------ Forwarded Message > From: "dasg...@aol.com" <dasg...@aol.com> > Date: Wed, 15 Jul 2009 17:39:14 EDT > To: Robert Millegan <ramille...@aol.com> > Cc: <ema...@aol.com>, <j...@aol.com>, <jim6...@cwnet.com>, > <garyn2...@yahoo.com>, <robal...@aol.com> > Subject: Aleister Crowley, Hollywood Screenwriter Wannabe in the 1920s > > _http://weiserantiquarian.com/catalogtwentytwo/_ > (http://weiserantiquarian.com/catalogtwentytwo/) > Aleister Crowley - Three Film Scripts > (http://weiserantiquarian.com/catalogtwentytwo/films-somewakecopy2b.jpg) > Aleister Crowley, "Some Wake!" An unpublished film scenario. Original > carbon typescript. ND. circa 1920s. Unbound. A top copy carbon typescript, > prepared on the rectos only on eight large sheets of buff colored paper. 8 > 34 x > 11 14 inches. A rather ingenious and amusing piece, with a > constantly-disappearing corpse, a blonde 'vampire,' "big blonde, coarse, > virago type, > aged 40," and a surprise twist at the ending. > Two versions of this scenario are known to exist, a shorter, presumably > earlier version, and a slightly longer, presumably revised one (the latter > probably has about 25% more content than the former). This typescript is > that of the longer version of the film scenario. It was one of several film > scenarios sent by Crowley to his American disciple W. T. Smith in the early > 1930s <?> with the intent that they be anonymously promoted to Hollywood > studios. Smith has added his own name and address, in large bold > handwriting in the bottom margin of the final leaf. (See further: Martin P. > Starr, > The Unknown God > , p. 322, n. 18.) This typescript is from the from the library of Helen > Parsons Smith (1910 - 2003), ex-wife of Jack Parsons & W. T. Smith, long > time member of Agape Lodge of the OTO, and founder of Thelema Publications. > Three holes punched down inside margins - obviously to secure it in a folder > of some sort. Overall VG+ condition. (33309) SOLD > > (http://weiserantiquarian.com/catalogtwentytwo/films-hildasgold.jpg) > Aleister Crowley, "Hilda's Gold Brick." An unpublished film scenario. > Original > typescript. ND. circa 1920s. Unbound. Typed on the rectos only of sixteen > large sheets of buff colored paper. 8 34 x 11 14 inches. Probably written > in > the 1920s. A story of the 'fall' and eventual redemption of an ambitious > 'shop girl' with desires above her station. Surprisingly sentimental for the > Beast - includes a baby, puppies, and some sunset gazing. > The film scenario was one of a number sent by Crowley to his American > disciple W. T. Smith in the early 1930s <?> with the intent that they be > anonymously promoted to Hollywood studios. For this reason Crowley's name, > which > would have been on the first page of the scenario, has been razored out. > (See further: Martin P. Starr, The Unknown God, p. 322, n. 18.) This > typescript is from the from the library of Helen Parsons Smith (1910 - 2003), > ex-wife of Jack Parsons & W. T. Smith, long time member of Agape Lodge of the > OTO, and founder of Thelema Publications. A large (5"x 2 1/4") section which > had held Crowley's name - and presumably address - excised from the upper > margin of the first leaf. Three holes punched down inside margins - > obviously to secure it in a folder of some sort. Small discolored mark across > lower margin of the first page, otherwise VG+ condition. (33304) Please check > our website for current availability. > > (http://weiserantiquarian.com/catalogtwentytwo/estring.jpg) Aleister > Crowley, "The E String (or The Magic Fiddle)." An unpublished film scenario. > Original typescript. ND. circa 1920s. Unbound. Typed on the rectos only of > twenty-four large sheets of buff colored paper. 8 34 x 11 14 inches. > Probably > written in the 1920s. According to the synopsis, it is 'The story of the > soul of an artist, of its paramount need of expression, the mill-stone of the > contending Forces of Good and Evil, impersonated by characters in the > play, and of the birth of Will, to guide and direct Love.' Interesting as > this > is the most didactic of the Crowley film-scripts that we have seen, with > references to "Love under Will," etc. God appears in disguise as a > character named "Weishaupt." > The film scenario was one of a number sent by Crowley to his American > disciple W. T. Smith in the early 1930s <?> with the intent that they be > anonymously promoted to Hollywood studios. For this reason Crowley's name, > which > would have been on the first page of the scenario, has been razored out. > (See further: Martin P. Starr, The Unknown God, p. 322, n. 18.) This > typescript is from the from the library of Helen Parsons Smith (1910 - 2003), > ex-wife of Jack Parsons & W. T. Smith, long time member of Agape Lodge of the > OTO, and founder of Thelema Publications. A small (2 1/2"x 1") section which > had held Crowley's name - and presumably address - excised from the upper > margin of the first leaf. Three holes punched down inside margins - > obviously to secure it in a folder of some sort. Small discolored mark across > lower > margin of the first page, otherwise VG+ condition. (33305) SOLD > ... > > Not content with being a magician, mountaineer, painter and poet, Crowley > was also no mean chef, who throughout his life enjoyed inventing, cooking > and serving a wide variety of meals. He was arguably a pioneer of what is > now known as 'fusion cuisine', and was so enthusiastic about his culinary > abilities that he tried several times to open his own restaurant: one plan was > for something called 'The Black Magic Café' surely a precursor of today's > theme restaurant, whilst another, to be called, 'Le Petit Potage', was to be > a more traditional 'upscale' establishment. > > At some stage in 1938 Crowley acquired a set of blank menu cards, on which > he recorded the menus of the meals that he had served guests (and > sometimes just himself). It is interesting that Crowley managed to > interpolate his > humor into as brief a piece of writing as is on these cards: several are > headed 'nuncheon' - a term which even then was archaic, but had the meaning > of a light refreshment served around noon time. Its use thus was rather akin > to calling these quite substantial meals "a little something," and must > surely have been ironic. > > Aleister Crowley, An Original Handwritten Menu Card for a meal he served > on Saturday, 29 April [1939] . A plain white card, 4" x 3 12" with the word > 'Menu' gilt stamped in relief at the top. This particular card has the menu > for a meal he served on Saturday, April 29 1939. It has, in Crowley's > handwriting: "Nuncheon April 29 / Fried Trout / Yorkshire Pie / Asparagus / > Sabrosos/ Café Liqueurs" In his diary for that day Crowley noted "12:00. > La Bête humaine," which probably means that he went to see a mid-day matinee > screening of the recently released film version of Zola's novel, that was > directed by Jean Renoir. Presumably he fortified himself beforehand, with > the solid-sounding meal that he recorded on this card. A little dusty, > overall VG+ condition. (33322) SOLD > > ... > > Weiser Antiquarian Books > P.O. Box 2050 > York Beach, ME, 03910-2050 > USA. > > The Text and Images on this page are © Weiser Antiquarian Books, 2007. > > > ------------------ > > _https://www.bapho.net/baphonet/bbs/i-drive/mags/lodge/tlc0998.nws_ > (https://www.bapho.net/baphonet/bbs/i-drive/mags/lodge/tlc0998.nws) > > > > The Beast Takes a Ticket > > Part One: Aleister Crowley at the Cinema > > This month we collect two items from the New York magazine "Vanity Fair" > during the First World War, concerning the early silent cinema. The first > article, a light analysis of the film industry and its challenges in the > era > before the heyday of Hollywood, was published in [Vanity Fair] July 1917 > e.v. > (pages 55 & 88). > > The other was published the previous year, and is a humorous > experiment in scenario composition for a rip-roaring (silent) three-reeler > film. It appeared in the June issue for 1916 e.v., on page 89, with the > editorial billing of "the Worst Short Film Story" which "Vanity Fair" could > find. Accompanying the scenario were five crude illustrations of the > principal characters, with fanciful captions, most probably sketched by the > author himself. > > I. > > What's Wrong with the Movies? > > The Industry Seems to Be in a Critical Condition > -- and Perhaps It Deserves to Be > > by Aleister Crowley > > It is bad taste -- and not the World War -- which is killing the movies. > Bad taste in every direction. In the first place, the wretches in power, > when > they get a perfectly competent author -- will not trust him at all. The > great > writer's story has always been a "movie" -- on the screen of the author's > mind. It was complete in every picture, before he ever put pen to paper. > But > the producing wretches do not know that. They do not realize that he has > done > the thing "right." They do not even realize this in the case of a famous > novel -- or play -- where a long success has proved it. There preposterous > people do not understand that they insult the public and make themselves > ridiculous into the bargain when they offer to "improve" Victor Hugo; to > bring > Dumas "up-to-date"; to put "punch" into Ibsen; or to "alter" history a bit > in > order to give Joan of Arc an earthly lover. > > Some months back two wealthy gentlemen were lunching at the Knickerbocker > Hotel, in New York, where all movie magnates seem to make a habit of > foregathering. They were trying to think of a book to "film." A pause. > One > suggested Victor Hugo's "Hunchback of Notre Dame." "A grand sweet story! > Some story! Some punch! Some pep!" A longer pause. "Say, why, in our > film, > shouldn't that hunchback marry the beautiful gipsy chicken?" "But, say, we > can't have that little pippin tied up to a hunchback." "I got it, bo, > we'll > get a Johns Hopkins guy to straighten him out on the operating table." > "Say, > you're "some" artist, Al." > And so, alas, it all came about. > These two masterminds could not foresee that everyone who had read Hugo's > great story would leave the theatre foaming at the mouth, raving for blood. > Similarly with "Hedda Gabler." They had to improve on Ibsen's great > curtain, and bring in George Tesman to confront Brack, who faints on > hearing > the pistol shot, and asks "Why should "you" faint at "my" wife's death?" > with > all the air of one who proposes an amusing riddle! > One could go on for hours describing the fatuity of the movie men. It is > not that their ideas are necessarily wrong in themselves, but that they > are > inappropriate -- and in bad taste. They forget that the author has thought > out all his contrasts and values, and even a better author could not alter > them without destroying them utterly. > > Suppose that I make up my mind that one of Charles Condor's painted women > on a fan lacks distinctness? Do I call in Zuloaga to put a new head on > her? > Zuloaga will paint me in a fine head, no doubt; but he is certain to throw > out > the rest of Condor's picture. In the realm of painting I much prefer > Gaugain > to John Lavery, but I should not ask the former to paint a Samoan head on > the > shoulders of the portrait of "Lady Plantagenet-Tudor" by the latter. > Consider > the diffident reverence with which a great artist like Sir A. > Quiller-Couch > finished a novel by Stevenson -- and always from the master's notes. > It has often been said that the worst author knows his business better than > the best critic, just as the feeblest father will beget more children than > the > biggest naval gun. But in the movies we have men who are such atrociously > bad > critics that they permit the most shocking solecisms in almost every scene. > See the wealthy New York man of fashion, dressing for a dinner at Mrs De > Peyster Stuyvesant's! See how deftly he shoots on his detachable cuffs and > snaps on his elastic tie. See how charmingly he wears his derby hat with > his > evening coat. He even retains it, possibly fearing that it may be stolen > in > Mrs Stuyvesant's drawing-room, which is, of course, furnished in the > manner of > the gentleman's lounge on a Fall River boat. > > In this connection let us observe how the Russian Ballet gets its splendid > effect of art. There is a true and tried artist for the scenery, another > for > the arrangement of the dances, another for the music, another for the > costumes, and so on. All conspire, all contribute, the one careful never > to > impede the work of the others. The result is an artistic unity. Tinker > with > the whole, bring in one inharmonious element, and the entire conception > goes > by the board. A Zulu chief is a magnificent object -- but you must not > exchange his gum-ring for Charlie Chaplin's derby hat. > > Modern opera is suffering in the same way. The only pains taken at the > Metropolitan, let us say, is with the hiring of the singers. The same old > scenic conventions must do, the same old wardrobe traditions, the same old > lighting arrangements, and the same antiquated ballets. The result is > that an > "art impression" is never made. People go away, praising the orchestra and > the singers; but they are not stunned, carried out of themselves by the > glory > of witnessing a really artistic operatic creation. There is everywhere > evident this same blind fatuity in the movies. > > To return to the question of the author. Who invented modern musical > comedy? Gilbert and Sullivan. Gilbert insisted -- made it a point in > every > contract or license -- that his libretto was to have no cuts, no > modifications, no gags; even his minutest stage directions were to be > followed > implicitly -- Take it or leave it. Most of his stuff is therefore as > strong > and sound and playable today as it ever was. > But his successors have not his willpower. Today every inartistic man in a > movie production must needs have a finger in the artistic pie. Some of > their > suggestions may possibly be good, some bad; but the unity and coherence of > the > author's conceptions are lost, and the outcome is a muddle. "Ne sutor > ultra > crepidam." Too many cooks spoil the broth. > In the movies this confusion is accentuated to the point of dementia. > What > costumes! What furniture! What ladies! What ballrooms! What clubs! > What > love scenes! What butlers and footmen! What dinner tables! What > debutantes! > What boots and slippers! What coiffures! What jewelry! What manners! > Several times, of late, I have seen films where the tinkers had improved a > good novel out of existence. The beginning, end, a
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