Category Archives: Special librarian

The royal treatment

This past weekend, my husband and I watched My Week with Marilyn (2011), an adaptation of Colin Clark’s chronicled week with Marilyn Monroe as she filmed The Prince and the Showgirl with Sir Laurence Olivier in 1956. This was by all accounts a tense set.

We were so surprised — and pleased — when a reel librarian showed up. And a royal librarian at that! I can confirm hand-clapping and shouts of glee in the Snoek-Brown household.

So almost an hour into the film, Marilyn Monroe (Michelle Williams, so well-deserving of the Oscar nomination for her channeling of Marilyn) plays hooky with Colin (Eddie Redmayne) for a fun-filled afternoon, romping through parks and the lawns of Eton College. After Marilyn asks what’s next, he suggests Windsor Castle, a formal residence of the Queen. And you KNOW how anything royalty-related is like catnip to us Americans.

Let’s listen in as they attempt to get into Windsor Castle (see above). The British bodyguard starts us off:

Smith:  Detective Chief Superintendent Smith. I’m escorting this lady and gentleman for the day. They’d like to look around the castle.

Security guard [not having any of it]:  I need a contact name for the book.

Smith [to Marilyn]:  You don’t know Her Majesty, by any chance?

Marilyn:  Yes, we met at a movie premiere. She said my dress was pretty.

Security guard:  I don’t think that quite does it, sir.

Colin:  My godfather works here. He’s the royal librarian. Sir Owen Morshead.

And they’re in! Name-dropping a librarian gets them into the Queen’s castle. Let me repeat that, for full effect. Name-dropping. A. LIBRARIAN. Gets. Them. Into. The. QUEEN’S. Castle. I’ve never been prouder.

As the pair humbly walk into the royal library, we get a lovely overhead shot. It’s all red leather and dark wood. (Click here for more info and pics about the Royal Collection.)

Then we meet the Royal Librarian himself, Sir Owen Morshead, as played by Sir Derek Jacobi. Here’s a side-by-side comparison.

Sir Owen Morshead

Sir Derek Jacobi as Sir Owen Morshead

Except for the difference in facial hair, the resemblance is quite decent. Jacobi seems to capture the twinkle in Morshead’s demeanor, and both look quite distinguished and dapper in their suits and ties. The real Morshead (1893-1977) served as Royal Librarian from 1926 through 1958.

Sir Owen is quite pleased to see his godson, greeting him with, “Colin, my boy! Come in! Forgive the dust.” And with only the time it takes for another breath, Sir Owen immediately starts charming Marilyn (see right).

Sir Owen:  Oh, you are very pretty, my dear.

Marilyn:  Oh [obviously pleased]. Gee, I’d sure like to read all these books.

Sir Owen:  Well, luckily, one doesn’t really have to. A lot of them just have pictures in.

Then he shows them some priceless sketches and drawings of famous artists, including Holbein (a sketch of a daughter of one of the king’s courtiers) and Da Vinci (mentioning Mona Lisa, the “lady with the funny smile”). Love the detail of the white gloves for handling archives!

After impressing her with art, Sir Owen smoothly seizes the opportunity to name-drop the Queen. Clever librarian.

Sir Owen:  The Queen’s sorry to have missed you.

Marilyn: Really? [eyes wide]

Sir Owen: Oh yes, why she was only saying to me the other day, ‘What must it be like to be the most famous woman on earth?’

Sir Owen then provides the icing on top of the cake, by showing them into a room with a lovely, intricate dollhouse. Marilyn swoons over it and makes believe the family inside is her family. She seeks Sir Owen’s permission to touch (see below), and he affirms her wishes with a smile, “Yes, of course.” The last shot we get of the Royal Librarian is one of him smiling, obviously pleased at a woman’s girlish delight.

Note:  The dollhouse is known as Queen Mary’s Dolls’ House, built by British architect Sir Edwin Lutyens between 1921 and 1924. You can explore the dollhouse online here.

Although only a couple of minutes long, this is a lovely scene, due mostly to Jacobi’s reel depiction of a notable real librarian. An Information Provider, certainly, but one with real kindness and heart. Sir Owen says all the right things to make the “most famous woman on earth” feel special and at home in a queen’s palace. He flirts a little, shows her a picture of the daughter of a king’s courtier (this resonates, because we later find out she has never known who her father is), and a doll’s house (so she can imagine a family). He fulfills her need to be admired and loved and listened to, without even knowing it. And looks mighty dapper doing it!

And BONUS:  Perhaps you were wondering what Marilyn Monroe was wearing when she met Queen Elizabeth II? You KNOW that’s the first thing I looked up. :) Enjoy.

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Smelling a rat in Homicide

I’ve tried, I really have, but oh, David Mamet, I just am not one of your fans. But if you do happen to be a fan of Mamet’s patented staccato speech patterns and twisty-turny plots and self-important awareness, that’s cool with me. We’ll just agree to disagree and not talk about Mamet when we meet up at dinner parties, ok? :)

The Mamet in question is the 1991 film Homicide, starring Joe Mantegna as conflicted Jewish cop Bobby Gold, and the other usual suspects of a Mamet film. Yeah, I’m probably going to get all kinds of cranky and all-capsy with this one. Fair warning. But bear with me, because there is an interesting library scene in this one.

*SPOILER ALERTS AND SNARKINESS THROUGHOUT*

So I won’t get too much into the plot, because really, what’s the point? It’s all a mirage, anyway. It’s a David Mamet film. The puzzle-within-the-puzzle-within-the-other-puzzle-you-didn’t-see-coming IS the point. Suffice to say, Detective Gold is investigating a minor case and gets involved with a secretive Jewish group, which makes him question his faith and self-worth, yada yada yada. Along the way, Gold finds a piece of paper with the word Grofaz scrawled across it, and later, about an hour in, some random Jewish shopkeeper tells him the word was another name for Hitler. Oooh, I smell research!

What? I'm a librarian. Sweater vests are awesome.

The camera immediately cuts to a man, a young white male, all buttoned-up, writing out what Grofaz means on a chalkboard (see above). At first, I was thinking, “Teacher?” But it turns out he’s the head librarian at a special library for Jewish studies, listed in the credits simply as Librarian (Steven Goldstein). The librarian reveals that Grofaz is an acronym for Größter Feldherr aller Zeiten, translating roughly to “the greatest strategist of all time.” I was intrigued.

But then the camera revealed a cigarette in the librarian’s hands. A cigarette! A smoldering flame around archival posters and propaganda ephemera. Dude, I know this is a Mamet film and all that, but seriously?! A cigarette in a modern library full of priceless archives? Nuh-uh. Not buying it. SMELLING A RAT #1.

So the reel librarian continues to puff on that cigarette, telling us all about the Grofaz strategy, which apparently was “an interesting attempt” by a special division of the Propaganda Ministry that “didn’t particularly take.” This mini-lecture takes us through most of the special library, where we get vistas of dark wood paneling, rows of tall bookcases, study tables, books piled up, etc. Plus, we get a split-second glimpse of another assistant in a white coat back in the maps room, listed as Library Technician (Andrew Potok).

Finally, head librarian stubs out the cigarette before reading from a “very rare” poster that highlights the Grofaz (see above).

Bobby Gold:  What do you have on the use of this word? Currently. Particularly in conjunction with anti-Semitic acts.

Librarian:  As I said, it’s an arcane usage, but we’ll look. We’ll take a look.

The librarian calls out to a colleague in the stacks. An older, grey-haired lady dressed all in grey (Charlotte Potok as Assistant Librarian) comes out of the stacks, carrying a clipboard and looking very serious (see below). The head librarian rattles off some directions, finally instructing her to “Bring it all,” and also instructs Gold to wait.

So while Gold is waiting (impatiently, I might add), he encounters some additional attitude from a Hasidic Jewish scholar, who basically ridicules him for not being able to read Hebrew. As he gets up, the scholar asks Gold to replace a book for him on the shelf. WTF?! Nuh-uh. (Side note:  We librarians generally prefer it if you don’t reshelve materials on your own. We are better able to make sure that items are placed back in the right locations, no offense, plus we also get to collect browsing stats. It’s a win-win for us, trust me. And don’t ask other patrons to shelve stuff for you. That’s just rude.)

And OF COURSE, while Gold is placing the book high on a shelf, he just happens to overhear a suspicious conversation between the head librarian and the grey lady assistant. SMELLING A RAT #2. 

Assistant Librarian:  The material on anti-Semitic acts.

Librarian:  Yes. I thought we had quite a file of current –

Assistant Librarian:  It was requested by 212.

Librarian:  212 wants it? [looks at envelope on clipboard]

Assistant Librarian:  Yes.

Librarian:  Loaned to 212 now? Fine. Then just pull the file.

Gold steps out as the grey lady steps away, and the librarian tells him, nope, they got nothing on the anti-Semitic acts in relation to Grofaz. 

Gold:  Nothing?

Librarian:  No.

Gold:  This is official police business.

Librarian:  Officer, you know I’d help you if I could, but as I said, it was rather arcane material. I’m sorry.

Gold:  Well, if there’s nothing you can do, there’s nothing you can do. Thank you.

Librarian:  Not at all. If there’s anything else I can help you with, let me know.

The librarian — after lighting up yet ANOTHER cigarette — walks down some stairs, leaving the clipboard and file out in the open. Yeah. Sure. SMELLING A RAT #3.

There is something you can do. You can take that cigarette out of your mouth.

So, OF COURSE, Gold leafs throught he oh-so-conveniently-placed clipboard (see above), and spots an address with “212″ in it. The next shot cuts to him at that location, and the plot continues to twist from there.

I’m sure you can tell by now how much this brief scene in this Class III film irritated me. The smug and dismissive attitude of this (mis)Information Provider librarian. The way he waved off his assistant. The clunky scene where the scholar tells him to shelve the book. Leaving the clipboard out. The cigarettes. The way the library is portrayed as yet another establishment — like the boys in blue? — insulated by its own rules and reasons and secrets, too easily influenced by outside pressures.

At the very end of the film, where Gold has lost everything, he gets handed a file. The final close-up reveals a newspaper advertisement for Grofazt, a type of pigeon feed. Was it all a set-up? That gotcha! moment so typical of Mamet. But what’s the point?

Looking for clues on how to answer that question, I did watch the other special features on this Criterion Collection disc, and I also rewatched the library scene with commentary by Mamet himself and co-star William H. Macy. The writer/director highlights Goldstein as the “go to Jew” in the Mamet acting company, and he calls out the “great Charlotte” who played the Assistant Librarian. Although Mamet states that the library scene is pivotal in the transition of Gold’s character (where does the hero belong? etc.), he also refers to the reel librarian as “head of the Jewish whatever-it-is.” Sigh.

And he addresses the smoking, too, in this commentary:  ”That’s why I used to do a lot of writing in law libraries around the country, because they let you smoke in them. And also they didn’t ask you for any identification, because you know, who would pretend to be a lawyer?” How long ago did Mamet write in law libraries? The 1960s? The 1970s? Surely that has changed by now. And by the way, law libraries are NOT the same thing as special archives libraries. No smoking allowed!

William H. Macy’s reaction to the smoking? “It is an odd choice. Took poor Stevie about 10 years to quit smoking.” Because of this film?! Poor guy. And thank you, William H. Macy, for also thinking all that smoking in the library was weird. Also, you’re the best thing in this movie. Bless. ♥

One last side note: In the gag reel in the Criterion Collection dvd, Goldstein initially misspelled Grofaz as Grozaz (see last screenshot). Woopsie. ;)

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Brainstorming

Brainstorm (1983) was Natalie Wood’s last film, and quite a strange one at that. It’s a hard plot to describe, so I’m going to trust in IMDb to sum it up thusly:

Brilliant researchers Lillian Reynolds (Louise Fletcher) and Michael Brace (Christopher Walken) have developed a system of recording and playing back actual experiences of people. Once the capability of tapping into “higher brain functions” is added in, and you can literally jump into someone else’s head and play back recordings of what he or she was thinking, feeling, seeing, etc., at the time of the recording, the applications for the project quickly spiral out of control.

The plot reads like virtual reality on acid — an intriguing idea, but it’s like the idea was 20+ years ahead of what visual effects technology could realistically pull off at the time. The movie just feels very ’80s, and therefore, has not aged well. Natalie Wood plays Michael’s estranged wife, Karen, and a product designer for the research company her husband works for. It also doesn’t help that Natalie Wood and Christopher Walken have little chemistry as a couple.

So, where does a librarian fit into all this? Admittedly, not very well. There are 3 characters listed in the credits as follows:

Jimmy Casino as Tape Library Technician

May Raymond Boss as Tape Library Woman

Clay Boss as Tape Library Man

"Jimmy, load it up"

About an hour and 15 minutes into the film, Michael has been banned from the premises and is trying to hack his way into “Project Brainstorm” and the online tape library. Of course, the higher-ups at the research laboratory catch on to this but allow Michael to think he’s getting away with it. They give the Tape Library Technician the go-ahead to load the “Project Brainstorm” tape. They call him “Jimmy,” so I’m making an educated guess that he’s the Tape Library Technician, although he’s dressed more like a security guard in his drab blue uniform (see above). But now that I think about it, he really is more like a guard than anything else. Sigh.

We then get treated to a look at the oh-so-sophisticated tape library and a close-up of the tape rolls that look like extra special Christmas ribbon (see below). Oooh, shiny! I personally get a kick out of all the warning labels haphazardly placed on the tape roll. DANGER. TOXIC. And another label that clearly states to NOT play the tape for a person. So much for the warning.

Danger! Signage overload

Toward the very end of the film, Michael and Karen work together to bring down the research facility and manage to cause the tape library to self-destruct (see below). That’s when the Tape Library Woman and Tape Library Man, dressed in white lab coats, get a few seconds on film. Alas, they are too late to save the tapes. Awwwww, so sad.

Chaos in the tape library, stat!

So the reel librarians in Brainstorm are really more akin to IT technicians, but I’m feeling in a generous mood. It’s gotta hurt to witness your precious tape library go berserk on you. So they join the other Information Providers in the Class IV category. I’m sure they will find some moral support in there. ;)

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A not-so-enchanting librarian

Ella Enchanted (2004), adapted from Gail Carson Levine’s book, is a delightful twist on the Cinderella tale. Winningly goofy, it features a sparkling Anne Hathaway as Ella; a, well, charming Hugh Dancy as Prince Charmont (“Char” to his friends); and a deliciously scheming turn by Cary Elwes as Char’s Uncle Edgar and regent of the kingdom.

*SPOILERS BELOW*

The well-known plot hinges on Ella’s gift of obedience bestowed by a fairy godmother, Lucinda (Vivica A. Fox), whom Ella is trying to find in order to release this curse of a blessing. Almost an hour into the film, Char tells Edgar that he needs to take Ella to the Hall of Records, to try and find where her fairy godmother Lucinda is located. The camera than cuts to a young black woman, billed as the Hall of Records Attendant (Merrina Millsapp), slamming down a thick book on a table, releasing a cloud of dust.

The attendant, dressed in modest medieval garb, appears quite disinterested in Ella’s task. “Here’s the latest census. Names are listed first by location then species.” As she walks away, she rattles off a “Good luck” with a dismissive flip of her hand. Although more of an archives clerk than an actual public services librarian — perhaps this explains her lack of customer service? — she serves the basic function of a reel librarian.

Due to the incompetence of Ella’s magical aunt, one of Ella’s sidekicks, Benny (Jimi Mistry), has been accidentally stuck in a book for years. Benny, therefore, is right beside her in the Hall of Records (his book, the one that looks more like a frame, is propped up in the screenshot above). He, too, grimaces at the sight of the massive volume. “Look at the size of that thing!” And as Ella heaves the book open, she sighs, “Lucinda, I hope you’re in here.”

The camera than spirals up, giving us a bird’s eye view of the messy table in the Hall of Records. The reel librarian will certainly be of no help, and this camera trick underscores just how alone Ella is in this seemingly hopeless task.

A few minutes later, after a brief scene full of Edgar’s evil scheming, we return to Ella slumped in a chair in the Hall of Records. “I can’t find anything in any of these books,” she laments, banging her head on the book. “I don’t know where else to look.” Because asking the librarian is obviously not an option!

Finally, Ella spies a clue in the book in which her friend Benny is enspelled — NOT in one of the library books, I might add — and figures out how to find Lucinda. But alas! Edgar comes into the room and blocks her way, sneering, “I hope you’ve found everything to your satisfaction?” Due to the total lack of help or interest from the reel librarian, I would have answered with a definitive NO! But Ella is more polite than I am. ;) Then Edgar tests Ella’s secret and sends her out in order to kill Char. Fortunately, Edgar doesn’t notice Benny stuck in the book, who has overheard the entire evil plot.

A few minutes later, the archives clerk walks back into the library — sighing at the all the mess, of course — and discovers the book of Ella’s friend (see above). However, Benny can only reveal himself to certain people, so the reel librarian sees only empty pages. Heaving another big sigh, she immediately dumps Benny and his book into the “recycling parchment” bin. Sigh. Thank goodness, Ella’s other sidekicks find Benny in the trash and recycling center outside the castle the next morning. So it’s a relief that the actions — or rather, inactions? — of this disinterested Information Provider did help advance the plot after all.

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Hey! Mr. Book Man, find a book for me

It’s always interesting for me to view early Denzel Washington films, like this decidedly minor action thriller, Ricochet (1991). Denzel plays hotshot detective-turned-district-attorney Nick Styles, while John Lithgow plays his badass, butt-kicking nemesis, Earl Talbot Blake (?!). I know, I just typed that sentence and I had to do a mental double-take. Although spectacularly miscast, Lithgow nonetheless enjoys chewing the scenery with crazy-eyed relish. (For a believably badass Lithgow villain, see his Emmy-winning turn in the 4th season of Dexter).

*SPOILERS BELOW*

About a quarter hour into the film, Lithgow gets to flex his teeth-gnashing skills opposite a reel librarian billed as the “Book Man” (Don Perry). While Earl is seething revenge in a prison hospital bed — he had just gotten shot in the kneecaps by Nick the Cop — an older white male pushing a cart of books shuffles into view.

Decked out in so-nerdy-it’s-almost-stylish-again duds such as a newsboy cap, plaid shirt and cardigan (but alas, no bow tie!), he bends over Earl to say:

Young fella? Look at you! Lying there like a lump on a log. So what if you’ve made a few mistakes? You can change your life for the better. Don’t you have anything to live for?

Mr. Book Man's bedside manner

Earl has no reaction to this inspirational message. Or maybe he was pissed at being called “young fella” (being over 45 in real life by this point).  Either way, he seems unmoved. But after viewing a TV news bit about the stylin’ Nick Styles, he calls out, “Hey you! Book Man!”

Pleased as punch, this Information Provider and Comic Relief reel librarian pushes the cart of books back over. Here is the oddest, and darkly comedic, bit of cinematic reader’s advisory you’ll ever witness:

Earl: You know what? I just thought of something I could change. A whole life. A whole future. It’s all in my hands.

Book Man:  Wonderful. Would you like something uplifting to read? Maybe motivational?

Earl:  Something heavy.

Book Man:  How about Tolstoy? Anna Karenina.

Earl: It’s not heavy enough.

Book Man:  Well, it was his first book. Ok. War and Peace.

Earl:  Yeah, that’s perfect. [Book Man puts his hands on his hips, looking mighty proud of himself, see above.] I’ll take that big Bible there, too.

Book Man: God bless you. Fine young man. When you start reading the right things, go down the right road.

Earl’s ulterior motive:  binding the heavy books with tape to use as a splint for his messed-up leg! And he continues to honor the true value of books by using them in prison as body armor. (Not kidding.) And later, the ex-cons use a bookstore that poses as an Aryan front for fake passports. Sigh.

Hey there, young fella

So even though I was thinking that was it for the Book Man — I totally thought he was going to die with War and Peace literally imprinted on the side of his head at the end of that hospital scene — but no, wrong again! Earl meets up with Book Man again on his breakout escape from prison. See, for years, Earl has been planning this escape and plotting revenge on Nick, and he’s none too pleased to meet up with Mr. Book Man in the prison parking lot. Although the Book Man sure seems happy (see right).

Outside his bookmobile, the Book Man calls out to Earl (in disguise as a fancy pants lawyer), ”Hey there, young fella. Do you remember me? The books in the hospital?”

Is the pen mightier than the sword in this scenario?

Not impressed with the old guy’s memory — or the lack of aging process on ANYONE in this film — Earl shoots him in the chest and steals his bookmobile to use as the getaway vehicle. Worst. Library. Patron. EVER.

You can see the prison escape scene below, but be prepared for graphic violence toward reel librarians and others:

And the poor bookmobile meets a grisly end, as well. Sigh. A cart bites the dust on the highway, splattering books everywhere, and Earl and his sidekick conspirator light up the bookmobile and push it off a cliff. To add insult to injury (and murder), we even get a closeup of it as the bookmobile blows up!

Bookmobile or bust

“I always wanted a Viking funeral.”

Go in peace, Correctional Facilities Bookmobile and Mr. Book Man, go in peace.

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