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About Oregon daily emerald. (Eugene, Or.) 1920-2012 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 19, 1978)
Elizabeth Butler Mu(Cl4M (Continued from Page 4B) arrowheads —” “Does he?” “Oh hell yes. He does them all by hand and everything. He does them the Indian way. If you’re buy ing them from him he’ll tell you he made them but by the time they get around nobody knows they were done by a white man.” Robert returns, carrying three boards of arrowheads and several silver pieces. He says he is asking $1,000 for the lot. Butler decides that the arrowheads are local, and expresses similar disinterest in the silver. Robert leaves. “Poor,” says Butler, “poorqual ity. That one necklace was all done by machine.” The incident emphasized the increasing difficulty in finding good Indian art. Both Butler and Ford say they will often go to shows and find only a handful worth considering. Much of the work is commercial; other, dam aged or poor craftsmanship. Some of it is simply faked. With Indian art ranging in value from hundreds to thousands of dollars, forgeries are a lucrative proposi tion. “There are people with no con science who don’t mind that they are perpetuating a crime,” Butler says. “They’re looking at it from a sheer standpoint of greed.” 'reed Combine it with dying skills and a lack of under standing by both the general pub lic and Native Americans, and the Indian art world begins to look frantic and confused. • But one thing seems oblivious to it all — the art itself. Kwahu Kachina stands posed in his case with something no one else has — the power of a mythology, the chant of a craftrman. The world lives a little longer because of his existence. Just incredible, the woman says. And again the Eagle Being leaps for the sky. The Butler Museum of Indian Art, 1155 First Street, is open from 10a.m. to 5p.m. Tuesday through Saturdays. Admission is $1.50 for adults, 25 cents for children. Story by Eric Maloney Photos by Eric Boekelheide The Choirboys Comedy not funny as Aldrich’s films negate hero myths Robert Aldrich may well be the most underrated American direc tor working in the seventies. On the surface, this is puzzling, since Aldrich’s work has some obvious merits, not the least of which are a vivid, aggressive visual style and an exceptional consistency and coherence of theme and charac terization. Further, Aldrich has, for at least a decade apparently, retained al most complete control over his career, choosing his projects and making his films without outside interference. Even when, in the late sixties and early seventies, a series of financial disasters de stroyed his production company, he stubbornly struggled to retain his independence, finally making two moneymakers, The Longest Yard (1974) and Hustle (1975), to go with his earlier successes, Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962), and The Dirty Dozen (1967). Despite this evidence of integ rity and commitment to personal film-making, Aldrich is ap preciated as an artist only by a handful of cult admirers. More than once, a new Aldrich film has been reviewed superficially as if it were a piece of commercial hack work. Ironically, it is probably the force and integrity with which Aldrich renders his vision on the screen that, more than anything else, en courages his neglect; he is not a likeable director, and his world is an extraordinarily unpleasant place. Violence and treachery are not uncommon in action films, but most directors undercoat the bleakness with sentimentality, often in the form of a romanticized central character. Aldrich, how ever, sees a world where heroism 3* OVER NIGHT NO MINIMUM 8c»m - 8pm KINKOS ■ • • ; 344t7694 1128 B ALDER'STREET 2nd floor Atrium 485-1063. can no longer exist (one of his films is revealingly titled Too Late the Hero). His characters often have few choices; a man betrays his friends in The Choirboys, and most malevolent indifference. The more sophisticated myths of the seventies get the same Al drich treatment. Perhaps the director’s most telling refusal to By DAVID COURSEN a U.S. President conceals a major scandal and connives in his own assassination in “Twilight's Last Gleaming. In Hustle, a man is ludicrous and pathetic when he tries to play the hero and avenge his daughter’s death; the closest thing to heroism in the film is a cop’s effort to conceal the sordid murder the would-be hero finally commits. If Aldrich often rejects and invar iably undercuts traditional types of heroism, he is no more receptive to the heroes of the seventies. American football-worship is the subject of apparently good natured satire in The Longest Yard. In Hustle, however, when a man is called away from a football game to identify his daughter’s body, the incessant sound of that game, coming from a series of nearby radios seems to mock the tragedy the man must face; in the process, the sound unforgettably objectifies the world’s utter, al r"—fc romanticize is in his 1972 cavalry western Ulzana's Raid. In typical seventies fashion, the film fea tures a callow officer who, acting as a kind of liberal mouthpiece, suggests that Indians have been systematically brutalized and op pressed; hence their violence must be understood. But Aldrich is not debunking one mythic hero, the noble cavalryman, merely to create a more modem equivalent, the Noble (peace-loving) Savage. Instead, Ulzana's Raid, despite its modem perspective, is unsparing in its depiction of both the brutality and the martial skills of its maraud ing Indians. In Ulzana, as elsewhere, Al drich describes men caught within larger processes that are beyond their control. The actions of each individual may be important to him and those around him but are futile as attempts to control the situation. The integrity of Burt Reynolds' cop in Hustle, or the patriotism of Burt Lancaster’s missile base hijacker or the de cency of Charles Durning’s presi dent in Twilight’s Last Gleaming (1977 s best film), are meaning lessly overwhelmed by the perva sive immorality of their societal and political contexts. It is hardly surprising, then, that Aldrich has created some of the most devastating final images in the American cinema. Kiss Me, Deadly (1955) concludes with the sound of an endless scream as an A-bomb explodes. In some ways, the final shot of Twilight’s Last Gleaming is even more agonizing as the camera recedes from a slain American President sur rounded by symbols of the militarism that has demanded his life. Thus it is not surprising either that Aldrich's newest film, The Choirboys, though billed as a “comedy," is not very funny. Al drich has a malicious sense of irony, but his feel for the nuances of comedy is erratic. As a result, the film’s weakest moments are often those when it is most con spicuously laboring to be funny; a parking lot traffic jam, obviously and ineptly plagiarized from Nashville, is one glaring example. But if The Choirboys (the name refers to a group of Los Angeles cops who hold choir practices — drunken debauches — in a city park) fails as comedy, it is more than redeemed by its characteris tic Aldrich strengths. It is most ef fective in the force with which it suggests the treacnery or me choirboys working environment. In fact, one reason the film is not particularly funny is that Aldrich is never unmindful of the consequ ences of the ways policemen ex ercise their power. The choirboys may be no worse than ordinary men, but in their job that makes them dangerous, to themselves and to others. As a result, the film's humor often has perverse overtones. When a psychotic patrolman talks tough to his partner, his brutal de scriptions may be grotesquely humorous. But when he talks tough to a potential suicide, thereby persuading her to jump, the humor pales. Later, with a swaggering machismo that is al most terrifying, the same man turns a minor domestic quarrel into a near riot, in which he is fi nally beaten with a violence that is disturbingly cathartic; for this act, he receives a special citation. In short, the film is typical Al drich. It is other, less brutal choir boys who fail each other, and who become involved in sadomasoch ism, suicide, and murder. Finally, the oldest and wisest of the group, “Spermwhale” Whalen (Charles Durning, in a brilliant perfor mance), six months from retire ment, saves himself and his pen sion by betraying his fellow offic ers. Despite an ambiguous final reversal, it is clear here, as in all of Aldrich, that the well-intentioned, no less than the brutal, can be de stroyed. Heroes don’t survive. Too late the hero. TONIGHT — FRI-SAT-SUN 2nd week Starring Priscilla Lauris "This is a play to rLift your hat to!’ ” -Don Bishoff, Eugene Register-Guard October 15, 1977 MAUDE KERNS ART CENTER corner of E. 15th and Villard Admission $4.00 Curtain 8:30pm/6:30pm Sun. TICKETS AVAILABLE EXCLUSIVELY AT BACKSTAGE DANCEWEAR and THEATRICAL SUPPLY 686-2671 OR AT THE DOOR STUDENTS RUSH! THURS (Jan 19) and SUN (Jan 22nd) ONLY • Any remaining tickets one half price at the door at 8:25 p.m. to students with proper I.D. THURSDAY AND 6:25 p.m. SUNDAY
