Movie Review
August 4, 2016
Meet the Parents, 2016
Captain Fantastic and Bad Moms may not seem to have much in common at first glance. One is an independent film that takes a “serious” look at how a single father raising a brood of six in a hippie-ish/survivalist mode copes with a number of existential dilemmas. The other is a screwballish gal-buddy movie aimed at the big box office summer crowd with young mothers behaving badly. Upon reflection, though, they are both interesting commentaries on the whole notion of raising children in 2016 (and beyond) and, while neither would be on my “must-see” list, I wouldn’t tell anyone to not go see them.
Captain Fantastic features the always-interesting Viggo Mortensen as Ben Cash, an idealist raising his six children (ranging in age from about 6 to 18) off the grid somewhere in the Pacific Northwest when he receives news that his wife, who was institutionalized with bipolar disorder, has killed herself. By the time Ben receives this news we have already seen him running his brood through a regimen of intense physical challenges and sitting around a campfire in the evening, reading (advanced texts) and creating family music. His commitment to insuring that his wife’s final (Buddhist) wishes for cremation and ashes disposal be followed leads to the clan piling into a family bus and heading for New Mexico, where they will deal with his wife’s traditional family. The trip and the ensuing confrontation with his father-in-law (most ably played by Frank Langella) raise a boatload of issues for Ben, his kids, and the values connected to his extreme commitment to not subjecting them to a crass, capitalist society. The cast is totally engaging (the kids, each with a unique name, so there would be no one else with the same name, are fabulous) and the interactions between the adults (Steve Zahn and Kathryn Hahn as Ben’s middle-class in-laws, raising two jerky boys who play video games incessantly but don’t know the First Amendment --- while Ben’s 8 year old can deliver a minor treatise about it) reinforce the movie’s “message.” Mortensen’s charming, arrogant, stubborn (unyielding?) idealist is, at times, warm and lovable and, at others, impossible and almost repulsive.
In all, this is a movie that provokes thought but ultimately is a mile wide and an inch deep. The performances carry the day and it never drags as we gladly travel along with the always-interesting children. You must (too often?) suspend your disbelief for this one, for sure, but it’s worth a look. I’d give it $6.00 out of the $9.00 we paid to see it at the Garden Cinema in Norwalk.
We saw Bad Moms at a matinee on 6-dollar Tuesday. The lovely Carol Marie enjoyed it more than I, but that might be because it was easier for her to identify as a parent. Unlike Captain Fantastic, Bad Moms presents us with a rather familiar suburban, essentially sit-com setting. Amy Mitchell (Mila Kunis) is the put upon, over-extended working mother who, initially, is doing everything (including homework!) for her children. The helicopter/snowplow mother syndrome is in full flower, with Gwendolyn James (consummate pro Christina Applegate), the PTA President, serving as Amy’s primary villain. Amy’s incredibly offensive, arrested development husband (David Walton) is thrown out early in the film (for having an internet affair with a female dairy farmer 2000 miles away) leaving Amy in a predictable single-mom scenario. After publicly quitting the PTA (stirring Gwendolyn’s considerable ire) she heads to a bar and meets Carla (Kathryn Hahn, again---over the top but great fun) as an oversexed single mom. Kiki (Kristin Bell, who is often hilarious here), a mother of four-under-five whose husband doesn’t lift a finger to help her, follows Amy to the bar, admiring her courage in defying Gwendolyn.
What follows are the ups and downs of an extended sit-com but very ably (if predictably) presented. The simple message is that one cannot help but be a “bad mom” given the unrealistic expectations put upon suburban moms in 2016 and it would be better if you were less involved in your kids lives and enjoyed your own a bit more. Because it was 6-dollar Tuesday, I’d give Bad Moms $4.00. It’s fine for a hot summer day getaway if you’re in the neighborhood --- no special trip to the theater is necessary for this (it will be on Netflix in no time, I’m sure).
So, what did we (meaning “I”) learn from these movies? Basically, some things I probably already knew: being a parent is very difficult and relatively thankless, beyond the obvious love for the children. But each of the movies did spotlight some specific concepts worth reflecting on, parent or not. Captain Fantastic certainly brings to bear that incredible responsibility parenting has on how your children see the world, what biases and prejudices are inculcated just by being part of a particular family. Mortensen’s Ben Cash, to me, is like a car crash --- you can’t take your eyes off it and you’re sure glad you’re not in it. Nonetheless, it's worth a look.
Mila Kunis’s Amy Mitchell, if not a cartoon, is certainly a kind of caricature we see all around us. The comic turns (particularly by Hahn and Bell) make the movie fun but also are quite recognizable characters to anyone who has taught school in any American suburb --- with a little more flair. The most fun, for me, were the closing credits where the five actresses (Kunis, Bell, Hahn, Applegate, and Annie Mumolo) are seated with their real-life mothers talking about raising children --- fun and touching at once. Hot summer day? Nothing to do? Go ahead and check out Bad Moms.
One last note: both these films strongly reinforce #oscarsowhite. Just sayin’.
Meet the Parents, 2016
Captain Fantastic and Bad Moms may not seem to have much in common at first glance. One is an independent film that takes a “serious” look at how a single father raising a brood of six in a hippie-ish/survivalist mode copes with a number of existential dilemmas. The other is a screwballish gal-buddy movie aimed at the big box office summer crowd with young mothers behaving badly. Upon reflection, though, they are both interesting commentaries on the whole notion of raising children in 2016 (and beyond) and, while neither would be on my “must-see” list, I wouldn’t tell anyone to not go see them.
Captain Fantastic features the always-interesting Viggo Mortensen as Ben Cash, an idealist raising his six children (ranging in age from about 6 to 18) off the grid somewhere in the Pacific Northwest when he receives news that his wife, who was institutionalized with bipolar disorder, has killed herself. By the time Ben receives this news we have already seen him running his brood through a regimen of intense physical challenges and sitting around a campfire in the evening, reading (advanced texts) and creating family music. His commitment to insuring that his wife’s final (Buddhist) wishes for cremation and ashes disposal be followed leads to the clan piling into a family bus and heading for New Mexico, where they will deal with his wife’s traditional family. The trip and the ensuing confrontation with his father-in-law (most ably played by Frank Langella) raise a boatload of issues for Ben, his kids, and the values connected to his extreme commitment to not subjecting them to a crass, capitalist society. The cast is totally engaging (the kids, each with a unique name, so there would be no one else with the same name, are fabulous) and the interactions between the adults (Steve Zahn and Kathryn Hahn as Ben’s middle-class in-laws, raising two jerky boys who play video games incessantly but don’t know the First Amendment --- while Ben’s 8 year old can deliver a minor treatise about it) reinforce the movie’s “message.” Mortensen’s charming, arrogant, stubborn (unyielding?) idealist is, at times, warm and lovable and, at others, impossible and almost repulsive.
In all, this is a movie that provokes thought but ultimately is a mile wide and an inch deep. The performances carry the day and it never drags as we gladly travel along with the always-interesting children. You must (too often?) suspend your disbelief for this one, for sure, but it’s worth a look. I’d give it $6.00 out of the $9.00 we paid to see it at the Garden Cinema in Norwalk.
We saw Bad Moms at a matinee on 6-dollar Tuesday. The lovely Carol Marie enjoyed it more than I, but that might be because it was easier for her to identify as a parent. Unlike Captain Fantastic, Bad Moms presents us with a rather familiar suburban, essentially sit-com setting. Amy Mitchell (Mila Kunis) is the put upon, over-extended working mother who, initially, is doing everything (including homework!) for her children. The helicopter/snowplow mother syndrome is in full flower, with Gwendolyn James (consummate pro Christina Applegate), the PTA President, serving as Amy’s primary villain. Amy’s incredibly offensive, arrested development husband (David Walton) is thrown out early in the film (for having an internet affair with a female dairy farmer 2000 miles away) leaving Amy in a predictable single-mom scenario. After publicly quitting the PTA (stirring Gwendolyn’s considerable ire) she heads to a bar and meets Carla (Kathryn Hahn, again---over the top but great fun) as an oversexed single mom. Kiki (Kristin Bell, who is often hilarious here), a mother of four-under-five whose husband doesn’t lift a finger to help her, follows Amy to the bar, admiring her courage in defying Gwendolyn.
What follows are the ups and downs of an extended sit-com but very ably (if predictably) presented. The simple message is that one cannot help but be a “bad mom” given the unrealistic expectations put upon suburban moms in 2016 and it would be better if you were less involved in your kids lives and enjoyed your own a bit more. Because it was 6-dollar Tuesday, I’d give Bad Moms $4.00. It’s fine for a hot summer day getaway if you’re in the neighborhood --- no special trip to the theater is necessary for this (it will be on Netflix in no time, I’m sure).
So, what did we (meaning “I”) learn from these movies? Basically, some things I probably already knew: being a parent is very difficult and relatively thankless, beyond the obvious love for the children. But each of the movies did spotlight some specific concepts worth reflecting on, parent or not. Captain Fantastic certainly brings to bear that incredible responsibility parenting has on how your children see the world, what biases and prejudices are inculcated just by being part of a particular family. Mortensen’s Ben Cash, to me, is like a car crash --- you can’t take your eyes off it and you’re sure glad you’re not in it. Nonetheless, it's worth a look.
Mila Kunis’s Amy Mitchell, if not a cartoon, is certainly a kind of caricature we see all around us. The comic turns (particularly by Hahn and Bell) make the movie fun but also are quite recognizable characters to anyone who has taught school in any American suburb --- with a little more flair. The most fun, for me, were the closing credits where the five actresses (Kunis, Bell, Hahn, Applegate, and Annie Mumolo) are seated with their real-life mothers talking about raising children --- fun and touching at once. Hot summer day? Nothing to do? Go ahead and check out Bad Moms.
One last note: both these films strongly reinforce #oscarsowhite. Just sayin’.
Eat That Question
Frank Zappa in His Own Words
Eat That Question is a pure delight from start to finish. Before reviewing
the documentary, however, I have to briefly discuss The Film Forum movie house on West Houston Street in New York City. The Film Forum is a unique institution, even by New York standards. It has maintained its existence since 1970 (where it started on the Upper West Side) and is the only autonomous, nonprofit theater in the city. The current theater (opened in Hudson Square in 1990) has three screens and about 500 seats (each about the size of a Piper Cub seat). What makes The Film Forum unique is that it is the only place in NYC you can see a documentary like Eat That Question (or Les Blank’s A Poem is a Naked Person, the Leon Russell 1973-74 documentary). As an eccentric “art house” it is an invaluable resource for cinephiles and students of not only film study but history itself. It is a dark, dank treasure. There were 18 viewers with me to see a 12:30 p.m., Monday, screening of the Zappa documentary.
The film itself is a pleasure. A straightforward compilation of interviews with, and performances by, Frank Zappa, it is, most certainly, “in his own words.” And what words they are!
The interviews are not arranged in a particular chronological or thematic order but proceed much the way Zappa’s mind seems to work --- taking a topic and (always seriously, with a strong dose of humorous cynicism) expounding on it. Interspersed with the interviews (some in black and white, some in color) are wonderful clips of television appearances by Zappa. A quick round of “What’s My Line?” (you can find it on YouTube) in 1971, as well as a fabulous piece from 1963 in which Zappa “plays” the bicycle on the Steve Allen Show (also on YouTube) are fascinating. What’s most interesting, in the Steve Allen clip, is that when the host asks the very young and clean-cut Zappa what he does, the response is direct: “I compose music.”
All the interviews, all the performances, and even his appearance before a Senate Committee (on record “warning labels”) are about music and the integrity of the creative process. One comes away from this documentary with a strong sense of what a hard working and dedicated artist Frank Zappa was. Two quotes we hear which seem contradictory (but aren’t) as we watch Zappa in action, involve his art.
“It’s not easy being a musician,” he states at one point ( watching him work and hearing him talking about work reinforces that idea) but later he says, “composing isn’t working.” Once you have seen the footage, interviews, and performances, as well as some shots of Zappa at work, composing, it is clear that Zappa’s life as a musician (performing) was quite different than composing (creating music by himself).
More than anything else, I think I came away from the documentary with a greater appreciation of what a towering intellect Zappa had. No matter what age, Zappa is always brilliant and articulate, whether discussing music, commercialism, education, religion, or the government. He is a staunch defender of the First Amendment and human rights and was, as described by his documentarian, Thorsten Schutte, an “incorruptible character.” There is a through line to Zappa’s music and his beliefs and, toward the end of the film he says (speaking of his music (but it could just as well be about his career and life), “It’s all one composition.”
Things I was woefully ignorant about when it came to Frank Zappa’s life:
Zappa’s personal war with the media is always bubbling beneath the surface and rises up in some interesting statements. In one interview he charges that the media makes him out to be “abstract and weird” when, in fact, “I’ve got 4 kids, a house, a mortgage, and all that crap.” He points out that he has never been a drug user and was “a freak, never a hippie.” We watch him battle the government (and Tipper Gore) and castigate organized religion (turning down a lucrative invitation to play at “Popestock,” Vatican City) while always feeling a burning desire to create music. Schutte has done an excellent job of letting Zappa tells his own story, in his own words, as promised. Frank's guiding aesthetic (in his own words) is simple: “anything, anywhere, any time, any place, for no reason at all.”
Eat That Question is a wonderful piece of American music history, impressive in its simple, direct approach, encompassing the life of a genuine American icon and cultural treasure. See it.
Frank Zappa in His Own Words
Eat That Question is a pure delight from start to finish. Before reviewing
the documentary, however, I have to briefly discuss The Film Forum movie house on West Houston Street in New York City. The Film Forum is a unique institution, even by New York standards. It has maintained its existence since 1970 (where it started on the Upper West Side) and is the only autonomous, nonprofit theater in the city. The current theater (opened in Hudson Square in 1990) has three screens and about 500 seats (each about the size of a Piper Cub seat). What makes The Film Forum unique is that it is the only place in NYC you can see a documentary like Eat That Question (or Les Blank’s A Poem is a Naked Person, the Leon Russell 1973-74 documentary). As an eccentric “art house” it is an invaluable resource for cinephiles and students of not only film study but history itself. It is a dark, dank treasure. There were 18 viewers with me to see a 12:30 p.m., Monday, screening of the Zappa documentary.
The film itself is a pleasure. A straightforward compilation of interviews with, and performances by, Frank Zappa, it is, most certainly, “in his own words.” And what words they are!
The interviews are not arranged in a particular chronological or thematic order but proceed much the way Zappa’s mind seems to work --- taking a topic and (always seriously, with a strong dose of humorous cynicism) expounding on it. Interspersed with the interviews (some in black and white, some in color) are wonderful clips of television appearances by Zappa. A quick round of “What’s My Line?” (you can find it on YouTube) in 1971, as well as a fabulous piece from 1963 in which Zappa “plays” the bicycle on the Steve Allen Show (also on YouTube) are fascinating. What’s most interesting, in the Steve Allen clip, is that when the host asks the very young and clean-cut Zappa what he does, the response is direct: “I compose music.”
All the interviews, all the performances, and even his appearance before a Senate Committee (on record “warning labels”) are about music and the integrity of the creative process. One comes away from this documentary with a strong sense of what a hard working and dedicated artist Frank Zappa was. Two quotes we hear which seem contradictory (but aren’t) as we watch Zappa in action, involve his art.
“It’s not easy being a musician,” he states at one point ( watching him work and hearing him talking about work reinforces that idea) but later he says, “composing isn’t working.” Once you have seen the footage, interviews, and performances, as well as some shots of Zappa at work, composing, it is clear that Zappa’s life as a musician (performing) was quite different than composing (creating music by himself).
More than anything else, I think I came away from the documentary with a greater appreciation of what a towering intellect Zappa had. No matter what age, Zappa is always brilliant and articulate, whether discussing music, commercialism, education, religion, or the government. He is a staunch defender of the First Amendment and human rights and was, as described by his documentarian, Thorsten Schutte, an “incorruptible character.” There is a through line to Zappa’s music and his beliefs and, toward the end of the film he says (speaking of his music (but it could just as well be about his career and life), “It’s all one composition.”
Things I was woefully ignorant about when it came to Frank Zappa’s life:
- how prolific he was as a classical composer (over 300 works);
- how popular he was in Europe;
- that his music was performed by the London Symphony (after, years earlier, being banned from the Albert Hall);
- that he was friends with Vaclav Havel, who appointed him “Special Ambassador to the West on Trade, Culture, and Tourism” (which freaked out the H.W. Bush administration).
Zappa’s personal war with the media is always bubbling beneath the surface and rises up in some interesting statements. In one interview he charges that the media makes him out to be “abstract and weird” when, in fact, “I’ve got 4 kids, a house, a mortgage, and all that crap.” He points out that he has never been a drug user and was “a freak, never a hippie.” We watch him battle the government (and Tipper Gore) and castigate organized religion (turning down a lucrative invitation to play at “Popestock,” Vatican City) while always feeling a burning desire to create music. Schutte has done an excellent job of letting Zappa tells his own story, in his own words, as promised. Frank's guiding aesthetic (in his own words) is simple: “anything, anywhere, any time, any place, for no reason at all.”
Eat That Question is a wonderful piece of American music history, impressive in its simple, direct approach, encompassing the life of a genuine American icon and cultural treasure. See it.
Theater Review
A Quick Note: We went to see Ivo van Hove's "The Crucible." No review.
There is some fine acting (particularly Sophie Okonedo as Elizabeth Proctor) but, an hour into the performance
(as I began to nod off)
I remembered why I HATE this overwritten, didactic piece of schlock!
What was I thinking? Just because the TDF Orchestra seats were only $41.00.
Three hours of my life I'll NEVER get back.
A Quick Note: We went to see Ivo van Hove's "The Crucible." No review.
There is some fine acting (particularly Sophie Okonedo as Elizabeth Proctor) but, an hour into the performance
(as I began to nod off)
I remembered why I HATE this overwritten, didactic piece of schlock!
What was I thinking? Just because the TDF Orchestra seats were only $41.00.
Three hours of my life I'll NEVER get back.
Television
June 27, 2016
The Night Of
HBO –starts July 10, 9 pm
Richard Price is one of America’s great living writers. If you haven’t read “Clockers,” “The Whites,” “Freedomland,” “Lush Life,” etc. you are missing some of the best writing that has been produced in the past quarter century. While some might consider Price a “crime” writer --- like the estimable Michael Connelly and, at times, Dennis Lehane --- he is far more than that (as are Connelly and Lehane). So, when I discovered that he & Steve Zaillian (screenwriter for Gangs of New York, Moneyball, and many other films, as well as the director of A Civil Action and All the King’s Men) had teamed up to write and direct The Night Of for HBO, I was excited. The late, great James Gandolfini was one of the show's executive producers and slotted to play a major role as attorney John Stone. That has been turned over to the wonderful John Tuturro in Gandolfini’s tragic absence. This combination of writer/director/actor had me gleefully anticipating the new series. Catching a streaming preview of Episode One, Part One on Saturday, June 25th, was extremely gratifying. If you are a fan of True Detective, or even of Netflix’s Bosch, The Night Of will be right up your alley.
Like True Detective, the show feels as though it is shot in black and white and the opening 79 minute episode sweeps you along from Jackson Heights, Queens, to downtown Manhattan, and then the Upper West Side via a brief stop near the GW Bridge. The direction is taut and fluid, the storytelling gripping. It all begins in a college math class where we meet Pakistani-America, Nasir (“Naz”) Khan and quickly learn he is a tutor to one of the school’s star basketball players (who treats him like shit). The hoop players invite Naz to a party in the City that night (are they serious?) and, when his best friend bails on him, Naz steal his father’s yellow cab. And that’s where the nightmare of The Night Of begins.
Lost in downtown Manhattan (an easy thing to do), Naz pulls over to get his bearings. Two guys jump in the cab because his “on duty” light is on and he tells them he can’t take them anywhere, that he is off duty. As their agitation grows, a squad car pulls up and helps Naz out, rousting the two men. After the police leave, however, another fare jumps in the back seat. It is the sultry Andrea (Sofia Black-D’Elia) and Naz lets her talk him into driving her to “the beach” (the name of the episode). Explaining he can only offer “a river,” the young woman (Naz doesn’t know her name) instructs him to drive far uptown. The seduction is clear and next we see the young couple sitting and looking at the luminous George Washington Bridge. Naz had already stopped to buy the girl a beer (getting himself a water) as we witness Andrea tossing a cigarette butt out of the cab, toward an ominous hearse driver (they are at a gas station) --- who picks up the butt and puts it out on her window, scowling, “You’ll be my next ride,” in a piece of foreboding foreshadowing.
Andrea convinces Naz to take a pill (X?) and continues to seduce him, bringing him to her townhouse on West 87th Street for more drinking and a knife game Naz reluctantly participates in. When Andrea’s hand is stabbed her reaction is sexual and she and Naz head upstairs for lovemaking. Rather than reveal more of the plot (though you can find it all over the internet---including the full episode uploaded on YouTube), Naz wakes up from his stupor, finds Andrea dead from multiple stab wounds, panics, runs from the house and is stopped by police because he turns into a one-way street the wrong way. He ends up, eventually (and the build up to his arrest is excruciatingly tantalizing), accused of the murder.
How all that happens is nothing short of masterful and the acting, particularly by Bill Camp as “Box” the lead detective, is gripping. You are sympathetic to the naive Naz, believing he couldn’t have done it (although the evidence against him is overwhelming) and Turturro’s brief scenes at the end, when he takes Naz as his client, are brilliant. This is a series that you wish released ALL its episodes at once (like Orange or House of . . .) but we are going to have to wait 8 weeks to watch everything unravel. The series premieres on July 10that 9:00 p.m. (when “The Beach” episode will be shown as Episode One, Part One). Don’t miss it.
HBO –starts July 10, 9 pm
Richard Price is one of America’s great living writers. If you haven’t read “Clockers,” “The Whites,” “Freedomland,” “Lush Life,” etc. you are missing some of the best writing that has been produced in the past quarter century. While some might consider Price a “crime” writer --- like the estimable Michael Connelly and, at times, Dennis Lehane --- he is far more than that (as are Connelly and Lehane). So, when I discovered that he & Steve Zaillian (screenwriter for Gangs of New York, Moneyball, and many other films, as well as the director of A Civil Action and All the King’s Men) had teamed up to write and direct The Night Of for HBO, I was excited. The late, great James Gandolfini was one of the show's executive producers and slotted to play a major role as attorney John Stone. That has been turned over to the wonderful John Tuturro in Gandolfini’s tragic absence. This combination of writer/director/actor had me gleefully anticipating the new series. Catching a streaming preview of Episode One, Part One on Saturday, June 25th, was extremely gratifying. If you are a fan of True Detective, or even of Netflix’s Bosch, The Night Of will be right up your alley.
Like True Detective, the show feels as though it is shot in black and white and the opening 79 minute episode sweeps you along from Jackson Heights, Queens, to downtown Manhattan, and then the Upper West Side via a brief stop near the GW Bridge. The direction is taut and fluid, the storytelling gripping. It all begins in a college math class where we meet Pakistani-America, Nasir (“Naz”) Khan and quickly learn he is a tutor to one of the school’s star basketball players (who treats him like shit). The hoop players invite Naz to a party in the City that night (are they serious?) and, when his best friend bails on him, Naz steal his father’s yellow cab. And that’s where the nightmare of The Night Of begins.
Lost in downtown Manhattan (an easy thing to do), Naz pulls over to get his bearings. Two guys jump in the cab because his “on duty” light is on and he tells them he can’t take them anywhere, that he is off duty. As their agitation grows, a squad car pulls up and helps Naz out, rousting the two men. After the police leave, however, another fare jumps in the back seat. It is the sultry Andrea (Sofia Black-D’Elia) and Naz lets her talk him into driving her to “the beach” (the name of the episode). Explaining he can only offer “a river,” the young woman (Naz doesn’t know her name) instructs him to drive far uptown. The seduction is clear and next we see the young couple sitting and looking at the luminous George Washington Bridge. Naz had already stopped to buy the girl a beer (getting himself a water) as we witness Andrea tossing a cigarette butt out of the cab, toward an ominous hearse driver (they are at a gas station) --- who picks up the butt and puts it out on her window, scowling, “You’ll be my next ride,” in a piece of foreboding foreshadowing.
Andrea convinces Naz to take a pill (X?) and continues to seduce him, bringing him to her townhouse on West 87th Street for more drinking and a knife game Naz reluctantly participates in. When Andrea’s hand is stabbed her reaction is sexual and she and Naz head upstairs for lovemaking. Rather than reveal more of the plot (though you can find it all over the internet---including the full episode uploaded on YouTube), Naz wakes up from his stupor, finds Andrea dead from multiple stab wounds, panics, runs from the house and is stopped by police because he turns into a one-way street the wrong way. He ends up, eventually (and the build up to his arrest is excruciatingly tantalizing), accused of the murder.
How all that happens is nothing short of masterful and the acting, particularly by Bill Camp as “Box” the lead detective, is gripping. You are sympathetic to the naive Naz, believing he couldn’t have done it (although the evidence against him is overwhelming) and Turturro’s brief scenes at the end, when he takes Naz as his client, are brilliant. This is a series that you wish released ALL its episodes at once (like Orange or House of . . .) but we are going to have to wait 8 weeks to watch everything unravel. The series premieres on July 10that 9:00 p.m. (when “The Beach” episode will be shown as Episode One, Part One). Don’t miss it.
Music
Ric Ocasek Called and Wants his Haircut Back
Jackson Browne at the Beacon Theater, June 18, 2016
We are dyed in the wool Jackson Browne fans. Have been since his first album and continue to be. However, I can pretty much say, unequivocally, we will never attend another JB concert. Not because of the performer, per se, but because of his audience and his interaction with them. This was the third time we have seen JB in the past few years, each time in a different venue (Oakland Theater in Wallingford, CT, Capitol Theater in Port Chester, NY, Beacon Theater in NYC). His performances, all three times, were excellent, as were his band (more on that later). What was impossible, for us, at each venue, was the audience. Generally an older crowd (certainly our demographic), they were noisy, rude, self-centered, and generally horrible to be around. Part of this is brought on by Browne, who encourages interaction and has the houselights brought up after each song so he can see the audience standing and applauding. He seems to enjoy people shouting at him, calling for various songs, and then continuing to be noisy while he performs. It is not something we enjoy. Far more preferable, to us, was Todd Rundgren’s warning to his fans at the beginning of his concert: “ I have a set list. I think you’ll like it . If you shout out song titles, I won’t play them.” While understanding that music is a visceral art form in many ways, I also believe it is an intellectual and reflective one. I want to hear the lyrics and listen carefully to the crafting of the composition. At a Jackson Browne concert that is almost impossible because the crowd seems to believe it is an audience participation event.
We have had to endure people who sing along with every song (without anything close to the quality of Browne’s voice and intonation, much less his ability to stay on key); audience members who insist on clapping along with some beat in their head --- though obviously not what the drummer is doing; swaying & "air-drumming" individuals who, while blocking our view, look as though they are having a seizure; and, of course, those who believe they are in their living room and converse throughout the entire show! The Beacon Theater show had us trapped behind an air drummer whose haircut was straight out of the Ric Ocasek (mastermind behind The Cars) 1980’s school of coiffure, a couple who could not stop talking, and spastic clappers right behind. It was a nightmare.
The music, when we were able to clearly hear it, was excellent. Browne ran through his usual repertoire of hits and standards, changing lyrics occasionally (These Days), telling a story about a gay friend and remembering Orlando (For a Dancer), and providing a distinct return to the “country rock” roots he was associated with in the early 70s when he was writing songs with J.D. Souther (for Linda Ronstadt) and Glenn Frey (Take It Easy). Part of the “western” sound in this concert was attributable to Val McCallum on guitar (who fronted a country band, Jackshit, along with his extensive studio work) and the incomparable Greg Leisz on lap steel, pedal steel, and guitar. The rhythm section was solid as a rock with Mauricio Fritz Lewak (longtime Browne band member) on drums and the ageless Bob Glaub (who has played with everyone) on bass. Adding fabulous background vocals (and keyboards) were Jeff Young (an original Steely Dan member) and Althea Mills (who has been a Browne back up vocalist since she was a high school chorus singer in 2002). Browne moved between piano and a variety of guitars seamlessly and his voice was strong throughout. His stage presence is casual and charming but I find myself a bit uneasy when septuagenarians are crowding the stage and waving their arms as if hoping to be the groupie he’ll give the backstage pass to. The Beacon was sold out for three nights, so clearly the Baby Boomers still come out in force.
The theater itself is a wonderful venue, by the way. In most theaters I feel as though I’m flying coach --- crowded into a too-small seat with no legroom and some degenerate breathing down my neck. The Beacon, by contrast, has comfortable seats, wide rows with leg room (you needn’t stand up to let others pass by) and great sight lines. And they have done a beautiful job in refurbishing it to an Art Deco style that harkens to an earlier age.
Jackson Browne, who will be 68 in October, looks and sounds great. He did sing a new song, “Which Side,” whose introduction made me think he was covering Bob Dylan’s “Serve Somebody” until it shifted at the chorus. The song was a bit overwrought (rhyming “attacking” with “fracking”) and not nearly as powerful as something like “Lives in the Balance,” but it did illustrate that Browne is still “messaging,” as he has throughout his career. As our generation heads into its twilight, it’s nice to know Jackson Browne is still there with us. I only wish his audiences were of equal quality to his music---and would just stream the music at home, letting fans of live music actually hear the performer.
Jackson Browne at the Beacon Theater, June 18, 2016
We are dyed in the wool Jackson Browne fans. Have been since his first album and continue to be. However, I can pretty much say, unequivocally, we will never attend another JB concert. Not because of the performer, per se, but because of his audience and his interaction with them. This was the third time we have seen JB in the past few years, each time in a different venue (Oakland Theater in Wallingford, CT, Capitol Theater in Port Chester, NY, Beacon Theater in NYC). His performances, all three times, were excellent, as were his band (more on that later). What was impossible, for us, at each venue, was the audience. Generally an older crowd (certainly our demographic), they were noisy, rude, self-centered, and generally horrible to be around. Part of this is brought on by Browne, who encourages interaction and has the houselights brought up after each song so he can see the audience standing and applauding. He seems to enjoy people shouting at him, calling for various songs, and then continuing to be noisy while he performs. It is not something we enjoy. Far more preferable, to us, was Todd Rundgren’s warning to his fans at the beginning of his concert: “ I have a set list. I think you’ll like it . If you shout out song titles, I won’t play them.” While understanding that music is a visceral art form in many ways, I also believe it is an intellectual and reflective one. I want to hear the lyrics and listen carefully to the crafting of the composition. At a Jackson Browne concert that is almost impossible because the crowd seems to believe it is an audience participation event.
We have had to endure people who sing along with every song (without anything close to the quality of Browne’s voice and intonation, much less his ability to stay on key); audience members who insist on clapping along with some beat in their head --- though obviously not what the drummer is doing; swaying & "air-drumming" individuals who, while blocking our view, look as though they are having a seizure; and, of course, those who believe they are in their living room and converse throughout the entire show! The Beacon Theater show had us trapped behind an air drummer whose haircut was straight out of the Ric Ocasek (mastermind behind The Cars) 1980’s school of coiffure, a couple who could not stop talking, and spastic clappers right behind. It was a nightmare.
The music, when we were able to clearly hear it, was excellent. Browne ran through his usual repertoire of hits and standards, changing lyrics occasionally (These Days), telling a story about a gay friend and remembering Orlando (For a Dancer), and providing a distinct return to the “country rock” roots he was associated with in the early 70s when he was writing songs with J.D. Souther (for Linda Ronstadt) and Glenn Frey (Take It Easy). Part of the “western” sound in this concert was attributable to Val McCallum on guitar (who fronted a country band, Jackshit, along with his extensive studio work) and the incomparable Greg Leisz on lap steel, pedal steel, and guitar. The rhythm section was solid as a rock with Mauricio Fritz Lewak (longtime Browne band member) on drums and the ageless Bob Glaub (who has played with everyone) on bass. Adding fabulous background vocals (and keyboards) were Jeff Young (an original Steely Dan member) and Althea Mills (who has been a Browne back up vocalist since she was a high school chorus singer in 2002). Browne moved between piano and a variety of guitars seamlessly and his voice was strong throughout. His stage presence is casual and charming but I find myself a bit uneasy when septuagenarians are crowding the stage and waving their arms as if hoping to be the groupie he’ll give the backstage pass to. The Beacon was sold out for three nights, so clearly the Baby Boomers still come out in force.
The theater itself is a wonderful venue, by the way. In most theaters I feel as though I’m flying coach --- crowded into a too-small seat with no legroom and some degenerate breathing down my neck. The Beacon, by contrast, has comfortable seats, wide rows with leg room (you needn’t stand up to let others pass by) and great sight lines. And they have done a beautiful job in refurbishing it to an Art Deco style that harkens to an earlier age.
Jackson Browne, who will be 68 in October, looks and sounds great. He did sing a new song, “Which Side,” whose introduction made me think he was covering Bob Dylan’s “Serve Somebody” until it shifted at the chorus. The song was a bit overwrought (rhyming “attacking” with “fracking”) and not nearly as powerful as something like “Lives in the Balance,” but it did illustrate that Browne is still “messaging,” as he has throughout his career. As our generation heads into its twilight, it’s nice to know Jackson Browne is still there with us. I only wish his audiences were of equal quality to his music---and would just stream the music at home, letting fans of live music actually hear the performer.
Todd Rundgren, College St. Music Hall
May 30, 2016
Todd Rundgren will be 68 years old on June 22nd. Watching him perform at the College Street Music Hall in New Haven on Memorial Day night, the last show of his current tour before striking out with Ringo Starr and His All-Star Band, made one wonder what his shows were like when he was in his 20s/30s/40s/50s! With a wonderfully tight backing group comprised of Jesse Gress on guitar, Kasim Sulton on Bass, John Ferenzik on keyboards and “Prairie Prince” (Charles Lempriere) on drums, Rundgren tore up the stage for two solid hours without breaking a sweat or cracking his incredible voice.
For those unfamiliar with Todd Rundgren, he burst on the rock scene in the mid/late Sixties with the group Nazz and was hailed a Wunderkind when his “Something/Anything?” album exploded in 1972. With the iconic “Hello, it’s Me,” and “I Saw the Light” leading the way, Rundgren seemed destined for superstardom. But Todd marched to a very different drummer and would not be boxed into the love ballad Top Forty model, preferring to experiment (as he has done right up to the present) and produce (he was responsible for The Band’s “Stage Fright,” MeatLoaf’s “Bat Out of Hell,” as well as albums by the New York Dolls, Patti Smith, Grand Funk Railroad and many others). Equally talented on keyboard and guitar, his evening in New Haven featured only his guitar playing, except for a wonderful interlude playing a pair of drums for “Bang the Drum All Day,” another iconic Rundgren composition.
The breadth of Rundgren’s talent was matched by the incredibly eclectic selection of music presented to the adoring New Haven audience. A vocalist with extraordinary range (falsetto/countertenor to baritone) the songs themselves moved from Rundgren’s iconic love ballads to jazz to good old bluesy/rock to Motown with a dose of show tunes style and brilliant Zappa-like guitar work thrown in. All done without a break and, given not only Rundgren’s age but also that of his band (3 60 year-olds & a 66 YO drummer), it was a testimony to Baby Boomers and their dedication to pop music.
It was a fabulous, entertaining show and it led me to reflect on how every generation relates to performers who are, essentially, their peer group.
So, even if your peer group looks like this: See first two photos below
You still go to see performers who look like this: See second two photos below
And it’s still great fun! It’s not necessarily trying to “recapture your youth” so much as paying homage to those who were with us then and have survived and, indeed, thrived. Rundgren, like Jackson Browne (who we are going to see at the Beacon Theater in NYC on June 18th), exude a love for what they are doing. While I will admit to a clear bias in believing the songwriters/performers of the 60s/70s were the pinnacle of pop/rock music (with respectful consideration to later artists like Nirvana, Tears for Fears, and others) I found it interesting that, on our ride home, my wife, the Lovely Carol Marie, commenting on Rundgren as a composer, noted, “I know you always say the current guys are derivative but tonight I could really hear where Dave Matthews and Pearl Jam got some of their ideas.” In all, I reflected on my mother’s love and devotion to Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Tony Bennett is no different than Carol’s kids liking Dave Matthews and Mumford & Sons --- as we still cheer on Leon Russell, Dave Mason, The Eagles and all our grizzled heroes from the 60s/70s. With the passing of David Bowie, Glenn Frey, Prince, Paul Kantner, Lonnie Mack, Jack Bruce, Dan Hicks, Keith Emerson and others in the past year or so, seeing these performers “one last time” may well be just that. The wonderful things about our digitized electronic age, though, is that their music will, indeed, live on.
Movies
Miles Ahead
Don Cheadle’s “Miles Ahead” is a fascinating kaleidoscope of a movie, with no basis in fact
beyond the time frame, 1975-79, Miles’s “retirement” period. That said, it is an energetic imagining of Davis’s character, confirming some myths but, more significantly, humanizing one of the true giants in America’s cultural landscape.
The Steven Baigelman/Don Cheadle script (directed by Cheadle) provide a great deal of latitude for Cheadle, the actor, to bring the jazz legend to the screen --- and Mr. Cheadle delivers. In a story rife with time traveling flashbacks we see Miles in several of his incarnations, from his bebop/cool persona to his Jheri curled 70’s icon. And we are given glimpses of the myths we knew, the boxing, the guns, the artistic-vision-above-all-else genius. This is not a biopic but it is a film that provides insight (from Cheadle’s point of view) into the essence of the man. And the film, like Davis, does not follow predictable patterns. It seems Cheadle is a jazz director, not following linear storytelling rules but always delivering new and sometimes jarring sights and sounds. Not that the movie isn’t without flaws --- it’s final scenes that involve a lot of gunplay and a made-for-TV car chase in an unrecognizable New York City runs a bit off the rails. The spine of the action is driven by a Hitchcockian macguffin, Miles’s latest recordings made at home and coveted by Columbia Records and an unscrupulous promoter (Michael Struhlbarg, replete with Snidley Whiplash moustache) that works to greater and lesser degrees.
Miles’s companion throughout the film is an erstwhile Rolling Stone reporter named Dave Brill, played competently by Ian McGregor (though I’m not a big fan of his generally flaccid work). It is just short of a “buddy” film but the pairing, for me, was a weak aspect of the story. Emayatzy Corniealdi, as Frances Taylor, Davis’s first wife, is stunning in every respect. As a talented dancer who gives her career up for the narcissistic abuser that Miles is, she brings humanity to the story while making any sensitive viewer more than a little distressed with Miles’s simmering rage. Cheadle doesn’t soft-pedal the darker aspects of Davis and certainly doesn’t lionize him. Rather, he gives us a well-paced and always interesting story that we can bring our own sensibilities to. "Miles Ahead" is a fascinating counterpoint to the Chet Baker “Born to Be Blue” (there is one club scene that is almost identical!) but also strikes me as an interesting exploration into a man’s character in the same way “Elvis and Nixon” is. In all these movies, writers, directors, and actors are not worrying about historical accuracy or exacting biography --- and each film is better for that.
I went to the Garden Cinema’s final screening of the film on Sunday afternoon at 4:20 p.m., joined by about 20 other people (in one of the foulest smelling theaters I have ever encountered) and felt I got at least $8.00 worth of my $9.00 Senior Admission from the movie. $$$$$$$$ (8)
Elvis and Nixon
May 1, 2016
For those of us who were alive in 1970 the photo (https://www.google.com/webhp?sourceid=chrome-instant&ion=1&espv=2&ie=UTF-8#q=nixon%20elvis%20photo), taken December 21 of that year, was yet another bizarre moment in an increasingly bizarre world.
The current film, Elvis and Nixon, starring Kevin Spacey and Michael Shannon as the (in)famous historical characters, is a fascinating flight of fantasy that is pure entertainment from the wonderful color burned opening credits (with Sam and Dave singing “Hold On, I’m Coming) to Blood, Sweat, and Tears’s “Spinning Wheel” over the closing credits, the movie is an imaginative journey through an historical looking glass.
Spacey and Shannon do not try to do impersonations of their historic characters. Rather, they struck me as doing what I would call “reminiscences.” Everything they do is 100% reminiscent of the main characters (as I remember each). Their performances are wonderfully nuanced and we are given a steady stream of insights(?) into whom each of these men might have been. Some of this confirms the negative image of Nixon, as well as the self-absorbed persona of Presley, but it is all is done with such unselfconscious performances that you are totally sucked in to the creative imagining of the story. (There is a note that Nixon did not install his Oval Office recording system until mid-1971, so there was no “official” record of the Nixon/Elvis meeting – making this version of “what might have been” all the more fun.)
A note on the supporting cast: Alex Pettyfer is very good as Jerry Schilling, Elvis’s best friend (and later a manager of The Beach Boys) who provides a human counterpoint to “The King,” while Johnny Knoxville, in one of the worst wigs since Treat Williams in “Confirmation,” provides nothing as another friend,“Sonny,” as the two portray buddies who accompany Elvis to the Oval Office. The omnipresent Colin Hanks as Egil “Bud” Krogh (of Watergate fame) is totally innocuous and reminds us that it is who you know, not necessarily what you know or can do. Most of the rest of the cast is competent window dressing, serving the story well, with some predictable over-the-top female reactions to Elvis in airports, federal offices, and so on.
Finally, Kevin Spacey once again proves himself to be one of our greatest actors, period. His portrayal of Nixon is mesmerizing --- tragic and comic without a hiccup. From his initial distaste at meeting Presley to his glad-handing the entertainer (convinced it would improve his vote-getting) and cadging an autograph for his daughter Julie (Tricia is a Beach Boys fan, we learn), Spacey is remarkably in control. His carriage as Nixon is spot on, as are his gestures. It is a fabulous performance --- and matched by Michael Shannon’s sometimes touching portrayal of The King. Like Spacey, Shannon does not try to impersonate Presley but convinces us he is, in fact, channeling Elvis. The interplay between the two is fascinating and fun throughout.
“Elvis and Nixon” is a quick 86 minutes of thoughtful entertainment and, seeing a 2:10 pm matinee at the Garden Cinema in Norwalk, with 10 other Seniors, thought this film was worth $8 of my $9.00 admission. $$$$$$$$
Criminal
starring Kevn Costner, Tommy Lee Jones, Gary Oldman
posted: April 23, 2016
I went to see this movie at an 1:00 p.m. show on Friday (Earth Day, April 22nd) with my friend, Steve Jones, and we were, literally, the only two people in the theater. Steve’s comment, at the end of the film, was that the title was quite appropriate --- this film is criminal.
What would happen if you crossed a brain-implant sci-fi Frankenstein movie with a high pitched stolen secrets spy thriller? Well, who knows, but it surely isn’t “Criminal.”
The basic plot is this: a CIA agent named Billy Pope (Ryan Reynolds in a one-day shoot paycheck role) has put a hacker (“The Dutchman”) in a safe house until he can bring him a bag of money and passport (hidden elsewhere) in exchange for the hacker’s “wormhole” flash drive which contains ALL the U.S. military’s guided missile security codes (yes, our government is apparently that stupid!). On his way to picking up the money, Billy is kidnapped and killed by henchmen of the villain, Xavier Heimdahl (Jordi Molla – who is predictably unctuous and soulless) --- but Billy has not given up the location of The Dutchman. This sets the movie’s real story in motion.
The CIA’s London Director, Quaker Wells (Gary Oldman), springs into action. Even though Billy is dead, Wells knows a government brain research doctor, Micah Franks (Tommy Lee Jones), who might be able to transfer Pope’s memories to a live human, thereby finding The Dutchman. Dr. Franks insists that the human guinea pig has to be a death row criminal, Jericho Stewart (Kevin Costner), who has almost no frontal lobe activity due to childhood abuse (I do have to hand it to the writers, David Weisberg and Douglas Cook, for creating bizarrely interesting names for their characters). Jericho is described as having no sense of right or wrong with an inability to take any responsibility for his actions (Steve and I agreed: “an 8th grader”). While Quaker is leery of the choice, he can’t deny the doctor and the operation proceeds.
It seems as if the operation is not a success at first, as Jericho escapes from the CIA and wreaks havoc around London before Billy Pope’s memories --- and basic emotions of love and caring --- begin to creep into Jericho’s consciousness. This is manifested in a visit/home invasion to Pope’s house (where Jericho remembers Billy’s security codes to get in) and a confrontation with Billy’s wife (Gil Gadot) and daughter (Lara Decaro). From there, we get a spy thriller cum chase movie with both the CIA and Heimdahl in pursuit of Jericho/Billy. As a subplot, The Dutchman, thinking the CIA has abandoned him, negotiates selling the “wormhole” to Russia! I will not bore you with the details of the chase (with an homage to the Blues Brothers police car pursuit), the death toll, the final confrontation(s), as well as the transformation(?) of Costner’s Frankensteinian Jericho.
Even as an 1:00 p.m. Friday only-ones-in-the-theater-Senior-Discount ($9.50) movie, I can’t imagine why anyone would want to see this. Oldman and Jones can be great actors, Costner should stick to sports movies (Bull Durham, Field of Dreams, For the Love of the Game, Draft Day) and it seems everyone simply picked up a paycheck for this predictable and boring film. Oh, one last note: a woman named Antje Traue plays Elsa Mueller, Heimdahl’s girlfriend and lethal assassin. How is it, in all these movies, indestructible female assassins are all fashion show runway ready? #1: are there really so many female assassins out there? (am I being sexist?) #2: will we ever see one who is as gruesome looking as most of the bad guy henchmen we see? (sexist again?)
Out of the $9.50, I’d generously give this 4 ($$$$), expecting $5.50 back on the way out the door.
Everybody Wants Some
Well, I’ll never, ever trust A.O.Scott in the NY Times again. Being taken in by his review and an NPR interview with Richard Linklater, the writer/director of “Everybody Wants Some” I have to say, “Not I, thanks.” This was, without a doubt, one of the worst movies I ever sat through. To deem it puerile would be a stretch. To call the acting and script amateurish would be overreaching. Chronicling the first three days before college begins at Southwest Texas State College in 1980 (allegedly picking up where Mr. Linklater’s “Dazed and Confused,” 1993 cult classic left off) we are forced to watch the members of the “baseball house” (a very far cry from the Animal House of yore) get ready for a new school year. By the middle of the torturous two hours (1 hour 56 minutes) I remembered why I loathed “Dazed and Confused.” There is no “there” there! I have not seen “Boyhood” but, upon review, realized that of all Mr. Linklater’s films (and there are 18 he has directed --- and some times written) I really have only liked “The Bad News Bears,” “School of Rock” and “Bernie” --- though I haven’t seen most of his other work. But, using “Everybody Wants Some” and “Dazed and Confused” as his Omega and Alpha, I’m not inclined to check out others, even those with interesting titles (“Me and Orson Welles” and “Fast Food Nation”) --- and I’m beginning to wonder about “Boyhood,” too, even though the concept (filming every summer for 12 years to chronicle the life of a boy/young man) is intriguing. Whatever. DON’T SEE “Everybody Wants Some.” If, somehow you do, and, even more surprisingly, disagree with me --- please tell me what redeeming quality this piece of dreck might have.
We wanted a FULL REFUND from our $10 Senior admission fee.
This film gets ZERO $ .
April 18, 2016
The Boss
The new Melissa McCarthy vehicle (co-written with husband Ben Falcone and Steve Mallory) is pretty disappointing. McCarthy’s comedic skills elevate her above the material --- and Kristen Bell (as McCarthy's former assistant turned den mother) is equally adept at bringing more to the table than the script does --- but it’s not much fun. The simple tale is of a self-made female business tycoon who does time (5 months) for Insider Trading and then rebuilds her fortune using young girls selling Bell's super-recipe brownies (outpacing Girl Scout Cookie sales). If you’ve seen the trailers you’ve already viewed most of the “good stuff," and McCarthy's best slapstick scenes. Peter Dinklage, as McCarthy’s former swain and business competitor, is wasted in scenes that are almost embarrassing. The younger actors are fairly good but, like their elders, are given predictable stereotypes and little else to work with. The highly contrived script is bereft of laughs and this was, again, a big, big disappointment. Ms. McCarthy may want to move beyond the confines of her home to find scripts, as “Spy” and “The Heat” certainly gave her more comic latitude and delivered more engaging plots. We paid the $10 “Senior” admission fee at Norwalk’s Bow Tie 8 Theater’s 4:50 pm Saturday show and should have received at least a $5.00 kickback on the way out.
Rating: $$$$$ ($5.00)
I Saw the Light
This Hank Williams biopic is, at best, problematic. Written and directed by Marc Abraham, the film traces the 9 years of the country-western star’s career (1944 to 1953) through a series of choppy chronological episodes. Far more is left unsaid than revealed and Mr. Abraham has a tendency to tell when he should be showing. The viewer is left to assume or piece together a number of large gaps in the narrative, without being given enough material to feel as though an accurate educated guess can be attempted. The performances are all fine, with Brit Tom Hiddleston doing a fine job singing the Williams classics and bearing a striking resemblance to lanky Hank. Cherry Jones is good as Hank’s overbearing stage mother and Elizabeth Olson makes for an interesting Audrey Williams --- a cross between Lady Macbeth and Alice Kramden with a little Blanche DuBois thrown in for good measure. While we are informed (visually and through narrative) about Williams’s problems with alcohol and women we’re only given sketchy views of it and certainly don’t know why this artist was so tormented. There is zero insight into his creative process and where or how his music came to life. As a big Hank Williams fan (just ask Steve Jones about my “Hank Williams” alarm clock for him at Colgate!) “I Saw the Light” was anything but enlightening. Paying $9.00 ($$$$$$$$$) to see this at the Garden Cinema in Norwalk, I’d rate the film $4.50 ($$$$ & 50 cents).
Born to be Blue
Canadian writer/director Robert Budreau’s “Born to Be Blue,” the “semi-fictional, semi-factual” Chet Baker film just released, is an interesting piece of work. The cast includes Ethan Hawke as Baker and Carmen Ejogo (Coretta Scott King in “Selma”) as a composite of Chet’s “women.” Callum Keith Rennie plays “Dick,” another composite of Baker’s record producers (I assume) and maybe the most interesting character in the movie. Budreau uses the conceit of moving between a black and white movie being produced in 1966 (fictitious) and Baker’s actual present to relate the narrative, a technique that works nicely throughout the film. The central narrative is about a short period in Baker’s life --- where he goes from being a well-known jazz musician (the black and white “film” flashes back to 1954 and his debut at Birdland in NYC with Miles Davis and Dizzy Gillespie in attendance, as well as his introduction to heroin) to falling on extremely hard times when his front teeth are knocked out (factual), leading to a rapid decline in his fortunes. We meet his mother and father (conflicted home front), watch him struggle on methadone and rebuild his embouchure (literally) and career. All the while he remains a curious (to this viewer) manchild who is only happy when using heroin and refuses to consider playing music a “career.” Mr. Hawke does fairly well imitating Baker’s interestingly thin vocals and fakes the trumpet playing fairly well. Ms. Ejogo’s character is no advertisement for women’s rights but her acting is very good throughout. The score is very good and wonderfully appropriate, using Baker’s music as well as jazz and blues tunes. “Born to be Blue” doesn’t totally explain the title but probably will have you leaving the theater a bit blue --- but in a nice, thoughtful way.
$9.00 at the Garden Cinema – I’d rate it worth $7.00 ($$$$$$$).
TV
Confirmation – HBO
Premiered April 16th
It’s hard to believe that 25 years (a quarter century!) have passed since the Clarence Thomas confirmation hearings were held in the fall of 1991 . For those who lived through the “high tech lynching” at the time, the HBO movie “Confirmation” will bring back memories, along with some facts you may not have known or remembered. This is a slick production with an all-star cast (Kerry Washington, Wendell Pierce, Jeffrey Wright, Greg Kinnear, Jennifer Hudson, Bill Irwin, Treat Williams) that tries to present both points of view but clearly portrays Thomas as a sexist and liar. Granted, I have a bias but the movie shows Professor Hill had no reason to lie --- and the spineless committee chairman (Joe Biden/Greg Kinnear) fails to call a collaborating witness, Angela Wright (Jennifer Hudson), who might have doomed the nominee. What this movie really puts in high relief is how far we have come regarding women’s rights and sexual harassment since the Thomas hearings (a clear aim of the filmmakers, whose closing credits emphasize this). What seems all too familiar is the rancorous Party strife.
The opening credits set the stage with documentary footage of Reagan’s failed nomination of Robert Bork as well as a Forrest Gump/Zelig like scene of President George H.W. Bush nominating Thomas (at Kennebunkport?) with Wendell Pierce CGI’ed in the place of the real judge. From there we move to Senate aides (Grace Gummer and Zoe Lister-Jones) receiving the first contact from Anita Hill (Kerry Washington) about Thomas’s unwanted advances. Hill wants her testimony kept secret with only the Judiciary Committee hearing it but, as Lister-Jones tells Gummer, “Nothing stays secret in this town.” Once the story is out (thanks to NPR’s Nina Totenberg) D.C. goes crazy and we’re treated to some great archival footage of Peter Jennings, Brit Hume, Tom Brokaw, Tim Russert and others reporting the events. We are given a (fictional) behind the scenes view of the Republican and Democratic members of the Judiciary Committee working their angles---particularly the Republicans, but also Biden’s concern with getting the nomination to a floor vote quickly --- at the expense of the truth.
The hearing scenes, the testimony, is scripted from the record and what is striking, from an historical perspective, is the incredible silence of the Democratic Senators as well as the bizarre questioning of the Republicans (Orrin Hatch reading a page from the novel, “The Exorcist,” which mentions “an alien pubic hair floating around in my gin” --- to counter Hill’s charge that Thomas made a remark about a pubic hair on his Coke can). Alan Simpson (in a wonderful performance from Peter McRobbie) goes on and on in a totally obtuse line of questioning without any challenge from the mute Democrats. Finally, toward the end of Hill’s questioning Ted Kennedy (played by Treat Williams with a wig that could double as a ferret) makes a statement defending Hill and accusing the Republicans of blaming the victim --- far too little, far too late.
The crucial strategic move the Republicans made, though, was prolonging Hill’s testimony so that Thomas would testify in prime time. Thomas then carries the day by pulling out a particularly powerful race-card defense (aside from “high tech lynching of an uppity blacks”), calling the hearing a “national disgrace” that sends a public message to blacks that if they do not “kowtow to an old order, this is what will happen to you. You will be lynched, destroyed, caricatured by a committee of the U.S. Senate rather than hung from a tree.”” Game. Point. Match. Thomas was confirmed by a 52 to 48 vote of the U.S. Senate and continues to sit today as a reactionary “voice” (since he only seems to speak once a decade) on the U.S. Supreme Court.
In all, this is a fine production with good writing, fine performances and well-paced direction that makes the story fly by. Whatever your political leaning, see “Confirmation,” if only for a peek back to the U.S. a quarter century ago.
*
If you happen to be a Netflix subscriber two new series were dropped this week (April 2nd): The Ranch and Flaked. I will only say that I did not make it through the first episode of either and do no plan on going back to see what I missed (?).
Despite a fairly positive review in the Friday NY Times, I found "The Ranch" impossible to watch. The premise, Ashton Kutcher as Colt Bennett, a high school star who was the 'back up to the back up" on a national championship Florida (or Florida State) team in 1999 returns home to Colorado on his way to a tryout with a semi-pro football team in Denver. His father, a cowboy Archie Bunker named Beau, played by Sam Elliott (not wasting much energy), runs the family ranch with older brother “Rooster” (played by Danny Masterson, another "That 70s Show" alum). Debra Winger plays the divorced Mom, Maggie, who owns a bar in town. The repartee is stupid, the acting is bad, even for a sitcom, and the laughter is canned. Watch at your own risk.
"Flaked" is a Will Arnett vehicle that is horrible. Arnett's "Chip" is a recovering alcoholic who lives in Venice, California (tooling around on a bicycle). While Chip seems a bit less smarmy than Arnett's usual characters there is nothing appealing about this show --- AND it's not funny! The basic premise seems to be that Chip, despite being a late-30s/early 40s grown man, is still "finding himself" amid a group of cliched sidekicks and, based on the 20 or 25 minutes I watched, the women are objects of desire (and much younger than these guys --- and why, exactly, would these women be attracted to Chip?) with little else to offer. Oh, yeah, Chip runs a shop of some kind that is about to be foreclosed, which will apparently lead to wrangling with a wife he has not officially divorced yet. It's all very precious and while Venice itself looks interesting, the way the show is shot, I felt like someone had stolen 20 or 25 minutes I'll never get back and I got nothing for it. Watch at your own peril.
February, 2016
Vinyl Arrives
If you already have HBO or HBO GO
you may have already seen the first episode (pilot) of VINYL, the Martin Scorsese/Mick Jagger produced series about the New York City music scene in 1973. If you've seen it, you may share some of Your Humble Critic's reactions or you may find that he has, as has been the case so often in the past, shoved his head far up his you know where.
The quick and dirty review: after waiting months and salivating over the teaser trailers, what a disappoinment! We are introduced to Richie Finestra (wonderfully rendered by the always excellent Bobby Cannavalle) a music executive (American Century Records) in a tailspin until he stumbles upon Punk/New Wave music in the village (in the form of the New York Dolls) and the burgeoning rap/hip-hop scene in the Bronx.
The pilot episode is rife with the abuses of the time (drugs and alcohol more than sex) and there are pretty poorly referenced icons (Led Zeppelin, Rod Stewart, England Dan and John Ford Coley, etc.) as well as mentions of the likes of Ahmet Ertegun (head of Atlantic Records) but none of it feels authentic and the show suffers from that. We are blasted with music from the time as well as flashback classics like Otis Redding, Carla Thomas, and Bo Diddley --- as we go back to the 60's for Richie's "creation" story which includes destroying the career of a promising young blues artist ("Lester Grimes" played by Ato Essandoh -- whom "Copper" fans may remember as the post Civil War doctor in NYC). We've heard it all before (literally) and seen it all before (in one movie or another). There is even a gratuitously violent scene involving the always amusing Andrew "Dice" Clay (playing radio station mogul "Buck" Rogers) and the Imus favorite (right wing stooge) Bo Dietl, along with Mr. Cannavale.
Too much of VINYL is like a broken record, playing the same scratchy segment again and again. The ending of the episode, which involves the collapse of the Mercer Arts Center (an actual event but not at all as depicted in this tripe) and Richie's symbolic resurrection could not be more heavy handed.
Nonetheless, I'll tune in to the next few episodes hoping James Jagger's "Kip Stevens" and his punk band"Nasty Bits," as well as the iridescent Juno Temple (as A & R assistant Jamie Vine) might resurrect the series (along with Lester Grimes) to make it live up to all the hype.
THEATER
Blackbird
Written by David Harrowed
Directed by Joe Montello
On Broadway at the Belasco Theater with Jeff Daniels and Michelle Williams
Even knowing the story going in (having read reviews and such) the power of Blackbird is hard to deny. Reminiscent of Shepard’s Fool for Love, the power and intensity brought to the stage by Jeff Daniels and Michelle Williams is stunning. Without giving away too much, Ms. Williams’s character, Una, has tracked down Mr. Daniels’s character, Ray, 15 years after he sexually abused her at the age of 12 --- when he was 40. A very creepy premise (unless you remember reading Nabokov’s “Lolita” years ago), the aftermath of which is played out before your eyes in 80 to 90 fleeting minutes at the Belasco Theater. The entire play is staged in the break room of some office building in an undesignated location (Harrower is Scottish but this play is truly universal). The sets and lighting are excellent and reflect the sheer mess and madness of the characters and their lives. Una has found Ray after seeing his picture in a trade magazine of some sort (with the name “Peter”) and has come for --- revenge? An apology? A declaration of love? The rollercoaster ride is relentless and Ray’s equally fluctuating anger, desperation, guilt, and confusion in reaction to Una’s sudden presence is gripping. Mantello’s direction is excellent (I read an early review from Ben Brantley that didn’t seem to describe the opening of the play, in particular, to what we saw last night – suggesting adjustments and tweaking in the direction). While Shepard’s play is distinctly American (Eddie is a cowboy, after all) his more universal theme about the ineffability of love is equaled in Blackbird, leaving the audience to ponder and wonder at the play’s end about the vast spectrum of emotions humans have and how complex things become when lives become inextricably intertwined through love and tragedy. If you can, see this play.
(An additional note: I was curious where the play’s title came from, finding it hard to believe the Paul McCartney tune was the inspiration. Indeed, it does come from a song, but it is Nina Simone’s Blackbird. Lyrics here:
Why you wanna fly Blackbird
You ain't ever gonna fly
Why you wanna fly Blackbird
You ain't ever gonna fly
No place big enough for holding
All the tears you're gonna cry
Cause your mama's name was lonely
And your daddy's name was pain
And he called you little sorrow
Cus you'll never love again
You ain't go no one to hold you
You ain't got no one to care
If you'd only understand dear
Nobody wants you anywhere
You ain't go no one to hold you
You ain't got no one to care
Seeing the play, the lyrics make perfect sense.
Written by David Harrowed
Directed by Joe Montello
On Broadway at the Belasco Theater with Jeff Daniels and Michelle Williams
Even knowing the story going in (having read reviews and such) the power of Blackbird is hard to deny. Reminiscent of Shepard’s Fool for Love, the power and intensity brought to the stage by Jeff Daniels and Michelle Williams is stunning. Without giving away too much, Ms. Williams’s character, Una, has tracked down Mr. Daniels’s character, Ray, 15 years after he sexually abused her at the age of 12 --- when he was 40. A very creepy premise (unless you remember reading Nabokov’s “Lolita” years ago), the aftermath of which is played out before your eyes in 80 to 90 fleeting minutes at the Belasco Theater. The entire play is staged in the break room of some office building in an undesignated location (Harrower is Scottish but this play is truly universal). The sets and lighting are excellent and reflect the sheer mess and madness of the characters and their lives. Una has found Ray after seeing his picture in a trade magazine of some sort (with the name “Peter”) and has come for --- revenge? An apology? A declaration of love? The rollercoaster ride is relentless and Ray’s equally fluctuating anger, desperation, guilt, and confusion in reaction to Una’s sudden presence is gripping. Mantello’s direction is excellent (I read an early review from Ben Brantley that didn’t seem to describe the opening of the play, in particular, to what we saw last night – suggesting adjustments and tweaking in the direction). While Shepard’s play is distinctly American (Eddie is a cowboy, after all) his more universal theme about the ineffability of love is equaled in Blackbird, leaving the audience to ponder and wonder at the play’s end about the vast spectrum of emotions humans have and how complex things become when lives become inextricably intertwined through love and tragedy. If you can, see this play.
(An additional note: I was curious where the play’s title came from, finding it hard to believe the Paul McCartney tune was the inspiration. Indeed, it does come from a song, but it is Nina Simone’s Blackbird. Lyrics here:
Why you wanna fly Blackbird
You ain't ever gonna fly
Why you wanna fly Blackbird
You ain't ever gonna fly
No place big enough for holding
All the tears you're gonna cry
Cause your mama's name was lonely
And your daddy's name was pain
And he called you little sorrow
Cus you'll never love again
You ain't go no one to hold you
You ain't got no one to care
If you'd only understand dear
Nobody wants you anywhere
You ain't go no one to hold you
You ain't got no one to care
Seeing the play, the lyrics make perfect sense.