By Stuart Mitchner
I’ve just read Wallace Stevens’s “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird,” today being his 145th birthday. Why that particular poem now? Probably because it’s an infectious idea that inspires impersonation. And why 13? Why not 9 or 7? Or 10 to match the number of his birthday month?
When I began writing a few days ago, I was thinking about ways of looking at Italy. What set me off was the Milan cathedral, which rises magnificently from the center of Luchino Visconti’s epic Rocco and His Brothers (1960), a film so “fearsome” (Martin Scorsese’s word) that people screamed “No!” “Stop it!” and “Basta!” when its prolonged explosions of murderous violence were first shown at the Venice Film Festival.
What happened to me? Suddenly, breathtakingly, after one of the movie’s most brutal, harrowing, hard-to-watch scenes, I found myself at the top of the cathedral surrounded by spires and pinnacles, with dizzy-making views of the city and country on all sides while straight scarily down below were tiny streetcars, busses, and human beings. I’m up there with Alain Delon’s Rocco and Annie Girardot’s Nadia, who was beaten and raped in front of Rocco by his brother Simone, mad with jealousy because Rocco and Nadia, a free-spirited prostitute, have fallen, truly, in love. more
State Theatre New Jersey presents “The Princess Bride: An Inconceivable Evening with Cary Elwes” on Saturday, October 19 at 8 p.m.
Looking ahead to William Faulkner’s September 25th birthday, I reread the 1956 Paris Review interview in which he says The Sound and the Fury (1929) is the novel that caused him “the most grief and anguish,” comparing himself to the mother who “loves the child who became the thief or murderer more than the one who became the priest.”