Archive for the Magazines Category

Where You Find It: Baby Alligators and Bibliographies

Posted in Biography, Literature, Magazines, Movies, Music, Non-Fiction with tags , , , , , , , , , , on May 10, 2012 by JE Cornett

Dana Andrews and Anne Baxter on the set of “Swamp Water.”

The argument could be made that the best non-fiction acts as a funnel, winnowing down into an expertly pieced mosaic the information the sources about the subject present. And the quality of the finished work is, of course, a direct reflection of the quality of the sources.

The bibliography of a well-researched book is a work of art in and of itself, acting as both a road map to the finished book and a treasure map to a voracious reader.  Consider the case of Swamp Water, Hollywood Enigma by Carl Rollyson, and Vereen Bell.

One of the best sections of Hollywood Enigma, Rollyson’s biography of actor Dana Andrews, covers the 1941 film Swamp Water. It’s an obscure film despite its pedigree as one of the first American films by renowned French director Jean Renoir. I’d never even heard of the film, nor did I know that the source for the movie was a novel by an all-but forgotten author, Vereen Bell.

Bell, a Georgia native, began his career writing for religious and juvenile magazines. He worked briefly as an editor of American Boy/Youth’s Companion before returning to Georgia to try his hand at freelancing. During the late 1930s, he sold outdoor stories to Collier’s and the Saturday Evening Post, and wrote two novels, Swamp Water and Two of a Kind, that first appeared as serials in the Post.

Swamp Water, the story of a boy and his prized hunting dog finding trouble in the Okefenokee swamp, was published as a novel in 1940 by Little, Brown. The book was an instant success — a second print run was ordered a month after the first. According to the Georgia Encyclopedia, Bell sold the movie rights to Twentieth Century-Fox for $15,000, which is where the story gets even more interesting.

A quick turnaround for a purchased property like Swamp Water was not unheard of during the studio era  of film-making, but Swamp Water might have set a new standard for speed. The film was in theaters by 1941, no mean feat when one discovers, as I did via Hollywood Enigma, that the movie was filmed on location in Waycross, Georgia.

Renoir, new to Hollywood and riding on his reputation as one of French cinema’s best-known directors, insisted that a portion of the film be shot in the Okefenokee. In June, 1941, Renoir, along with Dana Andrews who played young Ben, the dog who played Trouble (and his trainer), and a small crew, descended upon Waycross for filming. Locals appeared in the film as doubles for male characters, and the Okefenokee played itself.

Rollyson’s account of the filming led me to some fascinating information about the film and its premiere, the best of which appears on the Georgia Encyclopedia. As Megan Kate Nelson writes on the entry for Swamp Water:

After the Hollywood crowd left, Waycross residents began to campaign to host the movie’s premiere. They besieged Twentieth Century Fox executives with requests, and even sent Darryl Zanuck and others live baby alligators with tags affixed to their necks saying, “Even the gators in Okefenokee went to the premiere in Waycross.” Zanuck gave in and notified Lamar Swift, manager of the two movie theaters in Waycross—the Ritz and the Lyric—that he could have the premiere, slated for October 23, 1941. Georgia governor Eugene Talmadge declared the day of the premiere “Swamp Water Day” in the state, and Waycross merchants decorated the streets and their stores. A parade, special dinner, and wagon-ride preceded the premiere. Vereen Bell was the guest of honor.

What I sought, in seeking all this information about Swamp Water, was more information about Bell. As someone with a degree in English with a concentration on early 20th-century Southern American literature, I was embarrassed that I had to learn of Bell’s work — and the peculiar history of Swamp Water — in a biography of a film star.

Bell’s relative obscurity, however, may have less to do with popular neglect than with tragic circumstance. He wrote one more novel after Swamp Water before enlisting in the Navy at the outset of World War 11. In 1944, at the age of 33, he perished at the Battle of Leyte Gulf.

But my discovery of Bell is the beauty of a great bibliography. The best bibliographies demonstrate an author’s struggle to understand his subject, to make sense of the subject in terms of both the immediate and as a part of a larger whole. As he struggles, he casts wider and wider nets around the subject, nets that may drag in seemingly unrelated, but important information.

Even when the subject itself seems shallow, the sources that make up the finished product may have delved deeply into aspects that are not readily apparent. Nowhere is that more true than in non-fiction about American film and film stars; movies were so pervasive in the culture and sociology of the first half of the 20th century that almost any well-researched book on the subject unearths a wealth of diverse, fascinating sources.

Even a scant bibliography can be a thing of beauty. Non-fiction and biographies of early silent film figures and 1960s-1970s era musicians, for instance, are often thin on contemporary print sources; as emerging forms, few major publications covered early silent film or rock music. The best contemporary reviews, interviews and articles about 1960s rock music were often found in music magazines and small regional papers that didn’t survive the era, and these magazines and papers are sometimes as intriguing as the biography subjects themselves.

Take this Ellen Herst article about the parallels between Charles Manson and folk musician/ostensible cult leader Mel Lyman. The article, found in an online bibliography about Lyman, was taken from Boston After Dark, a precursor to The Boston Phoenix and its many offshoots. A Wikipedia entry about The Phoenix reveals the much more interesting story of The Real Paper, which was formed by displaced/disgruntled writers from The Phoenix.

The bibliography can be a book’s best aspect, surpassing the quality of the writing or the subject. Such is sometimes the case with Greil Marcus’ books; while Marcus’ books themselves are wildly uneven, but almost any of his books are worth buying for the bibliographies alone. Marcus may not always pull the rabbit out of the hat, but the hat is full of tricks, any of which may be better than the rabbit itself.

Bibliographies are so valuable to me that I sometimes wonder what’s missing. What did the author come across, during his research, that didn’t make it in? What information that disproves the thesis/did not seem important/was too vexing to parse is missing? What didn’t the author discover about the subject?

Depending on what the reader knows about the subject, this can change the perception of the book itself radically; while researching a project about author Caroline Gordon’s Penhally, I came across two books by the same author that should have included Gordon’s fiction in a discussion of the way the Virginia Cavalier ideal shaped Southern literature. The author’s complete omission of Gordon raised troubling questions for me — did the author’s research somehow fail to turn up Gordon’s fiction, which could be the sign of poor research, or, as a male author, writing mainly about other male authors, did he simply discount Gordon’s contributions? The answer may be simpler; upon further investigation, I realized that the books were written before widespread use of the Internet, and in a period when most of Gordon’s fiction was out of print.

If the Internet itself is the ultimate bibliography, it’s one without context. A Google search for “dana andrews biography” will turn up a lot of stuff and nonsense about Andrews’ most popular films and aspects of his life, but few that I explored feature any mention of Swamp Water, much less Vereen Bell or his writings. And that, ultimately, is what makes the author-created bibliographies a much better jumping-off point for learning. Instead of relying on the (questionable) intelligence of an algorithm, you rely on the dogged pursuit of an author to learn about his subject. That’s never a bad place to start.

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Jessica Simpon’s Nude “Elle” Cover Reveals More About Prejudice Than Pregnancy

Posted in Magazines, Uncategorized on March 9, 2012 by JE Cornett

Jessica Simpson normally flies so low under my radar that I hardly remember what she’s supposed to be famous for, but when a friend of mine sent me a link to an online Elle article about the star, I clicked out of curiosity. Why, I wondered, would anyone send me a link to a Jessica Simpson article?

I’m sure my friend was probably surprised by the nude and almost-nude pictures of the heavily pregnant Simpson, but I hardly noticed the pictures, so amazed was I by the excerpts from the”interview”  Elle writer Marshall Sella conducted with Simpson. Why? Read on:

Ah swear, ah will croak if she asks me for a pair of Nikes instead of Christian Louboutins!” she blurts out, her Dallas accent swooping back in this moment of heightened anxiety. “Eric is so athletic. We’re gonna have this ath-a-letic girl and I won’t even be able to take her shopping.”

“I’m still standin’,” she drawls. “I grew up very strong! You know, my father used to be an adolescent therapist. I remember sitting at his office, watching the girls walkin’ in and out. Kids doin’ coke at 16…heroin. Pregnant at 14. I could see what I didn’t want to be.”

We get it, Sella. Simpson has a pronounced Southern accent (pun intended). What I don’t get, however, is why this is such a big deal to Sella that the writer not only remarks on it more than once, but proceeds to write Simpson’s responses in dialect.

I was blown away by the utter crassness of the interview excerpts. It reminded me, honestly, of early 1900s interviews with black entertainers or Southern entertainers — interviews from an era when it was okay to marginalize people from other races or regions.

That Sella pulled this off in the 21st Century is amazing to me, but the fact that an army of editors and fact-checkers that work on a piece of this magnitude in a magazine like Elle had no problem with it is just insulting.

What’s worse is knowing that if Simpson were a New Yorker with a Bronx accent, or a Minnesotan with the well-recognized Midwestern accent, I wouldn’t be writing this. Because I doubt that Sella would have commented upon her accent at all, much less have written Simpson’s responses in dialect.

Evidently Simpson is not known for being the sharpest knife in the drawer — one of her claims to fame is thinking that Chicken of the Sea really is chicken, I discovered — but she’s doing something right. She’s parlayed dubious talents into a billion dollar clothing/shoes/accessories empire, and she’s also starring in something called “Fashion Star.” Yet Sella can find nothing more compelling about Simpson than the fact that she’s afraid her unborn child will be “ath-a-letic?”

To get an idea of just how asinine Sella’s slant on the article is, contrast it with this excerpt from a 2007 Elle profile of Jessica Simpson I dug up on the magazine’s website. The author, by the way, was Andrew Goldman, and this is one of Simpson’s responses:

It’s that whole “They build you up to tear you down” thing. But in a lot of ways I think I brought that on myself because I did a reality show. I let people in on who I am and how I react to my husband. That’s a big deal. Celebrities don’t do that. So I think they brought me down just because I stopped talking and because I have not spoken—and will not speak—about my divorce. And I think that people feel like I owe them my reality right now. And I’ve learned to keep it sacred. Yes, it gave me an amazing career, but there are just some things I want to keep private now, and I’m begging and pleading for privacy. I’m still a very open person, but now I know what to guard.

If you know that Simpson is from Texas, and everything I’ve found written about her today points that out absolutely, then it’s easy to read the Goldman interview passage hearing a Southern accent. The difference is, Goldman didn’t feel compelled to make Simpson read as “different than” or “less than” because of her Southern accent. While it’s obvious that Goldman didn’t taken any pains to make Simpson read as more witty or well-spoken than she probably is, he also didn’t take any pains to make her read like Ma Kettle.

Marshall Sella, whomever that may be, should be ashamed. I just hope that when she reads the article, Simpson isn’t ashamed. She has nothing to be ashamed of — even if she does think that Chicken of the Sea is truly chicken.