SEND FLOWERS TO KENTUCKY - NELL'S FLOWER SHOP
Send Flowers To Kentucky
- Send Flowers is the debut album release from Black Lungs, the side project of Alexisonfire guitarist and backing vocalist Wade MacNeil. MacNeil's sound has been described as "the soundtrack for punk rockers, hip hoppers, pill poppers, young ladies and show stoppers."
- A state in the southeastern US; pop. 4,041,769; capital, Frankfort; statehood, June 1, 1792 (15). Ceded by the French to the British in 1763 and then to the US in 1783 by the Treaty of Paris, it was explored by Daniel Boone
- a state in east central United States; a border state during the American Civil War; famous for breeding race horses
- Kentucky is a 1938 Technicolor film with Loretta Young, Richard Greene, and Walter Brennan. It was directed by David Butler.
- The Commonwealth of Kentucky is a state located in the East Central United States of America. As classified by the United States Census Bureau, Kentucky is a Southern state. Kentucky is one of four U.S.
As certain writers are said to "talk like a book", so Billy Wilder talked like a film, one of his own. Many critics pooh-pooh the well-made picture. They think it's like the well-made play, artificial, deja vu, people aren't wearing such well-cut suits any more. So you do it without nuance, no dissolves, no fade-ins. And no third act. Let the audience write its own third act, its own story. But it's extremely difficult to plot well, the way we learned it. It's much easier to be let loose on that very potent and dangerous thing, the camera. Which is fine, but if you don't learn your craft first, you are like a surgeon who hasn't served his internship and already performs operations. The critic who sees a well-plotted thing will say: a good plumber, but not quite . . . not quite an artist! Here in Hollywood, don't forget, we're in an industry, so many people depend on us. We're making cars. We don't have to make lousy cars, but why should we be ashamed of making a Cadillac or a Mercedes? That was Wilder speaking (minus the schnapps-curdled Viennese accent that not even four decades in the United States could eradicate) when I interviewed him in 1976 in his little bungalow of an office at Universal Studios, beneath an array of six gleaming Oscars. Peevishly embittered as he was, persuaded that he had suffered unfair neglect by film historians, he impressed me nevertheless as an oasis of wit, candour and intelligence amid the sharks and exorcists and towering infernos ("I think that there were more sparks flying, more heat given off in one dialogue scene of All About Eve than in that whole goddamn skyscraper!") to which the American cinema had slavishly capitulated. Often denounced for his "tastelessness" – the supposed tastelessness of regarding sex, money and death as fit subjects for comedy – Wilder had been so definitively overtaken by the crassness and vulgarity of the new Hollywood that his once controversial films had come to seem models of straitlaced decorum. Yet, in spite of the personal distress which it must certainly have caused him, the radical relaxation of onscreen mores since the Sixties has at least confirmed that what was most valuable and authentic in his work was not necessarily what was most scandalous, and that his fabled Mittel-European cynicism was invariably tempered by an undercurrent of Middle American optimism and faith in humankind. To paraphrase one of the most celebrated aphorisms attributed to his near-namesake, Wilder was perhaps the only cynic who knew both the price and value that should be attached to an object, a person or an emotion. He was born Samuel Wilder in 1906 in the village of Sucha, then part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire (and now in Poland). He was the son of a prominent local hotelier, and started out professionally as a newspaper reporter, initially in Vienna, then in Berlin. Since, by his own rueful admission, he was obliged to supplement his income by offering his services as a gigolo, he may have been a less than competent journalist. Yet, as a filmmaker, he retained a reporter's flair not merely for a good story but for the "angle" at which it might be set in sharpest relief. Then, in 1929, he found employment as a screenwriter on the semi- documentary drama Menschen am Sonntag (People on Sunday), which proved, in and of itself, to be a remarkably fertile breeding ground for aspiring film-makers: among his then unknown collaborators were the future Hollywood directors Fred Zinnemann, Robert Siodmak and Edgar G. Ulmer. His thriving career as a scenarist of German comedies and melodramas (including a lively version of the Erich Kastner novel Emil and the Detectives) was abruptly terminated by the advent of Nazism. With characteristic prescience the Jewish Wilder instantly departed for Paris, where he co-directed (with Alexander Esway) a charming light comedy in the Rene Clair manner, Mauvaise Graine ("Bad Seed", 1933). It was in Hollywood, however, that an emigre school of German and Austrian film-makers had already been established, so it was to Hollywood that Wilder eventually gravitated, cohabiting a tiny, cramped apartment with his actor friend Peter Lorre. Though he "went native" with astonishing ease and rapidity, his wittiest and most accomplished scripts from this period (most of which were written with a regular collaborator, Charles Brackett) could be distinguished from more home-grown, homespun efforts by their dark, specifically European glitter (eg Mitchell Leisen's Midnight) and their refusal, within the framework of escapist entertainment, to avert their gaze from the realities of the Thirties (eg Ernst Lubitsch's Ninotchka). They were distinguished, too, as would also be the case with the films he himself directed, by the type of brilliantly intricate plotting in which no fictional unit is introduced – be it a minor character, a catchphrase or a recurring gag – unless it ca
and i won't forget...
Funny, because the can was left on the most monolithic tomb of all. Seriously the monument is 4 storys high . With some flowers in a tin can. Nice gesture. Made me think of Schindler's list - the bit at the end with the hand laying the rose. That's where I burst. That's downtown Oakland in the back. Well when you're sitting there in your silk upholstered chair Talkin' to some rich folk that you know Well I hope you won't see me in my ragged company Well, you know I could never be alone Take me down little Susie, take me down I know you think you're the queen of the underground And you can send me dead flowers every morning Send me dead flowers by the mail Send me dead flowers to my wedding And I won't forget to put roses on your grave Well when you're sitting back in your rose pink Cadillac Making bets on Kentucky Derby Day Ah, I'll be in my basement room with a needle and a spoon And another girl to take my pain away Take me down little Susie, take me down I know you think you're the queen of the underground And you can send me dead flowers every morning Send me dead flowers by the mail Send me dead flowers to my wedding And I won't forget to put roses on your grave Take me down little Susie, take me down I know you think you're the queen of the underground And you can send me dead flowers every morning Send me dead flowers by the U.S. Mail Say it with dead flowers in my wedding And I won't forget to put roses on your grave No, I won't forget to put roses on your grave Dead Flowers - The Stones