Update: Now with a dramatic reading, as heard on NosillaCast #606, at about the 30 minute mark. Thanks to Allison for the opportunity to relive high school poetry interp competition.
Lots and lots of people have asked if I bought a new MacBook Pro; the one with the dongles and the touch bar. And then, I couldn’t sleep. So I wrote a poem.
I Did Not Buy a MacBook Pro
When I’m on a podcast show,
To talk the tech with friends I know,
I cannot share their Apple glow,
I did not buy a MacBook Pro.
At coffee shops I seem low rent,
At least my money’s not all spent,
I can afford a latte though,
I did not buy a MacBook Pro.
No touch bar tops my keyboard tray,
Below the Space my wrists must stay,
Escape is pretty easy, though,
I did not buy a MacBook Pro.
Adapters, dongles, I know not,
Just Ethernet and SD slot,
Old USB is not so slow,
I did not buy a MacBook Pro.
It makes me seem a low-tech lass,
And not so upper-middle-class,
To type on something three years old,
I did not buy a MacBook Pro.
But my curiosity does grow,
So I’ll brave the Texas ice and snow,
And to the Apple Store I’ll go,
To gaze upon the MacBook Pro.
Roku added a spoken interface to its video streaming devices. This is good news for blind and print-disabled folks who like the idea of an inexpensive, easy-to-use, full-featured streamer. In this audio demo, I roll through the Audio Guide interface, and show you where it shines, and where it fails. If you have feedback or questions after listening, please hit me up on Twitter at @shelly.
Direct Download Link
I’m thrilled to announce that the new edition of my book, iOS Access for All, is ready and waiting for you right here. There you’ll find buy links, the table of contents, and many more words you can read. Get the ePub for $20.
I’m really proud of this one, and there’s a bit more new material this time than last. That’s partly due to Apple’s interface changes, and partly because I added depth to several topics. In addition to a complete update for iOS 10, you’ll find 80 pages of completely new material. I’m scheduling some dates with a few podcasters, so watch your feeds, as well as this blog for the plugs.
Learn all there is to know at the Web site, or just buy it right here.
Buy the ePub edition
Buy from the iBooks Store
UPDATED: Please enjoy my very own Hot and Bothered Blogathon banner. Thanks, Theresa!
Blogathons are a thing in the world of classic film writing. They’re great fun, and I read a lot of them. I admire writers who accept the challenge of crafting posts that fit a theme. So this is my first blogathon entry; a post about one of my favorite early Frank Capra films, American Madness. Thanks to Theresa of CineMaven’s Essays from the Couch, who is hosting today’s posts, and Aurora of Once Upon a Screen, who kicked things off yesterday. Go and read them all! If you’ve come here from one of those great sites, expecting to find a film blog, don’t worry, you’re in the right place, and welcome! I’m a tech writer and a podcaster in my professional life, but I have loved classic films since high school days, and I will be writing on the subject more regularly.
Proto-Capra: American Madness
Even among the handful of classic films that are seen and remembered by modern audiences, It’s a Wonderful Life occupies a rarified place. And its director, Frank Capra enjoys more name recognition among casual classic watchers than almost any other filmmaker of the period, except maybe John Ford. What more devoted classic film fans know is that Capra had been making films for 25 years before IAWW, some of which prefigured its idealism, while also existing in a very different, and less optimistic time than does the Christmas classic. American Madness (1932) is one of these. Made during Capra’s time as the most important director at poverty-row studio, Columbia, it bears many of the director’s trademark touches and ideas, but also exists in a Depression-era milieu, with just a hint of pre-code shenanigans on the margins.
In 1932, Capra was big fish in a small pond. Columbia had few stars of its own, relying on loan-outs from bigger studios like MGM and Warner Brothers to fill the top rungs of its film casts. Capra’s films, which do not look cheaply made, nevertheless saved studio head Harry Cohn money by limiting the action to a few sets. American Madness takes place almost entirely in the Union National Bank building, an echo-y, high-ceilinged elegant old place, whose like you rarely see in the 21st century. The vault room is all heavy doors, and gears and decorative metal; the lobby is decorated in marble and dark wood. Both photography and sound design contribute much to the film’s atmosphere and quality.
Though Capra’s reputation was made with the idealistic “Capra corn” films of later years, his Columbia output fit squarely in the pre-code era. By the time of _American Madness, he had already made Platinum Blonde with Jean Harlow, and begun his collaborations with Barbara Stanwyck, helming Ladies of Leisure and The Miracle Woman. Capra had also started working with writer Robert Riskin, who wrote or co-wrote most of Capra’s films in the 30s. Though Riskin (a progressive Democrat) and Capra (a conservative Republican) had different politics, their ideals met on the page, combining a distrust of institutions that were subject to corrupting influences with a faith in the ability of an individual to make a difference.
American Madness tells the story of bank president Tom Dickson (Walter Huston), an idealist who believes that a person’s character, rather than collateral, are the best indicator of whether he’ll be able to pay back a bank loan. We learn that Dickson has also applied his generous gut feelings about people to hiring decisions, giving Matt Brown (Pat O’Brien) a job as teller after Matt was caught trying to rob the banker’s house. Matt and most of the bank’s other employees seem to venerate Dickson. Obstacles to Dickson’s big-heartedness come in the form of the bottom-line focused board of directors who want to diminish Dickson’s power by merging with a larger bank, and a bank manager (Cluett, played by Gavin Gordon) who has racked up gambling debts to gangsters, and developed an unsavory liking for Tom’s lonely wife, Phyllis (Kay Johnson.)
It transpires that the gangsters will only forgive Cluett’s debts if he’ll let them help themselves to the contents of the vault, during the night. Cluett sets up an alibi, squiring Phyllis around, then inviting her up to his place while the robbery, which results in the death of a night watchman, is going on. They’re seen by Matt, who begs Phyllis not to do her husband wrong. Our first indication that Cluett is unlikely to skate out of this movie as a victim of circumstance, he pulls a gun on Matt to hasten his exit from the apartment.
Next day, news of the robbery travels quickly and gets exaggerated all out of proportion, thanks to a literal game of telephone. It all culminates in a run on the bank, complete with colorful customers we met the day before, panicked now, and employees scrambling to keep things under control. Now Dickson has more to worry about than the board. He has to find a way to get enough cash to pay off depositors, so that he can restore confidence in the bank.
In the meantime, noble Matt, who’s devoted to his boss, and is in line for a promotion, knows that Cluett and Mrs. D. were together, and that telling what he knows will allow Matt to save himself from arrest. Of course, it’ll also hurt his beloved boss to learn that he, Cluett, and Phyllis were in Cluett’s apartment at the time of the robbery.
In the end, Cluett is found out by the cops, confronted by Dickson, who suggests that he would have helped Cluett, if the manager had come to him. There’s that blind faith in character from Dickson, which is rewarded elsewhere in the film, but which we’re pretty sure is misplaced in Cluett’s case. As the bank run intensifies, a shaken Dickson calls everyone he knows for help saving the bank. There’s even a moment, so typical of pre-code films, when the camera pans to a gun in Dickson’s desk. After a pep talk from Matt, and a lot of “no’s,” enough of the people Dickson has asked to help the bank with emergency cash infusions (mostly little guys in town, not fellow bankers) come through. The bank president is able to calm the surging crowd, and regain his wife’s love by recommitting himself to the marriage.
A lone man, doing what’s right (and talking a lot about it) is a go-to device for Capra and Riskin. Gary Cooper, Spencer Tracy and James Stewart (twice) took on the role in later films, Walter Huston, as banker Tom Dickson, is no less up to the challenge. Huston has an orator’s voice, and a dynamic physical presence as he confronts the directors in the board room, offers encouragement to his staff and customers, and delivers stirring speeches about what he believes in, to all of them. Unlike later Capra heroes, Huston begins the movie in charge of the institution he must save. He’s not working to reform it from the outside. Only in his dealings with his wife does he seem to be making mistakes. She can’t make him hear that he has neglected her, and learning that she’s been out with Cluett is devastating for Dickson. At the end, of course, that’s all resolved, and while banker Dickson wins over his panicked customers, and overpowers the obstreperous board members, he apologizes to his wife in a way that we are meant to believe will stick.
Despite the essential drama of the plot, including the ugliness of a crowd that could become a mob if a solution can’t be found, American Madness has its share of humor, mostly provided by character actors in small parts. The film opens with the bank’s ditzy switchboard operator (Polly Walters) who yawns and baby-talks her way through directing calls. We’ll see her several more times during the movie, including a pivotal moment when she unthinkingly contributes to the bank panic. There are bits of business between Huston and various hapless bank employees, and even a recurring gag which works less well, wherein a timid board member (Arthur Hoyt) never manages to finish a sentence, because his colleagues cut him off. Bank customers, and a hard-nosed police inspector (Robert Emmett O’Connor) round out the entertaining minor players who take the edge off the panic as they wander through the film.
Critics, mostly with the benefit of Capra’s entire body of work to mark it against, suggested that American Madness is less thoroughly realized than later works, like Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, or Mr. Deeds Goes to Town. But American Madness seems more a part of the time in which it was made than do Capra’s later films. In fact, the movie closed in Baltimore after two days because a real bank run in the city made the movie version feel a little too close to home. Today, it feels a little like a historical document; of Capra’s development as a filmmaker and idealist, of the Depression, of Walter Huston at the top of his powers, and even as an homage to architecture in the time of awesome bank edifices.
The third installment of the Film Noir Foundation’s (FNF) Noir City Austin filled my weekend. The Alamo Drafthouse’ downtown branch — specifically, Theater 1 — played host to two days and three nights of hard-boiled classics, including a few rarities and new restorations. I want to write about a couple of the films I saw, but let’s start with a bit of an introduction to the roadshow version of Noir City.
Eddie Muller’s Film Noir Foundation has hosted the annual festival of dark films in San Francisco for the past fourteen years. It’s a big deal, in a historical theater, and it attracts celebrity guests on both sides of the screen. A few years ago, FNF branched out, bringing Noir City to agreeable cities around the country. Austin got its first Noir City three years ago; not the week-plus marathon of the Sn Francisco mother festival, but a jam-packed weekend of screenings hosted at the Alamo Drafthouse. The Alamo, it should be noted, has branched out, too, and you’ll even find one in the FNF’s hometown.
Beyond educating and entertaining audiences by presenting great films on the big screen, FNF uses Noir City to evangelize its mission to preserve the history of noir. Film prints fall into disrepair over time. Ownership changes, and the commitment of studios and other rights-holders to preserving films that have little commercial appeal tends to waiver. FNF works with film preservationists, locating missing film elements, and funding restorations. These cleaned up, great-looking prints usually form the backbone of a Noir City event, bringing rarely screened titles, and a much improved viewing experience to film fans.
I listened to a well-known Apple-focused podcast the other day. The show is prat of a tech podcast network, and also part of a somewhat larger circle of people who, broadly speaking, cover the Apple beat. From this episode, I learned that the hosts love their iPads, their iOS apps, and their kind sponsors. I learned that they, like this week’s guest, have many friends who say things about Apple on their own tech podcasts. Actually, I knew that already, but the name dropping this week was especially heavy. The hosts’ mentions of their friends did not include a journalistic-style ID, just a first and last name for each colleague. In these familiar confines, no explanation seems necessary.
I can put myself in the minds of these hosts: they probably listen to the shows produced by their friends. They likely share a Slack channel. And drawing their combined Twitter feeds on a social graph would certainly produce a tight, overlapping set of circles. I have been that person, interacting with a smallish group of people who make and consume the same content, attend the same conferences, and venerate the same tech products, right down to the apps and phone cases they use. But when I listen in, I’m an outsider. I consume a few tech podcasts; shows that meet my interest in efficient delivery of information without a lot of chatter. I do not engage fully in the interlocking clusters of shows and networks that have developed around the Apple beat. Sure, my engagement is limited by my desire to listen to other kinds of shows, but I have always found fanboy insularity and group think to be a problem in Apple land. And podcasting has made it worse, with practitioners assuming that everyone listens to the same shows, and knows the same people. Uniformity of perspective, in-jokes, and a tendency toward referencing and respecting the same thought leaders make it difficult, and even a waste of time to listen to more than a few of these connected shows.
A few networks and thought leader types have made noises about diversity. It’s a thing now, right? Occasional adjustments to guest lists sometimes result in a slight opening of the tent to new voices. But so long as referencing one’s friends is endemic, and, more problematically, producers assume the audience has the same friends, real diversity doesn’t stand a chance in tech podcasting, or anywhere in media.
I was honored to join Aleen Sims on episode #89 of her podcast, Less Than or Equal. It’s a great show, where you will meet a wide range of people, many of whom are not among the usual suspects of podcast guests (present company excepted, I guess.) We talked about the reasons accessibility is often invisible in the mainstream tech world, and why I get grumpy when I read (or don’t read) about accessibility in mainstream tech publications. I did that thing where I talk really fast, so increase the speed of your podcatchnr’s playback (Overcast is great for this) and have a listen. I would love your feedback, too.
I have always intended this blog to be a place to collect the work, and other creative projects I make. I created categories and design elements that would make it possible for someone who shares my interest in accessibility, podcasting, or cocktails, to follow just the posts and plugs for those topics. But some projects got more attention from me than others, and a few simply taunt me from the sidebar. Now i’m enlisting you in my effort to broaden and deepen my involvement in what the mashed up there calls long tails. To cut to the chase, your job is to hold me accountable in whatever way you wish to. Spam comments do not count.
Here’s where we’ll start. I read blogs about classic film every day, and watch one or two fabulous old movies a week Last week, I put the #TCMFF hashtag into my Tweetdeck, raptly watching the comings and goings of bloggers I follow. But wishing I’d been in LA for the TCM Classic Film Fesival, or even wishing I’d created a classic film blog or podcast has generated zero results. If I’m going to earn the Classic Film category I made for the blog, I’m gonna have to write.
First project is Noir City Austin, the local imprint of the Film Noir Foundation’s festival of classic, dark movies. I have tickets to five of the seven double features, and I’m committing to at least two posts; either reviews of individual films, or appreciations of the Noir City event itself.
Next on the calendar, and this is one where promising a contribution to a group project injects an element of personal responsibility, I’ve signed up to participate in a blogathon that goes live in July. In the film blogging world, blogathons are a thing. An organizer sets a theme, and people who want to write about that theme sign up to participate. The organizer posts links to everyone’s work on the appointed day, and voluminous Web traffic results. Or it should result. I’ll announce the actual blogathon later, but I will say that I’m writing about the 1932 Walter Huston film, American Madness.
Stay tuned, and, if you’re so inclined, help keep me honest.
People think I’m an Apple-only geek. I have done little to dispel this notion, by my book and podcast work. But yay, verily, I offer proof that I can cross the platform when need arises. Here’s my AccessWorld roundup of some nifty Android apps that folks with low vision should find useful.
I tackled the question of Apple TV accessibility for AccessWorld, the monthly magazine of the American Federation for the Blind.