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I’ve long wanted to post a brief history of one of the more fascinating and slightly arcane perfume houses of the last century. Weil perfumes are interesting, but the story of the Weils and their house is perhaps even more interesting. Although I am a huge fan, I knew I’d botch the story if I tried to tell it. Instead, I’ve turned to someone whom I consider THE expert on all things Weil, Jill Martin Clements (aka rockinruby on eBay and elsewhere in internetland)… Well, okay, THE expert aside from the Weils themselves, that is! I am humbled by her generosity in writing the piece below, and never stop being impressed by her passion and knowledge on the subject. She is a woman of exquisite tastes, and an excellent writer. Please note that several of the images can be clicked upon and viewed as a larger file in your browser window, in order to better see the details. Enjoy:
House of Weil, by Jill Martin Clements:
The perfume house of Weil has a rich history filled with stunningly beautiful perfumes, as well as drama and turmoil representative of the experience of so many 20th century European design houses. It is, at its heart, a family story. But a family story writ large — encompassing the drama of the fashion world, international marketing, and the heartbreak of World War.
I have been a lover of Weil perfumes for many years. Always, the more I learn, the more deeply connected I feel to this house. I believe that Weil was truly one of the great houses of Parisian parfumerie, and deserves to take its place alongside Lanvin, Guerlain, and Chanel.
After so many years of feeling as if I was the last person on earth to remember and revere the perfumes of Weil, I had the great good fortune to meet the grandson of Marcel Weil, as well as his family. I have had the opportunity, through conversations and correspondence, to pick his brain about his family history, and he has been gracious and accommodating at every turn. It has truly been an honor and a delight to know this family, and I am indebted to Dan Weil for almost all of the information that follows….bear in mind that many dates and details come from family anecdotes, rather than written documents, so take it all with at least a small grain of salt. (1)
In 1912, Alfred Weil founded a fur business, Les Fourrures Weil. He was soon joined in business by his two brothers, Jacques and Marcel. Alfred was the buyer; Jacques the salesman, and Marcel was in charge of creation and design.
In 1927, during the very height of the glitz and glamour of the Roaring 20’s, Marcel was approached by one of their regular customers, who requested “fur perfume” for her fine furs. Marcel liked the idea, and founded Parfums Weil. He was then joined by his brothers in this venture, as well, though Marcel took primary control of the perfume business, while Jacques retained primary control of the fur business. After Marcel’s death in 1933 of pneumonia, Jacques and Alfred assumed control of all perfume operations, as well.
The first perfumes created for Weil — the so-called “fur perfumes” — were created by Claude Fraysse, who had worked with Firmenich in Geneva, and was the official “nose” for Yardley Perfumes. The Fraysse family is one of great import in the perfume world. One of Claude’s sons, Andre, created Arpege for Lanvin, and another, Hubert, ran the scent company Synarome. His daughter Jacqueline was a gifted perfumer, as well. The initial line of “fur perfumes” debuted in 1928, with Claude responsible for the first three scents:
Although Claude was the nose, Jacqueline worked closely with him on these scents, as well. The Fraysse family remained involved in the creation of Weil’s scents for years to come, as Une Fleur was created by Claude, Bambou, Cassandra, and Noir by Jacqueline, and Antilope (the 2nd, successful version — there was an earlier failure) by Hubert.
Those first bottles were produced by Baccarat. All Weil perfume bottles would be made by Baccarat from 1927 until 1954.
The first Eau de Toilettes (Zibeline and Chinchilla) were introduced in 1930.
In 1940, the family was forced to close the Paris operation and for a short period of time moved to Bordeaux. In 1942, during the occupation of France, the Nazis confiscated the business and gave it to a German baron and his girlfriend. More on this in a moment.
By this time, Alfred and Jacques had fled Europe and settled in New York. They bought their distributor’s business and set up production for a time in the US as Societe Parfums Weil Paris, Inc., at 745 Fifth Ave., New York. Jacques took primary control of the US business, and launched production in the US with Zibeline and Cassandra. They had some difficulty recreating the other scents with materials available in wartime NY, and during their attempts they produced an unplanned mixture that they liked and called Cobra. Cobra debuted in the US in June 1941. It is not believed that Cobra was ever sold outside of the US.
Although the ad above at right is quite sedate, Cobra generally had a remarkably sexy ad campaign — fabulous Art Nouveau lithos of women, and a simple sample card with the tag line, “Eve was warned.” [Ed. note: The print magazine ads, such as the one pictured left, used a longer variant on the tag line, “Eve had been warned.”]
They followed up with Gri Gri in 1943 which featured native African tribal art for the ad campaign.
Secret de Venus Huile Pour le Bain (also sometimes seen as Huile Pour le Bain et Douche or Bath and Body Perfume Oil) was introduced in the US in 1941, and in France in 1947. It was always marketed as a more or less American product, and was never as popular in Europe. This line ultimately included numerous scents; all of them would include the “Secret de Venus” designation, yet remain available in their original perfume form without that designation, as well, thus causing great confusion over the years!!
This line has always been my favorite, and intrigues me no end. I have never fully gotten to the bottom of the story, as I maintain that scents released as Secret de Venus oils smell markedly different from their standard counterparts. I have long wondered what, precisely, the crazy secret of Venus IS, as it seems to irresistably alter all of
the fragrances it touches. There is an animalic warmth and depth to all of the oil-based scents which makes them maddeningly sexy, and as long lasting as any scent I’ve ever tried.
My favorite — my “Holy Grail,” if you will — is Secret de Venus Zibeline. The scent opens with a warm blast of citrus and musk, and shifts into some pretty florals for a time, but it is the eternal drydown rich in ambergris and civet that holds my attention for life. This scent is so animalic as to be dangerous! It’s interesting to
note that as strongly as I feel about Secret de Venus Zibeline, I am completely lukewarm about Zibeline on it’s own. There is a decided difference between them.
The notes officially listed for Zibeline in the H&R Book Fragrance Guide to the Feminine Notes are:
Top: Aldehydes, bergamot, lemon, coriander, estragon
Middle: Orient Rose, jasmin, lily of the valley, ylang-ylang, orris, gardenia
Base: Vetiver, civet, sandalwood, amber, musk, honey, tonka
I am not sure how accurate these notes are, as there is a pronounced oceanic edge to this scent. I read one reviewer describe the smell of oysters, which made me laugh. When I provided a sample of the oil to a well-known perfumer working today, she immediately declared the base to be ambergris, civet, and musk. So it is possible that the listed notes should actually list ambergris rather than amber.
Antilope is another fine example of the dichotomy between the simple format and the Secret de Venus version. Antilope is an elegant woody floral which I think has been undervalued as it is so widely available. It just seems to be taken for granted. Make no mistake, it is a stunningly beautiful fragrance rich in sophistication.
Like Zibeline, the perfume formulation of Antilope is exceedingly polite. The base notes are listed as cedarwood, vetiver, leather, musk, and amber, yet as Antilope, it’s so light on the leather and musk as to render them unrecognizable. Once reworked into the Secret de Venus formulation, though, it shifts into bombshell territory, with a strong, womanly drydown becoming apparent and lingering for a day or more.
But I digress…..back to our story…
Meanwhile, back in France, the Nazi-sponsored baron and his girlfriend optimistically registered some wonderfully glamouous perfume names: Nuit de Fete, Filles de Joie, Tournant Dangereux, Pigeon Vole, and Flament Rose in 1943, followed by Fleur dans la Fourrure, Privautes, Grisailles, Escarpins, Coq A L’ane, Contre Jour, Cheritzou, Chamarade, Beau, Masque, Asence, and Padisha in 1944.
It is believed that of these, only Flament Rose was ever actually launched as a perfume — at least during the Nazi occupation and control of the company: Padisha was created and released after the war when control of the company reverted to the family. This has led to confusion, as I have encountered people searching for some of these “registered” names that were never made into perfumes!
Flament Rose was released in early 1944. Around this time, the Baron fled Paris; his girlfriend married a French citizen, and both disappeared into the fog of history. Paris was liberated in August 1944.
During this period, we have the introduction of another rather confusing scent/line of scents. Un brin de lavande was originally registered in 1941. In 1944, its name was changed to Gentilhomme (La Lavande Gentilhomme). In 1950, the Lavande Gentilhomme range was expanded to include a Lotion and a Secret de Venus oil formulation (called Lavande). In October 1951,Gentilhomme was replaced by Lavande Bleue. In 1962, Lavande Bleue was discontinued. In 1966, a new line called Gentilhomme was launched, and eventually discontinued in 1983. We do not know for sure if the scent changed each time, or just the name, though Dan Weil believes that the changes introduced in 1951 and 1966 represented new fragrances.
After the war the brothers returned to Paris. Jacques was active until 1957, and Alfred somewhat until 1964. In 1947, Marcel’s son Jean-Pierre Weil took over the lab. He had already worked as an apprentice at Firmenich, Chiris, and Roure Bertrand. And for a time, they continued producing fantastic perfume.
Weil was producing their pefumes in the 16th arrondissement, in a very old building. They may have been the last major perfume house to produce perfumes in Paris proper. The 16th is a posh residential area, and running this business there was probably a fire hazard. By the early 1960’s, the Parisian authorities told the brothers that they needed to bring the factory up to current code, or move out of Paris. The family did not have the money to do either, as the Germans had taken most of their assets during the war.
Another of Marcel’s sons, Claude James Armand Weil, was not working at the time, and the family asked him to go to Paris to oversee the sale of the company in 1962. He found it in terrible shape and unsaleable, so he stayed on to try to turn it around. When it was improved, he sold it in 1964 to an Algerian family, the Aboulkers.
Claude stayed to run the business for the new owners, along with Jean-Pierre as the perfumer and a cousin, Jean-Paul as Commercial Director. Jean-Pierre officially left the employ of the company in 1971 to focus on creation at Creations Aromatique, but continued creating Weil’s perfumes until 1977 (Chunga was his last). Claude
remained with the company until around 1974. So although the Weil family no longer owned Parfums Weil, they were very much involved well into the 70s.
I do not know with certainty when the Aboulkers sold the company, or whether they sold it directly to InterParfums (the current owners) or if there was another owner in between.
What follows is the sequence of introduction of the perfumes created during the time the Weil family ran the company. This list does not include any perfumes released after the departure of the 2nd generation of Weil brothers in the 70’s. These dates are for perfume only, and does not include all of the various permutations and formulations. Retraction dates are listed only when known with certainty.
NOTES:
1. Some information comes via Dan Weil from previously written notes of Bernard Le Corvaisier, who was Commercial Director of Weil for a time beginning in 1967.
Many of the images above come courtesy of Jill, with the following exceptions: The two Cobra advertisements, the photo of Antilope and SdV Antilope bottles, the photo of the Antilope and Lavande Bleue vials.
The winner of the sample of Tauer Perfumery’s Orris sample is Karen, who nominated L’eau par Kenzo and Vera Wang Princess. Please email me with your mailing address, Karen, and congrats! :)
Now then, let’s narrow down a winner for the 1st Annual Farty Award! Vote!
Lancome’s Hypnose was introduced last year, to a general round of yawning. Which meant I smelled it, and then pretty much ignored its existence until now.
“Oh,” says I, “It’s cool out, why not try it again, maybe I’ll like it better for fall.” I need one of those shirts that says “I’m with stupid,” only I need one that’s three-dimensional where the arrow sticks out pointing back at myself.
In writing this review I, too, am caught mid-yawn. Hypnose sadly bores me, whatever the season may be.
As Columbina at Perfume Smellin’ Things says, it’s”a very pleasant scent, inoffensive, soft, and pretty.” In other words, it’s a “nice” perfume, quite agreeable and easily forgotten. I have this hunch that Hypnose will slowly fade away from the Lancome counters in a few years time. There’s nothing about it to recommend a passionate response or repeat purchases.
Hypnose wears as all vanilla all the time.
There are, of course, clean floral flourishes, with a distinct fruit chunk in the heart notes, reminiscent of cafeteria-served canned peaches or a mango that’s grown stale from being refrigerated. Which means… yet another dreaded fruity-floral. This tyranny of fruity-florals has to end! Jeebus save us all. I can’t believe that there hasn’t already been serious customer burn out on this style of perfumery. So many of them wanly resemble each other anyhow; All that differentiates them is the marketing images.
Jasmine pops up and makes a brief appearance in the middle of wear, but not long enough to lend any indolic depth to the fragrance. Supposedly Hypnose is supposed to have been inspired by the base notes of vanilla and vetiver in their Magie, but I don’t find as much here in the way of vetiver as I do all that vanilla. What I’m guessing is the vetiver note wears as earthy rather than dirty green, and floats gently on the skin. I do admire that quality, but the vetiver note doesn’t redeem the fragrance as a whole for me. I also picked up on an element that reminded me vaguely of the way my Perfumia Gal violet lip balm smells. Perhaps that’s one portion of the passion flower note Lancome cites in Hypnose’s compostion? The fragrance dries down to a strangely creamy blend of musk and woods, but it’s creamilly vanillic, weirdly calling to mind Calvin Klein’s Euphoria. Dry green twinges of something or another pops up briefly on the drydown, but eh… not enough to care.
Hypnose is not a bad fragrance. I can see why it would work well for some folks. However, it’s not really a great fragrance either…. I’m having a hard time putting my finger on what exactly my problem is with it… Maybe it’s this: Hypnose seems like a watered down version of interesting. I can’t help but wonder what it might have smelled like had the perfumers been left to their own devices to work on it.
Another review, which presents a more positive take on Hypnose is located over at Bois de Jasmin.
Sound clip from at Last Exit to Springfield, a really great Simpsons fan site that I need to stay away from because it’s easy to lose whole chunks of time exploring and looking around at all the goodies. What a great site for us Simpsons nuts. Image of bottle cropped from original at the Lancome USA site.
Ever get the feeling that more than a few perfume houses are downright farty lately?
I don’t mean artsy-fartsy, nor do I mean their fragrances smell like actual passed gas. In fact, the hallmark of most farty perfumes is that they smell perfectly pleasant. And perfectly boring.
It’s an unfortunate phenomenon which happens to every house once in a while.
Some more than others.
The pressure builds and builds, and they’ve just got to release something. They don’t mean to: It’s not as if they’re intentionally polluting the air.
But they do, temporarily relieving the pressure and subjecting everyone else to the emitting ‘fumes. And they like their own. Understandably. It’s said we all do, secretly.
So here’s a proposition: name your personal picks for farty fragrances. Nominate the fartiest fragrance of 2006 (thus far), as well as perhaps those you feel should enter the Farty Hall of Fame. For example, I think perhaps the honor of being the fartiest fragrance of 2005 falls to Coty’s Shania.
Don’t worry about repeating nominations. If it turns out I’m not alone in the sentiment, I’ll tally up the responses and run a poll to narrow down the winner (loser?)
Who will win the 1st Annual Farty?
One lucky commenter who mentions his/her nominations, chosen randomly from a bowl by my husband, will win a sample of Tauer Perfumery’s lovely limited edition Orris. Which is not farty in the least. (I know that sounds like a back-handed compliment, I know, and am so sorry about that Andy.) I would reward the winner with a farty, but that sounds an awful lot like pouring salt into a wound and then mailing the recipient more salt. Better to send ya somethin’ nice, somethin’ that’ll make ya smile. This offer is open to anyone anywhere in the world.
On a seperate, though arguably related note, why does Vera Wang Princess have a myspace? Or more accurately, what does anyone get out of being a “friend” of an inanimate object? I’m curious. Would “friending,” say, a potato peeler prove any more sensical?
COMMENTS AND DRAWING ENTRIES ARE NOW CLOSED
Happy Talk Like a Pirate Day!
Scentzilla speaks,
“September 19th be International Talk Like a Pirate Day. Feelin’ unsure exactly how t’ talk like a pirate? Click on the image at port, that ye may watch an instructional video. Perhaps your favorite websites aren’t a celebratin’? Click here t’ find an English to Pirate webpage translator.”
Or may’haps you be a modern pirate. Avast! Be ye in need t’ find a proper but fashionable sea chanty? Ahoy then, ye trendy metropirates, look ye no farther than Pirate in a Box (Parody of Wig in a Box from Hedwig and the Angry Inch, via WikiLemon.)
“Now are come the days of brown leaves. They fall from the trees. They flutter on the ground. When the brown leaves flutter, they are saying little things. They talk with the wind. I hear them tell of their borning days when they did come into the world as leaves. And they whisper of the hoods they wore then.”
~ Opal Whiteley, The Diary of Opal Whiteley
Summer is leaving the Pacific Northwest now; Trees have slowly begun casting off their leaves as if in dance of the hundred-thousand veils. But my roses still persist. It feels almost perverse to walk amongst the deshabille trees, watching them undress in the wind, and then return home to see the rose blossoms gleefully snubbing their noses at the calendar’s reign.
Generally when rose fragrances are discussed, those geared for men are rarely mentioned, if at all. But they exist! One such male rose fragrance that I enjoy is mat; male. I catch myself wondering upon occaision why this particular offering by Masaki Matsushima has not caught on more popularly amongst my fellow perfume-nuts.
While it doen’t reinvent the wheel when it comes to a rose note, mat; male can be described as a lovely example of a spicy floral for men that strays nicely from the well beaten path of citrus this, and marine that.
Mat; male does open with a small burst of grapefruit, but it burns off quickly. Cool roses, and a note smelling of tender and wet bamboo shoots, form the heart of the fragrance. Spicy cardamom and the herbally green pluck of parsley provide a strangely refreshing and sexy lift. This is actually my favorite part of the scent. The way the spice and greenness intertwine happily surprises me everytime I’ve reached for mat; male. As it dries, dark woods cast shadows upon the florals. Yet at all times mat; male retains a floral character, never overly simplified, nor too annoyingly stereotypical.
There are, of course, many spicy rose choices out there. But this particular one makes a great arguement as to why men should not overlook their segregated side of the perfume counters in seek of florals. It’s not necessarily something only men might carry off well either, which should be mentioned.
Sephora recently had a fantastic deal on the mat; male facial lotion several weeks back during a sale. Since both my husband and I already knew and enjoyed the fragrance, I decided why not? It’s not quite to my husband’s taste, since he has dry-ish skin that requires a slightly richer formula. However, it works great for combo to oily skin. The texture is runny, but it speads easily onto the face with a slight mattifying effect. The lotion smells more prominently of roses than the fragrance minus its spicy elements, which makes it a nice consideration for women, too. Well, as long as fragrance doesn’t break out your skin, that is.
More about Opal Whiteley can be uncovered at The Opal Whitely Memorial from Cottage Grove, OR. The full text of The Diary of Opal Whiteley is now available online, thanks to the efforts of the University of Oregon, as well as some additional biographical background. Nepotism alert! If you live in the Oregon area, the PBS affliate station also frequently rebroadcasts an Emmy nominated (Northwest Chapter) film about her life and work entitled “Fairyland: The Story of Opal Whiteley,” which my brother helped produce. The short film is part of the Oregon Documentary Project, but alas, is not currently available online. So watch OPB!
Source image of Opal Whitely from The Opal Whiteley Memorial.
No perfume review today. I haven’t got it in me.
Please visit the 2,996 Blog.
Remember their lives as something bigger than their deaths. And then remember our unity on that day, and the days that followed as we tried to make sense of what happened.
Unity is not a means to a political end, despite the wrangling and grandstanding of our leaders.
Unity is not about agreeing to a lockstep mentality.
Unity is not about control, be that control of a message or control of other people.
Unity is the spontaneous coalescence of regular citizens who take their individual feelings of compassion and act upon them with hope and love for a greater good.
Despite the horror and inhumanity of 9/11, something beautiful persevered. Our unity. Not the government’s, not some jingoistic talking head’s. Ours. The American peoples’. Don’t let anyone get away with co-opting or perverting it today, on this fifth anniversary of the attacks.
Remember those who passed, recall what you were feeling that day as you watched what happened to them. And think of them with love. It’s okay to be angry: We all were. But we must remember that feeling of unity, of aching compassion, to avoid acting in anger.
Anger oftentimes is fear in disguise; to behave in anger is to behave fearfully.
Refuse the message of those preying upon our fear when they speak of 9/11.
Fear is the enemy of unity.
I’m hunching that too many folks will dismiss Antidote if they judge the fragrance soley upon the basis of the opening. And that’s a mistake.
Antidote begins with cliche, albeit a high quality one, due to a strong dose of bergamot. Those first 15 - 20 minutes smell standard for men’s cologne. The opening is the equivalent of exhanging pleasantries: congenial, but not a real converstion.
The trick here is to wait a wee bit. When the middle period unrolls, the fragrance dispenses completely with the stereotypical bergamot. Neroli (floral orangey) informs the heart notes, teaming with white florals and a light woodsy musk. It’s lovely, but not as lovely as the drydown.
As it dries, Antidote retains some of the floral connotations while taking a decidedly vanillic and woody turn. The effect is sweet and cuddly without cloying your face off with sugar. Viktor & Rolf denote leather as a base note, but I perceive incensey intonations instead. A subtle but piquant spiciness accompanies the drydown. A spiciness, I must add, which nicely cuts through the other notes to lend Antidote a certain effortless elegance. I’m at a loss to describe it further. The drydown smells really, really, ridiculously good.
It remains to be seen if many of my fellow perfume-obsessives will find Antidote as likable as I. I also wonder how many folks will pick up a bottle for themselves. However, I can already forsee it as a big holiday seller for Viktor & Rolf. This is the exact sort of fragrance men and women will buy for boyfriends or husbands as gifts. Why? It smells of snuggling on the couch to watch a movie, or to just enjoy each other’s company. That’s not to say it’s a remarkable acheivement in perfumery. But it sure passes the “smells good” test. I think that’s well enough, and wouldn’t be surprised if Antidote makes more than a few people’s personal Best of 2006 lists. It’ll be nice to see them introduce an auxillary line of shower/bath gels and lotions for it, as well.
It should be noted that Antidote ought to attract some female wearers, too. (Besides myself, that is.) Once you make it past the opening, there’s little in the way of antiquated gender cues left in the fragrance. It’s worth testing if you’re open minded about shopping at the men’s counter.
Which reminds me… next up on male fragrances BOTH men and women might consider sampling: Masaki Matsushima’s mat;male, which I will try to review sometime this week or this weekend.
Image from the Viktor & Rolf blog on Typepad. (And as a sidenote, theirs is an excellent example of what makes an official corporate blog compelling. Lots of little extras to be found there that show off the brand without coming off as stuffy or crass advertising copy. Nice. For example, you can listen to Rufus Wainwright’s (love that guy!) song composed for this perfume there, by clicking here.)
Because I’ve yet to meet the dead horse I didn’t enjoy flogging, today’s review, like the two posts previous, will also be rated. However, I’ll spill my thoughts first to allow Ebert and Roeper (of At the Movies and the Chicago Sun-Times) time to prepare their thumbs for Esteban’s Teck and Tonka candle.
From back of the Teck & Tonka box:
“Souvenir of Africa, wooden houses full of spices: cinnamon, nutmeg, and clove… just waiting to be shipped off to other continents. Teck & Tonka recreates this blend, one of the most delicious in the history of perfumes.”
That’s some big talk there. [And in a way, unfortunate, too. After reading “Africa,” “ship,” and “history,” the gift of colonialism (it’s one that keeps on giving!) accidentally cues up thought of other historical “cargo” just waiting to be shipped off to other continents. I mean, I get what they’re saying, but uh, wow… semiotics, man.] The candle does smell delish, though.
Teck & Tonka reveals itself differently in the container than it does when lit. In the glass container, the smell is heavy, and seems more like a thick ambery oriental perfume than a candle fragrance. Then it burns. Mmmmmmm, it evolves into something cleaner but much more woody as the wax melts, with the spice dispersing into a gentle hum on the air. The eponymous tonka doesn’t stand out on its own as anything vanillic; rather, it adds a sweet warmth to the overall aroma.
It goes a bit further than I expected, really, because you only need to leave it lit for a wee bit to scent the room. I can burn it for just a half hour or so in the room, and three days later I’m still catching light rich whiffs. Tenacious little bugger. This candle is gonna take forever to use up.
Is it ridiculously spendy for a candle? Yes, yes it is. It is worth it? Yes, hell yes.
This is the sort of fragrance that a sophisiticate would describe as aphrodisiacal. I’m not sophisticated: It’s humpy. And it definitely sets a mood.
Roger Ebert:
Well this is a thumbs up for me. To describe this candle is to miss the nuances that make it tantalizing. The notes simply flow from the candle, as anecdotes will flow from one who has told them often and knows they work. Then we begin to understand its structure: A series of nights and dawns, descents and ascents. The aroma becomes a picaresque journey through a world where gods and goddesses still live, and across seas with vast blind fish in them. To tell you what happens along the way is pointless, especially as the journey never ends. It is a fantastical journey to a place that resembles no civilization that ever was, in heaven or on Earth. And it is a masterpiece. *
Richard Roeper:
The smell of short chunky candles in glass containers has surrounded my house. Now here’s where I’m supposed to say that I find it refreshing to see 30 hour candles. The raw truth is, I find this candle a little unsettling. If I want to see such plump candles, I’ll go to the 99 Cent Store, OK? I’ll walk down Michigan Avenue or go to Pier One. When we’re talking candles inside my living room, give me long skinny taper candles, please. If that makes me sound superficial, shallow and sexist — well yes, I’m a man. And I’ll have to point out that most of the candles that appear on billboards and in magazines and on TV commercials are just as skinny and good looking as me, TV’s Richard Roeper. Thumbs down, but not because it’s flaccid. My thumb remains a manly, erect thumb even when it’s down! And don’t forget good looking, too! **
Moving on… Statler and Waldorf review this entirely shambolic excuse for a post:
*Ebert’s review was complied and pieced together via quotes from his reviews on rogerebert.com, mostly from his Fellini reviews. I’m having some fun with him here, but in his defense, describing Fellini films without loudly cracking the metaphor whip is nigh on impossible. I only WISH I could verbalize, purple or otherwise, half so well as he. (Oh and while we’re mentioning Fellini, please watch La Strada especially, if you haven’t already. Zampanò!) See this, this, and this for pulled passages.
**For the most part, Roeper’s review satirically borrows from an editorial column he negatively wrote regarding Dove’s Real Beauty ad campaign last year. Yes, this is old news, but see above disclaimer regarding me and the dead horsies. Who knew the purpose of women’s beauty advertising was not to sell products to women at all, but to set up a pup tent in Richard Roeper’s pants? Not me, and I for one was glad to get edumacated.
Ebert and Roeper source images can be viewed here. Statler and Waldorf source sounds from here.