Shrek the Halls Offers Christmas Chaos

Up until last year, my mentioning a surly green creature who gets extra cranky around Christmas automatically would lead most people to assume that I was talking about the Dr. Seuss's Grinch, but now the old Christmas stealer has a bit of competition. Shrek (Mike Myers), the uncouth ogre who's a romantic at heart, got his own Christmas special last year, hot on the heels of his less-than-smashing third film installment. Shrek the Halls is much shorter than Shrek the Third, and the situation is much simpler: Shrek wants his first Christmas as a family man to be perfect, but he doesn't know how to go about it and his friends' shenanigans are giving him a headache. Poor green grouch...

This special, which clocks in at twenty-some minutes, reunites several popular characters from the films, including Shrek's sweet ladylove Fiona (Cameron Diaz), his hyper best buddy Donkey (Eddie Murphy), his suave defender Puss in Boots (Antonio Banderas), the Gingerbread Man (Conrad Vernon), the Three Blind Mice (Christopher Knights), Pinocchio (Cody Cameron) and the Three Little Pigs (Cameron). As in the movies, when they all come together in Shrek's hovel, enough chaos ensues to aggravate even the most easy-going of folks.

This is a very fast-paced tale, which means the mass confusion comes in short, manageable bursts. Even so, it's nice to have the rewind option available, since there are sometimes several things going on at once and it's easy to miss some of the off-hand remarks by various fairy tale characters. As always, my favorite of the bunch is Donkey, whose youthful enthusiasm has him inundating Shrek with good wishes badly delivered. Donkey has his own idea of what a perfect Christmas involves, and it doesn't match up too well with Shrek's. This makes for many amusing moments, though it's easy to understand why Shrek finds him a bit hard to take.

Those familiar with the series won't be surprised to find that this special contains a bit of suggestive dialogue and a fair amount of humor involving bodily functions. It's all firmly within PG territory, but if you have a low tolerance for belches and sludge, be warned. It's particularly abundant in the specialized version of A Visit From St. Nicholas that Shrek finally gets to recite, after storytime is hi-jacked by Donkey, Puss and Gingy, each of whom has a brief but memorable tale to tell. Puss's is probably my favorite, as it affords him the opportunity to adopt his adorable enormous-eyed expression; Gingy's might be a tad morbid for especially sensitive young viewers.

Like the movies, the special incorporates pop music well, though in this case it's Christmas music. I like the overall theme of familial affection and of togetherness trumping a "perfect" Christmas, though considering that the special starts out in the summer with Shrek's triplets already born, I can't quite work out how it is that this is Shrek's first Christmas with Fiona. Or during their first Christmas, were they too preoccupied with other matters to pay attention to the holiday? At any rate, this potential continuity gap does little to diminish my enjoyment of Shrek the Halls. I wouldn't quite call it a classic, but those who already enjoy these characters should get a kick out of seeing them in such a cheery context.

Season Four Marks a Turning Point for the Castaways of LOST

"Well," Dad remarked to me the other day, "less than two months to go!" "I know!" I replied. "They're starting to show commercials for the fifth season now. I'm so pumped!" At which he laughed and said, "Gee, you didn't even consider that I might be talking about the Inauguration, did you?" Nope, I didn't. And nope, he wasn't. Dad and I are anxiously awaiting the fifth season of LOST, along with everybody else who's been left hanging since May. It's hard for me to believe, but the fourth season was the first one that I actually watched live in its entirety; I saw most of season three that way but had to catch up on the fall episodes on video.

While waiting this time around has been a pain, it hasn't been nearly as difficult as it was last year. I think that's partly because the season four finale left me feeling a lot more hopeful than season three's did. The website www.dharmawantsyou.com also helped, allowing me to take several exams to determine my suitability for a position as a Dharma Initiative volunteer; I received my results not long ago, and I was assigned the role of gardener, which puts me in company with Sam Gamgee and Rubeus Hagrid, a fine pair of peers indeed. I also amused myself by carving a LOST-inspired jack-o-lantern and dressing as a member of the Dharma Initiative for Halloween. But now the wait is nearly over, and fans of the series can brush up on LOST lore by snatching the fourth season on DVD.

I never really felt that LOST lost its footing as a whole, though I have occasionally disagreed with certain creative choices. I have a hard time choosing a favorite season when each has such a distinct flavor and brings something so important to the puzzle that is this show; I'm more inclined to choose favorite episodes. That said, despite the fact that this season contains only 13 episodes, it has several that floored me. The general consensus seemed to be that this was LOST's strongest season since the first, and I certainly have to concur that they were doing something right.

I was nervous about the fourth season because Through the Looking Glass had such an overwhelming despairing effect upon me. Two of my favorite characters got killed off, along with more than a dozen others. We saw into the future, and it wasn't pretty. We were left with the uncomfortable feeling that the desperate rescue plan for which such grave sacrifices were made may have actually been to the undoing of all. Not fun. And there are bone-chilling atrocities in this fourth season. Yet there are still opportunities for light, for hope, for all of the wonderful character-driven moments that make LOST so addictive.

The fourth season begins to move into the show's end game by giving us as many flash forwards as flashbacks, sometimes keeping us guessing as to which is which. We learn that Jack's (Matthew Fox) contact with the freighter will lead to six castaways returning to civilization in the near future. It isn't until halfway through the season that we know the identities of them all, and there's still much to learn about what happens to them between their departure from the island and Jack's desperate determination that "We have to go back!" I was worried that seeing the future might render the present less interesting, especially in terms of knowing that certain characters will survive, but I rarely found that to be the case. The future revelations just gave me different things to focus on as I studied those characters back on the island.

This season brings with it several new characters, the most prominent of which are introduced in Confirmed Dead. In this unusually structured episode, we see what each of these four characters was up to when he or she found out that Oceanic Flight 815 had been found at the bottom of the ocean with all its passengers confirmed dead. (The mystery of just how this illusion was accomplished endures, though there are some conflicting clues.) The intriguingly named Charlotte Staples Lewis is the only woman of the bunch. Played by Rebecca Mader, she's a fiery English archaeologist whose interest in the island may be more than historical in nature. Miles Straume (Ken Leung) is a smart-alecky "ghost whisperer" largely out for personal gain whose unusual skills could be especially handy on an island where so many have recently died.

Frank Lapidus (Jeff Fahey) is a crusty pilot who was supposed to have been flying Oceanic 815 and has become obsessed with learning the truth about what happened to it. He's rough around the edges, but his blunt sense of humor is a welcome addition; shortly after we meet him, he dazedly utters my favorite goofy line of the season: "I saw a cow!" Frank was the first of the freighter folk I came to trust completely, and his heroic qualities render him extremely helpful to our beleaguered friends. Daniel Faraday (Jeremy Davies) is probably the most notable newbie, given the fact that one of the most prominent clips going into the season was of him saying shiftily, "Rescuing you and your people... I can't really say it's our primary objective." A jittery college professor studying anomalies in the space-time continuum, he seems like a gentle, absent-minded professor, and I embraced him quickly, but troubling questions about his mission on the island remain throughout the season.

Other new characters include Matthew Abaddon (Lance Reddick), an imposing figure who makes his shadowy entrance at key off-island moments, apparently manipulating characters toward a desired end. We still know little about him, but all evidence seems to suggest that he is a creep. More ambiguous is Captain Gault (Grant Bowler), the no-nonsense Australian captain of the off-shore freighter. With the intentions of his crew unclear and some very strange phenomena surrounding his ship, figuring out whose side he's on is no simple task. Same goes for communications officer George Minkowski (Fisher Stevens) and the ship's crotchety doctor (Marc Vann). The only one on the ship who seems absolutely unfit for alliance with the good guys is Martin Keamy (Kevin Durand), a steely-eyed mercenary who seems to take icy satisfaction in methodical killing. He reminds me of No Country For Old Men's Anton Chigurh, and it didn't take long for him to become my most loathed character in the show's history.

Season four finds the castaways we already know and love deeply divided. A majority of them head back to the beach with Jack to wait for further communication from the freighter. Kate (Evangeline Lilly) is among them; awkwardly, so is Juliet (Elizabeth Mitchell), still a rival for Jack's affections. Parents-to-be Sun (Yunjin Kim) and Jin (Daniel Dae Kim) are there too; as their marriage continues to mature, they anxiously await news of a rescue, as Sun's survival depends upon leaving the island before her pregnancy becomes too advanced. Surprisingly enough, Rose (L. Scott Caldwell) and her protective husband Bernard (Sam Anderson) opt for the beach as well, even though Rose suspects that leaving the island may result in the return of her terminal cancer. Her profound, accepting brand of faith is a welcome contrast to John's crazed pursuit of his destiny, and I wish the show would explore it more often. Sayid (Naveen Andrews) and Desmond (Henry Ian Cusick) start out with Jack but hop Frank's freighter-bound chopper in hopes of getting some answers; they get more than they bargained for when they meet "Kevin Johnson," a figure from past seasons with a lot to atone for.

Meanwhile, John (Terry O'Quinn), having survived a Ben (Michael Emerson)-induced near-death experience, leads a small band of dissenters to the cozy series of buildings Sawyer (Josh Holloway) terms "New Otherton". Yes, brooding Sawyer has joined the island-loving John, though he's none too thrilled about Mr. Clean keeping Ben alive. Theirs is a complex relationship, but despite Ben's shockingly petulant behavior in The Man Behind the Curtain, he and John seem to need one another, in part because they seem to be the only people convinced that this supposed rescue is bad news. That the half-cocked John manages to get any followers at all is mostly thanks to Hurley (Jorge Garcia), who delivers an impassioned speech in the wake of his dear friend's death in hopes that it will not have been in vain. Claire (Emilie de Ravin), at least, is convinced, and part of Sawyer's rocky road to redemption lies in the way he, with no ulterior motive, strives to protect her and her infant son.

LOST strays further into science fiction territory with this season, but it's so well done that I doubt even the least geeky viewers mind too much. The biggest mind-bender of the season is The Constant, a riveting, dizzying episode that finds a disoriented Desmond yanked back and forth through time, doomed to eventual brain hemorrhage unless he connects with Penelope (Sonya Walger), his one true love from whom he parted so badly. I consider this one of three episodes in this season that serve as bookends to third-season episodes; it is a perfect continuation of Flashes Before Your Eyes, which introduced the temporal anomaly plaguing the smokin' Scotsman, and taken together, they are every bit as romantic as the gushiest chick flick. In addition to including one of my absolute favorite moments of the season, The Constant reveals a great deal about Daniel in some wonderful scenes that are, by turns, comical and heart-rending.

The second bookend episode is The Shape of Things to Come. I waited for it for a month, and after I watched it I wanted to throw things at the television. The utter despair of this Ben-centric outing renders it the only episode that can compete with Through the Looking Glass in terms of inducing depression. In this episode, we finally see the true consequences of the castaways' choices in the season finale. Suffice it to say they're not good. Dark days are upon the island, and this new threat makes the surviving Others, most of whom are hidden away in a secret fortress, look like little more than annoying neighbors.

Thankfully, it's followed up with the brilliant Cabin Fever, which follows John through childhood and adulthood much like The Man Behind the Curtain did with Ben. Both episodes involve a trip to see the elusive Jacob and a question of whether Ben or John is intended to be the true leader of the Others. The parallels between the episodes are so plentiful that I won't attempt to list them here, but trying to discover them all is a fun exercise. I love this episode because Hurley and John have been among my favorite characters from the beginning, and while Ben undeniably has villainous traits, he's so intriguing that I've come to love him nearly as much as those two. He spends most of this season under duress of one kind or another, and it pains me that Emerson was denied an Emmy for his riveting work once again. An entire episode focusing almost exclusively on these three characters is thrilling, and just as fascinating as the interplay between the once and what may be the future king is the way Hurley reacts to them. His wordless exchange with Ben toward the end of the episode may just be my single favorite moment in the season.

Because of the writers' strike, some characters' storylines suffered, particularly the newbies; head LOST liaisons Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse have promised that we'll delve more deeply into their backgrounds soon. The stories that fascinated me most involved Desmond, whose Odysseus-like journey seems tantalizingly close to a conclusion following Through the Looking Glass but faces unfathomable obstacles; Sawyer, who has hit rock bottom in terms of his moral development and must reclaim the progress he had made, with plenty of subtle guidance from Hurley; Sun and Jin, who remain one of the best examples in prime time of a loving couple struggling to make a troubled marriage work; and Ben and John, who are locked into an uneasy partnership as control of the island hangs in the balance. I can't wait to see who will be given the most opportunity to shine during the fifth season. I'm hoping Rose and Bernard will be among the favored; they still are used far too little, though I was glad to see them more active in the fourth season than in the third. No matter who is most prominent as the series moves rapidly toward its 2010 conclusion, I hope that the quality of the episodes remains as high as ever. Somehow, I don't think I will be disappointed.

Sing We Now of Christmas: Join Me in Celebrating the Songs of the Season!

One of my favorite aspects of the end of the year is listening to Christmas music. I'm one of those people who has endless tolerance for these seasonal tunes, though generally I discipline myself and only listen to them for about two months so as to enhance my appreciation for them the next time around. I have a thick stack of Christmas albums at home, and every year I happily pull them out - though for the third year running, a local radio station has provided all Christmas music, all the time, decreasing my motivation to put the old favorites into rotation. There's something exhilarating about stumbling upon a song I absolutely love when I'm not expecting it. I have the radio tuned to the sounds of the season as often as possible, and whether I'm putting away stock at work or dozing away in my bed, there are certain songs that always cause me to stop for a moment just to listen (and maybe, if I am sufficiently unaccompanied, sing along). Below is a list of my favorite non-traditional Christmas songs; most are ones I regularly hear on the radio, but I've also included a few that ought to be in the rotation.

Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men

What better time than Christmas to try to embrace our better natures and build a bridge to a brighter tomorrow?

Do They Know It's Christmas? - This hit single released in the early 80s by a group of pop stars going by the name Band Aid is every bit as timely today as it was then. It's an important reminder of how many people there are living in hunger and poverty in the world. The focus is on Africa, though the sentiment could be expanded to encompass other continents as well. The point is to look at "the world outside your window" and do something constructive about its problems. The song is a little simplistic, and watching the video with its line-up of 80s idols with bad hair is rather amusing, but songwriter Bob Geldof's efforts to raise global consciousness are admirable, and it also happens to be one of the catchiest songs on the radio this time of year. The pounding percussion! The resonant tolling of bells! The searing accusation by Bono! Boy George's eerily feminine pipes joyfully encouraging us, "Throw your arms around the world at Christmastime!" Why, thank you... I think I will!

Happy Xmas (War Is Over) - While we're on the subject of saving the world, I must let John Lennon have his say. I first heard this song on Neil Diamond's Christmas album; when I finally heard the original, I was surprised at how similar the arrangements were. I've since heard another version that is also nearly identical. It's a very simple song, but the counter-melody is such a perfect complement to the main vocals that any embellishments would detract from its power. Like much of Lennon's work, it advocates peace, and the choir of children is representative of a hope that future generations will better learn how to live with one another. It too is sadly as appropriate today as when it was written, with its pleading mantra of "War is over if you want it." While there's no acknowledgment of the divine in this song, at least there's not the sense that Lennon was bashing religion (which I must admit he did a bit in Imagine), and I can't see anything anti-Christian about his desire for brotherhood. This is my favorite song from Lennon's solo career.

Someday at Christmas - I couldn't tell you when it was that I first heard this song, but last year was when I really took notice of it. When I finally looked it up, I felt like a dolt because I'd thought the song was sung by a woman, when in fact those were the dulcet tones of Stevie Wonder I'd been hearing. He has several songs in the regular holiday rotation, and I like them all, but this is my favorite by far. Its basic message is very similar to Happy XMas, expressing optimism that people can refrain from violence. The melody is beautiful, and while the provocative first line - "Someday at Christmas, men won't be boys playing with bombs like kids play with toys" - is quiet and backed with instrumentation vaguely reminiscent of a music box, it builds in intensity, with choral backing and lots of soulful vocals, particularly on the wistful line, "Maybe not in time for you and me, but someday at Christmastime."

Light One Candle - I never hear this one on the radio, and more's the pity. This is one of two outstanding songs penned by Peter Yarrow that appear on our well-worn Peter Paul and Mary Christmas album. The Magi (The Heart of Man's a Palace) is just as fantastic, but Light One Candle sticks in my head more, probably because it's generally accompanied by a crowd of glowing lights from the audience. Additionally, they don't restrict its use to Christmas concerts. This is actually a Hanukkah song, with specific references to the Maccabees and the central metaphor of ever-burning candles, but it's an anthem that's also intended to reach further than that. It's a universal call to keep (or find) the faith; by the time they get everyone in attendance singing along in jubilation, the burden and promise of justice prevailing feels tangible.

Something About Christmas Time - Easily confused with Jon Bon Jovi's I Wish Every Day Could Be Like Christmas, which is nearly as good, Bryan Adams' song, like most in this category, intensifies as it goes on. He's joined by an inspiring chorus, and there's just enough of a rock edge to this song to make me want to do a fist pump in time to the Christmas bells that chime in partway through. Another song that urges everyone to let Christmas seep into their hearts. "I know it's not too late. The world would be a better place if we can keep the spirit more than one day in the year. Send a message loud and clear."

Snoopy's Christmas - This should probably go with the novelty songs, but while some might find a sound effects-laden song about Flying Ace Snoopy to be a little hard to take seriously, I can't help but find it heartwarming. It's a very peppy song, augmented by a military drum roll, an austere recitation of O Tannenbaum and some very cheery-sounding bells. In part, I take the song as a tribute to the 1914 Christmas truce between German and British troops; in any event, it's a joyful narrative about the wonder of Christmas yielding compassion from unexpected sources. The implication? If these foes can bury the hatchet for the day, why not everyone else? Plus, it's awfully fun to hear those Royal Guardsmen growl, "the Bloody Red Baron!"

Christmas 1915 - Speaking of the Christmas truce, I discovered this gem after compiling this list.  Written by Cormac McConnell, it was recently recorded by the group Celtic Thunder, whose members harmonize gorgeously in this haunting account of a fleeting peace and the carnage that followed.  Exhilarating.  Heartbreaking.  And my favorite new Christmas song of 2008.  "Silent night.  No cannons roar. / A king is born of peace forevermore. / All's calm, all's bright, / All brothers hand in hand / In 19 and 15 in No Man's Land."

A New York Christmas - This is a 2010 discovery thanks to the mall radio.  This inspring anthem has a rock edge to it and a melody that grabbed me from the first time I heard it and just wouldn't let me go.  It captures both the grit and glory of New York City in this time of year, and its plea for an open-hearted response to the disenfranchised of society is just the sort of rallying cry that's needed in a too-often apathetic age.  "Call on your angels, come down from the city. / Crowd around the big tree, all you strangers who know me. / Bring your compassion, your understanding. / Lord, how we need it on this New York City Christmas."

In the City of David...

While many contemporary Christmas songs focus on the general joy of the season and often sidestep the Nativity altogether, several are specific to the first Christmas. These are some of my favorites.

Mary's Boy Child - This one is borderline traditional. My aunt once performed it in a choir concert, and we sang it during a Sunday School Christmas program several years back (when I was incensed at the insistence upon replacing "man" in the chorus with the gender-neutral, dorky-sounding "folks"). Still, I can't quite lump it together with sing-along favorites like Joy to the World, Angels We Have Heard on High and The First Noel, in part because I consider there to be only one definitive version of this song, and that's Boney M's. A typical group of carolers just can't replicate the energy and exuberance of their rendition, which never fails to leave me grinning from ear to ear. It helps that there's so much going on in the song, particularly towards the end, when the spiritual Oh My Lord is expertly incorporated. The harmonies are wonderful, the energy infectious, the steel drums and Caribbean accents irresistible. Simply one of the happiest Christmas songs I can think of. "Hark now hear the angels sing, a king is born today, and man will live forevermore because of Christmas day!"

The Gift - When I first heard this song on the radio last year, it stopped me dead in my tracks. I immediately turned up the volume and stood riveted to this gentle story of an impoverished young girl who nurses an injured bird back to health just in time for the grand presentation of gifts at the local church. While the version I've heard is a cover, it's so exquisite I have no great desire to listen to the original. The singer is Aselin Debison, a young girl herself, and the purity of her voice perfectly matches the innocence of the young protagonist. One thing I love about this song is the fact that it's narrative; not only that, it has no chorus, instead wandering along gradually through the verses in a refreshingly unhurried manner. Its first eight lines are a cappella, which accentuates the beauty of Debison's voice and renders the guitars that serve as the first accompaniment all the more beautiful. Even more lovely is the flute toward the end, which is meant to imitate birdsong. Basically, this is yet another variation on The Little Drummer Boy, which has essentially spawned a sub-genre among Christmas tales; it's particularly similar to the picture book The Most Precious Gift. It's pretty obvious how the story will end, but that doesn't make the journey any less awe-inspiring.

Down Among the Bushes of Jerusalem - This Irish Rovers song written by Tommy Sands doesn't stop with Jesus' birth. John Reynolds' wonderfully earthy, expressive vocals carry this lengthy ballad that describes Jesus as a rebel from his earliest days. The song is filled with Celtic instrumentation, including accordion and Irish drums. I almost think of it more as an Easter song, along the lines of Lord of the Dance, but it's on their Christmas album, and I suppose it fits in rather nicely with such songs as Mary Did You Know? "Born of honest parents and below a shining star, the word went 'round the country, and they came from near and far..."

Christmas Canon - This doesn't exactly focus on the Nativity, but it references the Christ Child and carries a note of profound hope in awaiting His return: "We are waiting. We have not forgotten." I first heard this song in its revamped version, entitled Christmas Canon Rock and featuring electric instruments and a powerhouse soloist. It wasn't until the perpetual Christmas music airplay began that I heard this original version. Both are by Trans-Siberian Orchestra, and I still can't decide which is my favorite, but I do love the classical sound of this one and the pristine vocals of the children who sing each of the three counter-melodies. They sound truly angelic. It doesn't hurt that the basis for the song is Pachelbel's Canon in D, which has long been a favorite of mine.

The Star Carol - Don't expect to hear this one on the radio either. I listen to this obscure recording, only available (as far as I know) as a part of the 3-CD boxed set Old Friends, and think, Why, oh why, couldn't have Simon and Garfunkel released a Christmas album? I know, I know... Too commercial, and I don't suppose Paul was too interested in singing an album almost entirely comprised of other people's material, or of composing a dozen original Christmas songs, especially when he is Jewish. Art did later record a Christmas album, albeit a most unusual one. At any rate, this is one of the few Christmas songs Simon and Garfunkel recorded and the only one that is not what I would call a traditional carol. I've never heard it elsewhere, though I understand that Aaron Neville also recorded it. The song sounds older than it is; though it was written in the fifties, its third and final verse is peppered with thees and thous. It's a very simple song reminiscent of Away in a Manger, but the harmonies are exquisite, and there's a sincerity to it that's lacking in the rushed rendition of Go Tell It on the Mountain from Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M.. It's my favorite of their Christmas offerings because it's so different and so lovely, without any subtly dark undertones. It's quite a shame that it isn't more readily available.

Just for Fun

I'm such a sucker for Christmas specials, and a lot of awfully fun songs have been drawn from those. Others are delightful bits of silliness independent of any overarching story.

The Chipmunk Song - You know I had to stick these guys in here. What would Christmas be without squeaky Alvin pleading for a hula hoop and ignoring the musical direction of an ever more irritated Dave Seville? This song does a great job of capturing the impatience many children feel at Christmas, and it does so with trademark bickering humor and high-pitched harmonizing. Another amusing ditty along these lines is VeggieTales' hyper I Can't Believe It's Christmas, sung by Junior Asparagus, Laura Carrot and various other Veggie tots.

Oh Santa is my favorite Veggie offering, though. Larry, always the ambassador of childlike naivety, anxiously awaits the arrival of Santa (who, viewers will note, is Bob the Tomato in a rather transparent disguise). Before the big guy shows up, Larry is visited by several unsavory guests: a bank robber, a Viking and an IRS agent. While the lengthy song is certainly silly, it also has a good message, since Larry is willing to share his specially made Christmas cookies with those who have come to do him ill, and in turn, his assailants drop their attack. Another one you won't hear on the radio, but I love it!

Mr. Heatmiser - This ragtime song from Rankin and Bass's The Year Without a Santa Claus is arguably the most memorable tune to come from their many Christmas specials. Two climatically opposite brothers square off against each other, each assured in his position that his end of the thermometer is superior. I always get a kick out of hearing the version by the Big Bad Voodoo Daddies on the radio, though I prefer the original; I find it especially annoying that the wording of one line is changed without changing the line that rhymes with it: "I’m Mr. White Christmas. I’m Mr. Cool. I’m Mr. Icicle. I’m Mr. 10 Below." If you must change it from "Snow" to "Cool," can't you change the fourth sentence to something like "I'm Mr. Cancelled School" or "I'm Mr. 'Blizzards Rule!'"? That lack of a rhyme is just jarring. Otherwise, though, this piano-drenched face-off is loads of fun.

You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch - I like this one even better, though it sounds more appropriate for Halloween than Christmas. Thurl Ravenscroft's distinctively deep voice and those deliciously ostentatious instrumentals do justice to Seuss's seriously skewered lyrics. Each line is expertly articulated, but I think my favorite moment has to be when he snarls, "You're a rotter, Mr. Grinch!" Out of context, this couldn't be less Christmassy, but it's quite a testament to the power of Christmas to think that it could transform a creature whose "soul is an appalling dump heap overflowing with the most disgraceful assortment of deplorable rubbish imaginable, mangled up in tangled up knots," into a compassionate spirit.

I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas - I only discovered this one a couple years ago, and I wonder how it could have escaped my notice for so many years. It was on an album by the Countdown Kids, who did several cheesy Christmas records that I wore out when I was little. We must have about every album except that one. When I first heard the song, I didn't believe it was actually sung by a little girl. I was convinced it was an adult trying to sound girlish, and not succeeding very well. But Gayla Peevey was only ten when she recorded the song as a fundraiser to bring a hippo to the Oklahoma City zoo. Her brassy voice reminds me of Ethel Merman. John Rox's goofy lyrics (I'm especially amused by his reference to a "hippo hero") and the brass band backup complement her over-the-top delivery, and they did the trick; the zoo got its hippo. I, however, am still waiting for mine. I guess I'll just have to sing louder!

Home for the Holidays

These last few are songs whose primary focus is domestic, with the emphasis on loved ones and how they interact with this holiday.

Aspenglow - I couldn't conclude this list without mentioning John Denver at some point. He has no shortage of qualifying songs, but I choose this one for its gentle, evocative beauty and its association with Colorado. Christmas for Cowboys is lovely as well, albeit less easily applicable. Though it's a tribute to one particular beloved town, most of the things Denver sings about in the guitar-heavy Aspenglow are the sorts of things that make a Christmas celebration merry no matter where you are. "Aspen is the life to live. See how much there is to give. See how strongly you believe. See how much you may receive."

You Make It Feel Like Christmas - One of my favorite Christmas albums is Neil Diamond's, and I've always been a fan of this original song, which is cozily upbeat. Aside from the title line, there are only a few specific references to Christmas; most of it is more of a general love song, a grateful tribute to a wife whose love endures and always manages to catch him off guard: "When people ask how we stay together, I say you never let me down." Given the fact that Diamond is Jewish, I take this song to be semi-autobiographical at best, perhaps reflecting his feelings but not the holiday trappings; then again, if he recorded an entire Christmas album, maybe he does have a tree in his living room in December after all...

It Doesn't Have to Be That Way - This Jim Croce song is a fairly recent discovery for me. I was startled to hear it on the radio a couple of years back; given his short career, it isn't often that I come across a "new" song by him, and I certainly would have thought I would have been aware of a Christmas song. This somber guitar-driven tune is very much along the same lines as Photographs and Memories, and it offers a window into the heart of those for whom Christmas may bring more pain than cheer, while leaving an opening for the possibility of a reconciliation between the man and his estranged love. "The windy winter avenues just don't seem the same, and the Christmas carols sound like blues, but the choir is not to blame."

Old City Bar - Trans-Siberian Orchestra is known for high-octane instrumental music and exhilirating light shows.  But of all their songs, my favorite is this acoustic ballad in which the focus is entirely upon the lyrics, which are delivered in a warm but ragged style reminiscent of an aged storyteller regaling his grandchildren with a tale by firelight.  Humble in presentation, epic in length, it is the one track upon which the narrative of Christmas Eve and Other Stories hinges.  A crusty bartender, a homesick girl and an angel in disguise interact in this powerful recollection of a Christmas miracle.  "If you want to arrange it / This world you can change it / If we could somehow make this / Christmas thing last / By helping a neighbor / Or even a stranger / And to know who needs help / You need only just ask."

Same Old Lang Syne - I'm ending with this because it's so unique among all the Christmas songs that get regular play on the radio, and with Dan Fogelberg's death last year, it has an even more melancholy flavor to it now. Piano and strings are the driving instruments in this reflective song, which tells the true story of a Christmas Eve encounter Fogelberg had with a former, now-married girlfriend. His vocals are achingly tender, with the sting of loss in the back of his throat before he can enjoy a moment of his reunion unencumbered. The layering of his vocals amplifies his loneliness, and his falsetto heights on the choruses are an eerie illustration of his plaintive state of mind. What's remarkable about this song is how accidentally it came about, right down to the timing. If this had happened in July, it wouldn't have gotten half the airplay it does, but because of the date, it gets to be in the Christmas rotation. It also gets an absolutely devastating last line, accompanied by instrumentation expertly approximating precipitation. "As I turned to make my way back home, the snow turned into rain." Brilliant.

So that's my list of favorites, though it's far from definitive. For instance, I didn't even touch Michael Card, who probably has a couple dozen or so original Christmas songs. I don't feel like trying to figure out which is my favorite, so suffice it to say that any of his are worth checking out, though none is likely to grace the radio airwaves, except perhaps on a Christian station. I'm sure as soon as I post this I'll think of a couple more absolutely essential Christmas songs, but this will have to do for now. If I'm up to it, traditional songs will be up next.

Meanwhile, I invite other writers to join me in celebrating your favorite Christmas songs, as few or as many as you'd like. If you'd care to join my Sing We Now of Christmas Write-off, drop me a comment or e-mail and I'll link you up! I'll keep this going through the end of December. Happy singing!

Number 2200: Christmas Comes Early for Potter Fans With The Tales of Beedle the Bard

Last year, J. K. Rowling published Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, and like millions of other fans, I immediately began to go into withdrawal. Though I submerged it by frantically writing fan poetry as though I'd been given a month with a muse who would never be heard from again, a dull ache remained. When I learned that Rowling had written The Tales of Beedle the Bard, the collection of children's stories bequeathed to Hermione Granger in the final novel, but only intended to distribute it to a select few friends, it was like rubbing salt on a wound. How cruel to know that such a text existed but was unavailable! I fervently hoped that one day she would release the volume to the general populace. When I got wind of its publication, I was overjoyed. What a delicious dessert after one of the most nourishing epics I've ever read! I snatched up my copy as soon as I could, eager to let this long-awaited book mark my 2200th post here. Indulge me while I digest...

Given the charitable intentions of this collection, the net proceeds of which benefit the Children's High Level Group, The Wizard and the Hopping Pot is a particularly appropriate tale with which to begin. Just as Rowling and Baroness Nicholson of Winterbourne, MEP, urge readers in the introduction and afterward to support children whose families lack the means to provide them with proper care, so the wizard in this story dedicates his life to assisting his desperate Muggle neighbors. He uses the titular pot as a front to mask the breadth of his magical abilities. Upon his death, his son inherits the pot, which becomes more and more of a nuisance as the young man coldly turns away peasant after peasant requesting the aid his father provided. The first association I made as I read this story was with Strega Nona, the grandmotherly witch who is the subject of several picture books by Tomie de Paola. She, too, is a prolific pot stirrer, and she also has a protege who runs into trouble when he fails to follow her lead regarding its use. I also found myself thinking of Beauty and the Beast, in which an arrogant prince is hideously transformed as a punishment for his lack of compassion. Inner changes come later, and none too easily...

The Fountain of Fair Fortune does not call to mind any particular story for me, though it utilizes a device implemented by many a writer, including Rowling herself late in the Harry Potter series, though it's a plot twist I associate most readily with M*A*S*H. Otherwise, this is a quest story, in which three witches and one Muggle must work together in hopes that one of them will be rewarded for the arduous journey with a cure for present woes. As in many labyrinthine adventures, the travelers face riddles whose solutions often reveal themselves as a result of hard labor rather than intellect. Like the first story, it encourages cooperation among magical and non-magical peoples, painting at least one Muggle as a sympathetic, albeit awkward, figure.

The Warlock's Hairy Heart is gothic and grotesque. It seems like a story that could have been written by Edgar Allen Poe, or at least one of the Grimm Brothers in an especially grim moment. It concerns a young warlock who, in order to protect himself from the ravages of romance, performs a dangerous spell to immunize himself against the charms of womankind. While the first story reminds me of The Picture of Dorian Gray, in which the title character's transgressions are reflected in his portrait, that association is even stronger in this tale of an outwardly attractive man who, in pursuit of security, sacrifices true human happiness and unwittingly creates a monster.

Babbitty Rabbitty and Her Cackling Stump gets my vote for the best title of the bunch, and it's also the funniest of the stories, though the bulk of the humor in this book derives from the commentaries by Albus Dumbledore. This story is so similar to The Emperor's New Clothes that I can't imagine Rowling wasn't thinking of it when she wrote it. A king decides that he should be the only one in the land to do magic. Not possessing any magical skill himself, and having sent out brute squads to round up all witches and wizards in his kingdom, he finds himself relying upon a seedy con man for his magical instruction. Instead of a luxurious invisible suit, this Muggle has a worthless "wand" that is little more than a twig. But who has the nerve to point that out? The voice of candor in this story is the title washerwoman, whose role in this story reminds me a bit of Cyrano de Bergerac as well as the Biblical Esther.

The Tale of the Three Brothers closes the book, afterward from the baroness aside. I'm not surprised to see the book essentially leading up to this story, as it is such a critical clue to our understanding of the series, and certainly Harry's understanding of his purpose. The only trouble, of course, is that the vast majority of people who read this book will have read this particular story before. When I read it, both a year and a half ago and just today, it reminded me of any number of tales involving trios of friends or brothers, one of which is much wiser than the others. It also made me think of the old fable about the man who crosses paths with Death and runs to a distant town to escape him, only to find him waiting for him there, confessing surprise at having seen him earlier when he was expecting him in this very village, at this very hour. Perhaps most of all, it recalled Hazel's encounter with the Black Rabbit in the final paragraphs of Watership Down, which qualify as among my favorite endings in all of literature. This is the shortest and simplest of the tales, but it packs a powerful punch.

I draw all of these comparisons to other works not to accuse Rowling of a lack of originality but rather to demonstrate how well her tales fit in with so many others in the morality tale tradition. I love these stories, and I believe that, with the possible exception of the gruesome third tale, they could well become classics in their own right. But I must confess that as an avid Potter fan, what I enjoyed most of all were Albus's musings, occasionally augmented by notes from Rowling. Not only are they often funny, they are quite illuminating, delving into Wizarding history both ancient and recent, sometimes revealing tidbits about familiar figures and occasionally introducing others.

Albus's thoughts on the final tale, while profound, are probably the least interesting of the bunch, since they mostly cover familiar territory, even down to the fact that he is less than forthcoming with his knowledge of the lore surrounding this legend. What caught my attention most here is the reference to his brother Aberforth's favorite bedtime story, Grumble the Grubby Goat. Ms Rowling, please tell me that's sequel bait... Elsewhere, we get more background on the circumstances of Nearly Headless Nick's death and the dubious record of Care of Magical Creatures professor Silvanus Kettleburn.

Among the new characters who Albus introduces, my favorite is probably Beatrix Bloxam, an insufferably sugary authoress responsible for sanitized versions of Beedle's tales. The excerpts from her writings read almost exactly like the phony cover of Lemony Snicket's Unauthorized Autobiography, which rambles giddily about how absolutely everybody loves pony parties. Meanwhile, the most hilarious segment of the book falls at the beginning of the commentary for the second tale, as Albus recounts an utterly disastrous attempt to launch a theatrical presentation of it.

I've often puzzled over the apparent lack of an arts department at Hogwarts, so I was tickled to see that matter addressed here. I also found abbreviated but valuable new insights into the nature of Animagi, the magical properties of wands and the basic rules that govern the Wizarding world. Moreover, I caught what I took to be sly allusions to such works as MacBeth and Harvey, not to mention some amusing digs at academia and, conversely, those who skim stories with little attempt at a deeper understanding. Rowling, through Albus, has a lot to say about literature and the revision of stories for the manipulation of impressionable minds. Most of all, though, she makes a compelling case for compassion, tolerance and acceptance of one's own mortality. Fans of the series will find in this small collection a perfect complement to the lessons so gradually taught over the course of seven books.

The Tales of Beedle the Bard is scarcely more than a hundred pages long, so it doesn't take long to read it from cover to cover - both of which, incidentally, are quite snazzy, especially the front, which contains visual references to each of the tales. While Mary Grand-Pre provides that artwork, Rowling does her own work inside, increasing the sense of intimacy about the volume. She's not an accomplished artist like Grand-Pre, but she holds her own. She also rather shamelessly plugs Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, another supplementary volume published for the benefit of charity. While that encyclopedia-like tome is enjoyable, as is its companion Quidditch Through the Ages, Beedle is far and away the best of the three. Well worth the wait, this book resonates especially well during this time of year when generosity and goodwill are at a peak, so give yourself and others a gift this December with The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays in A Hobo's Christmas

The other night was a snowy November evening. Though Thanksgiving was still a week away, it felt like the perfect time to officially break out the Christmas movies, so when a friend proposed one of her favorites, A Hobo's Christmas, Mom and I readily agreed. Neither of us had heard of the 1987 made-for-TV movie before, so we were especially keen to give this unfamiliar story a shot.

Will Mackenzie, who has worked primarily in television, directed this feel-good film about Chance (Barnard Hughes), a hobo who, after 25 years riding the rails and avoiding direct contact with his son Charlie (Gerald McRaney), decides it's time to try to heal the rift. Chance pulls into Salt Lake City with his traveling buddies and convinces them to stay on with him at the local mission while he tries to reconnect with Charlie for Christmas and bond with the grandchildren he's never met.

Above all else, this is a father-son story, and Hughes and McRaney play their parts marvelously. Hughes, who I was pleased to recognize as the kindly but addled Father Maurice in Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit, is enchanting as the weathered traveler who's always glad to help a stranger but has too long run from those he loves most. Meanwhile, Major Dad veteran McRaney (who also played John Denver's stern father in Take Me Home: The John Denver Story) turns in another solid performance as a caring but distant paternal figure.

Charlie works long hours, so he's not home with the kids as much as he would like, nor does the widower trust himself to fall completely in love again, though all signs seem to indicate he has found a new soulmate in the lovely Laurie (Wendy Crewson), who has been offered a hard-to-resist job in another state. But it's Chance who really gets under Charlie's skin, and all those years of bottled-up bitterness spew forth in unexpected ways, especially as he watches young Kathy (Jamie Sorrentini) and Bobby (Harley Cross) fall in love with the grandfather who doesn't seem capable of staying in one place for any length of time.

The production values on the movie aren't all that great, but that's generally to be expected of a made-for-TV movie, so I wasn't distracted by a few rather clumsy exterior shots. The children's performances aren't exactly noteworthy, but they play well off of Hughes, and it's in the moments of grandfatherly storytelling that we get the best sense of who this man really is. While they don't come into the movie that much, Chance's roving buddies are fun characters, each with tales of his own to tell. Cantankerous Cincinnati Harold (William Hickey) is the most prominent of these; his Scroogish behavior from the beginning suggests that a transformative subplot may be in store for him.

It may not be as well-known as the specials that get replayed year after year, but this movie captures the spirit of the season better than many I've seen. A Hobo's Christmas is a quiet, simple film emphasizing the idea that it's never too late to make a new beginning, and there's no better time to try it than Christmas.

A Very Merry Cricket Prolongs the Goodwill of A Cricket in Times Square

If you're lucky enough to strike gold with a children's movie or series, it stands to reason that a sequel or a Christmas special are likely future possibilities. It didn't take Chuck Jones long to follow his adaptation of George Selden's A Cricket in Times Square with A Very Merry Cricket, in which feisty Tucker Mouse (Mel Blanc) and gentle Harry Cat (Les Tremayne), fed up with the materialistic rabble of a New York Christmas, decide to pay a visit to their dear friend Chester C. Cricket (Tremayne) in hopes that he can return with them and remind the frazzled New Yorkers that Christmas should be a time of peace, joy and brotherhood.

There is just as much music in this second cricket cartoon as in the first. More, actually, because Chester's wings are not the only music makers. Harry and Tucker have a chance to sing, and even Chester occasionally uses his voice for tuneful purposes for a change. Because this is a Christmas special, there are snippets of several traditional Christmas songs, sometimes with altered lyrics. Chester also slyly adapts Three Blind Mice to fool a lanky alley cat (Blanc) who intends to make supper out of Tucker, and Tucker launches into a tirade against human consumerism that sounds suspiciously like My Fair Lady's A Hymn to Him.

And while watching this Christmassy sequel, it's inevitable to draw comparisons with How the Grinch Stole Christmas, perhaps the most famous Chuck Jones special of them all. In some ways, wise-cracking Tucker is a lot like the grouchy Grinch. He observes all the holiday hullabaloo with disgust, recalling the Grinch's agitated objections to all the "noise, noise, noise, NOISE!" In Dr. Seuss's story, the Grinch catches the Christmas spirit when he hears the Whos singing, devoid of their traditional trimmings. In A Very Merry Cricket, it takes the song of one sincere insect to spread the Christmas spirit to every citizen of a chaotic city.

Like many of Jones' productions, it has a message that it hammers over the heads of the viewers, but the heavy-handedness doesn't bother me this time around. We're treated to scene after scene of cacophony as shoppers shove each other and traffic blares and hideous animatronic Santas boom out stilted Christmas greetings. How different Chester's stirring wingsong sounds from all that clatter!

But along with the message of "Peace on Earth, goodwill to men," there are also several action-packed escape sequences: Tucker from a very persistent Connecticut cat, Harry from a belligerent Connecticut dog, Chester from relentless New York feet. Not to mention a fantastic toboggan ride inspiring Tucker to sing, "Oh, what fun it is to ride on a one-cat open sleigh!"

It's not quite as classic as How the Grinch Stole Christmas, but fans of the first Chester, Tucker and Harry cartoon should find A Very Merry Cricket to be very merry indeed.

LOST and Found: Exploring the Spirituality of LOST

One of the reasons I like the show LOST so much is its frequent exploration of spiritual themes. John Ankerberg and Dillon Burroughs tap into this in What Can Be Found in LOST: Insights on God and the Meaning of Life from the Popular TV Series. Both men are theologians and avid LOST fans, and they use the book as a guide into the meatier aspects of the show, demonstrating how faith can be fed by popular culture.

The book is divided into three sections. The first and longest deals with the themes of LOST; God, Prayer, Destiny, Miracles, Trust and Secrets, Good and Evil, the Bible, Dreams and Visions, Leadership, Numbers, Redemption, Death and the Afterlife each have a separate chapter. The second section delves into LOST's unusually active fan base and the abundance of theories as to where the show is headed, and it ends with a segment inviting those who feel "lost" to accept Jesus Christ. Finally, the appendices include many basic facts about the show, including major characters and their interconnections, religions represented on the show and books mentioned throughout the series.

It's clear from the Lost... What to Do About It section that Ankerberg and Burroughs are hoping to draw more than just a Christian audience for this book, as part of their intention is evangelical. They also want to encourage Christians to be discerning in their television choices; while both find a lot to like about LOST, they don't think that all of its messages are constructive. They also question whether it is healthy to devote as much time and energy into a television show as some of its most ardent theorists do.

Probably the most interesting part of the book for most people will be the first section. Each of these chapters begins with some dialogue from the show. For instance, the first segment starts with Ben telling Jack that he believes in God because a spinal surgeon fell out of the sky after he was diagnosed with a tumor. The next segment, Addressing the Issue, discusses the question of God's existence and nature. Next, there are several snippets from the show in which the word "God" is mentioned. What Can Be Found in Lost? discusses God from a Christian perspective and evaluates how LOST corresponds. Finally, Lost Talk features several discussion questions, making this a book that might work well as a Bible study.

While each chapter makes interesting points about the show - in the first chapter, for instance, they point out that God is mentioned frequently but as of the season three finale Jesus is only mentioned directly nine times - the most extensive chapter involves LOST's references to the Bible. These include Eko's discussion of King Josiah, Desmond's time as a monk and Rose's prayer with a despairing Charlie (one of my favorite moments on the show). All told, the authors cite more than 20 specific references to Bibles or Biblical events. There's also a detailed listing of everything scratched into Eko's "Jesus stick," with a paragraph devoted to each item.

Also of interest is the list of Biblical names used throughout the show. Finally, the authors criticize LOST for what they perceive as theological misinterpretations. The most prominent of these, unsurprisingly, is Eko's strange take on the Biblical account of Jesus' baptism. While I agree that Eko gets it wrong, that could have something to do with the fact that he still has a lot to learn himself. Given the direction the writers took with him, however, it's probably fair to fault them rather than just the character. At any rate, this chapter is especially jam-packed with references, making it clear how preoccupied LOST's creators are with such matters and giving the show's viewers a lot to consider.

I found a few minor errors in the book, such as the character list that includes two deceased characters among the living and a mis-spelling of Claire's name at one point, but for the most part this is a well-edited book likely to be of interest to serious fans of LOST, especially Christians. Of course, it only takes readers halfway through the series; I would be interested to see if they release a second edition or sequel after the sixth season. But there's certainly enough here to get readers thinking, both about the show's little details and about significant matters of faith.

Number 2100: Simon and Garfunkel's Bookends Explores the Relationship and Impact of Two Old Friends

There are many parallels between the Beatles and Simon and Garfunkel. One is the fact that both groups recorded songs about companionship later in one's life. When I'm 64 is bouncy and optimistic, and it's a benchmark that Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr have now passed (though ironically, 64 was a pretty crummy year for Sir Paul relationship-wise). Old Friends, by contrast, is wistful and melancholy; its central characters seem about 30 years older than those in When I'm 64 instead of just 6. But while they muse about "how terribly strange" it is to be 70, there is gentle solace to be found in each other's company. In Simon & Garfunkel's Bookends, Pete Fornatale explores the lifelong friendship of the two singers, particularly through the lens of what he considers to be their greatest album.

Simon and Garfunkel are my all-time favorite band, so when I found out about this book, I was anxious to read it, and I figure a volume that so eloquently ruminates on the ins and outs of two of my musical heroes was a good choice for my 2100th review. I've read many articles about the band as well as the biography by Victoria Kingston, which delves more into their personal lives and post-Simon and Garfunkel careers than this one does. Fornatale is, as the cover so humbly states, a "legendary New York disk jockey". Not so legendary that I ever heard of him before picking up this book, but I'll give him a pass because his work is excellent, and he brings to it both the affection of a friend and fan and the insight of a music expert. His writing style is literary but accessible, and I breezed right through the 120-plus pages of the attractive little hardcover, which is small enough to fit in my purse.

Along with the introduction and afterward, there are eight chapters. The first, "Daddy, What's a Concept Album?", is the least Simon and Garfunkel-centric of the chapters, as it focuses mostly on the history of that form in its various incarnations. Among early concept albums that might not have been specifically noted as such, he mentions Woody Guthrie's Dust Bowl Ballads and several albums by Frank Sinatra, while pointing out that just about every Christmas album ever recorded is essentially a concept album. It isn't until the end of the chapter that he discusses Bookends, claiming it "elevated the grammar and vocabulary of popular music."

In the next chapter, The Early Years, Fornatale chronicles the men's early lives and musical influences. Throughout the book he includes many reflections by the singers themselves, and these are quite revealing. For instance, though I've heard them talk about the music they listened to as kids, I never knew that the songs that turned them on to rock and roll were Earth Angel by the Penguins (for Art) and "Gee" by the Crows (for Paul). Other territory is more familiar: their roles in a sixth-grade Alice in Wonderland play, their one-hit wonder days as Tom and Jerry, their first major break-up (evidently because Art was hurt that Paul made a solo record). Fornatale mentions a lot of the tracks I discovered on the album Before the Fame, which is a charming piece of history for the serious enthusiast but certainly not up to the quality of the music they began to produce together several years later.

In the third, fourth, fifth and sixth chapters (Folk, Folk Rock, 1967 and The Graduate) Fornatale provides details on the making of Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M., Sounds of Silence, Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme and the soundtrack of The Graduate, often offering his analysis of the songs in a manner that seems informed rather than merely his subjective musings. Since most of my favorite music stems from the sixties or early seventies, I appreciated the fact that Fornatale mentions many other artists as his way of placing Simon and Garfunkel more fully into a cultural context. The Beatles, the Beach Boys, Bob Dylan, the Weavers and Peter Paul and Mary are just a few of the musicians who pop up, and of course, he has plenty to say about Paul and Art's primary influences, the Everly Brothers.

Fornatale sets the stage for the seventh chapter, the in-depth discussion of Bookends around which the whole book is based, by pointing out the maelstrom of climactic events that occurred in 1968, most notably the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. just a day after the album was released. Fornatale also bemoans the fact that on CDs, there is no side one and side two, which lessens the impact of this particular album since only the first side is part of the "concept". He also complains that the covers are so much smaller, making the stark black and white image of the duo less striking.

Fornatale gives every track on the album special consideration while exploring overarching themes such as youth, isolation, old age and, of course, friendship. He talks about how the songs are both incredibly personal and tap into universal emotions and experiences. Sprinkled throughout the chapter are anecdotes from various people associated with the project in one way or another. One story I found especially interesting was a reflection by Mike Nichols on how he wound up with the ending shot of The Graduate, whose feeling of jubilant journeying morphs into blank confusion, a process Fornatale compares to the progress of the song America. The discussion of side two yielded the revelation that At the Zoo was a controversial song when it came out, owing to references to turned-on hamsters and drunken zookeepers. A shame, since that's one of the few genuinely cheerful songs Simon and Garfunkel ever recorded! Despite the general melancholy of Bookends, it was the centerpiece of what may be considered Simon and Garfunkel's biggest year; at one point in 1968, the top three albums on the charts were all by Simon and Garfunkel.

Only one chapter, cleverly titled Post-Graduate, has much to say about Paul and Art's lives for the past 40 years, and even then it's almost exclusively in the context of their interaction with one another. It's in this chapter that Fornatale makes the pointed observation that Bridge Over Troubled Water, generally considered Simon and Garfunkel's best album, is "more a documentation of a partnership being shredded rather than pulled together." But he doesn't conclude with that severing of a long-held friendship. Instead, he takes readers to Paul's reflection on the 1981 reunion concert in which he acknowledges that the sight of Simon and Garfunkel reuniting was powerfully symbolic for a lot of people, an indication that "wounds can be healed, things can go back to the way they were. Life has a happy ending." In light of that, the vision of Paul and Art sitting next to each other on a park bench three years from now, quietly enjoying one another's company, seems all the more probable. For this Simon and Garfunkel fan, that's a scene worth hoping for, and this is a book well worth reading.

Number 1900: Every Day Is a Jolly Holiday With Mary Poppins

If you were to ask me to compile a list of my favorite movies, I'd hem and haw as I always do when any question of ranking or superlatives comes up. I'd protest that I couldn't possibly produce anything definitive, that my favorites change all the time, that I've seen far too many films, most of which are pretty good. But eventually, you'd get a few titles out of me, one of which would indubitably be Mary Poppins. Like the magical nanny for whom it is named, the movie is practically perfect in every way, in large part because of the brilliant songs created by Robert and Richard Sherman. I can't think of too many worthier subjects for my 1900th post here on Epinions.

Overture - A beautiful piece of instrumental music incorporating the songs from the film. Gives you a little taste of what's to come, with a more orchestral spin on the tunes. I often find overtures a tad tedious, but I never mind sitting through this one.

Sister Suffragette - Glynis Johns is a delight as the mousy Mrs. Banks; this song is her one big moment in the spotlight. I love the way she also gets the cook and housekeeper enthusiastically involved in her rousing stand for women's rights. It includes the hilarious line "Though we adore men individually, we agree that as a group they're rather stupid," which seems to be the position of an awful lot of people, judging by the way nearly every commercial on television makes men out to be morons. What makes the song - and the sense of condescension in that line in particular - so funny is the fact that as soon as Mrs. Banks is out of the moment, she's hurriedly stashing away her sashes for fear of "infuriating" her husband.

The Life I Lead - The first song is Mrs. Banks' anthem of self-assurance; this is Mr. Banks', and it pops up in various forms as he is forced to reassess his role as the man of the house. He would like to think that he is the king of his castle, but he's about to find out that being a distant monarch means he has no idea about and no control over what's happening with his family. His obliviousness as his wife tries to tell him that the children are missing is priceless. David Tomlinson sings the march-style song with a wonderful clipped precision that establishes his character as a man driven by routine and a sense of privilege.

Perfect Nanny - Karen Dotrice and Matthew Garber are absolutely adorable in this movie, and this song showcases their talent as it gives Jane and Michael an opportunity to give their input as to what they are looking for in a nanny. Since the nannies always leave because of conflicts with the children, it seems it would be prudent to take their suggestions into consideration. I love how formally they write the advertisement, incorporating words such as "disposition" and "dominate" - while, still in the sweetest of tones, threatening abhorrent behavior if their requests are not met. The gentle lullaby-like accompaniment gives their voices, especially Dotrice's, a chance to shine, and the ad itself is, of course, what summons Mary Poppins in the first place, so in that regard, it's one of the most important moments in the movie.

A Spoonful of Sugar - One of the catchiest songs in the movie, and one of the biggest reasons I've always cursed the fact that no matter how I try, I absolutely cannot snap my fingers. Why can't it be "Clap! The job's a game"? Nonetheless, this song helped me through many a dreary room-cleaning exercise, and it's one of the most entertaining sequences in the movie. Just listening to it on the soundtrack, you can visualize all those elements of the disordered nursery zooming into their proper places. It's a bit of a throwback to Whistle While You Work, with magic making the job easier instead of a host of forest animals - though that industrious robin serves as inspiration to the children. This is the first time in the movie we get to hear Julie Andrews' melodious voice, and it's only appropriate that she should be in cahoots with a songbird. With Mary Poppins, nothing is run-of-the-mill. Who knew that cleaning up could be so much fun?

Pavement Artist (Chim Chim Cher-Ee) - Over the last few years, I've read a lot of complaints about Dick Van Dyke's inconsistent accent in this movie, but I never noticed it when I was younger, and even now that I've listened for it and can see what people mean, it doesn't bother me much because Van Dyke is just so fantastic. Bert, like Mr. Banks, has a theme song, and the jolly one-man-band / pavement artist / chimney sweep / kite seller alters the words depending on his occupation of the moment. I would love to shake hands with Bert.

Jolly Holiday - My parents once performed this song together. It's such a wonderfully joyous song, and the closest thing to a love song in the rare Disney film where romance is a subplot only hinted at and never really resolved. This is the only point in the movie during which Bert and Mary have some alone time, and there's a sense of very old friends picking up where they left off, simply basking in the pleasure of each other's company. Bert is more overt about it than Mary is, but when his sincere sentiments coupled with goofy antics give way to her more sophisticated response affirming her affections, it's terrific to see a glimpse of Mary, usually so calm and in control, as someone who can be swept off her feet. And the sublimely silly penguin dance beats Happy Feet hands down.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious - This other most recognizable song from the movie has given the world a word to trip over for the past 40 years. In sixth grade, I wrote a play for my class, and one of the things the main character had to do over the course of the play was spell this word. I played the main character... and that's a lot of letters to keep track of! Speaking of big words, this song also introduced me to the word "precocious." It's a lively group number that's great for sing-alongs, and I love the asides in the movie by random characters, especially the cowering fellow who "said it to me girl, and now we girl's me wife - and a lovely thing she is too!"

Stay Awake - Good ol' reverse psychology. Coupled with this incredibly soothing melody, it winds Jane and Michael down from their thrilling day, forcing them to succumb to unwanted slumber in their impossibly soft beds. There was a time I didn't like this song much, since it serves a similar purpose to Feed the Birds but isn't nearly as compelling, but Andrews works wonders with a lullaby, so I really don't mind it. Just a smidge less engaging than the rest, though.

I Love to Laugh - How can you not get the giggles while listening to Ed Wynn chortling his way through this deliriously goony song? As someone who is pretty prone to random, excessive giggling, I've often wished that it actually had the anti-gravity effects presented in this scene. Alas, I just have to imagine that part! Wynn is hilarious here, and I never get tired of Van Dyke's verse expounding upon different styles of laughter. As usual, Mary is the straight man in all of this, and she tut-tuts with disapproval when Uncle Albert, Bert and the kids go zooming up to the ceiling, but she allows the merriment to go on long enough for a graceful mid-air tea party before bringing the Bankses and the Berts down to earth.

A British Bank (The Life I Lead) - Mr. Banks resumes his kingly anthem as he tries to express his disapproval about all the frou-frou Mary has been filling the childrens' heads with. But Mary quickly takes over the reins (and the reign), putting words in his mouth - and rather sarcastic words at that ("When gazing at a graph that shows the profits up, their little cup of joy should overflow!"). Clearly Mary thinks Mr. Banks is a little too fixated on finances, but her main point here is arranging for the children to spend some time with their father, which they so desperately desire. At first Mr. Banks is delighted that they seem to be on the same page, and then he's confused, wondering how he wound up agreeing to this unplanned Bring Your Children to Work Day. What a subversive trick Mary has managed to play! Mr. Banks is starting to realize his lack of influence in his children's lives, a crucial step toward his eventual epiphany.

Feed the Birds - This was always my favorite song of the film, and I've never stopped loving it. The melody is gorgeous, as are the visuals of the birds swarming around St. Paul's Cathedral and the theme of compassion as good stewardship, especially in a Christian context. ("All around the Cathedral, the saints and apostles look down as she sells her wares. Although you can't see it, you know they are smiling each time someone shows that he cares.") In 2001, I fulfilled a long-held dream by climbing the steps of St. Paul's, tuppence in hand. Unfortunately, there was no bird woman there to sell me bird food, and most of the feathery folk seemed to be hanging out at Trafalgar Square that day. But it was still an exciting moment for me. This song is a perfect illustration of God's eye being on the sparrow and of the exhilaration of sharing with those in need.

Fidelity Fiduciary Bank - Not only is Van Dyke brilliant as Bert, he is outstanding - and almost unrecognizable - as the ancient, wobbly, wheezing senior Mr. Dawes, the eldest of a gaggle of fusty old men who serve as Mr. Banks' superiors. This is quite an eye-opening experience for the Banks children, and it's easy to understand how they could be so intimidated by all of these old, grim-looking men closing in on them with the encouragement of their own father. They try to get Michael excited about the prospect of investing his money, but they are so out-of-touch with their own childhoods that they have no idea how to talk to children on their level. "Affluence," "propriety," "self-amortizing canals," "established credit," "foreclosures," "private enterprise," "amalgamations"... What a bunch of gobbledygook when all Michael wants to do is feed the birds! A terrific illustration of the divide separating Mr. Banks from his children.

Chim Chim Cher-Ee - Leave it to Bert to make everything better. After the traumatizing morning at the bank, what a relief it is to spend the afternoon in the company of someone with little money to his name who knows how to have a great time wherever he goes! Oddly, though it occurs late in the film, this is Bert's main theme, with earlier incarnations of it building up to it rather than branching out from it. Like Mr. Banks, Bert sings about his satisfaction with his life, and in his case, it remains intact no matter what happens throughout the movie. Bert is a very flexible and easy-going guy; grateful for his freedom, he helps the children to understand some of the pressures working upon their father.

Step in Time - An incredibly long dance sequence that's much more fun to watch than to merely listen to. The rooftops of London, the glittering lights, the fancy tricks with the chimney smoke, the exuberant choreography... This one, stemming directly from the previous track, is pure - and rather pointless - fun. It's sort of like a square dance, with all of the instructions being called out, and because it is so repetitive and visually oriented, it loses the most in the transition from movie to album.

A Man Has Dreams / The Life I Lead / A Spoonful of Sugar - Here, Bert continues his work of trying to heal the rift in the Banks family by reminding Mr. Banks how precious his children are and that he will never regain the time with them that he is losing. It's a beautiful human moment for Mr. Banks, who up until this point has tried so hard to appear dignified. His reflection on shattered dreams is devastating, but Bert's response is downright heartbreaking. It seems a little strange that Mr. Banks should be confiding in this chimney sweep, but such is his desperation and Bert's naturally sympathizing disposition that the barriers come down in this touching, dirge-like medley.

Let's Go Fly a Kite - Thankfully, there's one more song after that, so we don't end on such a downer. Indeed, what could be more up than flying a kite? At last, Mr. Banks has met his children halfway, and they can all enjoy the day together, knowing that they have turned a new corner in their relationship. Though this song signals Mary's departure, the song feels much more joyous than its equivalent in Pete's Dragon, in which Elliot the dragon makes his exit, never to return. At least with Bert faithfully waiting for Mary in London, it seems likely that she will come back someday; in the meantime, the children will be too busy basking in their father's newfound priorities to spend much time moping over the loss of the most remarkable nanny they'll ever have. Mary has done her job, with a lot of help from the always affable Bert. All is well.

That sense of contentment washes over me anytime I hear one of these remarkable songs. Quite possibly my all-time favorite Disney movie, Mary Poppins hinges largely on the mastery of the Sherman Brothers and the musical talents of its cast. "When the day is gray and ordinary," sings Bert, "Mary makes the sun shine bright." What a marvelous way to brighten up your day!

I Stifle a Yawn as The Chipmunks Sing the Beatles Hits

I love the Chipmunks. I love the Beatles. When I found an album marrying the two, I was delighted. The Chipmunks Sing the Beatles Hits is a 1964 effort containing twelve tracks of Alvin, Simon and Theodore doing their best to imitate the mop-tops. This seemed a very exciting prospect to me, and the cover shot of the boys and Dave Seville assuming the positions (and haircuts) of John, Paul, George and Ringo is fantastic. In execution, however, it isn't nearly so interesting, since nearly every song merely attempts to replicate the sound of a particular Beatles song with higher-pitched voices. Play the Beatles sped up, and you'd probably get a similar result. Still, for an avid fan of both groups, it's worth a listen.

All My Loving - There's a really joyous tone to this song, which has bouncy guitar-driven instrumentals and tight vocals. The boys switch off on solos now and then, though this early in their career it's rather difficult to tell them apart. Still, a nice opener, especially with Dave's little introduction making sure the lads have their hair on straight.

Do You Want to Know a Secret - My second-favorite song on the album, it changes up the vocals a bit; sometimes the boys all sing together, sometimes one sings solo with the others providing an echo. A nice mellow song, it's on the lower end of the register, aside from the "ooh-ooh-ooh"s, which are soft enough that they sound pleasantly flutey instead of shrill.

She Loves You - Nice fast pace, and it gives the Chipmunks a chance to do a nice bit of harmonizing. I like the exuberance and the guitar; not so crazy about the super-high "wooooooooooooo"s.

From Me to You - I like the harmonies on this one too, and the guitar and harmonica are fun. The notes manage to stay mostly out of the super-shrill range, which is good for the ear drums, but nothing too notable about this one.

Love Me Do - This one is a logical choice since Alvin is so associated with the harmonica, but a decent-sized instrumental break where some trademark banter could have fit perfectly is wasted.

Twist and Shout - A very peppy song, and fun to listen to, except in for a couple of really screechy moments. My favorite part, though, is during an instrumental break when Dave helpfully - if a tad irately - lets Alvin know that his black wig is slipping off his head. All that twisting and shouting is to blame, no doubt...

A Hard Day's Night - I like the guitar work on this one, and it's a great song to begin with, the Chipmunks just don't really add anything to it - other than an octave or two...

P. S. I Love You - This sweet, sentimental song is my favorite song on the album, partly because it's entirely new to me. Somehow I managed to miss this one in its original form, but I'll certainly be seeking it out. The Chipmunks don't get too shrill on this one even for one note, and I love the singing style, with Alvin going solo but Simon and Theodore chiming in on certain words. There's a clarity and precision to it that's lacking in most of the other tracks, and it's wonderfully melodic.

I Saw Her Standing There - Bouncy, but it goes on too long and too often dissolves into unpleasant screeching.

Can't Buy Me Love - Another track with nice guitar and a peppy beat. Toward the middle, there's a groovy little guitar solo and a shouted instruction from Dave, but otherwise it's just the Chipmunks singing in unison and there's nothing too exciting about it.

Please Please Me - Fast and fun, a pretty good track aside from the fact that the middle portion is pretty much incomprehensible.

I Wanna Hold Your Hand - The Chipmunks do a nice job of harmonizing on this classic song, but the pace seems draggingly slow, and the note on "haaaaand" is ear-piercingly high. There's nothing uniquely Chipmunky about it, which is a shame because I would think there would be a lot of comedic potential here. As it is, it's not a terribly exciting way to end the album.

Then again, most of these tracks aren't very exciting. Voices that sound like they're on helium are fun, but what makes the Chipmunks so appealing - for me, anyway - is the humor they put into their songs. Aside from a couple of comments about the hair, that's entirely absent here, making it a fun little tribute but a pretty dull album overall that just doesn't live up to the cover's potential. It doesn't help that the Chipmunks' personalities and voices don't seem to be very well differentiated at this point. For the lover of Chipmunks and Beatles, this is a fun little piece of history, but The Chipmunks Sing the Beatles Hits isn't an album that's likely to get a lot of replay.

Paul Simon Speaks For All Devoted Dads in Father and Daughter

Father's Day is right around the corner, and it's a good time to think about some of the great songs out their dealing with father-child relationships. I can name a few right off the top of my head: Bob Carlisle's Butterfly Kisses, Mike and the Mechanics' The Living Years, Harry Chapin's Cat's in the Cradle, Luther Vandross's Dance With My Father, Rod Stewart's Forever Young, Brad Paisley's He Didn't Have to Be... to say nothing of several of the songs on Michael Card's Sleep Sound in Jesus and Art Garfunkel's Songs From a Parent to a Child. It's to Art's former partner, Paul Simon, that I turn my attention here, with one of the most recent additions to the group: Father and Daughter. Now if the title alone doesn't just scream "Father's Day" - at least for all us gals - I don't know what does.

It was written for 2002's The Wild Thornberries Movie, which I've never seen; though I tend to be a bit suspicious of a cartoon that looks so much like Rugrats, from the little snippets I've seen of the television show, I like the emphasis on conservation and on geeky Animal Whisperer Eliza's relationship with her eccentric, enthusiastic dad, and from what I gather, this is what the song celebrates in the context of the film. I presume that it's also autobiographical, as Paul's daughter Lucia was about six at the time it was written. While the movie itself didn't seem like the sort likely to win any awards, Simon picked up an Oscar nomination for Best Song, losing out to Eminem with Lose Yourself.

Father and Daughter is written as a love letter from a father to his little girl, so the lyrics are fairly simple, especially in the chorus, which includes the expansive statement "As long as one and one is two, / there could never be a father who loves his daughter more than I love you." Isn't that just the way most devoted dads feel? The mix of percussion and rambling guitar gives the film a slightly African flavor; it's easy to imagine the instrumentals as a cascading waterfall or a chorus of nocturnal creatures in the background. It feels like a bedtime song; Paul's tone is soft and comforting, and there are references to dreams, falling stars and monsters under the bed.

There is one line that strikes me as peculiar every time I hear it, and I wonder if it would make more sense if I saw the movie, or if it's some kind of inside reference meant as a nod to Lucia. "I'm gonna stand guard like a postcard of a Golden Retriever." My first thought was that Paul wrote the lyric that way just for the sake of a rhyme, which doesn't seem like his style, especially since that particular internal rhyme pattern is unique in the song. But if it were me, I think I would feel a lot better about having an actual Golden Retriever standing there; what good, precisely, is a postcard going to do? I guess it could be a comforting image, but it still seems a little odd. (Incidentally, that same year, James Taylor, who once recorded What a Wonderful World with Paul and Art, released the album October Road, which also includes a positive reference to a Golden Retriever. It was a good year for the Goldens!)

This isn't my favorite Father's Day song out there - that would be Dan Fogelberg's Leader of the Band, a tribute to a much-loved father from a son just beginning to understand his powerful influence on his life - but it's certainly a keeper. (I’m always keeping an ear out for songs along these lines, so if you have any favorites, I’d love to find a few more!) One of Paul Simon’s most tender tunes, Father and Daughter is a beautiful celebration of one of life’s most precious relationships. Eliza and Lucia are lucky girls. So am I.

Mulan Brings Honor to Its Creators

When Enchanted came out last year, one of the things that excited me most about it was the fact that it would be a musical. I adore Disney musicals, and they've been sorely lacking in that department lately. The '90s was an incredibly rich time for this, however; one of the last in that decade-long winning streak was Mulan, an atypical film about young Chinese woman uncomfortable with the role society is forcing upon her who finds out what she's really made of when she enlists in the army, disguised as a man, to spare her ailing father the duty.

There is great beauty in Jerry Goldsmith's score for the film, with all its rich textures and Asian motifs. Mulan's Decision starts off pensive, with lilting, fluty tones that give way to pulse-pounding excitement as the song progresses. The ominous Attack at the Wall prickles with danger, and intensity builds in The Huns Attack, with its distinct instrumentation and march-like rhythms. Suite From Mulan and Blossoms are both notable for the range for expression and the haunting melodies that linger after the song ends, while the poignantly elegiac The Burned-Out Village is perhaps the most moving of the instrumental tracks.

Ever since Beauty and the Beast, Disney always had to have a radio-ready tune or two to stick with the credits. Here, it's True to Your Heart, a peppy ode to self-assurance performed by 98 Degrees and Stevie Wonder, and Christina Aguilera's version of Reflection, the film's most popular song, performed by Lea Salonga in the movie. Just about all of the songs, composed by Matthew Wilder with lyrics by David Zippel, contain at least a nugget about wanting to be true to oneself, but this anthem really hits the message home with all the power balladry it can muster, making it a song frequently heard in American Idol auditions, teen beauty pageants and the like. "When will my reflection show who I am inside?" It's an intriguing question that plagues many - especially, it seems, teenage girls - and Aguilera sings the heck out of it, though as always, I prefer the in-the-moment movie version.

Eddie Murphy is the chief source of comic relief throughout the film, but Mulan's army buddies offer their share of humorous moments, particularly in A Girl Worth Fighting For, in which the guys enthusiastically daydream about the kind of gal they'd love to have waiting for them when they get home. This lively group song performed by Harvey Fierstein, James Hong, Jerry Tondo, Matthew Wilder and Salonga (who, as Mulan, tries unsuccessfully to convince the lads that smarts and guts are as desirable in a woman as good looks and cooking skills) is rowdy but sweet despite its rather patronizing tone. These guys don't yet realize what Mulan is capable of, nor that she is a woman; when they find out, they'll gain a little better appreciation for womankind. It's a lovely light moment that takes a sudden dip into tragedy as it concludes.

Its bookend song is You'll Bring Honor to Us All, performed by Salonga, Beth Fowler and Marnie Nixon, in which Mulan's mother and various other women try to coach Mulan on the standards of grace and beauty she must adopt in order to score a fine catch of a husband. The accompanying film sequence is both funny and frustrating, since Mulan clearly is not meant for the mold the women in her community try to fit her into. "Men will gladly go to war for you," they tell her; they hope that she will be, as the above-mentioned song states, "a girl worth fighting for." I got flashbacks to this song as I watched the first-season episode of LOST in which Sun, the daughter of a Korean business tycoon, is pressured by her parents to doll herself up for a husband she doesn't want. There's also a hint of Fiddler on the Roof, with all the focus on tradition and matchmaking.

All of the songs are cleverly written and give us good insight into the characters, but my favorite has to be I'll Make a Man Out of You, young army leader Shang's whip-'em-into-shape anthem for his sluggish troops. It doesn't hurt that Donny Osmond does the singing; his voice, as he so amply demonstrated in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, is a powerful instrument, and listening to him belt out this half-snarky, half-inspirational song is almost as good as hearing his wistful tones on Close Ev'ry Door, my favorite Andrew Lloyd Webber-Tim Rice collaboration. Osmond conveys a perfect mix of derision and pride as this young man strives to create a cohesive unit and thereby prove himself worthy of his lauded father's legacy. With an irresistible melody and memorable lyrics (, this is the one that will always keep me in the Disney store a few extra minutes if it happens to pop up on the screen just as I'm leaving. "We must be swift as the coursing river... / With all the force of a great typhoon... / With all the strength of a raging fire... / Mysterious as the dark side of the moon."

A stirring movie about a warrior "princess" whose heart and spirit rival Eowyn in The Lord of the Rings, it contains hints of romance but far less than the typical animated Disney feature. The soundtrack accentuates the movie's themes of courage and self-awareness, while the instrumental portions have a unique flavor reflective of the Ancient Chinese setting. Mulan doesn't seem to have achieved quite the classic status of Disney's early-90s batch, but as a movie and as a soundtrack, it's spectacular and well worth a viewing and a listen.

Weird Al Mines Comic Gold Out of Forrest Gump

I've seen quite a few movies in my life, so compiling a definitive list of favorites would be an awfully tall order for me. However, I can safely say that one of the movies that would appear on that list would be Forrest Gump. When it first came out, I didn't pay too much attention, since I thought of it as an adult movie, and I was barely old enough to get in to see it without my parents. Nearly a year later, I'd heard enough about it that I finally went to see it; that it stayed in theaters that long is evidence in itself of its staying power. I saw it. I loved it. We bought it as soon as it came out on video. And shortly thereafter, I was introduced to Weird Al Yankovic and heard his take on this brilliant film.

Before I watched a special comparing the video for this song with the original, I had never heard of Lump, a song by the Presidents of the United States of America, perhaps best known for their catchy ditty Peaches. I wasn't missing out on much. This is one case in which Al's parody makes a great deal more sense than the original, which comes across as pure hard-rocking gibberish.

By comparison, Weird Al's take on the song isn't very weird at all. It's basically a straightforward synopsis of the movie, a song that could be easily turned into a trailer when paired with clips from the film. It touches on several key events and characters without giving too much away. His encouraging mother; "shrimp-lovin'" buddy Bubba; "friend with no legs," Lieutenant Dan; promiscuous childhood sweetheart Jenny and two U.S. presidents all rate a mention. Prominent quotes from the film include "My name is Forrest," "Life is like a box of chocolates," "Stupid is as stupid does" and "Run, Forrest, run" and, the perfect song-stopper, "That's all I have to say about that."

Once you've seen the video of a Weird Al parody, you can't help seeing flashes of it in your head whenever you hear the song. In this video, Al is part of a three-person band jammin’ with percussion and electric guitars, banging their heads to the beat and leaping up, down and every which way in front of a series of Forrest Gump-appropriate backdrops in a frenzy of energy. Sometimes they’re on screen with the confused Forrest look-alike, and sometimes the video intercuts between them. There are brief recreations of some of Forrest’s climactic meetings with historical figures and a deliciously cheesy sequence of him running across a series of landscapes, including the moon. Mostly, though, we see Forrest on the park bench, offering his chocolates to various strangers, each time with disastrous results.

Familiarity with Lump isn’t at all essential to enjoyment of this song, though you’re much more likely to get the most out of it if you’ve seen Forrest Gump. It’s a very fast-paced, hard-rocking song, and generally it wouldn’t be too much to my taste, but it’s far too much fun for me to be turned off by a little cacophony. Anyone who loves the movie as much as I do will probably get a few laughs out of this somewhat skewered ode to one of the sweetest film protagonists the world has ever seen.

Bad, Bad Leroy Brown Most Certainly Qualifies as a Favorite

Years ago, my family and I went to a performance by Christian performer Paul Hill, who performed a number of famous songs that he claimed to have written, at least in part. One of these was Bad, Bad Leroy Brown. He spoke of hanging a gold record on his wall and raking in the money for the hit song but said when his mother heard it, she was aghast at the violent lyrics and insisted he write new words, something nice that she could share with the ladies in her church quilting circle. So he did, and he sang us the result, which as I recall was a song about Noah.

I liked it, and I've tried to track it down since then, but there's virtually no reference to Hill online - and most of the references seem to indicate that he never had a hand in any of those songs he claimed he did. I find it hard to believe someone, especially a gospel singer, would be so dishonest and audacious as to take credit for songs he had nothing to do with, but I've scoured the credits of this song and several others and have never seen his name there, so I'm starting to think he made it up. I imagine he did write the Noah lyrics himself, but if the allegations against him are true, he has no more right to pen such words than I do to twist Jim Croce's tune into a song about curmudgeonly Dr. House.

That was a great concert, so it was disillusioning to find out that so much of it was most likely based on false pretenses. But it makes a lot more sense that Croce would have written this on his own. He was a master singer-songwriter who crafted most of the songs he performed, usually after being inspired by his own life or his keen observation of others. Leroy Brown was a devil-may-care fellow soldier around whom Croce created a scintillating scenario. The fictional Leroy is one mean dude, and he's used to getting his way all the time, but he gets knocked down a peg when he puts the moves on a woman who is spoken for by a pretty aggressive husband.

Croce had a really odd way of enunciating at times, and nowhere is it more pronounced than in this energetic number. The jazzy piano instrumentals fit well with his staccato delivery; he's always dropping articles or the first or last letter in words, which adds to the song's edge. I'm guessing he sang in this way to accentuate Leroy's tough-guy 'tude, and it's one of the song's most distinctive attributes.

It's probably just as well that he truncates his words, making the one dubious phrase in the chorus sound very much like "downtown" instead of the two words it actually is. "Baddest man in the whole downtown" isn't going to set off many alarms - though a tiny bit of bad language shouldn't really rankle that much in a song whose lyrics seem to almost revel in Leroy's bad deeds.

He carries around a gun and razor wherever he goes. He gambles excessively, and, to quote a rather naught John Denver song, he "likes to deal with the ladies." But Croce and his whooping back-up singers are having such a great time singing about him, he seems more hero than villain, and it's a little sad to think of this towering man as "a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of pieces gone."

In his sadly short career, Croce wrote and sang some of the most tender, sensitive songs ever recorded. Bad, Bad Leroy Brown isn't one of them. But it's absolutely one of the most fun.

*****

I could have sworn up and down that I found this as a single in the database, but when I went to post it, all I could find was Bad, Bad Leroy Brown and Other Favorites, a solid album containing several of Croce's best-known songs. I'm not sure I would quite agree they're all "favorites," but certainly that term applies to the bittersweet Time in a Bottle; the forlorn Operator (That's Not the Way It Feels); the tender I'll Have to Say I Love You in a Song; the nostalgic Photographs and Memories and the rollicking Roller Derby Queen, the only track that comes close to matching the pep of the title song.

Also included on the album are the socially conscious, Dylan-esque Which Way Are You Goin'? and Railroad and Riverboats; the self-examining, country-flavored Age and the pleading The Way We Used To Be. Considering the overall tone of the album, it might have made more sense to name it after one of the more introspective tunes, but you can't dispute Leroy's popularity. As a single song or the masthead of a great collection, Bad, Bad Leroy Brown is fantastic.