spoke" to me with The Hollow Men in high school and still does in these troubled times.
*******

The Hollow Men
T. S. Eliot
Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

A penny for the Old Guy

I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Online text © 1998-2011 Poetry X. All rights reserved.
From The Hollow Men | 1925

***The Intellectuals Or The Jocks?-For Fredda H., Class Of 1964

Click on the headline to link to a letter written by the late American writer, Norman Mailer, and printed in The New York Review Of Books, detailing his choices for "must reads" in the American literary canon. What would your ten choices be? See below for his (and mine with, one exception).

Al Johnson, Class Of 1964, comment

I did not then, nor do I now, know Fredda H. but it was with her in mind that I wrote the following in 2008. I, today, strongly believe that I could have learned a lot from her:

The Intellectuals Or The Jocks?

Originally posted in August 2008.

Now that school is starting back into session here is a germane question.

What group(s) did you hang around with in high school?

This question is meant to be generic and more expansive that the two categories listed in the headline. These were hardly the only social groupings that existed at our high school (or any public high school, then or now, for that matter) but the ones that I am interested in personally for the purpose of this commentary. You, fellow alumni, can feel free to present your own categories. However, for this writer, and perhaps some of you here were the choices? The intellectuals (formerly known as the "smart kids", you know, the ones that your mother was always, usually unfavorably, comparing you to come report card time) or the jocks (you know, mainly, the Goliaths of the gridiron, their hangers-on, wannabes and "slaves")?

Frankly, although I was drawn to both groupings in high school I was, as has been discussed by this writer in other commentaries in this space, mainly a "loner" for reasons that are beyond what I want to discuss here. Nevertheless, in recent perusals of my class yearbook I have been drawn continually to the page where the description of the Great Books Club is presented. I believe that I was hardly aware of this club at the time but, apparently, it met after school and discussed Plato, John Stuart Mill, Max Weber, Karl Marx and others. Hell, that sounded like fun. One of the defining characteristics of my life has been, not always to my benefit, an overweening attachment to books and ideas. So what was the problem? What didn't I hang with that group?

Well, uh..., you know, they were, uh, nerds, dweebs, squares, not cool (although we did not use those exact terms in those days). That, at least, was the public reason, but here are some other more valid possibilities. Coming from my 'shanty' background, where the "hoods" had a certain cachet, I was somewhat afraid of mixing with the "smart kids". I, moreover, feared that I wouldn't measure up, that they seemed more virtuous somehow. I might also add that a little religiously-driven plebeian Irish Catholic anti-intellectualism (you know, be 'street' smart but not too 'book' smart) might have entered into the mix as well.

But, damn, I sure could have used the discussions and fighting for ideas that such groups would have provided. I had to do it the hard way later. As for the jocks one should notice, by the way, that after four paragraphs that I have not mentioned a thing about their virtues. And, in the scheme of things, that is about right. So now you know my choice, except to steal a phrase from an earlier commentary that I posted in this space honoring my senior English teacher, Ms. Rose Enos- "Literature matters. Words matter". I would only add here that ideas matter, as well. Hats Off to the Class of 1964intellectuals!


Norman Mailer

Ten Favorite American Novels

U.S.A. John Dos Passos
Huckleberry Finn Mark Twain
Studs Lonigan James T. Farrell
Look Homeward, Angel Thomas Wolfe
The Grapes of Wrath John Steinbeck
The Great Gatsby F. Scott Fitzgerald-1st A.J.
The Sun Also Rises Ernest Hemingway
Appointment in Samarra John O'Hara
The Postman Always Rings Twice James M. Cain
Moby-Dick Herman Melville

This would be my list, as well, except instead of Moby Dick I would put Jack Kerouac's On The Road, a bit of a different road trip than old Ahab's, although maybe not so different at that.

***Desperately seeking..., For John D., Class Of 1964

Desperately seeking...

....an idea. I will keep this short and sweet. I have to admit to failure, abject failure, in my efforts to keep up a steady drumbeat of commentaries about the old days at North Quincy High (many of which, mercifully, have been relegated to the Recycle Bin). I believed that my commentaries would act as a catalyst and draw 1964 classmates, and other former students at North, out. At some point I figured out that this was not to be the case and I resolved to push on anyway at the whim of whatever demons were driving me on. Now, frankly, I have run out of ideas. A recent re-reading of some of my commentaries has rubbed my face in that hard fact. Two themes in various guises have emerged from the work- the 'tragic' effects of my growing up poor in the land of plenty and the usual teenage longing for companionship and romance. Gee, those ideas have never been the subject of literary efforts before, right?

Okay, okay nobody asked me to volunteer to be the unpaid, self-appointed voice of the Class of 1964 and so I have only myself to blame. I swear I will get into a twelve-step program for the nostalgically-challenged just the minute I get out of the rehab program for political junkies. But in the meantime-help, or else. And what might that or else threat mean? I am desperate enough to steal someone Else's thunder from the general North Quincy High Message Board. Do you really want to hear me on the subject of Squaw Rock? Or how nasty so of our teachers were? Or the dark side of the North Quincy High School Band? Or ........go into back into that dreaded Recycle Bin? Think about it. Send an idea-quick.

***

Someone has suggested a comparison or contrast between Elvis and Jerry Lee Lewis along the lines of the Rolling Stones/Beatles (Class of 1964-Stones or Beatles) or Brenda Lee/Patsy Cline (Battle of The Sexes-Round 235) commentaries that I had done earlier this year. This does not count as a new idea for me because I have already written a commentary for a blog that I belong to reviewing Jerry Lee Lewis's 2006 documentary- Last Man Standing.

Of course, Jerry Lee was better than Elvis-that's a no-brainer. But it is an idea that will find its way into these pages soon. Meanwhile how about some North Quincy idea? I am ready to start writing about President John Adams if nothing better comes along. You have been forewarned.


Originally posted on Jul 27 2008 on Classmates