‘REBEL’ at MOCA: Deconstructing James Franco’s Dean

As a non art critic previewing MOCA’s most recently opened exhibit, Rebel - temporarily installed at 941North Highland inside an annexed space – James Franco and seven other artists have put together a tightly conceived, unabashedly irreverent, though for me, an emotionally incomplete, deconstruction of James Dean and the Hollywood culture.

Opening the pre-exhibit press conference, MOCA Director, Jeffrey Deitch told the story of how he had been involved in developing the exhibit. It began in New York. Some impetus for the project grew out of a previous installation, which involved the entire General Hospital set. As many may know, James Franco has regularly played a character on that soap and some episodes were even shot with the set in its installation home. Deitch obviously has great admiration for Franco. Ultimately, demystifying something as iconic to this town as Rebel Without a Cause was too intriguing not to explore.

Upon taking the mic, Franco began humbly by saying he shouldn’t be up there, the other artists should – then he went on for a VERY LONG time…Fortunately, he was interesting as he set up the concept for the piece. As it was explained in the program notes, it likely began ruminating from his playing James Dean in a biopic years ago. Once he’d worked through a number of issues surrounding that, he became interested in exploring it more deeply with other artists. At first, there was a plan to do a film about the making of Rebel Without a Cause, particularly surrounding legendary tales of Sal Mineo, James Dean and Natalie Wood during a weekend at a Bungalow, but it was abandoned. It was thought a project like that would still be too close to the source and, ultimately too “precious” and restrictive.

Paul McCarthy shared the process of reconstructing the Bungalow for filming video loop. That set will be going up somewhere else as an exhibit at a later time. At one point, after it had been abandoned to storage, McCarthy imagined it like a skull as its exterior, but the full two story recreation of the interior within. Given what had allegedly occurred that weekend between the Rebel actors, it was evocative to me of  a kind of surrender to death. That’s what we do when we break taboos, in large part, just to break them.

I was both delighted by and terrified for Harmony Korine, as he spoke of what led him to the project. This is a guy who, for an artistic film exercise, had planned to have a feature length documentary of himself provoking various random people into full fledged fist fights. He had been in the hospital, he had been arrested, he was thought to be mentally unstable…The fact that James Franco would ask him to revisit this frightening time in the young man’s artistic life for the sake of this project, made me question Franco as a friend; but perhaps, he only requested Korine revisit the spirit.

Korine couldn’t go back there. His healing had something to do, I think, with some female ex-gang members turned nudists. He laughed at himself. That was comforting and a relief.

Listening to each artist talk of the process, I was moved by their contributions and reasons for getting involved. They have dove into the way things are, in order to understand fully why they shouldn’t be the way they are. Yet, there is some lacking vulnerability in the work for me. The artists, especially Franco, ultimately dehumanize themselves to understand the victim.  It is almost heroic, if it were not for the fact, it is yet self destructive, or has not quite reached a state of maturity where the work moves fully through that emotional journey.

Couching this violent deconstruction of Hollywood Masculine Paradigms, was a lot of lush vegetation, clean set facingss and conspicuous Fresnels on metal stands with no effort to hide projectors. We were in Deconstruction Land, complete with both one regularly hung and one inverted Hollywood sign. Fortunately, we were only getting started.

The piece argues effectively that out of control male sexuality arises from deep insecurity. That is by no means an original revelation, but the violence and provocative way in which the theme is explored did give it a visceral urgency that the issue has lacked in awhile

James Dean’s death. The risks he took in his life. The self loathing. His confused sexuality. Trying to find a true connection with another human being was so impossible within the plastic comfort of the 1950s and the out of control world of Hollywood, the expectation of masculinity and limitations of society, that it wouldn’t occur to Dean to consciously bother. It would manifest itself in the physical.

Images of Dean’s classic motorcycle were featured, of course. Bicycles were strewn throughout – perhaps the mountain bike is the modern version of the motorcycle – the rugged terrain, adventure athlete. Instead of a high performance engine, man must power the vehicle with his own sweat and muscle. And we have our first adventures as children on bicycles. I was reminded, briefly, of Elliott and the boys saving ET. Bikes are an early right of freedom. Then imagination, losing its innocence, turned ego driven, turned fantasy driven…

There was A LOT of looped video. Several were long, up to 188 minutes. They are each described in the program and I found a couple of them pretty compelling i.e. the cattle being roped next to the poster of Giant.

Catching an image here and there, as sudden jolt of mood thrust into the room, was more satisfactory as far as taking in the material. I generally find the viewing of looped video tedious, so it may be that the medium itself is unappealing to my sensibilities.

Speaking of violated sensibilities…

The cartoon El Gato featured Jim Stark (Dean’s Rebel character) with a duck’s bill and Judy (Wood) as the obvious title character. Fast driving while masturbating culminated in sexualities so confused, Judy grows a penis that is sucked by Plato (Mineo), while Jim fucks him in the ass. Afterwards, they clung together in a post coital intimacy that was touching.

The commentary on our societies’ sexual imbalance was riveting. The male cock (or ego) thrust into our faces, the catering to the cock in its explicit and dehumanizing treatment of women until – the entitlement men feel, particularly attractive and successful men – to have their cocks worshipped. It is a horrible distortion of male humanity that dehumanizes the feminine, as well as the masculine – especially as a sexual beings. But it is not as though women lack complicite…

With modern notions of sexuality much more relaxed (we’re not enlightened or even healthy by any stretch of the imagination, but much more accepting of homosexuality than in 1950s) – a man in drag may not be quite as evocative as it once was. James Franco still makes a beautiful woman. There is a more modern freedom to explore opposing gender roles, at the same time, the images mine sexual confusion.

The piece, overall, didn’t really delve into the complexities of feminine sexuality. It is fucked up how men perceive female sexuality and we got that. Still, it is heartening to witness such self examination and questioning of accepted Hollywood Paradigms, that seem to endure no matter how much else of the business changes.

The way Wood is dehumanized by Franco’s commentary in the program notes and the casualness of Dennis Hopper’s statements about her, is almost offensive. But, since I know I am supposed to be offended, I don’t mind. She is this thing that Hopper and Nick Ray (Rebel director) both stuck their cocks into and it cost Hopper screen time. The sexual experience with her is lost. She is lost. I didn’t catch much of the Death of Natalie Wood, which was one of the loops running, so I am not sure where Franco went with it, but those were my initial feelings moving through the work as I did.

Surrounded by typical Tinsel Town comfort, inside a Jacuzzi lay a rusted motorcycle. Endless anger from the confused, ego driven male thrust into the sanitized womb of the passive, unreleased femine and left to rot, ultimately memorializing this negative aspect of modern male existence, all the while making the womb non functional, yet because of the chemicals in the treated water, remains beautiful on a purely superficial, aesthetic level. Wow! Did I just shove my head up my ass or what?!?

Strangely, all this irreverence Franco wanted and all this not being “precious” gives Rebel a kind of reverence, because it infuses the source material with modern relevance. Though I think it may be a spiritually and emotionally incomplete journey, it is well threaded to the constructs of Rebel Without a Cause and fucked up, though long enduring, constructs of masculinity. I feel privy to a portion of an ongoing quest that will eventually hold more wisdom and peace for its pilgrims. In the meantime, I hope our anti-heroes do not destroy themselves.

___

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Silicon Beach: Resurrection of the Artist as Hero

This one is a little weird to me after some time has past. I actually have to convince myself that I wrote it. Not all of it makes sense. I was really obsessed with Silicon Beach and then I wasn’t…

Silicon Beach has arrived in Venice. That is a fact. We cannot do the usual sticking our heads in the sand and flipping it the bird and make it go away. No. There is not enough graffiti in the world to cover it up. Silicon Beach is here to stay and it will continue to grow.

But, I am not afraid. Not yet, anyway. Here is why.

The Venice Creative Community could drive the winds on homelessness, diversity and other important social issues, which are coming to a head. This gives me tremendous comfort. Artists are extremely powerful. Now more then ever, they need to know it. They need to be organized and they need to hold the tech community accountable to its promise to merge with LOCAL talent. They need to feel as if they are vital in what is a life and death struggle.

There is a reason why all the crazy elements of Venice Beach result in such amazing creativity. Defining that reason, well good luck. All I can say is that our fucked up magic works, most of the time. The homeless are part of the drama, part of the struggle, part of the extremes from which artists draw. Not to mention, a lot of young artists, poets and musicians come here and do time on the street.

Once we decide we want the homeless out, who is next? We chip away at our own souls and then we can’t create. The art dries up, the music stops and the whole reason tech came here in the first place is a bust. We all lose, but boy doesn’t the Old ‘Hood look awful shiny for a little while.

And, of course, even if those who want to keep Free Venice get our way, we still have HUGE homeless problems to solve. We have to at least try to help others understand, with patience and grace, for it is we who are the host. We need our hearts and there is not a lot of reason. We just need them.

We live in a country where we have lost so much culture and beauty. We have lost our ability to come together in love, though we can unite in anger and outrage. It is like we all are so worried about when we’re each going to get our own fifteen minutes, we can’t fully celebrate someone else in the height of his or her glory.

I see it, even in Venice, when there is too much competition between so many artists clamoring for attention. I go to an opening where a brilliant musician shyly provides ambience, apologizing for being in a room, when he or she should be surrounded by attuned open hearts. I see some festivals with lower attendance and less making merry than I would expect from wild Bohemians…

Tech possesses enough of a soul to know we have something they need. They just don’t quite know what it is. Or, if they know what it is, they don’t get why we have it and they don’t. I think some of them believe they can hover nearby and pick it up osmosis style. Or, absorb it from our bones as they suffocate Free Venice and make what remains into what they think they want. Some of them want to be us and let go into the freedom we know.

That’s why we have to own who we are, in a way that brings us together, in a way that flares the fire in our bellies into a collective pyre. And yes, that includes the tech folks. It is NOT about losing our individualism. It is about building a solid infrastructure inside which all our individualism is safe for generations to come.

Whether or not anyone wants to hear this, in these parts, Free Venice is the establishment. It has shifted from the counter culture to the local mainstream, simply as a result of time. Free Venice has remained true to its core values and endured. This is one reason why, energetically, Google can be an ally: The shared understanding of what it means to endure and, more importantly, to continue to endure.

The old paradigms don’t work the same. Like Terrorism is an elusive enemy, identifying “the Man” in these modern times is often tricky. While we’re all distracted by the friendly Google giant, who is not really interested in eating our babies, some of these lone wolves (who don’t get us) are munching on our goats in the middle of the night. That is not to say that a friendly giant can’t still be clumsy…

Under the old rules, it seemed more natural to worry about the establishment and embrace the rogue. That now has to be done on a case by case basis. Due diligence is a necessary bitch. Thank God, we have Occupy. We will need help communicating.

The thing about Google – they have an international reputation to maintain. They don’t want to be seen as the company that came to Venice Beach and destroyed diversity, creativity and art. They want to support those things in our community that both work and give them a shiny image. There’s actually quite a bit on which to draw. We need to think, carefully, as a community how to leverage such power. How do we use this new kid on the block (who wants to make nice with the neighbors), to our greatest advantage?

Well, Google offered a diversity pamphlet at the Town Hall entitled The Black Community at Google. Oh, gee, by chance we have a bit of a struggling Black Community in Venice. Why don’t we get some stronger outreach? See if we can get some folks qualified for entry level tech jobs and the anticipated supporting industries. See if we can identify potential local entrepreneurs. Maybe our young startups can help with a little mentoring. Raise the income, knowledge base and resources for people already in the neighborhood and we curb the loss of diversity. We anticipate and use our creativity to prepare.

For that, we need leadership within the community. Calls to action are so important. Answering those calls that speak to your soul are even more important. We need focus. We need archetypes. We need vision. We need good followers. We need inspiration. We need music. We need hope. And, as anything that has lasted and will continue to last, we need change.

We need to figure out how to celebrate all that has endured about Free Venice in the today. We need to be honest about who we are, even if some of what we are isn’t terribly pretty. We need to own our story. Whether we have been good or bad, we sure in the hell have been interesting. We need a healthy sense of humor about ourselves and others. We need to let go of those things that no longer work, even if they were important to us in the past. And on some days, after we have worked really hard, we need to let EVERYTHING go.

Like it or not, we have to decide now if the Free Venice Culture is playing itself out, in the final stages of one hell of a run; or, is there an essence, a heart beat, a philosophy, blood, guts, eyes, a voice that will endure because arthritic hands have been replaced by fresh ones, tired feet just got some shiny new shoes, and a very old soul suddenly found itself inside a young body? To speak in Modern Tech: How do we define our brand so that it is embraceable, impenetrable, open to growth and, because we all have to eat, marketable?

For our creative community, that is the task at hand. As tech rains down, you must build the ark that can hold us all. Artists are the heroes lying in wait. We can set an example for the entire world. We can start the future with love.

And if the ship fucking sinks, we go down in one glorious party…To live who we are without fear, that sounds like win-win to me…

___

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The Brutality of Nothing: Modern Love ‘Game of Thrones’ Style

I never really had an inclination to be a feminist until I lived awhile in LA. Before I get going, let me say to all my Chicago Theatre Boys (not the bullshit lawyers who bought their way into theatre companies to play at acting), but to the real Windy City Male Theatre Artists – you guys have your problems, but archaic, over sexualized views of women is not one of them – at least not as a general rule.

I did not know how good I had it back in Chicago. I took for granted being taken seriously as an artist just on the merits of my work. Or, in regards to the ridiculous standard of mediocrity that was often in play within a pretentious theatre scene, where nobody made any money – God love you, you Chicago Theatre Folks applied it equally, across the board, waylaying the careers of great male and female performers alike!

Here in Los Angeles, I have been sexually harassed on at least half the projects I have worked. I have had a director step into a scene for my fellow actor and use it as an opportunity to grab my ass and to kiss me. I have had a producer hire me to direct a show, then make remarks, while we are on a conference call to another producer, that I was there “sitting on his lap.” Male actors often thought it was ok to greet me, their director, with a wet kiss on the lips. I’ve taken a dinner meeting with a creative executive to discuss a spec script that I had written, only to discover that I was on a date and would be expected to put out by the end of the evening. That was especially true, if I ever wanted that script to go anywhere. Ah, Los Angeles…

So, on Monday, I fasted from sunrise to sunset. (No, not to be thin and therefore more sexually desirable to men). It was the last day of winter and I wanted to clear everything out, so I’d have some nice fresh soil to plant new seeds for Spring. By the morning of the Vernal Equinox, I felt almost like a different person. Five days ago, I was the kind of woman who would lie in bed all day and into the wee hours of the morning, watching the entire first season of Game of Thrones. Today, I am the kind of woman who will probably not even watch one episode of the second season, though it is one hell of a Fantasy Medieval Soap Opera.

In reflection, the well-acted though over the top series, was better therapy than I might have given it credit. There is something about the borderline misogynistic view of women that seems to pervade LA culture that I saw reflected in Game of Thrones, though it is set some hundreds of years ago in a time where women were considered personal property.

In the story, one of the many plot lines, follows Daenerys Targaryen. She is betrothed to Khal Drogo by her brother, Viserys. Drogo is the warlord of the nomadic Dothraki, undefeated and whom I begrudgingly admit is pretty freaking sexy, in a barbaric warlord kind of way.

On their wedding night, we see an awful, yet kind of hot, sex scene between the warlord and his princess bride. In reality, being taken roughly from behind the first time you have sex by a seven foot tall, ripped warrior who is hung like a bear, is not going to be pleasant. It is going to be painful, degrading and probably bloody. They were wise to cut away the second before penetration. It is like never seeing the actual deaths in The Matador. The brutal images would prevent the audience from later sympathizing with the character.

And, as the series progresses, we do grow to have some affection for the barbaric Drogo, when he falls so deeply in love with his new Queen. Daenerys recovers from the early sex, and literally, figures out how to get on top. Thanks to some advice from a Pleasure House Gal turned Hand Maiden, the soon to be true Khaleesi, gives old Drogo something in their tent that he had no idea ever existed. She ends up with a lot of power in the relationship and, to her credit, she also genuinely loves her Khal.

It is a love story that could not exist in modern times, well, not in this part of the world. Ok, so she wasn’t technically raped as it was a marriage and she was consenting, but she was clearly treated as property and as having very few rights or options in a world of men. WARNING: BIG SPOILER ALERT: That is why I am hoping my little Khaleesi, (who literally rose from her husband’s funeral pyre in the season finale, with three baby dragons clinging to her naked, yet un-charred, body), will win the game of thrones. END SPOILER.

What I guess all this really brought up for me, was that I have made the mistake my entire life of NOT manipulating men with sex (other than the time I got pulled over for committing three moving violations in four seconds, and I played the lost damsel to the big strong officer of the law). I find it to be rather the social norm here in LA to jump in bed first and figure out if we like each other later. The idea is that, as a woman, you get a man into bed, knock his socks off with how amazing you are. Then, when he wants to keep screwing you, you use that to force him to get to know you. You get him really into you and then you deny him sex, until he gives you what you want.

I’ve never been able to do that, although I think guys have expected it. There are a few reasons that I fall short. The first being that, when I am into a guy and we start getting busy, I usually love sex so much that it is hard for me to deny myself. Since I have no will power, I can’t use it against the guy.

Secondly, I don’t want to believe that my only real power as a woman is sex or that sex is about power at all. As I am getting older and losing my attractiveness, one does begin to see signs that one finds disheartening, though. In addition, I’ve always tried to give a man some credit for having a certain degree of control over his own genitals, so that if a situation were truly bad for him, he would not put his prick into it. In this regard, I have generally given men way too much credit. Well, the men with whom I have been involving or trying to involve myself as of late, anyway…

It always amazes me when I go to the supermarket and I glance at the covers of magazines like Cosmo. I read all these headlines about how to drive a man crazy in bed, in the middle of these beauty articles and various advice on how to hide who you are long enough to trap a man. There are all these do’s and dont’s that involve pleasing a man’s ego and giving him a false sense of how you will be in a long term relationship, so as to secure a commitment. I am sure in Men’s Health or GQ, there are articles that basically are teaching men the same kind of manipulations, though probably with a different outcome in mind.

I am pretty much a “what you see is what you get” kind of gal. Now, granted I have good days and bad days, so what you’re seeing and getting may be opposite things on different days, but it’s usually honest. I’ve tried to be truthful and open. On a hopeful note, men are drawn to that. It’s just that we are so conditioned to be something for someone else, in order to get what we want, men never really know what to do with me. Add to that, the complication of great sex and you’ll get a man telling you a lot of lies, if you don’t have one doing that already. That is how I learned NOT to sleep with men who are filled with fear, no matter how much pity they might illicit.

I have found that a lot of LA men expect, if you show them any interest or are remotely friendly, that you are pretty much ready to get down. It is later, as Daenerys does in Game of Thrones, that you get your lover to acknowledge your humanity. For me, even if the sex is hot, there is still a nasty psychology kick back, if it is anonymous – if I could be any open pair of legs in the situation and it wouldn’t matter.

It leaves me in a tough spot, because I feel a man needs me to be nothing for him in order to feel secure. Then, if I am lucky, he will decide that I have worth – only after, of course, I have proven myself satisfactorily as a sexual partner. In the mid 1970s, there was a really great episode of All in the Family utilizing a storyline with the Stivics to intelligently deal with this issue.

Like Gloria (who often proved brighter than her educated husband), I have no tolerance for the brutality of nothing. In life, you don’t get to cut away before the shitty stuff happens. Even if the sex is not physically rough, being nobody for me is too painful, especially when I am naked and there is someone inside me. You end up absorbing a man’s pain, frustration and fears with no way to release it, because there is no real relationship within which to put a context on anything. When a woman is open and spiritually connected, screwing someone who is filled with fear turns the womb into an anonymous dump for masculine emotional sludge. Trust me, this causes physiological health problems.

It doesn’t take you long in this life to realize that men and women do terrible things to each other. Hollywood has been a huge contributor to the kind of socialization that has led to our modern version of accepted romantic cruelty. Anymore, so many plot lines of movies and sitcoms rely on men and women wildly deceiving each other, or, people equating sex as the only validation for love. Women get message after message from the entertainment industry and the media that looking good and being sexually desirable should be their number one concern. To be fair to men, in these modern times, they are starting to hear that same tune – LOUDLY!

Even though I reside in the heart of the beast, so to speak, if I can keep outside of it, laughing at it all, maybe I’ll hear someone else on the outside laughing at the same things. Maybe it will be a man. Maybe he will be straight. And maybe, he will see me as a human being…Regardless, I will keep laughing. What else are you going to do? Other than figure out how to raise three baby dragons…
___

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7A: The Passing of Davy Jones

The death of Monkees’ singer, Davy Jones, keeps crossing my mind, bringing up a lot of old memories and nostalgia, as these kinds of passings often do.

Davy was my favorite, like he was with so many. I remember his charm and comic timing on the show. Stage trained, he sang with warmth, sincerity and great fun. Though he did whack a mean tambourine, his true instrument was embodying cute with grace. He was one of the Monkees’ two primary lead vocalists, but all the guys were featured. Mickey Dolenz sang most of the group’s biggest hits. As far as having a front man, the Monkees, as much as any band that has ever been, was a true ensemble.

Dismissed as bubble gum by most music critics, the Monkees were defended by one of the Great Daddies of the Counter Culture, Timothy Leary. He saw them as bringing the hippie message to children and tweens (word, of course, not yet coined). They were probably my gateway to the Beatles, though I was already listening to Janis Joplin and old Motown by the time I was in 6th grade.

Despite being a fabricated band (or because of it), the Monkees recorded tunes by some of the best song writers of the day, including Neil Diamond. Late in the 60s, Mickey, Peter, Davy and Mike worked with a young Jack Nicholson on their one movie, Head. Composed in a hotel room with a giant bag of weed, it was what you’d expect from the circumstances.

For Mickey Dolenz, and especially Davy Jones, they were actors cast as guys in a pop band. It was a bit absurd, in a way, that they would be expected to play their own instruments and go out on tour. An actor, hired to portray a doctor, doesn’t go to an actual hospital, when off set, and operate on people. But so crazy were girls for them, the Monkees had to deliver. Mickey Dolenz learned the drums in a matter of months, a task made more difficult for a right handed guy being taught on a left handed drum set.

As far as the band’s first two albums, they were not allowed to play on the records. It was all studio musicians. This was particularly hard on Mike Nesmith and Peter Tork. Both good guitarists, Peter Tork had a degree in music and was proficient on numerous instruments. There were constant battles with the studio for increased creative control. After their second studio album, bolstered by wild popularity, the Monkees pushed out their commercially successful producer, the “man with the golden ear” himself, Don Kirschner. He took his marbles (in the form of the soon to be Archie’s smash, Sugar Sugar) and went home. At that point, the Monkees were in charge of their music. Not bad for the pre-fab four, even if they did sacrifice continued mainstream popularity.

Incredibly beloved by their fans back in day, the Monkees enjoyed a couple of revivals in the decades that followed. In the mid 80s, the series picked up a new generation of fans on MTV and Nickelodeon. The only thing that kept their Christmas Video (holiday medley recorded with the VJs) from reaching number one on the MTV Daily Top Ten was Bon Jovi’s video for Living on a Prayer. The hair band of all hair bands locked the Monkees out of the top spot the entire holiday season. I remember you could call in and vote for your favorite. Several times, I voted for the Monkees (all in their 40s at that time). Never once in my life have I ever voted for anything else via telephone or text, and that includes American Idol.

I saw the Monkees twice in concert. One show was in northern Indiana, a city called Merryville I think, where we stayed in the same hotel. Weird Al opened for them. Though never a huge Weird Al fan, he was a more appropriate pairing for their semi-vaudeville style than when Jimi Hendrix opened briefly for them, during one of their first tours in the 60s. The boys loved having the guitar god around, but Hendrix quickly grew too frustrated with the thousands of girls, who screamed non-stop for the Monkees during his entire set. He left the tour early with a one fingered salute to the teeny boppers on his way out.

In the mid 80s, I met Mickey Dolenz at The World of Wheels in Indianapolis where he autographed a picture. When I was in junior high, I had that photo hanging on my wall, along with reproductions of Monkee’s posters from back in the day. I had all of their albums on cassette, which I had ordered from Rhino Records or bought at Honey Creek Mall in Terre Haute. So familiar I was with their catalogue, I had phonetically learned to sing The Monkees Theme in Italian.

By the end of my sophomore year of high school, I was over the Monkees. With the release of I Want Your Sex, fantasies that George Michael would take me to prom and ravish me after, replaced holding hands and Eskimo kisses with Davy Jones. Sadly, George wouldn’t be my last or only gay crush, but he still indicated a certain kind of maturity on my part. So, tapes were thrown in boxes, posters rolled up and stashed or tossed away, and that was it for me and the Monkees and my time travel fantasies to be Davy Jones’ true love.

My favorite Monkees song of all time is and always will be Daydream Believer. Maybe it is because my mother used to rouse me for school when I was little, by calling, “Wake up Sleepy Jean!” Maybe it is the light and that little smile in Davy Jones’ voice. Maybe it is because I can see him, so short, so cute and so sweet…My first celebrity love.

Oh, I could hide ‘neath the wings of the bluebird, as she sings. The six o’clock alarm would never ring…Cheer up sleepy Jean, oh what can it mean, to a Daydream Believer and a Homecoming Queen?…You once thought of me, as a white knight on his steed. Now you know how happy I can be…Cheer up sleepy Jean…

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A Change is Gonna Come…

On a recent morning, strolling to a convenient Starbucks, I took a route around the back side of the Costco/Albertson Compound (which actually lies on a strange little tract of land Venice apparently annexed to Culver City). Along the way, I spotted this kind of rickshaw-wagon bicycle parked on the side of the road. It was filled with food and blankets, a lot of stuff I couldn’t see in the dark, with a baby guitar strapped to the top. There was a man asleep inside. A hand scrawled sign hung on the back of the pedal powered mobile home, “Do Not Disturb.”

Though present all over Venice, Ocean Front Walk is a particular haven for the homeless. Why not? It is beautiful; and, the constant flow of tourists give them some prime scavenging territory at the very least. Even for the Boardwalk, however, the transient population has become rather dense in the last couple of years.

Because of a lack of regulation several problems have cropped up along the Boardwalk that the City and Community feel the need to address. Typical to Venice, there are a lot of strong opinions and a lot of disagreement. For the time being, the City will be enforcing two new regulations along Ocean Front Walk. Both laws impact the homeless community, with one targeting them directly.

The first regulation addresses the West Side of Ocean Front Walk and is specifically written to curb commercial vending. It regulates what goods may be sold in the numbered spots, where all the temporary vendors set up each day. The law has been written so that people may only sell certain, primarily self-produced, goods, i.e. art that they have created themselves.

As we learned from the fiasco a few years ago on Wallstreet, a little regulation can be a very good thing. Councilman Rosendahl pointed out that it is certainly unfair to the permanent vendors on the East Side of Ocean Front Walk (who pay taxes), to have their business negatively impacted by people who don’t play by the same rules. Of course, the fighting among homeless and transients (who are often paid to hold spaces for vendors) has to stop. I have witnessed those arguments. They can be vicious and easily turn to physical violence. Finally, I don’t want a Venice Beach that is known for endless prints of Marilyn Monroe in gangsta gear and T-shirts with Charlie Sheen flipping us all off. If this is an artists’ community, then what we represent to the outside world needs to reflect that.

The down side, of course, marginally surviving people who are the go-betweens for posters, clothes – and whatever else comes in from outside – are pushed even farther down the food chain. There is an incense guy who has been a staple there for over twenty years. Under the new rules, he’s out. Then, you have jewelry makers – much working in a style from their native countries – despite concerns raised, they are out.

The regulations aren’t perfect. They never are. We have to ask ourselves, what happens to all those people who just lost their livelihood?

The second regulation recently coming into enforcement has caused an even bigger stir. The City of LA is calling on a law, which has long been on the books, that defines not only Venice Beach (the actual beach), but Ocean Front Walk, as a park. Therefore, it can be closed at midnight and people cited and arrested for curfew violations.

Due to the perpetually unruly Boardwalk, many residents welcome the enforcement. On the other hand, there are questions about whether or not residents may use their front doors when they are coming home late; if folks walking from bars to home, can use the somewhat well lit Ocean Front Walk, or, will be forced to skulk down Speedway, a dark, narrow alley. All that, I assume will get resolved.

The larger issue is how these new regulations, these big changes, really jibe with the long enduring Spirit of Free Venice, an idea which may be on the decline. The die-hards are dwindling in number and are an aging demographic. It is not to say they don’t have power and are not yet quite vocal and significant. But what is the Spirit of Free Venice in this day and age?

Many young professionals of Venice – even some of the artists – seem a different breed. An entertainment industry attitude has permeated certain parts of the community. There are some things that are more about the “scene” than the art. The seediness is much less tolerated than it has been in past decades. New Venetians seem to want things a little more sanitized, nicer for their families and visiting friends. Google’s presence will only reinforce that.

A community’s fear from recent shootings and increasing night-time violence aids the City in seizing an opportunity. Crime is bad for all of us, that is true. Crime is bad for tourist bucks, as is too much of an unsavory element. We are seeing an open effort to eliminate the transient population that springs up in blanket villages all along the Boardwalk every night. These hut towns are comprised of the local, perpetual homeless along with young men and women who are passing through, or are poor and stuck and have nowhere else to go. In the mornings, guitar music and pot smoke wafts from each “camp” whether made up of young or old. Many of these mini-tribes include a pooch or two.

With an increase in the homeless population, there is an increase in the number of mentally ill and people who have serious health problems. Because of other common aspects of Boardwalk culture, drug abuse pervades. Though most of the transients are essentially harmless, a few are a danger to themselves and others. But, if kicked off Ocean Front Walk, where are these people going to go?

If you are not already aware of this, Venice Beach has, so long been a neighborhood known for both the number and tolerance of its homeless, that it was the subject of a South Park parody. When all the homeless started showing up in South Park, it was because they had been kicked out of Venice Beach. When I first moved here, I was struck by how many homeless people lived in the park by the library.

I also used to be amazed at how many campers were parked all over Venice. Five years ago, I would ride my bike around the neighborhood, early on Saturday mornings, and spot old run down RV after old run down RV. After a little while, I got used to it. More than once, I made conversation with a friendly face inside; though, I confess some camper folk seemed a little scary and I crossed streets to avoid them.

Now, you hardly see campers at all. Parking for them is strictly regulated. Even though the rules were not changed without a fight, too many people got tired of the sight of the dilapidated recreational vehicles turned homes and the resulting parking issues.

So, we got rid of our campers. Now, we get rid of our homeless. We run off young transients and hustlers and bums. We get rid of our flea market vendors. We preserve artistic integrity along the West Side of the Boardwalk and support the tax paying merchants on the East Side. We keep tourists and locals safe.

All goes as planned. Shops are doing well. Artists sell a little more art. It’s a little cleaner. Crime goes down. Property values go up. We have more money for schools and well maintained streets. There’s a little rougher part of Venice to the north, bordered by Rose, Oakwood and California. Some poorer folks up there start getting property taxed out of their homes as more developments move in…

In these tough times, we all have to look at that underbelly and be honest about what it is. Of course, we have to save the beast. Even though it may be unrealistic, how do we all make it through?

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