"Freak" is in the Eye of the Beholder in Carnivorous Carnival

Yesterday, my mom and brother were discussing how we all probably think we're freaks at one time or another. We all have something distinguishing ourselves from others, and ultimately it's up to us to decide whether that is a blessing or a curse. In The Carnivorous Carnival, the ninth book in the Series of Unfortunate Events, the Baudelaire orphans encounter three people who definitely view their differences in a negative light. It seems the idea of putting "freaks" on display at carnivals thankfully went by the wayside many years ago, but the practice is alive and well in whatever ambiguous time period Lemony Snicket is writing about. So it is that we meet Hugo, the complacent hunchback (perhaps named in honor of Victor Hugo?); Colette, the gentle contortionist; and Kevin, the Eeyorish ambidextrous fellow. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Just how do the orphans find themselves in such curious company? After smuggling themselves into Count Olaf's trunk, they find themselves at a carnival in the middle of nowhere, where they must disguise themselves in order to evade Count Olaf's attention. They have little hope that their freakish costumes (Violet and Klaus posing as a two-headed person, Sunny as a half-wolf) will fool their would-be captor, but it seems their only course of action. Surprisingly, neither Olaf nor his associates recognize them when they present themselves to Madame Lulu, the fortune-telling carnival owner whose accent is remarkably similar to that of Gunther, the auctioneer Olaf pretended to be in The Ersatz Elevator. So it is that they meet the sad trio who have resigned themselves to a life of getting laughed at day after day without pay because they are convinced their unusual attributes prevent them from being productive members of society. Ironically, one of Olaf's own henchmen is hook-handed, yet he gleefully ridicules the Baudelaires and their companions for their so-called deformities, recoiling in anger when it is suggested that he might be a freak himself.

We have never spent this much time with Olaf and his associates before, and it's interesting to see them off-duty. I almost feel a little sorry for Olaf here, as he seems confused and hen-pecked. In fact, his girlfriend Esme is probably worse than the series' most famous villain. The others are, for the most part, bumbling and impolite but probably not really evil, though years of bad company have made them willing to do unpleasant things. After seeing what happens to certain characters by the book's finale, one can't help but wonder about the earlier lives of Olaf's buddies. How did they fall into such a dastardly line of work? Madame Lulu is an intriguing character, particularly once it is revealed that she, too, is wearing a disguise. She possesses the potential to provide the Baudelaires with the information they crave and us with a more solid grasp on how Snicket's story intertwines with the orphans'. Tantalizing, no?

The mob mentality that was demonstrated in The Vile Village and to a lesser extent in The Hostile Hospital comes to the forefront again here as we observe the repugnant antics of the carnival's visitors. Here are people who are all tingly with excitement at the prospect of throwing a freak to the lions, thereby allowing them to experience violence and sloppy eating all at once. This strikes me more as behavior exhibited at the Colosseum hundreds of years ago than something a semi-contemporary crowd would resort to. But then, one of Snicket's trademarks is presenting situations that are unrealistic and over-the-top.

This is an especially perilous book, with danger so near all the time. The Baudelaires are forced to violate their consciences several times in favor of surviving, and they begin to wonder whether they might end up in league with Count Olaf, which would be a far worse fate even than being ridiculed daily by uncouth visitors. But as always, Snicket breaks up the tension with heaps of laugh-aloud absurdity. Like this discussion of what part of a lion is most dangerous and upsetting: "Some say the teeth of the beast, because teeth are used for eating children, and often their parents, and gnawing their bones. Some say the claws of the beast, because claws are used for ripping things to shreds. And some say the hair of the beast, because hair can make allergic people sneeze." This is Snicket's way of building up to the phrase "the belly of the beast," about which he woefully warns, "I'm sorry to tell you that this book will use the expression 'the belly of the beast' three times before it is over, not counting all the times I have already used 'the belly of the beast' in order to warn you of all the times 'the belly of the beast' will appear."

The Baudelaires conclude this adventure in even more upsetting circumstances than before, still with no sign of the elusive Mr. Poe. Things don't look good for the intrepid threesome, but we can be assured that they won't be biting the dust just yet. In fact, they have reason to be hopeful, and that is a very powerful motivator - perhaps enough, when combined with their ingenuity, to help them defeat Count Olaf once and for all.

Clay and a Jukebox Equals a Groovetacular Spectacular: Crawford County Fair, August 21, 2005

I was looking out the window Monday morning, and I couldn’t help but notice that the atmospheric conditions were ominous. A hefty breeze was buffeting about the branches of the tree in our front yard, and bloated rain clouds hovered overhead, steely and overwhelming. Not a patch of blue was to be seen. Looking back on last Saturday, I recalled that while attending a wedding reception, I caught a glimpse of the parking lot when a guest came inside, and rain was pummeling the pavement. So I felt especially fortunate that when I went to the Crawford County Fair last Sunday with my mom and my best friend, the sun was shining brightly and the sky was a glorious shade of blue – to match the eyes of the person we had driven an hour to see.

This was my third Clay Aiken concert. (Alas that I missed the Christmas tour!) The first time I saw the North Carolina crooner in concert, he was joined by most of his fellow Top 12 American Idol contestants. This meant having to suffer through many performances in which Clay played no part (and “suffer” seems especially appropriate when referring to some of the girls’ numbers *cough*Kim Caldwell*cough*). But it was a charged atmosphere, and the competitive nature of the audience made for extra entertainment. We saw fans of each of the contestants sporting homemade gear and signs (and our crew brought a couple of our own). By far the most creativity went into expressions of adoration for Clay, though, and I felt a great sense of solidarity and I allowed myself to squeal heartily whenever he took to the stage.

Last year’s concert was a bit different. I went with a different group of fans – my family – and instead of a massive indoor arena, we congregated in the grandstand of Pennsylvania’s largest county fair. Wandering around the fair, we could tell who was attending for the same reasons we were. Clay shirts, both homemade and official, were in abundance. I did my fair share of shrieking from my seat, which was dead center in the upper level of the grandstand. That is, once he came out. First an opening band took the stage, and then another half hour or so of stage rearrangement followed before Clay finally graced us with his presence.

In Crawford County, we found a similar throng of Claymates bedecked in fantastic clothing. The Clay t-shirts increased as the show time drew nearer. Near the grandstand entrance, a woman was selling teddy bears, one of which sported a t-shirt embroidered with a rainbow colored “Clay Aiken.” Fans snatched these right up, and I had to put in an order before I headed off to the show. The first nice surprise came even before we entered, when my mom learned, to our surprise, that cameras were allowed. Consequently, I wished that I had brought more film or a digital camera. But at least I had a third of a roll of film, and I was happy to be able to use that, especially when I realized just how close our seats were. I’ve never been too handy with maps, so I was unaware that I had managed to score tickets in the fifth row. Boy, was that a nice surprise! From our vantage point, we were just feet away from those lucky folks lined up for a private pre-concert audience with the man himself. While Libbie and I went off to brave the crowd at the souvenir stand – which rather disappointingly was only able to accept cash at the time – Mom got to chat with one of the Meet and Greeters after her exclusive encounter. Sounded like Clay was classy all the way. It’s quite easy to strike up a conversation at a Clay concert, and some fans display their affection so creatively that they’re just inviting all sorts of comments. Another way we occupied our time prior to the concert was by checking out the Bubel Aiken Foundation booth and volunteering our services as gift wrappers at a local store this Christmas. As the starting time of the concert drew closer, however, we made sure we were firmly in our seats. The fans sitting next to us were veterans of this tour, and they informed us that We Built This City on Rock and Roll signaled the beginning of the show. So when it came, we were ready.

The concept of the show is fun and clever, and it is especially appropriate given the fact that Clay became famous on a show where he sang mostly standards from the sixties and seventies. I love jukeboxes. When I see one in a restaurant, I am unable to resist plunking in a quarter and blasting the song of my choice across the room, perhaps to the embarrassment of my companions. It seems, however, that I am not alone in my admiration for the retro music machine. It is the central prop for this summer tour, and I walked away with the renewed impression that nothing says groovy like a jukebox. Clay’s crew got things started by accepting a quarter from an audience member and putting it in a giant jukebox in the center of the stage. When the record began to skip, they each tried their hand at fixing the problem. Then Clay came strutting out in a leather jacket, flanked by his two female backup singers, and his magic touch got the jukebox back into working order, at which point the concert could officially start.

When I first heard that Clay would be singing more than 70 songs during the Jukebox Tour, I wondered whether that meant he alternated songs. What it really meant was a lot of medleys, which allowed for a wide range of songs. The show managed to be educational as well as entertaining, giving an abbreviated history of rock and roll. The fifties was a riot, with Clay giving his feet a workout with such fare as Twistin’ the Night Away, That’ll Be the Day and Great Balls of Fire. (His fancy footwork atop the piano was especially enjoyable.) Unchained Melody, a Clay staple, got the full treatment, much to the delight of the audience. I also learned that four different versions of this song were once on the chart at the same time. Of course, it was the Righteous Brothers’ that really took off. In any case, Clay did the song justice. The second half of the decade was dedicated to another young Southern, Christian mama’s boy who inspired legions of squealing teenie-boppers. Nine Elvis songs went past quickly, starting with Love Me Tender, with Clay crooning softly while playing the piano, and ending with the upbeat Suspicious Minds.

The sixties started off with brief homage to another teen idol. Clay Aiken channeling Davy Jones is not a sight to be missed. There was also a very nice introduction to the events of the sixties and the significant role music played in a tumultuous decade. I was a bit disappointed that the list included only one Beatles song, and that of all the songs he could have chosen he went with Can’t Buy Me Love. Not very inspiring if you ask me. Perhaps Clay isn’t as suited to the Beatles as he is to Elvis, but I would have loved a mop-top medley. Motown got the most attention, and he and his backup singers did a fine job with it, but there are so many other singers I would like to have seen represented. If it were up to me, I would have lingered twice as long in this decade and dipped heavily into the folk-rock offerings as well as a wider array of pop. Nonetheless, what we got was great. This decade’s full-length highlight was Solitaire, another song that effectively sends shivers up the spine. Happy Together, My Girl and I’ll Be There were other standouts. This decade also afforded Clay the opportunity to amuse the audience with a bit of lively banter. His ease with this task was apparent as he asked how many guys in the audience had been dragged to this concert by a wife or significant other. Then he singled out one guy in the front row, who was stuck with a sign announcing that he had been hood-winked into attending this show. “She told me I was going to an Iron Maiden concert,” he complained, showing Clay his concert gear. Clay invited the couple onstage, and when further conversation revealed that they had come all the way from Columbus, Ohio, he could not contain his mirth, especially given the fact that he had given a concert there only a week or so earlier. Clay promised future participation from this gullible guy, and the hapless fellow was whisked backstage to prepare for his starring role.

The twenty-minute intermission allowed an opportunity for us to text message Clay with our cell phones. I’d never text messaged before, but I figured it out just in time for my message to appear on the giant screen where everyone’s notes were displayed as they were sent. It kept us occupied until Clay came back out for the second half of the concert, whose opening number included a cameo by a bead-wearing, afro-clad, dancing Iron Maiden fan. Disco was the main theme of the seventies. I would have loved to see more of a singer-songwriter focus; he didn’t even sing one Elton John song! But disco is always fun, and watching Clay try to make the proper moves was good for a few laughs (and a couple delighted squeals). Barry Manilow was well represented, as Clay sang Mandy all the way through, but the highlight here was Bridge Over Troubled Water, which made me very happy even with the second first missing, though it really went better with the music from the sixties. I consider that an extension of the decade. Simon and Garfunkel don’t belong to the seventies. But he did a beautiful job with my favorite song, and I was thrilled to stand up and use my cell phone in place of a lighter as the audience swayed to the music.

The first three decades covered in the concert were my favorites; that’s where pretty much all the music I listen to comes from. But the nice thing about covering so much ground is that there’s something for everybody. Libbie preferred the more recent music and was familiar with most of the songs, many of which I’d never heard before. Just as I’d hoped for Elton John, I wanted to see Billy Joel in here somewhere, but no luck. Instead, there were more modern-sounding artists including Michael Jackson and Prince and later M. C. Hammer and Ricky Martin. (Can Clay out-dance William Hung? This is the place to find out!) I was surprised to hear Iris from City of Angels, as it didn’t strike me as a Clay-sounding song, but he pulled it off very well. The concert ended with a medley of songs from Clay’s first album and a duo of songs from the upcoming third. These were pretty catchy and upbeat, a great teaser for an album we’ll have to wait several months for. Probably my favorite part of concert as it was wrapping up, however, was when he played Stump the Band. The first suggestion did stump the band, and the second one Clay couldn’t even seem to understand. But the third was When a Man Loves a Woman, and someone in the front row conveniently had the lyrics and tabs in her pocket, so the band tackled it, and Clay belted out the power ballad that was so perfectly suited to him.

The show was very solid, well over two hours of music. In addition to Clay, there was a whole team of talented musicians. Backup singers Angela Fisher, Quiana Parker and Jacob Luttrell made a particularly strong impression. Their brilliant vocals enhanced many songs and were allowed to shine solo at several points in the show. These were the same three who wowed me at last year’s concert, and it was nice to see them still on board this year. The rest of the band included S’von Ringo (musical director / keyboards), Clarence Allen (keyboards), Daniel Pearson (bass guitar), Andy Abad (guitar), Felix “D-Kat” Pollard (drums), Kerry Loeschen (trombone) and Mike Uhler (trumpet). There was very little overlap song-wise between the show I attended last year and this show. It was an entirely different experience, but equally satisfying. More so, probably, what with our extraordinarily good seats. And the humble attitude behind the concert made it all the more enjoyable. This, from the program: “I’m so excited to have a chance to remember and pay tribute to some of the hitmakers of my generation and of earlier, ‘more experienced’ generations. … I’m thrilled that you’ve chosen to join us on this ‘journey’ through some of the more memorable songs of the past.”

I’m pleased I joined him as well, and I have little doubt that one day Clay Aiken will be numbered among those timeless artists. For now, I am just grateful to have the opportunity to see him live, and I will almost certainly exercise that privilege once again when he embarks upon his second Joyful Noise Christmas tour. And maybe, just maybe, if Santa is extra kind, there will be a Meet and Greet for me in the not so distant future.

As If Hospitals Aren't Scary Enough As It Is...

A week and a half ago I closed the book on Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, leaving me free to immerse myself once more in the verbose eccentricity of Lemony Snicket. I have just completed the eighth volume in his lamentable series, and The Hostile Hospital boasts even more problems for the Baudelaire orphans than usual. There is no Mr. Poe to come and assist the children, however ineffectively, in finding a safe new home. The forever coughing banker remains out of touch in spite of the lengthy telegram the children send, begging for his assistance. Worse, they are stuck in the middle of nowhere, far enough away from civilization that they cannot keep up their journey on foot but near enough that almost everyone knows them on sight as the vicious murderers depicted in The Daily Punctilio. Because of this, while they encounter some nice enough folks in their flight from the authorities, they live with the knowledge that they cannot count on a long-term confidante; as soon as that companion learns of their supposed identity, they will be in grave danger.

This is the darkest book in the series since The Miserable Mill. While the orphans are not forced into exhausting manual labor, they are more alone than they have ever been, without a guardian of any kind or a stranger discerning enough to surmise that not everything printed in The Daily Punctilio is true. They nearly find such a friend in Hal, the elderly, visually impaired director of the Library of Records in the hospital in which they find themselves, but the orphans are forced to do something that causes him to lose his trust in them, in turn causing Violet to question whether they are becoming too much like the villains they are trying to escape.

The orphans are initially glad to find themselves at the hospital with the Volunteers Fighting Disease, an excessively cheerful group who pass out heart-shaped balloons and sing the same annoying song over and over in an attempt to spread good will but never stop long enough to do anything for the patients that might actually be useful. Could this finally be the VFD they’ve been searching for? And when the opportunity arises for them to work in the Library of Records, their luck seems to be holding. Perhaps one of the files, when combined with the shreds of notes gleaned from the notebooks of Duncan and Isadora Quagmire, will provide them with enough information to solve some of the mysteries in which they have become entwined. But none of them is prepared for what they actually do find in the file drawer, and it only adds more complexity to their plight.

Snicket’s signature style continues to amuse, though I didn’t find myself laughing out loud that often in this volume. There are serious problems afoot. Count Olaf has inevitably shown up again with Esme Squalor in tow, and they plan to do a cranioectomy on Violet while dozens of people watch. In The Miserable Mill, Violet and Sunny had to work together without their brother’s help as they strove to save him. Now, Klaus and Sunny must attempt to rescue Violet without the aid of one of her brilliant inventions. It won’t be easy.

But lighter moments do occur. The members of the VFD are comical, somewhere between a clown troupe and a band of hippies. It’s nice to have such cheerful people around in the midst of this gloom, even if their happiness is more aggravating than helpful. There are Snicket’s patently absurd metaphors to enjoy, and for the first time we get a good look at Olaf’s henchmen when they are off-duty. Moreover, there is another puzzle to be solved by astute readers. Who is Ana Gram, and what does she have to do with Violet, who has been so viciously abducted by a poorly disguised Esme? Can we figure out what Count Olaf is up to before Klaus and Sunny do, or will we find ourselves muttering, as Sunny is wont to do at this juncture, the word that is to The Hostile Hospital what “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” is to Mary Poppins -- except that it does little to make the one speaking it feel better?

I’m not sure where this volume fits into my ranking of the books in this series. While it may be low on that totem pole, I’ve long ago determined that a book by Snicket is a book worth reading, and this is no exception.

"Nothing Improves a Movie Like Low Expectations."

If you scroll through my movie reviews, you will likely notice that almost all of them bear a four- or five-star rating. There are two major reasons for this. The first is that I try to look for the good in things. I’m willing to overlook a lot of bad stuff if I ultimately enjoyed the movie more than I hated it. The other reason is that I rarely watch movies that I think I won’t like. Once in a while, though, I figure I might as well increase my credibility by going to a movie that I’m sure will earn a miserable review from me. So I didn’t complain much when my friend suggested going to see Wedding Crashers, a film I had pinned as one of the most disgusting of the summer. “But what if you like it?” my brother queried just before I left. “Well,” I replied, “I shall be very disappointed.”

Pile on the disappointment.

The film opens with John Beckwith (Owen Wilson) and Jeremy Grey (Vince Vaughn) hard at work at their job, pretty much the only time this happens in the movie. Right off the bat it is easy to see that the two are good buddies. It also seems that their success in their career is based upon their immense capacity to irritate whoever they are advising. John hangs back a bit, only inserting occasional comments, but Jeremy talks with the speed of the Micro Machine Man, and each thing he says makes less sense than whatever came before. His motor-mouth tendencies come up several times in the film, causing several tirades that are somewhat amusing but more obnoxious. His frenetic energy makes him the more annoying of the two, though I’ve yet to see a movie in which I don’t find Wilson irritating. It’s harder to pinpoint just why, but I think it has to do with an overall aura of ditziness. Actually, for the most part he came across more intelligently here than he usually does, and there was an undeniable sweetness to his character. And while I didn’t like Vaughn’s character much, I had to admire his loyalty and feel sorry for him when John was too head over heels to be sensitive to his friend’s needs.

The premise of two guys crashing weddings in order to hook up with vulnerable young women is a pretty crude one, but the extensive montage scene showing how they achieve those goals is amusing and ingenious without being offensive, at least until the last minute or so. This is where the men’s real talents come to the forefront, and they manage to ingratiate themselves to a wide variety of guests, becoming the life of the party whether the wedding is Jewish, Indian or Greek. They show such congeniality, restraint and charisma during these receptions, it’s a shame such talents are reserved for ultimately unscrupulous activities. I couldn’t help but think of all the great things they could be doing if they focused their skills more appropriately.

The real conflict begins after the exhausting but exhilarating summer wedding season is over and they are settling back into a more relaxed lifestyle. But the wedding of prominent Secretary Cleary’s (Christopher Walken) daughter draws them out of their off-season leisure, and the high stakes and change of pace seem to impinge upon their decorum, at least at the wedding. Their barely whispered discussions in the church pew are jarring and most unseemly for the setting, though I couldn’t help but be amused by their wager over which biblical lesson the bride’s sister would read. The movie as a whole makes some interesting observations about the traditions involved in weddings – and the frequent insincerity of the guests. There’s a certain cynicism to it, but at the same time you walk out of the movie with the feeling that marriage is an institution to be respected.

John and Jeremy both lay eyes early on their quarry. Both make a connection by the reception. Jeremy achieves his ultimate goal but finds his plan has backfired. Gloria (Isla Fisher), sister of the bride, is smitten with him – is in fact obsessed with him to a psychotic degree. Worse, he cannot beat a hasty retreat because John has forged an emotional bond with Claire (Rachel McAdams), also a sister of the bride, and he wants some extra time to get to know her better. She has ceased to become one-night stand material; John, perhaps for the first time in his life, is in love. What follows is a weekend with the rather deranged family in which John sneaks in as much time with Claire as he can, Jeremy endures any number of dangerous and uncomfortable situations in the name of not abandoning his friend, and Claire’s boyfriend Sack (Bradley Cooper) hires a detective to see what these two newcomers are up to.

Probably my favorite character in the whole shebang is Secretary Clearly. Walken has a knack for creating compelling supporting characters, and he makes the senator a consummate politician and sportsman, but above all a completely devoted father. His scenes with McAdams are especially touching. He’s stuck with a tipsy wife (Jane Seymour) who confides that she has been unfaithful to him for most of their marriage. She seems severely unbalanced and spends most of her on-screen time trying to seduce John. Perhaps even more disturbing is Grandma Mary (Ellen Albertini Dow, as vitriolic here as she was sweet in The Wedding Singer), who is uncouth and vocally homophobic and, as my friend pointed out, really could have been excised from the film entirely with no detriment to the plot. They probably could have done away with Todd (Keir O’Donnell), the brooding black sheep of the Cleary family, altogether. He is a leering, unkempt presence, and though I initially wanted to feel sorry for this unappreciated artist, he was too surly and downright creepy to win points from me. His main purpose, I guess, is to make Jeremy also suffer through seduction from a most unwelcome family member, but he has to put up with so much anyway, this seems most unnecessary. Rounding out the loony bin is Sack, who’s a stereotypical svelte, controlling jerk who takes his girlfriend for granted but sees red if he thinks anyone else might have his eye on her. His cocky attitude and constant bullying make him a guy it’s easy to love to hate.

For the most part, I found Gloria to be utterly obnoxious, but I guess that’s okay because I felt the same way about Jeremy. The two are suited to one another. Claire is an entirely different story. This is McAdams at the most likable I’ve seen her. Too manipulative in Mean Girls, too volatile in The Notebook, here she is just a sweet, idealistic girl who loves her dad and is stuck with a major bummer of a boyfriend who the whole family seems to love. She thinks she loves him, but the more she sees of his vicious behavior towards the two mysterious guests the less sure she is. Cut out all of the gross-out trappings, and Wilson and McAdams create a surprisingly tender romantic comedy.

I had heard enough about this film beforehand that I expected non-stop opportunities for me to wave a hefty bag of popcorn in front of my face in order to shield my eyes from the depravities occurring on screen. What I got was long stretches of film that were hardly offensive at all, with a few extremely tasteless scenes thrown in so the group of guys roaring in the back row of the theater wouldn’t feel as though they had wasted their money. If TBS got its hands on this, strategically removing the most blatantly low-brow parts and smoothing over the raunchy language, it would probably be a perfectly appropriate film. Granted, if I hadn’t been so sure I would hate it, I probably wouldn’t have liked it as much. But however I got there, I arrived at the conclusion that Wedding Crashers is actually a decent movie. Sorry, Epinions, looks like it’s going to be another high rating from bilbopooh.

Paternal Quaid Shines With Considerable Grace

Some time ago, my friend and I rented Win a Date With Tad Hamilton, and she developed a slight crush on Topher Grace, who was undeniably adorable in that film and was always, to my mind, by far the most appealing cast member on The 70s Show. He comes across so differently than tabloid darling Ashton Kutcher. He just seems like a sweet, classy guy next door. A recent trip to Hollywood Video yielded another film starring the graceful young actor, and once again he showed that he is head and shoulders above his classless television co-star. In Good Company is an engaging coming of age story with a side order of commentary on the pitfalls of corporate America, and though he’s a bit less naive here, Grace is nonetheless a guy we want to root for.

Grace co-stars as Carter Duryea, a driven youth who finds himself in charge of an advertising agency. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, and that comes across especially in his first meeting with his new underlings. But he’s likable enough, and he seems to want what is best for the company, so his employees grudgingly accept his presence. But reporting to him is especially difficult for Dan Foreman (Dennis Quaid), who has been at this firm for years and is passionate about what he does. It’s hard being demoted, especially by someone who really is not very engaged in the work he is doing. It becomes harder when long-time employees begin to get laid off as a cost-cutting measure that Carter protests but ultimately has little control over. Luckily for Dan, however, Carter likes him and doesn’t plan to turn him out of the company if he can help it. It makes for heightened job security, but Dan still has trouble adjusting to the new order of things.

At home, his life is in turmoil too. He’s just learned that his wife Ann (Marg Helgenberger) is pregnant, which produces very mixed feelings. He’s pleased and excited, but he’s also worried. This was very unexpected, and with a potentially shaky job situation, he’s not sure the family is financially ready for this new arrival, especially with his oldest daughter Alex (Scarlett Johansson) heading to the monstrously expensive NYU for classes. Alex also becomes important in Carter’s life as the movie progresses – this was advertised as a romantic comedy though the humor is understated and the romance is actually a pretty small part of the film – but this father-daughter relationship is perhaps the most important in the movie. It signals to Carter the difference between what he has and what he actually wants. Money is a very cold companion when it’s all you have, and this is something that the young executive must find out for himself.

There are solid performances all around, especially by the two leading men. Dan is paternal and passionate; Carter is driven but unfulfilled. They learn from one another. Alex is a sweet-natured character, though her lack of contact with her father after she moves out for college is frustrating. Helgenberger and Quaid have natural chemistry, making the family environment Carter sees all the more appealing. Zena Grey is underused as Dan’s younger daughter; her presence in the film is so minimal that I don’t really know why that character had to exist at all. The most notable of the other smaller roles is David Paymer as Morty, a glum, hen-pecked long-time executive who is one of Dan’s closest friends at work. He provides several small comedic touches.

The movie isn’t too kind to corporate America. It shows how huge companies swallowing up smaller companies ruins lives. It also demonstrates that there are more important things than career advancement. Doing something you feel passionate about is important. Surrounding yourself with people you care about is even more important. By the end of the movie, Carter has seen it all, and to some it might seem that he is far worse off than before. But what he has lost in prestige and fancy cars, he has gained in wisdom, which is a far more valuable commodity.

Freddie and Johnny and Tim, Oh My!: Willy Wonka Revisited

This is the summer of the remake, it seems. How many must we suffer through? The Dukes of Hazzard, Bewitched, Bad News Bears… luckily, there is at least one rehashing that is worth the audience’s time and attention. Conveniently enough, it has a different name than the original, making it easy to distinguish. I speak, of course, of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Now, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory is undeniably a classic, with the musical numbers (especially the goofy Oompa Loompa tunes); the silly snippets of folks around the world going to great lengths to get a winning ticket; the inane lessons of Charlie’s teacher (who is probably my favorite character); the repulsive behavior of Veruca Salt and the reactions of her cowed father; and of course, the antics of Gene Wilder as eccentric but self-assured Willy Wonka. But after seeing Tim Burton’s skewed mind take on the equally skewed world of Roald Dahl, I may be prepared to pronounce him the victor.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory opens with an eye-catching demonstration of the process by which Wonka bars are made and delivered to stores around the world. It’s a preview of the brilliant land we will enter once Willy opens his factory to five lucky ticket holders. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Our first glimpse of the protagonist is in considerably more drab surroundings: a precariously leaning shack in the middle of town, where seven family members huddle over bowls of cabbage soup. I confess here that while I have seen the previous film many times, one of them this year, I have read the book only once, many years ago. So I remember the film much more clearly and found myself making comparisons to that instead of the book, to which this movie sticks more closely. I honestly cannot recall if Charlie Bucket (Freddie Highmore) had a dad (Noah Taylor) in the book, but he definitely did not in the movie, so seeing this extra family member was a considerable surprise – the first of many.

Several characters and plot points are notably different in this film. In fact, the major conflict has nothing whatsoever to do with Slugworth or everlasting gobstoppers, both of which are given only the briefest of mentions, almost as a nod to the prior movie. Gone entirely is the bubble chamber in which Charlie and Grandpa Joe do a bit of giddy floating – and, sadly, so is Charlie’s teacher. But for every missing element, there is something grander to take its place, and the film becomes less about Charlie’s dedication to a loony chocolatier and more about his devotion to the family members who have nurtured him for so long in spite of their poverty.

The cast is top-notch, starting with dear young Freddie. Ever since I saw him in Two Brothers, I was hooked. By Finding Neverland, he had become my favorite male child actor since Haley Joel Osment (female vote goes to Dakota Fanning). And now, with his adorable toothy grin, impossibly large blue eyes, husky voice and apparent inherent sweetness, he makes me fall utterly in love with Charlie Bucket. I always thought the original Charlie was just okay, but Freddie is phenomenal, and Burton couldn’t have made a better casting choice. Mum (Helena Bonham Carter) and Dad are a perfectly pleasant pair of doting parents. The fact that Mr. Bucket works in a toothpaste factory is an amusing detail, and his “special perks” allow Charlie to build a fantastic model of the fabled factory. Meanwhile, the grandparents are comical and more well-defined than before. Grandpa George (David Morris) is a crusty old curmudgeon who enjoys cursing and generally spreading his negativity around as far as it will go, to the general annoyance of his fellow bedridden nonagenarians. Grandma Georgina (Liz Smith) is a bit batty, while Grandma Josephine (Eileen Essell) is warm and comforting. Once again, though, it is Grandpa Joe (David Kelly of Waking Ned Devine fame) who is developed the most fully. He and Charlie share an especially close bond, and in this film he isn’t just an intrigued outsider when it comes to the chocolate factory. He actually worked there himself for a number of years before Willy Wonka laid off his entire staff and locked the factory gates after too many of his secrets began leaking out. Joe is sweet and funny, and his oversize glasses add a pleasantly goony touch to his appearance.

There are of course the same four obnoxious children, though two of them have been altered somewhat. The scenes in which they are introduced are nearly identical to those in the first film, aside from a lack of Slugworth slinking around in the background. Augustus Gloop (Philip Wiegratz) and his mother (Franziska Troegner) are virtually identical to the pair in the first movie. They look the same, they act the same. Every time we see Augustus, he is stuffing his face. He does have one new little scene in the film that tickled my funny bone terribly. As the children are making their way into the factory, A chocolate bar-toting Augustus, in what I took to be an uncharacteristic moment of kindness, asks Charlie if he would like some chocolate. Charlie also appears taken aback by this gesture but gratefully accepts his generosity, at which point Augustus taunts, “Too bad! You should have brought your own!” and runs off. Aside from that, though, pretty old hat. He’s the first to go, so we never did get to know him all that well.

Veruca Salt (Julia Winter) is someone we know all too well, however. While Augustus is too busy gorging himself to say much, Veruca is always opening her mouth to demand from her father (James Fox) whatever happens to pop into her head at the moment. I’ve already said I found Burton’s casting inspired, but in this case I just don’t think the original can be improved upon. The original Veruca was the essence of obnoxiousness, and her poor overwrought father was pathetic as he was entertaining. And her show-stopping performance with the golden geese… Well, who could forget that? She was the only one of the four brats who got her own musical number. Our local Youtheatre put on a performance of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory when I was in ninth grade, and every girl auditioning seemed to have her eye on Veruca’s part. Nobody cared about Violet. I think this owes a lot to Julie Dawn Cole, the young lady originating the role, and I have to give her props for that. So I don’t really have a complaint with this Veruca, but I just think this is a case in which the original can’t be outdone. And her father is much more of a prim and proper sort of fellow, which is much less entertaining than the blustering coot we saw in the original. Veruca’s grand scene is vastly different than in the original, though it’s the same basic concept. Though I didn’t like the song as much, I must say I enjoyed the particular participants in this scene immensely, owing to a personal preference. They’re certainly a lot cuter than the geese.

Veruca always had a corner on rudeness in the first film, but Burton seems determined to make the other kids catch up as much as possible. Violet Beauregarde (Annasophia Robb) is utterly insufferable. A competitive know-it-all, she is a virtual clone of her mother (Missi Pyle), who eggs Violet on in all of her pursuits. “Eyes on the prize,” she tells her daughter when they learn that one of the five children will receive an extra special prize at the end of the tour. Violet does her best to ingratiate herself to Willy Wonka, but she must be seriously deluded if she thinks that her constant insults flung at the factory owner are making her any point. Mike Teavee (Jordan Fry) is similarly incorrigible, and while the other parents think their kids can do no wrong, his dad (Adam Godley) seems weary and even afraid of the tyke, who greatest passion is violent video games. Both these children seem to serve as a way for Burton to comment on certain unpalatable aspects of contemporary society: over-competitive children with pushy stage moms, and addictive violent video games. Mr. Teavee replaces Mr. Salt as the petrified parent.

Of course, by far the actor who has gotten the most attention in this film is Johnny Depp, who has made a career out of playing extremely eccentric characters. Willy Wonka is an oddball, that’s for sure. But Depp’s Wonka is an entirely different kind of weirdo than Gene Wilder’s. Wilder made the titular character manipulative, almost demonic at times, and always in complete control of the situation. He was clearly self-assured, while Depp’s Wonka is insecure to the max. Before I saw the movie, I heard all sorts of buzz about how much this Wonka seemed to resemble Michael Jackson, a comment I thought was odd, especially since they look nothing alike. However, with these comments zipping about in my mind, I couldn’t help but look for similarities. And perhaps because I was looking, I found them. Most obviously, Wonka appears androgynous. He looks more like a girl than a guy, and he speaks with an unnaturally high voice. He doesn’t seem to know how to interact with normal people, but he has built a wonderland, which he shares not with children but with the beleaguered Oompa Loompas. He, too, feels he suffered a great deal at the hands of his father (Christopher Lee, looking characteristically creepy in a series of loopy flashbacks) and was robbed of a normal childhood. He also wears funny gloves, and there is the small matter of those 80s-ish dance routines concocted by his employees. So yeah, I see a few similarities. And you know what? I always liked Michael Jackson. And I think this Wonka is a lot more likable than the original. He’s afraid of his own shadow. He’s amused by the strangest things. He recoils from human touch and is so repulsed by the whole notion of family that he can’t even say the word “parents.” But he’s really quite a sweet man, and it’s easy to feel sorry for him. But not for Depp, who is more likely to be envied, as he is clearly one of the most talented actors working today. Like Jude Law, he emerges in each new role almost unrecognizable. I can’t wait for Corpse Bride.

So much imagination went into this production. I really think Dahl would have been pleased. In addition to the ultra-bright chocolate river room featured on movie posters, I found two scenes particularly arresting. One was the introductory puppet performance that we heard in the previews of this movie several months ago. Monstrously irritating, impressively complex, and certainly a little nutty, it reminded me of a similar device in Shrek and paved the way for a hilarious first impression of Wonka. The other scene, which made me recall Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, depicts the Great Glass Elevator in all its glory, going all the ways we know it can but never get to see in the original. There certainly is a lot to see in this factory, and the visuals here are impressive. It’s also fun to see how many of the room labels you can read before the camera pans away.

Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory is a beloved movie that I will always be fond of. But I think this is one of those rare instances where the remake actually managed to outdo the original. When the first film was so good, that’s really saying something. Tim Burton and Roald Dahl are an ideal combination; I wish he’d tackle more of his books. But I am certainly glad he was not too intimidated by the other’s classic status to tackle this project. Three cheers for Charlie!

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: "I Am Not Worried, Harry. I Am With You."

I have loved books ever since I can remember. I couldn’t learn to read fast enough; I virtually inhaled books from the age of four, causing a maddening overflow from the shelves filling the hallways of our house. I ordered enough books from the Scholastic book club at school to get practically every selection in the end-of-year bonus catalogue for free. My mom invented the school’s Book Swap just for me; I regularly contributed about half the books. Not only have I a passion for reading but a deep-set ambition to find my own name amongst my favorite authors on the shelves at the bookstore. So I try to write, but in the meantime I read and read and read some more. But every once in a while, a book comes along that is so noteworthy, so marvelous, so touching and intimidating, it stops me in my tracks. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone was such a book.

I’d never heard of the boy wizard with a lightning mark on his forehead when my aunt first presented me with the introductory volume for my birthday several years ago. He was all mine to discover, and once I’d fallen in love with the glorious world J. K. Rowling created, there was no going back. I was devoted, and all the ensuing negative press failed to sway me. I lingered over the subsequent volumes as they arrived to ever-increasing fanfare, unwilling to sacrifice the drinking in of any minute details in favor of speed reading bragging rights. So it was when the sixth book finally arrived in the middle of July, after two years of waiting and seven months of having a definite date to look forward to, I did not feel the need to open it and draw out its contents immediately. I had hoped to laud its arrival with my friends at the bookstore where I worked when I heard the publication date, but circumstances prevented this. However, I still found myself in possession of a copy on that first day, courtesy of the same aunt who introduced me to the series in the first place. And I waited. I cast furtive glances in the book’s direction for the next two weeks, heightening the anticipation until I could no longer stand the suspense (or the possibility that key plot points might be leaked to me inadvertently). Skipping past the table of contents with potentially revealing chapter headings, I opened to the first page of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince and began to read...

J. K. Rowling is the sort of genius who makes me feel as though pursuing a career in writing is silly. Her inventiveness and knack for creating complex plots and living, breathing characters knows no bounds. Nonetheless, I do confess to having been just a bit disappointed by Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Harry was far too surly for my liking, and Hogwarts on the whole had become intolerably sinister, no longer the sanctuary Dumbledore strived to make it. His absence throughout the majority of the book cast a pallor on the whole ordeal, so I was quite pleased to see him back in his position of power. I was a bit surprised at Harry’s demeanor in this installment. It was as though the fifth book was a blip on the radar screen; the brooding, enraged teenager was all but gone, replaced with a boy who was once again kind and considerate, aside from momentary bursts involving certain established nemeses. A bit unexpected, particularly considering how the last book ended, but a welcome relief in my opinion. That doesn’t mean young Potter is spared from churning emotions. Instead, as he watches Ron and Hermione plunge into the dangerous waters of teenage hormones, he tries to submerge his own newly discovered impulses. As Harry and his friends stand on the brink of adulthood, they have another major threshold to cross: learning to Apparate. While Muggles struggle through learning how to drive, witches and wizards are at last allowed to develop the handy skill of teleporting, a prospect that breeds excitement but also considerable stress. In the meantime, other aspects of Hogwarts which once were vital elements of his school year become relegated to the background. Sadly, this means Hagrid, who gets my vote of favorite Rowling character my the tiniest of slivers, with Dumbledore an easy second. Happily, when the big-hearted half-giant does appear, his scenes impart maximum impact.


I found it curious that Harry did not make an actual appearance in the book until the third chapter. Nonetheless, reading certain events first puts the rest of the year into context. We are introduced to the new Minister of Magic, and we learn that the situation has grown so dire that the Prime Minister of the Muggles must be notified. The stage is being set for a truly spectacular showdown. Furthermore, Rowling leaves us with the impression that Harry’s greatest troubles this year may come from sources closer to home than the vile but still somewhat nebulous Voldemort. Finally, there is another introduction to be made: Professor Slughorn, an addition to the faculty at Hogwarts who is nearly as silly as Gilderoy Lockhart but considerably more talented. Aside from this, it’s the same old faces, and in spite of the pre-Harry material, we find ourselves at Hogwarts considerably earlier than in the fifth book. In spite of the gathering danger, accentuated by Harry’s trips to Dumbledore’s office to piece together the mysteries of Voldemort’s past and his quest to discover just what Malfoy and Snape are up to, Rowling’s wit shines through, and there are many laugh-aloud moments. Though lovable jokesters Fred and George are no longer at the school, they remain a strong presence thanks to the products from their joke shop, Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, which are banned but nonetheless find their way into the hands of many students. Neville shrinks back into a minor role here, but loony Luna becomes more prominent, injecting startlingly tactless remarks into everyday conversation and even a Quidditch commentary. While Harry is weighed down with the knowledge that he must eventually face Voldemort, he’s also got his hands full as captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and best friend to two people who, in their determination to mask their passion for one another, wind up regarding one another with a loathing from which neither one seems likely to recover.

In the midst of all this drama, the titular character seems to play a fairly unimportant role. This unknown wizard (or witch, as Hermione stubbornly suggests) who once scribbled his ingenious potions insights all over Harry’s textbook allows Harry to have greater success in that class than he has ever enjoyed, but the suggestions rarely give him an advantage outside of the classroom. However, Hermione suspects that there is a danger about this book that Harry cannot surmise. Perhaps the long-ago student whom Harry has come to regard as a friend will come to haunt the present owner in ways no divination instructor could foresee.

The development of Rowling’s characters continues to be more than satisfactory. Harry is not perfect by any means, but he’s a lot easier to deal with in this book than in the last. His greatest flaw perhaps lies in judging people too quickly and refusing to allow his perceptions to change. He obsessively despises Snape and Malfoy, allowing a thirst for unveiling their plots to override concerns that are probably more pressing, such as his lessons with Dumbledore. I was torn throughout the novel between being frustrated with Harry for not considering that Dumbledore might be right about Snape and with Dumbledore for not considering that Harry might be. Snape, meanwhile, remains an intriguing character, perhaps the most ambiguous of all the major players in Rowling’s epic fantasy. He is cruel and demeaning, and by the conclusion of the novel, events have occurred that seem to point to Harry’s view of Snape being correct all along. Yet Dumbledore trusts him, and if there’s anyone in Harry’s world who can be relied upon absolutely, it’s Albus Dumbledore. I nearly always prefer redemption to comeuppance when dealing with villainous characters, and in spite of all the evidence against it, I am especially keen to believe that Snape is a better man than he appears, because I crave evidence that Dumdledore’s wisdom is absolute and that his altruism is not unfounded.

Ultimately, I think Dumbledore is the most compelling character in this novel. He is a man we have grown to love, have come to know so well, and after his shattering removal, he has returned to guide Harry as a battle a lifetime in the making looms ever nearer. I can’t help but be reminded of Gandalf, Tolkien’s beloved wizard who similarly served as mentor and leader. Dumbledore, wizard though he may be, is mortal and beginning to show his age. He is weaker than before, his hand blackened by a dark encounter which he will not recount to Harry until the time is ripe, his mind plagued with the horrors of a world gone awry. It is most touching to see this stalwart guardian turn to his student for assistance and even protection. But his sense of humor remains razor-sharp, his cleverness is undiminished, and, most importantly, his capacity for compassion remains untouched. He, perhaps above all others, embodies the true spirit behind Harry Potter, the reason that I can never take seriously the arguments that Rowling’s books are evil or dangerous or anti-Christian. Boiled down to its most basic element, the Harry Potter series is about one thing: love. This is what sets Harry apart from his arch-enemy, and though it may not sound like much to a young wizard in training, it seems destined to be the key to bringing about Voldemort’s downfall. Harry’s deep-seated friendship with Ron and Hermione, his mother’s willingness to die for his safety, the overflow of affection to be found at the Weasley home... even Hagrid’s unseemly devotion to the most dangerous creatures in the wizarding world points to the fact that Rowling’s is a world powered by love, unable to be undone by even the most evil of upstarts. So it is that I leave the sixth novel, with its most exquisite and elegaic of endings, in full possession of the faith that good will indeed triumph in the last, desperate, thrilling, heart-rending, and undoubtedly brilliant chapter in the chronicles of a boy named Harry Potter.

Casey at the Bat a Boisterous Ode to Baseball

The other day, I went to a baseball game for the first time in years. The home team, the Erie Seawolves, were in fine form that evening and managed to pull off a resounding victory. In truth, we attended just as much for the opportunity to receive a Tom Ridge bobblehead as to watch the game. But aside from the sun in our eyes for the first hour, it was a very enjoyable evening. I've always had a soft spot in my heart for baseball, perhaps because it's one of the few sports where I can actually follow what's going on. Maybe it's also because several great movies revolve around baseball. Or because of Yogi Berra. Or maybe it's because of Casey at the Bat.

My brother got an earful on our way home that evening as I tried to recall the words to that hallowed text and gushed about what a brilliant poem it was. And so it is. Good enough to form the basis for a Disney mini-classic. Good enough to be included in a collection of classic American literature. Just plain good. I was taken aback to discover, when looked into the matter further upon our arrival at home, that the poem hails from the 1880s. I realized it had been around for a while, but I had no idea it had been that long. I recalled that the ballad was set to the tune of Battle Hymn of the Republic, but I wonder just how often it has actually been sung. Fourteen verses seems like a recipe for an inordinately long recitation. Of course, if Loreena McKennitt could record The Highwayman, then I suppose somebody could tackle Casey at the Bat. But most folks, I reckon, are content to leave the hymn bit out of it.

The poem manages to capture all the excitement of a baseball game, the thrill of hometown pride whether it's the major leagues or the less-than-minors, as the Mudville Nine seem to be. It's a comical ode, with jabs at not-so-talented players and the typical outrage over a hapless umpire's call. But the star of the show is Casey, a local hero, so self-assured and keen on strutting his stuff that he leaves the fate of the team down to one hit, having let two perfectly good pitches pass him by.

"The sneer has fled from Casey's lip, the teeth are clenched in hate. / He pounds, with cruel violence, his bat upon the plate. / And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go, / and now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow."

Oh, the tension inherent in this final stanza before that fabled ending which so many can recite by heart! I can think of few poems so stirring, and I recommend it to anyone who loves baseball, or to anyone who doesn't understand why so many people do.

"If There's One Thing an Englishman Knows, It's How to Queue."

That’s what I love about Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy; it’s so delightfully British. The series is on my list of books to read. Many of my friends have informed me that I need to read Douglas Adams’ masterpiece, and I suspect they’re right. At least the movie gave me a taste of what to expect. Like many adaptations, I get the sense that this was not entirely successful in its attempt to do justice to the book. But at times, I suspect that the film came pretty close.

When a movie begins with the obliteration of Earth, that’s usually not a good sign – though singing dolphins help to make up for this atrocity. In any case, it’s clear Our Hero, British everyman Arthur Dent (Martin Freeman), isn’t having a very good day. First a crew shows up to knock his house down to make way for a highway, then hundreds of alien ships show up and incinerate his planet to make way for the galactic version of the same thing. But Arthur does have a bit of luck on his side, in the form of Ford Prefect (Mos Def), his upbeat friend who just happens to be an alien aware of Earth’s imminent destruction. Once Ford whisks them off the doomed planet, the real adventure begins.

They soon find themselves the traveling companions of Zaphod Beeblebrox (Sam Rockwell), the egotistical, two-headed Intergalactic president, and his girlfriend, Trillian (Zooey Deschanel), with whom Arthur is not so secretly smitten. I must admit that while I found Arthur endearing and Ford engaging, Trillian was rather annoying to me and Zaphod was just plain obnoxious. I think I would have much preferred the movie without him. But as unsatisfactory as those two characters were, their portly robot shipmate Marvin made up for it. Brilliantly voiced by Alan Rickman, who seems to have a knack for pulling off mournful characters and managed, in my opinion, to make Snape the most intriguing character in the Harry Potter films, this droid possesses all the cheer of Eeyore and never minds letting everyone within earshot know how miserable he is. He was undoubtedly my favorite character in the film, unless one counts a certain instructional manual as a character…

The titular guide was consistently the source of greatest amusement for me. Its witty observations and recollections struck me as so deliciously absurd, I wished it would have appeared even more often than it did. Voiced by Stephen Fry, it also provides the narration for the film, which is excellent and a bit reminiscent of Jude Law in Series of Unfortunate Events, though I think Fry had more opportunity to make the most of his potential for amusement. Little details of the film also provide great mirth, such as the tendency of the hideous Vogons to become so enmeshed in paperwork that they never accomplish anything, or their utilization of poetry as a torture tool. I’m also a fan of the rather daffy Slartibartfast (Bill Nighy), the sullen-looking fellow who shows Arthur the factory where planets are created, and I think the concept of the point-of-view gun is brilliant. Wouldn’t it come in handy to just zap someone with the result that they would instantly understand your point of view? I want one!

Basically, as a comedy, Hitchhiker’s Guide succeeds, though there are lines that fall flat and there were several elements of the film that still didn’t really make sense to my by the end. I don’t think the comedic aspect translated as well as it could have, but it still made for pretty funny viewing. The love story, on the other hand, failed to move me at all. I could have done without it altogether. While Arthur was very loveable, Trillian just didn’t seem his type to me, and I didn’t find any chemistry between them. So go see the movie for a laugh, and keep an ear out especially for Marvin and the Guide. I don’t know that it’s everything Douglas Adams would have wanted it to be, but I doubt he’s rolling over in his grave.

The Thing is the Thing that Makes Fantastic Four Worth Watching

At the outset of the summer, I had a list of several movies I wanted to see in the theater – most of which I still haven’t. The Fantastic Four was not on that list, but when my uncle issued an invitation for me to go see it with his family, I was happy to accept. I tend to be a bit leery of films inspired by comic books simply because they generally tend to be very destructive, but this did look to be one of the more family friendly of those adaptation, an impression that seemed to be confirmed when almost all the previews were for films rated G or PG. So I settled in with my jumbo popcorn and an open mind. As it turned out, I liked it quite a bit.

I don’t know anything about the source material, so I can’t comment on how faithful the film was in terms of character and plot elements. I was warned ahead of time by my brother that watching the movie meant putting up with Jessica Alba, a name I was unfamiliar with. “And what’s so wrong with Jessica Alba?” I inquired. “She was in Dark Angel,” Nathan muttered darkly. “And you watched Dark Angel?” I persisted. “No,” he replied. “So how do you know it was such a bad show?” I asked. “Because Jessica Alba was in it!” he concluded triumphantly while I shook my head and decided not too rely too heavily on his circular logic. She plays Sue Storm, who I couldn’t help but compare repeatedly to Trillian, probably because I had just seen Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy a couple weeks before. She serves a similar purpose, with the protagonist, Reed Richards (Ioan Gruffudd), having dated her in the past and now being forced to see her with another man. This man, incidentally, is Victor Von Doom (Julian McMahon), the former rival to whom Reed must turn for assistance in launching an experiment that could have earth-shatteringly positive consequences.

Joining them in this voyage are Johnny (Chris Evans), Sue’s hotshot younger brother, and Ben Grimm (Michael Chiklis), Reed’s paternal friend. There is considerable interpersonal strain inherent in the formation of this group. Reed is jealous of Victor, who in turn is contemptuous of Reed. Sue is angry with Reed because of the way their relationship ended, and she isn’t especially thrilled by all the advances the suave Victor is making on her. Meanwhile, Ben is furious that his former employee Johnny is now his boss, and Johnny is more than happy to rub it in. The clashing personalities hardly make for an ideal situation, but when they return to Earth with an assortment of bizarre powers, it seems Sue, Johnny, Reed and Ben are going to have to learn how to live with one another.

Victor, meanwhile, remains on his own, his rage festering as he realizes that his business is tanking thanks to Reed’s little trip. Oddly enough, it never seems to occur to any members of the quartet, soon dubbed the Fantastic Four, that Victor might have acquired strange attributes as well. Their focus is on figuring out how to undo the changes that were made to their DNA. Ben is especially eager. His transformation made him clumsy and intimidating, a rock-like giant so alarming that his wife left him. Being branded with the humiliating nickname “the Thing” didn’t help. But the other three have more useful powers: invisibility for Sue, stretchiness for Reed, and the ability to burst into flames and fly for Johnny. The latter is especially fond of his newfound abilities and is in no hurry whatsoever to give them up.

I imagine The Incredibles was informed a bit by this comic, as the film reminded me a lot of that recent Disney / Pixar venture. The invisibility and stretchiness were a particularly powerful reminder. As for the characters, Ben was by far my favorite, a very sympathetic man who provided most of the film’s heart. Johnny was amusing, though if was shut up with him for days on end I suspect I would find him very obnoxious. Reed and Sue were likable enough; again, they mirrored the relationship between Arthur and Trillian in Hitchhiker’s Guide. For whatever reason, this romance seemed a bit more believable, but I still wasn’t all that impressed with that element of the storyline. Victor was an intriguing villain, arrogant and out for revenge but still someone I could feel sorry for at times.

Predictably, there was quite a bit of destruction in this film, though there were, happily, few casualties. In the end, it’s a pretty good film with plenty of action, done in such a way that it is appropriate for younger audiences. No doubt there will be a sequel, and when it comes I would not be adverse to seeing it.