By Louie Ferrera

Since the dawn of cinema, music and the movies have been integral to one another. Even before the advent of sound, films would be accompanied by live musicians in the theater. Back then a movie theater was a palace, the viewing of a film a shared experience in the dark.

Directors choose specific songs and musical styles for their films in order to best get their point across. They understand, as do we, that music can convey a wide range of emotions. Images are powerful and so is music. When the two are effectively combined the experience is unforgettable and becomes indelibly etched into the mind of the viewer. The music and the image accompanying it become one and the same.

When I had the idea for this essay, I began to think about the music/film combinations that have the greatest effect on me. There have been so many. For my money though, the following two films are particularly spot on in their use of music. The fit is so perfect that one could not exist without the other.

Harold and Maude (1971)

Director: Hal Ashby

Music: Cat Stevens

Harold and Maude tells the story of the unlikely May/December romance between morose teenager Harold (Bud Cort) and the ever optimistic septuagenerian Maude (Ruth Gordon). In Harold’s world, the glass is always half empty. He sees no point in living and throughout the film stages a series of mock suicides in order to get the attention of his cold, self possessed mother (Vivian Pickles). After a chance meeting with Maude (at a funeral)! Harold’s life is changed forever. In Maude’s world the glass is overflowing and she helps Harold to see and appreciate the often overlooked beauty that surrounds us all and tries to impress upon him the importance of living each day to its fullest. In all the film’s important scenes the music of Cat Stevens is there to effectively drive these points home, his songs are seamlessly integrated throughout. The message in the film’s key songs (Don’t Be Shy, If You Want To Sing Out, Trouble) is to be yourself and let your emotions out, whatever they may be; feel your feelings, live! Stevens’ gentle, plaintive vocals and honest lyrics seem to speak directly through Maude to Harold. This is a sweet, life affirming film and a textbook example of the use of music in film.

The Graduate (1967)

Director: Mike Nichols

Music: Simon and Garfunkel

Over the opening credits of The Graduate, we see a close-up of Benjamin Braddock (Dustin Hoffman) on the moving floor at the airport. The Sound of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel is playing and sets the tone for one of the seminal films of the 1960s. Benjamin’s isolation and bewildered expression coupled with the music, perfectly captures that post-college feeling of “what do I do next?” Benjamin is a microcosm for the angst that young people were experiencing during that turbulent decade. His affair with the much older Mrs. Robinson (Anne Bancroft) further adds to his confusion.

What really gives this film much of its power are the songs of Paul Simon. Scarborough Fair is heard throughout the film, adding emotional weight to several key scenes. April Come She Will is used in that wonderful scene where Benjamin goes from jumping out of the pool at his house to jumping onto Mrs. Robinson in their hotel room bed. Of course Mrs. Robinson’s eponymous song is prominently featured. And who could ever forget that final scene? Benjamin has just kidnapped Elaine (Katharine Ross) from her wedding. They run from the church, hop on a city bus and drive away into an unknown future to the strains, once again, of The Sound Of Silence. These songs are perfectly crafted, beautifully performed and impossible to listen to anytime without thinking of The Graduate.

Honorable mention:

For sheer, unbridled joy, it’s hard to top the Twist and Shout scene from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Ferris (Matthew Broderick) finds himself atop a float in a parade through downtown Chicago. With microphone in hand he lip-syncs and gyrates his way through that timeless classic by The Beatles. He’s joined by everyone from a baby in a stroller to a window washer on a scaffold until the entire street becomes one hip swaying, booty shaking sea of humanity.

No film has ever captured the nuances of a romantic relationship better than Woody Allen’s Annie Hall. Diane Keaton’s bittersweet rendition of Seems Like Old Times over the closing narration by Alvy (Woody Allen) is the perfect grace note to one of Allen’s most beloved films. 

In the opening scene of Martin Scorsese’s magnum opus gangster film Goodfellas, Henry (Ray Liotta), Jimmy (Robert De Niro), and Tommy (Joe Pesci) are on their way to bury the guy in the trunk of their car whom they think they’ve successfully “wacked”. Noises from the trunk cause them to pull over and find that the guy is still alive. With a  butcher knife and pistol, Tommy and Jimmy finish the job. As the last shot rings out, Henry exclaims in a voiceover, “As far back as I can remember, I’ve always wanted to be a gangster.” Cue, Rags To Riches by Tony Bennett and you’ve got the ideal song to kick start this genre defining film.

In The Big Chill, a group of old college friends have reunited for the funeral of their friend Alex. At the conclusion of the service Karen (Jo Beth Williams) is invited up to play one of Alex’s favorite songs. She seats herself at the organ and proceeds to play You Can’t Always Get What You Want. The camera slowly pans to the faces of Alex’s friends, each one breaks into a knowing smile as they recognize the song. As the pallbearers are loading the casket into the hearse, the solo organ segues seamlessly into The Rolling Stones recording of the song. Talk about a big chill, I get goosebumps just thinking about this moment.

George Lucas’ 1973 film American Graffiti is a love letter to the early days of rock and roll. The songs are vibrant and hopeful, they perfectly capture the innocence of post-Elvis, pre-Beatles America before the events of November 22, 1963 changed us forever. Virtually every song in this film is a classic of the genre, however there’s one song that tugs at my heart strings every time.

The film follows the exploits of a group of California teenagers over the course of one long summer night. Curt (Richard Dreyfuss) spends the bulk of that night waffling back and forth about leaving for college the next day while at the same time searching for an elusive blonde in a white T-bird, as if finding her will somehow help him decide what to do with his life. He eventually decides on school. In the final scene we find Curt gazing out the window of an airplane at that white T-bird cruising down below. The camera pans to a blue sky as the Beach Boys’ All Summer Long plays over the closing credits. It’s a beautifully poetic end to an unforgettable film.

What are your faves? Leave a comment, I’d love to hear.

By Louie Ferrera

des-tin-y

1. the seemingly inevitable or necessary succession of events.

It’s entirely possible that one of the most significant days of your life has come and gone without you noticing. It most likely appeared uneventful at the time but somewhere down the road perhaps you’ll be able to pinpoint that day as the beginning of a chain reaction. Like an echo in time, the events of that particular day have reverberated throughout your entire life. There have been a few such days in my own life.

September 5, 1985

I was attending a Grateful Dead concert at Red Rocks Amphitheater in Colorado. I had recently purchased my first 35mm camera and was enrolled in a photography class at the local junior college. I had gotten into the habit of carrying my camera everywhere. In the tradition of famous street photographers like Cartier Bresson, I would snap away at random hoping to capture that elusive “decisive moment”. At Red Rocks that day, I did indeed capture a decisive moment, although at the time I didn’t realize how decisive that moment was until nearly a year later.

Red Rocks that afternoon was a swirl of color and light, tie dyes and flowing hair, smiles and marijuana smoke, patchouli and promise. While surveying the pre-show crowd, a lovely young woman with shoulder length brown hair and an electric smile caught my eye. I snapped off two quick frames and moved on, not giving this fleeting moment another thought until two months later when I ran into Ms Electric Smile again, this time at a Grateful Dead concert in Oakland, CA. Her name was Michelle and she had just relocated to the Bay Area from Denver.  I introduced myself and told Michele that I had these photos and would like to send them along to her. Over the next six months we kept running into each other at Dead shows. We became friends, then lovers. Michelle and I had a sweet eight year relationship that eventually transitioned into a deep and loving friendship that continues to this day.

Michelle also introduced me to some of her friends, an eclectic group of fellow travelers, our common thread being the love of the Grateful Dead. From those initial meetings bloomed many heartfelt friendships that are still going strong. John officiated at  mine and Carol’s wedding and I was best man at Mitch’s wedding. These two guys are like brothers to me. All this as the result of two random photographs.

February 22, 1992

I’m in the hallway at the Oakland Coliseum deep within the vortex of hundreds of other dancers as we swirl and sway, hip hop and sashay to our favorite band, the Grateful Dead. At one point during the show, I noticed this woman dancing with reckless abandon into our orbit. She looked a bit like Joni Mitchell, circa 1969, complete with  flowing blonde hair and bangs. I was immediately drawn to her wild energy, crazy laugh and beaming smile. That was the beginning of my friendship with Dannielle. Over the next decade Dann and I shared more fun, crazy, intense times than I can begin to recount. All of which lead me to:

April 21, 2001

It was a Saturday afternoon. I was at Dannielle’s apartment helping her paint. I had no way of knowing that I was about to meet the love of my life and future mother of our two children.

The previous summer I had just gotten out of a four year relationship and that was just about the time when Dannielle started talking up this friend of hers named Carol whom she had met several years ago waiting in line for Grateful Dead tickets. “Carol’s a hippie, dancer, Deadhead, traveler, you’d love her.” I was definitely intrigued. It took a few months but Dann finally managed to arrange a meeting between me and Carol.

Needless to say, my mind wasn’t really on painting that afternoon at Dannielle’s. Carol was coming over and the three of us would later head to a local bar for drinks and a bluegrass band. Dann lived in a studio apartment above a house in Santa Rosa. The access to her apartment is via a winding metal staircase. Two things will live in my memory forever from that initial meeting with Carol. The first was the clomp, clomp, clomp that her shoes made as she ascended those metal stairs. The second was the way Carol burst through the door and into my life. She wore a scarf around her head that intwined through her long, flowing red hair. Her colorful, patchwork skirt swished around her ankles as she entered. Carol’s sparkling blue eyes and broad, toothy smile lit up the room. It was at that instant when the rest if my life began. 

These events have had a profound effect on me, changed my life for the better and made me a believer in destiny.

By Louie Ferrera

Electric orbs of fruit dangle from our tangerine tree like earrings on the Buddha. Tangerines are holy fruit, each one is a sunrise or a sunset; the promise of a new day or gratitude for the day that has just passed. Is there a more delightful fruit than a tangerine?

The “tree” in our backyard is really no more than a bush about four feet high. This year it’s packed with so much fruit, I had to prop up its branches with poles to prevent breakage. Other than that, the tree requires such little care; a bit of weeding, some compost and a round or two of organic fertilizer is all it takes for this tree to thrive year in and year out. The appearance in summer of pure white blossoms with their intoxicatingly sweet fragrance is a harbinger of the sweetness to come.

Tangerines ripen in early winter, we have perhaps a month or so to harvest and eat the fruit before it rots. We rarely waste any. The ephemeral nature  of the fruit makes it all the more special. Tangerines are available most of the year in supermarkets but I rarely buy them. Their taste is a mere shadow of the succulent gems that our tree produces. The time that I get to eat homegrown tangerines is short, so I savor each and every one. Sooner than later I’ll pick the last one and the tree will once again be barren. I take full advantage of the miracle of sun, soil and water that produces our tangerines.

Unlike an orange, which takes time and effort to peel, the peel of a tangerine surrenders itself quite easily. Attached to the fruit by thin white tendrils, the peel of a tangerine can be removed in one piece, in mere seconds. If a tangerine is small enough it can be consumed in one or two bites. Ahh, but if you do that, you’re missing half the fun. It takes many months for a tangerine to go from blossom to ripe fruit, so why rush it? It’s best to experience a slow savor. Each segment is a crescent moon, eat those crescents one at a time and experience the taste of sweet summer sunshine, a lazy day at the beach, a feeling of total fulfillment. The snap of the fruit when you bite into it, the sweet/tart taste of the juice as it fills your mouth is one of the great simple pleasures of life.

Appreciate what you have, give thanks for the beauty that surrounds you; be it a Monet palette sunset, the warm comfort of the ones you love or the simple beauty and taste of a tangerine.

By Louie Ferrera

Heading out through the forest today, the journey is the trip. It’s a slow and deliberate stroll, I’m breathing, listening and seeing with eyes wide open. The air is redolent of winter, rains have given voice to the creek that flows below me as I walk upstream.  The silent stones of the creek bed have come alive, together with the flowing water a gentle symphony occurs. Plip, plop, gurggle…it’s a delightful and life affirming song, an ephemeral duet and I’m soaking in every sweet note knowing that by summer the stones will fall silent until they reawaken next winter.

Everything is green and flowing, I feel so alive and part of something greater than myself. Maidenhair Fern is the predominant plant along this trail. It’s tiny leaves sit at the end of nearly invisible stalks and appear to float in mid-air above the forest floor.  Bay trees are everywhere. I pick one of their sword shaped leaves, break it in half and a sweet, pungent aroma is released that makes my head swim. I hold the leaf under my nostrils, breathe deeply and memories of past hikes flood my mind. The sense of smell is a powerful time machine.

Mushrooms, another life form awakened by the rains, poke their heads through the forest duff. A solitary example stands about three inches tall atop a dull white stem the thickness of a chopstick. The cap is the size of a half dollar, flat and cream colored with a hint of pale yellow at its center. Other fungi peeks out from beside a trailside tree stump, this cluster of four pure white structures is a ghostly grass. Mushrooms are a mystery that I hope to never fully understand. Not all things on Earth are meant to be known.

On todays  journey I pause at Bullfrog Pond. There’s a Zen like tranquility here that’s grounding and always fills me with wonder. This place seems to exist out of time, it just is. The rains have filled the pond to the brim, water runs down the spillway at one end. The surface of the pond is khaki colored and glassy, broken only by a slight breeze which creates ripples and the illusion of flow.

Many of the same creatures that I usually encounter here are present today.  Bird life abounds. A black phoebe perches atop a skeletal willow flicking its tail and waiting for the prefect moment to swoop down and catch its next meal in mid-air. The resident pair of wood ducks are here too. The striking harlequin pattern on the head of the male makes this bird easy to identify. I’ve yet to  see the black, dinner plate sized red eared slider turtle, but I’m sure if I sit here long enough it may cruise by to say hello. (Later, on my walk around the pond, I spy it perched on a log, warming itself in the last rays of afternoon sunlight.) The chatter of acorn woodpeckers occasionally breaks the silence. A few juncos and sparrows flit in and out of the trees that surround the pond. I can see the gossamer of cobwebs  in the tops of trees. They shimmer in the breeze and glow when they catch the rays of the sun. The sun reflects off  the surface of the pond with mirror like intensity.

I love coming here at different times of the year to observe the changes that occur. It’s never the same twice. One thing that never changes though is the peaceful vibe and gentle energy that permeates this special place. Bullfrog Pond is the perfect spot for quiet thought and deep meditation.