Chief Concerns: In TOTALLY over me head here...

Lordy.

Well it's Russian Month again (technically more like 2 or 3 months, but that has no rhythm).
Just like every year around this time.
I don't know why, maybe it's the weather.
Anyways, on your feet, hogs, let's go.

Right, so last year, I was really concentrating more on

Russian

gangsters

and

all.

This year, we seem to be focusing more on The October 17th Revolution, and the events leading up to it.

Now this also allows us to enjoy a slough of good old-style cinematic extravaganzas (I know, I also didn't even know there was a first vaganza, let alone an extra one).

So we ended up screening, basically back to back

I forgot about the wild divergence between the actual performers and their representations on these old drawn posters...It's almost like they made up the artwork before casting

You can't imagine how fucking HUMUNGOUS this movie was when it came out...with one of the most hideously awful scores ever, the theme of which was played NONSTOP for the next 10 years

and

First off, these are some BIG assed movies, make no mistakes.

They all have actual Intermissions (something I, for one, wouldn't mind seeing a return to, not like it would ever happen), and at least one of them has a fucking Overture, for crying out loud.
Actually, IIRC, Reds was the last Hollywood release to have an Intermission

Anyways, there's all kinds of wild casting shit and everything, Zhivago is, after all, David Lean, and N&A certainly wants to be.

But, thing is, Reds features, as is known, fucking Beatty

as Jack Reed

and is basically the story of Reed's relationship with Louise Bryant

as portrayed by Diane Keaton

(In truth, I've never been much of a fan of either Beatty OR Keaton, I've never been able to fathom how the two of them could become two of the biggest stars in the world doing one single shtick, him where he just blabbers away non stop while running around flapping his arms up and down and her doing her trademark spectacularly unattractive bewildered and neurotic verge-of-tears thing, but, whatever)

(I should say, I do thoroughly enjoy watching Heaven Can Wait, repeatedly

but at least in that he's supposed to be an eccentric goofball)

And, Reds is actually a spectacularly good movie.

And I'll admit, when it got to that train platform scene, the one on the poster, I got pretty lumpy-throaty type deal.

Anyways, despite them both presenting these timeless love stories against the backdrop of the Revolution, Reds and Doc Z are, obviously, very very different films.
In the 16 years between them, Hollywood changed a lot.

Also, of course, the two directors represented two insanely divergent styles of movie making (although I'm sure Beatty would have been dead chuffed to be even mentioned in the same sentence as Lean).

BUT beyond that, here's where things start to get kind of squirrely.

Now, I'll need you to stick close to me here, it's easy to get lost.

So, OK, Reds stars Diane Keaton, who was Beatty's long time girlfriend, right?

While Doctor Zhivago stars...that's right, (the mind-blowingly beautiful) Julie Christie

Who was also a long-time girlfriend of Beatty's, at least 7 years or so

OK, I'll grant you, the 2 of them together are so fuckin pretty it's a wonder they didn't just explode

Coincidence?

Maybe, but hold onto your X-ray Specs, things are about to get REAL fucked up.

As you probably also know, Reds was notable for what was maybe Nicks' last non-self-parodying performance, his Oxscar nomulated (and blisteringly good) portrayal

of the fantastic, one & only award-winning dramatist and poet (and Famous Drunk) Eugene O'Neill

one of my personal favourite writers of all time.

Now, like many Famous Drunks (present company excepted, and we know who we are), Mr. O'Neill wasn't exactly Father of the Year.

Although this doesn't come up in this movie, his track record as a father left something to be desired.
After at least 3 marriages, he ended up with 3 children.

His eldest son, Eugene Jr.

A classicist at Yale, took up the family trade and became quite a notorious boozer himself, committing suicide at 40.

O'Neill's second child, son Shane O'Neill (you know that thing about the Irish and drink? TOTAL myth, not a shred of truth to it), well he

became a heroin addict and moved into the family home in Bermuda, Spithead, with his new wife, where he supported himself by selling off the furnishings. He was disowned by his father before also committing suicide (by jumping out of a window) a number of years later.

Jeez, buddy.

But wait, O'Neill also had a daughter, the lovely (and most funkily named) Oona