Day: November 25, 2020

All this time I thought that John F. Kennedy‘s nickname for Inga Arvad (“Inga Binga”) was some kind of snickering locker-room allusion. It always sounded to me like a somewhat derogatory term that suggested a certain impassioned aptitude in the sack. A couple of days ago I came upon this WWII-era letter (dated 11.10.43) that Arvad sent to JFK. Her signature seems to read “Inga Binga.” It seems, in other words, to have been a nickname that she accepted, at least when it came to communicating with JFK. At the time Arvad was living at 1156 Hacienda Place, a West Hollywood address just south of Fountain and north of Santa Monica Blvd.

I can’t confirm but I’ve heard second-hand that the 2021 Sundance Film Festival Press Inclusion Initiative has circulated an amendment to a previous announcement. The following may or may not be taken from a legitimate Sundance release so please read with a grain of salt, pending confirmation:

“In addition to our ongoing program to support freelance journalists from under-represented communities, specifically BIPOC (black, indigenous and people of color), women, LGBTQ+ and/or people with disabilities, Sundance press reps are additionally reaching out to a group currently struggling with difficult or negative Twitter profiles and press descriptions — middle-aged and older cisgender white males, specifically those who’ve been covering Sundance since the ’80s, ’90s and early aughts.

“Sundance is committed to offering fair and equal treatment to this somewhat anguished and beleagured community, providing that said white males express a willingness to submit to 20 hours of sensitivity training, to be administered by festival-affiliated professionals and offered via Zoom sessions. Once these journalists have completed the training, Sundance is prepared to offer an additional 20 stipends of $1000 each (the same per-person amount being offered to 80 under-represented Sundance journalists, for a total of 100) to cover condo rentals, food expenses, toiletries and taxi rentals for the older white male cisgenders. Further details to follow.”

Last night I caught Steven Soderbergh‘s Let Them All Talk (HBO Max, 12.10). Deborah Eisenberg‘s script is about prominent author Alice Hughes (Meryl Streep) sharing a trans-Atlantic crossing with two old friends (Candice Bergen, Dianne Wiest), a 20something nephew (Lucas Hedges) and Streep’s 30something editor (Gemma Chan). No reactions until the embargo lifts on the morning of 12.3, but I can at least riff on the general ambiance aboard the Queen Mary 2, upon which 90% of the film unfolds.

Soderbergh shot Let Them All Talk aboard an actual QM2 voyage between New York and Southampton, and so he naturally captured the atmosphere and social climate that would immerse any passenger. And in this narrow sense it’s about luxury, reddish rosey colors, flush vibes, first-class cabins, restaurants, workout salons, cafes, cocktail lounges, waiters and bartenders.

And therefore, from a certain perspective, the film seems to be only incidentally about the fact that they’re travelling across the mighty Atlantic Ocean, and the possibility that there are all kinds of meditative or spiritual benefits to be gained from breathing in that sea air and maybe gazing at the whitecaps and waves, and maybe noticing some smaller vessels or whales or dolphins or (let’s use our imagination) an abandoned 20-foot sailboat with a torn sail, or maybe some kind of Robert Redford-like figure on a life raft, waving for help.

Maybe there’s a moment when they cross near the region where the Titanic hit the iceberg or where the Lusitania or Andrea Doria sank.

Alas, the vibe aboard the QM2 seems to be almost entirely about what people are eating, what they’re drinking, what they’re reading, what they’re wearing and who they envy. And the decor. What happens among the main characters is fascinating and well worth the passage, but from a certain distance the voyage is all about flush comforts and everyone wanting to savor a quasi-Kardashian lifestyle for seven or eight days, and almost nothing about…hello?…an astonishing atmospheric experience called the fucking Atlantic Ocean.

Yes, I realize this is how things are aboard large sea vessels these days. (And probably were in the old days.) If I were ever to cross the Atlantic I would do so Allie Fox-style, aboard some kind of spartan Merchant Marine vessel. And I would spend a lot of time on deck.