Ocean
Liners: Glamour, Speed, and Style
(through
October 8, 2017)
It's Alive: Classic Horror and Sci-Fi Art from the Kirk Hammett
Collection
(through
November 28, 2017)
Peabody Essex Museum,
Salem, MA
The Peabody Essex Museum (PEM) wants to become New England's
second leading art museum. Until recently, PEM was mostly a memorial to Salem's
18th and 19th century maritime glories, which it honored
with a cabinet of curiosities assemblage of all things watery. This means that
it lacks a sizable permanent collection of paintings and objects that make art
critics and curators swoon. Solution: If you can't beat the Boston Museum of
Fine Arts, launch exhibits outside of the venerable MFA's métier.
Ocean Liners is a perfect PEM exhibit—one that's simultaneously
right in its saltwater tradition, yet innovative and unique. Prior to the
1960s, high-speed transportation across oceans conjured ocean liners, not
airplanes. * From the mid-19th century until well into the 1950s,
"speed" meant New York to London in under a week and those who could
afford it, went in "style." The PEM exhibit is the stuff of
enchanting mid-century Hollywood films in which classy passengers donned formal-wear for dinner. There were, of course, those traveling on the
cheap—below-decks budget travelers and immigrants in steerage—and the PEM show
gives a nod to those with fewer means, but the ballroom set dominates. Think
Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr in an Affair
to Remember, a clip from which is part of the show. (So too is one of my
all-time favorites, the hilarious Marx Brothers "stateroom" scene
from A Night at the Opera.) 
The breadth of the exhibit surprised me—more than 200
objects in all. There are numerous advertising posters from the golden age of
steamship travel and these should be viewed as masterpieces of graphic design.
Even smaller objects—such as dinner menus and hard-colored postcards—are
exquisitely done. In fact, the word "glamorous" often seems
inadequate, as well-apportioned ocean liners were floating mansions sporting
carved oak paneling, detailing from masters in the decorative arts, Arts and
Crafts furniture, and fine dining for 750 at tables outfitted with linen,
gleaming silverware, fine china, and delicate crystal. Wallpaper, pianos, Art
Deco tea services, lighting, fixtures, paintings, and decorative sculpture—you
name it and it was done with upscale polish. Well-chosen costumes—of both
passengers and crew—add to the ambience. It took a village to service what was,
in essence, a floating small town.
I longed for more on the below-decks crowd, but one of the
more interesting things is how the ships were mirrors of social change. This is
especially the case in observing ways in which 1950s versions of modernism and 1960s trends
tamped down the elegance. Seeing the well heeled in designer mini skirts,
casual wear, and broad-lapeled suits reminds me that the upper crust simply
can't do hipster without looking like poseurs. You can literally see Cary
Grant-like sophistication losing out to the faux mod vibe of Sean Connery as
James Bond.
* Jet aircraft engines were developed in the 1920s, but
World War II first demonstrated their potential. There were no commercial jet
flights until 1952 and they were few in number because early "turbojet"
technology led to catastrophic metal fatigue. "Turbofan" modifications
moved mechanical energy away from, rather than through, the turbines and solved
most turbojet problems. But jet engines didn't displace long-distance propeller
planes until the late 1960s.
It's Alive is the other end of the spectrum. It is 90 movie
posters and objects from Kirk Hammett's personal collection of the era of
classic horror and sci-fi, mostly the 1920s into the 1970s. If Hammett's name
doesn't ring immediate bells, he has been the lead guitarist for Metallica
since 1981. If you're a metalhead, you know that he usually wields guitars with
movie scenes painted upon their bodies—almost always reproductions from posters
he owns. I'll bet legions wish we had emulated what Hammett did and kept our
childhood ephemera in mint condition.
There is, of course, a Gothic, ghoulish vibe to all of this,
but because Hammett's stuff comes from the earlier era, it is more
psychological horror than the blood-splattered graphic stuff of today. In a
video, Hammett (b. 1962) speaks of how these old films and images were
strangely comforting for an unorthodox and shy kid coming of age in the Bay
Area in the 1970s. To this day he says he tries to play out horror film scenes
on his guitar. Again, though, we're talking Frankenstein
and Day of the Triffids, not Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Although his
collection includes posters for two of the scariest films I've ever seen, Nosferatu (1922) and Psycho (1960), these films must be seen
to induce nightmares. This is true of nearly everything you'll see. There's a
goofy charm to Cold War sci-fi films such as The Day the Earth Stood Still, Japanese monster movies like Godzilla, and the various Frankenstein
and Dracula offerings.
I pre-scouted this exhibit for friends wondering if it would
be okay for their eight-year-old. Although you might want to steer clear of a
creepy oversized projection from The
Mummy, most kids will be fine—especially if they are in the midst of their
dinosaur/monster phase. The eight-year-old in question loved the show. You will too if you just channel your own
dinosaur/monster childhood.
The final takeaway is the irony of a guy from Metallica
resurfacing as an art curator. It just goes to prove an old adage: live long
enough and you too have a shot at obtaining respectability!
Rob Weir
 |
| Just can't trust 'fake news' |
#PeabodyEssexMuseum
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