Split Personality

In the November 2009 issue of Harper's Magazine, there's a terrific essay by Arthur Krystal, entitled THE WORST OF TIMES: Revisiting the Great Depression.

The essay quotes Morris Dickstein, author of Dancing in the Dark: A Cultural History of the Great Depression:

"Trying to grasp the essential spirit of the thirties would seem to be a hopeless task...How can one era have produced both Woody Guthrie and Rudy Vallee, both the Rockettes high-stepping at the Radio City Music Hall and the oakies on their desperate trek toward the pastures of plenty in California?"

Dickstein calls this the "split personality of Depression culture".

So, one week before opening night, when the inevitable questions rise about what we've created and whether we took the correct path of inquiry, this essay arrives as a good omen, a reminder that Canta y no llores is, at the very least, accurate. We've woven in all those multiple personalities, and thrown in the Day of the Dead to boot!

Woody Guthrie and Busby Berkeley? Check.
Political, sentimental and funny? Check.
Bilingual and bicultural? Check.

Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries

Talk about capturing the spirit of Dia de los muertos!
One great song," lyrics by Lew Brown, music by Ray Henderson (1931)

People are queer, they're always crowing, scrambling and rushing about;
Why don't they stop someday, address themselves this way?
Why are we here? Where are we going? It's time that we found out.
We're not here to stay; we're on a short holiday.
Life is just a bowl of cherries.
Don't take it serious; it's too mysterious.
You work, you save, you worry so,
But you can't take your dough when you go, go, go.
So keep repeating it's the berries,
The strongest oak must fall,
The sweet things in life, to you were just loaned
So how can you lose what you've never owned?
Life is just a bowl of cherries,
So live and laugh at it all.
Life is just a bowl of cherries.
Don't take it serious; it's too mysterious.
At eight each morning I have got a date,
To take my plunge 'round the Empire State.
You'll admit it's not the berries,
In a building that's so tall;
There's a guy in the show, the girls love to kiss;
Get thousands a week just for crooning like this:
Life is just a bowl of . . . aw, nuts!
So live and laugh at it all!

Mae Catrina (West)

What if our Catrina is a Mae West kind of gal, glamorous, whip-smart, and dead?

Among our band of itinerants is a young girl who wants to be a movie star more than anything else in the world. She dreams of the riches that fame will bring, she'll never be hungry or dress in tattered clothing again. As a child of the Great Depression, she's known poverty most of her life.

Mae tells her the score...