When It's Too Important To You

My whole life I've been fortunate to work in industries that afforded access to talented artists and celebrities, first as a journalist and later as a public relations rep. I've literally met hundreds of A-list stars. I am an avid, perhaps rabid, film fanatic and so I always enjoyed talking with filmmakers--everyone from John Travolta to Francis Ford Coppola. But the three people I've most admired over the years, I've never had a chance to meet: Barbra Streisand, Martin Scorsese and Leonardo DiCaprio. I've had a couple of close calls and missed opportunities, but something always fell through. I think I wanted it too badly. My whole life seems to be afflicted by this pattern. Most things come easily to me. But when I desperately want something not a shot. It came back to me in spades this weekend when Streisand's latest concert special aired. We had a minor rain, but apparently it was enough to cause my satellite dish to black out every three or four seconds--that's less than one Streisand high note. So my plan of keeping the special on my DVR for instant access washed out. The DVD comes out on Tuesday, and I am eager to purchase for many reasons, including the fact that I was serendiptiously interviewed for it outside Staples Center in L.A., both before and after the closing concert of her 2006 tour. If my rule of thumb holds true, I've probably wound up on the cutting room floor. Still the points I made I still believe in, even though cheerleading for Streisand is no longer in vogue. Everyone most enjoys the music they grew up with. As a child of the seventies, for me that's Streisand. People may not remember or youngsters cannot grasp what an unparalled and perhaps unprecedented entertainment force she was three decades ago--an industry unto herself, and the first woman in Hollywood with real influence. In my interview, I credit her with my cultural awakening. As a rough-and-tumble street kid from Chicago, I didn't know much about much. One afternoon with nothing to do we stumbled into the only movie theater near our home and saw "A Star Is Born." I was immediately captivated by this person, who came off as truly exotic to me. I bought the soundtrack. That led me to buy another Streisand record. Soon I was discovering Cole Porter, Harold Arlen and George Gershwin. I was digging into clever writing from a time when it took more to be a lyricist than the inability to conjugate. Whether I make it onto the DVD or not, I hope Streisand at least heard my testimony. I owe her a debt of gratitude.

To Blog or Not to Blog?

I admit I'm late to the game and maybe even too old to really relate to the notion that one's every musing needs to be publicly expressed, but I started my own blog on April 24. Damn you, Blogger, for making it too easy. The question now is what to do with it. The media needs no more armchair critics. I'm already in touch with the people who give a fying fluck about what I have to say, and I certainly don't want to betray any of their confidences. With no publicity and no fan base, my blog will attract too few readers to become a testing ground--let alone a proving pot--for any new material I'm creating. The only thing I'm certain I can do is mess with my credibility for future job interviews. If nothing else, at least I can practice touch typing. Since we all have different personalities that we avail to various people in our lives, I will list the three reasons why I've titled the blog "Perennially Pullia," and you can pick the one that best suits the reality that we've previously agreed upon: 1. I'm a sucker for aliteration; 2. No matter how many times I recreate myself, I can't escape my genes; 3. Just plain "Pullia" was already taken.

Too Real. Too Painful.

As a longtime admirer of the novel “Revolutionary Road” (Yates can really turn a phrase), I thrilled with anticipation when I learned one of my favorite actors, Leonardo DiCaprio, was to star in a big-screen adaptation. It’s an actors’ movie. In fact, the word "acting" seems cheap and insufficient to describe what DiCaprio and Winslett accomplished in this extraordinary film that on the surface indicts suburbia but more deeply jabs at narcissism. Forget about "characters," The reunited "Titanic" stars employ their legendary chemistry to engender wholly realized, actual people, people so real that it's sometimes uncomfortable to watch their private lives imploding in an arena so public as a movie theater. There in lies the problem with this film's fleeting popularity and Oscar snub. There is no irony. No editorial comment. No distance of any kind. Just two hours of raw emotion. Director Sam Mendes and his stars perfectly depict-- note-by-note, tear-by-tear, deception-by-deception-- the painful collapse of a marriage and shameful self-realizations of one's small place in the world. But who wants to live through that -- even as a spectator?

Prelude to an Overture

I'm a middlebrow. Make no mistake; I don't mean unibrow. That's the one bad family gene I dodged. I'm neither effete nor aesthete--in other words you'd as like to find me at a Wagner "Ring" Cycle as you would at NASCAR. But I do love symphonic music. I say "symphonic" not "classical" because my road to Beethoven and Tchaikovsky was bridged by John Williams and a million movie soundtracks. E.T. could never fly without that score, and do you really want to listen to that dialogue in "Star Wars" ("into the trashbin, Flyboy") unadorned?I especially love the ostentatious moments, the musical thunderstorms, the crashing climaxes. In storytelling, two cymbals are worth a thousand symbols. As a teenager, after buying all the soundtracks I could, it occured to me that orchestras might be doing something else between takes. I know I'm not alone in finding my way to classical music through the movies, and as orchestras wring their hands in a search for new audiences, I have three not-so-simple (or even English) words: "Also Sprach Zarathustra."You don't need to know that this is a 19th-century tone poem by Richard Strauss based on the nihilistic noodlings of Nietzsche. Because you already know the score. And people like what they know.This music speaks to everyone; we can all interpret it without ever having stepped foot in a concert hall. To Stanley Kubrick, it's the dawn of humanity. To my aunt, it's the bold entrance of the King of Rock n' Roll (may he rest in peace). If it's not in your CD collection or on your iPod, buy it. Now. Then check out Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, Tchaikovsky's First Piano Concerto, and don't forget "Close Encounters of the Third Kind."Thus spoke Nick.