Hollywood Heritage

Vancouver's venerable Hollywood Theatre is closing this Sunday, May 29--which, depending on when you read this, is either tomorrow, today or yesterday (almost the title of a Vittorio De Sica Sophia Loren-Marcello Mastroianni film).

The Hollywood has been screening films (in the past thirty years or so, well-chosen double bills) for more than three-quarters of a century. It was opened by the Fairleigh family in 1935, and the Fairleigh family has run it ever since. The Art Deco design was the work of architect Harold Cullerene, and its neon sign has brightened West Broadway for more than seven decades. 

Dwindling audiences have forced the Fairleighs to turn off the projector, but the Hollywood will go out in style Sunday evening, with a Buster Keaton short, a silent movie pianist, and the film "Cinema Paradiso," which is an homage to movie houses of the 1930s. 

Now here is what the Pointless Digressions crew thinks: the Hollywood should be declared a heritage site, and turned into a centre for film studies. Its basic library should be formed by the acquisition of the extraordinary collection of Videomatica films, covering all film-making countries and reaching back to the earliest days of what were once called the flicks.  

Probably this will be another excellent idea of PD ignored by decision makers, but hey, it's out there. Add your voice.  And see you at the Hollywood Sunday night.

Steve and John's Excellent Adventure

"Golly, Steve, thanks for taking me to the Gee Whiz Conference!"

"Well, here we are, John, in the City of Light. Where would you like to go?"

"Gosh, Steve, maybe we could have dinner--I have heard Paris called the centre of la haute cuisine."

"I thought so, too, John, but I have not been able to find a single Tim Horton's."

"Steve, I believe the other leaders were very impressed by your medley of Edith Piaf songs."

"Thank you, John."

"President Sarkozy was especially moved. Did you see how he fled the room?"

"Well, John, je ne regret rien."

"Me too, Steve, whatever that means. Say, Steve--do you want to visit the Louvre?"

"No, John, I don't need to.  I went before we left the conference."

Steve's farewell to Oprah

Among those grieving the end of "The Oprah Winfrey Show," after twenty-five excruciating years, is Prime Minister Stephen Harper.

Harper missed the opportunity to appear on Oprah's program on dysfunctional governments, but what he truly regrets is being unable to do his Elton John impression, jump on the couch, and declare himself Prime Minister for Life.

There is hope, however, that he may still appear on "Dancing with the Stars."

Typo Time

The Vancouver Sun sports section ran a story today praising Ryan Kesler, as well they might. Unfortunately, in the headline, Kesler's name was spelled "Kelser."

We were reminded of a time years ago when Pacific Press typographers went on strike. Ormond Turner printed a sign and posted it in the newspaper cafeteria. It read "Typorgaphers on Srtike." 

The typographers were not amused. 

The Electronic Prophet Parks His Car

A year or two ago, Penguin Books commissioned a series called "Extraordinary Canadians," to be coordinated by John Ralston Saul. Fourteen "extraordinary Canadians" were nominated--a diverse group, among them Big Bear, Glenn Gould and Maurice Richard--and writers selected to produce short studies included Margaret Atwood, Nino Ricci and Jane Urquhart.

The only entry in the series to rouse critical attention so far is "Marshall McLuhan: You Know Nothing of My Work," an appraisal, or reappraisal, of the prophet of this digital age, by Douglas Coupland. Writing in the New York Review of Books, Pico Iyer notes "how many unsettlingly accurate descriptions of our media-saturated, passive, and opinion-driven world came from Marshall McLuhan, and were coined over half a century ago. McLuhan was able to look so closely at the froth of the culture around him that he could seem to make out the future."

But all the above is just working around to this story: sometime in the 1970s, according to Cornelius Burke, a friend of his unknowingly parked in McLuhan's reserved space at the University of Toronto. This happened a second time, and McLuhan left an angry note on the man's windshield: "Sir: You have parked your car in a space reserved for mine. Should this happen again, I will be forced to have your car towed away. M. McLuhan."

Corny's friend took pains to avoid the space, but when he saw McLuhan's car parked there, he left a note of his own on the windshield: "Professor McLuhan: Thank you for your message. It is the first thing you have written that I have found possible to understand." 

Victoria Rules

As the parades and other Victoria Day festivities begin, it is time to remember the great monarch herself, whom you may imagine looking like Judi Dench or Emily Blunt, as your fancy takes you.

Alexandrina Victoria, to use her full name, was born at Kensington Palace in 1819, the daughter of Edward, Duke of Kent, fourth son of George III, and Victoria Maria Louisa of Saxe-Coburg. She was made Queen in 1837, at the age of eighteen. She ruled until 1901, through Great Britain's most powerful imperial decades. Her close advisers over those years included Lord Melbourne, Benjamin Disraeli, and her uncle Leopold, King of Belgium.

The great love of her life, as probably everyone knows, was Prince Francis Albert Augustus Charles Emmanuel of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, who brought England the Christmas tree. The royal couple enjoyed spending musical evenings with Felix Mendelssohn. Victoria, it is said, had an attractive singing voice.

Victoria and Albert were both twenty years old when they were married. He died of typhoid fever twenty-one years later. For the next forty years, Victoria had Albert's water bowl filled each morning and his clothes laid out each night. Their children--four sons, five daughters--and grandchildren became players in virtually all the crowned dynasties of Europe. 

I give you the Queen! Break out the Champagne.

Enraptured

We are short-staffed today, as many of the Pointless Digressions team are busy scouting Rapture yard sales. One correspondent reports that he purchased a Mercedes SLK 230 for $8.50, and the seller made him a latte. 

In other news, our Los Angeles entertainment reporter, Vince Fennario, reveals that he has seen Arnold Schwarnezzer's love child, and, says Vinnie, "he looks a lot like Charlie Sheen."

Meanwhile, in Manhattan, chambermaids are drawing straws over who will tidy Dominique Strauss-Kahn's suite. "Not me, baby. Un-uh."

Finally, this item from our Personals Column: a writer identifying himself as "Ben. E." writes "Dear Flasher Fan: When I saw you in your pierced person, you pierced my heart. I kept making cheap hits and getting sent back to the penalty box just to see you again. I have given up my chance at the Byng Trophy for you, kinda like Don Jose and Carmen, although I am not supposed to know stuff like that. Please say we can meet again. Benched for your love, Ben E."

And this response: "Hey, Ben E. I'm sure you are a sweet guy, but I wasn't flashing you. I was hoping for Michael Buble. Or Jagger Dork."