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The fraternity of Djangophiles
MichaelHorowitz
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OK folks....I'd like to hear what people's thoughts are on this:
The fraternity of Djangophiles
By BRAD WHEELER
Saturday, September 24, 2005 Posted at 12:58 AM EDT
Globe and Mail Update
So, does your mother wear combat boots? A question, properly framed, can make a point without relying on a reply. In the same way, a successful documentarian is able to raise issues without finding it necessary to answer them. With Djangomania!, a quirky and clever look at a legendary Gypsy jazz guitarist and his present-day admirers, filmmaker Jamie Kastner makes the indelicate inquiry, wondering if the wildly talented Django Reinhardt happened to be in cahoots with jazz-loving Nazis who, when they weren't digging his swing, were slaughtering his race. The film premieres tomorrow on Bravo! (8 p.m., EDT).
“It's a funny journey through weird people, great music, a mysterious, legendary figure and poor screwed-over Gypsies,” Kastner says. “To whom one feels compelled at the end of it all to have to say, ‘Oh, by the way, guess what, you're greatest cultural hero might have been a Nazi — what do you think of that?'”
They're not quite sure what to think, but then, their champion always did present more than one side. Born Jean-Baptiste Reinhardt in a Belgian field in 1910, Django's six-string prowess was all the more remarkable for his mangled fretting hand — his two smallest fingers were permanently bent at the second knuckle, having been burned in a caravan fire during his youth. (In the film, Kastner visits a pair of Django fanatics in Vancouver who approximate their hero's playing style precisely, going so far as to tape their fingers in order to render the digits useless.) In 1934, Reinhardt formed a fragile but successful partnership with pianist and violinist Stéphane Grappelli, and the resulting Quintet of the Hot Club of France became popular the world over. Django was of double character, always — wearing a tuxedo while performing, but with gaudy red socks. His mustache was ornately shaped and his hair was fashionably slicked back, and yet the unschooled musician had a crude side. Supposedly he couldn't sleep in a normal bed and retained a preference for riverside caravan living, where he could catch fish with his bare hands and snare rabbits.
Duke Ellington believed him to be the only non-American to make an impact on jazz, but Django behaved erratically during his late-career tour with the jazz great, showing up tardy for concerts. He was immodest, and treated his band-mates poorly. Django may well have been, in the words of one of the film's featured fans, a “son of a bitch.”
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The documentary does not judge the man's character, according to Kastner. “I'm not saying what he was — it's a question mark. I wanted to make an entertaining film that raises some questions. It's about obsession, it's about the nature of fandom, it's about the relationship between the artist and the art.”
It's also about 55 minutes long. Which is not enough time for Kastner to fully dedicate himself to the film's suppositions, and not enough time to even cover the guitarist's complete career and life. Instead, Djangomania! centres on the musician's cultish fan base — one international in scope, but bound together by a common denominator. “They seem sophisticated, intelligent,” Kastner says. “They have some talent and ability, but then when you scratch the surface, you begin to notice this same kind of obsessive worship you would associate with either far more simplistic people or with religious blind faith.”
The fans are chronicled travelogue-style, with a wryly humorous Kastner poking fun at a slightly bizarre cast of characters. There's the Israeli doctor who views his weekend at a rural French Django festival as a form of therapy; there's the Vancouver librarian who sees Django as “kind of like Christ” and believes (admittedly, with no foundation) that he had “lots of love” and clearly loved his people; there's an elderly Belgian curmudgeon with a stashed-away copy of Django's birth certificate; and there's the wealthy family near Seattle who are “Gypsies in spirit.”
The lighthearted stuff at the beginning of Kastner's journey turns more serious as the trip winds up in Liverchies, Belgium. There a new festival crassly celebrates its most famous son but wants nothing at all to do with living Gypsies, who are viewed as garbage-strewing chicken thieves. The few Gypsies who attend the festival are confronted by Kastner, who solicits their opinion on Django's possible collaborative conduct in German-occupied France.
It all comes down to, according to Kastner, the nature of idolatry. “How closely have the Djangophiles looked at the man himself — the man they're worshipping? Does it matter to them? And does a dubious creator devalue the art? It's unanswerable, really.”
Probably so. But perhaps the answer comes from Emmett Ray, the nefarious Django-obsessed character played by Sean Penn in Woody Allen's Sweet and Lowdown (1999). “If you let your insides get to you,” the unconscionable Ray says, “you're finished.”
The fraternity of Djangophiles
By BRAD WHEELER
Saturday, September 24, 2005 Posted at 12:58 AM EDT
Globe and Mail Update
So, does your mother wear combat boots? A question, properly framed, can make a point without relying on a reply. In the same way, a successful documentarian is able to raise issues without finding it necessary to answer them. With Djangomania!, a quirky and clever look at a legendary Gypsy jazz guitarist and his present-day admirers, filmmaker Jamie Kastner makes the indelicate inquiry, wondering if the wildly talented Django Reinhardt happened to be in cahoots with jazz-loving Nazis who, when they weren't digging his swing, were slaughtering his race. The film premieres tomorrow on Bravo! (8 p.m., EDT).
“It's a funny journey through weird people, great music, a mysterious, legendary figure and poor screwed-over Gypsies,” Kastner says. “To whom one feels compelled at the end of it all to have to say, ‘Oh, by the way, guess what, you're greatest cultural hero might have been a Nazi — what do you think of that?'”
They're not quite sure what to think, but then, their champion always did present more than one side. Born Jean-Baptiste Reinhardt in a Belgian field in 1910, Django's six-string prowess was all the more remarkable for his mangled fretting hand — his two smallest fingers were permanently bent at the second knuckle, having been burned in a caravan fire during his youth. (In the film, Kastner visits a pair of Django fanatics in Vancouver who approximate their hero's playing style precisely, going so far as to tape their fingers in order to render the digits useless.) In 1934, Reinhardt formed a fragile but successful partnership with pianist and violinist Stéphane Grappelli, and the resulting Quintet of the Hot Club of France became popular the world over. Django was of double character, always — wearing a tuxedo while performing, but with gaudy red socks. His mustache was ornately shaped and his hair was fashionably slicked back, and yet the unschooled musician had a crude side. Supposedly he couldn't sleep in a normal bed and retained a preference for riverside caravan living, where he could catch fish with his bare hands and snare rabbits.
Duke Ellington believed him to be the only non-American to make an impact on jazz, but Django behaved erratically during his late-career tour with the jazz great, showing up tardy for concerts. He was immodest, and treated his band-mates poorly. Django may well have been, in the words of one of the film's featured fans, a “son of a bitch.”
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The documentary does not judge the man's character, according to Kastner. “I'm not saying what he was — it's a question mark. I wanted to make an entertaining film that raises some questions. It's about obsession, it's about the nature of fandom, it's about the relationship between the artist and the art.”
It's also about 55 minutes long. Which is not enough time for Kastner to fully dedicate himself to the film's suppositions, and not enough time to even cover the guitarist's complete career and life. Instead, Djangomania! centres on the musician's cultish fan base — one international in scope, but bound together by a common denominator. “They seem sophisticated, intelligent,” Kastner says. “They have some talent and ability, but then when you scratch the surface, you begin to notice this same kind of obsessive worship you would associate with either far more simplistic people or with religious blind faith.”
The fans are chronicled travelogue-style, with a wryly humorous Kastner poking fun at a slightly bizarre cast of characters. There's the Israeli doctor who views his weekend at a rural French Django festival as a form of therapy; there's the Vancouver librarian who sees Django as “kind of like Christ” and believes (admittedly, with no foundation) that he had “lots of love” and clearly loved his people; there's an elderly Belgian curmudgeon with a stashed-away copy of Django's birth certificate; and there's the wealthy family near Seattle who are “Gypsies in spirit.”
The lighthearted stuff at the beginning of Kastner's journey turns more serious as the trip winds up in Liverchies, Belgium. There a new festival crassly celebrates its most famous son but wants nothing at all to do with living Gypsies, who are viewed as garbage-strewing chicken thieves. The few Gypsies who attend the festival are confronted by Kastner, who solicits their opinion on Django's possible collaborative conduct in German-occupied France.
It all comes down to, according to Kastner, the nature of idolatry. “How closely have the Djangophiles looked at the man himself — the man they're worshipping? Does it matter to them? And does a dubious creator devalue the art? It's unanswerable, really.”
Probably so. But perhaps the answer comes from Emmett Ray, the nefarious Django-obsessed character played by Sean Penn in Woody Allen's Sweet and Lowdown (1999). “If you let your insides get to you,” the unconscionable Ray says, “you're finished.”
Comments
Let me know if I ever get like that.
troy
I will say that Kastner seems a bit disingenuous with statements like these:
"I'm not saying what he was — it's a question mark."
"Oh, by the way, guess what, [he] might have been a Nazi — what do you think of that?"
He's playing provocateur at the very least. I'd be curious to learn how he came to the subject...
"How closely have the Djangophiles looked at the man himself — the man they're worshipping? Does it matter to them? And does a dubious creator devalue the art?"
This last question is interesting, and something I've often tried to work through, though I'm far from convinced it applies in Django's case-I wonder if he makes the analogy with Celine? I don't get Bravo here...
Best,
Jack.
There is an interview with Dregni floating around where he is commenting on Django's legendary absences and says something to the effect of "how are we to know whether he was simply spreading the wealth among his family by giving Joseph a job?" And we DON'T know... anything we suppose is just that: supposition. One simply needs to shut up, listen to the music, and any concerns about devaluing the art will simply drift away.
By the way, don't mess with Celine...us Canadians are just itching for an excuse to send in Joint Task Force 2 and repatriate her. (Don't worry, you can keep Diana Krall)
Kevin
Most of us have been involved in other musical styles and know from experience that the same sort of dedication, passion, obsession over equipment, and worship of the greats is normal. We all know we'regeeks....worrying about or picks, when to play an upstroke, a downstroke, and all those details. But the truth is, all good musicians are hyper aware of the details....I don't think you can really make a case that Django fans are any worse. In fact, i"ll say that one of the redeeming features of this music is that most people are really in it just for the music. Other styles I've been involved with aren't always that way. Like Irish traditional music for example. You have many people who love the music and really study it. However, Irish music has also become a way for Irish Americans to "re-connect" with their "heritage." So you get hordes of musical ignoramuses showing up at jams with a penny whistle, a bodhran, wearing all green and feeling SOOO Irish. I've never seen that kind of thing in Gypsy jazz...most guys just want to really play.
I know a number of people who where interviewed for this, several of whom where quoted in the article. I guarantee you they didn't know that their interviews where going to be turned into a comedy piece. Kastner obviously took some things people said way out of context. Like the bit about Django being Christ....give me a break.
Anyway, you know what they say. Any publicity is good publicity. So, maybe this documentary will help spread our freakish cult far and wide!
'm
Learn how to play Gypsy guitar:
http://alexsimonmusic.com/learn-gypsy-jazz-guitar/
The craziest thing I found in the whole documentary is the Japanese guy who pardons his converting one room of a 3 1/2 room apartment into a practice room and practicing 3 hrs a night by saying "The father is the head of the family, and the goal of the father is the goal of the family."
Little else was surprising: Gypsies are generally still treated like trash while many people cling to romantic notions of their culture even as they are aware of the bitter realities. Everyone is out to make a buck, some old people are desperate to spend time with young folks, this music requires lots of dedication and some people get a bit obsessive about it. Some people enjoy looking down on people who enjoy something in a way they don't, and I still can't watch a documentarian without making mental comparisons to the pompous character in "FUBAR."
You won't learn anything from this documentary that you can't learn from the much better Dregni book. It refuses to focus on one central idea and pretty much hops around a bunch of different question without examining them deeply enough to become interesting (because if he really gave his subjects a voice he'd have to let them start making sense).
I'm starting to think Samois is even smaller than I imagined because whenever I see footage I see the same people!
I always thought he had more of a Moses vibe....but what can I say, I'm more of an old testament kind of guy.
'm
Rot. What "point" does the initial question make? Here's a better example: where are editors when you really need them? Plus, the only time it's useful to raise issues without attempting to answer them is when those issues are either novel or suppressed. Neither is the case here. Sounds like this film fails to transcend the level of freshman English. Less charitably, it sounds like Kastner thinks he's been around long enough to hang with cynics. Congratulations, dude, you get an extra carton of Gauloise cigarettes.
Achieving irony requires little effort. Sounds like this film is more evidence that these days, irony is plentiful and cheap.
Does the film actually contribute anything to adult discussion?
Cheers,
Ando
As to this Nazi business, what a load of BS. It's hard to imagine anyone as apolitical as Django. The man simply wanted to play his music. He was fortunate that some of the Nazis appreciated him in spite of official disapproval, because in one instance, his life was probably saved by a German officer (and fan) who let him go free when he was caught trying to get across the border into (I believe) Switzerland. Otherwise, he could have suffered the same fate as hundreds of thousands of gypsies who were murdered by the Nazis in a gypsy Holocaust that gets little mention.
The coolest thing about the film was when he interviewed "the Israeli doctor," who turned out to be my buddy Moshe who I met at Django in June in 2007.
BTW, kcox, I think there are a great many Canadians who wish they had kept Celine in Las Vegas or somewhere at least as far away. Give me Diana any day.
And Michael, I'm surprised you would say you're an "Old Testament kind of guy." That's a very Christian term, and personally, as a lapsed Christian and borderline atheist, I've always thought of the term "Old Testament" as being insulting to what those books really are, the Hebrew Scriptures.
[Waiting for lightning to strike. Not yet. Whew.]
"It's a great feeling to be dealing with material which is better than yourself, that you know you can never live up to."
-- Orson Welles