Top of the Pops

There was competition between John Lennon and Paul McCartney in many ways while they were Beatles, not the least of which was to see who's song would be the next single. They brought out the best in each other, songwriting-wise, and it's generally acknowledged that there was a friendly sort of contest to see who could top the other in experimentation and quality. But the more practical side of that competition was whether or not the next Beatles single would be one by John or by Paul.
While George and Ringo were generally left out of consideration (until 'Abbey Road' and Harrison's song 'Something'- his first A-side), they each had a vote in what song would be released next, as did producer George Martin. Surprisingly perhaps, there appears to be practically no rancorous disagreement at any point; common sense seems to have won out on each occasion. The better song, regardless of the composer, was chosen and they closed ranks at that point.
Despite the famous 'Lennon/McCartney' credit, hardly any of their songs were really co-written in a 50/50 sense. Nearly all were mainly one or the other; the collaboration came in adding a line here and there, maybe a middle break, such as Paul's 'woke up, fell out of bed...' bit in John's 'A Day in the Life.'
Early on, most of the singles were Lennon's. McCartney had his share, such as 'Can't Buy Me Love', but such songs as 'Help,' 'I Feel Fine,' and 'Ticket To Ride' were the rule rather than the exception and they were John's. The tide began to turn in 1966, for reasons that are still not clear. Perhaps John stopped trying as hard. Beginning with 'Paperback Writer' and 'Lady Madonna,' McCartney seemed more and more to be the one that wrote their #1's. A clever way of dealing with the problem was to issue a double a-side single; in other words, neither song (and inevitably, one would be by Paul and the other by John) was officially designated the a-side. They would simply be released and fight it out on the charts.
But the Billboard charts don't lie. 'Penny Lane' hit #1, and John's 'Strawberry Fields Forever' peaked at #8. 'Hey Jude', the Beatles' biggest hit ever, spent 19 weeks in the top spot; 'Revolution' stopped at #12. 'Hello Goodbye' was another McCartney chart-topper; Lennon's psychedelic classic, 'I Am The Walrus' only made it to #56, believe it or not.
This of course has nothing to do with the quality of the songs mentioned, but it does show that even at this point, McCartney's songs were seen and proven to be the more commercially successful. Lennon's occasionally popped up, like 'All You Need Is Love,' which was a #1. All the others were Paul's, until 1969.
Two things had happened. Allen Klein was now their manager, and he and McCartney had made it official business not to get along, so Harrison's 'Something' and Lennon's 'Come Together' were chosen as the first single from 'Abbey Road.' As the songs made their individual ways up the charts, Billboard changed its policy and said that no longer would the two sides of a single record chart separately. They would now be considered the same record, at least as far as the charts were concerned. So 'Something/Come Together' were combined and hit #1.
The last Beatles song to make the top spot was 'The Long and Winding Road' in 1970, and it was Paul's. By that point, the Beatles had split; Lennon and McCartney, sadly, had much more to argue about than who would write their next #1 single.

"The Alternative Factor"

This is an episode of the original Star Trek series and it is generally regarded as one of the most confusing ever aired. The fact that it was made during the show's first season (not the third, which had most of the really awful episodes) makes one wonder what the heck the writer and director and I suppose even Gene Roddenberry were thinking.
It tells the story of a mysterious man named Lazarus who seems alternately mad and sane and is prone to periods of exhaustion which cause him to fall off cliffs, something he does several times.
Actually, the story itself, when boiled down, is fairly straightforward. A corridor of sorts exists between our universe (matter) and a parallel universe (anti-matter). The Lazarus from the anti-matter universe is intent on killing the Lazarus from this one. If they meet outside the corridor, life will cease to exist everywhere in both. Sort of a REALLY bigger bang.
It's the manner in which the story is presented that leads to the above-mentioned confusion. So many things are completely out of character. Captain Kirk has Lazarus (don't ask me which one) beamed aboard the Enterprise, where he is considered a potential danger to the ship but is allowed to come and go as he pleases. One of the most (unintentionally) humorous exchanges is between Kirk and McCoy after Lazarus has been confined to sickbay. He basically just gets up and walks out.

Kirk: Where's Lazarus?
McCoy: Oh, I don't know, Jim. It's a big ship.

Way to stay on top of things, Doctor. But the whole episode is like that. Lazarus wanders through the Enterprise, assaulting crewmen, starting fires, and stealing dilithium crystals. That shipboard security is a little lax would be an understatement. Lazarus even threatens Kirk on the bridge and TELLS him he plans on stealing the crystals, then is allowed to get on the turbolift and leave by himself.
About eight times during the show (and keep in mind, it's only a little over fifty minutes long), the music blares and we are shown a murky scene inside the 'corridor' and two unfocused figures fighting briefly, then back again to normality, usually on the planet, just in time for Lazarus to fall off another cliff.
On and on it goes. Spock is clueless, McCoy doesn't give a damn, Kirk struts and poses and acts concerned. Then at the end, we get to the crux of the matter, in the episode's one effective scene, Kirk crosses over to the parallel universe and meets up with the 'good' Lazarus. Whereas all the previous scenes on the planet were done outside, 'on location' as they say, this is an interior set made to look like it, and the effect is quite eerie.
It might have been a really good episode, but as it stands, "The Alternative Factor" is a real mess and one of the few misses during an otherwise excellent first season.

old movies part 12 or I love L.A.

And I' ve been watching a bunch lately. Casablanca and Maltese Falcon are two, and I know I've written about them before, but they are such great films, I almost never tire of seeing them. It's a little like listening to Beatles albums; I only have to let a few months pass, and it's like they're new again.
There are three others though that I've watched recently, and they all share something in common. They were all made in the late 40's/early 50's and they all take place in Los Angeles and southern California at some point. To digress for a moment, it's a period and place in time that seems really fascinating. One of my favorite authors, James Ellroy, uses that setting for, I think, all his novels. The post-war boom in both population and housing, the innovations in transportation, communications (which of course seem primitive today) along with political corruption, all make for great backdrops to stories, and even the movies of the time seem to have taken note of it.
The three movies are Them!, White Heat, and Hometown Story. They really don't have much in common except the aforementioned setting and, I suppose, a general approach to storytelling.
Them! is one of the earliest giant bug science-fiction films of the 50's, and probably the best. The pacing and script are very understated for the genre, and though the special effects are cheesy by today's standards, it manages to be scary, funny, and believable. Edmund Gwenn as the old scientist is more or less the star, and he is great. There is the usual paranoia about what the nuclear age has wrought, in this case really big ants. An amusing anecdote about the film is that director Gordon Douglas asked the film's editor, "How does it look?" The editor responded, "Fine." "But is it believable?" Douglas said. "As believable as 12-foot ants can be," came the answer. It starts in New Mexico but ends in the Los Angeles sewers and we have all the requisite, heated radio contact back and forth between police cars and then army units.
White Heat takes the James Cagney gangster films of the 30's and places them in a post-war, more realistic context. Cagney has never been better, in the role of Cody Jarrett, a real psycho. All the elements of those earlier films are incorporated, along with amazing new technology, like police scanners that can trace a vehicle's movement by placing an osculator (I think?) on the vehicle and tracking it. And of course we get all those great black and white shots of Southern California, the cars and buildings, that are so intriguing.
Hometown Story is the least of the three, a B-movie that would have no interest today if it wasn't one of Marilyn Monroe's early roles. It's only about an hour long (remember when movies didn't have to be two and half hours long?) but it seems drawn-out even at that. It seems more like an early television program than a proper film, and Marilyn does little other than shun the advances of Alan Hale, Jr. (the Skipper on Gilligan's Island). Perhaps that's enough. We still get a lot of great shots of police cars and those 'Highway Patrol' type radio communications.
All three films inhabit the same time and place and mindset, black and white and a bit pretentious and windy in their storytelling; the first two though seem more aware that they might be seen outside of that time and place.
I love watching films from that period. They are like windows to another world and I have to confess that sometimes I wish I could go back and live there.