The Studio Commissary

Well, Mr. Bergman, have you made your decision?

But before you answer, perhaps you are hungry. Let’s go into the

commissary.

Ah, Ingmar Bergman, look around, and hear the happy happy sound

Directors of all size and shapes are eating steak and

munching cake

Directors of a foreign stripe who’ve done quite well,

see if they gripe

Their vision made it here unscathed, none felt a whore,

none felt he caved

Ha ha ha ha ha ha

Ah, Billy Wilder, sure you say, he had to come, no other way

But Sunset Boulevard and such, I’d say we let him keep his touch

And there, Fritz Lang, an émigré, who managed to do films his way

Perhaps less stylized, so true, but then Fritz Lang, he isn’t you

Ha ha ha ha ha ha

And Alfred Hitchcock, bless his soul, there chomping on a

dinner roll

The Man Who Knew Too Much done twice, in Hollywood,

done twice as nice

And Jacques Tourneur, Cat People, great, Simone Simon,

right here, so great

And Murnau, genius just like you, made Sunrise, top ten in my view

Of all the films made anywhere and yet he made it here not there

And Elgar Ulmer made Detour, a classic if you love film noir

Von Sternberg’s eating all alone, let’s say hello, hey, Josef, phone!

The point I guess is all had fears, the fears you have, these

noble peers

And one could quibble which was best their Old World work or

work out west

The differences are subtle, though, the language, sure,

but still you know

That English is the common tongue of cinema, when said

or sung

Ha ha ha ha ha

Ha ha ha ha ha

So please, dear Ingmar, think tonight, be sure the choice you

make is right

But there’s a table, have a seat, and here’s a menu, bon appétit