Letter from Clapham: Erik Donald France to Wallace Fowlie, July 10, 1991 (Part II)

[Though earlier I'd donated to Duke letters from Wallace Fowlie (1908-1998) to me, more recently, in sorting through my files, I came across photocopies of at least some of the letters I wrote to him. Here's Part II of a long one I wrote in longhand from Clapham, London, dated July 10, 1991. Ellipses indicate slight editing (deletion of a few personal details). Extra paragraph breaks added for easier reading. For his other letters, please see Wallace Fowlie Papers, David M. Rubenstein Rare Book & Manuscript Library, Duke University. Here's a link to the collection guide.]

Unfortunately my notes and my memories are jumbled out of sequence from here on, but there were fragments of a demented rendering of the "Celebration of the Lizard," and a prolonged "Light My Fire," Morrison prancing in front of the audience during the guitar solo, holding out his microphone and letting people scream or shirk back whichever they prefer (he prefers screaming); he dances and stalks the stage during the organ solo, then, resuming his vocals, at one point he chants along with the crashing music, "F*ck-f*ck-f*ck-f*ck!" 

During "Unknown Soldier", scenes of the cross rows at Arlington, Gen'l Westmoreland's blubbering, Jim "Indian dancing" and acting out an execution scene, as if calling out to bite the ends of their guns -- Rimbaud is clearly here there, & everywhere!

Also, this film had a clear effect on Oliver Stone, who mirrors certain scenes and glimpses, such as when members of the Doors emerge from a building one at a time, are asked a question and give an answer. Manzarek comes off a little more pretentious & on a different planet than Morrison. I think The Doors captures them well, though musically they were all tight and complimentary.

During the performance of "Spanish Caravan" in The Doors Are Open, Morrison is absorbed, drenched in sweat, and captured by a low dolly shot which is quite effective, though possibly accidental. 

Morrison's recorded statements are interesting. When asked if the Doors are politicians, he says, "first, we're musicians and writers." He later says, "I think these days in the States you have to be a politician or an assassin to be a superstar;" also, "I'd like to make a celebration of pure unbounded joy . . . I don't think we've really done that yet." He describes the Doors as "gloomy" so far, "like someone not quite at home, not quite relaxed . . . I'd like to do one with a feeling of being totally at home . . ." 

And, with an obvious symbol, there is a shot of a lizard or iguana, which Oliver Stone transferred into The Doors almost identically. 

Despite its numerous faults, mostly its amateur quality, The Doors Are Open was an impressive shorter film, because of its documentary footage of the band, of Jim Morrison's sturm und drang, & of the time.

The Doors is playing Europe & seems to be getting the same kind of mixed reception it got in the U.S., but I haven't seen any full length reviews yet. I think the film is extremely well done, & have no qualms about it at all. I'm looking forward to Stone's film on "the crime of the century."

There is a bust of John F. Kennedy next to the International Students House off Great Portland Street, erected by contributions of £1 each from thousands of Britons, & dedicated to Bobby Kennedy about the time the Doors began playing.

Helen Mirren and Malcolm McDowell, O Lucky Man! (1973)

I won't get into my thoughts about O Lucky Man!, except to say I've seen it twice now & liked it even more the second time. Malcolm McDowell is spectacular. Also, that it was strange and wonderful to see it in London, where nearly the last half of the the film takes place. In fact, the Post Tower is in the background of one scene; now the British Telecom tower, it rises besides Howland Street, from which I called [Y] during my brief stay at the Int'l Students House, and where, I have since discovered, Rimbaud and Verlaine staid [stayed] around 1872 to 1873 (35 Howland Street).* But everything seems to interconnect after you've looked at things a while, in a magical fabric through time, space, and memory.

[*sometimes this is rendered 34 or 34-35 Howland Street.]

                              [To be continued.]