Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Some Enchanted Evening - Art Garfunkel

When I was in middle school, my dad introduced me to a remarkable invention known as the Internet. I was enthralled, but though we had a computer, I never got online much in the next few years unless I had a research paper that needed a few more sources. Then, just at the tail end of high school, I got my own e-mail address and started wading into the unfamiliar waters of the Internet. Half a year later, I discovered Epinions, which probably more than anything else is what brought my online activity to something far beyond e-mailing relatives and close friends. But if there is one other website to which I can attribute my current level of addiction, it's www.artgarfunkel.com.

I became a frequenter of the site in spring of 2000 when the general love of Simon and Garfunkel that I'd harbored for about ten years developed into an unwieldy obsession with the second half of that duo. Art's website provided me with pages upon pages of interviews and articles, and in the Guest Book I found that I was not alone, even in my hip generation, in my admiration for the man. When I had the fortune of meeting him later that year, it cemented him as my favorite living singer and his site as an indispensable haven. It was through this site that I formed my first online friendship; many more followed when the webmaster added a message board.

Beyond that, fellow fans came out of the woodwork in every corner of the Internet I visited. I once felt almost entirely isolated in my fandom, with only my immediate family and a few stray friends sharing my appreciation while the vast majority looked at me funny if I brought up my favorite duo, let alone Art by himself. But venturing online has opened up a world of kindred spirits, folks every bit as obsessed as I am with this tender tenor, and so when I realized my thousandth posting here on Epinions was looming, I could think of no better way in which to celebrate it than by reviewing Art Garfunkel's new album, Some Enchanted Evening.

It's a shame that the general public does not find Art nearly as enchanting as I do, as evidenced by the fact that two stores I visited today didn't even get the album, and when I did find it at Best Buy, the employee informed me that it was the only copy they'd received. Art Garfunkel simply does not seem to be in high demand; in fact, more people than I'd like to recall have mused that they thought he was dead, or at least that he'd stopped making music decades ago. Gah! The poor guy has been just as busy as his more highly regarded former singing partner, but barely anyone pays any attention. His last album was entitled Everything Waits to Be Noticed; he's still waiting.

But among his core group of loyal fans, this latest album comes highly anticipated, with tantalizing hints coming along from time to time until we finally were afforded a glimpse of its contents. When I saw that the theme was to be songs Art grew up with, I hoped fervently for Unchained Melody, a recording I've longed for since I heard him sing a few seconds of it on Across America. Alas, when the track listing arrived, that song was absent, but I still happily counted down the days with my fellow fans, secure in my conviction that whatever was on the album, it would be a triumph. Today, I finally got my confirmation.

1. I Remember You (Victor Schertzinger / Johnny Mercer) - Funny, I don't remember this song... Actually, while I am an oldies buff, these tunes are all a bit before my time; those that are familiar are from musicals. A search on the song reveals that this was unveiled in a 1942 film entitled The Fleet's In, but I've never heard of that, and I'm only familiar with a couple of other songs written by Mercer. At any rate, it's a good start to the album, and Art sounds right at home in this genre, his voice huskier than in years past but no less affecting. The fact that we can hear the way the years have added layers to his voice actually increases the poignancy of an album that is largely nostalgic, stepping into the songs of his youth from the other end of the spectrum.

I get the sense that this is a young love, maybe one that continues throughout a lifetime and maybe just a fleeting romance, but the youthful earnestness coupled with a wistful anticipation of the distant future makes it an ideal bookend for If I Loved You. Musically notable are the harmonica and saxophone solos (by Chris Smith and Doug Webb) and Art's harmonization with himself toward the end of the song. "When my life is through / And the angels ask me to recall / The thrill of them all / Then I shall tell them I remember you."

2. Someone To Watch Over Me (George Gershwin / Ira Gershwin) - I'm familiar with this song not because of its original context - a musical I'd never heard of called Oh, Kay! - but because of Mr. Holland's Opus, an outstanding film in which it played an integral role. The movie aside, it's a jazz standard that's been covered by dozens of artists, so I know I've heard it a number of times, most recently when Katharine McPhee performed it on American Idol last year. It seems I always hear this song performed by a female vocalist, so hearing Art sing the song with gender-alternated lyrics is a bit novel for me. "Although I may not be the man some / Girls think of as handsome / To her heart I carry the key" doesn't sit quite right with me; though it starts out with a self-deprecating air, the proclamation that he carries the key to her heart seems to negate the vulnerability of the rest of the song. So lyrically, I think this works better when sung by a woman, but vocally Art's right on target, with understated percussion and an undercurrent of strings backing him up.

3. Let’s Fall In Love (Harold Arlen / Ted Koehler) - This sprightly tune was the first of the songs from the new album available for fans to listen to on Art's MySpace page, as well as his official site. I resisted the urge, wanting to hear the song for the first time along with the rest of the album. When I came to it, I was surprised, as I was when I first heard What a Wonderful World on Watermark, because I had been expecting another song of the same title. I hadn't looked closely enough at the writing credits to notice that this was not the famous Cole Porter ditty, and I was rather disappointed because I find those lyrics quite droll, but this 1933 song has its own charms. Accentuating by a bit of smooth sax (provided by EWTBN's Maia Sharp) and a lot of rhythmic finger-snapping, it speaks of adolescent exuberance and puts me in mind of the doo-woppish So Much in Love from Lefty. "Let's fall in love. / Why shouldn't we fall in love? / Now is the time for it / While we are young. / Let's fall in love."

4. I’m Glad There Is You (Paul Madeira / Jimmy Dorsey) - There's a just-shy-of-minor tone to this that is highly reminiscent of Breakaway's 99 Miles From LA. Bandleader Dorsey's presence is felt in the form of the prominent trumpet strains. The instrumentals are a little heavier here than on most tracks, giving it a rather over-the-top feel that matches the lyrics, with Art's voice serving as the treasure in the midst of many distractions. "In this world of overrated pleasures / and underrated treasures / I'm glad there is you."

5. Quiet Nights Of Quiet Stars (Corcovado) (Antonio Carlos Jobim / Gene Lees) - This moody Brazilian composition boasts a tempo that somewhat recalls Bridge Over Troubled Water's So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright. The flute and percussion carry this song along while Art puts just the right nuances into his richly textured vocals. "This is where I want to be, / Here with you so close to me / Until the final flicker of life's ember."

6. Easy Living (Leo Robin / Ralph Rainger) - Webb's smooth clarinet enhances this easy-going ode about contentedness in love. There's a slightly more mature tone to this than Let's Fall in Love but it's just as enthusiastic; it seems this could be the same guy expressing his adoration to his ladylove ten or twenty years down the line. I'll never regret the years I'm giving. / They're easy to give when you're in love. / I'm happy to do whatever I do for you."

7. I’ve Grown Accustomed To Her Face (Alan Jay Lerner / Frederick Loewe) - This also speaks of a more mature love, of affection unexpectedly born of familiarity. It's been long enough since I've seen My Fair Lady that I can't really comment on the deviations from the melody, but the general tone is very different, unabashedly warm and tender rather than self-important and exasperated like good ol' Henry Higgins. (Of course, it helps that half the lyrics, the really juicily petulant and bitter - and unapologetically in-context - ones, have been excised.)

Lullaby-like with layers of wispy vocals, it reminds me of The Things We've Handed Down, arguably my favorite track on the exquisite Songs From a Parent to a Child, in which a father-to-be muses, "We've been doing fine without you, / But we could only go so far." I suppose prior familiarity with the song and fondness for My Fair Lady has something to do with it, but this is one of my favorite tracks on this album, an exultant revelation of how love sometimes creeps up on us and takes us by surprise - in the most ordinary of ways. "I was serenely independent and content before we met; / Surely I could always be that way again - / And yet / I've grown accustomed to her look; / Accustomed to her voice; / Accustomed to her face."

8. You Stepped Out Of A Dream (Gus Kahn / Nacio Herb Brown) - I love the little brushes of chimes that surface once in a while here to give the song a celestial air. I don't know a thing about the song or its writers, but it makes me think of Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella, and in particular the words, "Are you the sweet invention of a lover's dream / or are you really as beautiful as you seem?" The saxophone kicks in again to add to the dreaminess, and Art's doo-wop background vocals create a sense of nostalgia. "You / Stepped out of a cloud, / I want to take you away / Away from the crowd, / And have you all to myself, / Alone and apart. / Out of a dream / Safe into my heart."

9. Some Enchanted Evening (Richard Rodgers / Oscar Hammerstein II) - This title song features a considerably altered melody from the South Pacific version, but it really works. There's a breezy, almost calypso feel to this one, and the vastly re-worked arrangement makes it sound like a totally new song, so that there's the certain comforting sense of familiarity with the lyrics but not a trace of staleness. I really like it because it threw me for a loop, and Art's vocals have a walking-on-air quality that demonstrates that feeling of enchantment more effectively than the original. "Some enchanted evening / You may see a stranger, / You may see a stranger / Across a crowded room / And somehow you know, / You know even then / That somewhere you'll see her / Again and again."

10. It Could Happen To You (Johnny Burke / Jimmy Van Heusen) - This was another song whose title led me to expect a different tune, in this case Frank Sinatra's Young at Heart. I don't know this song, but it's another nice exuberant young romance sort of song about falling in love in spite of one's best intentions. There's a cautionary note about this that makes me think of the wise old owl's twitterpation warnings in Bambi, but we are left with the sense that falling in love probably isn't such a grim fate after all. "Keep an eye on spring, run when church bells ring. / It could happen to you. / All I did was wonder how your arms would be / And it happened to me."

11. Life Is But A Dream (Raoul Cita / Hy Weiss) - Aside from knowing the titular phrase from Row, Row, Row Your Boat, I had no prior experience with this drowsy tune, the only one on the album to feature back-up vocals from someone other than Art himself. Richard Perry, who produced this album as well as Breakaway, provides some terrific bass that contrasts Art nicely, but the vocal that really makes me sit up and pay attention is Art's super-high final note. "Life is but a dream; / It's what you make it. / Always try to give; / Don't ever take it. / Life has it's music, / Life has it's songs of love. / This one's for you."

12. What’ll I Do (Irving Berlin) - This sedate, woebegone song is driven by electric guitar and gentle percussion. It reminds me of EWTBN's Perfect Moment, which plaintively asks, "But wasn't I supposed to let you go / Into the blue? / But still I'm holding you, / Though you're a million miles away." This is a song of loss that serves as an ideal segue into the final song, which in context speaks of a lost opportunity and, evading that, serves as a precursor to another type of loss. There's a sadness to this song, but it's gentle rather than overbearing, and we get the sense that this fellow will survive outside of this relationship, however hard it may seem now. "What'll I do / When you are far away / And I am blue? / What'll I do?"

13. If I Loved You (Richard Rodgers/Oscar Hammerstein II) - I have somewhat mixed feelings about this song because I so wanted You'll Never Walk Alone to be included in this collection. Because this turned out to be a collection of love songs, that wouldn't have made much sense, but I really would love to hear Art perform that inspirational ballad, which he also mentioned on the Across America DVD as one he often sang as a schoolboy. Still, this is a remarkable song, one of three that deeply affected me when I saw Carousel at the Erie Playhouse my freshman year of high school. I soon fell into an obsession just as profound as the Art obsession that followed four years later, so this music certainly holds a special place in my heart.

Tough-guy Billy Bigelow is trying to break down and tell golden girl Julie Jordan that he loves her, but he can't stand being in such a vulnerable position and we're not sure if he's going to take the opportunity in front of him or not. It's a climactic romantic moment, and I remember the wave of nervous, almost nauseous anticipation it evoked, the same sort I felt when reading Jane Eyre as she agonized over whether to express her feelings to her mysterious boss or Frasier whenever Niles almost told Daphne he'd adored her for years. It's a weighing of risk and regret, and unfortunately it's a song Art can relate to all too well, given his hesitancy in committing completely to Laurie Bird, his ladylove throughout much of the 70s who committed suicide while he was filming the prophetically titled Bad Timing. He is, of course, very happily married now with two children, but I get the sense that it's something that still haunts him.

From the beginning, sparse acoustic guitar and an undercurrent of strings accompany Art's tentative vocals here, while some lovely legato piano comes in about halfway through. It's my favorite song on the album, and while that's partly because I liked the song a lot to begin with, it's also because it feels very intimate and it's performed exquisitely, initially with halting phrasing that melts into transcendently wistful vocals on the chorus. "Longing to tell you, / But afraid and shy, / I'd let my golden chances / Pass me by."

The packaging of the album is nice, with a sturdy cardboard case, though the liner notes leave much to be desired; there's no commentary aside from two quotes from Art: "In this album, I confess I am under the sway of two magnificent singers, Chet Baker and Johnny Mathis" and "It wasn't Monet, it was France; / It's not what we say but the dance we're in; / Therein lies the mysterious glue / In this set of songs I sing to you." That, and three photos, two showing Art in a classy suit and one featuring a close-up of his face as he gazes serenely out from a more casual position. I would've liked more, but I guess it's up to us fans to ferret out our own insights this time around. I don't know that Some Enchanted Evening will win Art many new fans, except perhaps in the over-70 demographic, but those who've grown accustomed to his rich vocal stylings will find plenty of enchantment here.

P.S. Since buying the album, I've learned that Target carries a version with an extra track, so if there's a Target near you, I'd check there first!

Monday, January 29, 2007

Kids Are Adoring This Bear Who Is Snoring

It's January, and the weather outside is the sort that makes me seriously consider hibernation as a winter occupation. Oh, it's beautiful outdoors... but sooo cold. And the temptation is great to pile on the fleece blankets in substitution for a heavy coat of shaggy fur. This contemplation is silly, of course; I can't afford to sleep through the winter. And though it's in his nature to let those snowy days pass by as he naps, Bear, the charming star of three Karma Wilson books, has reason to stay awake for at least one winter occasion as well. If only it weren't so hard to do...

In Bear Snores On, the first of Karma Wilson's inspired collaborations with illustrator Jane Chapman, we come upon Bear in his cave, slumbering away. He certainly doesn't look too intimidating all snuggled up like that, but this is a very large creature, so we wonder a bit at the boldness of all the small animals that gather in his lair for a little get-together. First tiny, delicate Mouse, then gregarious Hare and generous Badger show up to get the party started, and soon they are joined by Gopher, Mole, Raven and Wren. Soon they're all huddled together by a crackling fire. But have they forgotten whose home they have crashed? What will happen if Bear wakes up?

I can't decide which part of this book entrances me more, the writing or the illustrations. Chapman's acrylics are warm and inviting - except for the snow, which is frigidly blustery - and her furry friends expressive and cuddly. The central position of the teapot atop the bubbling fire and the fact that three species prominently featured in Brian Jacques' Redwall series are included makes me think of England, which is appropriate since Chapman is English, though Wilson is American. Her lilting rhymes, along with the repeated phrase of "the bear snores on," draw the reader in as cozily as the fire the furry fellows build. The story is simple, but it weaves an undeniable enchantment that is especially impressive considering that this is Wilson's first book.

Because we do not actually meet Bear in an awake form until the end of the book, there is a degree of suspense here. We don't know for sure if the animals know Bear and feel comfortable sharing his home or if they just assume that he won't wake up so they don't need to worry about it. Our initial encounter with the suddenly wakened Bear is intimidating. But given the tone of the rest of the book, I doubt this page will cause too much of a fright for youngsters, especially since it follows a gigantic-sized sneeze likely to provide enough giggles to last for a couple of pages.

This is the perfect book to snuggle up with on a frosty day like today. You can't help but fall in love with Wilson's lyrical storytelling style and Chapman's enchanting illustrations. And happily, there are several more books where this came from; I couldn't bear it if Wilson and Chapman stopped here!

Jackalope Is a Hoppin' Good Tale

I'm in a frosty state of mind right now as Erie shudders under the weight of four days' worth of snow. I have several solutions for counteracting this coldness: huddle under lots of cozy blankets, whip up a steaming mug of makeshift butterbeer and read books depicting a warm climate. Following this plan, then, I think I will leave Bear Snores On for another day. Instead, I'll peruse the pages of Jackalope, because the deserts of the American Southwest are a far cry indeed from the snow-laden streets of Pennsylvania.

This quirky tale was written by "two silly sisters," Janet Stevens (who also illustrated) and Susan Stevens Crummel. Its armadillo narrator references the authors at the very beginning and end of the book; the note on the inside flap indicates that this story grew out of the tales they heard of the mythical creature when they were growing up.

I've always found jackalopes rather charming if pointless creatures. They exist only post-mortem, since somebody got the brilliant idea to mount a pair of antlers on a stuffed hare's head. One tends to see these oddities in bars and taverns; I'm thinking that whoever came up with the concept might just have imbibed one too many. At any rate, Jackalope purports to tell of this mythical beast's origins, though as a story of explanation for an entire species, it falls flat since the tale indicates that only one ever existed, and he wasn't born that way.

As a morality tale, however, it makes sense and bears considerable resemblance to Gertrude McFuzz, Dr. Seuss's story about a vain bird getting more than she bargained for when she learns of a way to sprout extra feathers. In this case, the main character is a jackrabbit (who, for some reason that's never really explained in the story, wears enormous nerdy glasses). This furry fellow is tired of being overlooked; he wants to be so fierce that all his neighbors will fear him. But his faithful magic mirror insists that Jack just isn't the scary type. So Jack takes matters into his own paws and wishes, as fervently as he can, for a few extra features - like fangs, horns and claws.

This being a fairy tale, Jack's wishing is rewarded with an appearance by his fairy godrabbit, who can grant him any one of the things he asked for, but nothing more. So after deliberation, he settles on a pair of horns and is so eager to bask in the admiration of his fellow desert-dwellers that he doesn't bother to stick around for the disclaimer that lies will result in rapid horn growth. But those cumbersome antelope horns are quite the hindrance when a coyote shows up, eager for jackrabbit stew. How will Jack squirm his way out of this one?

The narrative voice is engaging, sounding like a grizzled old grandpa spitting tobacky from a rickety rocking chair out on the porch. (Actually, it's a lawn chair, according to the illustrations, but I like my rocking chair better...) The armadillo's appearance is enhanced with a pair of stylish black and gold cowboy boots and a brown cowboy hat. Jack is unclothed aside from the aforementioned glasses, which he stops wearing once he acquires the horns, but his fairy godrabbit wears a purple and green dress featuring a white skirt covered in a bright array of vegetables. While she claims to hate it, it's a very eye-catching garment, and I think it's lovely in its ludicrousness.

Breaking up the regular story, which is told in prose, are small sections of verse in the narrator's colloquial voice. You could almost read through just the poetic parts, skipping the paragraphs, and come up with a story that makes sense, but pretty significant gaps are filled with the prose part of the tale. The combination makes things interesting, and both styles are done skillfully enough that reading this book is enjoyable whichever style you prefer.

Jackalope is an offbeat and clever little tale. While it doesn't hold water as an explanation for an extinct species, it's does a perfectly good job of demonstrating the closing sentiment: "So when you're out gazing at night at the sky / And you happen to see the first star, / Why, don't you be wishing for something you're not - / It's better to be who you are!"

Friday, January 26, 2007

The Very Stubborn Centipede Is a Very Abhorrent Book

A couple years ago, my family hosted a German exchange student. Early in her stay, she hurried downstairs to report that there was "a little animal" in her room. Not one of our three cats, and certainly not our boisterous dog. No, this was a something much tinier and much stranger, more foreign to her than the country in which she was living for a year. Mom ran upstairs to investigate, her face clouded by visions of mice or rats or never-before-seen greenish-purple alien creatures. Alas, the source of her distress wasn't nearly as interesting as all that. The culprit was a multi-legged arthropod known to scuttle across the linoleum in our kitchen with some frequency, much to the excitement of our cats. It was a centipede.

Given my familiarity with the slightly startling creatures, I couldn't resist picking up The Very Stubborn Centipede (the title in homage, I presume, to Eric Carle, master storyteller regarding all things tiny and multi-legged) when I spotted it on a recent trip to the library. The cover features a very ornery-looking centipede apparently falling to the ground; a very similar illustration graces page 21 of this book, but the pictures are not identical.

The story revolves around a woman - the narrator - who is distressed when a centipede clamps onto her toe while she is standing barefoot in her kitchen. Evidently he grabs on with feet, not fangs; she seems not to sustain any physical damage from the encounter, though the emotional toll is severe, and she flails her foot around wildly in order to make him relinquish his hold, which he eventually does before being finished off by a combination of the broom and the cat (though the words and the pictures seem to disagree on this; the narrator implies the death of the centipede, while a two-page spread shows the cat depositing him outside with the aid of a very humanoid paw).

I found this book, which was published in 2005, very disappointing. It is written in stilted, uninspiring verse that is plagued by a pet peeve of mine - randomly sticking commas at the end of a line of poetry. Susan Snyder's rhymes are unusually weak. For example: "I jumped from one foot, / To the other... / As he crawled from one toe, / To another!" and "But at long last, / He tired out... / As I shook my foot hard, / He went flying about!" In addition to the commas, she seems overly fond of exclamation points and ellipses, and she's not very diligent about keeping up a consistent rhythm, particularly in this instance: "With all those legs, / He hit top speed! / (It was a race between me, / my broom... / And that centipede!)" I'm also unsure as to why she stuck the last half of that stanza in parentheses.

Beyond my many issues with the technical aspects of the writing, it just isn't a very interesting story. A centipede attaches to her foot, she dislodges it, the cat disposes of it. Whoopee. It all happens very quickly, over the course of twelve two-page spreads; unlike in Robert Quackenbush's Henry's Awful Mistake, in which a hapless duck deals with the escalating problems caused by his stand-off with an ant intruder, I never became invested in the action or the characters.

The illustrations didn't help. As I read through the book the first time, they struck me as unsophisticated. When I read the back of the book, I saw that illustrator Anna Johanson was only 13 years old when this book was published, and I was impressed. But when I looked through the pages again, I remained unmoved. Yeah, they're decent for a 13-year-old; if they'd been the illustrations for a class project I'm sure she would have gotten an A. And I do think the pictures are better than the verse; the centipede is engagingly devious-looking, if not quite anatomically correct (the number of legs seems to change considerably from page to page) and the cat has a rather endearing heroic swagger. But the woman does not come across nearly as well as her smaller co-stars, always looking hokey and out of place.

I just finished reading Anne Lamott's Bird By Bird, in which she warned of the urge to mutter dark curses against certain undeserving authors whose works you might happen to come across. I feel that vile desire rising up within me now as I rest dourly in the certainty that I could write a better book than this and that when he was thirteen, my brother Nathan could have furnished more effective illustrations. I may sit and simmer in these poison juices for a while. But then I shall release them into the snowy outdoors, for they are as ugly as a creepy-crawly centipede. And I won't even ask my cat to do the dirty work for me.

Snow is No Deterrent For This Very Small Piglet

Here in Erie, a very blusterous sort of storm has been brewing for the past couple days, dumping snow all over the city and for miles around. As I gaze out the window from my perch under a cozy blanket on the couch, I can see the flakes falling furiously, as though each one was racing the next to the gleaming ground. It's the kind of weather that invites the conflict of whether to stay inside and watch the beautification from a safe distance or go outside and wade around in the powdery covering, turning into a popsicle in the process. These are just the conditions Piglet faces in A Perfect Little Piglet.

As most folks know, Piglet is a timid and tiny creature, so one might expect he would opt for the cozy window-watching in a blizzard. But Piglet craves friendship even more than security, so the beginning of the book finds him tromping through the snow to Pooh's house. Because he is so small, he can't walk very quickly, and once he arrives at his destination and Pooh invites him inside, he is unable to help his friend by getting a pair of teacups from the top shelf of Pooh's cupboard. This is all very discouraging for Piglet.

But Pooh is a very good friend disinclined to hold a grudge against someone for his shortcomings; instead, he reminds Piglet that bees are much smaller than piglets and that they have the extremely important job of making honey. On the way home, Piglet meets Tigger, Roo and Eeyore, and each of his encounters leaves him with an even stronger sense of self-worth, particularly when he is able to perform a very noble task that only someone of his size could manage.

This isn't exactly new territory; every now and then a book or an episode of The New Adventures of Winnie-the-Pooh has dealt with Piglet's feelings of inadequacy, and a few years back Piglet's Big Movie even tackled the same territory, though I wouldn't say it did so particularly well. I have no complaints with this story, though, which is written in a simple style by Rita Balducci and vibrantly illustrated by Arkadia Illustration Ltd. It's the second book in Disney's Out and About With Pooh: A Grow and Learn Library.

Even if we aren't half the size of most of our friends, most of us know what it is to feel small, so this is a story that you don't have to be a Pooh fan to appreciate. It just might even be enough to entice a snuggly gal like me to venture out into the cold for a while.

Rebellious Rodents Are Just as Troublesome as Human Teens...

Whatever can one do with a rebellious teenager? It's a question that has plagued plenty of parents from all walks of life. In the case of Poppy's Return, the parent in question just happens to be a mouse. And while the word "teenager" doesn't make a whole lot of sense when applied to a creature who is a mere three months old, the troublesome son of the title heroine is unmistakably an adolescent, tearing up Dimwood Forest as best he knows how and scowling about how lame and clueless his mom and dad are. But maybe a little bit of forced quality time can change all that...

Poppy's Return is the latest in Avi's series of books about the creatures of Dimwood Forest, most notably a noble young mouse by the name of Poppy. In this book, she's not quite so young as before, but her vivacious spirit hasn't been washed away with the passing of time. Nonetheless, she is deeply discouraged that her son Ragweed Junior has chosen to take after his namesake, the irresponsible mouse who was Poppy's first love before his shenanigans got him killed. He snaps at his parents, tosses insults and profane phrases at whoever passes by, and spends his days holed up in the darkest part of the house or wandering the woods with Mephitis, his best friend who just happens to be a skunk. What's more, he has dyed his fur to match the skunk's, much to his mother's consternation. Even the crusty old porcupine Ereth has no idea how to straighten Junior out.

Then Poppy's sister, a very prim and proper mouse named Lilly, arrives to entreat Poppy to return to the home she abandoned long ago, as her father is unwell and the farm where they live is in danger of being bulldozed. Could this be the perfect opportunity for her to reacquaint herself with her son? Though Lilly balks at the notion of bringing Junior along - particularly when he conditions his coming on bringing Mephitis - Poppy hopes a reconciliation may be in the making. More than one, actually, since she didn't leave her parents on particularly good terms. After being used to freedom for so long, how will she handle her parents' restrictive natures? And what does her father so urgently wish to discuss with her?

Poppy's Return is a sweet and funny tale of family: how we adjust for the ones we love and when we must refuse to budge. It's a story about growing up and growing older and sliding into those roles, however awkwardly. Poppy is a tender and sympathetic character whose youthful antics return to her throughout the trip, reminding her that she and her son are not so different. Ragweed Junior, meanwhile, is entertainingly frustrating, a rebel without a cause who's more bluster than anything and who really is a caring individual under all his tough talk. Mephitis has a mysterious background, and while he's initially pegged as a "bad influence," we soon learn there's more to him than meets the eye. Add ornery old Ereth and Lungwort, Poppy's cantankerous, elderly father, into the mix, and there's plenty of humor to be gleaned from this coming of age tale, which is perhaps the least violent of the installments, with a run-in with a pair of bears the only truly perilous moment, though the climax is also cause for a bit of nervous breath-holding.

Because it was published in 2005, the book has a very modern feel to it, so while Junior's language (with favorite phrases including the bored (and Scooby-Doo-esque) "rucks to be you" and any variation on the word "freaking") is toned down from what you might find in a typical teen movie, his mannerisms ring true. Wilderness lovers should get a kick out of this charming tale, as should parents struggling with unruly teenagers and teens convinced their parents could never have been anything remotely approaching "cool".

Lamott Lightens a Writer's Burden With Bird By Bird

It's nearly four weeks into January, and lamentably my writing aspirations for the year are not well on their way to being realized. I thought this would be a month bristling with productivity; I have far less to do than in December, so it should follow that I would write at least as many reviews and, while I was at it, pull an Alex and Emma and tap out an entire novel. Ha! But last week, my friend's mom lent me a book that has come highly recommended by a number of literary-minded friends and professors. "You have to read Bird By Bird," they all told me, and now I finally have, and at just the right time to kick-start my year of purposeful writing - not bird-watching, as my relatives surmised when they saw me reading the book earlier this week, though I'm sure I could combine the two activities...

What Anne Lamott offers in this book beloved by so many writers both struggling and established (scratch that - if Lamott shows us anything, it's that we're all struggling) is practical, honest advice housed in rich, humorous prose. You don't have to aspire to writing fame and fortune to appreciate this book, and in fact it might be better if you don't, lest her blunt laying out of the facts leave you discouraged and bitter. If you really are in love with the craft, though, you won't let that get you down, and if all you want to do is finish that darned term paper, she may have just the nuggets of wisdom you need to get you through one more caffeine-drenched all-nighter.

If the basic idea of this book could be boiled down to two words, they would be "start small." I certainly understand all too well the crippling fear that comes with staring down a blank sheet of paper, especially when I know I'll have to fill up ten of them in some coherent fashion in order to pass one class or another. It's easy to be so immobilized by the enormity of a project that you can't even start. Especially when you're past the point of graded assignments and you have nothing but your own motivation to spur you onward. So take baby steps. Write a little bit at a time, and don't worry if the results are crummy. You can iron that out later. For starters, just write.

Lamott delves into all sorts of specifics too, breaking her book down into five parts, the first four of which are further broken down into very manageable chapters. The most extensive of the parts is the first, which deals with actually writing, while the others focus on the writing frame of mind, getting help from like-minded individuals and publishing. The last part serves as a sort of epilogue as Lamott shares what she tells her students on the last day of their writing class.

Interspersed with the helpful hints are tidbits about Lamott's life, particularly her development as a writer under the influence of her author father and the inspiration she has drawn from her son Sam and her best friend Pammy. In one chapter, she discusses extensively the idea of writing as a gift for a particular someone; she wrote her first book for her father while he was dying, and she wrote another book for Pammy while she was dying, but those books were also able to become gifts to others, particularly those in a similar situation. She encourages writing what you know, if only for the benefit of a parent or a grandchild. That in and of itself is enough to merit the writing. But such personal stories can have wide applicability, so you might just be able to shine a spotlight on those closest to you for all the world to see.

Lamott strikes me as a deeply spiritual yet light-hearted person, someone who can poke fun at herself and the lifestyle she has chosen, who doesn't mind exposing all of her vices, many of which made me cringe a bit with familiarity. She strikes me as a compassionate person, when she isn't dreaming up inventive tortures for harsh critics or other writers for whom words seem to spill effortlessly onto the keyboard. Such shocking passages are followed by her tongue-in-cheek admission that she is an angry person. But aren't most writers now and again? Don't we wish we could churn out page after perfect page? Don't we seethe when a story over which we've toiled tirelessly is stained red by the hand of that brave friend who dares to offer suggestions? Don't we browse through the selections in the bookstore and grumble, "I could write something better than this; why is he the one with the million-dollar advance?"

If these sorts of demons plague you while rings form under your eyes from late nights staring into the word processor, pick up Bird By Bird and find a kindred spirit, a fellow companion on the journey to publication and, perhaps more importantly, preservation and self-awareness. Because even if your writing never earns you a penny, you've created something, something that is uniquely you, one small step at a time.

Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue: A Slice of Musical History That Won't Make You Blue

I have an aunt who is known by many as "the book woman". An elementary school teacher for many years, she works in a hundred-year-old independent bookstore, and an entire room of her house is devoted to a carefully catalogued selection of children's books, many of which have been lent out on a number of occasions. Over the years, she's doled out prime advice on what books to look into. On the strength of her recommendation, I read Holes and got hooked on A Series of Unfortunate Events, and I opened birthday packages containing The Giver and Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, which were definitely gifts that kept on giving. At Christmas, my cousins and I are all likely to open a book from her, usually a lavishly illustrated picture book that we can pass around so everybody can enjoy it before we go our separate ways.

This year's was Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue, written by Anna Harwell Celenza and JoAnn E. Kitchel. Celenza did a book signing at her store, so this came with the added bonus of an autograph: "To Erin, May your days be filled with lots of 'swell' piano music! Anne H. Celenza." Though I'd never heard of it before - which usually is the case with my aunt's offerings - the book is a great fit for me because it's about a piano player (of which I am one, though certainly nowhere in Gershwin's league), it's about the creation of a work of art (a process with which I am intimately familiar as a writer) and the culminating event occurs on my birthday, February 12th.

This book reminds me of The Night Henry Ford Met Santa, which I read shortly before Christmas. Though that account is more fanciful, delving quite obviously into the realm of fiction, its primary purpose is to get kids excited about a particular historical figure - Henry Ford. This book wants to foster enthusiasm about George Gershwin and his famous concerto. It does so by presenting George as an ordinary guy with a problem. His buddy Paul believes in him so much that he has announced in the newspaper, for all to read, that the centerpiece of his next concert will be a brand-new jazz concerto written by George. Only trouble is that he hasn't starting writing a concerto, and the concert is only a few weeks away!

The book chronicles George's struggles to come up with an appropriate piece, after he has reluctantly agreed to furnish one. Initially, inspiration seems utterly out of reach. Listening to his favorite composers, buying a new pen and fresh paper, taking a leisurely walk through a pristine, snow-covered Central Park... Nothing seems to help. But then a trip on a train lights a spark, and soon George is hearing the music all around him and frantically working to jot it all down and tie it together with the perfect, elusive theme.

Can he finish in time? Will the concerto be a success? The answers are easy to guess at, given that this is one of the most famous pieces of instrumental music of the 20th century. But it's fun to see it all come together, and to watch as Gershwin's audience listens to the masterpiece for the first time. The watercolor illustrations are nice, with a drab sort of feel to most of them, though some effectively convey the kaleidoscope of sights and sounds Gershwin was trying to capture with his composition. A few of the pages feature a border of black with a white design, but most just show a picture without a border, usually depicting lanky, 26-year-old George deep in thought. In the back of the book is a CD containing a performance of Rhapsody in Blue so that readers can hear exactly what Celenza describes.

Because of the book's overt educational intentions, Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue might not appeal to many children right off the bat unless they are musically inclined, but it would be an ideal inclusion in an elementary school course on music, the early twentieth century or writing. In fact, with the potential to inspire so many students, Celenza's book could jazz up just about any classroom.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

These Chums Should Scrub Their Mouths Out With Soap, But We Can Learn From Them

Watching a movie with my mom can be a very interesting experience. If it's an action-packed film full of narrow escapes and violent encounters, we can bank on her letting out at least three or four screeches loud enough to rouse the whole neighborhood. If it's a mystery, she's sure to spout several inquiries at the television or her fellow viewers as to what is going on. But I don't think I have ever witnessed her having a more vocal reaction to a film than she had to The Chumscrubber.

The movie came courtesy of my brother Nathan, who had seen it and raved about it. Though he knew just what to expect from the ensuing scenes, Mom and I had little idea what this indie had to offer. As it turned out, what it offered more than anything else was ludicrously incompetent parents. "Oh, my gosh!" Mom yowled, time and again, slapping her pillow in dismay as the adults in this freakishly perfect community failed to listen to a word their teenagers were (or weren't) saying. "These people are such idiots!" She was incensed. Furious. Livid that even in an exaggeration of reality the phrases "talking without speaking" and "hearing without listening" could have such broad applicability. But if Paul Simon had woken up one day in the world of this movie, he may just have thrown up his hands in despair and called it a day.

The movie revolves around Dean Stiffle (Jamie Bell), a surly, disengaged teen who turns out to be just about the most normal character in the film. After finding his best friend Troy (Josh Janowicz) dead in his room, his already dreary life goes from bad to worse. His psychologist dad, who's been shoving pills down his throat for as long as he can remember, keeps pressing him for his feelings in the face of losing Troy so he can incorporate his responses into his next book. Class punk Billy (Justin Chatwin) and his lackey Lee (Lou Taylor Pucci) torment him with re-enactments of Troy's death. Oh, and then they kidnap his brother Charlie (Rory Culkin) so that Dean will be forced to retrieve the drugs still stashed in Troy's room.

Except they kidnap the wrong Charlie: Charlie Bratler (Thomas Curtis), a scrawny tuba-playing geek who initially is rather amused by the proceedings, enjoying the change of pace, particularly the attentions of Crystal (Camilla Belle), a compassionate young woman who seems to be romantically attached to Billy but is growing fonder of Dean by the hour. So the plan seems pointless for a while until Billy refuses to release Charlie after repeated requests and grows violent after Dean delivers the wrong goods, thanks to some intervention by his real brother, who's such a twerp it probably would have been much better for everybody if he actually had been the one kidnapped.

While the film focuses on the journey of these young characters through a wasteland of sugary suburbia more garish than the neighborhood featured in the haunting Edward Scissorhands, what had my mom shaking her fists was the parents, from Dean's exploitative father (William Fichtner) and burnt-out, vitamin-obsessed mother (Allison Janney) to Crystal's mother (Carrie-Anne Moss), who is so obsessed with staying youthful that she competes with her daughter for the attention of teenage boys, and from Troy's mother (Glenn Close), who catatonically accepts casseroles while calling all her neighbors to assure them, "In no way whatsoever do I blame you for Troy's death," to Lee's parents (Caroline Goodall and Jason Isaacs), who refuse to pay attention when he tries to let them in on Billy's plot.

Worst of all, though, is perpetually busy Terri Bratley (Rita Wilson), who is so occupied with talking a mile a minute while she works out the overly complicated last-minute details of her wedding that she fails to realize her son is missing. She's so insufferable, it's a good thing she's balanced out by the delicate naivete of her fiance, mayor Michael Ebbs (Ralph Fiennes), who's been in a bit of a daze since the unfortunate tumble that introduced him to Terri. He recently experienced a sense of awakening, however, thanks to a book written by Dean's dad, so while he still seems confused, he wanders about now enmeshed in eccentricity and awash with exuberance, eager to share his newly acquired vision - which compels him to immerse himself in liquids and paint dolphins on the living room walls - with the world. He is easily my favorite character.

But Dean and Crystal are pretty likable protagonists, and it's up to them to break free of the constraints of their crippling surroundings in order to do what they know is right. So this maddening, often foul-mouthed, occasionally violent satire ultimately acts as a morality play. And if my mom's screams of indignation are any indication, I think they got the message across.

Eeyorish Ereth's Bad Birthday Leads to Big Responsibility

"We can't all, and some of us don't. That's all there is to it," gripes Eeyore in Winnie the Pooh, moaning that apparently some creatures, even those living in an enchanted and benevolent locale like the Hundred Acre Wood, are not entitled to happiness on their birthday. The old donkey feels rejected and neglected on what should be a joyous occasion, and so does the old porcupine who is the title character in Ereth's Birthday, a middle reader by Avi that is part of a series of tales about Dimwood Forest.

When Ereth wakes up on his birthday to find that his best friend, a mouse named Poppy, is off wandering the woods somewhere with her husband, he is so disappointed, disgruntled and downright disgusted that he decides to have a little adventure if he is to be denied a warm and fuzzy celebration. Hopefully the end result of his quest will be a birthday present for himself: a nice chunk of salt, his favorite thing in all the world. After a very long and gloomy walk, made more uncomfortable by a fresh sprinkling of snow, he finds just what he's looking for. In a cabin usually occupied by hunters. He's seen them leave, though, so he doesn't especially fear them. But his dreams of his desired delicacy are dashed when he hears someone crying out from a distance, wailing piteously, and despite his delight at his discovery, he cannot bear to gorge himself while some other creature is suffering.

So he investigates and soon finds the source of the sound: a luxurious vixen caught in a vicious steel trap that has gnawed at her leg for hours. With her last few breaths, she begs Ereth to go take care of her three kits. Though he grumbles mightily on the way to fulfilling her request, Ereth doesn't have the heart to ignore her dying wish and soon finds himself full-time babysitter to spirited Nimble, surly Tumble and timid Flip. As if their antics alone weren't enough, he is haunted by the knowledge that the surrounding area is littered with steel traps, all concealed by the snow. Moreover, his worries about what will happen if the kits' father doesn't show up give way to worries about what will happen is he does, and all the while, unbeknownst to him, a sinister pair of eyes studies him from a distance.

Ereth's Birthday is a charming and lively tale about a crusty curmudgeon remembering that he actually does care about those around him. In spite of the omnipresent covering of snow, the story is infused with warmth and tenderness, but Ereth's harsh exterior provides for plenty of comedic moments, particularly when he speaks, with a tongue as salty as his favorite treat. His alliterative, exasperated exclamations could put a sailor to shame. A sampling: "smidgen of slipper slobber," "dangling doggerels," buckled badger burgers," "chewed over cow cuds," "antelope uncles," "busted bug bottoms"... and that's just for starters.

Prior familiarity with the series is helpful but not essential to a reading of this book. Ereth is the only character from previous chronicles featured in prominence, and he is established quite firmly from the get-go, requiring no reliance on material from other installments. Each of the kits has a distinct enough personality that we can begin to see them as individuals as the story progresses rather than merely members of a threesome, which is important since the bulk of the novel deals with their interaction with Ereth. Adding to the appeal of the book are the detailed, expressive drawings of Brian Floca, illustrator for the other Dimwood Forest tales. A fairly breezy read at 180 pages broken into 27 chapters, Ereth's Birthday is great for existing fans of the series and for anyone who loves adventuresome animal stories and don't mind giving a lonely old porcupine a chance.

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Goblet of Fire Has Me All Fired Up For More Harry

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows comes out this year. I hope. Profusely. Of course, once it does, that means there will be no more Harry Potter books left, and I will most likely find myself in a state of depression after I finish the concluding volume. But that's all months away, so I'm much more occupied with the anticipation than the looming specter of the eventual letdown, though it's probably just as well if I must wait until summer because if I had to juggle Smallville, LOST and Harry Potter all at once, my head would probably explode. That being said, it's nice to have a little something to whet my appetite, and that came in the form of a Christmas present that arrived belatedly in the mail last week. The goods: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Which, true to my unfortunate tradition, I never saw in the theater. So I was in for a treat.

Goblet of Fire is a long book. I remember when I got it, after much rigamarole due to the fact that we accidentally had it sent to my grandpa when we ordered it on Amazon; it was well into the summer when we collected it, just before embarking on a week-long trip to Ocean City, Maryland. Whenever we piled into the van, I read aloud to my brother Nathan, though I made him take the reins whenever a house elf was speaking. I missed those elves in the movie, but only when I stopped to think about it. So many details were left out, subplots drastically shortened or cut entirely, and upon reflection I ruminated that it was a shame they couldn't be included. But the film centers on the Tri-Wizard Tournament, the overblown competition uniting Hogwarts with magical schools Beauxbatons and Durmstrang for the year, and I think it was in the best interests of the movie for screenwriter Steve Kloves and director Mike Newell to keep that fairly narrow focus.

Not only are the elves missing here, there are no Dursleys whatsoever, but I can't say I miss them, though Mrs. Weasley's absence is sadly noted. (At least there are hints of her in the dreadful dress robes Ron is forced to wear.) Instead of watching Harry (Daniel Radcliffe) suffer through another miserable summer with his inhospitable relatives, we see him whisked away to a massive Quidditch match with the Weasleys. Hogwarts has a very ancient air about it, so it's strange to witness an event so filled with modern touches, such as the fanfare with which the teams arrive and the elaborate profile of star player Viktor Krum (Stanislav Ianevski) that flickers across half the stands at one point. (Later scenes have a more contemporary feel to them as well, like the end of the Yule Ball, when the sedate classical music gives way to the hard-rocking tunes of a popular young wizarding rock group.) The score in these Quidditch World Cup scenes is especially nice, all Celtic-flavored to go with the Irish team the Weasleys so ardently support, and the whole proceedings tingle with joy and exhilaration until Voldemort's cronies come in and ruin everything, setting a dark tone for the rest of the film.

Goblet of Fire has an epic feel to it, what with the three Herculean tasks the students must perform, but it also seems more ordinary than the others, largely because there are many scenes in which we see Harry and his friends in regular clothes rather than robes. They're growing up before our eyes, most notably gangly Ron (Rupert Grint) and luminous Hermione (Emma Watson). Teenage emotions run rampant as Ron spends close to a third of the movie furious with Harry, thinking he somehow maneuvered his way into the Tri-Wizard Tournament and kept it from him. Ron, who is rendered a babbling nitwit whenever he nears Fleur Delacour (Clemence Poesy), the seductive siren serving as the Beauxbatons champion, feels like enough of an also-ran as it is; he's not enthusiastic at the prospect of sitting in the sidelines while Harry attains eternal glory. He and Harry make up eventually - just in time for him to have a falling-out with Hermione over her acceptance of Durmstrang champion Viktor's invitation to the Yule Ball (which Professor McGonagall (Maggie Smith) amusingly describes as an evening of "well-mannered frivolity"). Poor hot-headed, misguided Ron... Harry's got his eyes on someone too: Cho Chang (Katie Leung), who happens to be the girlfriend of the other Hogwarts champion, golden boy Cedric Diggory (Robert Pattinson). (Looking back over the fourth and fifth books fresh off five seasons of Smallville crammed into one year, I find this relationship incredibly similar to Clark's and Lana's. We see so little of Cho in the film, though, that we tend to forget she exists.)

Speaking of reduced roles, Snape (Alan Rickman) gets precious little air time, though his few scenes are memorable, particularly one in which he boxes Ron and Harry's ears for chattering in class. McGonagall's dancing lesson with Ron is another shining moment, as is the shot of crusty groundskeeper Argus Filch (David Bradley) waltzing contentedly with his cat, Mrs. Norris, at the Yule Ball. Hagrid (Robbie Coltrane) remains fairly prominent, mostly cultivating a romance with Beauxbatons headmistress Madame Maxime (Frances De La Tour), while Dumbledore (Michael Gambon) has the helm in many scenes, though I can't get used to this new, robust version of a wizard I see as wise and ethereal, with an ever-present twinkle in his eye. He seems to bark out much of his dialogue, coming across as more intimidating than understanding, especially when he demands to know whether Harry put his name in the goblet somehow. Other characters - most regrettably Nearly Headless Nick (John Cleese) - don't make an appearance at all.

Of the younger set, Draco Malfoy (Tom Felton) doesn't show up a whole lot, though he is the centerpiece of a most amusing little scene involving the inappropriate use of Transfiguration. Moaning Myrtle (Shirley Henderson) shares a rather uncomfortable scene with Harry, and Parvati (Shefali Chowdhury) and Padma Patil (Afshan Azad) giddily anticipate spending the Yule Ball as Harry and Ron's dates until they realize what wallflowers the two are. Fred and George Weasley (James and Oliver Phelps) actually are fairly prominent here despite the lack of Quidditch matches, which is grand because those two scallywags always bring a smile to my face. I'm also a fan of nebbish Neville Longbottom (Matthew Lewis), so it's nice to see him have some time in the spotlight as well.

Several new characters are introduced, most notably Mad-Eye Moody (Brendan Gleeson), the cantankerous but ever-so-helpful Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. His methods are sometimes dubious, but he seems to be incredibly competent despite the rumors that he has lost his mind. We also meet prominent wizard Barty Crouch (Roger Lloyd-Pack), who carries a dark secret under all his professionalism, and Rita Skeeter (Miranda Richardson), an exceptionally irritating journalist who is milked for much comic relief, though her role is also significantly decreased, which is rather a shame. Then, of course, there is Voldemort, who we see for the first time in this form, a supremely sinister, noseless, scarcely human incarnation whose raspy vocals are nonetheless clearly recognizable as Ralph Fiennes'.

It's a perpetual problem with Harry Potter that Rowling has so many incredibly well-realized characters, and they just can't all be fleshed out in the course of a few two-and-a-half-hour films. We get little sprinkles of side characters here and there, but the primary focus is always on Harry and, to a slightly lesser extent, Ron and Hermione. Because so much attention is paid to the Tri-Wizard tournament, which Harry must handle on his own, we don't have nearly as many scenes featuring the three of them together as we do in other installments. Frankly, I always thought the tournament was a rather silly idea, throwing three schools' worth of students into a tumult so that three individuals (or, as it turns out, four) can perform ridiculously complicated and dangerous tasks, mostly unseen by spectators, in order to attain everlasting fame. Dumbledore puts it into perspective at the end of the film, stressing the value of the experience as a way for students from all three schools to build relationships with one another, but I still think the tournament itself is a little over-hyped. Still, we get to see a lot more of the competition than the students do, and the three tasks, particularly Harry's death-defying, largely aerial battle with the Hungarian Horntail, make for absolutely exhilarating cinema.

The film is darker and more grown-up; it earns the PG-13 rating with a smattering of profanity (usually coming from Ron) but mostly with violence and frightening images. If not for the climactic showdown with Voldemort, Goblet of Fire probably could have squeaked by with a PG, but as devastating as that scene is, it is beautifully realized and a crucial midpoint to the series. Voldemort is gaining strength, but there's hope for Harry yet. I do think that just what happens to Harry when he locks wands with Voldemort is explained poorly, if at all; just when Dumbledore seems about to provide some essential insight, we're on to the next scene, and this was a bit of exposition that probably should have been provided to those who are coming into the film without having read the book. Otherwise, however, the movie comes to a satisfying but bittersweet close, setting us up for the oppressive Order of the Phoenix. That was my least favorite of the books, so I don't know how much I'll like the movie. Goblet of Fire, however, is golden and just what I needed to remind me how much I'm looking forward to the final installment in J. K. Rowling's brilliant series.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire


Aside from a distractingly abrasive performance from Michael Gambon as Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire is an excellent movie, with Brendan Gleeson and Ralph Fiennes compelling additions to the cast.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Zach Braff Becomes the Only Living Boy in Jersey...

There are lots of reasons I watch certain movies. Some are probably more legitimate than others. For better or worse, though, one major motivation for me to see a film is prior knowledge that the soundtrack includes Simon and Garfunkel. When a movie slips in one of those songs unexpectedly, it elevates the whole experience, so when I'm given a little advance warning, I take advantage of it. I decide that this is not a movie to miss. And usually I am rewarded for my efforts.

Garden State owes a great debt to The Graduate, the most Simon and Garfunkel-heavy movie of them all. When I finally saw that classic about post-college malaise and discontent with a shallow upper middle-class lifestyle, I had years of hype to go on, and I came away disappointed. But several viewings later, I have come to appreciate much more what a remarkable movie it is. Such is the case with Garden State, a thematically similar film about floundering in one's mid-twenties. Having recently re-watched it, I've grown into a deeper respect for the movie - and Zach Braff, who wrote, directed and starred in it, all at the ripe old age of not-much-older-than-me.

He plays Andrew Largeman, a wannabe actor who wanders through life in a daze of over-medication, thanks to the intervention of his father (Ian Holm), who happens to be a doctor. Andrew's been away from home for ten years, having been sent off to school and never returned, but he's back for the funeral of his mother, whose paralysis years earlier was his fault, or so he has grown up believing. Awkwardly detached from everything that happens around him, he goes through the motions in dealing with relatives at the reception; his pathetic interaction with his aunt that results in the donning of a shirt that matches the wallpaper in the upstairs bathroom is reminiscent of Ben's chat with the "plastics" promoter in The Graduate. He's no more animated when he gets together with his old high school chums; while they party hearty, doped up on ecstasy, he sits on the couch and lets everything happen around him.

Then something changes. He meets Sam (Natalie Portman), a free-spirited girl who lives with her mother, an African student and a massive menagerie of pets. Sam is a compulsive liar, so Andrew's never sure of the veracity of any of her claims, and she's as uninhibited as he is perpetually uncomfortable, so theirs is not the most natural of pairings, but it's a fortuitous one, since she is able to remind him that life can be beautiful, even - maybe especially - in its least significant moments.

The lesson is cemented when the two join Andrew's friend Mark (Peter Sarsgaard) for a wild goose chase to some unknown destination with some mysterious purpose. None too happy initially about spending his last day in town ramming around on some strange errand, Andrew eventually finds inspiration in the trek - and realizes the depth of Mark's friendship, even as his days-old relationship with Sam blossoms.

The acting is solid all around, with a radiant Portman and Hoffman-esque Braff backed up by sardonic Sarsgaard, along with a trio of parents displaying varying degrees of dysfunction. The inclusion of a cast member from Lord of the Rings is another automatic movie elevator for me, so despite the brevity of Holm's role, I enjoy it. And Braff's taste in music is nothing to turn up your nose at, especially the stirring The Only Living Boy in New York, which comes at a rather surprising point in the movie, particularly considering that there actually is a scene in which Andrew prepares to catch a flight, leaving Sam all alone again in New Jersey. That would have been the obvious place to stick such a song, but in its new context, it takes on a different but no less thought-provoking connotation.

Back when Garden State came out, a co-worker of mine told me it was the best movie of the year. I don't know if I'd go that far. But I doff my hat to Braff and company for a job well done; he's welcome to swing by and give me a few pointers any time...

Monday, January 15, 2007

Locke Has the Key to the Isle's Mystery...

This Christmas, I received a talking figure of Charlie Pace, one of my favorite characters from LOST, which has been one of my predominant obsessions this past year. The figure is amazingly detailed, marvelous from the little fold in the top of his hoodie right down to the tips of his checkered shoes. But I noticed that Charlie, sitting hunched over on a slab of airplane wreckage, doodling on his fingers, seemed a bit forlorn. Since McFarlane Toys declined to include Claire in its first series of LOST toys, I couldn't bring him someone that would provoke that endearing lop-sided grin. But if he couldn't have his ladylove, I figured I'd at least furnish him with a mentor to guide him out of his heroin-induced haze. And if that person just happened to be another of my favorite characters, so be it...

John Locke is an incredibly compelling character. Named after the English philosopher, he quickly establishes himself as a leader, though of a different sort than take-charge Jack. Locke tends to focus on one individual at a time, building up a relationship and helping that person to work through his or her demons. He is especially helpful to Charlie, though the young rocker also finds his attention rather maddening. Of all the castaways, Locke seems to be the least interested in getting rescued. In fact, it seems his whole life has been building up to this moment, when, freed from the trappings of contemporary society, he can lead a wilderness expedition and show just how in tune he is with the island upon which he has landed. For the most part, Locke seems like a very good man, brimming with wisdom and concern for others, but there's another aspect to his personality, something volatile simmering under the surface, and the religion he builds around the island becomes dangerous and reminiscent of Lord of the Flies.

Nonetheless, I am a great fan of Locke, so it's pretty cool to see him peering into that hatch whenever I sit down to have a bite to eat. I think he ended up there because that's where there was enough space for my brother Nathan to unload the package and assemble its contents: the black speaker box, the batteries, the cardboard backdrop, the plastic base and, of course, Locke himself. He was all in one piece when I got home from work, having instructed Nathan earlier to assemble him for me, and I gleefully pressed the button on the back to hear him snarl "Don't ever tell me what I can't do! Ever!" with such ferocity that I jumped back, much to the amusement of Nathan, who later noted that he wished he could record that snippet for his alarm clock. That one is so startling that it's my favorite of the three. However, "Do you wanna know a secret?" is appropriately intriguing, and I get a kick out of synching it up with Charlie so that the next press of a button reveals, "You don't know me! I'm a bloody rock god!" Meanwhile, the reverence with which Locke whispers "I've looked into the eye of this island... and what I saw... was beautiful" is awe-inspiring.

Locke himself is meticulously detailed, at least as good a likeness as Charlie and maybe better. In both cases, I'm rather frustrated that their heads are bent down, but if you tilt them upward you can get a good look at their faces. Or if you really want to creep yourself out, you can make Locke's head do a 180 so he's staring up at the sky backwards and upside-down. But I wouldn't recommend it. His arms are moveable too, and to less unnerving ends, and if you want, you can remove the hunting knife from one hand and the water bottle from the other, though I'm not sure what you would do with them then, and I'd worry about losing them, small as they are. Locke's all ready for adventure with his trusty backpack, khaki pants and olive green vest, all of which are equipped with plenty of pockets into which to stuff equipment. And he does, though these items are not removable like the bottle and knife. We're not quite sure what all he has in there, but he seems pretty confident that he's prepared. There's a slight smile on his face that could be interpreted as a grimace of determination. His Scar-like... well... scar gleams crimson below his eye. His bald head, not blessed by the shimmering smoothness brought on by a bout with a corn field full of meteor rocks, betrays a shadow of stubble. The watch around his wrist faces inward, perhaps so he can pretend that it still tells the correct time. Or maybe those waterlogged batteries weren't a problem...

His hardy brown shoes refuse to confine themselves to the pegs reserved for them. He stands at a tilt, the only way to keep him from toppling over. I think it's a deliberate reflection of his refusal to conform to society's rules. Appropriately, he is surrounded by jungle, from the lush backdrop to the base, which features an assortment of leaves, sticks, moss and other underbrush. The centerpiece, of course, is the hatch, and he's eager to peer down inside and unveil its secrets. Incidentally, Locke's base is considerably bigger than Charlie's, and he towers over the poor lad like a giant... but then Charlie is not only sitting but slouching, so he's really not quite as puny as he appears.

Locke set me back $17, which isn't bad considering the quality of the reproduction and the inclusion of several props, the least noticeable of which is a brochure from the Walkabout Tour that rejected our beloved boar hunter. I didn't find it until the next day, after it occurred to me that it was missing, though a brighter person than me would probably have thought to look underneath the base long before I did. That's just the little finishing touch on a plastic tribute to a phenomenal character without whom Charlie - and probably several others - would be even more lost than they are now.

Sunday, January 14, 2007

Smallville Thrives in Season Five

My brother just went back to college tonight. But before he left, we managed to spend quite a lot of time together - much of it parked on the couch in front of the television. In fact, in his last week home, Nathan, my parents and I blazed through the entire fifth season of Smallville, bringing us only half a season away from actually being caught up. It could possibly happen before the sixth season is over...

Season five is an important one. Interestingly, while the cataclysmic pilot episode aired a month or so after 9-11, this season's opener, which shows the immediate aftermath of yet another colossal meteor shower, aired about a month after Hurricane Katrina. The second-episode scenes of a community barn raising take on added meaning in that context, demonstrating the resilience of ordinary citizens under trying circumstances. If Smallville can be rebuilt - twice - maybe New Orleans can too.

In one respect, season five opens on a happier note than most; Clark's (Tom Welling) Superman training continues in the glorious Fortress of Solitude (though you'd think Jor-El (Terence Stamp) would've told him everything he needed to know when he abducted him for three months the year before), while Chloe (Allison Mack) is the awestruck bystander in the story of a lifetime. Only it's one she refuses to tell. And oh yeah, it's darn cold for a Kansas gal in a winter wonderland with no coat. So that beautiful scene is shattered when Clark insists on cutting his training short to get Chloe someplace where she won't die of hypothermia, to which Jor-El reluctantly agrees... conditioned upon Clark's return before sunset to continue his lessons. As soon as the words escape his lips, we know Clark will break his promise, whether out of forgetfulness, preoccupation or outright defiance. But his actions have grave repercussions, as he will come to realize as the season wears on...

Most inconveniently, this meteor shower brought another spaceship, a black, ominous-looking thing containing the Disciples of Zod. Lana (Kristen Kreuk) sees it land and is sufficiently traumatized; Lex (Michael Rosenbaum), who's on just about everybody's bad side at the moment, claims not to believe her, while swooping down with all his resources to take the ship for himself. But there still are those pesky disciples to deal with, and they cause as much trouble as possible, casually shooting fire out of their eyes at whoever happens by while searching for Clark. Who they find, or who finds them, and saves the day, with time to spare... and sticks around to see Lana regain consciousness rather than high-tail it back to his big bad dad, who made himself pretty clear, if you ask me. Of all the choices Clark made in the season, this very early one probably maddened me the most because it should have been a no-brainer. Lana's out of danger; he needs to go finish his eddication, dagnabbit!

Smallville is a mess, but it cleans up nicely, and Jonathan (John Schneider) and Martha (Annette O'Toole) once again manage to claw their way out of the surrounding rubble, though what ever happened to Jason Teague (Jensen Ackles) nobody seems to know or care. Even Lana doesn't raise any questions; maybe she's so unsettled by certain end-of-the-season revelations and events that she doesn't particularly relish another meeting with Jason. Nonetheless, it seems there should be some reference to finding his body under a once-hardy Kent table... or not finding it, leaving the possibility for his re-emergence at a later date. I'm guessing they just wanted to close the book on that whole season-four storyline, though, and I guess I can understand that. And they slip a reference to Pete (Sam Jones III) in the second episode, so maybe there's always a chance of a throwaway explanation of just what happened to Jason in, say, season seven, when everyone's forgotten him entirely...

Because who needs Jason when Lana and Clark can finally be together? The whole end-of-the-world thing has thrown things into perspective, and Lana realizes Clark is her true love, and since he rather conveniently (so he thinks) loses his powers after failing to return to his Fortress in the allotted time, he doesn't have to worry about hiding things from her anymore. Well, as long as she doesn't ask what he's been up to for the past 18 years... Chloe, meanwhile, finally knows just about everything about Clark that there is to know, and Clark knows she knows, so it cements their friendship even as she wistfully witnesses the renewal of his romance with Lana. And then Clark gets his powers back, as we knew he had to, though the circumstances are most unfortunate and don't bode so well for his and Lana's relationship. Chloe sure comes in handy as his wingman, though...

I continue to love Chloe in this season. She's pretty much done pursuing Clark, but she relishes her exalted place in his life, one of only four people who knows his secret - and one of them is quite out of the picture. There's a calmness and maturity to her here that comes out physically in her cessation of changing her hairstyle every episode. Maybe that has something to do with her not trying to get Clark's attention anymore; she really doesn't need to since he turns to her for help more often than ever, though when it comes to matters of the heart, one might suspect she'd rather not be the one to dole out advice.

Lana isn't so bad the first half of the season, though once her relationship with Clark turns physical - can we say ick? - she's suddenly all hormonally charged and coming on to Clark in practically every scene they share. Which is a problem for Clark since his abilities return soon thereafter, and he doesn't want to accidentally hurt Lana in the heat of the moment. And it's a problem for me, too, because... well... call me a prude, but ick once again. Plus, I'm still a hopeless Chloe and Clark shipper. The real problem with Lana here, though, is that Lex and Clark both get a glimpse of their respective perfect futures with her. And then things go horribly awry, leading both Lex and Clark to make tragic choices. Because in their blind adoration, it turns out they're both willing to give up anything and anyone for Lana's sake. Silly boys...

The Lex and Lana pairing grows increasingly plausible after she gets over her fury with Lex over his psychotic end-of-the-season antics and his subsequent implication that Lana's apparent spotting of the spaceship was all in her head, a result of post-traumatic shock. Because Lex decides to tell her the truth. Actually, ironically, as deceitful as he is, he's always been more forthcoming than Clark, and the fact that he is willing to share so freely with Lana here makes her question why she would want to stay with someone who's constantly lying to her. The thing of it is, I really want Lex and Lana to end up together. Because I really want Lex to be happy... and good, which I think he would be if he ended up with Lana, at least under a certain set of circumstances. And Lana would do all right, I think; he's obsessed with her and has endless resources with which to pamper her, so it's a needy girlfriend's dream. And, just as important, Clark could finally realize how perfect Chloe is for him... But none of those things can happen, and it's times like these when I hate the fact that the destinies of most of these characters are set. And then I'm grateful that at least nobody - perhaps, ominously, even the writers - knows where LOST is going...

But romances weren't my foremost concerns going into this season. Rather, there's the matter that certain characters seem unlikely to survive the series. Could this be the year one of them goes? Lionel (John Glover) starts off the season in an uber-creepy trance, sketching and etching Kryptonian symbols on any available surface. When he comes to, though - his lustrous hair nearly back to its full former glory - his first appearance is downright congenial. Soon, he still seems to be cooking up a few secrets in the shadows, but to what end? And when he offers to fund Jonathan's campaign for senator - against Lex, and behind Jonathan's back - can we really believe that it's not so he can strong-arm Jonathan if he gets into office, forcing him to make any number of decisions compromising his integrity? I cautiously believe in Lionel, knowing his manipulative skills are strong. I'm never sure just what he's up to, but the one constant, I think, is his deep, sincere regard for Martha, leading to some of the most moving scenes in the season, and as long as she is in his life his redemption seems to be within much easier grasp.

But Jonathan's opinion of Lionel certainly hasn't changed. In fact, his deep-seated prejudices against the Luthors frustrate me to no end, just like Samwise's refusal to embrace the glimmer of good in Smeagol, though in both cases there are very practical and compelling reasons for them to feel and act the way they do, far beyond sheer jealousy. Jonathan enters the senatorial race largely to keep Lex from getting the position, because a Luthor with all that power can't possibly be a good thing for all the hard-working middle class folks. What's more, he has a chance to crawl out from his son's shadow, to do something significant quite apart from Clark, and his pride embraces that possibility. But is it really a good idea to enter what's sure to be an ugly race with an enormous secret to keep quiet, not to mention a weakened physical condition? And what will happen if he learns where all that campaign money really came from? Jonathan is a hard-headed soul, and his attitudes poisoned Clark's relationship with Lex from the beginning, but he really is a man worth admiring, a role model absolutely instrumental to Clark's development. Hard-working, fiercely dedicated to his family and his values, he may just walk away with my vote for favorite character of the season.

Lex is on pretty shaky moral ground, but he hasn't turned into his father yet. He still resists the dark side, though his relationship with Clark is on the rocks, much to Lex's consternation. Clark's righteous indignation is a bit much to take, and the desperate attempts at reconciliation eventually give way to more and more bitterness. Of course, Lex is hiding a lot, as evidenced by the fact that he's always on his laptop, and he quickly closes it whenever someone walks in the room. But that doesn't mean he's past the point of no return, and this season affords him a couple of very heavy-handed opportunities to see the error of his ways and do something drastic to halt his gradual but relentless march toward super-villainy.

Lois (Erica Durance) continues to inject some much-needed humor into the proceedings, and the hints of romance between her and Clark are practically nonexistent here, aside from his general over-protectiveness whenever a potential love interest for her pops up. She, meanwhile, acts as a rather abrasive older sister, giving him a hard time whenever possible but also admitting her regard for him on certain occasions. More important at this point, she's utterly devoted to Jonathan and Martha, and she throws herself into supporting Jonathan's campaign with such fervor that he makes her campaign manager. Cool points to her for that. I'm actually really starting to like her...

A few new-but-familiar characters pop up this season, my favorite of which is Arthur Curry (Alan Ritchson), environmental vigilante extraordinaire who sweeps Lois off her feet, though Clark is right to suspect there's something "fishy" about him. Most significantly, though, we meet a gentleman named Milton Fine (James Marsters), though we know from the get-go what Clark doesn't: he's not really a history professor. He's a Kryptonian artificial intelligence, and he's bad news. But it looks like he's going to be around for a while...

Season five is pivotal: no more high school, no more Torch (though the Daily Planet keeps Chloe pretty busy), precious little camaraderie between Lex and Clark. Luthors and Kents both are caught up in the dangerous, exhilarating politics game, while a dark Kryptonian force looms as a threat bigger than even Clark can imagine. The hundredth episode rolls around; in honor of the occasion we get one of the most thrilling, devastating, emotionally charged episodes in the whole series. Major changes are about to occur, and many of them aren't particularly encouraging. It's nice to see Smallville cave at last and give us a warm and fuzzy Kent family Christmas before their down-home farm existence is thrown into a tizzy.

Most of the hints of Clark's grand destiny are rather grim, but there are also warm and wonderful moments of affirmation from both fathers and interaction with youngsters, for which Clark continues to demonstrate a remarkable aptitude. This is a season to tug at the heartstrings as events set into motion with decisions made long ago finally come to fruition and the days of dawning the fabled tights draw ever nearer. Though how Clark is going to explain the glasses to Lois, and more importantly, how she's going to fail to recognize him as Superman, I have no idea... I don't want the show to end. But I suspect the halfway point has passed; the epic scope of the season five finale will be hard to top, and how much longer can we keep Lex in check? I'm not sure. I am sure that it was a serendipitous day when Nathan toted home the first season eleven months ago, and I'm seeing this thing through to the end, marveling every step of the way.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

A Novel in 30 Days? I Wish!


I am a writer. I'd like to think so, anyway, though when it comes to creating stories and characters from scratch I seem to be coming up short lately. Just writing a short story causes a great deal of brow furrowing; attempting a novel is a ridiculously complicated prospect for which I seem to possess insufficient imagination, patience and stamina. So when I started watching Alex and Emma, a romantic comedy starring Luke Wilson and Kate Hudson, I found the premise that our hero was going to write a 300-page novel from scratch in 30 days rather laughable. Not only that, he would be dictating it, which would never be a workable situation for me, as solitude is an essential ingredient in my cocktail of inspiration, not to mention the fact that whatever wit and clarity I possess on paper tends to go out the window when I open my mouth. So as a writer, I was skeptical but also curious. Was this a workable endeavor?

The bulk of Alex and Emma takes place in Alex's (Wilson) apartment. A wreck of a reclusive writer, he has gambled away the profits from his previous effort and, what's worse, is in debt up to his eyeballs to a bunch of seedy loan sharks. He needs this next book in order to survive; not only does he have to worry about his day-to-day needs, but if he fails to deliver the goods on time, there's a bullet with his name on it. Luckily, his editor understands his dire situation and promises an advance large enough to cover the debt - if Alex can cough up a manuscript in time. Since his friendly neighborhood gang of Cuban mobsters axed his computer as part of their warning, he's convinced the only way he can possibly finish his book in time to pay them off is to hire a transcriptionist. Enter Emma (Kate Hudson), a good-natured but strong-willed woman who needs more than a little convincing that this is a solid business proposition.

Even once she agrees to be on board, so unyielding is Alex's writer's block that their first session produces nothing but a first sentence, and a mighty tepid one at that. Emma threatens to abandon the project, Alex protests and somewhere in the confrontation adrenaline kicks in and inspiration is born. And from then on, Alex is right on track, making his story up as he goes along, though it seems to be heavily informed by personal experience, particularly toward the end of the film when we find out more about his background. Must to Alex's consternation, Emma does not keep her strong opinions to herself, so while he is trying to blaze through as many pages as possible, she's busy questioning his writerly choices at every turn. As aggravating as that is - one that would pose far too great a distraction for me - these interjections eventually change the direction of the novel as he sees his characters and plot differently through Emma's eyes.

Because of the nature of the movie, voice over is a prevalent technique. We hear Alex's voice throughout much of the film, and Emma's pipes up fairly frequently. While we observe the way in which the novel is created, we also watch the fictional story unfold alongside the real one. The protagonist, also portrayed by Wilson, is a poor tutor named Adam living with a wealthy French family. Hudson, meanwhile, takes on the role of the housekeeper, whose nationality and name changes from Swedish to German to Spanish before finally staying put as an American named Anna. The main conflict in the book revolves around Adam's love for his boss, the bewitching Polina (Sophie Marceau). He is penniless, and she is being wooed by another very rich suitor. Worse, she doesn't technically have her own fortune, though she will acquire one upon her grandmother's death. The housekeeper begins as an afterthought, but the role gradually expands until, by the end of the book, Alex has turned her into a legitimate romantic interest. Who will Adam choose - and does he even have open options, given his financial status? And after the book's final page has been written, will the movie conclude in a similar fashion?

This is a predictable romantic comedy, so we all have a pretty good idea how things are going to end up. What's more interesting is how we arrive to that point. I still find the circumstances to be somewhat unbelievable; Alex keeps changing his mind about things, so Emma has to go back and redo everything, and it's all on a typewriter, which she only has time to type on after heading home for the night after a solid work day of what seems to be 12 or so hours. I guess she must resign herself to a couple of hours of sleep each night, but even so I don't see how it could be a really cohesive novel on paper with no real time to go back and change things.

The chemistry between Wilson and Hudson is decent, but since there's not much going on besides a whole lot of writing, it doesn't make for the most scintillating romance. There are a couple of scenes before the writing concludes, however, that allow them to engage in other activities, particularly when they spend a day on the town, purportedly to rejuvenate Alex's writing muscles after he has written himself into a corner. There's an almost flip fantasy sequence tone to the cinematography in the story-within-a-story. The acting is all intentionally a bit over-the-top. It's a bit hokey-looking, but it's a stylistic choice that makes sense and adds more flavor to the somewhat sedate main storyline occurring in the apartment.

Alex and Emma is a film with an unusual structure that will appeal to anyone interested in the story-building process. I don't think it is executed quite as well as it could be; even as an English major, I found it a tad dull, so less literary-minded audiences will probably find all that exposition especially irritating. Still, Alex and Emma is a fairly sweet and clever movie. Now if it could just inspire me to write a novel in 30 days...

Saturday, January 6, 2007

You're a Good Man, Charlie Pace

This was a very LOST Christmas for me. Not only did season one mysteriously materialize on the shelf atop our television as we gazed at the screen later in the day, but there were several gifts with my name on it directly relating to the hit TV show. There was the pair of "Mystery of the Island" puzzles, which I'm eager to delve into once the tree comes down. There was the homemade shirt, tan to match the island sand with an arresting head shot of Charlie Pace against a crisp blue sky, augmented by wooden gulls and shells and bearing the words "I'm LOST Without Charlie." I wore it to two subsequent family gatherings, where I was treated to puzzled choruses of "Who's Charlie?" and the occasional "I thought he was still on the show..." Well, yes... But I'm not, am I? Anyway, in addition to all that, there was the beautiful action figure, in a line that I didn't even know existed. The character? Why, Charlie, of course - though I'm tempted to go out and nab Hurley and Locke too, but I really need to curtail my spending since I only have another month of guaranteed steady employment...

When I first began seeing advertisements for LOST, the whole stranded-on-a-tropical-island premise - a scenario I've rather enjoyed daydreaming about, actually, particularly if it was a Swiss Family Robinson situation - caught my attention immediately. But I was equally drawn to it because of one very familiar face: Dom Monaghan. Ever since Fellowship of the Ring, the inclusion of any of LotR's dozen-plus principle cast members has been enough to make me interested in a movie - except, of course, for Seed of Chucky... oh, Billy, how could you? Ahem. Anyway, the prospect of getting to see that jovial hobbit week after week, and in lush, epic surroundings to boot, was too good to resist.

And then, after weeks of anticipation, I missed the first episode. And the second. And my recording devices failed me. So I gave up on watching season one in prime time and resigned myself to the DVD, but I watch ABC enough that I kept seeing previews, and in particular it seemed as though I saw previews for The Moth about a hundred times. In that episode, Locke tries to help Charlie break his heroin habit. In the previews, we were treated, over and over, to Charlie demanding, "I want m'drugs back!" I began to worry that I might not like Charlie. He was a hopeless druggie, and probably just an all-around un-Erinish character. But I held out hope, and when I finally did see the series premiere, I stopped worrying.

No, he's not quite Meriadoc Brandybuck, but actually there are several similarities in their personalities. There's the drug thing, of course, though pipeweed is considerably more benign than heroin, and even so Merry chides Pippin on smoking too much. Charlie isn't what you would call a crucial character. His only real purpose so far has been to look after Claire, and for half the series so far he hasn't even been able to do that. Like Merry, he's caught up in this massive struggle and not entirely sure how to contribute. And while he's not a good two or three feet shorter than most folks, he is a wisp of a man, not very burly, probably weakened by several years of hard living on the road with Drive Shaft. And he's not very clever either, not practical and resourceful like Hurley, whose positive impact on the castaways' experience has been subtle but steady from day one. As someone who has struggled quite a bit with feelings of ineffectiveness, I feel Charlie's pain. He's got himself a nasty temper and an unflattering inferiority complex, but I love him.

Why? Well, there is the whole hobbit thing. And that accent that makes me almost as tingly as Billy Boyd's - with a matching vocabulary that has awakened in me the inappropriate desire to incorporate the word "sodding" into as many of my conversations as possible. There's his musicianship. Even if You All Everybody is one of the most inane songs I've ever heard, you've got to admit it's catchy. And that one he was working out on his piano really was a keeper. I wish Charlie would have more opportunity on the island to make use of his guitar. Every once in a while we see him noodling around with it on the beach, but I'd like a more concrete assurance that he's doing some composing. I would think this situation would be ripe with inspiration, and since he generally doesn't take a very active role in the island affairs, that entails plenty of time for observation. Maybe when (if?) they get rescued, Charlie can release an album of songs written from that beach. I'd snatch that up in a minute.

Beyond that, Charlie is one of the most religious characters on the show. His Catholic upbringing is clearly very important to him. I think his faith fell by the wayside somewhat after he spiraled into his drug addiction, but once he emerged from the haze of that last batch of heroin, theological thoughts always seem to be rolling around in his head. He doesn't have all the answers, but he's searching, and that draws me to him. Moreover, he is thoroughly devoted to his brother, entailing extensive self-sacrifice. Family is of the utmost importance to him, which is something I can appreciate and relate to. It's interesting that he chooses for his mentors first Locke and then Eko, both of whom have endured great hardship as a result of their efforts to protect a close relative.

So yes, I like Charlie. A lot. And it's a pleasure to have such a stunning likeness of him perched on my piano; once the Christmas decorations are down, I hope to make him the centerpiece of my little musicians' corner atop the piano that includes a singing John Denver ornament, a Schroeder figurine and a headshot of Art Garfunkel. Charlie is one in a series of six in McFarlane's first line of LOST figures. Each six-inch representation comes in a sturdy package with a photographic backdrop and a detailed base capturing a particular location and moment in the featured character's island experience.

Charlie's moment comes very early in the series, before we've had the chance to learn much of anything about him. He's sitting hunched on a large piece of debris from the airplane; wires and bits of iron spill out both sides, and pieces of wreckage are scattered in the sand around his feet, which are clad in checkered slip-on shoes much like the Land's End clogs I practically live in. His jeans are faded toward the center and bristling with the look of real denim, with its panoply of wrinkles and creases, while his stormy gray hoodie matches the sky, caught in the splendor of the tail end of a spectacular sunset.

Charlie's right hand boasts his trademark Drive Shaft ring, which is also included separately so a squealing fan like me - a silly sort who just put You All Everybody on her MySpace profile page - can wear it. Except that Charlie, for as puny as he seems to be, apparently has enormous hands; his ring is built for a finger easily twice as big as mine, so if I do decide to wear it, I'll have to string it on a chain and stick it around my neck. Perched between his thumb and index finger is a black marker, with which he is meticulously tracing one of the letters in the word "FATE," spelled out across four fingers on pieces of tape. Both arms are moveable, which is especially nifty for making the right hand write.

His hood flaps slightly in the wind, leaving a gap between the material and his face, and he certainly looks like he's brooding, but at this early point in the series his thoughts are likely more vacuous than bitter. You have to tilt the base upward a bit in order to get a good look at his face, but gazing at him head-on he seems clouded by confusion rather than feelings of worthlessness. He's still wandering about in a haze of post-traumatic shock and heroin withdrawal. He doesn't have a clue what's going on, and he's darn lucky he didn't get sucked into one of the plane's propellers while he was stumbling about aimlessly. So are we.

The packaging is pretty but rather hard to get into; I wanted to keep the box in pristine condition but it wound up getting torn as I tried to open it, and extracting Charlie was even more complicated. Then once he was out I had to affix Charlie to the base - not a problem, with those handy-dandy pegs - and the base and backdrop to the voice box with the aid of four black plastic poles whose purpose was not immediately apparent. I also had to toss in a couple of double-A batteries. So there was a bit of assembly required, but nothing major, and with that box we can hear Charlie spit out three illuminating lines: the explosive "You don't know me! I'm a bloody rock god!"; the ominous "Guys... where are we?" and of course, a squealy rendition of that ever-so-stirring chorus, "You all everybody... you all everybody!"

The craftsmanship on this figure is astonishing, and I fear for my self-control. Say it: I will not buy every figure in this series. I will not buy every figure in this series. Repeat. We'll see how that goes... But whether or not I get my hands on any other castaways, I've got Charlie. And that is a beautiful thing indeed.