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    4 Documentaries That Explore How Families Cope With Dementia

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    In “Little Empty Boxes” and other films, the heartbreak of memory loss is intertwined with deeper cultural implications.When his creative, funny, independent mother, Kathy, began to exhibit signs of dementia, the writer Max Lugavere moved cross-country and picked up a camera to start documenting his journey to figure out how to help her. The result is “Little Empty Boxes,” a new documentary that’s strongest when it chronicles their relationship. Kathy’s memories of Max’s upbringing and his desire to be close to her bring them both a strange comfort. (She passed away in 2019.) The rest of the film — notably interviews with researchers studying links between nutrition, exercise and brain health — is uneven. Its visual language ranges from traditional, brightly lit talking heads to an observational approach, which can provoke whiplash for the viewer.But “Little Empty Boxes,” directed by Lugavere and Chris Newhard, made me think about other powerful documentaries that chronicle walking through memory loss with a loved one. The experience can be tremendously painful, with family and friends feeling helpless; watching a film about it can in turn be both gut-wrenching and cathartic.One of the best recent movies about memory loss — nominated for an Oscar last year — is “The Eternal Memory” about the Chilean journalist Augusto Góngora and his wife, the actress Paulina Urrutia. Directed by Maite Alberdi, the film (streaming on Paramount+) weaves Góngora’s slow decline into a broader meditation on cultural memory, and on what we lose as communities when we’re denied the ability to retain those memories — through book bans and state propaganda that whitewashes historical truth. But the broader metaphor doesn’t obscure Góngora and Urrutia’s love story, which is heartwrenchingly beautiful.Even more harrowing is “Tell Me Who I Am” (Netflix) directed by Ed Perkins. Like “Little Empty Boxes,” this 2019 film is more effective when exploring its subjects’ relationship than when it turns journalistic. Alex Lewis was in a motorcycle accident at 18, and when he woke up, he’d lost his memory. His twin brother, Marcus, helped him reconstruct his life, but as the film goes on, Alex — and the audience — realize that Marcus was holding back information about their past, and that revealing it is fraught. The brothers’ trust and love holds the film together.The most unmissable and life-affirming film of this sort, though, is “Dick Johnson Is Dead” (Netflix) from 2020. Dick Johnson is the father of the director Kirsten Johnson; years after losing his wife (Kirsten’s mother) to Alzheimer’s, he begins to exhibit signs of dementia. Facing an uncertain future, Dick and Kirsten work together to humorously and movingly stage different ways he might die, while exploring their relationship and the meaning of love, history and remembrance. It’s a vital, hilarious, gorgeous and truly innovative film, and I can’t think of a better exploration of the bond between a filmmaker and a parent in the face of impending loss. More

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      Harry Lorayne, Dazzling Master of Total Recall, Is Dead at 96

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      A memory expert and magician who was a favorite guest of Johnny Carson’s, he astonished audiences by reeling off the names of hundreds of people he had only just met.Harry Lorayne, who parlayed a childhood reading disability and the brutal punishment it engendered into an international career as a memory expert, summoning the names of roomfuls of strangers in a single sitting, rattling off entire small-town telephone books and telling astonished audiences what was written on any page of a given issue of Time magazine, died on Friday in Newburyport, Mass. He was 96.His death, at a hospital, was confirmed by his publicist, Skye Wentworth, who did not specify a cause. He had lived in Newburyport, north of Boston.Fleet of mind and fleet of mouth, Mr. Lorayne was a sought-after guest on television shows and a particular favorite of Johnny Carson’s, appearing on “The Tonight Show” some two dozen times.Mr. Lorayne had begun his professional life as a sleight-of-hand artist and well into old age was considered one of the foremost card magicians in the country. As both magician and mnemonist, he was a direct, gleeful scion of the 19th-century midway pitchman and the 20th-century borscht belt tummler.By the 1960s, Mr. Lorayne was best known for holding audiences rapt with feats of memory that bordered on the elephantine. Such feats were born, he explained in interviews and in his many books, of a system of learned associations — call them surrealist visual puns — that seemed equal parts Ivan Pavlov and Salvador Dalí.Mr. Lorayne demonstrated his act on the night of July 23, 1958, when, in his first big break, he appeared on the TV game show “I’ve Got a Secret.”While the host, Garry Moore, was introducing members of the show’s panel, Mr. Lorayne was at work in the studio audience, soliciting the names of its members.He was then called onstage. Mr. Moore asked the audience members who had given Mr. Lorayne their names to stand. Hundreds did.“That’s Mr. Saar,” Mr. Lorayne began, pointing to a man in the balcony. (The transcriptions here are phonetic.)“Mr. Stinson,” he continued in his rapid-fire New Yorkese, gathering speed. “Miss Graf. Mrs. Graf. Miss Finkelstein. If I can see correctly, I believe that’s the Harpin family: Mr. and Mrs. Harpin; there was Dorothy Harpin and Esther Harpin. Mrs. Pollock. And way in the corner — it’s a little dark there — but I believe that’s Mrs. Stern.”And so it went, through scores of names, each impeccably recalled.How did he do it? “You have to take the name, make it mean something and then associate it to one outstanding feature on the person’s face,” he explained, indicating a man in the audience named Theus.“I thought of the United States: ‘the U.S.,’” Mr. Lorayne continued. “It’s spelled T-H-E-U-S. And I picked out his character lines, from the nose down to the corner of the lip, and just drew a map of the United States there.”Absent the time constraints of television, Mr. Lorayne often said, he could handily memorize the names of 500, or even a thousand, people in a single outing. Over the years, he said, he had met and recalled the names of more than 20 million people.To naysayers who contended that he routinely seeded his audiences with friends, Mr. Lorayne’s reply was unimpeachable: “Who’s got 500 friends?”Nor, as the skeptics sometimes suggested, was Mr. Lorayne a mnemonic freak, endowed with a preternaturally good memory. He was born with quite ordinary powers of recall, he often said, and that was precisely the point. Memory, he maintained, was a faculty akin to a muscle that could be trained and strengthened.Mr. Lorayne did not claim to have invented the mnemonic system that was his stock in trade: As he readily acknowledged, it harked back to classical antiquity. But he was among the first people in the modern era to recognize its use as entertainment, and to parlay it into a highly successful business.Mr. Lorayne ran a memory-training school in New York during the 1960s. via Skye WentworthAt the height of his renown, Mr. Lorayne traveled the country demonstrating his prowess on theater stages, at trade shows and in corporate training seminars. During the 1960s, he ran a memory-training school in New York. In later years, he starred in TV infomercials for his home memory-improvement system. His scores of books were translated into many languages.He was awash in celebrity friends, many of whom were reported to use his techniques. Among them were Anne Bancroft, who spoke of using Mr. Lorayne’s methods to learn lines, and the New York Knicks star — and memory expert in his own right — Jerry Lucas, with whom Mr. Lorayne wrote “The Memory Book” (1974), a New York Times best seller.For many years Mr. Lorayne lived in a gracious townhouse at 62 Jane Street in the West Village of Manhattan. (In sly tribute, his friend Mel Brooks planned to give that address as the home of the playwright Franz Liebkind in his 1967 film, “The Producers.” After Mr. Lorayne’s wife, Renée, objected that the moviegoing public would be banging on their door day and night, Mr. Brooks changed it to the fictional 100 West Jane Street.)Mr. Lorayne’s attainments are all the more noteworthy in light of the fact that he grew up in poverty, struggled academically as a result of undiagnosed dyslexia and concluded his formal education after only a single year of high school.Mr. Lorayne in 1986. As a boy he had an epiphany: If only he could learn to memorize, he realized, his problems with dyslexia would end and he’d avoid his father’s wrath over poor school grades. Stuart William MacGladrie/Fairfax Media, via Getty ImagesHe was born on May 4, 1926, on the Lower East Side of Manhattan to Benjamin and Clara (Bendel) Ratzer. His father was a garment cutter.The family was poor — beyond poor, Mr. Lorayne often said.“They were professional poor people,” he told an interviewer, invoking his parents. “I remember having a potato for dinner.”Benjamin Ratzer was a violent man, and whenever young Harry brought home failing grades on an exam — and because of his dyslexia, he often did — his father beat him.One day, Harry had an epiphany. If only he could learn to memorize, he realized, his problems would end. At the library, he found a shelf of dusty books on memory training, some dating to the 18th century. Most were beyond him, but he fought his way through.Using elementary versions of the techniques he would later employ professionally, he began earning perfect marks.“My father stopped hitting me for my grades,” Mr. Lorayne told The Chicago Tribune in 1988. “He hit me for other things.”When Harry was 12, his father, plagued by illness, died by suicide. Soon afterward, Harry left high school to work a series of odd jobs.“I was a Lower East Side ‘dese, dem and dose’ kid with no money, no prospects, no education, no nothing,” Mr. Lorayne wrote in a self-published memoir, “Before I Forget” (2013).He did not yet conceive of memory as a marketable skill: His professional aspirations lay in magic. As a child, he had watched, entranced, as neighborhood men did card tricks in Hamilton Fish Park, on the Lower East Side. He stole milk bottles, recouped the deposits, bought his first deck of cards and began to practice.He embarked on his magic career in the 1940s, adapting his stage name from the middle name of his wife, Renée Lorraine Lefkowitz, whom he married in 1948. He performed on local television in the early 1950s and did close-up magic at Billy Reed’s Little Club on East 55th Street.The actor Victor Jory, a keen amateur magician, visited the club often to catch Mr. Lorayne’s act. One night, performing at Mr. Jory’s table, Mr. Lorayne realized he had exhausted his vast repertoire of card tricks. Seeking to keep Mr. Jory entertained, he idly tossed off a stunt in which he recalled the location of all 52 cards in a shuffled deck.Mr. Jory raved so much about the feat, Mr. Lorayne wrote, that he realized his future lay in memory. He made it his act, beginning at Catskill hotels.Mr. Lorayne wrote a batch of books, including this one as well as “The Memory Book” (with the basketball star Jerry Lucas), “How to Develop a Super Power Memory,” “Miracle Math” and, his last one, “And Finally!”The bizarre visual associations at the heart of Mr. Lorayne’s system were good not only for remembering names and faces but also, he explained, for memorizing numbers, learning foreign-language vocabulary and the like. The more surreal the association, he said, the more tenacious its hold in the mind.“Take the French word for watermelon, which is ‘pastèque,’” he told the Australian newspaper The Sunday Mail in 1986. “When I wanted to learn this I visualized myself playing cards and saying, ‘Pass the deck; pass deck.’”It was essential to note, he added, that “I am playing cards with a watermelon. I ask the watermelon to pass the deck.”Mr. Lorayne’s wife, who assisted in his stage act for two decades, died in 2014. His survivors include a son, Robert, and a granddaughter.Mr. Lorayne in the early 1990s. He continued to perform as a magician throughout his career, but it was for his feats of memorization that he was, fittingly, remembered. via Skye WentworthHis other books include “How to Develop a Super Power Memory,” “Miracle Math” and “Ageless Memory.” In 2018, at the age of 92, he published his last book, “And Finally!”Throughout his career, Mr. Lorayne continued to ply the magician’s trade, for many years publishing Apocalypse, a magic magazine, and producing books and videos on card magic.But it was as a memory expert that he remained, fittingly, remembered, though his most important act of recall was one that audiences never saw.Before every performance, Mr. Lorayne, out of sight in the wings, would discreetly check to make sure his trousers were zipped.It was not merely a question of propriety, but also of credibility. For the man often billed as the world’s foremost memory expert to face an audience with fly unheeded, he explained, would be the poorest professional advertisement of all.Maia Coleman contributed reporting. More

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      Pat Martino, Jazz Guitarist Who Overcame Amnesia, Dies at 77

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      He was one of the genre’s most acclaimed players when brain surgery left him with no memory. But he recovered and made music for another three decades.Pat Martino, whose trailblazing career as a jazz guitarist seemed to end prematurely in 1980 when brain surgery left him with no memory, but who then painstakingly relearned the instrument, and his own past, and went on to three more decades of innovative musicianship, died on Monday at his home in South Philadelphia. He was 77.Joseph Donofrio, his longtime manager, said the cause was chronic respiratory disorder, which had forced Mr. Martino to stop performing after a tour of Italy in November 2018.Mr. Martino’s playing began drawing attention when he was still a teenager. Having been expelled from a Roman Catholic high school in 10th grade (“Something took place between me and one of the priests there,” he wrote years later. “If I remember correctly, it had something to do with bubble gum.”), he became a professional musician, joining the singer Lloyd Price’s big band and then, in 1962, the saxophonist Willis Jackson’s combo.In 1967, when he was in his early 20s, he released his first album, “El Hombre,” on the Prestige label, and a series of well-regarded records followed. At the start of his career he often drew comparisons to earlier jazz guitarists like Wes Montgomery, but by the 1970s he was forging his own sound. “Pat Martino: Breaking Barriers Between Rock & Jazz,” a 1975 headline in The San Francisco Examiner read.On a tour supporting his first albums for Warner Bros., “Starbright” (1976) and “Joyous Lake” (1977), Mr. Martino began experiencing frequent headaches and seizures, something he had dealt with occasionally since childhood. One seizure came while he was onstage in France in 1976.“I stopped playing and stood there for about 30 seconds,” he wrote in his autobiography, “Here and Now!” (2011, with Bill Milkowski). “During these moments of seizure, it feels like you’re falling through a black hole; it’s like everything just escapes at the moment.”Mr. Martino at Jazz at Lincoln Center’s Rose Theater in 2006, accompanied by Albert Heath on drums.Hiroyuki Ito for The New York TimesIn the book, he described going through a series of misdiagnoses and ill-advised treatment, including electroshock. He retired from performing and turned to teaching at the Guitar Institute of Technology in Hollywood, but his problems worsened; at one point, he wrote, a doctor told him he had two hours to live.A condition called arteriovenous malformation, a tangling of arteries and veins, was diagnosed. An aneurysm resulted in emergency surgery to remove a large tumor; when he awoke, he had no memory.“When you don’t remember something, you have no idea of its existence,” he wrote. “And upon awakening after the surgery, I remembered nothing.“But it wasn’t a disorienting feeling,” he continued. “If I had known I was a guitarist, if I had known those two people standing by my bedside in the hospital were in fact my parents, I then would’ve felt the feelings that went along with the events. What they went through and why they were standing there looking at me then would’ve been very painful for me. But it wasn’t painful because to me they were just strangers.”His parents helped him relearn his past, showing him family photographs and playing him his own albums. Picking up the guitar again was another form of memory recovery.“I had to start from Square 1,” he told The Edmonton Journal of Alberta, Canada, in 2004. “But once I made the decision to try, it activated inner intuitive familiarities, like a child who hasn’t ridden their bicycle for many years and tries to do so again to reach a destination. There are moments of imbalance, but it’s subliminal, and it emerges after some mistakes, and then it strengthens.”By the mid-1980s he was performing again. Jon Pareles, reviewing one performance, at Fat Tuesday’s in Manhattan in 1986, found Mr. Martino as virtuosic and unpredictable as ever.“He can play chorus after chorus of bebop lines, zigzagging through the chromatic harmonies of his own tunes,” Mr. Pareles wrote. “But more often than not, he turns bebop conventions sideways. He starts a line on an unexpected beat, breaks his runs up to insist on a single note or riff, inserts odd-length leaps into standard licks and shifts accents around the beat. His playing is articulately wayward, approaching tunes from odd angles and taking rewarding tangents; he makes song forms seem slippery and mysterious.”In 1987, Mr. Martino released a new album. It was called “The Return.”Mr. Martino at a nightclub in Asbury Park, N.J., in 1967, the year he released his first album, “El Hombre.”Pat Martino CollectionPatrick Azzara (he took Martino, which his father had also used, as a stage name) was born on Aug. 25, 1944, in Philadelphia to Carmen and Jean (Orlando) Azzara. His father, known as Mickey, was a tailor who also worked as a guitarist and singer. He would hide his guitar from young Pat, though in the autobiography Mr. Martino suggests that this “was a bit of reverse psychology on his part” — once the boy took up the instrument, his father encouraged his career and introduced him to various musicians.Mr. Martino was in bands as a boy, including one with the future pop star Bobby Rydell, who lived nearby. One of the guitar greats Mr. Martino’s father took him to meet, backstage after a concert in Atlantic City, was Les Paul, who asked young Pat to play a little something.“What came out of that guitar was unbelievable,” Mr. Paul wrote in the liner notes to Mr. Martino’s 1970 album, “Desperado.” “His dexterity and his picking style were absolutely unique. He held his pick as one would hold a demitasse … pinkie extended, very polite. The politeness disappeared when pick met string.”As Mr. Martino grew more experienced, his view of jazz evolved, largely shaped by Eastern philosophies; he did not, he told The Examiner in 1975, consider himself a jazz musician.“Jazz is a way of life,” he said. “It’s not an idiom of music. Jazz is spontaneous improvisation. If you ever leave your house with nowhere to go, and just walk for pleasure, observing and looking around, you’ll find that you improvise.”And he did not consider himself a “guitar player,” he said, though he once did.“I no longer view myself that way because I don’t want to be depersonalized by my instrument,” he said. “I’m an observer of my environment, including the guitar; I see the guitar in everything.”In his autobiography, he described the process of recovering the ability to play.“As I continued to work out things on the instrument,” he wrote, “flashes of memory and muscle memory would gradually come flooding back to me — shapes on the fingerboard, different stairways to different rooms in the house. There are secret doorways that only you know about in the house, and you go there because it’s pleasurable to do so.”The records he made after his surgery included “All Sides Now” (1997), on the Blue Note label, an album on which he shared tracks with other famed guitarists, including Mr. Paul. Two of his albums, also on Blue Note, were nominated for Grammy Awards, “Live at Yoshi’s” (2001) and “Think Tank” (2003).His surgery and the recovery period, Mr. Martino said, changed what he was after in his music.“It used to be to do everything I possibly could to become more successful in my craft and my career,” he told the Edmonton paper. “Today, my intention is to completely enjoy the moment and everything it contains.”Mr. Martino is survived by his wife of 26 years, Ayako Asahi.Mr. Martino had other health issues over the years, but Mr. Donofrio, his longtime manager, said his resilience was remarkable.“Every time I thought he was going to be down and out,” he said, “he came back stronger than before.”Jeff Roth contributed research. More

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      Tony Bennett Reveals He Has Alzheimer’s Disease

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      AdvertisementContinue reading the main storySupported byContinue reading the main storyTony Bennett Reveals He Has Alzheimer’s Disease“He’s not the old Tony anymore,” his wife, Susan, said. “But when he sings, he’s the old Tony.”The singer Tony Bennett has announced that he has Alzheimer’s disease, writing on Twitter: “Life is a gift — even with Alzheimer’s.”Credit…Evan Agostini/Invision, via Associated PressFeb. 1, 2021Tony Bennett, the 94-year-old singer who has become a beloved interpreter of the American songbook, has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, his wife, Susan, told AARP The Magazine this week.“Life is a gift — even with Alzheimer’s,” the singer tweeted on Monday morning. “Thank you to Susan and my family for their support.”Susan Bennett, and Tony Bennett’s eldest son, Danny, told the magazine that Bennett was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s — a degenerative brain disease that causes memory loss, among other things — in 2016.According to the magazine, Bennett began showing symptoms in 2015. “Even his increasingly rare moments of clarity and awareness reveal the depths of his debility,” the article states. But it said that he had not experienced the disorientation that prompts some patients to wander off, or episodes of terror, rage or depression.Before the coronavirus pandemic, Bennett had continued to perform extensively. But backstage, relatives told the magazine, he could seem “mystified about his whereabouts.”“But the moment he heard the announcer’s voice boom ‘Ladies and gentlemen — Tony Bennett!’ he would transform himself into performance mode, stride out into the spotlight, smiling and acknowledging the audience’s applause,” the piece said.His wife, Susan, would watch nervously, worrying that he would forget a lyric. “I was a nervous frigging wreck,” she told the magazine. “Yet he always delivered!”The early signs came in 2015, she told the magazine, when he began forgetting musicians’ names onstage, and began stashing a list on the piano, she said. But he knew something was wrong and wanted to see a doctor, she said, and he learned he had Alzheimer’s in 2016.Susan Bennett said that he can still recognize family members, but the magazine reported that “mundane objects as familiar as a fork or a set of house keys can be utterly mysterious to him.”Bennett, who has had a seven-decade-long career, scored his first big hit in 1951, “Because of You.” In 1962 he recorded “I Left My Heart in San Francisco,” which became his signature song. Long after other crooners had died or faded from the airwaves, Bennett experienced a resurgence in popularity: He won a Grammy for his 1994 album, “Tony Bennett: MTV Unplugged.” Since then, he has recorded duets with a string of notables including James Taylor, Sting and Amy Winehouse.He recorded an album with Lady Gaga in 2014, “Tony Bennett & Lady Gaga: Cheek to Cheek,” which debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard’s Top 200 pop and rock chart. According to the AARP article, a follow-up album with Lady Gaga, which was recorded between 2018 and early 2020, will be released this spring.Lady Gaga was aware of Bennett’s condition when they were recording their most recent collaboration, the article said. In documentary footage of the sessions, Bennett rarely speaks, and offers one-word responses like “Thanks” or “Yeah.”But his appetite for all things musical remains robust. According to the magazine, he continues to rehearse a 90-minute set twice a week with his longtime pianist, Lee Musiker — and does so without any of the haltingness that can characterize his speech.More than five million Americans are living with Alzheimer’s, according to the Alzheimer’s Association, including one in 10 people age 65 or older. Symptoms may initially include repeating questions, getting lost in a familiar place or misplacing things, and may eventually progress to hallucinations, angry outbursts, and the inability to recognize family and friends or communicate at all. Alzheimer’s has no cure.Susan Bennett is serving as her husband’s caregiver.“I have my moments and it gets very difficult,” she told the magazine. “It’s no fun arguing with someone who doesn’t understand you.” But she added that they felt more fortunate than many other people living with Alzheimer’s.Bennett’s last public performance was in March at the Count Basie Center for the Arts in Red Bank, N.J. Before the coronavirus shut down live performances, he was touring often, singing a 90-minute set without cluing in audiences or critics that anything was amiss.“He’s not the old Tony anymore,” Susan Bennett told the magazine. “But when he sings, he’s the old Tony.”AdvertisementContinue reading the main story More