Michael Davidow's Blog: The Henry Bell Project - Posts Tagged "matthew-weiner"
I and Thou
I started this blog to augment my author’s page on the Goodreads website; then I added it to my Amazon author’s page. Then I recreated it on the Wordpress platform, where three friendly guys have since pressed the “like” button on an entry called “Mad Man.” That was where I mentioned Matthew Weiner’s Mad Men, the AMC television show. That fact stands out to me. Nothing else has produced such an effect.
So in a shameless attempt to market my work accordingly, here is a brand new entry in which I helpfully compare Don Draper to Henry Bell. I am somewhat handicapped in doing so, because I have still never seen Mad Men. But you can learn a lot about it, by reading the news.
Don Draper is the handsome lead character in a glossy soap opera seen and loved by millions. Henry Bell is the burly lead character in a literary novel known to around five people in New Hampshire, Boston, and Washington, D.C. (there is also someone in Los Angeles). Early on, he is described as the “ant” to another ad-man’s “grasshopper.”
Don and his friends seem to drink a lot, but I’m not sure what (there’s an awful lot of discussion out there about how to make “Mad Men” cocktails). Henry drinks scotch, because he’s a Republican (as for his friends: Bertie drinks bourbon, because he’s a Democrat; Walton drinks tequila, because he’s from California; and Pooch drinks anything, because he’s an alcoholic).
Don seems to have some problem with his wife. Henry loves Paula, in spite of their being divorced.
Don has some other existential crisis going on, too, which seems to manifest itself in various shades of sex and wardrobe changes. Henry’s existential crisis has something to do with Ecclesiastes and the work of Thomas Kuhn.
J. Crew is marketing a line of clothing based on Don and his friends. Henry wears the same grey suit in nearly every scene, and I don’t think Peterson’s neckties survived 1973.
Don is haunted by his time in Korea. Henry fought in Italy, where he attempted to avoid getting the clap.
The actor who plays Don shows up on a lot of magazine covers. When I think about who could possibly play Henry, I think about Sterling Hayden, and Bill Holden. Then I wake up, and I go to work.
And I should probably end with this: Mad Men was created by some forty-something Jewish guy who was born in Baltimore, and who really liked the sixties. SPLIT THIRTY was written by some forty-something Jewish guy who was born in Boston, and who really liked the seventies. He wishes Matthew Weiner well. Perhaps they will meet someday.
So in a shameless attempt to market my work accordingly, here is a brand new entry in which I helpfully compare Don Draper to Henry Bell. I am somewhat handicapped in doing so, because I have still never seen Mad Men. But you can learn a lot about it, by reading the news.
Don Draper is the handsome lead character in a glossy soap opera seen and loved by millions. Henry Bell is the burly lead character in a literary novel known to around five people in New Hampshire, Boston, and Washington, D.C. (there is also someone in Los Angeles). Early on, he is described as the “ant” to another ad-man’s “grasshopper.”
Don and his friends seem to drink a lot, but I’m not sure what (there’s an awful lot of discussion out there about how to make “Mad Men” cocktails). Henry drinks scotch, because he’s a Republican (as for his friends: Bertie drinks bourbon, because he’s a Democrat; Walton drinks tequila, because he’s from California; and Pooch drinks anything, because he’s an alcoholic).
Don seems to have some problem with his wife. Henry loves Paula, in spite of their being divorced.
Don has some other existential crisis going on, too, which seems to manifest itself in various shades of sex and wardrobe changes. Henry’s existential crisis has something to do with Ecclesiastes and the work of Thomas Kuhn.
J. Crew is marketing a line of clothing based on Don and his friends. Henry wears the same grey suit in nearly every scene, and I don’t think Peterson’s neckties survived 1973.
Don is haunted by his time in Korea. Henry fought in Italy, where he attempted to avoid getting the clap.
The actor who plays Don shows up on a lot of magazine covers. When I think about who could possibly play Henry, I think about Sterling Hayden, and Bill Holden. Then I wake up, and I go to work.
And I should probably end with this: Mad Men was created by some forty-something Jewish guy who was born in Baltimore, and who really liked the sixties. SPLIT THIRTY was written by some forty-something Jewish guy who was born in Boston, and who really liked the seventies. He wishes Matthew Weiner well. Perhaps they will meet someday.
As Seen on TV
He took his practical place on the sidewalk with flocks of kids in Levi jeans and pea coats, pinch-faced women in brown or tan, carrying shabby shopping bags with small clutching hands, sour-faced men in navy-blue overcoats, cops, hustlers, housewives, teamsters; he was just passing through these parts, and he never pretended otherwise…
Pity Matthew Weiner. All he has done is successfully entertain millions of people for the past five years, by making a show that has launched careers, sold clothing, and driven one guy from New Hampshire up the wall. But he apparently botched his take on St. Mark’s Place in his show’s new season, so people are criticizing him. He apparently showed it as being dangerous, back in the day, when it was not.
It looks like he was riffing on a well-known murder that took place in that area, a few blocks to the east. And in making a minor geographical adjustment to that story (perhaps out of respect for the actual event), he deviated too much from reality.
Now I tried hard to keep Henry Bell’s Manhattan (and his Los Angeles, and his Washington) as real as possible. I am sure I also messed up, though, and more than once. So I sympathize with my imaginary friend on this score.
When Henry and Pooch and Walton are cruising Times Square, for instance, “the stars above them stayed invisible in the smoky autumn sky, the sidewalks underneath them providing better constellations, foil wrappers, and hidden mica; mica set into the pavement like ice cubes floating in scotch. Flashing neon above their heads somersaulted downwards, too, reflecting in every taxicab’s windshield, and streams of light electrified the onyx rows they traveled through…”
Maybe Times Square really wasn’t like that in 1972; maybe there really weren’t “cars and cops to keep him company, and tense teenaged hookers; needles of neon at the corners of his spectacle lenses, and shallow oil rainbows in the gutters by the street…” I hope those things existed. Otherwise I’ll get panned.
As for St. Mark’s Place itself, it shows up just one time in SPLIT THIRTY: it’s where Selma Kahn decided to bleach her hair and cut it short. Only makes sense if you know this extra fact: Andy Warhol ran the Exploding Plastic Inevitable at a dance hall called the Dom, in St. Mark’s Place, in 1966. Edie must have been there.
Pity Matthew Weiner. All he has done is successfully entertain millions of people for the past five years, by making a show that has launched careers, sold clothing, and driven one guy from New Hampshire up the wall. But he apparently botched his take on St. Mark’s Place in his show’s new season, so people are criticizing him. He apparently showed it as being dangerous, back in the day, when it was not.
It looks like he was riffing on a well-known murder that took place in that area, a few blocks to the east. And in making a minor geographical adjustment to that story (perhaps out of respect for the actual event), he deviated too much from reality.
Now I tried hard to keep Henry Bell’s Manhattan (and his Los Angeles, and his Washington) as real as possible. I am sure I also messed up, though, and more than once. So I sympathize with my imaginary friend on this score.
When Henry and Pooch and Walton are cruising Times Square, for instance, “the stars above them stayed invisible in the smoky autumn sky, the sidewalks underneath them providing better constellations, foil wrappers, and hidden mica; mica set into the pavement like ice cubes floating in scotch. Flashing neon above their heads somersaulted downwards, too, reflecting in every taxicab’s windshield, and streams of light electrified the onyx rows they traveled through…”
Maybe Times Square really wasn’t like that in 1972; maybe there really weren’t “cars and cops to keep him company, and tense teenaged hookers; needles of neon at the corners of his spectacle lenses, and shallow oil rainbows in the gutters by the street…” I hope those things existed. Otherwise I’ll get panned.
As for St. Mark’s Place itself, it shows up just one time in SPLIT THIRTY: it’s where Selma Kahn decided to bleach her hair and cut it short. Only makes sense if you know this extra fact: Andy Warhol ran the Exploding Plastic Inevitable at a dance hall called the Dom, in St. Mark’s Place, in 1966. Edie must have been there.
March Madness
“Good morning, Chan. It’s Henry.” “Henry? Are you back from the coast?” “Here I am. Live, from Madison Avenue.”
Its charm continues to elude me. It’s a soap opera with elaborate sets. I think it has more to do with the self-regard of non-native New Yorkers than with any particular dramatic import. But hey— Matthew Weiner: where is the love?
Ten random Mad Men moments from the Henry Bell novels:
10. Pullman Porter eats a mango (Gate City);
9. Pooch sings the Ko-Ko-Bite jingle during lunch at the Four Seasons (Split Thirty);
8. Jack Mercer stares down a peacock (Gate City);
7. Liesl Engelbrecht and Paula Bell dance the twist (Gate City);
6. Pooch throws up in Times Square, while Henry talks about the Ted Bates agency (Split Thirty);
5. Henry insults the woman in mink (Split Thirty);
4. Tasha gets covered with magazine advertisements at Kahn’s studio in Hell’s Kitchen (Split Thirty);
3. Selma smuggles a strawberry milkshake into Chasen’s (Gate City);
2. Baby Robert falls into a swimming pool (Gate City); and
1. HENRY GETS DRUNK (the whole damn thing).
Its charm continues to elude me. It’s a soap opera with elaborate sets. I think it has more to do with the self-regard of non-native New Yorkers than with any particular dramatic import. But hey— Matthew Weiner: where is the love?
Ten random Mad Men moments from the Henry Bell novels:
10. Pullman Porter eats a mango (Gate City);
9. Pooch sings the Ko-Ko-Bite jingle during lunch at the Four Seasons (Split Thirty);
8. Jack Mercer stares down a peacock (Gate City);
7. Liesl Engelbrecht and Paula Bell dance the twist (Gate City);
6. Pooch throws up in Times Square, while Henry talks about the Ted Bates agency (Split Thirty);
5. Henry insults the woman in mink (Split Thirty);
4. Tasha gets covered with magazine advertisements at Kahn’s studio in Hell’s Kitchen (Split Thirty);
3. Selma smuggles a strawberry milkshake into Chasen’s (Gate City);
2. Baby Robert falls into a swimming pool (Gate City); and
1. HENRY GETS DRUNK (the whole damn thing).
Town and Country
“About that money. We changed our vehicle the other day. And our new vehicle depends on you. How is that for starters?” / “Here I am.” He crossed his legs and arms. His head hurt, and so did his spine. The MCA man gave him a smile. He was of Bell’s same generation, but better-looking and better-appointed; he had pictures of his children and his wife on his desk, too. Studio-produced, with good lighting. / Bell’s future surely contained a root canal.
So Mad Men is coming to an end, and okay, I admit it– I'll miss it (wink). It doesn’t matter that Split Thirty came first in time (ask the agent who represented it for a minute); it doesn’t matter that The Henry Bell Project is more about politics and religion than it is about advertising; it doesn’t matter that Selma Kahn is sexier in text than half a dozen highly-posed mannequins could ever be, on television. Matthew Weiner deserves a hand. Every single day, it seems, another New York Times reporter is wiping away a tear.
Please tell me, New York Times, why do you care so much? And why are you now giving us “upshots” instead of news? And why is the new Sunday magazine so damned hard to read? And why did you ever allow Herbert Muschamp to write about architecture, or Seth Scheisel to write about video games?
Sorry, I digress.
Anyway, I have always suspected that the Times loves this show because it makes New York City feel good about itself (poor New York, with its raging inferiority complex), and my buddy Ginia Bellafante wrote the other day that I was right: that Matthew Weiner’s political arguments could be boiled down to a sense that city-people are smarter than non-city-people; that cities will save us, or nothing can; and that New York, in particular, is just plain better than the rest of this country. Hmm.
Well, if that’s what my brother Matt was saying, politically speaking, I have to admit I am unconvinced. I remember long ago reading an article by Joyce Carol Oates– holy hell, Joyce Carol Oates!– about how Timothy McVeigh bombed the federal building in Oklahoma City because he grew up in some sad poor town in New York State without the benefit of city culture (city culture as defined by Joyce Carol Oates, I guess). As I myself grew up in a sad poor town here in New Hampshire, I remember being irked by that thesis. As if growing up in New York City protected one from feeling empty (wow, is it that simple?), or being an idiot, or crazy, or violent (Son of Sam, anyone?). Or maybe she meant a place like Cambridge… home to Harvard, thousands of budding artists, and the fine young Tsarnaev brothers…
I dunno. I was always careful in writing The Henry Bell Project to leave people alone; to not argue too much, with what made them happy. Henry is certainly fond of cities (as is the author, Oates Carol Joyce!). But Bertie — a true city boy– repairs to the country whenever he can. Paula is quite content in a suburb. Jack Mercer likes pineapple plantations; Pooch likes to be in motion; Selma is happy wherever she can get an egg cream (which you can’t get anywhere these days)… my point being that we all move around a lot these days, and that questing souls, thoughtful minds, and working hearts can be found all over the place. There are no short-cuts to spiritual integrity (ask Sal Paradise about that– no, not my character, but still). And well-trod roads can lead people to disaster. (Can you imagine, by the way, what today’s more sensitive three-year-olds will be saying about the horror of growing up in “Brooklyn,” come another fifteen years?)
It was the citified Democrats, after all, who first insisted on empowering minorities and giving voice to all dissenters, regardless of their smarts or common sense: demands that the outer fringes of the Republican Party soon came to embrace with glee, leading to the disaster that is Congress, today.
“We have met the enemy, and he is us.” That’s Pogo, friends– and Pogo lived in a swamp.
So Mad Men is coming to an end, and okay, I admit it– I'll miss it (wink). It doesn’t matter that Split Thirty came first in time (ask the agent who represented it for a minute); it doesn’t matter that The Henry Bell Project is more about politics and religion than it is about advertising; it doesn’t matter that Selma Kahn is sexier in text than half a dozen highly-posed mannequins could ever be, on television. Matthew Weiner deserves a hand. Every single day, it seems, another New York Times reporter is wiping away a tear.
Please tell me, New York Times, why do you care so much? And why are you now giving us “upshots” instead of news? And why is the new Sunday magazine so damned hard to read? And why did you ever allow Herbert Muschamp to write about architecture, or Seth Scheisel to write about video games?
Sorry, I digress.
Anyway, I have always suspected that the Times loves this show because it makes New York City feel good about itself (poor New York, with its raging inferiority complex), and my buddy Ginia Bellafante wrote the other day that I was right: that Matthew Weiner’s political arguments could be boiled down to a sense that city-people are smarter than non-city-people; that cities will save us, or nothing can; and that New York, in particular, is just plain better than the rest of this country. Hmm.
Well, if that’s what my brother Matt was saying, politically speaking, I have to admit I am unconvinced. I remember long ago reading an article by Joyce Carol Oates– holy hell, Joyce Carol Oates!– about how Timothy McVeigh bombed the federal building in Oklahoma City because he grew up in some sad poor town in New York State without the benefit of city culture (city culture as defined by Joyce Carol Oates, I guess). As I myself grew up in a sad poor town here in New Hampshire, I remember being irked by that thesis. As if growing up in New York City protected one from feeling empty (wow, is it that simple?), or being an idiot, or crazy, or violent (Son of Sam, anyone?). Or maybe she meant a place like Cambridge… home to Harvard, thousands of budding artists, and the fine young Tsarnaev brothers…
I dunno. I was always careful in writing The Henry Bell Project to leave people alone; to not argue too much, with what made them happy. Henry is certainly fond of cities (as is the author, Oates Carol Joyce!). But Bertie — a true city boy– repairs to the country whenever he can. Paula is quite content in a suburb. Jack Mercer likes pineapple plantations; Pooch likes to be in motion; Selma is happy wherever she can get an egg cream (which you can’t get anywhere these days)… my point being that we all move around a lot these days, and that questing souls, thoughtful minds, and working hearts can be found all over the place. There are no short-cuts to spiritual integrity (ask Sal Paradise about that– no, not my character, but still). And well-trod roads can lead people to disaster. (Can you imagine, by the way, what today’s more sensitive three-year-olds will be saying about the horror of growing up in “Brooklyn,” come another fifteen years?)
It was the citified Democrats, after all, who first insisted on empowering minorities and giving voice to all dissenters, regardless of their smarts or common sense: demands that the outer fringes of the Republican Party soon came to embrace with glee, leading to the disaster that is Congress, today.
“We have met the enemy, and he is us.” That’s Pogo, friends– and Pogo lived in a swamp.
