Wednesday, July 27, 2011

New Friends and Relatives Occupy the Bob-Whites in Mystery of the Missing Heiress

I’ve reached the midpoint in my consumption of the Trixie Belden teen detective series, which has dominated my reading list since January. My latest was The Mystery of the Missing Heiress, the sixteenth book and the tenth written by a ghost-writer under the name Kathryn Kenny. This particular writer was also responsible for the seventh book, which of all the ones I’ve read thus far was the hardest for me to get into. I eventually succeeded, and while there are some great moments in that book, I much prefer this one, as it seems she settled into a more comfortable rhythm with the characters.

This volume brings exciting news for Jim Frayne, who thought that the last of his blood relatives died with the great-uncle who left him his fortune. When a factory construction project kicks up a search for the rightful owner of a local marsh, the co-president of the Bob-Whites of the Glen finds out that he has a cousin he never knew existed, and his fellow club members – Trixie, her brothers Mart and Brian, her best friend Honey and their friends Dan and Di – can’t wait to meet her. When Juliana arrives, however, her erratic and sometimes downright rude behavior confuses and disappoints them.

Meanwhile, a young woman who loses her memory after being the victim of a hit-and-run occupies much of the Bob-Whites’ time, especially after she temporarily moves into Crabapple Farm, the cozy Belden residence. Why is Juliana acting so strangely? What is the true identity of the girl they call Janie? Who is the strange man Trixie has seen skulking about? It’s all so mysterious…

Trixie is a super sleuth, but she is a little slow to catch on in this book. My guess is that most readers figure out at least part of the mystery before she does. Nonetheless, that didn’t bother me all that much. I was more annoyed by the peculiar premise and uneven characterization in Mysterious Code. Here, the established characters all seem more or less right. Bobby, the youngest Belden, and Mart, the second-oldest, lack the distinctive speech patterns they have in many of the other books, but otherwise the personalities seem pretty intact. This book also marks the return of several characters from the seventh, most notably Mrs. Vanderpoel, a cheerful Dutch widow, and Spider, a helpful young cop, and I enjoyed them even more this time around.

Other traits I noticed with this author before come to light again. We spend a lot of time in Trixie’s head, sometimes reading several paragraphs of her thoughts in italics. The added perspective is nice but often unnecessary. Similarly, the author seems to spend a lot of time on exposition and often repeats herself. For instance, more than once, she refers to Brian as a future doctor, seemingly for purely explanatory purposes. That gets a bit redundant. On the other hand, I like the continued prominence of Reddy. This author must have been a dog person because the Beldens’ Irish Setter has a major part to play in both the seventh and sixteenth books.

While we don’t spend as much time with Juliana as one would initially guess, Janie becomes almost like an eighth Bob-White here, and her sweet disposition makes her plight the most engaging part of the book for me despite the fact that I had a pretty good guess as to where she might belong early on. I also enjoyed the fact that this is the only book in the series thus far to involve my home state of Pennsylvania. Granted, we don’t actually spend any time there, but a family vacation in the Poconos is mentioned several times. Now if they’d just opted for the Appalachians in Little Pine Valley, the sense of familiarity would have been overwhelming.

Missing Heiress is not among the most mysterious books in the Trixie Belden series. To my amusement, it does include the classic line that concludes nearly every Scooby-Doo villain’s confession: “And I would’ve gotten away with it, too…” However, the real appeal of this book lies elsewhere. While the enigmas – and Trixie’s sleuthing skills – are a bit weak, it is an enjoyable read that demonstrates the Bob-Whites’ commitment to teamwork and helping others and introduces a truly lovable new character who I look forward to encountering again.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

The Three Gifts of Christmas Encourages Gratitude and Generoity

“It is more blessed to give than to receive.” This Bible verse – Acts 20:35 - is often repeated in some form around Christmastime, and it serves as the basis for The Three Gifts of Christmas, a picture book in the Princess and the Kiss series written by Jennie Bishop and illustrated by Preston McDaniels. The books are didactic in nature, intended to encourage children to embrace pure-heartedness; while other books in the series symbolically focus on issues of temptation, particularly in the realm of abstinence, this one is all about gratitude and generosity.

The main character is an unnamed princess whose devoted parents are dismayed to see that after years of having gifts lavished upon her by them and others in the kingdom, she has become ungrateful. She feels entitled rather than appreciative. As a result, they decide that drastic measures must be taken in order to help her adjust her attitude. They gently inform her that while the usual festivities will go on as before, this year, no one in the royal family will receive gifts from the kingdom’s subjects, and the princess will be given only three gifts by the king and queen, a reminder of the Magi who brought gifts to Jesus. At first, the princess is distressed, but she comes to realize the care with which each gift was chosen, and this in turn makes her more open to sharing those gifts with others even though she received far fewer than in years past.

The book is written with an austere air, giving it the feel of a fairy tale from long ago. The description of the gifts is especially rich and loaded with symbolism. Bishop does veer toward the over-the-top at times, and the princess’s transformation from a petulant whiner to a grateful giver occurs so instantaneously that her acts of kindness seem a bit anti-climactic. It might have been more effective to see her struggle a bit more. In this regard, we see the princess as an ideal, and her actions toward the end are something to aspire to, while her behavior at the beginning is to be avoided. Most children will fall naturally between the two extremes.

McDaniels, who has previously worked with the prolific Cynthia Rylant, a Newbery-winning author of several beloved series, brings a winsome charm to the illustrations, which fit the text perfectly. His depictions of the princess herself are especially winning and more effectively convey the complexity of her emotions than the text. I especially like the illustration of her as she receives her three gifts and her face registers her anticipation as well as her hesitation in getting started since it will be over so quickly this year.

In addition to encouraging gratitude and generosity, the book incorporates the Christmas story as presented in the Gospel of Luke, and it is written from an overtly Christian perspective with didactic intent. While I think Bishop could have been a bit less heavy-handed, I still found the story enjoyable, particularly in tandem with the illustrations. Bishop reads expressively on the included audio CD, and the music that plays behind her reading, which incorporates several Christmas carols, complements the story nicely.

While I prefer more organic stories of Christian generosity like Kate DiCamillo’s Great Joy, The Three Gifts of Christmas gets the message across well and is a good reminder of the joy to be found in true thankfulness and in the willingness to give to others.

Take a Trip Back to the Hundred-Acre Wood With Winnie the Pooh

When I first heard about Winnie the Pooh, Disney’s sequel to 1977’s The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, I immediately realized that it would come out the same weekend as Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2. How could I choose between the bear I’ve loved all my life and the wizard who took me on a magical literary journey lasting nearly a decade?

I do question the wisdom of Disney releasing Winnie the Pooh on that particular weekend, when any box office revenue would be dwarfed by one of the most anticipated movies in recent memory, but perhaps the thought was that it would fill the niche of children too young for Harry Potter. I was only able to catch one of the movies opening weekend, and I couldn’t resist the allure of Harry, but I caught up with Pooh and his friends this weekend. His adventure is far shorter and simpler, but it’s just as enjoyable in its own breezy way, at least for a lifelong fan like me.

It surprised me to hear Winnie the Pooh described as Pooh’s first time on the big screen since the 1970s. Other Pooh movies have been released in theaters, featuring the same basic look and several of the same cast members as Pooh’s first Disney outing, so I’m not sure why this one is considered so fundamentally different. Then again, it does feel more closely tied with Many Adventures, given the strong presence of the narrator and the frequent interaction with the book in which the stories reside. One scene makes particularly clever use of some letters that tumble into the tale.

There’s nothing revolutionary about this movie. Life in the Hundred-Acre Wood is very simple, with just a few basic problems that plague its residents time and again. Hence, Eeyore losing his tail is familiar territory, as is Owl misreading a note from Christopher Robin and sending everyone into a panic, Piglet facing his fear and Pooh running out of honey. Because of the leisurely pace and the repetitive nature of the stories, my guess is that many adults will find it a bit on the snoozy side despite the mere 70-minute length, and some kids might as well. One family in my showing actually left halfway through. You have to go into this movie with a certain mindset, accepting that its driving events are not going to be very adrenaline-inducing.

The movie reprises a couple of established songs and introduces several others, though most are short and forgettable. The most memorable is a fearsome description of the Backson, the beast that has allegedly kidnapped Christopher Robin. This sequence, accompanied by chalkboard illustrations, has a trippy edge to it reminiscent of the Heffalumps and Woozles sequence in the original film. The characters’ imaginations run away with them as they dream up all the dreadful things this monster does, and the song seems to invite post-movie creativity from children in the audience.

All of the voice actors are expressive and fit into their roles well, but most of the cast is new for this movie, and the differences take some getting used to. Jim Cummings continues to inhabit the role of Pooh perfectly, and he does an admirable job with Tigger as well, but Travis Oates’ voice is distractingly high as Piglet. The tone is about right, but the pitch makes it sound like he’s on helium. He’s been playing Piglet on My Friends Tigger and Pooh and related specials since John Fiedler’s death in 2007, but this is my first encounter with the new Piglet, and he hasn’t quite won me over yet. Tom Kenny takes over for Ken Sansom as Rabbit for the first time, and his voice sounds decidedly off as well. Bud Luckey fares better as despondent Eeyore; aside from sounding a bit too Southern at times, he seems like a good match for Peter Cullen. Wyatt Dean Hall is fittingly spunky as Roo, while Jack Boulter is a more refined but still boyish Christopher Robin, Kristen Anderson-Lopez makes a very maternal Kanga and John Cleese is a predictably fine narrator.

The standout cast member for me, though, is Craig Ferguson, who seems to be having the time of his life as the grandiloquent Owl. Having often watched Ferguson’s rambling monologues on The Late Late Show, I would say that the character is an ideal fit with his style, and I can’t help wondering whether he had the same sort of free improvisational rein that Robin Williams did with Aladdin. Owl similarly steals the show, getting most of the best lines and generally making more of an impression than any other character, even Pooh himself. Ferguson nails the essence of the character, striking a perfect balance of sophistication and silliness whether he’s composing his extensive memoirs or delivering a rousing speech of encouragement to Piglet as he embarks on a rescue mission that Owl could much more easily undertake himself. His insistence on using complicated vocabulary is a running joke throughout the movie as poor muddled Pooh tries to puzzle out his meaning, and I found myself reminded of Trixie Belden scratching her head over the overly complex proclamations of her older brother Mart. I’d love to see those two try to talk each other under the table.

While most of the movie is more likely to elicit a nostalgic smile than a hearty laugh, some scenes are quite funny, and most involve words in some way. Pooh and Eeyore’s misunderstanding of Owl’s use of the word “issue” and a discussion of knots that reminds me of Abbott and Costello’s Who’s On First? routine are a hoot, as is the way everyone’s speech becomes absurdly littered with the word “honey” when the rumbly in Pooh’s tumbly gets to be too much for him to bear. This movie paints Kanga as being easily annoyed by loud noises, which adds to the humor and makes her more prominent than usual. It also seems like a sly nod to the parents in the audience who can probably relate all too well with her desire for a little peace and quiet.

The movie also emphasizes the consideration the characters have for each other. When they believe Christopher Robin to be in danger, everyone steps up to the plate to help. When Eeyore gets left out of the main contingent’s plan to rescue him, Tigger takes him under his wing. Piglet braves the spooky forest and Pooh puts his craving for honey aside for the sake of their friends. That pervasive spirit of camaraderie, even more than the idyllic scenery and the lackadaisical lifestyle, is what makes the thought of a sojourn in the Hundred-Acre Wood so appealing.

Disney tends to reward viewers patient enough to sit through the credits, and that’s certainly the case here. To the tune of a charming new song by Zooey Deschanel, the credits roll, complete with animated tidbits as Pooh and his pals interact with the names scrolling down the screen. There’s even a final funny scene at the very end of the credits that is well worth the short wait.

Before the movie, meanwhile, we’re treated to The Ballad of Nessie, an old-school-style short warmly narrated in rhyme by Billy Connolly. Given Ferguson’s prominence in the movie – albeit with an upper crust British accent rather than his natural Glaswegian accent – I wonder if he was a factor in deciding to pair the film up with this short, which is largely a celebration of stereotypical Scotland. With a rustic, bagpipe-laced score reminiscent of Ashokan Farewell and nods to everything from thistles and tartans to golf and Braveheart, it has great appeal for those who love that country as much as I do. Nessie, with her rosy cheeks, long eyelashes and vaguely Wookiee-like voice, is adorable, as is her rubber duck companion, and the takeaway message is a worthwhile one.

My showing of Winnie the Pooh had an audience of about a dozen, and I doubt that was too atypical. It doesn’t have the same sort of blockbuster draw that Harry Potter or even a typical animated Disney feature does; despite the popularity of Pooh products, most consider the movies themselves to be the realm of the very young. However, if you’re still young at heart and if you ever wished you could blink yourself to the Hundred-Acre Wood for a day, I suspect you will find this outing with Pooh and his friends a pleasant return to beloved company.

Friday, July 22, 2011

Schnitzel Ponders His Favorite Things in Schnitzel's First Christmas

In The Sound of Music, Maria lists schnitzel as one of her favorite things. The song containing that sentiment has become a Christmas standard, so even though she was referring to a popular Austrian dish, it seems fitting for a character named Schnitzel to inhabit a Christmas book. In Hans Wilhelm’s Schnitzel’s First Christmas, the titular character is a puppy, and like everyone else in the story, he is thinking about his favorite things. That’s because according to Gruff, the grumpy gray cat, everyone who wishes for a particular present before Christmas Eve will have that wish granted by Santa. But Schnitzel has so much already; what could he possibly wish for?

This is a cute story for the early elementary school set. The writing is not very complicated, and most pages have a few short paragraphs of text. Schnitzel interacts with five different characters in the book; we never actually see the people who live in his house, though indications of their presence are prevalent. When Schnitzel complains that no one has any time for him, it would seem that he means the humans; the animals living in and around the home seem more than willing to take the time to talk to him. The cat, the fish and the birds all have specific requests in mind, ones that could easily apply to a puppy with a bit of tweaking. Toys, shelter and food all come up as basic desires.

Schnitzel is a lovable pup, and there’s something sweet about the fact that he is so happy with what he has that he can’t think of anything to ask for. On the other hand, his inability to come up with something makes him miserable. So he does really want something; he just can’t for the life of him figure out what. Mostly, he doesn’t want to feel left out, which is a feeling many children can relate to. The Christmas picture book market is flooded with “first Christmas” stories, usually involving animals because in most cases, the first Christmas of a human child would be when he or she is a baby too young to really appreciate what is going on. Books of this type involving dogs seem to be especially popular, and this one fits in well with the rest.

The story is sweet, but the real charm of the book lies in the illustrations. Schnitzel is a cute beige puppy with a little mop of fur atop his head and slightly darker brown ears. The book doesn’t indicate the medium for the illustrations; my guess would be watercolors, perhaps with some colored pencil mixed in for the detail work, particularly on Schnitzel’s scraggly fur. The pictures have a very soft tone to them, both in terms of muted colors and a lack of sharp edges. They have a comforting feel to them that matches the overall theme of the story, which has to do with the value of companionship.

While I do think that Schnitzel, so content in other areas of his life, could be a little more grateful for the presence of other animals with whom he can converse, in general he is very lovable. In looking over a list of Wilhelm’s published works, I see he has a series starring another puppy named Noodles. Considering how well the exuberant young Maria thinks those two go together, that looks to me like a crossover just waiting to happen, especially since Wilhelm, having written a book about the real Von Trapp family, is so obviously aware of The Sound of Music. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that this Schnitzel is one of my favorite things, but he’s certainly a pleasant puppy to spend a few minutes with.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

The Bob-Whites See Red in The Mystery of the Memorial Day Fire

The other day, a hefty box of books arrived on my doorstep. Its contents: 25 Trixie Belden books. While not every book I have yet to read is among them, I can go back to reading in order, and it will be a while before I might have to skip one again. While I waited for the spoils from my eBay victory to arrive, however, I read the last book in my library system: The Mystery of the Memorial Day Fire, the 35th book in the series and the 29th written by a ghost writer under the name Kathryn Kenny.

This book opens with 14-year-old Trixie, her brothers Mart and Brian, her best friend Honey Wheeler, Honey’s adopted brother Jim and their neighbors Di Lynch and Dan Mangan eagerly awaiting the titular parade. While they wait, they make the acquaintance of Jane Dix-Strauss, a rather pushy reporter who snaps a photo of the septet, collectively known as the Bob-Whites of the Glen. Jane’s brusque manner irritates Trixie, while the others are just tickled at the prospect of a group photo, which apparently nobody has ever bothered to take before, though I must say that as much time as they spend together, you would think someone would have thought to do that before. At any rate, photos and reporters are soon driven from their minds when a nearby building explodes. They all make it home safely, but who could have caused such a thing to happen?

This is one of the last books in the series, so I wasn’t too surprised to see that, like the 33rd book, it contains references to a previous mystery. In this case, I couldn’t tell which book it was right off the bat, but they spend so much time discussing the backstory of a supporting character that I figured they must be rehashing a previous plot. A little sleuthing of my own led me to discover that Nick Roberts, the boy whose father is both prime victim and suspect in this case, was introduced in The Mystery Off Old Telegraph Road. So prominent is his role here that it seems this book could be considered a direct sequel, and it makes sense that both were reportedly written by the same ghost writer.

As with many books in the series, this one has the Bob-Whites putting their energy into a charitable project, though in this case, they too stand to benefit. To help boost the morale of Nick’s father, whom they believe to be innocent, and increase his business while he figures out his next move in the wake of his store’s destruction, they sell custom t-shirts and caps for his company, taking a commission from the sales to build up their sadly depleted club fund so they can repair their winter-battered clubhouse. At one point, Mart goes through the treasurer’s report, and considering that each of the Bob-Whites earns money weekly and that the group often receives bonuses related to the solving of mysteries, it doesn’t seem as though they spent nearly enough to be so bankrupt. One also wonders why they waited until late May to think about fixing the clubhouse up, though I suppose they may have just preferred to have school out of the way so they could devote several hours a day to the cause.

Once the mystery gets cooking, it’s pretty engaging, with more mysterious happenings, some false trails and a rather clever, if overly convenient, clue. It’s always nice to see the Bob-Whites working together for a good cause, and they’re all fairly integral to the process. While Trixie and Honey are the ones most intimately involved on the mystery end of things, the others have a role there as well. It’s also fun to see Trixie really stirred up about something, and she gets a great line that resonates with a starry-eyed dreamer like me.  On the other hand, while the characters mostly seem themselves in the later part of the novel, there are moments that seem off, like Honey going into hysterics over a cancelled t-shirt order or Trixie saying that there hadn’t been an arson in Sleepyside in recent memory when several books set in the Bob-Whites’ hometown incorporate the intentional starting of a fire.

Mostly, though, it’s the beginning that bugs me, and that’s because the Bob-Whites, but especially Brian and Mart, come across as so self-righteous. When the building explodes, they high-tail it home, but a majority of the spectators gathered for the parade remain where they are long enough to become an obstruction to the fire department. The Bob-Whites spend several pages railing against the crowd for their rudeness and stupidity, and while I agree that getting out of the way was the right call, not everyone can think so clearly in a crisis, and it isn’t as though the Bob-Whites pulled out a bullhorn and shared their wisdom with the rest of the community. Moreover, it’s a natural impulse to want to know what is going on. I appreciated the little speech Trixie’s dad gives defending those in the crowd, though it doesn’t quite put a stop to the griping. While I understand their malaise over the fact that further damages might have been prevented if the crowd had dispersed immediately, it doesn’t seem very fair to keep talking as though every person wandering around in confusion had malicious intent.

Once the book progresses past the immediate aftermath of the incident and the Bob-Whites stop seeing red, it becomes a much more pleasant read. There’s enough fire to stir up trouble in this book; we really don’t need the Bob-Whites on the verge of spontaneous combustion.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Fans Say Farewell to Friday Night Lights With Teary Eyes and Aching Hearts

Several years ago, my friend Dan got my parents and me hooked on Friday Night Lights, the NBC small-town Texas football drama that has received critical raves but little Emmy attention and consistently lackluster ratings. This week, we bid farewell to the show that we followed for five seasons. The series went out as it came in, low-key and heartfelt, with the focus on ordinary people struggling to make the best of difficult circumstances.

As the 13-episode-long fifth season begins, Coach Eric Taylor (Kyle Chandler) and his wife Tami (Connie Britton), the couple who serve as the cornerstone of the series, are preparing to see their precocious daughter Julie (Aimee Teegarden) off to college. While she is anxious to fly the coop, they’re not having such an easy time letting her go, and it’s little surprise when her sense of intellectual superiority lands her in a quandary early in her first semester. They both have other pressing concerns, however. Tami has her work cut out for her as the new guidance counselor at East Dillon High School, and Eric is under pressure to keep up the good work he did the year before with the town’s fledgling football team, turning these young men into a group with actual winning prospects.

Because this is a high school drama, most of the major players from the first season are no longer in the mix except as occasional guest stars. This season does find excuses to bring back almost everyone for at least one episode, which is nice, but it’s definitely a different group of students getting most of the attention this time around. Chief among these is star quarterback Vince Howard (Michael B. Jordan), who, having overcome ties to petty thugs and helped his mother through rehab, now faces potential setbacks as his volatile father returns home after a stint in jail. By his side is Jess Merriweather (Jurnee Smollett), a kind but tough football enthusiast who, in the midst of caring for her younger brothers in her father’s business-related absence, convinces the coach to take her on as a team manager.

Hard-working farmhand Luke Cafferty (Matt Lauria) tries to swallow his jealousy that Vince is getting his share of the glory and rekindles a relationship with Becky Sproles (Madison Burge), an aspiring beauty queen whose troubled home life leads her to take refuge with mechanic and new father Billy Riggins (Derek Phillips) and his wife Mindy (Stacey Oristano) at the behest of his brother Tim (Taylor Kitsch), who is serving a prison sentence for a crime Billy committed. This is probably my favorite of the student stories this season because Billy, Tim and Mindy have been a part of the show from the beginning, and this arc really shows how far they have come. Billy’s desire to honor Tim’s sacrifice and make a fresh start leads him to seek a role as assistant coach, while Mindy, up until now presented as a rather shallow side character, truly comes into her own as she deals with Becky’s intrusion into her life.

Among the old guard who make just a few appearances, one of the most compelling is Mindy’s sister Tyra Collette (Adrianne Palicki), a thriving college student who, despite overcoming incredible obstacles to make her way in the world, still feels drawn to Dillon. The other is Matt Saracen, the standout character of the first season. That Zach Gilford’s haggard season four performance in The Son, an episode that finds lovable everyman Matt conflicted over the death of his absentee father in combat, did not earn him an Emmy nomination is a travesty; here, his role is understated, but he’s around just enough to serve as a reminder of how truly beautiful the simple things can be. His beloved, mildly senile grandmother (Louanne Stephens) also appears in a few episodes, reminding us of how the show started, mostly focusing on a plucky underdog with a heart of gold who is thrust into the limelight.

As always, the show has a realistic slice-of-life feel to it, with comedy and drama stemming organically from the actors as well as the excellent writing. All of the characters face challenging obstacles, but all have come a long way from when we first met them. This is particularly true of the troubled Riggins-Collette clan and Buddy Garrity (Brad Leland), the fast-talking salesman who caused Eric so many headaches in the first season and is now one of his closest allies. These are people who often make stupid decisions but constantly strive to do better. The Taylors are stabilizing forces in the lives of so many families, though even the solid foundation of their marriage is tested in this season as the show comes full circle. When each of them receives an offer of a dream job, which of them will yield? Or will the pull of geographically disparate career paths be enough to separate the spouses in one of the most touching marriages on television?

When Friday Night Lights began airing, I didn’t pay much attention. After all, I’m not a football fan. But the show is about so much more than that. Chances are that if you go into it with my kind of pigskin ambivalence, you’ll develop a deeper appreciation for the way the sport can build character and bring a town together. More than that, though, you’ll find characters to truly care about whose everyday trials reflect the joys and sorrows of a life lived in community.

Eloise Speaks Her Mind and Runs Wild in Eloise at the Plaza

As an ardent fan of LOST, the first character who springs to mind when I hear the name “Eloise” is Eloise Hawking, one of the most unsettling maternal figures television has ever seared into my brain. However, the name has had a prominent place in children’s literature for decades. While I somehow have never read the Eloise books by Kay Thompson, I recently watched the 2003 made-for-TV adaptation Eloise at the Plaza, so if I get tired of having an austere British matron materialize at the mention of “Eloise,” I have a rambunctious six-year-old American to fall back on.

Sofia Vassilieva stars as Eloise, the free-spirited blonde girl who lives in the Plaza Hotel with her faithful caretaker Nanny (Julie Andrews). Eloise is a whirling dervish, and Vassilieva keeps her in perpetual motion. It’s exhausting to watch her dash here and there, zooming up and down hallways, incessantly ringing the bell at the front desk, stirring up mischief on the elevator. She has a very short attention span, and it’s never long before she’s off on some new project. As tiring as her movements are, that’s nothing compared to her tongue. The girl can talk a blue streak, and she has no mental filter. “I always say what’s in my head,” she explains early on. “It’s so much easier that way.”

Her strategy is often exasperating to those around her, and her uppity affectations – particularly the way she pronounces “rather,” one of her favorite words – grate a bit. Nonetheless, her frank manner inspires many of those in her acquaintance, and perhaps the strongest theme running through the movie is the trouble that can ensue where open and honest communication is absent.

Molly (Stephanie Mills), a sweet high school senior, is afraid to tell her overbearing, high society mother (Eve Crawford) that she wants to travel instead of going to college and date not an aristocrat but a man who shares her passions. Eloise’s harried French tutor, Philip (Jonas Chernik), is too insecure to let slip that he would like to be that guy. Leon (Kintaro Akiyama), a polite, sheltered nine-year-old who spends a whirlwind day getting a taste of Eloise’s lifestyle, shrinks from confessing to his distant father (Dennis Akiyama), recently widowed, that he wants to leave boarding school and return home. Uptight hotel manager Mr. Salomone (Jeffrey Tambor) is so focused on vainly trying to keep Eloise unaware of the big event and the special guest that have the hotel in an uproar that he can scarcely make the preparations. And Eloise’s own beloved Nanny is too timid to tell the distinguished Sir Wilkes (Kenneth Welsh), another longtime guest, how much she likes him.

Eloise simply can’t fathom this lack of forthrightness, but she hopes to make up for it with a little finagling. She may be a bit of a hooligan at times, but she has a generous heart, and one of her passions is “fixing things that are broken.” In this movie, things get more broken before they get fixed, and there should be slapstick enough to satisfy the youngest viewers, who will likely find the thought of having free reign to wander through a posh hotel quite appealing. Adding to the confusion are Eloise’s pug and turtle, who have a knack for turning up at inopportune moments. While the chaos is a bit much at times, quiet scenes bring balance; the heart-to-heart between Eloise and the pensive Leon as they share a carriage ride through Central Park is simply lovely.

The movie, directed by Kevin Lima, makes liberal use of Hilary Knight’s illustrations, both incorporating them into the film and meticulously recreating them in live-action form. I highly recommend the making-of documentary in the special features, especially if you have little familiarity with the books. It’s fascinating to see the close kinship between the two art forms, and it made me appreciate the movie all the more. The plaza is a gorgeous piece of architecture, full of splendor and a touch of whimsy, and our glimpse of New York City at large is magical.

While I confess Vassilieva wears on me a bit, she has the perfect energy for the role, and there’s an undeniable charm to her as well. Still, it’s the much quieter Akiyama who really wins me over. I was surprised to see that this was his second and final film role; for me, he is the heart of the movie. It’s also a treat to see Andrews portraying what she describes in the documentary as “the anti-Mary Poppins.” That isn’t to say that she’s incompetent; she’s just about the only person who has any control over Eloise at all. But she is frazzled and unkempt, with a lowbrow accent and a fondness for boxing and booze. She is certainly not “practically perfect in every way,” but she is practically perfect for her young charge. Tambor is hilariously overwrought, Daniels and Chernik are adorable together and Welsh and the elder Akiyama exude dignified kindness. On the whole, it’s a top-notch cast.

Eloise at the Plaza is a fun romp for kids, while adults can marvel at the care taken to recreate a beloved children’s book for the screen. The movie may also serve as encouragement for those who, like so many of us, have trouble being as communicative as Eloise. The expressive and the withdrawn alike will have someone with whom to identify here, and those on either end of the spectrum should not find it too difficult to get swept away in the fun of the Plaza Hotel.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Tony Scali Cleverly Lays Down the Law in Season One of The Commish

Back in the 1990s, one show that my family often watched together was The Commish, starring Michael Chiklis as a hands-on police commissioner in a small New York town. Knowing my mom would soon be laid up after surgery, my friend lent us the boxed set of the series, which we’ve enjoyed revisiting. The first season of the quirky cop show created by Stephen J. Cannell and Stephen Kronish quickly establishes the tone, which is dramatic but often light-hearted as 38-year-old Commissioner Tony Scali uses his empathy and ingenuity to keep things in the city running as smoothly as possible.

The primary focus of each episode is usually on one or two cases currently vexing the police department, though at times Tony’s home life moves out of subplot territory and into the spotlight. Theresa Saldana plays his supportive wife Rachel, while Kaj-Erik Eriksen is 10-year-old David, a pretty typical kid. While the series is mostly episodic, with little in the way of overarching storylines, there are a few that weave their way through the first season. On the home front, Rachel wants another baby badly, and the season deals with their heartache over her difficulty in conceiving and later their turmoil when she succeeds but learns that the baby may be born with defects. Additionally, David tries to get used to the possibility of no longer being an only child and struggles with the conflict between Tony and Rachel’s live-in brother Arnie (David Paymer), an eccentric entrepreneur who mostly serves as comic relief.

At the department, several characters stand out. Kimberly Scott is cool and unruffled as Tony’s sassy secretary Lucille, and Gina Belafonte brings a tough, street-smart presence to Carmela, arguably the toughest cop under Tony’s watch. Other distinctive side characters include Ricky (Nicholas Lea), a hotshot officer; Irv (Alex Bruhanski), Tony’s nearing-retirement right-hand man; and Paulie (John Cygan), a detective and childhood chum of Tony’s who joins his team midway through the season.

The clear standout, however, is Stan Kelly, played with jittery charm by Geoffrey Nauffts. He comes across as very green, an eager young man who brings 110 percent to everything he does but often bungles the job. Shy and nervous, he flourishes under the mentorship of Tony, who often entrusts him with special assignments. Sometimes the main purpose of this is to boost his confidence; at other times, the task truly is important, and it’s Stan’s dedication to the job that makes him the go-to guy. He is intimately involved in many of the investigations, but his most centric role is in a late-season episode in which he kills a woman after responding to a heated domestic dispute and must deal with both his own crippling guilt and the threats leveled against him by the angry widower.

The show is a drama, but the fun lies in Tony’s creative approach to his job. The kind-hearted commissioner has a true gift for diffusing tense situations, and no one on the force can match his finesse for talking down the deranged by playing along with their delusions. He often baits and confronts criminals directly, while also dealing with victims himself and putting them at ease, often distracting them with requests for common courtesies like coffee and cookies. He’s a man adept at getting into the heads of those he wishes to influence or apprehend, and he doesn’t mind sacrificing a bit to do it. In the pilot, he forgoes food for several days to help him deal with some prisoners on a hunger strike, knowing that when he is ravenous, they’ll be even hungrier and will find it hard to resist the deluxe sandwich he eats in front of them. If this seems a little mean-spirited, the meeting concludes with his ordering the warden to eat in the prison cafeteria at least three times a week and improve the menu if the food is as bad as the prisoners say it is.

Tony’s cleverness often springs from his compassion, but sometimes his desire to do the right thing leaves him in a true quandary. Never is that more apparent this season than in The Greatest Gift, an episode that finds him deeply troubled over two ethical dilemmas in which the law and his sense of ethics are in fundamental conflict. The Christmastime setting adds to his sense of malaise. This is probably my favorite episode of season one. This episode also delves into the fact that Tony grew up Catholic but agreed to raise David in Rachel’s Jewish tradition. In some ways it’s a more somber episode than most, but the conclusion is particularly satisfying.

The Commish lasted for five seasons. Some were better than others, but this first season is one of the best. If you haven’t had the pleasure of witnessing the distinct way in which Tony Scali upholds the law, this is the place to get acquainted.

See Precursors to Anne Shirley in L. M. Montgomery's Akin to Anne

I grew up on Anne of Green Gables, the classic L. M. Montgomery novel about a spirited redhead with an immense imagination and a vocabulary to match. Having loved that book and enjoyed the ones that followed, I was intrigued when I came across Akin to Anne, a collection of short “orphan” stories written by Montgomery mostly before the publication of her most famous novel. The book was published posthumously after Rea Wilmshurst collected and edited the stories, each of which had originally appeared in one of about a dozen different periodicals.

The book includes 19 stories in all, along with an introduction, acknowledgments and editorial note. In most of the stories, the orphan in question is a child, or at least a teenager, though in some cases, the focus is on lonely adults – and nearly every story does include at least one lonely adult who is as pleased to be a benefactor as the orphan is to find one. Most of the main characters are also female, though four involve boys and are among my favorites.

In The Fraser Scholarship, a studious lad named Elliot receives a scholarship mostly because his last name is Campbell, and he feels compelled to refuse it because Campbell is merely his adoptive name. In Ted’s Afternoon Off, a gentle boy with a gift for violin-playing has the opportunity to go to a picnic for the first time in his life but decides to pass it up in order to spend the afternoon with a lonely neighbor.

In both cases, the main character does something virtuous, and this leads to his discovery by a distant relation in the first case and an ardent mentor in the second. This theme is very prevalent throughout the book; either the orphan or an acquaintance makes a self-sacrificing choice leading to a revelation that changes the orphan’s life. Many of the stories include a statement right near the end along the lines of, “Just think, this never would have happened if I hadn’t done ____. I’m so glad I did!” It gets a bit repetitive, but then all of these stories have multiple similarities, and it’s easy to see shades of Anne in them.

While Anne herself does not stumble upon any unknown relatives, she helps facilitate reunions of this sort, and in Akin to Anne, we find long-lost relatives and friends of relatives popping up everywhere. It really is a small world in this book. Perhaps Montgomery, raised mostly by her austere grandparents, dreamed of being swept away by a glamorous aunt with a comparable disposition and so wrote this sort of thing for a succession of characters. It gets to be very predictable and certainly not very realistic when character after character just happens to run across someone who has been seeking her out for years, or would have if her existence had been known. The story usually ends with the orphan and the guardian competing for the right to claim the greater share of happiness.

My favorite story is the longest by far at about 35 pages, and that’s not mere happenstance. We get to know the characters quite a bit better in The Running Away of Chester: hardworking Chester, who has had it with being worked to the bone by his cruel step-aunt; maternal Miss Salome, who hires him to work at her farm; and gruff Clemantiny, who runs Miss Salome’s household. There’s a lot more time to flesh them out and make them feel real, and Clemantiny is particularly interesting because her stern manner hides a deep affection for the boy who showed up half-starved on the doorstep. Chester is also one of the most honorable and sympathetic children in the book.

The stories, aside from the high concentration of coincidence, are well-written, full of the lavish descriptions for which Montgomery is known. Most of them are quite short; only three exceed ten pages. It’s probably best not to read them all at once as I did. If you space the reading out, you might not be as aware of the fact that the tales are all so similar. Some are more inventive than others, but all of them involve a lonely person finding happiness through human (but non-romantic) companionship. They are feel-good stories, and saving each one for a time of loneliness might make them more appreciated. While Montgomery’s sparkling wit rarely shines through, her desire for a happy ending is in full force, and she does make us root for these displaced people’s contentment. All of these themes are realized more effectively in Anne of Green Gables and other novels, but if you’re a fan of her later works, Akin to Anne is a fascinating trip through her early musings on the subject of orphanhood.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Harry Potter Ends Again With Deathly Hallows - Part 2

Four years ago, J. K. Rowling’s epic Harry Potter saga ended. Now, with the last of the movies out in theaters, the Harry Potter era has truly come to an end. This time, however, I feel neither the sense of loss nor catharsis that I did back then. For me, Harry Potter was never the intense cinematic experience Lord of the Rings was. Despite having lived with hobbits far longer, I found Peter Jackson’s adaptation so exquisitely crafted I barely minded the deviations. As movies, they were singularly enthralling. The Harry Potter films, on the other hand, have always seemed like pale imitations of the books. I spent so much time building up to and thinking over Deathly Hallows that I couldn’t silence the purist this time around. This was the culmination, and there were certain things I simply needed to see in order to be truly satisfied. Some spoilers ahead as I try to work out my reactions to the final film.

Deathly Hallows: Part 2 begins on a despairing note as the faces of two dark characters fill the screen, eliciting shudders as we see a Hogwarts under frightening new management. From the horror of blackened parapets and looming Dementors, we go to the placid quietude of Shell Cottage, where Harry (Daniel Radcliffe), Ron (Rupert Grint) and Hermione (Emma Watson) are preparing to make their next move. They consult briefly with two minor characters, one of whom will continue on with them for a time. From then on, it’s almost nonstop action right up until the end, with just a few brief stops for significant conversations. After the minimal role Hogwarts played in the seventh movie, it serves as the setting for the majority of this last installment, and because we’re not limited to Harry’s perspective, the movie allows us to see how students and adults alike defend the castle against invading forces.

Grint and Watson make excellent wingmen as before, though there is little opportunity for levity, and I missed that. Watson stood out to me more this time as the more emotional of the two, though Ron does have one truly wrenching scene that Grint nails despite its disappointing brevity. Following these two on their own quest feels satisfying, and we generally see considerably more of them than we do in the final portion of the book. Because the trio is so much at the heart of the movies, it feels fitting for these two to have a slightly expanded role, though it does lead to at least one scene that feels implausible, and it still feels in the movies as though Hermione has a bit more chemistry with Harry than with Ron – and much more than Harry does with Ginny. In fact, partly because Hermione is by Harry’s side much more than she really should be, Watson’s acting made more of an impression on me than Radcliffe’s most of the time.

Like the first installment of Deathly Hallows, this was written by Steve Kloves and directed by David Yates. Once the action moves to Hogwarts, both seem to have made a concentrated effort to include as many characters as possible, even when we scarcely saw them in the book. Most of these additions feel true to Rowling, filling in gaps by showing what precisely might have happened throughout the rest of the school while Harry tried to complete his Horcrux hunt. I particularly loved the added moments with Professor McGonagall; Maggie Smith may look wispy, but she is as fierce as ever. Because the majority of the movie involves the Battle of Hogwarts, she feels like a vital part of the proceedings instead of just a cameo. Several of the professors are reduced to that status, but at least their brief appearances exemplify their character traits and the spirit of camaraderie amongst the Hogwarts staff. I found myself particularly moved by the mere presence of Herbology professor Pomona Sprout (Miriam Margolyes).

Ciaran Hinds is the only major addition to the cast in this movie. He perfectly conveys the gruff cynicism of the Hogs Head proprietor who offers some much-needed aid, and I have no qualms with his performance, though I wish the trio could have lingered with him a bit longer. Albus Dumbledore’s backstory, so crucial to the final book, is barely addressed in the movies, and Harry’s conflict over whether to continue following him is likewise largely ignored. Similarly, they Grey Lady (Kelly Macdonald), a ghost with whom Harry briefly confers, loses most of her backstory, though her personality seems about right, and I like the way the movie draws Luna (the always-luminous Evanna Lynch) into that moment.

Hagrid, so magnificently portrayed by Robbie Coltrane, has always been my favorite character in the Potterverse and is a big part of the reason Chamber of Secrets is my favorite of the films. This movie allows him three all-too-brief shining moments, though I was disappointed not to get a true sense of his anguish in one of them. Helena Bonham-Carter is icktastic as always, and props go to her for her complex and largely comical performance in one of the movie’s earliest scenes. Aside from a truly head-scratching moment involving her wand and an overly gruesome escape, the Gringotts escapade is well done, especially the dizzying cart ride down to the vault, which probably would have made me sick to my stomach if I’d seen it in 3-D.

Of all the actors in the movies, none has been able to do as much with so little as Alan Rickman. Severus Snape’s presence in the final film is actually more pronounced than in the book, and from sheer menace to heartbreaking revelation, he commands the audience’s attention every second that he is on the screen. I also commend the cinematography in Snape’s final scenes, particularly a moment under a vast willow, an instant of exceptional beauty in the midst of the rarely relenting darkness.

There’s little humor to lighten the mood this time around. What does remain largely comes from side characters and is mostly much appreciated. There are some scenes, though, that the movie cheapens a bit through ill-timed attempts at levity. Matthew Lewis has his moment in the sun as long-overlooked Neville Longbottom, but at least half of his appearances involve laughs at his expense. On the other hand, I love McGonagall’s aside that gives underused Seamus (Devon Murray) a small but memorable part to play in the final battle. James and Oliver Phelps really get short-changed here, denied any last quips or hijinks as boisterous Fred and George, and though Chris Rankin Is in the cast list, if Percy was there, I blinked and missed him.

Because the second part of Deathly Hallows is so action-oriented, there weren’t as many little moments that I missed here, particularly since the seventh movie prepared me for the fact that most of what I truly loved about the conclusion was not a priority for the filmmakers. Many of the payoffs that impacted me profoundly in the book wouldn’t have made the proper impression in the movie anyway since the groundwork hadn’t been laid. Still, it irked me a bit that the only iconic Weasley moment that makes the transition from book to screen untouched is one of ferocity. Yes, there is intense love wrapped up in it, and it certainly got a cheer out of the crowd I was with, but the movie avoids both the most exuberant and the most devastating moment for that family, though it at least hints at the latter.

Visually, the movie Is mostly impressive, with Luna’s Punky Brewster-bright wardrobe adding a welcome splash of color whenever she appears, which is all too seldom. To cover for the lack of exposition and detective work that led to the finding of the Horcruxes in the novel, the movie relies more deeply on Harry’s connection with Voldemort, having the cursed objects basically reveal themselves to him, even at great distances. This is a convenient device that mostly works, though the scenes that focus on that telepathic bond are disorienting and unpleasant to watch. Scarcely any scene from the book remains truly intact, but thankfully one of them is Harry’s walk through the Forest, the only moment at which I felt tears begin to form in the corners of my eyes.

Speaking of changes to the book, in addition to multiple obliterated subplots and sapping away most of the literary, spiritual and theological threads so masterfully woven through the novels, the movie makes some alterations that simply make no sense. For instance, Harry makes almost no use of his Invisibility Cloak, with the result that he’s wandering around the school in the midst of the melee, and having the eyes of fellow students and professors upon him at that point feels uncomfortable and strange. Meanwhile, the importance of the cloak as one of the Hallows is entirely lost in the shuffle.

If he’s too visible during the earlier part of the battle, he’s not visible enough at its culmination, and the egregious deviation from the books at the climactic moment is the adaptive choice I find hardest to forgive. Indeed, I’m rather shocked Rowling allowed the alteration, which is a much more significant change than the decision to pair up two characters in a non-canonical relationship that I felt was an improvement on the book. On another minor but important note, if you’re going to emphasize the fact that Harry has his mother’s eyes – and you’re going to ignore all the reasons for that color being green – it would at least behoove you to notice that Lily’s eyes are brown while Harry’s are blue and color-correct accordingly.

But the movies never have been too interested in getting those sorts of details right. In the end, Deathly Hallows: Part 2 is an acceptable conclusion to the Harry Potter film franchise but a frail adaptation of the book. Aside from the muddy explanations of plot points that seem to rely on readers to fill in the blanks, I imagine I would have enjoyed it more if I were only familiar with the movies, which have always been far shallower than the novels. On the other hand, I don’t think I would have fallen so deeply and utterly in love with Rowling’s world and the characters that populate it. They say that a picture is worth a thousand words, but I see the Harry Potter films as one long visual homage to a master craftsman, an impression that seems confirmed in a quotable bit of wisdom imparted to Harry toward the end of the movie. This addition seems to acknowledge that in Rowling’s words is where the true enchantment of Harry Potter lies. While the movies are undeniable labors of love, what they mostly make me want to do is read the books again.

Australian Danny Comes of Age in the Bleak The Year My Voice Broke

Over the weekend, I was browsing through Netflix Instant Viewing when I happened upon The Year My Voice Broke, an Australian 80s movie involving a teenage love triangle. It was listed as a “first love” story, and I tend to enjoy those, so I decided to give it a try. It’s always a shot in the dark watching a movie I’ve never heard of full of unfamiliar actors and helmed by a director whose name means nothing to me. In this case, I’d have to say it was a miss.

The 1987 movie, written and directed by John Duigan, stars Noah Taylor as Danny, a run-of-the-mill teen in love with the slightly older Freya (Loene Carmen), who has been his close friend since early childhood. Danny serves as our narrator; we often get to hear his thoughts, and even if he weren’t narrating we’d have a pretty good idea of them because of his tendency to make his internal monologue external and to voice desperate prayers about his love life. Danny is fairly likable; it’s easy to feel sorry for him as the stereotypical nice guy who always finishes last. On the other hand, he’s a bit pervy, peeking in on Freya through the window as she undresses and keeping a pair of her underwear as a totem.

I like him better than Freya, though. Granted, she has a compassionate side that particularly comes out when she is visiting with the elderly, and she does seem to cherish Danny’s friendship. But she’s also stringing him along to some extent. His devotion to her is written all over his face, and if that weren’t enough, some bullies get ahold of his love poetry and decide a public recitation is in order. One of those thugs is Trevor (Ben Mendelsohn), who quickly takes an interest in Freya, and the interest seems to be mutual. He’s supposed to be the typical jerk jock, though in terms of looks he’s got nothing on Danny, and I would think his hyenic laughter would be enough to send anyone packing before too long. Even worse are his prankster tendencies, which often result in truly dangerous stunts.

While Trevor’s behavior is especially abhorrent, the antics of most of the teens here had my mom yelling at the TV. They’re vulgar and disrespectful, they engage in injurious roughhousing and they’re constantly smoking. On the one hand, they seem incredibly juvenile; on the other, they run loose without any sort of parental supervision. The movie is very visually dark, and it matches the emotional tone of the film. Reminding me a bit of Rebel Without a Cause, only with a much more indie feel to it, The Year My Voice Broke – which takes place in 1962 – feels almost unbearably bleak most of the time.

In addition to that, the cinematography is shaky and none of the stars stands out as a particularly good actor. Mostly, they all sound as if they’re mumbling. I suppose the heavy accents don’t help with that, but I also blame poor delivery. The only character who really grabbed me was Jonah, a wise, eccentric adult friend of Danny’s. He is played by Bruce Spence, and while I didn’t recognize his name, he has had roles in several major film franchises, including Star Wars and Lord of the Rings, which doesn’t surprise me since his was the only performance that truly captured by attention. He seems like a veteran who knows what he’s doing.

But he’s not in the movie enough to make it worthwhile for me. Though there are elements of the film that are reasonably engaging, the movie mostly just left me feeling flat and wishing I’d picked something else. While Danny picks up the pieces of his broken heart (and voice), I think I’ll go look for a more enjoyable movie.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Spring Is In the Air For Thumper in the All Atwitter Ornament

This weekend, Hallmark stores around the country will unveil the new ornaments for 2011. For the next half a year, I will gravitate toward the cheerful, expansive display every time I enter a Hallmark. I love those ornaments. However, since there are so many different ones tempting me, I usually save myself the burden of decision-making by waiting until after Christmas, when everything is so much cheaper and it’s all been so picked over that there’s considerably less to choose from. Plus, I always figure there’s the possibility that I might get one for Christmas. Rare indeed is the year when I don’t buy or receive at least one new Winnie the Pooh ornament, but those are hardly the only ones that catch my eye.

In a post-Christmas Hallmark excursion in 2007, I was headed out of the store when I spotted an ornament I hadn’t seen earlier, either that day or in the season as a whole. Entitled All Atwitter, it featured Thumper, the exuberant rabbit from Bambi, on the receiving end of an amorous advance. Since Thumper has always been my favorite character in that movie, I found it hard to resist. While it didn’t look much like a Christmas ornament to me, I actually considered that a plus; I figured I would buy it and put it out before Valentine’s Day and leave it up past Easter. It definitely has a springtime feel to it.

The name All Atwitter refers to the notion of being twitterpated, a concept that the wise Friend Owl explains to Bambi, Thumper and Flower when they express their bewilderment at the bizarre behavior of their fellow woodland creatures now that spring has arrived. Rarely has romance seemed so silly as in that iconic segment of Bambi, and if you were to rank all the animated Disney couples , something tells me that Thumper and his unnamed ladylove would come in pretty close to the bottom. Well, they are rabbits, after all; it doesn’t take a lot of provocation to arouse interest. But they certainly seem to be enjoying themselves.

This ornament has a flat, circular base that’s about two and a half inch inches in diameter. The top of the base is fairly rounded and covered with lush grass and bright pink and yellow flowers. There can be no doubt that the setting is spring. Thumper stands on the right, a dreamy look on his face; his eyes are half-closed, and his mouth is open into a goofy grin that reveals his buckteeth. On the left, the paler female rabbit with blushing cheeks and lashes on her closed eyes leans in to plant a kiss on his cheek. This is a magic ornament, with the simple but charming mechanism of Thumper living up to his name and thumping his foot at the turn of a small green knob on the side of the base. From ear tips to the bottom of the base, the ornament stands about three inches tall.

On the other side of the base is a long brass hook holder. It arches gracefully over the two, coming to rest with the small loop dead center. It’s easy to imagine that there is a sprig of mistletoe there; the placement would be perfect. The ornament isn’t heavy, but it’s on the large side, so it tilts a bit on the tree, but if you’re like me, you won’t put it on the tree anyway. I’ve got more Christmassy ornaments than I have room to hang, so I leave this one for the spring, and because it sits flat so nicely, I simply put it on the piano or a nearby shelf.

If you have fond memories of Bambi or have experienced the peculiar rush of twitterpation yourself, All Atwitter is an adorable ornament. You just might want to wait until after Christmas to break it out.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

The Irish Rovers Are Still Rovin' After All These Years

I’m a dyed-in-the-wool Irish gal, and one way that expresses itself is in the music I listen to. One of my favorite bands is the Irish Rovers, the Irish-Canadian group who first made a powerful impression on me when I was a toddler listening to Tales to Warm Your Mind, their early collection of quirky narrative songs. In the years since, I’ve seen them in concert several times and amassed a collection of their albums. My most recent acquisition is Still Rovin’ After All These Years, which features bandleader George Millar, instrumentalists Sean O’Driscoll and Fred Graham, balladeer John Reynolds, accordionist Wilcil McDowell and Ian Millar. The last I knew, balladeer Joe Millar was still with the group, so I was dismayed to see that he’d left, and I wonder when it happened, since the album makes no mention of it. Nonetheless, in their present form, the Irish Rovers are still just as much fun as ever.

A Long Time Ago - A lively start to the album. It was written by George Millar, and given the commemorative nature of this album, it seems as though it’s an autobiographical song, with the Irish Rovers reflecting on four and a half decades in the business. A nice group number, with soloists switching off on the verses and cheerful flutes backing them up. “A long time ago, a long time ago, for we’re the boys who made the noise a long time ago.”

Forty Years A-Roving - George wrote this one as well, and it also seems very autobiographical. I assume this was written for their 40th anniversary. Another great group song made more fun by the pipes and accordion. “Forty years a-rovin’, we haven’t had enough. Forty years a-rovin’, and we’ll never give it up…”

Rambling Boys of Pleasure - The accordion is especially prominent on this song, also by George, which celebrates the joys of a carefree life that includes considerable imbibing. A fun song with a lengthy instrumental portion midway through and again at the end that seems to encourage getting up and dancing. “We’ll rant and roar upon the spree, sing and dance right heartily. No sorrows, cares or woe have we, the rambling’ boys of pleasure.”

The Dear Little Shamrock Shore - A gentle song bemoaning the pain of emigration. John’s husky voice stands out to me most here, and the guitar accentuates the folksy tone of the ballad. The high whistle and the nautical sound effects add to the sense of loneliness the song conveys. Probably my favorite track. “Farewell to the ones I adore and the land I will see nevermore, for I’m sayin’ goodbye with a tear in my eye to the dear little shamrock shore.”

Up Among the Heather - The first song on the album not written by George. This one is a traditional tune with a bit of a nonsensical edge to it; the main purpose seems to be the see how fast they can sing and play. Entertaining but rather silly. “Up among the heather on the hill of Benakee, rollin’ with a wee girl underneath a tree, a bumbee stung me right above the knee up among the heather on the hill of Benakee.”

I Will Go A-Rovin’ - Another traditional song, this one fairly in line with Forty Years A-Roving, though it doesn’t apply as specifically to the band. It’s a song that revels in having the freedom to wander. There’s a thread of parting running through this, but it feels jubilant rather than regretful. “Now, I wouldn’t trade my life at all for the King of Spain’s own riches. I’m happy ramblin’ ‘round the hills and jumpin’ streams and ditches.”

Liza Jane - This traditional song rhapsodizing about the titular woman is sung by Ian, who holds his own well with balladry. A bit of a downer with an earnest man pining after a shallow woman, but a nice change from all the group songs. “…And little I thought that I’d soon be caught in the snares of Liza Jane.”

The Wild Colonel Boy - A fairly involved folk ballad about a young man who leaves the comfort of Ireland for an uncertain life as an outlaw in Australia. Probably the most narrative of the tracks, it’s peppy but with a splash of tragedy, and everyone In the group gets a chance to shine. Another favorite, though as I am a fan of the actor James McAvoy, I find one of the lines rather troubling… “He robbed the rich; he helped the poor; he shot James McAvoy. A terror to Australia was the wild colonial boy.”

Dunluce Castle - George takes the lead on this upbeat ode that he wrote to a castle that endured many attacks until it was undone by some nasty weather on “a dark and stormy night.” A mostly chipper tune with deep percussion that adds to the sense of regality. “Dunlace Castle fell to no man, sword or pike or cannonball, roving clans or Spanish foemen, Dunlace stood against them all.”

Brady of Strabane - This peppy traditional song is the only one on the album that I knew ahead of time from a previous Rovers album. This version seems faster than I remember, and it’s distinguished by prominent flutes. Basically a song of complaint against a boss who works the speaker a little harder than he expects. “’Well, you’re welcome with me, Johnny, and you’re with a decent man.’ But little I knew what I had to do for Brady of Strabane.”

Little Skillet Pot - A nostalgic song rather along the lines of Phil Coulter’s Gold and Silver Days. It’s just a series of questions asking if the listener remembers certain blissful times from younger years, going from early childhood to the joys of young love. A sweetly wistful song that concludes with an extended instrumental segment. “Oh, weren’t them the happy days when troubles we knew not and our mothers made colcannon in the little skillet pot?”

Rory Murphy - Another traditional ballad on which the singers trade off verses. Burly Scotsman Rory is a piper who is beloved throughout the land for his music but is undone by his drinking problem. Mostly an upbeat tune complete with pipes and austere drums to give us a sense of the music he spread. “Saw ye Rory Murphy, Rory Murphy, Rory Murphy, saw ye Rory Murphy, piper o' Dumbarton?”

Home From the Sea - This mellow track, the last one aside from the instrumental medley that follows, is another George original, and it threw me at first because it’s also the name of a Coulter song that is the central point in Celtic Thunder’s new Heritage album. This mandolin-enhanced tune is entirely different, however, a lighthearted song about a rambling rover who falls in love and decides to settle down. Makes a nice bookend to the early tracks about happy wandering. “I’m home from the sea; no more I’ll go rovin’. I’m home from the sea; no more will I stray.”

The Jig Set: Father Kelly’s Jig / Langstrom’s Pony / The Lark in the Morning - Few instruments in the world can compare with the beauty and joy produced by Irish instruments, and the Rovers aim to bring that across here. A fun medley to get the toes tappin’.

Allegedly, this disc includes four bonus live tracks, but despite their presence on the track listing, I seem to lack to ability to make them magically appear. Three of the four - Black Velvet Band, The Unicorn and Wasn’t That a Party - are well-worn Rovers classics. The fourth, entitled Boogevogue, is one I’ve never heard of before, but evidently it’s another lively jig. I’m not sure how I ended up with a copy that seems to be missing four tracks, so that’s a bit disappointing, but I don’t really care because I have three of them on other albums anyway. Still, just something to watch for. It’s possible that you’ll only end up with 14 tracks when you’re expecting 18.

That complaint aside, this is another nice collection from the Irish Rovers. It’s sad to see another original member of the group fall by the wayside, but from the sounds of Still Rovin’ After All These Years, the remaining Rovers have plenty more ramblin’ yet to do.

Remember the 2010 Winter Olympics With Quatchi

Last February, I turned 29. On the day I went out for my birthday dinner, my mind was mostly occupied with thoughts of LOST, as the final season of my favorite TV series had begun the week before and I was busy trying to find ways to use that as a springboard for my own creativity. However, when we got home, we turned on the television to find the opening ceremonies of the 2010 Winter Olympics occurring, and I quickly got caught up in the excitement of this international event. While I’ve never been too attuned to sporting events in general, I love the spirit of intercultural communication and unity that pervades the Olympics. Yes, it’s a competition, but it’s also a time when it’s easy to feel a sense of kinship with people around the world as millions of eyes focus upon the same displays of athletic prowess. The world always feels a little smaller when I watch the Olympics.

The next day, a package arrived from my friend Cynthia, who lives in Toronto. I don’t recall discussing the impending Olympics with her ahead of time, but I opened the box to find it full of official gear. Because they were held in Vancouver, the Olympics were a matter of national pride throughout Canada, and I appreciated Cynthia’s thoughtfulness in making me feel more fully a part of the festivities. For the rest of the winter, I could often be seen wearing an ice-blue scarf and matching hat with flaps that cozily covered my ears, both bearing the emblem of the 2010 Vancouver Olympics. Along with these practical items, I also got a plush Quatchi, the irresistible mascot of the 2010 games.

Quatchi is meant to be a Sasquatch, though he doesn’t look much like a traditional Bigfoot to me, at least the one I have. He’s a cuddly little butterball, almost perfectly round with arms that dangle at his sides. His hands are beige; he seems to be wearing mittens. Meanwhile, he appears to be wearing boots, which are striped in alternating shades of brown. On the left boot is the 2010 Olympics symbol. The bottoms of the boots are a lighter brown and ridged like corduroy. Aside from the hands and boots, the only part of Quatchi that is smooth is his face, which stretches across the middle front of his head and is just large enough to accommodate a thick black smile and two black eyes, as far apart as they can get, and a shiny brown plastic nose.

The rest of Quatchi is covered in shaggy brown hair about the shade of the titular alien on the campy 1980s TV series ALF. Just underneath his chin is a tuft of hair that is more beige in color, but otherwise the hair is uniformly medium brown. Quatchi’s fur is incredibly soft, as is whatever he is stuffed with. The tag indicates that he is made up of polyester fibers. There’s variation in the textures of this little guy, particularly when you factor in the crystal blue earmuffs resting atop his head, but he is 100 percent snuggly.

I only wish he were a bit bigger. At seven and a half inches tall, he’s a little larger than your average Tribble, a wheat-eating furball that causes Captain Kirk oodles of headaches in a classic Star Trek episode. That smaller size makes him an ideal desktop decoration, but he’s so cuddly that he’d make a great substitute for a teddy bear if he were maybe four times the size he is now. That would also make him look more Bigfootish, I imagine; right now he’s more of a Littlefoot. But whatever his size, he sure is cute with that soft fur, the arms that seem to be begging for a hug and the understated but expansive grin that exudes friendliness. The 2010 Winter Olympics are long over now, but Quatchi serves as a welcome reminder of that great moment in Vancouver history.

Farley Follows His Nose and Finds an Adventure

For Better or For Worse will always have a special place in my heart as the comic strip that convinced me to start reading the Sunday comics. My mom had read one of the strips aloud, and it felt so pertinent and true-to-life that I was intrigued and had to read it for myself, and then I decided that I really ought to make a regular habit of it. Since Elizabeth had many of my personality traits and was just a little older than me, I always found plenty to relate to in the strip, in which the characters aged at a normal rate and creator Lynn Johnston crafted many complex storylines.

With the strips covering nearly 30 years in the life of the Canadian Patterson family, it was only natural that Farley, the great big English Sheepdog who was the family pet, would not make it to the end of the strip, and the storyline dealing with his death was one of the most touching and heartbreaking of the strip’s long run. However, in 2008, Johnston decided to go back in time, creating new strips involving the Pattersons as a young family, and in 2009, she and her daughter, Beth Cruikshank, collaborated on a picture book that brought Farley roaring back to life.

Farley Follows His Nose is not a collection of comic strips. Johnston’s distinctive style is stamped all over the pages, but she has huge spaces to work with instead of the usual tiny boxes. There’s something really visceral about that, as refreshing as a big wet dog shaking himself out over a verdant lawn, as Farley does early in the book. We see matriarch Elly, the strip’s main character, at the beginning and end of the book, and we get enough of a glimpse of the children to see that Elizabeth is a toddler – clutching the stuffed bunny she loses in the television special The Bestest Present – and Michael is in elementary school. The focus, however, is on the exuberant Farley.

This is a very simple story that reminds me a bit of Beverly Cleary’s Ribsy, in which the beloved dog belonging to Henry Huggins gets loose and traverses the town on a series of adventures. Ribsy’s trek lasts longer; Farley’s is restricted to one day. But the dog’s-eye – or, more accurately, dog’s-nose – view is similar, as is the series of friends he makes, only to quickly continue on his way. The story is held together by the device of a wave of words or phrases, four of them all smooshed together, each in a different color. Each phrase is a smell that captures Farley’s attention, and the rainbow-colored list is followed by an “and…” that takes readers to the next page, where the most exciting smell of all is presented in extra-large, colorful letters and followed by an exclamation point.

Farley does a lot of sniffing in this book. We often see him raising his nose to the air or snuffling in the dirt as onomatopoeic words describing his olfactory activities surround his head. It’s his sense of smell that leads Farley to the next stop on his uncharted adventure, and when he decides the time has come to head back, all he has to do is follow the smells backward, reminding me of the classic animated Sesame Street sequence in which a lost child was advised, “Try to remember the things you passed, and when you come back, make the first thing last.” He doesn’t do it entirely consciously; he’s mostly thinking about the possibility of returning to the site of the best smells of the day, which included hot dogs, popcorn and children. Still, it’s a good strategy, and it makes me wish my sense of smell was a little more fine-tuned.

This is a story that is repetitive and uncomplicated, but with just enough variation from page to page to keep things interesting. Most pages include only a couple sentences, with the pictures doing most of the talking. The primary audience is clearly children about Elizabeth’s age; even Michael could probably consider this a bit below his reading level. However, when it comes to longtime fans of the strip, Farley Follows His Nose is fantastic fun for all ages.

Booky Makes Her Mark Melodramatically

Booky Makes Her Mark is the first in a series of Canadian made-for-TV movies based on a book series about a Depression-era family living in Toronto. However, it takes place several years after the two movies that follow it, and it was the third movie that I saw. Hence, I had a hard time thinking of it as the first. While all the movies were directed by Peter Moss, there are significant differences between this movie and the next two, and I’m not sure which is truer to the book. In any case, although I mostly enjoyed this installment, it’s easily my least favorite of the three.

The only actors who appear in both this movie and the ones that follow are Megan Follows and Stuart Hughes, who are Francie and Thomas Thomson, Booky’s parents. Francie is tough and resourceful, while Thomas is hardworking but very angsty. As the movie begins, Thomas is once again out of work, and the family is evicted. It’s just the first in a string of unfortunate events that occur in this rather bleak film. Despite the difficult times, the other two movies have an upbeat tone to them, and nothing ever seems to get Francie down for long, but here, she is almost as cantankerous as Thomas, who is at his most ornery yet.

Tatiana Maslany looks as though she could legitimately be the older version of Rachel Marcus, the actress who plays Booky in the other two movies. In this one, she is 15 years old, and that means major teen melodrama. The 11-year-old is almost always cheerful and plucky, but at 15, she is prone to flinging herself down on her bed and wailing, “This is the worst day of my life!” It seems every time something good happens to her, something comes along to ruin it. Granted, her misery is usually at least somewhat understandable, but she almost always blows it out of proportion, especially considering the life-or-death concerns that plague her parents. It would seem I should relate to her more in this movie than the others, since it is here that she decides she wants to be a writer, but more often than not, I found her behavior annoying. Her most redeeming quality is her consistent kindness to Roy-Roy (Philip Riccio), a mentally disabled man who lives in the neighborhood.

Booky’s little brother Jakey, who provides many light moments in the other two movies, is nowhere in sight. Not having read the books, I don’t know if something happened to the character or if he was just cut from the adaptation and then added back in later, but I missed his presence, particularly since Booky’s older brother Arthur (Erik Knudsen) is such an obnoxious ne’er-do-well in this one. The character whose personality is most consistent throughout the series is Willa (Sarah Allen), Booky’s sweet, studious older sister, but oddly, she seems to be the same age in this movie as she is in the other two.

Additionally, it’s a little jarring that neither of Booky’s close female friends is in this movie, though rich blonde Gloria (Kate Todd) is similar to Laura and plain brunette Ada-May (Lauren Collins) is a lot like Rosie. Georgie (Ephraim Ellis), the object of Booky’s affections in Booky’s Crush, is present, but she doesn’t think much of him, instead reserving her ardor for the wealthy and handsome Lorne (Mike Lobel).

As Booky’s parents try to scrape out the family’s survival, Booky deals with a series of humiliations, some the fault of her parents, others the fault of her friends but most at least partly her own fault, as she is so prone to overreactions. The mildest criticism sends her into the depths of despair, while an accomplishment turns her into an insufferable egotist. My favorite segment of the movie finds her out in the country with her hardscrabble Aunt Aggie (Roberta Maxwell), a spinster farmer, working her fingers to the bone in the hopes that all that clean country air will cure her of her chronic cough. Aggie’s determination and no-nonsense way of putting things is refreshing in the midst of all the soaring teen emotions.

As with the other movies in the series, this one is rich in period detail, and the sets look very realistic. I would say this one is a bit less of a family film, since none of the characters are younger than their teens and since the overall tone is darker. There’s also a bit of profanity, and we see several teens smoking cigarettes. On the other hand, one point of interest unique to this movie is the presence of L. M. Montgomery, author of the Anne of Green Gables series, as a character who meets with Booky and offers her advice on her writing craft. Fans of Anne or other Montgomery characters may want to check out the movie just for that. While I prefer the movies that focus on Booky’s younger years, Booky Makes Her Mark is still a well-crafted film that shines a light on a fascinating historical period.

Aliana Brodmann Celebrates Cross-Cultural Compassion in The Gift

In most books I’ve read that involve Hanukkah, the holiday itself is a central part of the story, but in The Gift, a semi-autobiographical picture book written by Aliana Brodmann and illustrated by Anthony Carnabuci, both Hanukkah and Christmas linger in the background of a beautiful tale about generosity and compassion.

The story takes place in Germany in the 1950s, where the narrator recalls her excitement at having received a five-mark piece as a Hanukkah gift from her father. She carries the coin with her all through school, clutching it in her fist, then spends the afternoon perusing every shop in town trying to decide what the best use of this splendid present might be.

One neat thing about this book is all of the details of the types of objects found in shops of the time. It’s fascinating to read her descriptions of the fancy fountain pens, the tiny mirrors, the elegant hats, the pull-string duck with the line of ducklings behind it. Almost every item she examines is within her price range; one can certainly understand how she becomes overwhelmed with all of the choices before her!

The oil paintings are soft and intricate. Each shop the girl visits has a distinct assortment of goods, and several of the shopkeepers stand out, treating the little girl in the bright red coat and hat and deep blue scarf with kindness as she tries to make her decision. The fact that it is Christmas means that the shops are full to bursting with tempting merchandise. It also means that it’s winter, and by the end of her excursion, gentle snowflakes will render her warm clothing absolutely essential.

This book offers an intriguing slice of life from 1950s Germany, and the youthful but artful narration draws readers in. What really leaves a lasting impression on me, though, is what the child ultimately decides to do with her money. It’s a conclusion that recalls the exquisite Kate DiCamillo book Great Joy as the narrator’s kind heart compels her to make a surprising choice that nonetheless causes her to bubble over with happiness.

The peaceful rapport between the narrator and the many Christians she meets adds to the serene feel of the book; Brodmann’s parents survived the Holocaust, so there’s something especially poignant about seeing this childhood memory that conveys such a sense of mutual respect. A lovely book alight with the glow of compassion, The Gift is aptly titled.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

LarryBoy Gets a Big Head in Leggo My Ego

Several years ago, the creators of the computer-animated Christian video series VeggieTales decided to branch out into slightly different territory with a series of regular 2-D animated videos starring superhero LarryBoy, an amalgam of Batman’s gadgetry and Larry the Cucumber’s goofiness. His faithful butler, portrayed by Archibald Asparagus, provides another tie to the Batman series, though these videos also borrow from Superman by placing him in the news room and introducing characters comparable to Jimmy Olsen and Lois Lane. The third of these videos is Leggo My Ego.

Aside from an opening song, which frankly isn’t all that memorable, there’s no music in this video, and the flat style takes some getting used to. It has a retro feel to it, like the original Alvin and the Chipmunks cartoon or Powerpuff Girls. The look is a lot simpler than that of the regular series, but it’s still fun to watch. I do find it a little curious that the landscape is populated by characters who resemble established Veggie characters but aren’t. There’s a pair of what I take to be beets who function much like Jimmy and Jerry Gourd, particularly in regard to their huge appetites, and instead of a Scottish carrot for a cop we have a Swedish gourd named Olaf. Vicki is a bit punchier than Petunia usually is but basically serves the same role she does in several Veggie videos.

The main story is pretty short at just about 20 minutes, and it’s not very complicated. A dastardly pair of villains plans to take over Bumblyburg, and to do that, they have invented a substance that shrinks citizens. The gas cloud is activated when LarryBoy says something that belittles one of his friends. The villains goad him into these assertions by playing on his insecurities, and the more he diminishes others, the easier it gets. The story demonstrates the link that often exists between low self-esteem and egotism, emphasizing the fact that tearing others down to make yourself seem more important is a very bad idea.

There’s some humor to be found in the spectacle of the various characters becoming teeny-tiny, with voices to match, and The Alchemist, despite his rather imposing name, is a pretty wimpy excuse for a villain. His mother is the one pulling all the strings, and I almost get the sense that if it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t be in the super-villain business at all. He’s really not very good at it. In fact, like LarryBoy, he mostly seems to be overcompensating for the lack of appreciation he feels from others – in this case, his own mother. While she is more intimidating, she too is more comical than scary. The dynamic between the two reminds me of Gru and his mother in Despicable Me.

The video is filled with slapsticky moments like LarryBoy getting caught in an explosion of cotton candy and annoying his Superhero School classmate to the point that she sets a gale-force wind on him, tearing apart the classroom. It’s fun, but the humor here generally isn’t as clever as it is in the main series. That’s especially true in the short Cuke of All Trades, a silly cartoon that goes along with the theme of Larry not feeling very appreciated. It’s his birthday, but instead of being celebrated, he’s left in charge of a bakery and a candle shop while the owners head off on enigmatic errands and customers suddenly swarm in. This is a very predictable short, though I found it fairly amusing.

Leggo My Ego has a great title and some entertaining elements, and it seems likely to fare well with a very young audience. However, I don’t think it has quite the multi-generational appeal that most of the videos in this series do. Considering how few of the videos were released, I’m guessing I’m not alone in thinking that.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Get to Know Winnie the Pooh's Namesake in A Bear Named Winnie

This Friday, the new Disney movie Winnie the Pooh hits theaters, and though I’m not sure how well the tubby little cubby can compete against the final installment of that equally popular British export known as Harry Potter, I know I’m not the only one looking forward to seeing him on the big screen again. In anticipation of that event, I watched A Bear Named Winnie, the 2004 live-action film directed by John Kent Harrison, who wrote it with John Goldsmith based on the true story by Simon Vaughan.

In this movie, set during World War I, we get the story of Lt. Harry Colebourn (Michael Fassbender), a young Canadian soldier in a veterinary corps who rescues an orphaned bear cub and smuggles her aboard the train to training camp. He names her Winnipeg after his hometown and calls her Winnie for short. While his gruff commander, Col. John Barret (Gil Bellows), warns him that he’s going to have to do something about her before they head off to do some real fighting, Winnie quickly grows very attached to Harry, and shaking her off isn’t going to be so easy.

Winnie is the bear after whom Winnie the Pooh is named, and the movie is framed by scenes several years later that show her at the London Zoo, where she is one of the most popular residents. The bulk of the movie deals with her presence at the training camp in Quebec and later in England, after Harry pulls off another smuggling act, this time in a sea chest. His chief accomplices in this endeavor are geeky Ivy League graduate Ian Macray (Jonathon Young) and cheerful goofball Randy Taylor (Aaron Ashmore). As powerful as the bond between Winnie and Henry is, the movie is just as much about the friendship between these young men, particularly Henry and Ian.

Winnie, played by three different bears named Chester, Charlie and Bonkers, is a charming creature, though she is loud and rather disaster-prone. She has a habit of bellowing in moments of distress, and her ingenuity causes problems when she escapes and makes for the mess tent. However, in times of tranquility she is a comfort to those around her, whether she is nuzzling noses with the camp horses or wrapping her furry limbs around Harry in a firm bear hug. There are moments of comedy with her disastrous antics, but the story more often veers toward the heartwarming.

The only member of the cast I recognized was Ashmore, who has so consistently charmed me as Smallville’s fresh-faced Jimmy Olsen. His character here is of a similar disposition, and he adds levity to most of the scenes in which he appears. Young brings an uptight but sympathetic air to Ian, who is sheltered and jittery but very passionate about his veterinary work. The core friendship between Ian and the more outgoing Henry is helpful in getting us to understand the plight of soldiers during this time. The stern but kind presence Bellows brings stands in contrast to the lunacy of the unit’s top commander (David Suchet), a general who is far removed from soldiers’ concerns.

A Bear Named Winnie is mostly a war story, though its PG rating keeps it from becoming too graphic, even as it delves into some of the harsh realities of wartime. It’s a tale of friendship and how bonds forged in trying times can carry the despairing through to happier days. Christopher Robin and A. A. Milne are characters in the movie, and an end-credits note confirms their identities, but this is not really their tale. They have just enough of a screen presence to tie the movie in with the Winnie whose popularity continues a century later. That Winnie remains my favorite of all fictional bears, but it seems the real Winnie had a lot to recommend her as well.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Torontonians Find Joy in a Depression-Era Christmas in Booky and the Secret Santa

This week, while browsing Netflix, I came upon the Booky series of TV movies based upon the books by Bernice Thurman Hunter. I watched the last one first, then proceeded to Booky and the Secret Santa, which came out in 2007. The children in this G-rated slice of historical fiction directed by Peter Moss are noticeably a bit younger, but they look mostly the same, and whatever characters are in both movies are portrayed by the same actors. This movie is set in December, and I presume it’s supposed to be about nine months before Booky’s Crush.

While times are lean in Booky’s Crush, the sense of monetary crisis is even more acute in Booky and the Secret Santa. Toronto is teetering on the brink of Depression, and Thomas Thomson (Stuart Hughes), a hardworking harness maker, is out of a job as the company employing him switches over to using motorized vehicles. That’s bad news for the whole family, especially his daughter Booky (Rachel Marcus), whose best friend Laura Westover (Emilia McCarthy) is the daughter of a woman one character describes as a “social-climbing nobody.” Uppity Mrs. Westover (Nahanni Johnstone) doesn’t want her daughter hanging around with a girl whose family is practically impoverished. All Booky wants is the freedom to enjoy her friend’s company and enough money to make a nice Christmas like those to which she is accustomed.

I found the class dynamics at play in this movie interesting, and I love the Christmassy setting. It often seems to be the case that remarkable things occur around Christmas, and that’s what Booky is hoping will happen here. Unlike her practical teenage sister Willa (Sarah White) and angsty older brother Arthur (Dylan Everett), Booky has not yet entirely let go of the possibility that Santa Claus could exist. She doesn’t believe in him with the fervor displayed by her little brother Jakey (Noah Ryan Scott), who is desperate for a red trike, but she still thinks he might be out there somewhere. In fact, he might be living among her friends and neighbors, and they don’t even know it.

The most dynamic side character this time around is Mrs. Westover, who comes across as incredibly shallow and persnickety. One of the chief questions of the movie is whether she is capable of genuine friendship or whether every friendly gesture she makes is merely a means to an end. Silent sparks fly when she and Booky’s mother Francie, a spunky woman played by Megan Follows of Anne of Green Gables fame, are in the same room. Through the adults, we see the struggles that typified the late 1920s and early 1930s, while the children, particularly Booky and Laura, demonstrate the joy and hope that the season can bring even in the darkest times.

Johnstone is exquisitely annoying in her role, but the best addition to the cast this time around is Kenneth Welsh as Mr. Eaton, the kindly owner of one of Canada’s most prominent retailers. He and Booky, whom he affectionately calls “Little Bluebird” because of her vibrant winter coat, forge a friendship after she gets a job distributing nut samples outside her aunt’s store. He is a regular customer, and he finds her cheerful and inquisitive nature a delight. Booky, inspired in part by a comic book about a detective with a dual identity, begins to wonder if her elderly friend with the twinkle in his eye could actually be Santa. And if he is, might he be able to help the Thomsons have a merry Christmas after all? Walsh is wonderful in the role, especially whenever he lets loose with a rumbly laugh that sounds suspiciously like a “Ho ho ho,” and he and Marcus have quite a sweet rapport.

While the time period matters in Booky’s Crush, I would say that it’s even more significant in this movie, which shows more broadly the effects of the economic downturn as well as the creative ways that people dealt with it. Some of the Christmassy aspects of the film are most endearing. My favorite seasonal moment comes when a neighbor girl comes by, pulled on a makeshift sleigh hitched up to several children tied together and sporting twig-antlers on their heads. It just goes to show that you don’t need a lot of money or fancy gadgets to have a good time.

While I loved Booky’s Crush, I think I enjoyed Booky and the Secret Santa even more. Although one would be most inclined to watch it near Christmas, this story of friendship and optimism makes for great viewing any time of year.