Tag Archives: California

James Franco’s “In Dubious Battle,” and John Steinbeck’s

James Franco clearly has a high regard for 20th-century American literature, having directed himself in a biopic about Hart Crane and Josh Peck in one about Charles Bukowski, and adapted not only As I Lay Dying but The Sound and the Fury to the screen. Until I saw his adaptation of In Dubious Battle, I thought that, like John Huston, his literary taste exceeded his directorial grasp.

It’s been half a century since I read the 1936 strike novel In Dubious Battle, and I doubt I understood the politics when I read it for an 11th grade term paper on Steinbeck’s writing, though I retained a vague respect for the least well-known of “the Dust Bowl trilogy” novels (the better known ones are The Grapes of Wrath and Of Mice and Men).

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The movie looked really good (credit Bruce Thierry Cheung, who also shot “Bukowski” and “The Sound and the Fury” for Franco and directs him in the forthcoming “Kill the Czar”), sometimes beautiful, sometimes gritty. Franco had a very strong cast including himself as Mac, the unionizing agitator, Nat Wolff (who was in Franco’s “Palo Alto”) as his protégé who goes beyond Mac in ruthlessness, Vincent D’Onofrio as the bearish leader of the local workers, Robert Duvall (who played Franco’s gay character’s father in “Wild Horses”) as the owner whose apple orchard is being struck, Sam Shephard as a hard-bitten small grower who agrees to let the strikers stay on his land, Ed Harris as a punchdrunk labor activist, Bryan Cranston as the sheriff (in one scene), and Selena Gomez as the new mother and love interest whose baby Mac and Jim deliver upon arrival at the fruitpickers’ camp.

Book and movie can be labeled “agit-prop,” but the villains (Duvall and the thugs he employs) are not fantasy bad guys but representations of the rapacious industrial agricultural elite licensing goons to campaigns and acts of terrorism against workers seeking to make a living (and not just during the Great Depression: see the would-be strikebreakers in 1972 in “Harlan County, USA”).

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Steinbeck’s 1936 novel In Dubious Battle is the story of an experienced labor organizer, Mac, and Jim, a trainee who proves himself more cold-blooded in sacrificing individuals to future victory than Mac. They latch on to a strike against apple growers who cut the pay they advertised in half after fruitpickers made their way to the orchards.

I thought the location might be in Oregon, in that the California Central Valley is too hot for apples, but apparently the main model was a 1933 peach-pickers’ strike in Tulare County (south of Fresno) and a cotton-pickers’ strike. Steinbeck himself went on record that “as for the valley in In Dubious Battle—it is a composite valley as it is a composite strike.” (The movie looks pastoral, but not Californian; it was filmed in Bostick, Georgia and Yakima, Washington, the latter being real apple country.)

He also did not specify “the party,” though his initial intent was to write about a communist organizer. There is reference to early IWW (Wobbly) actions in ways that seem to me to make it another, more specifically laborer organization.

Franco’s movie stuck quite close to Steinbeck’s story though the first three quarters (though adding a female sympathizer), and deviates most in the ending (particularly in whom is killed). The movie dramatizes incidents that are told about rather than directly narrated by Steinbeck, and the philosophical discussions between Mac, Jim, and Doc Burton mostly were left in the source material. It’s not clear to me how much Steinbeck accepted treating particular working people as means rather than ends in the larger struggle against capitalist agriculture. Over the course of the novel and of the strike, Jim is hardened, Mac somewhat softens, and Doc expresses skepticism about what would happen if the party triumphed (the Soviet show trials were only beginning in 1936, when the book was published; presumably it was written before them).

The title from Milton indicates that the struggle is doomed to failure, but what seems dubious to me is that success in overthrowing one set of oppressors creates new ones, as in the Soviet Union. But the clear and present danger in the book is the encouraging by the overlords, the three families that run the valley, of vigilante violence against those seeking a living wage to provide for the families. Mac has plenty to say about the bullies and chicken hawks, notably American Legion members who were in the armed services but not in WWI combat.

(on earlier adaptations to the screen of Steinbeck fiction see here)

©2017, Stephen O. Murray

Edward Weston’s color photographs

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For me Edward Weston (1886-1958) was the photographer most responsible for photography coming to be considered a fine art (rather than a craft). He was one of the founders of the f64 group, championing ultra-sharp images rather than the soft-focus impressionism of some earlier art photographers (f64 was the smallest aperture on the bulky cameras he and Ansel Adams and others used, circa 1932).

Weston’s most famous images are quasi-abstract peppers and artichokes, female nudes (often body parts rather than the whole body); shells, pebbles, and rocks on the northern California coast (Point Lobos, in particular). That he wrote interestingly (I read his Daybooks at an impressionable age) and spent several years (1923-26) among the post-revolutionary Mexican avant-garde increased his appeal for me. He was a theorist about composition and photographic art (who definitely practiced what he preached).

The bulk of Weston’s work—and all of that included in his selection of his legacy, 800 images known as “the project”—were in black-and-white. I knew that he took some color photographs during the late-1940s, having seen some in an exhibition at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art of his Carmel-area photographs. The Center for Creative Photography (at an alma mater of mine, the University of Arizona) houses a Weston archive and put on a show of his photographs in color in 1996.

Color Photography is the catalog from that show, also including an essay “Color as Form” that Weston wrote, comments by Nancy Newhall from 1953 on Weston’s color photography, and a substantial introduction by Terence Pitts that includes reproductions of the ads Kodak ran using Weston color photos to publicize Kodachrome (aka, ektachrome) in 1947-48.

Dr. George L. Waters, Jr., of the Kodak advertising department invited Weston, Paul Strand, Charles Sheeler, and Ansel Adams to try the new color film stock and offered the then lordly sum of $250 per image (from transparencies) for resulting photos, Weston, who was very depressed about divorce and the onset of Parkinson’s disease, surprised himself by taking to what he considered the new medium and to thinking in color.

In 1947 fellow f64-founder Willard van Dyke made a documentary about Weston, and Weston decided to return to photograph places in the Big Sur area, Death Valley, and Lake Tenaya that he had made black-and-white photographs before—so as not to repeat himself.

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The results, particularly the pastel buildings of Cannery Row in Monterey (doubled by reflection) met with some skepticism from purists. It and a chambered nautilus on pebbles (the cover photo) are the only ones that seem to me to have vivid color. By artificial light, I didn’t immediately see the color(s) in some of the others (the book includes face-to-face color/black-and-white images)—particularly a cypress root close-up. Some of those with skies look too cobalt-blue to me and others emphasize black shadows on light rock (I can see some brown in the shot of Death Valley #14, but it still seems a black-and-white photo too.) Color is not desaturated in some other Death Valley photos, and the severity and control of compositions of those that use more of the color palette are consonant with the severity and control of Weston’s black-and-white photos. (This extends to the photographs with people, including his son Cole against an automobile body.)

By 1948, Weston’s Parkinson’s disease had advanced so much that he did not take any more photographs—color or black-and-white. Had he been able to, it seems likely he would have experimented more, though no one can know in what directions he might have taken color photography.

One of my favorites (#35) is a photo across some hills above the Big Sur coast with the Pacific Ocean reflecting light in the top half of the image. The image was used in a Kodak ad—reversed and printed in warmer (yellower) color with increased brightness. I didn’t realize they were the same image at first, though am not surprised that his print was more austere.

Although Weston’s brief exploration of color film has not been as influential as his earlier black-and-white work, he made some striking images. The book puts them in biographical and commercial context, including his own articulate reflections on the difference between black-and-white and color art photography. I like the subject matter as well as the technique and am pleased to have the book (the dimensions of which are 10.2″ x 9.5″).

 

©2007, 2016, Stephen O. Murray

Ric Burns’s Ansel Adams documentary

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I’ve seen film documentaries of a number of photographers from the heroic age (between the world wars), including Paul Strand, Henri Cartier-BressonDorothea Lange, and Rondal Partridge. The 2002 “American Masters” one about Ansel Adams (1902-84), directed by Ric Burns, is the most revealing one, detailing an unusual childhood on the northwestern edge of the San Francisco peninsula, being injured in the 1906 earthquake, being what was not yet labeled “hyperactive,” spending a year at the Panama-Pacific Exhibition, and throwing himself into playing the piano before taking up photography. His courtship was prolonged and the documentary delves into a major marital crisis involving a darkroom assistant. And lots of self-doubts, ending in years in which he stopped taking photographs, but was a Sierra Club activist, especially involved in getting King’s Canyon set aside as a National Park.

There is footage of him playing the piano. I recall only one video interview of him, though there are ones of his son and daughter (and Carl Pope, longtime head of the Sierra Club).

There are also a lot of striking Adams photographs. My unease is that a whole photograph is rarely on display. The Burns brothers (Ken and Ric) style of panning in and out and back and forth means that the composition Adams made (often as much in the darkroom as choosing a shot) are pretty much not available in the documentary. (I have seen prints on museum and other walls, and reproductions in books, but…).

The narration is pessimistic about the preservation of wilderness. Some of the access to the Yosemite Valley has been rolled back and I think there are still remote, quite wild areas in Yosemite and Kings Canyon National Parks (if not in Sequoia).

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The standard Burns mix of interviews and actors reading letters (plus some home movies) also typifies this documentary. With even less criticism by anyone of the person considered (there is mention of criticisms of Adams and Weston during the Depression for not making socially “relevant” photos, and, oddly, no mention of the photographs Adams took of the Japanese-American concentration camp a Manzanar, east of Mount Whitney, that Adams took).

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(1947 photograph of Adams, probably taken by J. Malcolm Greany that first appeared in the 1950 Yosemite Field School yearbook and is in the public domain)

Also, other than chronicling encouragement from Alfred Stieglitz, there is little about other photographers (mention of advice from Strand and the apolitical rap made of Weston and Adams), though Adams was involved (founded) a group, f64 (named for sharp focus).

©2017, Stephen O. Murray

John Steinbeck’s “The Red Pony”

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John Steinbeck‘s “The Red Pony” is far from being a heartwarming book for children. It is, rather, a chilling book partly about an only child on a meso-California farm early in the 20th century and almost as much about old people whom middle-aged people are impatient to be rid of.

It is an indicator of American values that the death of a pet rather than the despair of human elders is what is remembered of this pseudo-novel. It is actually four stories that Steinbeck did not bother to edit for continuity (reintroducing the characters in each). The first three stories originally appeared together in what must have been a very short book, a 1937 limited edition. The sequence of four stories end the one collection of short stories Steinbeck published, The Long Valley(1938). The first one, “The Gift” was filmed as “The Red Pony” in 1948 (with a young Beau Bridges).

The boy Jody Tiflin gets ponies in the first and third stories (The Gift, The Promise). The red pony of the title does not survive the first story. And Jody takes out some of his anguish at the loss on a “buzzard” (a turkey vulture). The hatred of carrion-eaters is foreshadowed, but the scene is very powerful. Jody’s stern father, Carl, chides Jody: “The buzzard didn’t kill the pony. Don’t you know that?” The wise ranch-hand and horse expert, Billy Buck, sticks up for him. “Can’t you see how he’d feel about it?” is the last line of the story. The answer to the question is no. The father gives no indication in any of the stories of having any inkling of what his son is feeling. The father recurrently belittles the boy and is none too considerate of the feelings of others, either.

The relatively inconsequential third story, “The Promise” concerns waiting for a replacement colt to be born. It also ends in pools of blood, the old (mare) being sacrificed for the young (colt).

“The Great Mountains,” the second story centers on an old Mexican who was born on what is now the Tiflin farm who comes back to die where he began. This is not an idea that meets with Carl Tiflin’s approval. Jody has been very curious about the back-country and wants to know from Gitano what it is like. Gitano decides to go up into the mountains to die and rides off on the old horse (Easter) Carl has been using as an example of the useless old who should be shot.

The final story, “The Leader of the People,” provides a variation on the theme of the second story. Again, Jody is interested in hearing about the wild(er) past and listens to an old man to whom no one else pays any attention. This time it is not a stranger with heretofore unknown connections to the Tiflin ranch, but Jody’s maternal grandfather.

Carl is unhappy to learn that his father-in-law is coming for a stay. Carl knows that the old man will tell the same stories in exactly the same words for the umpteenth time. Jody can see that his mother is not listening to her father’s stories of leading a wagon train, fighting Indians, and whatnot. Jody is balanced between his childish interest in the adventure stories and compassion for the old man. Jody knows what it is like to be crushed by harsh words from Carl.

Carl is brusque, trying to block the old stories after dinner, but failing. In the morning, before Grandfather has emerged, Carl is complaining to his wife, “Why can’t he forget it, not it’s done. Why does he have to tell them over and over? He came across the plains. All right! Now it’s finished. Nobody wants to hear about it over and over.” He has the grace to be ashamed of the pain he has inflicted.

Grandfather tries to explain to Jody, “I tell those old stories, but they’re not what I want to tell. I only know how I want people to feel when I tell them.” Whether or not Jody understands that, he has advanced from self-absorption to recognizing and want to provide balm for wounds inflicted by his father on others. This is more of a happy ending than the other stories, either the others in The Red Pony, or those in The Long Valley.

Jody grows up a bit between the first story and the last, at least in terms of thinking and caring about others. I don’t think the totality is a “coming of age.” Nor do I think that the four stories form a novel. More variations on two themes.

The Red Pony strikes me as being more suitable for young readers than Of Mice and Men is. I think that young readers can understand and identify with the longings of the very young and the very old as portrayed in The Red Pony and also the idealization of Billy Buck, the noble cowboy who understands Jody better than his father does. The deaths of horses and of one unlucky vulture are gruesome.

For adults there is the conflict of the generations and, especially in “The Leader of the People” a representation of conjugal tension. There is less of a sense than in many other Steinbeck writings that the males would be happier if there was no woman around. The character of the mother is little developed—less so than the elders who appear in only one story each. Other than defending her father’s prattling she does very little other than nag Jody about stocking the kitchen woodpile. She does not appear to have any trouble managing three or four males of three generations.

In Steinbeck, there are loving mothers and there are dangerously sexual women. The only sex in Red Pony is equine—and violent. Elsewhere in The Long Valley are slightly veiled panics about female sexual desire (“The Snake,” “The Chrysanthemums”) and portrayal of women all but killing men’s spirits (“The Harness”; also the novella Of Mice and Men).

©2001, 2016

I spent the last week in “Steinbeck country” (Monterey County, California) and interrupted my voyage into the most harrowing Kobayashi films. I’ll get to the “Human Condition” trilogy soon. Steinbeck’s hometown, Salinas, is celebrating its annual Steinbeck festival and I visited the house in which he was born and the National Steinbeck Center on Thursday (see photo atop my reflections on films adapted from his fiction here).