Sibling Cooperation Makes Max and Ruby's Christmas Tree "Beautiful!"

When I happened upon Jingle Bell Christmas, featuring the Backyardigans, I felt rather hip in my knowledge of programming popular among preschoolers despite my lack of cable television. But then I read Max and Ruby's Christmas Tree and realized that these were also characters on Nick Jr. and that I had never heard of them. The only author credit the book provides is that this simple story featuring cartoonish rabbits is based upon characters created by Rosemary Wells.

Max and Ruby are siblings, and like most siblings, they don't necessarily agree on everything. I don't know where their parents are while the pair of young rabbits attempt to decorate the tree themselves, but boy, are they in for a surprise when they return! Sophisticated Ruby, who seems to be several years - or in rabbit terms, months, I suppose - Max's senior, wants the Christmas tree adorned with a distinguished display of traditional ornaments, while Max insists that his more Halloweenish toys - a snake, spider and alien, gummy worms and vampire teeth - are "Beautiful!"

What to do, what to do? Why, compromise, of course! While there is a bit of bickering, Ruby soon decides to let her little brother have his fun. They can both have it their way, and though the tree will be unconventional, it will be a testament to both their individuality and their partnership. I find that spirit of cooperation refreshing.

The pictures in this large board book are bright but unremarkable, and the same goes for the text, which is limited to about three sentences per page and set aside in a white box with words that coordinate with the color of the page's background. Next to each text box is a little circle containing a small picture, and these little peepholes are probably my favorite aspect of the book, at least visually. Also fun is the cover, which is puffy plastic rather than the same rigid material of the rest of the book.

As Christmas tree decorating tales go, this one isn't anywhere near the most engaging, and I'd say the Backyardigans have it beat in the Nick Jr. neighborhood, but Max and Ruby's Christmas Tree is still a cute book, especially for brothers and sisters who could use a reminder about how much fun can be had when they get along.

The Natural World Responds to Changing Seasons in First Snow in the Woods

Several years ago, my aunt introduced me to the awe-inspiring artistry of Carl R. Sams and Jean Stoick when she gave me a copy of their first book, Stranger in the Woods, for Christmas. Firmly set in winter, it shows the reaction a variety of woodland creatures have to a snowman set up especially for them to enjoy. The second, a springtime tale entitled Lost in the Woods, follows the plight of a fawn who has been left alone by his mother, much to the concern of the neighboring creatures. Both are notable for the outstanding wilderness photography within their pages, and First Snow in the Woods is no different.

First Snow is a winter tale, but it is also rooted in autumn. Most of the book involves the whisperings that snow will soon arrive; the flurries don't fly fast and furious until the climax. While the book is subtitled "a photographic fantasy," there's a lot of factual information to be gleaned about the seasonal habits of various animals. Owls seek warmer climates, chipmunks gorge on berries, dragonflies die. Although the story is not as focused on a particular character as Lost in the Woods, a fawn again interacts with the world around him, wondering about the changes that are occurring and asking questions. It seems this could be the same fawn as in that book, but as none of the characters have names, that remains unclear.

The photography is remarkable, vibrant and breath-taking. My favorites pictures include a deer standing shoulder-deep in a field of goldenrod and a glorious spread of geese flying in an inky sunrise as mist rises off the pond below them. Lively prose accompanies the illustrations, giving the animals more distinct personalities. Among the other animals that appear are a woolly bear, a monarch butterfly, a hummingbird, a squirrel, a woodchuck, a painted turtle, a raccoon, mice, a chickadee, a snowshoe hare and a robin, each responding to the alterations in the weather in a unique way.

"All things change," the doe explains to the fawn, and we see that although some of these changes can be sad, many are beautiful. There is a slightly elegiac tone to this book that isn't present in the first two, but the hazy sense of joy and new beginnings is what will remain as the final page turns. First Snow in the Woods is a nature lover's delight.

Ian Holm Puts on Napoleon's Garb in The Emperor's New Clothes

In 2002, I rang in the new year by seeing some of my favorite literary characters come to life on the big screen with The Fellowship of the Ring. Along with a thrilling movie experience, I gained a hefty list of actors, most of whom I'd never heard of before, to watch out for. Lord of the Rings cast members helped lead me to Pirates of the Caribbean, 13 Going on 30, On a Clear Day and, most notably, LOST. This week, I watched a film I'd selected mostly because it stars Ian Holm, who played my beloved Bilbo Baggins.

The Emperor's New Clothes has nothing to do with a man strutting around naked, though it does involve an adjustment of the titular character's pride. Still, more than that famous fable, this tale echoes The Prince and the Pauper as a ruler in exile switches places with a tipsy commoner as part of a plan to restore himself to power. This is no generic king. Alan Taylor's light-hearted slice of historical fiction re-imagines the traditional account of Napoleon's death, claiming it as inaccurate. The tale unfolds in a reasonably believable fashion, to the point that it's easy to forget that there is no factual basis to it.

If I weren't so fond of Holm just the way he is, I might be inclined to complain that perhaps the most iconic Frenchman of them all has an English accent. For the sake of my appreciative ears, however, I'll forgive it. I'm glad I had Holm as an anchor through this film because I was completely unfamiliar with every other actor involved, including Iben Hjejle, who plays Pumpkin, the melon-selling widow to whom Napoleon develops a romantic attachment. He does a marvelous job, clearly differentiating the two characters he plays and carrying himself with dignity as the emperor even though he's almost as short as Bilbo and many people he meets tower over him.

I was a tad surprised at how heavily the film leaned on Napoleon's side of the story, since generally in tales of this nature it seems the parallel stories are given somewhat equal attention. It soon becomes clear that the experience of Eugene Lenormand, the commoner who impersonates Napoleon, is of little consequence, aside from how it will affect the emperor. Still, I love the scenes with Eugene because they are among the funniest in the movie.

Napoleon has some comical bits too, particularly when he uses his tactical expertise to come up with a new business strategy for Pumpkin, but primarily his role is one of awakening. He gradually loses much of his arrogance and comes to discover that some things are more important than power, a realization that is soon tested...

The Emperor's New Clothes is an interesting movie with a charming streak of romance and idealism. Though it's classified as a comedy, I wouldn't really identify it as such; the wit is spread about sparingly so that there are some stretches of film that seem to stretch out excessively. Overall, though, this is a sweet and lovely movie. Especially if you like Ian Holm.

The Incredibles: Superheroes Entertain, But Not as Much as Toys and Monsters

I love Pixar. So much that I can't believe I still haven't seen Ratatouille, which looks glorious and which comes so highly recommended. Over the Thanksgiving weekend, however, I did manage to catch The Incredibles, the previous Pixar flick also written and directed by Brad Bird. I'd seen it before, in the theater, and although I enjoyed it, I didn't like it as much as the others and couldn't quite understand the heaps of acclaim it seemed to be getting.

After seeing it again, I'd still rank it at the bottom of my Pixar list, but that doesn't mean The Incredibles isn't fantastic. As a send-up of spy and superhero films, it delivers plenty of laughs, though the jokes generally seem to aim at an older audience. This aspect of the film is both an asset and a weakness. It's sly and clever, but some of it probably goes over the heads of children.

Not only is the overall tone of the movie rather more sophisticated than would be expected for an audience of youngsters, the film gets pretty dark at times, and there is cartoonish violence aplenty. Nothing too graphic, but the fact that these are actual people as opposed to toys, monsters, cars or any of a variety of small animals makes the mayhem feel that much more ominous. And good as the animation is, these heroes in hiding just aren't as much fun to look at as Woody, Sully or Mater.

Still, the Incredibles, known to the rest of civilization as the Parrs, are an engaging family. Dad (Craig T. Nelson) is overweight and unfulfilled, dreaming of his glory days as a superhero in his prime while he fritters away his life in a tiny cubicle, attempting to actually help his clients despite the disapproval of his explosive, diminutive boss (Wallace Shawn). His wife Elastigirl (Holly Hunter) is determined to allow the family to blend in, even if it means never making use of their unique abilities. Hyperactive young Dash (Spencer Fox) races to and fro, always full of energy and frustration that he doesn't have a decent outlet for it, and brooding Violet (Sarah Vowell) feels invisible even when she isn't cloaking herself. Only infant Jack-Jack seems to boast no remarkable powers, but he has time to grow into that sort of thing...

Also integral to the plot are Frozone (Samuel L. Jackson), the hip buddy of Mr. Incredible who does all sorts of nifty tricks involving the freezing of water, and Syndrome (Jason Lee), whose poisonous attitudes toward Our Hero were shaped during an unfortunate encounter years earlier. Bird himself joins the party as savvy fashion designer Edna Mode, who is eager to give this family a new look for this phase of their lives.

The animation is eye-catching, though again, I just can't quite get used to Pixar's humans. It's a movie that almost seems like it would've worked just as well as a live action movie, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. As with most Pixar efforts, this isn't a musical, but Michael Giacchino, who also composed the music for LOST, created a fun and evocative score.

The Incredibles are a family with a very unusual dynamic, since they must juggle superpowers with the desire to remain in cognito, the urge to help humanity with the need for some quality time on the home front. They're the average middle class family in many ways, one of which is demonstrated in a hilarious scene in which Elastigirl plays back-seat driver as her husband attempts to maneuver their car through heavy traffic. I think I laughed more the second time around and was a little less shocked by how sinister the plot occasionally became. The Incredibles is quite the entertaining ride. It's just not quite as incredible as its esteemed company.

Heavy-Handed FernGully Gets Its Message Across

When he was little, my brother Benjamin loved the movie FernGully. I suspect that now he'd disavow this cartoon that's the tree-hugging-est film since the animated adaptation of Dr. Seuss' The Lorax, but at the time he was quite taken with the teeming wildlife, the fish-out-of-water surfer dude, the sibilantly toxic villain and, most especially, the wacky winged sidekick.

My strongest memory of the movie was also Robin Williams' manic performance as Batty Koda, a bat who has been subjected to experimentation at a lab and is consequently deeply mistrustful of humans and has a habit of making random outbursts. Re-watching it recently, I recalled how much more I enjoyed his role as Genie in Aladdin, which hit theaters about half a year after FernGully. While Batty is certainly good for a laugh, his neurotic nature grates after a while, and his truncated rap doesn't hold up nearly as well as Friend Like Me.

Some of his cultural references are painfully dated, as is nearly every word out of the mouth of Zak Young (Jonathan Ward), the clueless tree-marker whom Crysta (Samantha Mathis), the headstrong leader-in-training of the community of fairies in FernGully, accidentally shrinks. Zak rocks out to his walkman, rhapsodizes about "bodacious babes" and makes us suffer through the old "only fools are positive" shtick with Batty. He's straight out of the late '80s, but the laughable is balanced by the lovable. You can't help but like the guy and embrace the wondrous journey he must undertake.

As integral as Zak is to the plot - he is, after all, the representative of humanity, and in a sense the future rests on his shoulders - the main character is Crysta, who is youthful and spunky but possesses the latent potential for an extra-special bond with the world around her. Wizened mystic Magi Lune (Grace Zabriskie) mentors her as best she can, but naive Crysta is not prepared for the horrors of the outside world and the grim knowledge that the fanciful "human tales" painting people as protectors of the forest are not reflected in reality.

It's obvious just from the pessimistic subtitle - "the last rainforest" - that FernGully has a message to get across: Don't clear-cut rainforests! I love trees just about as much as J. R. R. Tolkien and John Denver ever did, so I can't complain about the moral, though its method of delivery is rather heavy-handed, and the simplistic animation accompanying the retelling of legends teeters between dull and slightly creepy. Really creepy is Hexxus, a big brown glob who propels himself along by feeding on poisonous fumes and occasionally morphs into a skeleton. This entity is seriously vile, and Tim Curry seems to relish every moment of it.

On the whole, the tunes sung by characters, which I usually much prefer to generic background songs in these sorts of movies, aren't particularly noteworthy. Batty's solo is annoying, while Hexxus belts out a disgusting diatribe peppered with strange culinary comparisons like acid rain to egg chow mein and a lizard bursts in with a jarringly random ditty about his ravenous hunger. But I love the gorgeous, idealistic A Dream Worth Keeping, written by dream team Alan Silvestri and Jimmy Webb and performed by Sheena Easton, and Raffi's gently peppy Raining Like Magic wonderfully captures the vitality of the ecosystem. Stick around for the credits and you'll be rewarded with Some Other World, an overlooked Elton John gem.

The setting for FernGully seems to be Australia, as we see kangaroos, platypuses and emus, but most of the characters have American accents, with a few British accents thrown in for good measure. I suspect director Bill Croyer and writers Jim Cox and Diana Young were going for more of a mythical last refuge not corresponding to any particular location. Dedicated "to our children and our children's children," the movie aims to make a difference, one tree at a time. For that, I can forgive a lot of retro corniness.

DiCamillo and Ibatoulline's Christmas Collaboration Brings Great Joy

When I was a youngster, my role as an angel in a Christmas pageant required me to recite the biblical speech that includes the statement, "Behold! I bring you tidings of great joy!" This staple of Sunday school Christmas plays is the cornerstone of Kate DiCamillo's tender Great Joy, which is lavishly illustrated by Bagram Ibatoulline, who previously collaborated with DiCamillo on The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane.

Frances, the compassionate little girl with the big line to deliver, is excited about her upcoming moment in the spotlight, but that enthusiasm is dampened by her realization that while she is warm and cozy up in her bedroom, out in the street below her an organ grinder and his monkey sleep in the snowy cold. When she expresses her concerns, her mother reacts with disdainful detachment, but that doesn't stop Frances from trying to figure out how she can bestow some Christmas warmth on this pair of homeless musicians.

DiCamillo weaves her tale beautifully, but Ibatoulline's acrylic and gouache paintings are what make the book so spectacular. There's a hazy quality to each of the pictures that magnifies the emotions of the almost photo-realistic characters. Frances, with her twin braids, blue ribbons and thoughtful gaze, and the grinder, with his old coat, graying mustache and melancholy eyes, are especially expressive. Careful study of the illustrations reveals that there is more to the story that DiCamillo explicitly indicates, such as the photograph of Frances' father in a military uniform, which explains his absence and probably has something to do with her mother's extra degree of caution.

The book has an old-fashioned feel to it, largely because of the man with the fez-adorned, bell-ringing monkey, a brand of street entertainment that seems to belong to an earlier time, but there doesn't seem to be any direct reference to a specific time frame. The ambiguity works well for a story that could be enjoyed just as easily by grandparents as by schoolchildren.

I've read many of the new Christmas books adorning bookstore shelves this season, and most have been delightful. Some, such as Angelina's Christmas and The Legend of St. Nicholas, similarly focus on bringing yuletide cheer to the less fortunate, but I think this one moved me more than any of the others. A gently resplendent tale in which readers can immerse themselves, basking in the glow of the luminous paintings, Great Joy is cause for great rejoicing.

Mickey, Donald, Goofy and Pluto Serve Up Classic Cartoon Fun

My brother Nathan came home from college on Wednesday, and the first thing he did was head downstairs to examine the shelves where all of our old videos are kept. "I'm in the mood to watch cartoons," he declared, toting half a dozen worn tapes upstairs with him. We've yet to get to the stack of Don Bluths, but yesterday we enjoyed a quick trip down memory lane with Walt Disney Cartoon Classics: Mickey and the Gang.

When Nathan was little, we briefly had the Disney Channel, and during that time we recorded about six hours' worth of cartoons featured on the show Duck Presents. These included snippets from films but mostly short cartoons spanning more than half a century. I don't know just when it was that we picked up this little collection, containing three cartoons featuring Mickey and his friends engaged in what should have been leisure activities, but I know that having all those other shorts to choose from didn't stop us from getting a kick out of these, and they were still just as fun this time around.

Boat Builders - This cartoon from 1938 features Mickey, Donald and Goofy, with brief appearances by Pluto and Minnie. Mickey buys himself a build-your-own boat kit and enlists his friends' aid in getting from the blueprints and the big box of supplies to a finished, sea-worthy vessel. "All you to is put it together!" he reassures them at several points, to which Donald chimes in, "Even a child could do it!" before collapsing into peals of hysterical laughter. But it's not quite as simple as all that, and each of the friends runs into a series of frustrations. How long can their patience last?

Canine Caddy - Although it's from 1941, only three years after the first cartoon, Mickey looks noticeably different in this one, more like the modern mouse. Pluto is his only companion in this short, which has Mickey out for a game of golf, looking both dapper and ridiculous with his oversized floppy hat and enormous club. He's rather hard on poor old Pluto, who acts as his caddy, and he cheats, though I guess that doesn't really matter since he seems to have the course all to himself - except for one very annoying gopher, who Mickey doesn't appear to notice but who drives Pluto nuts. How can he fulfill his duties as a caddy while being harassed by such an impertinent creature?

Moose Hunters - The earliest of the bunch, this cartoon from 1937 features Mickey, Donald and Goofy, though Mickey spends most of his time separate from the other two. The plan is for Donald and Goofy, dressed in a ludicrous lady moose costume, to attract and distract their prey while Mickey gets in a good shot. Unfortunately for them, Mickey's gun is the first victim of this unwise enterprise, and it turns out that the attentions of an amorous moose are a little more than they can handle on their own...

Walt Disney provides the voice of Mickey in all three shorts, while Pinto Colvig plays aw-shucks Goofy as well as Pluto and the Gopher and Clarence Nash gives mostly unintelligible voice to Donald. The moose courtship and an interlude in Boat Builders involving Goofy's flirtation with an inanimate mermaid border on the risque, but that sort of thing can be found in lots of shorts, especially from this time period, and it's really silly rather than objectionable. For a fun half hour with a beloved cartoon trio, check out Walt Disney Cartoon Classics: Mickey and the Gang.

Count to Ten and Beyond With a Christmassy Mouse

In my intensive Christmas book perusals, I've come to discover that mice are pretty popular as subjects for holiday tales. Maybe the mouse's small role in the opening lines of the iconic A Visit From St. Nicholas has something to do with that, maybe not. But The Little Drummer Mouse, Who Is Coming to Our House?, A Merry Little Christmas: Celebrate From A to Z and Angelina's Christmas are just a few examples of Christmas books that feature mice in prominence. Another is Merry Christmas, Mouse! by Laura Numeroff and illustrated by Felicia Bond.

Numeroff and Bond have collaborated on several mouse-related books in the past, starting with If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, which has become a classic. Merry Christmas, Mouse!, a sturdy mid-sized board book, is their latest, and while it's very short on text, that doesn't make it any less adorable than their previous efforts.

Mouse has taken it upon himself to decorate the Christmas tree, and each page brings a new type of decoration. First he puts up one ornament, then two of a kind, then three of a another kind all the way up to ten, at which point the book takes an unexpected and entertaining turn. Among the decorations Mouse uses are traditional favorites like angels, snowflakes, snowmen and tin soldiers, but he also changes things up a bit by including robots and rocket ships.

Not only is the book a fun lesson in counting, it enables kids to feel as though they are decorating the tree along with Mouse. My family's Christmas tree has always been beautifully chaotic, with a marvelous mish-mash of uncoordinated ornaments, and it's fun to see Mouse's tree similarly arrayed, particularly at the end of the book when we realize just how big a decorating job he has ahead of him!

Merry Christmas, Mouse! contains only four sentences, but the vibrant illustrations say enough that few words are needed. If you give a mouse a Christmas tree and a box of ornaments, a lot of fun will follow!

Angelina's Christmas Pays Tribute to the Postal Service

When I was in fifth grade, I discovered the Pleasant Company. I'd been aware of it before, as several of my classmates had been obsessed with American Girl dolls, but by the time I fell under the spell of Kirsten, Samantha and Molly, my friends had outgrown them. I didn't mind having the obsession to myself, though, and gladly immersed myself in the catalogues, which were filled with intricate, expensive accessories appropriate to the time period of each particular girl.

Along with all of the pages devoted to these historical pre-teens, I sometimes caught a glimpse of a little mouse by the name of Angelina. This charming young rodent, an avid ballerina, is the star of her own series of books written by Katharine Holabird and illustrated by Helen Craig. The latest of these is Angelina's Christmas.

This yuletide tale finds Angelina eagerly preparing for her role as one of The Nutcracker's Sugar Plum Fairies in her school's Christmas show. Meanwhile, she notices that a neighbor, former postman Mr. Bell, is all by himself during this magical season, and she decides to share a little holiday cheer with him. She wants some help from her little cousin Henry, but he's so excited about Santa's arrival that he finds it hard to think of anything else. Will a visit with the elderly mouse change his perspective?

The drawings in this book are just as intricately detailed as befits a story told at mouse eye level. I especially love the illustration of Angelina and her friends, each in a wispy fairy costume of a different color, dancing elegantly on stage, soon to be joined by a very special visitor. The text is prose, with a couple of simply written paragraphs per page.

One thing I really like about this book is the way it pays tribute to those in the postal service, who, if you really think about it, perform Santa-like duties all year long and especially during the Christmas season when so many people are sending cards and gifts to one another. They too must battle sometimes ferocious weather in order to accomplish their task. Some say that the Internet has brought about the demise of traditional mail, but as someone who leaps up like an excited puppy at the sound of the mailman's truck each day, I am very grateful for these public servants and hope that people will always deem some things worthy of a stamp and a little extra effort.

You don't have to be into ballet to enjoy Angelina Ballerina, especially in this story, which is much more about her effort to ensure that this man who helped make so many Christmases merry throughout his career has a happy holiday himself. For Mr. Bell and for happy readers, Angelina is very pleasant company indeed.

Freddie Highmore Enchants in August Rush

Is it mere coincidence that August Rush, the musical fairy tale directed by Kirsten Sheridan, stars two actors who have previously played unconventional versions of Peter Pan? Maybe. But the echoes seem to be there, with Robin Williams playing Wizard, a ring-leader for lost boys (and girls) living in their own little Neverland in an old theatre, and wide-eyed Freddie Highmore portraying Evan Taylor, who wants nothing more than a mother (and a father, too). This young lad can't soar through the air, but his remarkable gift for finding music all around him is every bit as magical as fairy dust.

When I first saw trailers for August Rush, I was hooked as soon as I spied Highmore, who has replaced the now-grown Haley Joel Osment as my favorite child actor. I thought he was brilliant in Two Brothers, Finding Neverland and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and I suspected any film with him in the cast would be of high quality. Besides, the premise of a boy who has never known his parents seeking them out through music was entrancing, and Williams sweetened the deal.

The film did not disappoint. Highmore seems to breathe innocent sincerity, and he is a big part of why this movie works despite the fact that disbelief must be checked at the door. August Rush is primarily about his journey, a trek much like that of Fievel Mousekewitz in An American Tail, except that he doesn't even know his parents' names or what they look like. But he hears them, and he's convinced that if he can just find a way to put the music inside him out in the open, they just might hear him, too.

Initially, Lyla Novacek (Keri Russell) and Louis Connelly (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) don't know they're looking for their son. Indeed, Louis, a washed-up rock star, has no idea he fathered a child, while Lyla, a Julliard-trained orchestral musician who delivered Evan after sustaining serious injuries in a car accident, was led to believe he was stillborn. Unfortunate circumstances have kept them separated from each other and from Evan, and though they both feel something important is missing from their lives, it's hard to say just what.

Evan is a musical prodigy who has never picked up an instrument. He's especially fascinated by wind chimes but finds melodious patterns in all the noises around him, and the film is presented in such a way that we are able to tap into his inspiration even before he finds the means with which to express it. It seems a little far-fetched to me that this boy would have gone more than 11 years without access to a guitar, a piano or even a harmonica, but a lot about this movie is far-fetched, and I'm willing to accept it because of the sheer exhilaration that accompanies each of his musical discoveries.

It starts with a guitar, played by the talented, street-smart Arthur (Leon G. Thomas III), who leads Evan into the fold of the eccentric, anti-establishment Wizard, who both nurtures and manipulates children with musical abilities, forcing them to work as street performers and hand the tips over to him. He reminds me of Fagin in Oliver Twist, who I always felt a little sorry for despite his criminal activities. While Wizard facilitates Evan's real immersion in music and gives him the titular pseudonym, he's not quite the kindly mentor the previews led me to believe, but he's not all sinister either.

When an evening choir practice draws him to a church, Evan progresses to piano and organ and soon is writing his own rhapsody, taking into account all the sounds and events that have moved him so profoundly. He takes to each new instrument instantly, without having to take time to develop proficiency, and between Highmore's ecstatic expressions and the combination of music and cinematography, watching and listening is truly a joyful experience.

It's Highmore who really drives the film, but Williams, who seems to be emulating Bono with his get-up, is compelling, while Thomas and Jamie Simone Nash, who plays Hope, a young vocalist Evan befriends, both boast considerable musical skill. Meyers, whose character reminds me of Charlie Pace on LOST, is fine, but Russell is positively luminous, and Terrence Howard conveys a sense of kind concern as Richard Jeffries, a social worker who takes an interest in Evan's welfare.

Rush to the cinema this November for a touching tale of family, love and the power of music. It's a film you're not likely to forget any time soon.

On Christmas Morning Reminds Kids of the First Christmas

At the bookstore where I work, one of the most in-demand items every Christmas is the Christmas edition of Ideals, which is always full of stories, poems and pictures that evoke the joy and nostalgia of a family holiday celebration. Along with the delightfully homey quality, readers can always expect superior artistry. So while I enjoyed On Christmas Morning, a board book put out by Ideals Publications, it fell a bit short of expectations.

One glance at the book's thick pages and it's obvious that it is intended for small fingers. Patricia A. Pingry provides the narration, which is written in an ABCDB rhyme format. For the most part the rhymes are decent if unremarkable, though in a couple of stanzas the wording is awkward, and there are some strange choices made with punctuation, as in the stanza in which the three wise men "rode their camels far / across the sand. / To find a king; / they followed one huge star."

Gene Barretta's illustrations are detailed but cartoonish. There's enough to look at in the scenes both of a traditional down-home Christmas and of the Nativity, but there's nothing very distinctive about any of the pictures. It all feels very generic, which is bad news when there are so many Christmas books on the market with unique and memorable touches. In trying for general applicability, Pingry and Barretta sacrifice any real sense of character with the modern half of the book, while the format distances us from the Biblical events it describes.

Nonetheless, I appreciate the way that On Christmas Morning integrates the sacred elements of Christmas with the more secular, serving as a reminder to keep the reason for the season in mind in the midst of all the Christmas trees, fancy dinners and presents. There's also a nod at charitable giving. There are other books that get the same points across more engagingly, but this wouldn't be a bad thing for a toddler to open up on Christmas morning.

Thomas the Really Useful Engine to the Rescue!

When he was little, my brother Nathan adored Thomas the Tank Engine, and the two of us used to watch his show on PBS often, getting a big kick out of Ringo Starr's narration and laughing at all the "cross" engines with their round, pouty faces. When a show is set in a place called "Shining Time Station," you know that no trouble is going to last for very long, but it was always fun to see how Thomas and his friends handled their unique setbacks.

In Rev. W. Awdry's Thomas' Christmas Delivery, illustrated by Tommy Stubbs, Thomas has a number of important stops to make before he can get home to the station for the traditional stocking hanging and a nice Christmas Eve snooze before awaking to a glorious gift from Father Christmas. Because he is determined to be a "Really Useful Engine," Thomas puts aside thoughts of Christmas morning, focusing instead on getting food to Community Hall, care packages to children at boarding school and gifts to patients at a children's hospital.

Along each leg of the journey, the weather gets snowier, so that by the time he reaches the hospital he's in the middle of a full-blown blizzard. What's more, Sir Topham Hat asks him to make yet another special delivery before he heads home. Will Thomas manage to arrive home in time to hang his stocking?

Because Thomas, as a train, is devoid of limbs, any story about him making deliveries must of necessity be a tale of cooperation. Thomas has the first half of the job, but he can only succeed in his mission if the people where he stops are willing to unload the boxes he's carrying. Thus, Thomas' Christmas Eve travels really are a community effort.

The prose is very simple, with the repetition of Thomas' "Really Useful Engine" mantra reminiscent of "I think I can" in The Little Engine That Could. The colorful illustrations are fun, especially the sparkly cover, and there's a great giggly moment when we learn just what it is Thomas so desperately wants for Christmas.

Nathan hasn't been obsessed with Thomas for quite some time, but I know from the number of kids who peruse the train calendars at the kiosk where I work that enthusiasm for locomotives is still quite common among youngsters, especially boys. If there's a little train lover in your life, give the gift of a Really Useful Engine this Christmas.

Cadbury: It's Not Just For Easter Anymore!

When I arrived home from work the other day, I found an object of beauty sitting on the kitchen table: a Cadbury fruit and nut bar. I still have that creamy chocolate on the brain, so I typed "Cadbury" into the Epinions search engine, just for the fun of it, and what should immediately come up but the candy bar that has become my very favorite form of decadence since the perplexing disappearance of Hershey's almond and raisin nuggets. How could I resist such a fated reviewing opportunity?

I've always been a Hershey gal, and until I went to England in 2001, I associated Cadbury exclusively with Easter. I anticipated and adored the Cadbury Bunny commercials, but the eggs themselves didn't do anything for me. Then I took my little trip across the ocean, and the aisles were full of strange candy I'd never seen before bearing the name Cadbury. Orange bars! Mint! Fudge nut! I admired all the colorful wrappers but didn't gorge on English chocolate until I got home, having bought a couple of everything on a grocery shopping spree on my last day in Northampton.

I savored the chocolate, thinking it would be a long time before I'd get to taste Cadbury again unless I gave the eggs another shot. And then I made a shocking discovery. This stuff had been right under my nose all along and I'd missed it! Or did Tops suddenly, coincidentally start stocking Cadbury bars right after I got back from England? At any rate, I quickly fixed upon my favorite, and it remains a delectable delight six years later. And as the back of the royal purple wrapper indicates, it's manufactured by the Hershey company here in the United States, so I don't even have to feel disloyal about it.

The Cadbury fruit and nut is much heftier than a Hershey almond bar and accordingly is considerably more expensive, usually between one and two dollars. It consists of 32 chunky squares, which makes for easy division if you're inclined to share or to save some for later. The milk chocolate is exceptionally creamy and studded with bits of raisins and almonds for the perfect taste combination, at least for someone like me who grew up crazy about Hershey almond bars and Raisinettes.

Each four-ounce bar contains 570 calories, so it's best to indulge only once in a while, but that's preferable anyway, since anticipation heightens the enjoyment. Just don't feel obligated to restrict yourself to one a year!

When the Princess Dies, The Queen is Thrown Into Crisis

My parents grew up in the turbulent sixties, when tragedies such as the deaths of John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. seemed to occur with alarming frequency, riveting a nation whenever they did. By the time I came along in 1981, things had settled down somewhat, so there are few single newsworthy events from the last two decades of the 20th century that stand out in my memory. The death of Princess Diana is one of those. I couldn't ever remember having seen so many people so overwhelmed with anguish, and though I hadn't previously paid that much attention to the affairs of the royals, I found myself very emotionally involved. I suspect that was the case for many.

Now that a decade has passed, a film about the extraordinary events of that week can be viewed with some detachment, though I was flooded with memories as I watched The Queen, the drama about how stodgy Queen Elizabeth II (Helen Mirren) and freshly minted Prime Minister Tony Blair (Michael Sheen) dealt with the unprecedented outpouring of grief over the terrible accident. The movie utilizes clips of press coverage from the time but mostly focuses on what was happening behind the scenes.

Mirren gives a wonderfully understated performance as the queen who helped bring her country through World War II and has remained a dignified and intelligent figurehead all these decades later. Initially, she comes across as unreasonably stiff, but she soon becomes a laudable figure struggling to remain relevant in a rapidly changing world. And she's not all starch and pomp, either; I was surprised to see her driving a sporty vehicle and tromping around in the countryside with her dogs. In the end, the portrait we get of the queen is a very sympathetic one, despite her sometimes frustrating degree of restraint.

Tony Blair comes off even better, and while Sheen doesn't look all that much like him, he captures his energy and optimism. We watch him try to come to terms with the monarchy's lack of interest in engaging with the public during what he increasingly perceives as a national crisis. Though he desperately wants the queen to acknowledge the mood of the country, he is disgusted by the way the people have turned on their monarch, slamming her in all of the papers. Even his wife (Helen McCrory) rarely has a kind word for her, speaking of her much like Mrs. Cratchit speaks of Ebenezer Scrooge. Indeed, of all the characters featured in prominence, she came across as the least likable, always sniping about something. It was not a flattering portrayal.

Prince Philip (James Cromwell), meanwhile, was presented as a cantankerous old grump, but one can hardly blame him; if the queen feels like an anachronism, poor Prince Philip must feel downright invisible most of the time. While I merely found Cherie Blair obnoxious, the prince was somehow endearing in the midst of all his grumbling, partly because I've loved Cromwell ever since Babe, partly because it's obvious that he cares deeply about his family, even if he has a hard time openly displaying his emotions.

Prince Charles (Alex Jennings), deeply bereaved despite the dissolution of his marriage to Diana a year earlier, seems like a lost little boy attempting, in the midst of his own sorrow, to address the needs of his people and to assert himself to his authoritarian mother, while the queen's advisor, Robert Janvrin (Roger Allam), gradually comes to understand that on this matter, the queen's instincts may not serve her as well as they usually do. Meanwhile, the feisty Queen Mum (Sylvia Sims) observes all the goings-on, and as she complains that no one ever lets her know what's happening, she completes the family dynamic and it's easy to see the Windsors are not so different from the rest of us after all.

This is a beautiful film that offers an intimate look at a private family in the public eye. Long live The Queen!

The Legend of St. Nicholas Encourages a Spirit of Giving

In the claymation special Santa Claus is Coming to Town, Rankin and Bass purport to give us the origins of Santa Claus, explaining that he was an orphan raised by toymakers who started his yearly distribution of toys as a young man. They have an explanation for everything, from how he met Mrs. Claus to why he makes his deliveries on Christmas. Of course, they made it all up.

The Legend of St. Nicholas, written by Dandi Daley Mackall and illustrated by Guy Porfirio, has fanciful elements, but its purpose is to introduce children to the real St. Nicholas, who was neither magical nor immortal but who, motivated by his deep Christian faith, devoted his life to random acts of generosity - a sort of third-century clandestine Percy Ross.

The legend is framed by the story of Nick, a modern boy who isn't too enthused about buying Christmas gifts for his brothers and even less inclined to donate his money to charity. As he browses the CD section on a last-minute shopping trip, hoping he can get cheap enough presents that he can afford to buy one for himself, Nick overhears the store's Santa telling a story about a young man long ago with the same name but a very different outlook.

The tale is pretty much as I've heard it before. Nicholas, the only child of wealthy parents, was orphaned at a young age and decided to use his parents' fortune to improve the welfare of various poor families. Each version of the story seems to involve him slipping money for dowries into a particular household, and he does so here, but Mackall makes his task more personal by introducing three distinct characters as his best friends and having him help them.

The story is perfectly well-written, but it's the illustrations that really stand out. Porfirio makes Nicholas a vibrant youth, probably still a teenager. While the rich paintings clearly give us a sense of the setting, Nicholas and his friends also feel contemporary, easy for modern children to relate to. One of my favorite pictures shows Nicholas as a boy, visiting Asia with his parents and casting a concerned glance at the poverty-stricken children on the periphery. Each of the illustrations is soft and detailed, very appealing to readers of any age.

The book is published by Zonderkidz, a division of Zondervan, which publishes Christian books. It would make a great inclusion in a church library. Not only does it introduce an interesting part of Christian history, it encourages children to embrace the spirit of giving and recognize that, as it says in James 1:17, included in the back of the book, "Every good and perfect gift is from above."

Pan's Labyrinth a Dark, Twisted and Beautiful Adventure

When Oscar time rolled around this year, as usual I found I'd seen few of the contenders, but I had a good feeling about Pan's Labyrinth, which my brother and I had hoped to catch the previous weekend. It came highly recommended by many, including his friend Ian, a film aficionado, so neither of us was shocked to see it win so many awards.

It took me eight months, but I finally saw the mystical, horrifying, ultimately hopeful Pan’s Labyrinth. This Spanish film written and directed by Guillermo del Toro focuses upon one very special girl, the quiet, dark-haired, imaginative Ofelia (Ivana Baguero). Like a reverse Cinderella, she travels to an austere castle with her sickly, pregnant mother (Ariadna Gil) and soon falls under the iron fist of a wicked stepfather. His name is Captain Vidal (Sergi Lopez), and he is one of the most truly villainous characters I’ve ever encountered. Usually I can muster up some sympathy for the bad guy, but this man is so despicable I just wanted him vanquished.

Captain Vidal, a cruel, self-important man who seems to get a charge out of slaughtering civilians who may or may not be involved in an uprising against officials like him, spares real tenderness for no one except perhaps his not-yet-born son, but his regard for his heir is so self-centered that I hardly consider it a laudable character trait. Presumably he felt at least some small degree of attraction to Ofelia’s mother, but he certainly doesn’t treat her with any respect now that she has made the long and dangerous journey to be with him at this late stage of the pregnancy. Meanwhile, he leers at Mercedes (Maribel Verdu), a servant who develops a close relationship with Ofelia, but he has no affection for her.

Mercedes straddles two worlds in this intriguing movie set in 1944. While she works diligently for the captain, she has rendez-vous with the resistance in secret. Among her co-conspirators is my favorite of the secondary characters, Dr. Ferreiro (Alex Angulo), a compassionate, sophisticated physician whose skills are sorely needed for the problem pregnancy.

While all the wartime whispers begin to build in volume, Ofelia strives to survive her appalling new circumstances. A delicate, insect-like being trails her and eventually leads her to meet Pan, an ancient and rather frightful-looking faun who informs Ofelia that she is the princess of a peculiar but magnificent underworld. In order to prove herself still worthy of her immortal birthright, she must successfully complete three difficult tasks.

The delicate Baguero is exceptional in her role, perfectly portraying a girl of legendary destiny trapped by societal constraints, primarily the harsh rule of her stepfather. Her performance reminds me very much of Keisha Castle-Hughes' in Whale Rider, which similarly entwines history and myth to remarkable effect. Ofelia also carries hints of Sarah in Labyrinth and Lucy in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, both beloved tales of fantasy and morality. This film is less fantasy than magical realism, a genre I discovered in college and found fascinating.

Although the protagonist is a young girl, Pan's Labyrinth really aims at an older audience. While I found that the disconnect between the Spanish dialogue and the English subtitles softened the impact of the profanity for me, the violence was every bit as lurid. Generally, whenever the captain's on screen, it's a safe bet that unpleasantness will follow. Ofelia faces some gruesome obstacles in her fantastical challenges as well, most especially in one very frustrating scene in which she flagrantly disregards Pan's instructions and makes her task considerably more arduous. Though her journey is often painful to watch, hers is a tale of growth and courage ideal for discussion with older children; because of its graphic nature, I wouldn't recommend it for most children under 13.

Pan's Labyrinth is a film that is beautiful and terrible, strange and thought-provoking. Beware the grim obstacles lurking in the corners, but don't hesitate to get lost in this labyrinth.

Christmas for Critter Means Fun For All

Mercer Mayer has been charming the world with his stories for decades, most famously with his extensive series of books for young readers about a lovable character of ambiguous species named Little Critter. This young scamp has been through all sorts of adventures, mostly of the everyday variety that a majority of young readers will have had themselves. In Merry Christmas, Little Critter! we see how he celebrates Christmas with his family, which includes his parents, his sister and, later in the book, his grandparents.

While this book, like most in the series, is paperback, the pages are thicker than usual, feeling like cardstock rather than regular paper. The reason for this is that on each right page, there is a flap to open in order to reveal the "after" portion of a before-and-after scenario. Usually the scene that emerges is of the chaotic variety, such as Little Critter and his sister crashing their sled into a barn full of pigs or Little Critter hopelessly tangling the Christmas lights he's supposed to hang.

Usually I'm not a big fan of the present tense in picture books, but it works for this simply written story and helps emphasize the fact that these are things that Little Critter does every year. It would be interesting if Mayer had introduced a tradition unique to Critters, but it's fine to watch him enjoying all the typical components of an American kid's Christmas celebration, from mailing a letter to Santa to caroling around the neighborhood.

That caroling illustration is one of my favorites, particularly the detail of the caroling books, which promise 1000 carols but don't look more than a few pages long. "Wow!" reads the blurb on the back cover. "You'll just love to sing them!" Apparently the Critters do, anyway, and the lucky folks they visit love to hear them and accordingly invite them in for eggnog.

I also love illustration of Christmas morning, in which we see the gifts given to the Critter kids. These include a variety of boyish toys for Little Critter, most amusingly a Dracula jack-in-the-box, and some that are less exciting, including a Bill Cosby-style sweater that he eyes with the utmost distaste.

The funny, vibrant pictures are the reason to buy Merry Christmas, Little Critter! There's not much of a plot other than the general progression from anticipating Christmas to savoring the day, but Mayer's sense of humor and attention to detail make a merry Christmas for Critter happy reading for the rest of us.

Am I the Only Movie Buff Who Didn't Like Annie Hall?

I write this review with trepidation because I am about to confess that I was not impressed with Annie Hall. I've heard the movie is iconic, and a post-viewing investigation revealed that it has an average rating of five stars here and an astonishing 98 percent on Rotten Tomatoes. So I know I'm in the minority here. But I watched it with my parents the other night, and while I laughed a few times, mostly I wondered what all the fuss was about.

Maybe I just don't like Woody Allen all that much. Maybe I find it annoying that Alvy, the neurotic, pessimistic, rambling nerd he portrays, is constantly addressing the audience directly. I didn't like it when David Spade did it in The Emperor's New Groove, and I don't like it here. Maybe I'm concerned that I see myself in the nervous little boy in the flashback who can't do his homework because he's worried about the universe imploding. I hate to give the guy a hard time since he already seems to have the weight of the world on his shoulders, but I sure hope I haven't grown up to be like him.

Maybe I just don't find the romance between him and Annie (Diane Keaton) particularly touching or hilarious. Maybe it strikes me as tedious that a majority of his conversations seem to be about sex. Maybe I don't like the way the film jumps around between flashbacks, real-time and imaginary scenarios, sometimes without any clear indication of what is happening. Maybe the whole thing feels dated. Maybe I feel stupid because I just don't get it. Maybe it's all of those things. Maybe it's more.

That's not to say that I didn't get any enjoyment out of the movie. I did laugh aloud sometimes at Alvy's dry observations, and I thought some of the film devices were clever, such as the brief interlude with him as a cartoon character interacting with the queen from Snow White and the scene in which he daydreams about conjuring up Marshall McLuhan to silence an obnoxious faux-intellectual fellow filmgoer.

And it's fun to pick out not-yet-famous folks in minor roles: Jeff Goldblum as a guest at a party, Sigourney Weaver as one of Alvy's dates, John Glover as one of Annie's former flames, Christopher Walken as her intense, probably psychotic brother. And of course, I was keeping my eyes peeled for Paul Simon. It took him a long time to show up, but he finally did, and it was a treat to see him exercise his acting chops, which I've previously seen him do on Saturday Night Live with hilarious results.

While the film doesn't feel terribly edgy considering the sort of stuff that shows up on prime time television every night, I was nonetheless a bit surprised that it was only rated PG. Of course, the significance of ratings seems to have shifted somewhat since then. When I see "PG," I automatically think "family movie". This isn't. It's inappropriate for kids, and frankly, I think most would be bored stiff. However, there's really not much profanity or nudity or any of the other criteria to push it up to the next level, since "PG-13" didn't exist back then.

I'm not sorry I rented Annie Hall, but I would never buy it and have no desire to watch it again. I suspect I'm missing the point. Maybe I don't care.

Half the Hundred-Acre Gang Gathers for Christmas With Pooh

When we put out our Christmas decorations later this month, Winnie-the-Pooh will be popping up all over our living room. I can't help but love the tubby little cubby, and over the past ten or fifteen years, he has exploded in popularity so that new tie-in products are constantly arriving. I have enough Pooh ornaments to fill my own Christmas tree, to say nothing of the wall decorations, plush figures and various other Pooh-related items. Among those assorted other items are books, of which I have several dozen. One that I just came across is Christmas With Pooh, a teensy weensy shaped board book written by Frank Berrios and illustrated by the Disney Storybook artists.

It's the artists who have the lion's share of the work here, since most pages feature only one or two short sentences. There is rhyme in this book, but it's not very well done; most times there is no metric consistency among the lines, which doesn't make for a very smooth read. Berrios had so little to do here, it's a shame he didn't expend a bit of extra effort to make the rhyme work better. It's not as though the book really has any sort of plot; it's just a series of snapshots from the Hundred-Acre Wood Christmas celebration, and there aren't very many of them since the book is only 16 pages long.

The pictures, starting with the cover, which features Pooh in a Santa hat against a bright green background, are lively and richly colored. Only half of the woodland residents seem to be in on the festivities, which include decorating a scrawny Charlie Brown-ish tree, watching the snow fall, singing Christmas carols and exchanging gifts.

Pooh, Piglet, Tigger, Eeyore and Roo are present, but there's no sign of Kanga, Gopher, Owl, Christopher Robin or, most surprisingly, Rabbit. I would've expected to see him before Roo, but maybe he's in one of his cranky moods and not inclined to participate in his friends' frivolities. At any rate, I don't mind that it focuses on only a few characters. Since this is aimed at very young pre-readers, it's easier to stick with five, and anyway, ten characters couldn't really fit on one of those tiny two-page spreads. Not that they all would need to be shown together, but since the book is concentrating on the friends' comradeship, it makes sense to show the ensemble as much as possible.

Christmas With Pooh is the perfect fit for a two-year-old's stocking, and those little hands will find it easy to grasp the thick pages. The book itself is sturdy even if the story is a little flimsy, and the eye-catching pictures of Pooh and pals make this a tiny yuletide delight.

Flushed Away is Splendidly Silly

Two years ago, I had the opportunity to savor Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit. I loved it and was thrilled when I learned that Aardman Animations was working on another movie, this time about a refined mouse who is flushed down into London's sewer system by an uninvited houseguest. Today, I finally saw Flushed Away, and while it's not my favorite of Aardman's film projects - that distinction must go to the phenomenal Chicken Run - it certainly is deserving of accolades.

While I'm used to the somewhat choppy appearance of lovable inventor Wallace, Flushed Away is a work of computer animation rather than claymation, and as such it has a much smoother look to it. Moreover, though I adore Wallace, generally I prefer the non-human Aardman characters to the human ones. They just look better, so I really don't miss the people in this movie. The frogs and toads, with their long, spindly legs and squat bodies, are rather strange-looking, but the mice, of which there are many, look fantastic, and I think the singing, shrieking slugs (none of which, the credits promise, were "a-salted" during the making of this film) are pretty cute.

The main character is Roddy St. James (Hugh Jackman), a well-to-do mouse who lives alone in a golden cage in Kensington. When coarse sewer rat Sid (Shane Richie) shows up during his owners' absence, Roddy's attempt to get rid of him goes horribly awry and he winds up taking a wild ride into London's underbelly, where he soon meets up with feisty barge mouse Rita (Kate Winslet), who is being pursued by the Machiavellian Toad (Ian McKellan) and his two flunkies, wisecracking Spike (Andy Serkis) and gentle Whitey (Bill Nighy). All Roddy wants is to get back home, but meanwhile he gets wind of a plot that could destroy the vibrant rodent civilization that has sprung up along the banks of the green river. Can the vile Toad and his sneaky French cousin, Le Frog (Jean Reno), be stopped?

With such an A-list voice cast, the characters spring to fantastic life. McKellan is deliciously over-the-top, Winslet is almost unrecognizably low-class, Jackman is suave and Richie obnoxious. My favorite cast member is Nighy, with his slow, rumbling speech that conveys the henchman's contemplative but slightly dim-witted nature. And every time those slugs shrieked in unison, I squealed in delight.

The action in the hour-and-a-half-long movie is fast-paced, with plenty of humor to spare. I especially like the nods at other films, such as the fact that when Roddy is going through the dollhouse wardrobe, one of the outfits is Wallace's green sweater-vest, white shirt and red tie or that as he is making his rickety way to the sewer, a little orange fish inquires, "Have you seen my dad?"

This is a very silly movie, with more laughs than the marvelous but dry Curse of the Were-Rabbit. If madcap British comedy is your thing and you don't mind the unsanitary setting, Flushed Away is fantastically fun.

Dora Wishes Kids Feliz Navidad

There are several shows for very young children that I find enormously entertaining. Sesame Street. Jakers! The Adventures of Piggley Winks. And, of course, The New Adventures of Winnie-the-Pooh. But some of them, especially those whose aims are primarily educational, leave me a little cold. Dora the Explorer is one of those.

I think having Dora teach kids Spanish is a cool idea, don't get me wrong. And perhaps those in the intended viewing group don't find it jarring to be asked questions by a television character, who then pauses to allow the children to answer. Saturday Night Live recently spoofed the show with a cartoon about a girl named Maraka, and while it was occasionally in poor taste, I found her abrupt pauses to ask random questions pretty entertaining. The technique makes for interactive learning, and it's certainly not any more awkward than an investigation on Blues Clues. But I'll take Sesame Street, with Maria's counting song and Rosita's Spanish lessons, over Dora any day.

Still, I took a peek at Dora's Christmas Adventure, a sturdy Christmas tree-shaped board book by Christine Ricci and illustrated by Piero Piluso. Like Jingle Bell Christmas - featuring the Backyardigans, also staples on Nick Jr. - it incorporates foil, giving its pages a sparkly look, and flaps, which allows for a more interactive experience, beyond the fact that Dora, who narrates the story in simple prose form, encourages the reader to interact with the book.

Dora, who winds up on a journey to the North Pole with her motley crew of useful companions, asks children to engage with the plot by searching for hidden items, such as Santa's missing articles of clothing. I'm not sure if it's comforting or worrisome to find that Santa is so scatterbrained... At least he's on the ball enough to get Dora to the first stop on his list, which is the reader's house. That's a pretty nifty trick, considering that thousands of different kids will probably read this book; let's hope they don't compare notes. Even if two friends were reading the book together, this aspect of the story would stretch Santa's magic to an absurd level, but I guess if he can deliver toys to kids all around the world in one night, he must have figured out some way of being in two places at once.

There's not a big emphasis on the Spanish in this book. Only four phrases are in Spanish, and Feliz Navidad is probably the only one worth mentioning. If you happen to have a recording of that song, playing it after finishing the book might be a good way to extend the experience. Of the Nick Jr. Christmas books out this year, I think the Backyardigans' is the best, but Dora's isn't bad, especially if you don't mind inanimate objects taking Spanish instructions from little girls.

Sing Along With the Backyardigans This Christmas

We haven't gotten Nickelodeon at my house for years, so I haven't kept up with its current crop of kids' shows, but one rainy morning last year I was babysitting, and I was introduced to the charming quintet known as the Backyardigans. These cheerful CGI creatures, voiced by children, love to spend their days together. Though they never venture much beyond their backyards, their imaginations are vivid enough that each day they can embark on a fantastic journey.

The friends' upbeat personalities, animal forms and fondness for pretending and singing remind me of Muppet Babies, which I watched regularly when I was a youngster. The characters include Pablo, a blue penguin; Tyrone, an orange moose; Tasha, a yellow hippo; Austin, a purple kangaroo; and Uniqua, a pink something-or-other.

In Jingle Bell Christmas, a mid-sized board book, each of the characters has a two-page spread in which to sing, to the tune of Jingle Bells, about the fact that he or she is rushing off to meet the other Backyardigans with a hidden present in tow. On the final two-page spread, all the characters are together, and they sing in unison, or at least that's how I imagine it.

Of course, we're not actually hearing the singing; there isn't any included recording or a button to press so kids can hear the tune. But the fact that the text is written to go along with the kid-friendly Christmas carol makes it extra-fun, since children can sing the words rather than just reading them.

The book is written by Catharine Lukas and illustrated by The Artifact Group. It's very short, but there's still a story to it, as it involves each of the friends heading off to the pre-arranged meeting place, and it's fun to look at the pictures and see the differences in clothing and gift wrap and surrounding scenery. Making things even more fun is the fact that the pages are embellished with foil, making each illustration shiny and sparkly. Also included are a number of flaps on each page - 20 in all - so kids won't see all there is to see at one glance.

In the end, the happy friends exchange their presents, which all turn out to be hats of some variety, in front of a large Christmas tree. There's such a jubilant tone to this book, with all the bright colors and wide smiles and the spirit of generosity that permeates the stiff pages. "Oh, what fun it is to give a gift on Christmas Day!" goes the refrain. This jingly, joyful book great way to demonstrate to toddlers that it is better to give than to receive.

Embrace the Warmth of Bear's First Christmas

Bears and Christmas books seem to go together especially well. Rarely have I seen such a harmonious pairing of the two as in Bear's First Christmas, written by Robert Kinerk and illustrated by Jim LaMarche. Just a glance at the cover, which shows the shaggy young bear catching snowflakes on his tongue in the pink light of sunrise, gives a good indication of the beauty to follow.

Kinerk weaves his tale in rhyme, set in the whimsical Aunt Mildred font. I don't usually pay much mind to the lettering in books, but this seems so perfect for the cozy story that I had to mention it. I've found many Christmas books that rhyme sloppily, with little attention to meter. That's not the case here. The fairy tale-like narration flows smoothly and artfully, never detracting from the wonder of the gloriously illustrated pages.

The story begins with the bear going to sleep for the winter. Just before he does, he notices a "brave little tree" outside his cave that "struggled to grow where no tree ought to be." He intends to sleep through the winter, but his slumber is interrupted by the sound of music, and in venturing out to investigate the source, he happens upon a hungry crow, a frustrated moose and a cold family of pheasants.

He sets aside his goal to help them, but the music continues, and eventually they find themselves gazing together through a picture window at a family singing carols in the hazy glow of Christmas tree lights. What a magnificent sight! But it's still a frosty night, and the bear and his friends need a warm place to stay...

The book took a slightly different turn than I expected. I thought it might be one of those stories like The Christmas Visitor, in which the protagonist expects a kingly visitor but instead opens his home to a series of paupers, only to discover that he has been playing host to his expected guest after all. The bear does put aside his own desires temporarily in order to come to the aid of his fellow creatures, but they remain with him, so that the story becomes one primarily of fellowship.

Bear's First Christmas is written with enough sophistication to appeal to older readers, while its poetic narration, comparable to that in A Visit From St. Nicholas, and glowing paintings, done in acrylic and colored pencil, make it a great read-aloud for younger children. Fans of the series of bear books by Karma Wilson and Jane Chapman should also delight in this warm and fuzzy woodland tale.

Olivia Prepares for Christmas

Working in a bookstore, I've seen several books in the children's section featuring a whimsical pig named Olivia, but I never read of the stories in Ian Falconer's series until I came across the latest, Olivia Helps With Christmas, in my ever-earlier pre-Christmas picture book perusal.

Although I have read many tales with porcine protagonists, the fictional character of whom Olivia immediately reminded me was Ramona, irrepressible young (human) star of several Beverly Cleary books. Olivia is a mischievous little piggy who wants to be helpful but doesn't always manage so well, especially as her creative outlook on life sometimes causes her to make simple tasks more complicated.

Her primary preoccupation here is preparing for Christmas, along with her younger brothers Ian and William, who share in her anticipation, particularly Ian. William is a bit young to understand what's going on, but that doesn't prevent him from getting caught up in the excitement.

The prose style is simple, with the charcoal and gouache illustrations doing most of the talking. While most of each page is black and white, certain elements are colorful, such as the green Christmas tree Olivia helps to decorate and the red and green clothing she and Ian wear. Additionally, scattered among the pages are views of the piglets gazing out a window, and the scene through the window is in a much different style than the rest of the illustration.

My favorite series of pictures depicts Olivia in a quandary familiar to anyone who's ever dealt with Christmas lights. In six small illustrations spread across two pages, she become more and more tangled until she finally leaves it to the experts, who probably aren't much more adept than her, as Christmas lights are inherently frustrating. Another entertaining illustration shows her on Christmas morning reacting differently to each of her gifts.

Olivia Helps With Christmas is a fun little book about a child's experience of Christmas and the days leading up to it. Falconer dedicated it to the memory of his father, and it's the sort of story parents and children can enjoy together, laughing at Olivia's antics and enjoying the feeling of togetherness the book espouses. Nothing terribly profound here, just sweet simplicity and silliness. But that's enough to make this one worth the time to read it.

Christmas With George is More Fun Than a Barrel of Monkeys

Over the weekend, the mall where I work was swamped. One reason, no doubt, is the simple fact that several busloads worth of shoppers had landed, eager to hunt down some deals. Another is that with Halloween out of the way, the mall has quickly switched into full-on Christmas mode, and folks in my town seem to be taking the bait. But I think at least a bit of the credit ought to go to a curious monkey by the name of George, who stopped by for story time with a slew of appreciative kids.

The beloved primate continues to enchant young readers with new adventures despite the deaths of his creators in 1977 and 1996. In Merry Christmas, Curious George, released last year, George gets himself into a tricky situation when the Man in the Yellow Hat takes him to a nursery in search of a Christmas tree. Each one seems so fantastic, George happily swings from tree to tree, until the magnificent specimen in which he is resting is chopped down, strapped to a truck and carted away to a children's hospital.

Never one to let his fear get the better of his curiosity, George soon ventures from behind the needles and investigates the hospital, where he is greeted by excited children and an aggravated nurse. A monkey has no business in the hospital, especially when he takes it upon himself to decorate the tree that brought him there with pilfered items such as x-rays and get well balloons. Who will persevere in this battle of the wills?

The story was written by Cathy Hapka, who I assume is the same Cathy Hapka who wrote two LOST tie-in novels, one of which was considerably more satisfying than the other. Here, she only has two characters she has to worry about getting right, and that's George and his sunny human pal, who scarcely is involved in the story anyway. Hapka delivers an enjoyable story, and Mary O'Keefe Young illustrates it entertainingly, giving us many glimpses of George's well-meaning mischief.

As a nice, though not terribly practical, bonus, inside the cover is tucked a sheet of thick wrapping paper featuring an assortment of glass ornaments in which scenes involving George are reflected. After witnessing his generous spirit, perhaps the kids reading will be a little more eager to make use of it. In any case, this recent outing of Curious George is a fun tale to be treasured for years to come.

The Celestial Bodies Are Beautiful, But the Real Stars Here Are Mr. Putter and Tabby

The first hints of winter are in the air here in Erie, Pennsylvania. As the weather grows chillier, I grow more inclined to hunker down under a fleece blanket, bundled up in robes given to me by my grandparents, who, like the titular characters in Mr. Putter and Tabby See the Stars, appreciate the value of a good snooze. They also love to sit out and stare up at the stars from around a crackling fire at the camp they visit each summer, so I think of them as I read this latest tale in Cynthia Rylant's charming series about an amiable, elderly bachelor and his creaky, devoted cat, who spring to endearing life through the squiggly illustrations of Arthur Howard.

While Mr. Putter and Tabby's lives are generally serene, they occasionally run into comical complications, often because of kindly Mrs. Teaberry, who lives next door with her dog Zeke. Like my grandma, she dotes on her dog and delights in preparing tasty treats for visitors. Most often, Mrs. Teaberry's visitors are Mr. Putter and Tabby, who enjoy the neighborly company and the delectable delicacies. But on this particular occasion, Mr. Putter lets his fondness for her pineapple jelly rolls get the better of him, leaving him with a nasty case of indigestion-induced insomnia. But rather than add his grumbling to that of his stomach, he takes the inconvenience as an invitation. It's a perfect night for a star-gazing stroll.

Like the other books in this series, Mr. Putter and Tabby See the Stars is divided into three sections. In this case, the first two sections, entitled Logs and Grumble, are extremely short in comparison with the third, Stars, in which most of the action is contained. They provide some basic background, but the duo's nocturnal perambulation doesn't occur until Stars. The only real conflict in the story is the upset stomach, which is a source of mild annoyance rather than anguish, so this is one of the most sedate installments in the series, but that just makes it especially ideal for bedtime reading, perhaps during a campout when stars are likely to be in full view.

As always, Howard's pictures are wonderfully whimsical, perfectly complementing Rylant's short but artful sentences, like these: "Mr. Putter plumped his pillow. Tabby squished hers. And then they slept like logs. But one night, one of the logs could not sleep." While I love the details in the characters' facial expressions, I think my favorite picture in this book is the one in which Mr. Putter and Tabby, their backs to the reader, gaze up at the Big Dipper from beneath a gently drooping tree. It's a lovely image, full of fanciful possibilities, to which the text alludes.

Whether or not they have previously encountered pudgy, pleasant Mr. Putter, with his overlarge glasses, bristly mustache and childlike expressions, and orange-and-white Tabby, with her twitchy tail and contented grin, children could scarcely wish on a star for a more quietly gentle tale.

A Head-Spinning Sting Sawyer Couldn't Pull Off

For years, my dad has been telling me that I need to watch The Sting. We finally corrected that situation last week. Now, though I'm not quite sure I picked up on all the infinitesimal details of the film's plot, I'm considerably more aware than I was before, when I couldn't tell you much more about The Sting than the fact that it features one of my favorite pieces of music.

That piece is, of course, The Entertainer, the fantastic rag augmenting a piano-shaped music box that I have. When it comes to tickling the ivories, few songs are as satisfying, though my clunky fingers never quite managed to master it. The movie is full of bouncy ragtime numbers, but this most famous of Scott Joplin's compositions makes the biggest impression as it plays over the opening credits and helped fuel a resurgence in the popularity of this musical style. Ironically, the score that is such a part of the film's appeal is a bit anachronistic, as ragtime peaked in popularity considerably before the movie's late 1930s setting. But it just suits the energy and mood so well...

The Sting centers around Johnny Hooker (Robert Redford), a dashing young grifter who, motivated primarily by a lust for revenge and the thrill of the chase, enlists the aid of seasoned swindler Henry Gondorff (Paul Newman) to help him pull off a "big con" on Irish mob boss Doyle Lonnegan (Robert Shaw). ("Long con!" I hissed every time the phrase came up; I was reminded of Sawyer, LOST's wheedling con man, at every turn, and it certainly seems likely that The Sting is a film familiar to Josh Holloway and the writers who developed his character.)

A nice haul of cash is decent motivation too, though Johnny plays fast and loose with his money; I was appalled to see him toss away thousands of dollars on a single spin of the roulette. I couldn't imagine making such a hefty wager today, let alone in 1937. But high stakes are what his life is all about. He spends half the movie running from people; Redford must have gotten a good workout during the filming! It's certainly a dangerous way to live, but it makes for pretty engaging viewing.

What I find especially incredible about the movie is how many people are in on the elaborate con Johnny and Henry concoct. It's hard enough when you only have to worry about yourself and perhaps one other person; here, any one of many could be the rusty gear in a well-oiled machine. It would take a miracle to pull everything off perfectly.

Throughout the movie, Lonnegan frequently issues instructions concluding with a curt "You folla?" Were he directing the question to me, I would in all honesty have to say no. I watched it with my dad, who explained what was going on at every stop along the way so I could figure out what was happening. The plot twists and intricacies of the deceptions are a little too complex for my fluff-filled head, at least on the first viewing. I can't always keep track of Sawyer's solo shenanigans; throw a couple dozen accomplices into the mix and I'm hopelessly confused. But it's such a pleasant perplexity...

Not everyone is lucky enough to have a personal tour guide through the movie, so a second viewing may be advised for full enjoyment, but as long as you're paying attention, The Sting is a film as entertaining as its theme music suggests.

This Pachyderm Present is Perfectly Pleasant

Last year, when my favorite radio station decided to play nothing but Christmas music for the month of December, I discovered a lovely little novelty number entitled I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas. I've always had a soft spot for hippos, so I could sympathize with the girl's plight, and besides, the song was just so darn catchy. It was sung by Gayla Peevey, who had a remarkably developed voice for a ten-year-old. I at first assumed it was a grown woman trying to sound little girl-ish, but she really was a little girl back in 1953, and thanks to her enthusiastic performance of John Rox's jingle, the Oklahoma City Zoo soon was able to buy its first hippopotamus, Matilda.

As an homage to my obsession with the song, I bought myself a hippo at Build-a-Bear when it had its grand opening here in Erie in September. Like Matilda, my hippo is female; I named her Minerva, after one of my favorite Hogwarts professors, and garbed her in a purple witch's outfit to match her fuzzy fur. Granted, hippos don't really have fur, and they're not really purple, either. But a massive purple hippo is just what I found on the front cover of I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas, the picture book adaptation illustrated by Bruce Whatley.

The book, published in 2005, features a little girl in pink pajamas complete with footies; they remind me of Ralphie's get-up in A Christmas Story, sans the bunny accoutrements, and she seems much more content with her clothing than he did. She has a wide, gleaming grin and sparkling eyes, and her hair is a lustrous Ginny Weasley shade of red.

The hippo is huge, and his smile is even bigger. He seems absolutely thrilled to be in her living room on Christmas morning, apparently having decided that it was worth all the trouble of Santa shoving him through the door and wrapping him in striped paper just to see the delight on his new caretaker's face. It's hard to say which of them is more excited; in one illustration, the hippo is reflected in the joyful girl's indigo eyes, while another shows the ecstatic hippo's brown eyes reflecting the girl.

The illustrations are marvelous, depicting such amusements as her mopping his head in the garage to get him squeaky clean and riding with Santa in a hippo-drawn sleigh. My favorite picture, however, which made me laugh out loud when I saw it, is the first one in which we see the girl and the hippo together. She stares in open-mouthed ardor, while he stretches out his pudgy arms for a hearty hug. Meanwhile, Dad blinks up at the hippo in half-awake confusion while Mom claps a hand over her forehead in a gesture that indicates Santa may have a rather indignant letter headed his way.

The text of the book is basically the song lyrics, though for some reason the verses begin "I want a hippopotamus for Christmas, a hippopotamus is all I want," while in the song it's "I want a hippopotamus for Christmas, only a hippopotamus will do." I'm not sure why the change was made; maybe "only a hippopotamus will do" seemed too repetitive, since that is the way the line reads during the chorus. At any rate, a recording is, most unfortunately, not included - though sheet music is - so kids who haven't heard the song won't have Peevey's rendition as a basis for comparison.

Hippo lovers, or anyone who's ever craved an unusual gift come Christmas, will likely get kick out of this fun little book. If only Santa would bring me a hippo too!

The de Vil Wears Prada...

When I started watching Ugly Betty last year, it reminded me of The Devil Wears Prada, a movie I'd heard a lot about but hadn't seen. I finally amended that this weekend, and as I watched, nearly every scene reminded me of Ugly Betty. The two explore very similar territory: smart but frumpy girl gets a job as an assistant at a fashion magazine and overcomes obstacles to distinguish herself. Plucky Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway) is like Betty, while catty Emily (Emily Blunt) and sycophantic Nigel (Stanley Tucci) are somewhat similar to Amanda and Marc and devilish editor Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep) recalls the scheming Wilhemina. Ultimately, I like Ugly Betty better, but the movie, adapted from Lauren Weisberger's popular novel, is still very enjoyable.

When Andy seeks a job with Runway, a premiere fashion magazine, she doesn't even know the name of the editor-in-chief, but she doesn't let her ignorance stop her from trying to make a strong impression. Though Miranda, a cool professional with Cruella De Vil looks and a deadly calm demeanor, initially rejects Andy with a curt "That's all," a line she repeats frequently as an assertion that her authority leaves no room for debate, Andy's impassioned plea wins her a shot at the job she's told a million girls would kill for. It's not long, however, before she begins to see it as the job that would kill a million girls...

Just attempting to fit in with this ultra-fashion-conscious group is hard enough, as Ugly Betty demonstrates. But when your boss is completely unreasonable, making demands at a mile a minute, many of them ludicrous tasks like getting a flight out of a city in a hurricane and tracking down copies of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows a year before its publication, one can't help but wonder whether the job is really worth all the trouble, even with the promise that it will open doors to valuable opportunities.

Streep is just as sensational as all the buzz led me to believe, and she's really what makes this movie so much fun. But Hathaway is winning, and Blunt does a great job as the demeaning but hard-working assistant who, unlike Andy, aspires to work in the fashion industry. Probably my favorite character is Nigel, who showers Andy with snark but also becomes her ticket to the inner track, using his expertise to perform an extreme makeover on her which, while not as dramatic as Hathaway's transformation in The Princess Diaries, is still pretty striking. I always enjoy Tucci, and he makes Nigel both entertaining and sympathetic.

The movie is a coming-of-age story about Andy finding her way in the fashion industry and trying not to lose herself in the process. As such, the romantic subplot feels like a side trip, especially since neither of her love interests - live-in boyfriend Nate (Adrian Grenier) and famous writer Christian Thompson (Simon Baker) - is very exciting. Christian comes across as too cocky and looks about twice Andy's age, while Nate just seems completely bland and disengaged.

But people don't watch The Devil Wears Prada because they want to see a touching love story. They watch it so they can see Streep pushing Hathaway around, and there's plenty of that, though Miranda does eventually display a modicum of humanity. Is the title really a fair assessment? I'll let you be the judge!

Frankenpooh Is Frankly Fantastic

Halloween has come and gone, and this year I never got to watch It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, which is one of those specials I really ought to invest in on DVD. Though nothing can quite match that hilarious, distressing, spiritually challenging classic, I had to get my Halloween fix somehow, so I popped in Frankenpooh, a collection of three Winnie-the-Pooh shorts packaged particularly with the most spookable holiday of all in mind.

The Monster Frankenpooh finds Piglet (John Fiedler) attempting to tell a tale to an audience that includes the disrespectful Tigger (Paul Winchell), who has a history on The New Adventures of Winnie the Pooh of abducting the innocuous stories of others and molding them to his own devious purposes. One of my all-time favorite episodes involves him sabotaging Piglet's bland "poohetry" reading with improvised verse that takes his nervous friend on a terrifying adventure, and that's similar to what happens here.

Of course, Pooh-style scary is not actually very scary at all. The monster Tigger concocts is merely a giant-sized Pooh (Jim Cummings) who roams through the Hundred-Acre Wood in search of honey while the other residents, garbed in Victorian clothing, band together to confront Dr. Von Piglet about all the trouble he has caused. As a writer, I get an extra kick out of these storytelling episodes and admire Tigger's improvisational creativity, though if I were Piglet I might well be a bit peeved with him...

Things That Go Piglet in the Night begins with the gang of friends all swinging together on a giant swing dangling from a limb on an accommodating tree. One of the things I love about this show is its artful animation, and this episode offers a spectacular sunset and equally stunning sunrise. In between, three separate adventures ensue, eventually coming together.

When everyone else heads home for the night, Eeyore sticks around to do some swinging, since he didn't get a turn before, and a curious Tigger heads out to investigate the resulting noise, postulating, "Either the moon has termites, or it's one of them spookables!" Relieved to find that it's neither, he gives up a good night's sleep to personally coach Eeyore on the fine art of swinging. Meanwhile, the shadowy spectacle of the flying donkey spooks the others from their beds, and a pillow-case-wearing Piglet has several encounters with Pooh, Rabbit (Ken Ransom), Owl (Hal Smith) and Gopher (Michael Gough) in which each thinks the other party is a ghost. Delightful chaos ensues.

The confusion continues with Pooh Moon, in which Pooh, Piglet, Tigger, Rabbit and Gopher decide to go on a camping trip, an exercise I'm frankly a bit surprised Piglet agreed to, what with all that pesky darkety-dark and the close proximity to any number of bone-chilling beasts. Tigger seems to invent a new monster in every mildly scary Pooh episode there is, and in this case, he gets his friends all worked up about the Grab Me Gotcha, especially Rabbit, though he claims not to believe in such nonsense.

This episode is reminiscent of Little Bear because Pooh, accompanied by Piglet, takes a tumble and, looking up to see no moon in the sky where it was a moment before, comes to the conclusion that he and Piglet have landed on the "honey moon," and that they now will have the opportunity to collect moon honey. They set off across the strange landscape, coming across a variety of creepy moon creatures. Meanwhile, the others awake to find Pooh and Piglet missing and go off in search of the Grab Me Gotcha in order to retrieve them, getting filthy and scared witless in the process. One of my favorite aspects of this episode, along with Pooh's imaginative wanderings, is the sleeping bags. Gopher's doesn't really stand out, but Tigger has a big orange stripedy bag, while Pooh's is orange and red, Piglet's is pink with thin stripes and Rabbit's looks exactly like a carrot. I also love the fact that they take actual ears of corn with them to pop over the campfire.

All three of these episodes are fine examples of the craftsmanship that consistently marked The New Adventures of Winnie the Pooh. Though none specifically reference Halloween, all are suitably spooky, especially with the suspenseful music that kicks in every now and then. My only complaint is that only three episodes were included, since many installments in this series involved creepy happenings, often playing up the contrast between Piglet and Tigger. One that comes to mind immediately involves Christopher Robin taking his friends on a rare field trip outside the forest to a movie theater, where they see a monster movie and subsequently try to film their own, and there are several along those lines.

The video is only half an hour long; would it have hurt to include a couple extra cartoons? I'm still waiting for the day when each of the seasons is released on DVD, but so many episodes have been scattered around piecemeal, three at a time, like this that I doubt that will ever happen, which is a shame, since this is one of the best shows ever to grace a hallowed Saturday morning time slot. Apparently a few people agree with me, since its first season won a Daytime Emmy. At Halloween or any other time, Frankenpooh delivers just a hint of a shiver for young children and for all us Piglets who never grew out of our night-time jitters.

Ferrera's Ana Pursues the American Dream in Real Women Have Curves

I first became aware of America Ferrera when I watched Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. Her performance impressed me then, and once Ugly Betty hit the airwaves I became a huge fan, so I figured it was about time I saw her motion picture debut.

Real Women Have Curves is the story of Ana (Ferrera), a recent high school graduate whose dreams of college, nurtured by her supportive teacher, Mr. Guzman (George Lopez), seem distant when she is forced to work in her older sister Estela's (Ingrid Oliu) dress factory, which is essentially a sweatshop where they labor to make fashionable dresses for a meager eighteen dollars each. Ana is incensed that those dresses then go on to sell for hundreds of dollars in pricey shops, but her hard-headed mother Carmen (Lupe Ontiveros) warns her to keep her complaints to herself.

Not that Carmen is such a model of restraint. She constantly harps on her daughters for the way they have disappointed her and is especially hard on the revolutionary Ana, whose weight she criticizes constantly. Carmen's chief concerns are putting Ana to work and marrying her off, and she has no time for her daughter's scholarly ambitions. Her father (George Cervera Jr.) is more understanding of her dreams but doesn't find them financially feasible at the moment, while her doting grandfather (Felipe de Alba) just wants her to find her "gold", whatever that may be.

While Ana works through her frustration over her situation, she finds some solace in the arms of Jimmy (Brian Sites), a fellow graduate who takes an interest in her. Generally, I find their relationship sweet, with all the tenderness of a first romance, but when Jimmy leaves for school Ana moodily bids him farewell, telling him that he'll find other girls at college and won't think twice about the chubby, insufficiently educated girl he left behind, and that's the last we see of him, though he doesn't seem that shallow and Ana's dire predictions about her own life fail to come true.

Ferrera does a fine job, and Ontiveros is a commanding presence. Her character is often comical, but the cruelty with which she treats her daughter makes her scenes somewhat uncomfortable. I'm only familiar with Lopez as a comedic actor, so it was interesting to see him in this motivational role, where he exudes teacherly concern.

The film wants to convey the message that women can go to college even though they are poor, that they can be beautiful even though they are plus-sized. It succeeds fairly well in this, though the tone is a little too preachy for my liking, and the title goes too far in the other direction, implying that skinny women are somehow lacking. The point is that body type shouldn't determine the ability to achieve one's goals.

The movie, written by Josefina Lopez and George LaVoo and directed by Patricia Cardoso, seems to aim specifically at a Hispanic-American audience. Not only is Jimmy the only major Caucasian character, most of the characters go back and forth between English and Spanish frequently, which I found confusing, particularly before it occurred to me to switch on the subtitles, since none are offered automatically when Spanish is being spoken.

Real Women Have Curves is a worthwhile tale of empowerment and certainly a testament to the acting skills of Ferrera and Ontiveros. Just make sure you turn on those subtitles...

Enchantment Looms Large in Loch Ness

There are many movies I'm looking forward to as this year closes, most of which I probably won't catch in the theater. But I'm determined to at least venture out to the cineplex once for The Water Horse, a film about the Loch Ness Monster based on a book by Babe author Dick King-Smith. I'm not sure if it's the fact that King-Smith is one of my favorite authors or my fascination with legendary creatures or my utter infatuation with all things Scottish that puts this one firmly at the top of my to-see list, but there it sits, and in anticipation of its release, I recently re-watched Loch Ness, another charming film about that fabled beastie of the deep.

I stumbled upon the movie accidentally about ten years ago during one of those happy periods in which we had a free cable trial. At first, I didn't think I'd like it; for whatever reason, I had a notion in my head that a movie about the Loch Ness monster was likely to be scary, even though I've never found Nessie frightening in the least and even though this was the Family channel. I'm glad I stuck with it.

The movie, written by John Fusco and directed by John Henderson, centers on Dr. Jonathan Dempsey (Ted Danson), a washed-up scientist who has become a laughingstock since his intensive yeti research yielded nothing. He's become a hardened skeptic, so he's disgusted when his boss, Dr. Mercer (Harris Yulin), assigns him the task of investigating the Loch Ness monster using state-of-the-art equipment.

When he arrives in Scotland, the replacement for the aged Dr. Abernathy (Philip O'Brien), who met with an unfortunate accident during the course of his research, he meets Adrian Foote (James Frain), his earnest young research assistant. Soon, he also makes the acquaintance of Laura McFetridge (Joely Richardson), the tart owner of a bed and breakfast, and her affectionate, intuitive young daughter Isabel (Kristy Graham).

While Laura doesn't exactly make him feel at home, at least not initially, Dr. Dempsey's greatest resistance comes from other sources. He must contend with Andy Maclean (Nick Brimble), the jealous, hotheaded owner of a boat he rents, and the crusty water bailiff (Ian Holm), who disapproves of Dr. Dempsey's interference with the loch he has cared for all his life.

Danson seems to have cantankerous cynicism down to a science, so his character here isn't really anything new, but it's fun to watch him grumble his way through the sleepy town on the edge of Loch Ness until a glimpse of the creature changes his outlook. He's really not a bad guy, as evidenced by the fast friendship he forms with Isabel. When he's with her, he is at his most endearing; the adorable child brings out the best in him. It was his relationship with her that stuck most firmly in my memory from the first time around, though I also recalled him developing a romance with Laura and eventually coming to share Adrian's bright-eyed enthusiasm for Nessie.

What startled me upon the second viewing was that I had completely forgotten the keeper of the lake. Though he does not show up quite as much as the McFetridges or Adrian, his role in the drama is certainly an important one, and no doubt I would have remembered him had I seen this movie anytime after Fellowship of the Ring. Since then, I've found that Holm's presence elevates any film, so he was a lovely surprise. But top honors really must go to Graham, who was eight years old at the time and perfectly projects a sense of ethereality. She does such a splendid job, I can't imagine why she hasn't appeared in a film since.

The beautiful scenery, the lilting score tinged with traditional Scottish tunes such as Wild Mountain Thyme and the magic of Jim Henson's Creature Shop are the icing on the cake in this enchanting family film that dares you to believe...