Wednesday Dec 3

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Home & movies

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Matt’s Notes

Papa doesn’t say what movie he saw, but he had a few newcomers to choose from:

  • Isn’t Life Wonderful, directed by the already-legendary D.W. Griffith. This serious effort about the struggle of Germany’s poor to feed themselves met with good critical response when it was released and is still considered by film historians to be one of Griffith’s landmark efforts. Still, Time Magazine correctly predicted
     that “the film will not be popular.”

    Here’s a bit of it on YouTube:

  • Sundown, a Western of no apparent merit, at least according to the New York Times. Interestingly, the scan of this article in the Times archive also includes a snippet about Abraham Goldberg, an important figure in the Zionist Organization of America who Papa had met earlier in the year. Apparently, Goldberg spoke out of turn about the Z.O.A.’s positions on private investment in Palestine while visiting Germany, and the Z.O.A. disavowed his comments. This article also makes reference to the “Brandeis-Mack break,” a shakeup in the Z.O.A. that Papa had previously discussed.
  • Romola, an adaptation of George Eliot’s novel starring Lillian Gish and directed by Henry King. (King also directed The White Sister, which brought Papa to tears earlier in the year.) Its lavish production values and Florentine settings drew praise from both the New York Times‘ and Time Magazine‘s critics, as did Gish’s performance. The scan of this article in the Times also contains a blurb about Thomas Edison’s interview in that week’s Collier‘s in which Edison predicted the perfection of the helicopter.
  • The Roughneck, an action-adventure story dismissed by the Times as “a boy’s idea of adventure with plenty of scenes of George O’Brien’s biceps and ankles.”

Thursday Dec 4

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Opera Carmen
at the Metropolitan

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Matt’s Notes

It’s important to note that movies and radio, while ascendant in 1924, had not yet displaced live performance as the preferred form of entertainment in big American cities. When we see Papa going to the opera almost as much as he goes to the movies, we should remember that, while he was a true opera lover, his frequent visits to the Met were probably less unusual than my own frequent visits to the Film Forum.

Those who crowded in with Papa to see Carmen on December 5th certainly got their money’s worth. Though Irving Kolodin, in his The Story of the Metropolitan Opera, describes Ina Bourskaya as “rather dull of voice for leading roles,” the New York Times found her a “gay and vivid” as well as an “animated and vital” Carmen. Then again, the reviewer’s focus on her energy and appearance, as opposed to her voice, might be something of a veiled criticism, but I’m sure Papa didn’t begrudge her the many curtain calls she enjoyed that night.

Opposite her as Don Jose was the great tenor, Giovanni Martinelli, who was a third of the way into a storied 33-year Met career. (Martinelli had been in the unenviable position of overlapping with Caruso, but he made the most of it. “Many tenors were called to the Met” in the Caruso years, wrote the New York Times in his obituary, “but no others were chosen to stay…Only Mr. Martinelli survived the days of Caruso’s glory and emerged as an artist and personality in his own right.”)

Here’s a little snippet of Martinelli singing Don Jose (opposite Geraldine Ferrar) courtesy of YouTube:




And here’s a clip of Martinelli singing La fleur que tu m’avais jetee from Carmen, this time from archive.org.

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References:

INA BOURSKAYA AS CARMEN.; Again an Animated and Colorful Heroine of Bizet’s Opera. (The New York Times, December 5, 1924.)

Giovanni Martinelli, The Tenor, Is Dead; Giovanni Martinelli, Met Star 33 Years, Dies (The New York Times, February 3, 1969.)

The Story of Carmen at Metoperafamily.org

 

Friday Dec 5

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This afternoon Martha
at Metropolitan Opera House
evening at home & Sisters

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Another day, another opera, this time a light comedy suitable for a matinee (allmusic.com describes Martha as “conventional and accessible,” though possessed of an “excellent libretto.” I haven’t seen it, but I’ve listened to it and find it a bit bouncy for my tastes, though I prefer darker stuff and am certainly no opera critic.) I’m not quite sure why Papa was able to join the daytime crowd on a Friday, though lately he’s had a few days off here and there due to his factory’s slack season.

This performance gave Papa his second look of the season at the beloved Met fixture (and future musical film star) Beniamio Gigli, and his first at Frances Alda, also a longtime Met presence. I can’t find any clips of Gigli and Alda singing Martha, but I’ve harvested a few fruits from the Internets that might help us understand what Papa’s experience was like on this day:

Here’s the great Giovanni Martinelli, who Papa had seen the previous day in Carmen, singing the well known aria “M’appari tutt’amor” from Martha:

In the original German, this aria is known as “Ach so fromm.” Helge Roswaenge takes a crack at it in this German film adaptation of Martha from 1936.

And for good measure, here’s Caruso’s take on it:

Frances Alda joins Caruso in the clip below to sing a duet from Verdi’s Trovatore:

Alas, I haven’t found any recordings of Gigli singing Martha, but here he is singing “Vesti la Giubba” from Pagliacci (which Papa also saw earlier in the year.)

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References:

Sunday Dec 7

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[no entry today]

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At the Dist. I was surprised to find H. in the meeting room when I arrived. Jack brought her a chair explaining the committee meeting and as she began to sit she saw me enter. She stood back up and she smiled and took my hand and I thought, could this be the same girl? She told me she had moved from the Bronx where some new arrivals some cousins from the old country had filled every last chair and pillow and now stayed with her aunt in Williamsburg where she had her own room. That is what she said, “filled every last chair and pillow.” Jack made a joke and said her cousins might be more comfortable back in steerage and H. turned and thanked him for the chair and sat and invited me to sit next to her.

My days of machine work are etched into my hands, I thought of this as she held a cigarette with her soft fine fingers. I am head of the publicity subcommittee for the Dist. winter ball, this means I must see to the printing of our handbook and circulars and also to secure a speaker for the dedication. I thought of Ab. Goldberg, it would be interesting to hear him explain his latest activities in Germany so I will approach him when he returns. H. volunteered for my subcommittee.

Monday Dec 8

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[no entry today]

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H. promises to print the first round of circulars while I attend to other business. I find her by the window upon my return, she smokes and blows smoke out the window into the alley and jokes with Henry G. She cuts a fine figure. She glows with life as always, it is as if she stands under a streetlight and the rest of us are cloaked in dusk, the color of pavement.

I see just a few circulars on the table next to the printing machine, some smudged and crumpled and I look for boxes of others but find none, I ask her where are the others and she tells me the machine broke hours before. It is an old machine a donation from the Z.O.A. but it works and I ask her why she didn’t ask someone for help and for her reply she tells me you work in a factory so shouldn’t you be the one to fix it? She smiles at me and then talks to Henry some more. I fix the machine and when I am done she prints some more flyers, not nearly enough but she goes home tired.

I know she has no use for me because she is elegant and graceful and I am what I am but what am I to do? Our work is for the betterment of our lot, it is my honor to work among my colleagues but I am unsure why she visits the Dist and why she offers her help. Jack tells me she is not interested but why is she there? Do I dare to dream I am the reason?

At home I find her telephone number in my book and I see I left one number off. The last number, I never wrote it down. I don’t remember what it was. It doesn’t matter any more, she doesn’t live in the same place but how did I call her when I did when I had only part of the number? I stare at it and I think for some reason of a box too heavy to lift.

I hear the familiar grinding screech from across the street, the projectionist at the Clinton pushes open the door of his booth at the back of the second floor. He does this three or four times at night, there are two doors but he opens the one on the right each time and I can see the glow of the machinery behind him. He stands out on the fire escape and lets the door close, it looks to me like an eye, a wink from a face of brick. He smokes a cigarette and drinks from a bottle and I watch him from my window across the street and I wonder again if he would like me to wave to him.

Tuesday Dec 9

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[no entry today]

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Rothstein on the telephone, he tells me H. now lives in Williamsburg and I tell him I know because I have met her at the Dist. He says he knows about the Dist. He tells me again H. is now in Williamsburg with her aunt, an American. I touch the head set for my radio and remember Gigli is in Philadelphia with Serafin and the rest, I must check to see if they are on the air.

And now I picture my father olam haba and how he stood over the row of desks, his crippled arm tucked into his pocket his other arm holding open a book, he turned pages with his thumb and read the lessons and my heart would fill with pride and sadness both, how he struggled yet was the equal to other men, superior in so many ways to other men. I long for his advice, but what he would say I think I know, I am sure I know. Did he ever use a telephone? Did he ever see one?

The father of H’s aunt was from Frankfurt or possibly Strasbourg, Rothstein says, and he owned a factory, blouses and dresses and he owned part of a newspaper also. I own a whole newspaper I tell him, I bought it from the boy just this evening, it is a joke but Rothstein has other things to discuss. I agree to have dinner with him at the Parkway on Saturday. We say goodbye and as if by some unseen hand I lift out of my chair all at once and rush out and down the stairs, careful only not to slip on the shiny lip of the last step, the lip of the last step worn smooth, worn shiny. Then I am on the street, no hat, no coat, but others are without coats too, it is so warm it could be May or September but for the naked trees.

I decide to see a movie at the Clinton and I go back upstairs for my hat and the telephone rings. It is H., I breathe hard from my speedy trip up and down the stairs yes it is H. on the telephone, is it not like a girl of her type to ring me up? It is a perfect gesture, just a perfect gesture her voice a sweet trill, a string of notes more lovely than any song the radio affords me. She asks me if I will be at the Dist tomorrow and of course the answer is yes, I remind her of her promise to help me with the circulars and the program in the evening and she laughs and says of course, oh of course, she has just returned from a drive with someone, I do not know him, and she claims she had so much fun she forgot momentarily. “He gave me a nifty tip and now I have an idea,” she says in a whisper and says she cannot wait to tell me.

She hangs up and I collect coins and I look at a buffalo, his face down his head pointed forward and I cannot decide does he want to break through the edge of the nickel or is he at rest? I have a few coins only but enough for a movie ticket, yes more than enough for a movie ticket.

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