It all happened thanks to Auto Focus. After a Fresh Air interview, it popped into my head that I'd been meaning to watch this movie, so I stopped by Hollywood Video on my way home.
Hogan's Heroes came on the air before I was born, so I must have been watching it in reruns as a child. Regardless, Col. Hogan was one of my first crushes. I thought he was so dashing and handsome with his swagger and smarts.
I must have said as such at some point, and my father--to whom "fart" is a dirty word, thus dramatically inhibiting his ability to discuss such things--somehow managed to use his limited vocabulary to convey to me the sordid nature of Crane's death.
Greg Kinnear is really gifted, and it's a good movie, but not a happy one.
That's the trouble with movies about sex addiction. The titillation of a bump and grind becomes simply a grind.
As Crane becomes more and more numbed by his addiction, the movie loses the sun-washed colors of the '60s and takes on more of the tacky feel of flocked velvet wallpaper and leisure suits.
The film really plays around with its title: with images of cameras, but also the theme of Crane's absolute self-absorption. It's also a play on auto-eroticism, and the movie has a painful scene where Crane and John Carpenter are mechanically going through their solo motions as they watch a video they've seen hundreds of times before. The sex becomes less and less sexy.
Although I catch myself doing it, the fact that everyone refers to Bob Crane as "Hogan," even his future wife, is telling. He is known only for that role and for his death.
Anyway, on that happy note . . . good movie.And . . . here are the socks!
Yes, I know the feet are dirty. Sorry for the sceeve. I absolutely couldn't wait to wear them until I found a camera I could borrow. That's the nature of butter yellow sock yarn by Regia.
The pattern is from Knitting Vintage Socks.
I promise to wash them at some point.