Okay, let's lay the blame at the feet of the man who started it all: Jame Coburn. Face it, man, it was you all along, it was your doing that got me going in direction of wine. Sure, I had fits and starts with other liquors, other brews. William Powell made cocktails look so appealing in the Thin Man. And for quite a big chunk of time Clint Eastwood made beer the only libation a true hairy chested man could drink.
But wine found it's hero in you, James. One evening back in the late seventies I found myself in a funky contemporary movie house across the street from Disneyland and caught a double bill that changed the imagery in my mind about wine and how one should drink it. I was on weekend leave, coming down from a very nice tab of very clean windowpane. I don't know what inspired me to take in such a heady, psychotronic double bill after such a blissful day. Cross of Iron and Black Sunday. On paper the plan seemed sound and the drive, while hazardous, was doable. I parked the car and unbeknownst to me, left the lights on, which gave the evening a decidedly dramatic twist later on. Somehow I managed to come up with correct change, got my ticket, walked in and grabbed a seat.
Damn big auditorium. Was there a crowd that evening? I can't remember but I do remember that those films occupied every square inch of my brain that night. As far as I was concerned, it was Peckinpah's finest hour. I had yet to see The Wild Bunch, and only seen a couple of his earlier Westerns on television. The battle scenes were pure symphonic ballet, a cinematic ode to slow-mo gunplay. Then came the scene that changed the way that I looked at Rhine wine forever.
James Coburn had caught it, big time, in a pitched battle on the Russian front that turned things, temporarily, in favor of the Germans. While in the midst of fighting a holding action, Coburn's character, Cpl Steiner, found himself in the vicinity of a rather large explosion, which thanks to good script writing, meant he was due a bit of time in the rear for recovery. Maybe it was the Weirmacht fatigues he was dressed in, or the dashing, juanty way he wore that bandage around his head. Maybe it was the way he grabbed that sweaty bottle, the careless way he hoisted it to his lips, his grin visable behind the quaffed wine. I'm sure it was the delight he took in that swallow, or maybe it was the nurse he had on his arm, that made that wine look so damn tasty. No matter, wine and war, handsome men, gorgeous women and film all became inextricably intertwined in my psyche that night.
Wine shows up fairly regularly in films. It doesn't have the upscale appeal like hootch does in old Warner Brothers gangster films, and it doesn't have the same bbq and baseball feel of brew like films that Kevin Costner would play in. But it does speak of family, of celebration, of joy. When wine plays a part in the scene of a movie it's not necessarily for comic relief like in Arthur or to help the antihero get over his heartache the way that whiskey does in any number of movies. I think of films like Sideways and Bottleshock when I think of wine, of how it's appreciated and venerated and talked about in ways that can make even a man on the wagon thirsty. I think of those scenes in the cave in For Whom the Bell Tolls, where the communal table is beset by anxiety and worry about how the war was going, but then, once wine was applied, how it tied together the tough and weak and the uncertain and turned them all into a force to contend with.
Wine is a means to a toast, like in 84 Charing Cross Street when the characters, companions all, toast to an upcoming trip to England. Wine was there in biblical epics, promoting tension in Samson before he met Delilah. It was present in the wedding scene of the Godfather, for sure, but it was also part of any number of large and small films where family and celebration and toasts were called for. Wine is most certainly is the drink of love, of sophistication, of humility, of heroes. Where would brave Jason and his Argonauts be, where would Robin Hood be, where would Dumbo be without the thrill, delight and comfort of wine? Wine has been used a vehicle to overcome grief, like in The Shrink. Wine is there to make merry, like when Rick wooed Ilsa in Paris in Casablanca. Wine, in all it's glory and humbleness, is where culture is, where love blooms, where good times dwell.
And wine was also made the drink of hairy chested men as well, thanks to Coburn and Peckinpah that night. When I left the movie house I was finally coming down from my long, star spangled trip and wanted something cool to drink, something like a bottle of Gewertzterminer or some such libation. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my wallet and saw that I had enough change to buy a long, cool green bottle of California Reisling from the little market across the street from my mom's house. I jumped into my car and turned the key, already picturing the grin I would employ to show my appreciation for the sweetness, the coolness of that heady elixer. Damn if the motor didn't turn over. I saw that my headlight switch was pulled out, had been left on, for the entire length of the show. My James Coburn moment would have to wait. That jingle in my pocket went to the owner of a service station, instead. Even hairy chested males find their batteries drained out every once in a while.
Action!
San Francisco Chronicle: Top 10 wine movies:
http://articles.sfgate.com/2006-06-22/wine/17300223_1_wine-films-paul-henreid-great-pairing
Top Tenz: Top Ten wine movies, with clips:
http://www.toptenz.net/top-10-movies-with-wine.php
Chowhound (natch!): long rap on wine and movies:
http://chowhound.chow.com/topics/556001
Wine in movies, television shows AND books:
http://wineintro.com/movies/
But wine found it's hero in you, James. One evening back in the late seventies I found myself in a funky contemporary movie house across the street from Disneyland and caught a double bill that changed the imagery in my mind about wine and how one should drink it. I was on weekend leave, coming down from a very nice tab of very clean windowpane. I don't know what inspired me to take in such a heady, psychotronic double bill after such a blissful day. Cross of Iron and Black Sunday. On paper the plan seemed sound and the drive, while hazardous, was doable. I parked the car and unbeknownst to me, left the lights on, which gave the evening a decidedly dramatic twist later on. Somehow I managed to come up with correct change, got my ticket, walked in and grabbed a seat.
Damn big auditorium. Was there a crowd that evening? I can't remember but I do remember that those films occupied every square inch of my brain that night. As far as I was concerned, it was Peckinpah's finest hour. I had yet to see The Wild Bunch, and only seen a couple of his earlier Westerns on television. The battle scenes were pure symphonic ballet, a cinematic ode to slow-mo gunplay. Then came the scene that changed the way that I looked at Rhine wine forever.
James Coburn had caught it, big time, in a pitched battle on the Russian front that turned things, temporarily, in favor of the Germans. While in the midst of fighting a holding action, Coburn's character, Cpl Steiner, found himself in the vicinity of a rather large explosion, which thanks to good script writing, meant he was due a bit of time in the rear for recovery. Maybe it was the Weirmacht fatigues he was dressed in, or the dashing, juanty way he wore that bandage around his head. Maybe it was the way he grabbed that sweaty bottle, the careless way he hoisted it to his lips, his grin visable behind the quaffed wine. I'm sure it was the delight he took in that swallow, or maybe it was the nurse he had on his arm, that made that wine look so damn tasty. No matter, wine and war, handsome men, gorgeous women and film all became inextricably intertwined in my psyche that night.
Wine shows up fairly regularly in films. It doesn't have the upscale appeal like hootch does in old Warner Brothers gangster films, and it doesn't have the same bbq and baseball feel of brew like films that Kevin Costner would play in. But it does speak of family, of celebration, of joy. When wine plays a part in the scene of a movie it's not necessarily for comic relief like in Arthur or to help the antihero get over his heartache the way that whiskey does in any number of movies. I think of films like Sideways and Bottleshock when I think of wine, of how it's appreciated and venerated and talked about in ways that can make even a man on the wagon thirsty. I think of those scenes in the cave in For Whom the Bell Tolls, where the communal table is beset by anxiety and worry about how the war was going, but then, once wine was applied, how it tied together the tough and weak and the uncertain and turned them all into a force to contend with.
Wine is a means to a toast, like in 84 Charing Cross Street when the characters, companions all, toast to an upcoming trip to England. Wine was there in biblical epics, promoting tension in Samson before he met Delilah. It was present in the wedding scene of the Godfather, for sure, but it was also part of any number of large and small films where family and celebration and toasts were called for. Wine is most certainly is the drink of love, of sophistication, of humility, of heroes. Where would brave Jason and his Argonauts be, where would Robin Hood be, where would Dumbo be without the thrill, delight and comfort of wine? Wine has been used a vehicle to overcome grief, like in The Shrink. Wine is there to make merry, like when Rick wooed Ilsa in Paris in Casablanca. Wine, in all it's glory and humbleness, is where culture is, where love blooms, where good times dwell.
And wine was also made the drink of hairy chested men as well, thanks to Coburn and Peckinpah that night. When I left the movie house I was finally coming down from my long, star spangled trip and wanted something cool to drink, something like a bottle of Gewertzterminer or some such libation. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my wallet and saw that I had enough change to buy a long, cool green bottle of California Reisling from the little market across the street from my mom's house. I jumped into my car and turned the key, already picturing the grin I would employ to show my appreciation for the sweetness, the coolness of that heady elixer. Damn if the motor didn't turn over. I saw that my headlight switch was pulled out, had been left on, for the entire length of the show. My James Coburn moment would have to wait. That jingle in my pocket went to the owner of a service station, instead. Even hairy chested males find their batteries drained out every once in a while.
Action!
San Francisco Chronicle: Top 10 wine movies:
http://articles.sfgate.com/2006-06-22/wine/17300223_1_wine-films-paul-henreid-great-pairing
Top Tenz: Top Ten wine movies, with clips:
http://www.toptenz.net/top-10-movies-with-wine.php
Chowhound (natch!): long rap on wine and movies:
http://chowhound.chow.com/topics/556001
Wine in movies, television shows AND books:
http://wineintro.com/movies/
And, finally, I believe things would have turned out differently if James had been drinking wine out of a box, instead. Not near as sexy, but far more practical, if not greener:
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