Billy Wilder: Hollywood Comedy’s Caustic Social Chronicler

Compound Adjective Practice

Billy Wilder, who died on 27^th March 2002 at his Beverly Hills home at the age of 95, was the most pungent and literate creator of movie comedy in mid-20^th century Hollywood. As a writer and director, he helped shape an evolution in style and taste from the pre-war innocence blended with verbal sophistication of screenplays like Midnight and Ninotchka, via the satirical tragicomedy mixed with resonant one-liners (“I’m ready for my close-up, Mr DeMille”) of Sunset Boulevard (1950), to the hectic, irreverent slapstick of his best-known comedy Some Like It Hot (1956).

That the same man directed the hardboiled thriller Double Indemnity, a classic of film noir, the archetypal Hollywood drama about alcoholism The Lost Weekend and the Oscar-winning sweet-sour romantic comedy The Apartment made Wilder a caustic social chronicler almost without peer in western cinema in the last century.

A European refugee who fled Germany in 1933, he showed a fondness for fish-out-of-the-water tales. In Ninotchka, stern Bolshevik Greta Garbo falls for pleasure-loving American Melvyn Douglas. In Ball of Fire mild-mannered linguistics professor Gary Cooper tangles with goodtime girl Barbara Stanwyck. Both these movies were scripted, for other directors, by Wilder and his then regular collaborator Charles Brackett. When Wilder himself began directing, in 1942 with The Major and the Minor, the same misfit themes recurred in films as diverse as Ace in the Hole, his hard-hitting satire on newspaper reporting; the prisoner-of-war drama Stalag 17; the wistful Audrey Hepburn romantic comedy Sabrina; and the strident but fiercely idiosyncratic comedies he made from the mid-1950s with new screenplay collaborator I.A.L. Diamond.

Wilder’s cinema reflected, albeit in a comical distorting mirror, the life of a man tossed about from country to country since his teens. Born in Vienna in 1906, Wilder first flirted with law studies and journalism in Austria. He soon migrated to Berlin, working variously as a reporter, as a so-called taxi dancer and finally as a script collaborator in half a dozen German films.

As one of a legion of refugees from Nazism in Hollywood, Wilder soon became the most American of immigrant film-makers. His brash, wisecracking style set a pace few natives could equal. He used favourite actors over and over —Fred MacMurray, Shirley MacLaine, Walter Matthau, above all Jack Lemmon— to help shape his world of abrasive dialogue, astringent romance, hapless physical comedy and defiant optimism. The final line of Some Like It Hot became the most famous in screen comedy history —when millionaire Joe E. Brown’s “fiancée” Lemmon (in drag) confesses that he is a man, Brown shrugs, smiles and says “Nobody’s perfect”.

After The Apartment won Oscars for Best Film, Best Director and Best Screenplay, Wilder’s work declined in vitality and inventiveness. The Private Life Of Sherlock Holmes, Avanti! and Fedora were ambitious but thinly scripted whimsies. The Front Page and Buddy Buddy tried to re-ignite the spark of the Lemmon-Matthau partnership Wilder himself created in the 1966 Meet Whiplash Willie (aka The Fortune Cookie), which won Matthau an Oscar.

In the 1980s and 1990s Wilder toyed with projects that never saw the light, including directing Shindler’s List. He also gave his time to befriending younger directors, one of whom, Cameron Crowe (of Jerry Maguire) published in 1999 a definitive book-length interview with him, Conversations with Billy Wilder.

As a movie artist, Wilder left no one indifferent. Detractors included Pauline Kael, the New Yorker critic, and David Thomson, who in his Biographical Dictionary of Film called Wilder “a heartless exploiter of public taste who manipulates situations in the name of satire. He prefers dialogue to character, sniping to structure”. For others, Wilder combined a classical command of craft with iconoclastic courage in confronting taboo subjects. 

© NIGEL ANDREWS, Financial Times, 2002

Task 1 Look up the underlined compound adjectives that you did not know.

Task 2 Learn the expressions highlighted in pink.

Hallelujah, a Queer Dance

Historic Montreal Church Is Backdrop for Queer Love Story Dance Video

June 3, 2019/by Francis DeBernardo, Editor

The dancers soar across the church aisles and the altar, embrace as they spin and cover each other in blue and red chalk. They do this after opening video clips of homophobic protests and violence have flashed across the screen. All of this accompanied by a recording of Jeff Buckley’s popular song, Hallelujah. Near the end the two men share a brief kiss.  The final image is a large banner they create that reads ‘Choose Love,’ raised high over a backdrop of stained glass.

This dance performance video, entitled Hallelujah, was set and filmed in Quebec’s historic Church of St. Pierre Apôtre. It is a queer love story produced by Matthew Richardson –and the church leaders were happy to host it.

A still from the video.

“They welcomed me, my message, and our creation with open arms,” said Richardson, the show’s creator and  a former Cirque Du Soleil performer. Hallelujah is one of five dances he will direct as part of his CircusQueer Project. The video is deeply intimate in a deeply Catholic setting.

There is much to praise in this project: Richardson’s work and vision, the stunning grace of the dance in this particular space, the warm welcome of the Catholic community in Montreal, and the attention that it is getting in multiple publications. Further projects like Hallelujah are necessary in continuing to emphasize the beauty found in LGBTQ+ relationships in a long-denied religious setting. These initiatives, and their visibility, are essential to fulfilling the love that Catholicism promises to support and provide.

The hidden gay lives finally being uncovered

In the past, the amazing stories of LGBTQ+ people were actively suppressed – which is why fiction writers are now diving into queer history and filling in the gaps, writes Matt Cain. 

15th June 2021 BBC Culture BOOKS

Earlier this year, the TV miniseries It's a Sin rightly won acclaim for its depiction of the Aids crisis in the UK during the 1980s and 1990s. But when I heard people raving about the show, written by Russell T Davies, I was struck by how many of them admitted to knowing little about the epidemic – and the destruction it wreaked among the gay community.

That’s because, even in today's much more accepting society, the history of the gay and lesbian community is largely a forgotten history. For a long time, the mainstream public didn't want to hear our stories. "I would venture to say that the public were disgusted and outraged," says author Crystal Jeans. She points to the response to the watershed lesbian novel The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall in the 1920s as just one famous example of the way authors have caused hysteria simply by acknowledging queer lives. Despite the book containing just two very mildly suggestive sexual references, "everyone went berserk and it was banned", she says.

Stephen Hornby, national playwright-in-residence for the UK's LGBT History Month, argues that our stories have long been actively suppressed. "The only interest used to be in censoring or denying any queer elements of the records of the past. So, things were kept from public display, passages were omitted from books and sexual relationships were presented as passionate friendships. That was wilful and deliberate distortion." But now society is becoming much more welcoming of queer people, there's a huge appetite to hear our stories. And there are so many amazing stories to tell. 

The range of queer stories

On the one hand, there are the tales of famous figures like Greta Garbo, Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Marlene Dietrich, Tchaikovsky, Josephine Baker and Hans Christian Andersen, all of whom experienced same-sex desire or engaged in same-sex activity in societies that didn't welcome it, often channelling their frustrations into creating remarkable work that went on, in some cases, to determine the course of Western culture. On the other hand are the invisible stories of the millions of everyday men and women whose lives made less of a mark but included events as dramatic as familial rejection, professional dismissal, social exclusion, blackmail, criminal conviction, imprisonment, torture, electric shock therapy, chemical castration, and execution.

Arguably, even the most ordinary queer person of a certain age has lived an extraordinary life. And, when you consider the impact that the challenges they faced must have had on their emotions and relationships, you have the ingredients for gripping, moving, rousing drama – and characters that modern-day audiences are now ready to root for.

This is what inspired me to write my latest novel, The Secret Life of Albert Entwistle. It's about a lonely, socially awkward and secretly gay postman living in a fictional town in the north of England who hits retirement, realising he wants to turn his life around and finally be happy – but to do this, he needs to find the love of his life, a man he hasn’t seen for nearly 50 years. His search for his lost love is interspersed with a series of flashbacks to his youth that gradually reveal the pressures their relationship found itself under as a result of the social climate of the late 1960s and early 1970s – and ultimately how these pressures tore them apart.

I'm not the only writer who's introducing queer history to a popular audience. My novel The Secret Life Of Albert Entwistle is riding on a wave of interest that dates back in the UK to 2017 and the 50th anniversary of the beginning of decriminalisation of homosexuality. That same year, the so-called "Alan Turing law" offered pardons to 49,000 British gay men who’d been convicted of homosexual acts – following a campaign arguably bolstered by the greater awareness brought about by The Imitation Game, the hit film that depicted the conviction and chemical castration of the Enigma-codebreaking computer scientist.

The increased interest in queer history is by no means limited to the UK. Loving by Hugh Nini and Neal Treadwell is a book of photos from the late 19th and early 20th Centuries (found in flea markets and car boot sales) that show men who appear to be in love. It was launched in the US and internationally in October 2020 – and is already entering its fifth print-run. Over on Instagram, The Aids Memorial shares photos and stories of people – predominantly gay men – who died of the disease, written by those who loved them. It now has 185,000 followers. Meanwhile, on Netflix, 2020 documentary A Secret Love tells the story of a US lesbian couple who kept their relationship secret from their families for nearly seven decades.

However, it's fiction that’s very much driving the phenomenon of bringing "lost" stories of gay life from the past to light. Over the last five years, a trio of Irish writers have delivered stunning gay-themed novels set predominantly in periods of history that didn't welcome them – John Boyne (The Heart’s Invisible Furies), Graham Norton (Home Stretch), and Sebastian Barry (the Costa Award-winning Days Without End). In the theatre, Matthew Lopez's exploration of gay male history The Inheritance triumphed in London before transferring to New York, where it opened the year after a well-received revival of Mart Crowley's seminal 1968 play Boys in the Band. Last year, the latter was remade as a film for Netflix by Ryan Murphy.

Indeed, Murphy has led the way with fictionalising queer history for a popular TV audience: having finished its third and final season last week, Pose blew open the drag ball culture scene of New York in the late 80s, and last year's Hollywood was a LGBTQ+-themed fantasy set in 1940s Los Angeles. Elsewhere on the small screen, It’s a Sin's five episodes have had a total of over 18 million views in the UK, while it earned near-universal raves on both sides of the Atlantic. Add to this recent queer-themed period films Carol and Call Me By Your Name, plus the French indie hit 120 Beats Per Minute, a love story set amongst the Aids activist movement of 1980s Paris, and it is clear that there is now a huge scope for telling queer stories in mainstream film and TV. Most recently, the internet exploded with behind-the-scenes photos of Harry Styles from the shoot of new film My Policeman, an adaptation of Bethan Roberts's 2012 novel starring the pop superstar as a closeted gay man in the 1950s.

Why fiction is leading the way

As a novelist, it interests me that fiction is at the forefront of this dissemination of queer history. This may be because any historians wanting to write about real-life characters are faced with a very serious problem. Most queer people from the past went to great lengths to conceal their identity – sometimes marrying and starting families, at the very least destroying all evidence. After their deaths, if families found letters, diaries or photos, they usually destroyed them (which explains why those photos featured in the picture book Loving come with no caption or explanation). This has made it all too easy for historians to erase our existence from the record and deny the contribution we’ve made to society.

Even when evidence does exist of same-sex relations – as is the case with 19th-Century Yorkshire landowner Anne Lister, the subject of BBC/HBO series Gentleman Jack, or Queen Anne, subject of Oscar-winning film The Favourite – this is often coded, covert or patchy. We have to rely on fiction to fill in the gaps.

"Filling the gaps in is my speciality," says British writer Patrick Gale, whose 2017 BBC TV drama Man in An Orange Shirt explored the fallout of same-sex desire echoing through three generations of one family. "In fact, I’m only drawn to fictionalising true-life material where there are gaps in what can be known or proved." Gale's 2015 novel A Place Called Winter saw him draw inspiration from the story of his great grandfather Harry, who left his family and emigrated to Canada in the early 20th Century. However, as a way of explaining the mystery surrounding why Harry left behind everything he knew, Gale imagined a situation in which he was forced to leave as a result of a gay affair being exposed. "[His story] had these echoing spaces in it which I could join by using my imagination and wondering how I’d have behaved in his position."

Gale is taking similar imaginative leaps with his next novel, which is about the British poet Charles Causley. "He was quite clearly queer – to judge from his private letters and diaries – and yet not remotely ready to be comfortable with admitting that, even to himself," he explains. "We know he was in the Navy and that he wrote poems which suggest his war experiences carried a powerful emotional charge; we know that he kept until his dying day a letter from a fellow officer with whom he seems to have had some kind of relationship. So what fiction can do, which a straightforward biography cannot, is to solve those mysteries in an emotional nourishing way. It doesn’t matter if it wasn’t true because it would have been true for other men in a similar situation."

The challenges in recounting the past

Crystal Jeans's latest novel is The Inverts, which tells the story of two best friends – one a lesbian, the other a gay man – who enter into a fake marriage in the 1920s. She believes that queer history offers writers a rich territory to mine but points out the constraints of working from real-life testimonies. "From what I’ve noticed our pool to fish from is a bit limited. Most original source material – diaries, books etc – was written by privileged people. White and wealthy. You’d not catch many queer coal miners jotting down their stream-of-consciousness memoirs between shifts. Vita Sackville West left us her letters. Gladys Bentley did not."

This was another reason I wrote The Secret Life of Albert Entwistle; I wanted to tell the story of one ordinary young gay man trying to express his love for another at a time when this would not have been accepted. But I also wanted to contrast this disturbing, sometimes horrifying picture with what life can be like for a gay man within today’s much more accepting society in the UK – and celebrate how much progress we’ve made. My inspiration was a series of interviews I conducted with older gay men whilst I was Editor-in-Chief of Attitude magazine, as part of our celebration of the 50th anniversary of the start of decriminalisation. I was stunned by the emotional impact and intensity of these stories of relentless persecution and oppression, of lives dogged by fear and shame. And I wanted to make sure stories like these weren’t lost – and reached as large an audience as possible.

When it comes to written – rather than verbal – evidence of working-class queer lives, this is often ambiguous. For Stephen Hornby's last play, The Adhesion of Love, he researched a group of working-class men from Bolton who set up a Walt Whitman appreciation society in the 1880s. They entered into regular correspondence with America’s great queer poet – and two of them even travelled to New York to visit him. In the play, Hornby has inferred that the men were what we'd now call gay. "If we look at the record that does exist of the Bolton men’s lives with the assumption that they were heterosexual," he says, "we're just left with a lot of puzzles and unanswerable questions. If we flip it, and assume they were interested in men sexually and emotionally, then all those puzzles disappear, and all the questions are answered."

But Hornby is careful to point out that before writing any play he carries out extensive research. "I've been working with the primary archival materials for weeks. I’ve read the contextual histories of sexuality in the period. I've visited the sites of the events. And then, crucially, I've made a homonormative assumption and told my story from that position."

As a fellow patron of the UK's LGBT History Month, creating an authentic fictional history is a responsibility I took equally seriously when writing The Secret Life of Albert Entwistle. I carried out extensive historical research into the context of the period I was exploring and returned to the interviews I conducted while at Attitude. I wanted to do justice to the men who'd lived through similar experiences but didn't survive or weren't able to make their stories heard. And while my hope is that I've created a story which straight people will find interesting, I'm aware that, for the LGBTQ+ community, the stakes are much higher. 

"What we see all through history is that people are denied their past as part of a way to control them," says Hornby. "The fascist playbook is always to destroy the history and culture of the minority it is repressing. History empowers us. At its most fundamental, it says, 'We have always been here. We have a place.'" For the LGBTQ+ community, telling our stories and knowing our history is a matter of both self-discovery and survival.

Malala was right

 

Wanderlust. Ode to the joys of travel

Estrada Nacional 2, Portugal. Photo: Toni Amengual

By Ap Dijksterhuis

Holland Herald, August 2018

What’s behind our drive to seek out new faces, places and vistas? The secret is simple – just get up and go to find out. Renowned Dutch social psychologist Ap Dijksterhuis gives you four reasons why you should start travelling right now:

Travel inspires and makes us more creative. 

Travel increases our lifespan. 

Travel broadens the mind, connects people and stamps out prejudice.

Travel creates happiness.

Travel broadens the mind and makes short shrift of any prejudice. When you only get your information from TV or other media, you’re not seeing the whole picture. You see government officials, not the actual people. You’re confronted with a rude world leader, not the millions of people who are embarrassed and ashamed by him. Travel connects people. The more people you meet from all different parts of the world, the more you realise how similar we really are. Every human being wants security, shelter, preferably some measure of freedom and, of course, an environment that allows them and their children to flourish. First and foremost, humans are human, no matter where they grow up – Australia or Algeria, Ecuador or England. Travel encourages us to let go of negative ideas about others, about people from far away. I’m not afraid to say that if only those Brits who travel frequently had been allowed to vote in the referendum, there would probably be no Brexit today.

Think back to your last trip for a moment, and try to recall everything you did and experienced. You’re probably flooded with wonderful (and perhaps a few not-so-wonderful) memories. Indeed, we went to see the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, and had a great meal afterwards. We strolled along the Ramblas. Or: in Bangkok, we went to see the 46m-long reclining Buddha of Wat Po, and then went on a riverboat tour. Fine. Now think about that time when you were at home, a few months back. Does that stir any memories or recollections? Probably very few. 

Our brain keeps track of time. Not in minutes or hours, but subjectively, by the amount of impulses it receives. The more you experience – the more new or exciting things you do – the longer the brain will believe a period of time lasted. Because of that, a regular workweek at home often seems to dissolve quickly and without a trace, while a week spent travelling yields such intellectual wealth that looking back on it might appear to be looking back on a month.

And this bears repeating - even during their travels people are happier. Once we’ve set out, worries and tension flow from our bodies. No dentist’s appointments to go to, no spread-sheets to pore over, the uncomfortable conversation with your manager is instantly forgotten, and the agitated discussion on your coworkers’ group app goes right over your head – even if you read any of it, it’s easy to distance yourself with a smile. Let them figure it out, you think, I’m not getting involved. But perhaps the most important reason why travel makes us happy, is that travellers tend to practice what the Buddha is said to have advised as early as 2,500 years ago: we live in the ‘now’. Travellers experience so much, that they simply cannot look beyond the moment. At night, they might review the past day, or look forward to the day ahead, but that’s it. On top of that, travellers engage in something new every day. On the road, no two days are the same. Our brains just love that. 

B.O.O.K.

Introducing B.O.O.K., the new Bio-Optic Organized Knowledge device.

B.O.O.K is a revolutionary break-through in technology: no wires, no electric circuits, no batteries, nothing to be connected or switched on. It's so easy to use, even a child can operate it. Compact and portable, it can be used anywhere, even sitting in an armchair by the fire; yet it is powerful enough to hold as much information as a CD-ROM disc.

Here's how it works: B.O.O.K. is constructed of sequentially-numbered sheets of paper (recyclable), each capable of holding thousands of bits of information. The pages are locked together with a custom-fit device called a binder which keeps the sheets in their correct sequence. Opaque Paper Technology (OPT) allows manufacturers to use both sides of the sheet, doubling the information density and cutting costs. Experts are divided on the prospects for further increases in information density; for now, B.O.O.K.s with more information simply use more pages. Each sheet is scanned optically, registering information directly into your brain. A flick of the finger takes you to the next sheet.

B.O.O.K. may be taken up at any time and used merely by opening it. B.O.O.K. never crashes or requires rebooting, though, like other devices, it can become damaged if coffee is spilled on it and it becomes unusable if dropped too many times on a hard surface. The "browse" feature allows you to move instantly to any sheet, and move forward or backward as you wish. Many come with an "index" feature, which pinpoints the exact location of any selected information for instant retrieval.

An optional "B.O.O.K.mark" accessory allows you to open B.O.O.K. to the exact place you left it in a previous session -- even if the BOOK has been closed. B.o.o.k.marks fit universal design standards; thus, a single bookmark can be used in B.O.O.K.s by various manufacturers. Conversely, numerous B.O.O.K.markers can be used in a single B.O.O.K. if the user wants to store numerous views at once. The number is limited only by the number of pages in the B.O.O.K. You can also make personal notes next to B.O.O.K. text entries with optional programming tools, like Portable Erasable Nib Cryptic Intercommunication Language Styli (P.E.N.C.I.L.S.).

Portable, durable, and affordable, B.O.O.K. is being hailed as a precursor of a new entertainment wave. B.O.O.K.'s appeal seems so certain that thousands of content creators have committed to the platform and investors are reportedly flocking to invest. Look for a flood of new titles soon.

+ El libro, dice Umberto Eco, es como la rueda: una vez inventado no se puede hacer nada mejor. Cada 23 de abril, cuando se conmemora el Día del Libro, hace regresar la polémica sobre la agonía de este producto, a punto de ser arrojado al basurero de la historia, según sus enemigos.

En una obra reciente (Nadie acabará con los libros), Eco y J. C. Carrière conversan sobre ese asunto y se preguntan por los efectos de la rápida caducidad de los nuevos soportes (vídeo, cedé, DVD). Esa caducidad impide ver lo que compramos hace 10 años con los reproductores actuales, en contraste con la facilidad con que la continuidad del soporte libro permite leer uno escrito hace siglos.

Circula por la red este vídeo descacharrante sobre la última novedad en materia de lectura, un producto caracterizado por no necesitar cables, circuitos ni baterías, utilizable en cualquier lugar, que puede ser escaneado ópticamente para ser registrado directamente por el cerebro, y cuyo nombre es B.O.O.K.

Puede ser una fantasía de nostálgicos, pero es cierto que las cerillas hubieran sido consideradas un gran adelanto de haberse inventado después, y no antes, que los mecheros. Además, también se auguró el fin de la pintura con la fotografía, el del teatro con el cine, y el del cine con la televisión; y fallaron las casandras. Por lo demás, incluso si el libro de papel desapareciera, seguirían siendo necesarios los escritores, lo cual es una garantía de continuidad. Como advirtió Bertolt Brecht a los generales, sus bombarderos necesitan hombres que los piloten. No existen máquinas capaces de escribir libros digitales.

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