Posts filed under 'Movies'
So, though “The Office” didn’t win any Golden Globes last night, I had a couple of consolations, namely Helen Mirren and Meryl Streep.
(By the way, I’m happy that “Ugly Betty” and its star America Ferrera won Globes—I’ve never seen the show, of course, since it’s on at the same time as “The Office,” and my priorities there are clear. But I’ll happily root for Ferrera because she’s not stick-thin and because her Globes dress was purple. I just wish “Ugly Betty” hadn’t had to beat “The Office” to get its Best Comedy Series trophy. Grump, grump.)
Thanks to The Queen, I can now distinguish Mirren from all the other British-actresses-who-can-do-Shakespeare-and-who-get-nominated-a-lot. I mean, I’d seen her in so many things previously, but I struggled to come up with her name when I saw her face. Maybe that’s part of why she’s such a good actress—she does tend to melt into her roles. However, she shines on awards nights: her Golden Globes dress was officially my favorite of the evening, though evil sites like In Style are officially ignoring it in favor of Cameron Diaz’s Ruffle-Fest of Doom.
Anyway, both Mirren and Streep gave the classiest acceptance speeches—and the funniest, outshining Eddie Murphy (and Sacha Baron Cohen, whose body-humor-laced speech quenched any desire I had to see Borat). How brilliant of Streep to end her speech with her character Miranda Priestly’s supremely dismissive “That’s all.”
These two venerable ladies, along with Judi Dench, also grace the cover of this week’s Entertainment Weekly. Their three-way interview in the magazine has plenty of wit and insight. Among the highlights are when Streep explains her theory about why there were so many great roles for older women this year: “There are several generations of women who have the habit of going out to the movies and buying a ticket, which is not so true [of young people]. It’s just like in the music business. The only people that buy CDs are people like us. Everybody else downloads it illegally off the LimeWire. And that’s probably what’s coming with movies. But while we still have the habit of going to films, they d— well better market to us and give us something to watch.”
Oh, so that explains why I was the only person under 45 in the theater when I went to see The Queen (with my mother-in-law, I might note).
Another great moment is when Mirren responds to EW’s question about whether any of the three actresses have ever considered directing. After a hearty “no,” Mirren hypothesizes about why other male actors their age have jumped into the directing camp: “A weird thing happens to male actors, especially movie stars, in my experience. Which is, they become grumpy old men. I think a young male actor feels great. All the girls want him. He’s a star. As they get older, that sense of not being in control of their own destiny grates on them, and they get grumpy. And they move into direction to try and feel they’re in control of their own destiny.”
Helen Mirren, psychologist. Is there anything she can’t do?
January 16th, 2007
Apologies for The Ottery’s silence for the past couple of weeks. Holiday travels and the death of my grandmother (a wonderful woman and a creative inspiration for otters everywhere) kept me from writing.
However, travels also allowed me to do more fun reading than I usually manage. I’ve just finished Naomi Novik’s new novel His Majesty’s Dragon, the first of a series of at least five books about a dragon named Temeraire set in the era of the Napoleonic Wars. The first three Temeraire books hit the stores in rapid succession in 2006, and director Peter Jackson has already optioned them for film adaptations. (Of course, the Temeraire movie(s?) will have to wait until Jackson is finished with The Lovely Bones—and possibly The Hobbit, if that mess ever gets straightened out. Maybe Smaug could make a cameo in His Majesty’s Dragon?).
Novik’s dragons are of a very different sort from Tolkien’s—and, given the unusual 19th-century setting, also very different from the plethora of copycat dragon fantasies. The Temeraire books are frequently compared to Patrick O’Brian’s “Master and Commander” books, only with dragons thrown in. There’s quite a bit of Jane-Austen-style social commentary, too. And something—perhaps the skepticism about war’s purpose, at the same time that battles are rendered thrillingly–reminds me of the fiction of Lloyd Alexander, as well.
His Majesty’s Dragon is really more about British Naval Captain Will Laurence than it is about Temeraire, whom he captures from a French vessel while the young dragon is still in his egg. When he hatches, Temeraire immediately latches onto Laurence, in a touching display that also dooms Laurence to a life as an “aviator.” Aviators, because they must tend to their dragons constantly, are a scorned social class, viewed as wild and somewhat reclusive. There is little chance of marriage, as few spouses would care to come second in priority to a dragon.
Laurence, of an aristocratic background, gradually learns to change his opinion of aviators once he leaves the Navy to train with them—though not without some initial character misjudgments worthy of any Austen heroine. Thanks to Temeraire, who has a mind of his own, Laurence also begins to think twice about principles he has never questioned: duty to the Crown, the justice of capital punishment, etc. The use of dragons as beasts of war also makes him more reluctant to engage in battle, for their wounding or death is far more tragic than the destruction of a ship.
Overall, His Majesty’s Dragon has a light tone with plenty of humor in the human-dragon interactions. However, the climactic battle was hard for me to read, because of the very real risk to the dragons. Sure, nature is red in tooth and claw, even dragon-nature, and I’m sure dragons fight each other in the wild, but it’s heartbreaking that these dragons must attack other dragons, for whom they hold no personal dislike, simply because the other dragons represent an enemy nation. It makes you think, more than human-versus-human battles, about how inhumane war really is. Whether that’s Novik’s intention or not (and I suspect that it may be), it’s certainly the effect, but it’s done without speechifying or over-the-top narrative condemnations of war.
I’ll definitely be reading the second and third Temeraire novels, Throne of Jade and Black Powder War.
January 6th, 2007
If you were watching the 2005 Academy Awards closely, you may have noticed that one of the nominees for Best Foreign Film was a movie called Sophie Scholl: The Final Days (Die Letzten Tage). Otherwise, you may never have heard of this moving film covering the last six days in the life of a young German student executed for distributing anti-Nazi pamphlets.
It’s now out on DVD, and I recommend it. It’s not really a “Holocaust” film, because it takes place in 1943, when most German people were still unaware of the genocide against the Jews. Sophie, for example, because of her training as a nurse, is more aware of the mass killings of mentally handicapped children. Still, she mentions rumors that are beginning to arrive from soldiers on the Eastern front, rumors that only hint at the true horrors yet to be revealed.
Unlike many movies about the Nazi era, Sophie Scholl has no scenes of physical violence (even the execution is heard rather than seen). Rather, most of the action takes place in an office, between Sophie and the Gestapo interrogator Robert Mohr.
Sophie and her brother Hans belong to a small, six-person organization, called the White Rose, that creates and distributes anti-Nazi pamphlets. They usually spread them through the mail, but, on an impulse, when some pamphlets are left over, the Scholl siblings decide to spread them on campus.They know that what they’re doing is dangerous, that they’ll almost certainly be imprisoned if caught, but I don’t think either of them expected the swift death sentence imposed by a kangaroo court. Though some might find this talk-driven movie “slow,” for me, the speed at which things move to the final conclusion is shocking. I can’t imagine going to trial, and then learning that you’re going to be killed within that same day. Yet first-person sources laud the quiet bravery and dignity with which Sophie Scholl went to her death.
The movie doesn’t tell much about her life previous to these six days. Instead, we see her growth within this very brief period, as she calls upon a strength that can only be given to her by God. Yes, indeed, folks, Sophie Scholl prays, and director Mark Rothemund, though he mentions that he’s an atheist, believes that her religious belief is one of the most significant aspects of her character.
German actress Julia Jentsch’s portrayal of Sophie is riveting (Ack! I’m using a word movie reviewers always use!), both when she tries to deceive the interrogator and after she confesses. She and Hans have clearly worked out their alibis beforehand in an effort to protect themselves, but also their family and friends, and they’re so confident in declaring their innocence that Mohr is about to release Sophie—then further evidence against the Scholls arrives.
After Sophie learns that Hans has signed a written confession, she too begins to tell the truth, as bravely and confidently as she had lied before, remaining silent when asked to give evidence that would implicate others. It’s odd, but in tales of resistance against the Nazis, I find that a wide swath of ethical approaches seems heroic. There’s the absolute honesty of the ten Booms, which hardly seems practical, but is still admirable because of their complete trust that God would protect anyone potentially endangered by their truth-telling. Then there’s Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who completely forsook his pacifist principles to assist in a plot to assassinate Hitler. The Scholls, the ten Booms, the Bonhoeffers: all Christians, yet all acting on their Christian principles in different ways. Now, I’m mostly a pacifist, and I mostly tell the truth (or at least I like to think I do), but there’s no way I could predict what I would have done in situations like theirs. I can only pray that God forgives actions taken out of love for others, even if that love fails to abide completely by God’s commandments. No human love is ever completely untainted, after all. God knows that even better than we do.
Anyway, in some ways the most moving struggle of the film is not Sophie’s courageous stand against the Nazis, but her own struggle to come to terms with the fact that she will die in a few hours. There are no histrionics here, no attempts to manipulate the audience’s emotions, and, for that reason, I find it all the more emotionally moving.
December 17th, 2006
Imagine this scene from The Nativity Story: a weary-looking Joseph is leading a donkey bearing the very pregnant Mary down a rocky road into Bethlehem when Mary chooses to announce, “Joseph, the baby is pressing.” “Now?” says Joseph. She nods, starts to look like she might actually feel some pain, and, right on cue, hectic, frantic music starts to play . . . and it’s “Hark, how the bells, sweet silver bells, all seem to say, throw cares away.”
Argh!!!!! Why? Why? I went to the movie hoping to escape the cloying pseudo-Christmas music that’s playing everywhere, and yet it forces upon me one of the most annoying “Christmas” songs ever, totally robbing the moment of any dramatic force it could have had.
Sadly, “Carol of the Bells” is not the only European Christmas carol tucked into the score of The Nativity Story: the first notes heard in the film are the strains of “O Come, O Come Emmanuel,” which wouldn’t be bad, if the rest of the film weren’t peppered with “Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming,” “Lully, Lullay” (yup, right when Herod orders the Massacre of the Innocents), and, of course, “Silent Night,” which almost covers up Mary’s belated version of the Magnificat. Really, it’s like the filmmakers are sending Mary the message: “Shut up about all this revolutionary stuff and be serene.”
Nativity Story isn’t a terrible movie. It does stay pretty close to the biblical record, except for a lot of time-condensing (which, as is usual in Christmas pageants, allows the shepherds and the wise men to be at the manger at the same time, creating a nice little tableau—grr!). But, overall, it seems to want to present viewers with the comforting and familiar, with a few exotic cultural trappings here and there. I’d much prefer a movie that took the familiar and re-invested it with a sense of strangeness and wonder—which is hard to do when there are Christmas carols playing.
Other than the music—which, for me, just serves as a symbol of the larger problems with the movie, the portrayal of Mary irritated me most. We were promised beforehand that the edgy director Catherine Hardwicke would present a strong, real Mary. But, as I said to Porpoise yesterday after the movie, “Mary might as well have been a cow.” A little bit harsh, yes, but really all she does through the movie is look thoughtful (chew cud, chew cud) and beatific. I think, from Hardwicke’s interview comments, that she was trying to go for a Mary who is strong in quietness, which is fine with me, but that’s not really what comes across. I’m not sure where the flaw lies. The screenwriters could have given her more lines, but since whenever they did give her lines, they were usually cheesy voiceovers designed to tell us what she was thinking (which was usually not very interesting), that may not have been the answer. As excellent an actress as Keisha Castle-Hughes is supposed to be (I’ve never seen Whale Rider), I think some of the fault may also rest with her (and with Hardwicke’s direction of her). Her eyes, while beautiful, don’t really communicate anything.
In contrast, take Oscar Isaac’s Joseph, who is the best part of the film. His Joseph doesn’t have many lines, and yet he communicates so much through his eyes, his body language, and his actions. Granted, it seems like it’s always easier to dramatize Joseph, as he’s sort of one step farther removed from the divine responsibility of bringing God Incarnate into the world. His dilemmas seem more understandably human. But this is why we so need a portrayal of Mary that captures her simultaneously bold and humble responses to her dilemmas.
While watching the film, I started imagining a version of the nativity story from Mary’s perspective, perhaps as an older woman telling her story to Luke (whose Gospel suggests that she was one of his primary sources). That way at least voiceovers would make sense . . . But most of all, I wish The Nativity Story would have captured the amazing qualities of Mary that are revealed in her Magnificat (which wasn’t originally in the movie’s script at all, and was only added as a voiceover as the Holy Family escapes to Egypt—and, as already mentioned, it’s almost drowned by “Silent Night”). (For a good analysis of these Marian qualities, check out the recent Scot McKnight article “The Mary We Never Knew.”)
As far as minor characters, the magi are included for what seems to be intended as comic relief, but really is incredibly dull. Ciarán Hinds’s Herod is suitably sneering (yay, Ciarán Hinds! I think he’s one of the most underrated actors working today, though this film doesn’t really allow him to show his skill). Gilda the Donkey puts in a fine, fuzzy-eared appearance as the Holy Family’s beast of burden (and the kind way Joseph treats her is one of the reasons we like him so much).
All in all, the movie does do a good job of capturing the people’s political expectations for a Messiah, and the need for someone to deliver them from the Roman oppression. But we don’t really get a sense of how Christ’s birth is even more revolutionary and strange than they–or we–could have dreamed.
December 3rd, 2006
Those clever folks at ChocolateCakeCity.com have come up with yet another mix-’em-up faux trailer, this time envisioning a George Lucas remake of the classic film musical Singin’ in the Rain.
It’s not as great as their last effort (“X-Men 3: The Last Standing Ovation”), but I cant resist the combination of a movie I love and a director I love to mock. Plus, it’s a very timely tribute (well, sort of) to the late Betty Comden, who, along with Adolph Green, wrote Singin’ in the Rain and a bunch of other musicals. Comden died last Thursday (Thanksgiving day) at a ripe old age.
“Gotta dance!”
December 1st, 2006
When I read the Entertainment Weekly review of The Queen a couple of months ago, I of course noticed the high grade of A-, but first I had to squeal about the small pile of Pembroke Welsh Corgis visible over Queen Elizabeth II’s (Helen Mirren’s) shoulder. Who wouldn’t love a queen who loves corgis?
Like at least one other great British royalty film (Her Majesty, Mrs. Brown), The Queen focuses on one small slice of Elizabeth’s life. Most of the film, in fact, occurs within one week, the week surrounding the death of Princess Diana in August 1997. The Queen and her family (and the corgis!) are in residence at Balmoral Castle in Scotland when they hear the news, and, like a good, tea-drinking, tweed-wearing Briton of old, Elizabeth assumes the most natural course is to stay in place and allow the family to mourn quietly and privately. Moreover, Diana is of course by this time no longer a member of the royal family, having divorced Prince Charles the previous year.
However, “the people” disagree, having embraced Diana as their own. Tony Blair, who has just been elected Prime Minister a few months before the accident in Paris, and who prides himself on being a “modernizer,” has a better feel for the people’s love of—or at least obsession with—Diana. Though he of course manages to use the situation to his own advantage, solidifying his victory when he dubs Diana “the people’s princess,” he also sympathizes with the Queen and acts as a sort of intermediary to advise her about the people’s wishes.
I have to admit that I’m as puzzled as the Queen about the public outpouring of grief for Diana. Of course, I’m not British, so I couldn’t really understand. But even in the three visits I’ve made to Britain over the past ten years, I’ve seen the two Britains that come into conflict within the movie. To some extent, it’s certainly a generational thing: the older British still behave generally as our stereotypes have led us to believe (tea and tweed and all that—and dogs! As one Welsh woman I met said, “We’re just crackers about our dogs!”). But there’s also the younger Britain of David and Victoria (a.k.a Posh Spice) Beckham, full of tabloids and celebrities in sequined Union Jack T-shirts. Maybe it’s a class thing, too, but I don’t know.
During one particular scene, it actually struck me as kind of ironic that Diana has been hailed as the “people’s princess.” Elizabeth, out driving alone, gets her Land Rover stuck in the middle of a river. She sploshes out of the car in her boots and checks underneath to see what’s broken. Having served as a mechanic during World War II, she immediately knows what the problem is. I can’t imagine Diana doing the same, in her designer shoes and dresses (no offense to Diana, who accomplished good things in spite of having a pretty miserable personal life). In some ways, Elizabeth seems a lot closer to the people. But they want a celebrity who’s far above them, not one who strides around purposefully and fixes cars.
Anyway, as an introvert and a dog fan, I’m pre-programmed to sympathize more with the Queen. The movie leans towards her side, certainly, but it doesn’t present her as perfect, either. Writer Peter Morgan (who also co-wrote this year’s The Last King of Scotland—which is not about Scotland, but rather Idi Amin) is more concerned with portraying her quandary of how best to serve her people while still honoring the values with which she was brought up. Most of the characters in the film are admirably complex (except possibly Cherie Blair, whose anti-monarchist feelings just come off as rude and cranky).
The most affecting scenes in the movie involve Elizabeth and a wild stag in Scotland. I won’t go into details for fear of spoiling the effect, but trust me—it’s powerful. More than openly shed tears, more than speeches about duty, these scenes reveal the heart of the internal conflict Elizabeth faces.
But my favorite, though less important, moment in The Queen is when Elizabeth looks back at the dogs in the back seat of the car (black labs this time, not the corgis), and invites them enthusiastically, “Walkies?” Oh, and also the bit at the end where one of the corgis jumps up on Tony Blair’s leg and seems to be searching in his pocket for a treat.
Even without the corgis, though, I think The Queen is the best movie I’ve seen this year. May it win lots of Oscars! (Corgis on the red carpet . . . ?)
Oh, and by the way, the Christianity Today review of The Queen is insightful and well-written–I recommend it.
November 26th, 2006
When animators are so intent on projecting human stereotypes onto animals that they put cleavage on female penguins, you know something’s off base from the very start. I mean, Disney has always put fluttery eyelashes on its female animals, which is bad enough, but cleavage? On penguins?
The entire narrative drive of the movie (well, one of the narrative drives—there are many, way too many, and they’re barely connected to each other) really focuses on penguin mating. The reason the young Emperor penguin Mumble (who dances rather than sings, and therefore can’t join in all the penguin games) is so concerned about learning to sing is that, if he doesn’t, he won’t be able to attract a mate and make baby penguins. Of course, reproductive potential is a big concern out there in nature, but when over-sexualized penguins attract their mates by singing risqué songs (“Let’s talk about eggs, baby”), kids are either going to be bored by it—or way too interested.
The biggest problem with Happy Feet (other than having a plot that makes no sense whatsoever) is that the filmmakers seem to have no concept of what’s appropriate or interesting for children. On the one hand, they club kids over the head with the currently ubiquitous “be yourself” message (and, as usual, “yourself” has nothing to do with the family or community influences who might have shaped you—nope, you’re just born being yourself, and forget the rest of the world)—but then they reinforce both gender and ethnic stereotypes. Mumble’s be-cleavaged mother penguin Norma Jean talks in a soft, Marilyn Monroe-esque voice and is overprotective of her baby, defending him against the gruff daddy penguin Memphis. (Hey—it’s a cliché director George Miller recycled from his other animal movie, Babe, where he altered the fine source book by giving these same personalities to the mommy and daddy border collies!)
Oddly, both Norma Jean and Memphis are given their faux American celebrity accents by Australians (Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman, actors who shouldn’t have stooped to such things). In fact, most of the penguins (except our stars Mumble and Gloria) have some sort of ethnic accent, most of them voiced by someone not actually of that ethnicity, and many of them (well, actually just two, but it seems like more) voiced by Robin Williams. Hmmm . . . what do you know? The short penguins who love to goof off have Hispanic accents! The strict, stingy elder penguins have Scottish Scrooge McDuck accents! Basically, the only characters who have the courage to “be themselves” are the characters with “normal” white American accents. Anyone see a problem here?
(SPOILERS: If you’re concerned about them, skip the next paragraph, though it probably doesn’t matter, because even if you know what happens, you’ll still be puzzled about it.)
And don’t even get me started on the “environmental” message of the film, which gets tacked on and whammed into viewers’ heads. I prefer my environmentalism Al Gore-style, thank you. (I think a kids’ movie could actually explore environmental themes well and subtly, but I’ve never yet seen it done.) We learn that humans are the cause of the penguins’ fish shortage, but it’s all downhill from there, as Mumble journeys to a human settlement (A settlement with a church? In Antarctica?), chases a fishing ship, lands on a beach somewhere warm, gets put in a zoo, begins tap dancing in said zoo, launches a worldwide campaign to stop big corporate fishing, gets sent back home with a GPS tracker, and teaches all the other penguins to tap dance for the audience of humans who have followed him. That’s the plot. I am not kidding.
Hey, as an Irish dancer who does lots of clippety-clop things with my feet, I’m predisposed to favor any suggestion that dancing will save the planet. But it’s hard to tell whether the message is that being yourself will save the day or that being cute and fluffy will save the day—I mean, what if “yourself” isn’t cute and fluffy and nobody’s interested in saving you from species extinction?
One thing’s for sure: if I were a kid who saw Happy Feet, I certainly wouldn’t want to save leopard seals from extinction. The scene in which Mumble is chased by “Jaws the Seal” (my name for him) is genuinely terrifying. It’s actually one of the more interesting bits of the movie, since seals usually get the cute-and-fluffy role in films and books, while killer whales are the villains. It’s kind of a nice reminder (for adults) that one person’s cute-and-fluffy is usually another animal’s predator. But it’s way too scary for small children.
I had such high hopes for Happy Feet. Sigh. It would have been much better if it hadn’t bothered with the illusion of a plot and had just focused on the dancing penguins.
Oh, and one final thing: Mumble looks frighteningly like Elijah Wood (who voices him), buggy blue eyes and all. What on earth is a penguin doing with blue eyes? And why, for goodness’ sakes, doesn’t he ever molt?
November 25th, 2006
Last Wednesday night, as Porpoise and I were reading the bit from the Gospel of Matthew where Jesus really lets the Pharisees have it for their hypocrisy (Matthew 23), I suddenly burst into, “You snakes, you viper’s brood!”, et cetera, from Godspell’s “Alas for You.” Thus was launched a whole evening of playing 30-second clips from various Godspell recordings as I tried to decide which to purchase to replace my old, long-gone tape (which, incidentally, was pilfered by a church choir director several years back). Poor Porpoise.
The end result was that I ordered the 1993 British version. It didn’t sound quite as dated as the original cast album (which I’m still quite fond of), but the vocalists could actually sing, unlike the ones in the more recent American revival album.
It arrived today, in record fast time for Amazon free shipping. So, as I’m looking at the liner notes, I see the name John Barrowman, and I think “Now why does that sound familiar?” Once again, IMDB comes to the rescue, and I see that John Barrowman is none other than Captain Jack Harkness from “Doctor Who” and “Torchwood.” On the CD, he does the lead part for “We Beseech Thee” (you can hear him in the 30-second snippet for this song!). Wonders never cease.
In the past few days, as I’ve been introducing Porpoise to Godspell, I’ve been trying to explain why I love it so much. In some ways, it really is a product of the seventies (the original featured the disciples as flower-children), and, as such, you would think its appeal would be limited. But I also remember seeing a community production in Little Rock when I was 12 years old that probably forever changed how I view theater and how I view Christian art.
The Little Rock production didn’t really have a 70’s feel—it was very well adapted to the then-current era and place. That’s one of the things that can be great about Godspell: if done well, if becomes incarnate in the culture where it’s performed, as Jesus became incarnate in 1st-century Galilee. But what I remember most about the performance is the effectiveness and simplicity of the way that Jesus called the disciples. As each one came to him, he greeted them with a simple hand gesture—a different one for each person—which they then repeated back to him. He Named them. Without words.
In church, on the stage, and on the page, I’m a sucker for the symbolic. Literal sorts of representations of the crucifixion of Christ (i.e., The Passion of the Christ) really don’t affect me much, in spite of the fact that I think that it’s important that the crucifixion and resurrection literally happened. But, tonight, as I listened to “By My Side” from Godspell, a song that doesn’t explicitly refer to the events leading up to the crucifixion but nevertheless is all about them (“Where are you going? Can you take me with you?”), I started crying. Maybe it’s because this recording includes the spoken words in the middle of the song, which the original cast recording doesn’t: Matthew 26:14-16, the description of Judas’ betrayal of Jesus. Because they weren’t in the other recording, I wasn’t expecting them here—they caught me off guard. (Also, “By My Side” has extra resonance for me because I always think of it in connection to Lucy and Susan walking with Aslan on his way to the Stone Table in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.)
Anyway, Incarnation and symbolism—hurrah. Of course, Godspell isn’t always done well. If the director and the performers don’t get the basic concept of “fools for Christ,” they shoot for “cutesy” instead. Blech. I saw one of those performances once. From what I’ve heard about the 1973 movie, it sounds like it kind of misses the boat as well. I watched the old movie trailer on Netflix.com, and the disciples look high as kites. But I can’t imagine that the symbolic elements of Godspell would transfer well to film, anyway. I love movies, but there are some things that live theater just does much better.
During my recent Godspell fixation, I learned some fascinating trivia from Wikipedia: the show began as a Master’s thesis for a Carnegie Mellon grad student. Who would’ve thunk? The story about his inspiration for Godspell is definitely worth checking out:
“Tebelak originally produced Godspell at age 22 as his masters thesis project, under the tutelage of Lawrence Carra, at Carnegie Mellon University in December 1970. He had been studying Greek and Roman mythology, with the deadline for his thesis two weeks away, but became fascinated by the joy he found in the Gospels. He attended an Easter Vigil service in 1970 at Pittsburgh’s St. Paul’s Cathedral, wearing his usual overalls and T-shirt. A policeman frisked him for drugs after the service. He wrote of this experience, ‘I left with the feeling that, rather than rolling the rock away from the Tomb, they were piling more on. I went home, took out my manuscript, and worked it to completion in a non-stop frenzy.’ Though he never completed his coursework at the university, Carnegie Mellon nevertheless awarded him a degree.”
Wow. Pretty impressive.
November 20th, 2006
Sorry for the puns in my title: when I’ve just watched a movie dealing with wordplay, I can’t resist.
I’ve been wanting to see Akeelah and the Bee for months: I first heard about it at Starbucks (the coffee company partially funded the movie), where I picked up a paper coaster with the word “argillaceous” on it. As a former spelling bee competitor, I’m a guaranteed audience for almost any spelling bee movie, documentary, or play (except last fall’s movie Bee Season, which I’m not interested in seeing because I already read the mediocre book—and because it has Richard Gere in it, and I really don’t like him). The documentary Spellbound is definitely the funniest and cleverest (and also most heartbreaking because you see how much pressure really falls on these kids) entry in the genre, but Akeelah is definitely the most hopeful and encouraging.
Akeelah and the Bee follows the sports-movie formula closely: disadvantaged underdog rises against obstacles to succeeed. Writer-director Doug Atchison, in the “making-of” feature among the DVD extras, openly admits being influenced by Rocky and Rudy. In this particular case, Akeelah is a natural word-whiz, having turned to Scrabble and spelling as a form of comfort after her father’s death. Her obstacles? Pretty much the stereotypical ones you’d expect in a story about a smart African American girl from South Los Angeles: an under-funded school with bullies who mock her as a “brainiac,” siblings in various forms of trouble, an initially unsupportive mother. In short, it’s not only the sports-movie formula; it’s also the inspiring-movie-made-by-white-people-about-the-inner-city formula.
Atchison says the story first came to him when he was tutoring children in a South L.A. neighborhood. As I heard his comment, though, I wondered how he could write the film’s dialogue, which features Akeelah switching back and forth fluidly between slang and “proper” grammar.” The “making-of” feature seemed about to answer my question, as a female voice began to say, “Doug called me in to help with the authenticity of the script.” I was expecting to see an African American face appear on screen next—but, no, it was the very recognizable blonde-and-blue-eyed face of Paige Kimble, head honcho of the Scripps National Spelling Bee. However Atchison managed it, the dialogue does seem realistic without being stereotypical, perhaps because it demonstrates how many different “languages” Akeelah is capable of speaking.
Possibly that realism is due to the acting talents of the films’ stars. Big names Angela Bassett and Laurence Fishburne (as Akeelah’s mother and tutor, respectively) agreed to appear in the low-budget film for peanuts, simply because they felt the story was inspiring. But by far the greatest performance is young KeKe Palmer’s. She makes Akeelah a very believable and lovable character, alternately sharp-tongued and sweet, but smart throughout. At first, she’s reluctant to spell publicly for fear that her peers will laugh at her, but eventually her love of words wins over. At times, she also feels the pressure of the entire community depending on her as its token star—a heavy burden for any 11-year-old.
Some of the best moments of the film involve Akeelah’s interactions with her fellow spelling competitors from Woodland Hills, a much wealthier L.A. neighborhood. Her new friend Javier is loyal, funny, and cares more about friendship than about competition—watching him, you could almost believe that the National Spelling Bee is a blast. And Akeelah’s rivalry with Dylan, who has placed 2nd in the National Bee two years in a row (much to the dissatisfaction of his father), forms the backbone of at least the last quarter of the movie. I won’t give away any details, but I was very pleased with how the film handled the inevitable Dylan-Akeelah showdown towards the end.
My other favorite moments are perhaps unrealistic, but nevertheless touching. After Dr. Larabee (Fishburne) tells Akeelah he can’t coach her anymore, she finds “coaches” all around her in the community. There’s a great montage in which everyone calls out words from Akeelah’s flashcards: she sits on a car hood as her brother’s druggie friends quiz her, she places apples in a bin as the grocery store owner listens to her spell, she jumps rope (spelling in time to the rhythm) among her school friends. So it’s kind of an extended “public service announcement,” and it may be cheesy, but I like it anyway.
Overall, the film’s “message” can be summed up in the quote that Dr. Larabee has Akeelah read during their first session together:
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’ Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
While I shy away from the “be yourself” messages that are proliferating in children’s and teens’ movies today, this has a different angle that makes it more palatable. I’ve seen so much false humility among Christians, and this quote gets to the heart of the matter: letting God shine through us isn’t pride, it’s showing others God’s glory, and, as the quote says, allowing them to do the same. The movie attributes these words to Nelson Mandela—and, unfortunately, that’s not quite right. I wish they were Mandela’s words. He did say something similar in a speech, but the actual quote is from New-Agey inspirational writer Marianne Williamson. Argh.
Anyway, Akeelah and the Bee may be formulaic, but I found it enjoyable anyway. If it had been around when I was little, it might have replaced The Girl Who Spelled Freedom on the list of most frequently watched movies.
October 20th, 2006
In between fits of doing the writing that I actually have to do, I got to watch Casanova and catch up on the second series of the new “Doctor Who.” I’ve already posted here about the first half of Casanova and the “Christmas Invasion” special, but that only accounts for 3½ of my eight hours. 4½ more to go!
First of all, “Doctor Who.” While each episode has had its strengths, my favorite so far is “Tooth and Claw”: it’s set in Scotland, it features Queen Victoria, it has a werewolf, and it chronicles the creation of Torchwood (both the Institute and the anti-alien weaponry—for which, it turns out, the Doctor was unintentionally responsible). I really like the bits that tie into the Torchwood story arc—I admit I’m drawn to stories of how a fall into evil occurs. Every time I say this, Porpoise points out that they’re only mentioning Torchwood to generate interest in the new BBC spin-off show of the same name. So cynical, that Porpoise of mine. (Oh, by the way, I felt very silly when I had to read a Wikipedia article to find out that “Torchwood” is an anagram of “Doctor Who.” Argh!).
“School Reunion” was touching—and sad. Though I haven’t seen any of the old “Doctor Who” episodes with Sarah Jane Smith as the Doctor’s traveling companion, I could still definitely grasp her struggle to adjust to normal life after years of traveling the universe. Her presence in the episode helped to give us a sense that Rose may be having fun and larks now, but she has something of the same adjustment-difficulty waiting in her future. This was also the first time I’ve met K-9, the robotic dog who used to be a “Doctor Who” regular. If the Doctor hadn’t rebuilt K-9 for Sarah Jane, I think I would have cried and possibly held the Doctor in lower regard for the rest of his lives. Apparently I also get upset about metal-animal death. And Mickey’s realization that he now serves the same function (technical assistance, etc.) as the metal dog? Priceless.
On a complete side-note, I just have to say that I love the Tenth Doctor’s outfit. Especially the striped suit with the Converse-style sneakers. Porpoise has been hoping for weeks that I would allow him to wear tennis shoes to an upcoming wedding. Last week, I told him he could do so if they were Converse sneakers. He’s now torn between wanting to be comfortable and fear of encouraging my David Tennant obsession.
Speaking of which . . . Casanova. After the light-heartedness of the first half, the second installment was heart-wrenching. After Henriette’s marriage to Grimani and Casanova’s escape from prison (an escape which necessitated his self-exile from Venice), he, his manservant Rocco, and his illegitimate-son-by-a-nun Jack, travel from Paris to London, and, finally, to Naples. In Paris and London, we get to laugh at the debauchery and sadism of the French and then the smugness and the relative propriety of the Britons. But, in each place, Giacomo Casanova seems to be sinking deeper and deeper into a joyless debauchery. Meanwhile, he has no idea how to relate to his young son, who, as he grows older, reveals some disturbing pleasure in torturing others. It’s finally in Naples, under the shadow of smoking Mt. Vesuvius, that Giacomo sees the full wages of sin, when his son tries to seduce his own half-sister (Giacomo’s illegitimate daughter by the singer Bellino). The costumes for the Naples segment are clearly inspired by 80’s punk culture, and the Neapolitans are dealing with living in the shadow of death by throwing away all scruples. Jack, throwing his father’s own words and actions back at him, is all too willing to do likewise.
After we had finished watching, I asked Porpoise if he thought Casanova would have been faithful to Henriette if he’d been able to marry her. Porpoise thought that was certainly the implication. After all, as much as Giacomo sleeps around with married women, he will never pursue Henriette after she marries Grimani. He knows she wouldn’t want him to, and he respects her wish. It’s the one boundary he won’t cross.
And that’s what makes this version of Casanova more than a simple scumbag. He’s a scumbag, of course, but not a simple one. And, as he (the older Casanova, played by Peter O’Toole) tells Edith, he has written down his life-story not out of pride, but in penance. So when he dies without getting to see Henriette one last time, you do feel pity for him, even though you know that’s the only way it could have ended.
Anyway, life will now settle down into one Tennant-hour per week–a much more sustainable pattern.
October 18th, 2006
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