The Whole Town’s Talking (1935)
It was a scam to revitalize Edward G. Robinson’s career. He was tired of playing gangsters, and the public was tired of seeing them, so in The Whole Town’s Talking he plays a man mistaken for a gangster. He gets to be both mild-mannered and threatening, and Robinson is such a good actor that he pulls it off. The Whole Town’s Talking gives me a chance to talk about Jean Arthur though; her screen presence makes me feel good when I feel bad, and today I just feel ‘uncertain.’ You will remember her from the ‘Mr. Smith’ and ‘Mr. Deeds’ movies — but she’s another one of those pre-feminist dames with spunk. When we first meet her she’s smoking a cigarette, tosses it, then punches the time clock for work. Her boss confronts her for stepping in late at 9:30 — “Well if you must know it’s because I saw fit to step out at 9:30 last night” at which point he threatens to fire her, and she says “In that case I quit — do I go now?” This scares him, so she plonks her feet up on her desk and reads the paper. Her cocky, kooky self-confidence is never false and Jean Arthur acts as if good nature alone is enough to get you through. It all has to do with love; she offers it to all the men in her movies quite freely, and they take it — with her little girl voice and her pretty face she’s irresistible — and I’m so glad to know she’s there. But I don’t know what to say about this movie, it’s a slice of entertainment made to delight the masses, which I'm sure it still does. I suppose it would be on Netflix today. The only thing remotely resembling an idea comes at the beginning when Jean Arthur is mistaken for a gangster’s moll and a female reporter says “Yes, she has a cruel sinister look,” which make us think about the power, and magic and ultimate danger of entertainment which has been and still is, 'the news.' Shakespeare was all about this, which is why I go on about him. Honestly though, if one of my friends tries to tell meabout his favourite friggin’ Netflix series again I’m going to scream. I’m not interested in your stupid Netflix. ‘What’s on tonight?’ I’d rather kill myself. Yes I’m in Montreal again, and suddenly it’s possible to live. They’ve opened strip clubs and bathhouses. I had a fabulous conversation with my favourite coat-check boy. I know him cuz once I actually caught him in the ‘bear’ store once trying on a pair of spangly shorts, and gave him some advice. They were too big, and he is very small — at least of frame — and I advised against them. Last night he was reading a piece of ‘mythological fiction’ at the coat check — which is beyond me - but at least it was a book. I tried to talk to him about it, but eventually we got to talking about COVID-19. He kept lowering his mask and indicating that he wasn’t. buying. any. of. it. Well why should he, is he insane? On the train yesterday I was bullied for sitting with my significant other (how’s that for a euphemism?) but last night I was pressing my lips to the body part of a stranger which should not be mentioned in polite company. It’s been so long since I’ve done that. So my reluctance to go anywhere near Netflix has everything to do with this, because it’s the only choice that has been given us. It what is provided not merely to fill those gaps (and those gaps need some real fillin’ let me tell you!) but to replace every human need. The problem is this; before the digital world, there were natural curbs on mankind's ability to get what they wanted from fantasy. There was the problem of who would create it, then -- how would it be disseminated, and, of course -- would it to be approved of by the powers that be? (I’m talking about these fantastical gory sexy images that we called up in our memory banks and poets utilised to create poetry before The Enlightenment shut it all down.) Then finally computers came along, and suddenly the problem of who would create fantasy was taken care of. It would be created not by each of us for ourselves, but by mega-corporations. And of course the digitalisation of everything covered dissemination. And finally — who in hell is going to disapprove, anyway? We are talking about Disney here — no one disapproves of Disney — and Netflix is the Disneyfication of America. Sure you can find your odd indie or foreign film if you really search. But that’s not what Netflix is for. Just like yes, you can still get interesting books online, but eventually you won’t be able to; all will you find is Harry Potter and it’s adult equivalent (although some adults do, apparently, adore Harry Potter). Last night the most beautiful boy in the world came into my room at the baths and I under no circumstances would have assumed he would ever be attracted to me, but he was — in an effortless way that boggled my mind -- but thank god did not boggle my body. He ended up getting into the weirdest position — which was totally convenient for what I had in mind — and what made this old guy go (i.e. me) go in for the long haul was that he wouldn’t give up. I must say I am impressed by that kind of persistence, and it is something that I find in certain people (I have mentioned before it is a working class trait; devotion). Yes, the truth of the matter is I have abandonment issues. And for a person like me if you can find someone who will absolutely never under an circumstances abandon you (it’s called unconditional love) it’s kind of ‘the ticket.’ Now this was, to be frank, only a good lay, but when it was over he was all devoted: ‘anytime, anytime’ and ‘I work just across the street’ -- and at first I wanted to put all that information into my cellphone— then I thought no, not sure, it’s a little sad and desperate that he wants to get married already. But really, I’m not complaining. As I get older and shall we say ‘things’ (there’s a euphemism for you) — take more time than they used to — someone who won’t give up is a Godsend. And I have no doubt God sent him, but God sent everyone to this earth. Or if you don’t believe in him you believe Mother Nature did? If not that, then -- fortune, chance, or — atoms? And nothing. Nothing created this, and nothing comes to nothing, but if you’d just stop gazing so adoringly at your computer for one damn second then you might dive into this tremendous aporia we call life (aporia means hole — black hole — if you wish) knowing you may come up gasping for air and empty — but it might just give you a great ride.
