Category Archives: Photographers

Streets of Fire revisited

Still as good as movie making gets.

In a piece titled ‘Still movies‘ some dozen years ago I extolled the exceptional cinematography in Walter Hill’s ‘Streets of Fire’.

The film was a huge flop when it was introduced, poor publicity and strong competition from another tedious, puerile Star Trek movie damning it quickly.

Since that time in 1984 ‘Streets of Fire’ has rightly acquired cult status and – finally! – has been released in BluRay format.

Few movies can hold a candle to Andrew Laszlo’s photography or William Hill’s direction, and most of those were made by Stanley Kubrick or David Lean.

Here are a few more images from this visual and musical masterpiece:



The atmosphere of late-50s industrial America is perfectly captured.


A perfect fade, reminiscent of the Russian cinema.


Beautiful Diane Lane was just 18 when the movie was made. Her pouty performance is perfect.


As Raven Shaddock, leader of the biker gang, Willem Dafoe stars in one of his first roles.
Hopefully he will get the Oscar he so deserves this year.


Nearly all the cars are Studebakers. Here the cops’ gets trashed.


The dynamism of the cinematography and the performances in the final concert number remain stunning.


The back-up group, The Sorels, mime their music like everyone else.
The beautiful number ‘I Can Dream About You’ was written and performed by Don Hartman.


As the tough good guy Michael Paré gives a splendid low key performance.
Here he is shooting up the bad guys’ Harleys in The Battery, a rough after hours joint.


Chicago’s El serves as backdrop in this rain soaked scene.


Some of my closest friends.


Dafoe does not know how to act badly, raven haircut and all.
His sidekick is Lee Ving, who is best known as the frontman for the L.A. hardcore punk band Fear.


In one of the best fight scenes ever staged, Raven Shaddock meets his match in Tom Cody.


Amazon has the movie in the BluRay version. Snap it up before Universal does something as dumb as its roll out of the movie over 30 years ago and pulls it from distribution.

One year in paradise – 2017

Scottsdale, AZ.

Twelve months ago I left the increasingly foreign province of California known as Silicon Valley and moved to a place whose life style is infinitely preferable. One where you are not competing with loud strangers in their new land for a place in a restaurant and where your neighbors speak English because that, after all, is still the nation’s tongue.

And the carefully researched decision to leave the chaos, cost and noise of the Bay Area for Scottsdale, Arizona has proved to be right in every conceivable way. The other short listed candidates included Boise – Idaho, Santa Fe – New Mexico and Reno – Nevada. Anything further east failed the test of climate. The first two were excluded owing to the absence of decent sized airports with non-stop flights everywhere, the last because – you know – Nevada, land of trailers and gambling.

The big building boom in Arizona, fueled by corrupt banksters whose lending bubble popped in 2007, has seen the three prime states of crazy lending – Arizona, Florida and Nevada – with abundant housing inventory at well below the late-2006 peak. As ‘second home speculation pain’ has set in these homes are either being repossessed by those same banksters, where they are hidden off the balance sheet to keep the regulators happy, or marketed by owners heretofore in deep denial. And, indeed, I paid fifty cents on the 2006 dollar for mine.


Typical price history of homes in my zip code – this one still unsold after 7 months of listing at 15% off the peak price of 10 years’ earlier. Other areas are even worse. Reckon on over $1000 per square foot in the Bay Area.

North Scottsdale, exactly 30 minutes from Phoenix International Airport, is not cheap as the Phoenix metro area goes, but nonetheless homes here sell for one fifth (yes, one fifth) of comparable properties in the Bay Area. I had dozens and dozens to choose from and any of my six shortlisted candidates would have been fine. In the event I chose one on the periphery of America’s largest nature preserve and what few changes were dictated largely involved the garden.


The garden when I moved in – bare minimum builder standard plants, there since completion in 1996, further enhanced with wretched battery powered landscape lights.


The garden today – a profusion of new plants, new irrigation, sculptures and a sun blind to enhance life on the patio. All new LED flood- and spotlights lend drama at night.

The surprising thing to me is that the previous two owners of the home cared so little for the spirit of place that these simple, obvious and inexpensive changes were not made 20 years ago. Life here centers around the patio with its outdoor furniture, mountain views and shelter from the sun. You might as well enjoy the garden while contemplating the meaninglessness of life …. But then, in contrast to western Europeans, Americans have never been high on the scale when it comes to appreciation of spirit of place, or for contemplative thought, for that matter.

What is wrong about Scottsdale? Well, one and all who have never lived here will point to three months of 100+F weather in the summer. Temperature without humidity data is meaningless when it comes to assessing climate quality and when I tell you that 100F in arid, high desert heat is not the same as 100F in the swamps of the Southeast you may understand.

But not for one moment would I suggest you move here. No siree! The hellish heat, the crowded potholed roads, the traffic – all utterly unbearable. I recommend the Bay Area for you.


Outside my little community in north Scottsdale. Hellish heat, the crowded potholed roads, the traffic, all those Rolls Royces, Bentleys and Ferraris, with Porsches for the lower demographic – avoid at all costs.

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Click here for an index of all the Biographical pieces.

Lewis Hine

A man who changed America.

Great men change societies for the better in various ways. Some do it through political action (FDR – Medicare, Social Security, WPA), others through large capital transfers and aggressive leadership (Bill Gates and his Foundation). Lewis Hine (1874 – 1940) was neither a powerful politician nor a Master of the Universe. This highly educated man (University of Chicago, Columbia, NYU) was instrumental in changing child labor law in the United States through his searing photography of young children put out to work.

The Guardian has a fine spread of his work which you can see by clicking his iconic image of the power house mechanic below.


Click the image.

Sadly Hine died destitute, living on welfare. The great nation which he had helped reform had turned its back on him.

Jules Aarons

Street photographer and scientist.

Jules Aarons provides concrete proof that talent is not equally disposed in the world of homo sapiens.

The scientific work of Aarons has much to do with the accuracy of the Google Maps app on your iPhone. But it’s his street photography which is of greater interest here. A long time resident of Boston and, like all educated men***, a devoted Francophile, his street snaps in Boston and Paris are luminous and delightful.

*** Aarons studied physics at Boston University, earning his M.S. degree in 1949. In 1953 he won a Fulbright scholarship and earned his Ph.D. at the University of Paris – Wikipedia.


Paris


Boston

You can see more at his web site here.

Elliott Erwitt in Pittsburgh

Before the transformation.

These newly discovered images of Pittsburgh by Elliott Erwitt document the old city built by the little Scots immigrant and his Carnegie Steel, before its transformation to the vibrant metropolis of today.

Erwitt is incapable of taking a bad photograph as this wonderful slide show attests.


Click the image.

Sadly, it’s many of the descendants of these same immigrants pictured here who would deny the opportunity of immigration to the United States to those who will only help make America greater. “Now that I’m here, stay away” being the thinking. That’s not the America which welcomed me with open arms on November 16, 1977, a day second only to my son’s birth in my memories.