Little Women Celebrates Stories, Sisterhood and Their Intersections

Ten years ago, someone made a decision that would ultimately have an enormous impact on both of our lives. That someone was my very dear friend Beth, who joined Epinions ten years ago today under the name Befus. She had no idea when she typed that initial review that it would be the first of more than a thousand, but she has poured her heart and soul into upwards of 1200 reviews here, each a well-crafted gem that reveals her gentle spirit and hearty humor along with her incisive insights.

While we encountered each other occasionally beforehand, my friendship with Beth began in earnest in October of 2005 thanks to our shared passion for J. R. R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis and poetry, and though I’d been on the site five years at that point, it wasn’t until then that Epinions truly felt like home. In the seven and a half years since, we have ruminated over countless tales that ignite our souls, warm our hearts and reflect the Love of our great Creator. We reread the Harry Potter series together in anticipation of the final installment, volleyed e-mails back and forth as we puzzled over the conundrums of LOST, shared our enthusiasm over easy reader masters like Arnold Lobel and Cynthia Rylant, and gave each other an endless stream of recommendations.

Together, we’ve witnessed enormous changes in our families, particularly the growth of her highly creative and compassionate daughter, now on the cusp of 11, and the graduations and relocations of my very different but equally accomplished brothers. We’ve shared our deepest dreams and fears, spurred each other to new creative heights, comforted each other in the midst of our darkest lows and giggled madly over absurd IM conversations well past midnight. We share the sort of bond enjoyed by Jo and Beth, the two middle sisters in the Louisa May Alcott novel Little Women. As I pondered what to review in order to mark Beth’s Epi-versary – which also coincides with my 3333rd post here – my boyfriend Will, to whom Beth introduced me, suggested the 1994 film adaptation of this classic, one of the dearest stories to Beth’s heart.

I saw this version when it first came out, one of the few movies I watched in the theater with my paternal grandma, and aside from an Alcott biography I’d read that touched on the novel, it served as my introduction to the story, though it’s funny I hadn’t read the book, since Little Women was the first novel my dad ever read. Certainly it has an appeal that transcends gender and generational divides. The tale involves the four March sisters – upright Meg, spunky Jo, angelic Beth and tempestuous Amy – who grow up amid the backdrop of the Civil War with a father on the front lines and a tough but graceful mother who raises them to be kind, moral young ladies of intelligence and resourcefulness.

As I watched, I was struck again by the similarities between protagonist Jo and Anne Shirley, the heroine of L. M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables series. Both are aspiring writers who are drawn to the melodramatic and fanciful and only meet with widespread literary success when they take the initially infuriating advice of a love interest and write instead from their personal experience. Both are non-conformists who display extremes of generosity and pettiness. Both are horrified when a dear chum proposes marriage, and both struggle mightily with the idea of growing up and accepting the changes that separate them from cherished friends and family. Winona Ryder captures the swirling emotions of this dynamic character perfectly. While the girls are often together throughout the movie, we get to know Jo much more intimately, and she feels very real, both flawed and extraordinary.

As appealing as Jo is, I’ve always been particularly drawn to the sweet, sickly Beth, who, like me, is rather shy and enjoys playing the piano. Claire Danes conveys her hesitance and gentleness well, and her scenes involving her illnesses are particularly affecting. I found myself wishing we would see a bit more of her, but when she is a central character, she makes a powerful impact. Trini Alvarado also seems to embody Meg well, though she gets even less attention than Beth and at times seems a little lost in the shuffle. The trilling, motor-mouthed young Kirsten Dunst is a little dynamo as Amy, the youngest sister, and she frequently steals the spotlight with her precocious mischief. In contrast, Samantha Mathis seems listless as the older Amy; if we’d only seen her at this age, it might feel like a more fitting performance, but as it is I just found myself missing that spit and vinegar.

This adaptation was written by Robin Swicord and directed by Gillian Armstrong, who both seem to have great affection for the source material. The movie is beautifully filmed, especially the winter scenes full of gently falling snow and festive expanses. It also makes one feel good about humanity; while everyone has foibles, there’s a real sense of goodness throughout, and even ornery old cranks like Mary Wickes’ Aunt March and John Neville’s Mr. Laurence display moments of exuberance and grace. While I always felt bad for Christian Bale’s boyish Laurie, who remains frozen in time by the woman he so desperately loves, the more seasoned sweetness of Gabriel Byrne’s German professor Friedrich Bhaer is equally endearing, if not so steeped in shared history.

Little Women might not be a perfect adaptation – so few of those exist – but then, as it was my starting point, I don’t much mind the omissions and departures. I find it a lovely family film that celebrates inventiveness, companionship and a deep love of the written word, all hallmarks of my friendship with Beth. For the ways in which superlative stories have brought us together, I am deeply grateful; my life would be woefully bereft were she not a part of it. Here’s to you, Beth!

Spielberg's War Horse Pays Tribute to Four-Legged Soldiers

I’ve always been a sucker for a good horse movie, and anything directed by Steven Spielberg usually piques my interest, so even though I generally avoid war movies, 2011’s War Horse had been on my radar for a while. I got to watch it this week after my aunt gave it to us, proclaiming it an excellent film, and while there were moments I couldn’t watch what was unfolding on the screen, I would have to agree.

The movie begins in rural England, where stubborn farmer Ted Narracott (Peter Mullan) spends more money than he has on a horse unlikely to be suited to the crucial task of plowing his field. The animal is beautiful, however, and had already been admired as a colt by Ted’s gentle, idealistic son Albert (Jeremy Irvine). The boy vows to train the horse and teach him to plow the field, the harvest from which is the only thing standing between the Narracotts and financial ruin. The horse, who he names Joey, is wild and restless, but he and the boy bond deeply and spend a blissful summer together. Then, disaster strikes, and the adventure begins.

Nearly the first hour of the movie is placid and fairly light-hearted, marked by gorgeous expanses of green English land and tender moments of companionship between boy and horse. However, when a failed harvest leads Ted to sell Joey to the cavalry in the early days of World War I, much to Albert’s fury, the tone changes – not instantly, but after a few minutes, with the charge of a German camp. From that point forward, the movie becomes much darker, with moments of light as Joey meets with various kind-hearted individuals who recognize his superlative spirit.

Albert is the main human protagonist, though we leave him for long stretches of time while we follow Joey’s progress as he keeps changing hands and witnesses the horrors of war from a horse’s-eye view. Irvine, starring in his first feature film, makes Albert deeply sympathetic, and Emily Watson brings a no-nonsense but compassionate edge to the role of his mother Rose. Mullan is by turns endearingly daft and frighteningly cold, while David Thewlis evokes ire as his obnoxious long-time rival. Other characters come and go fairly quickly, each leaving a significant mark, particularly Niels Arestrup as a doting grandfather who encounters Joey midway through the movie.

The film is beautifully shot and directed, and we truly feel the plight of the countless horses conscripted into service and made to face barrages of bullets and backbreaking labor tugging artillery. We see this especially through the first horse Joey meets in the army, a black stallion who isn’t nearly as clever or strong as Joey, who looks after him. Even as we root for Joey to defy all the odds to reunite with Albert and return home in peace after the war, the carnage of human and horse alike that swirls around him is devastating.

The movie has a slightly fanciful quality to it as Joey has so many close brushes with calamity in the most hostile of environments, but Spielberg still shows the ugliness of war quite plainly. Several scenes are downright heartbreaking, and as Joey finds himself on both sides of the conflict at various points, we feel the Germans’ pain just as acutely and see their humanity. As the movie is rated PG-13, the violence is toned down somewhat, but there are still grotesque moments aplenty, even if they aren’t as graphic as Saving Private Ryan. He certainly couldn’t be accused of making war look glamorous.

This isn’t the kind of movie I’d be likely to watch repeatedly, but it is an excellent film that is both touching and horrifying. While it’s not based on a true story, it is rooted in a very specific historical situation and therefore has educational as well as entertainment value. Though it covers rougher territory than many films exploring the bond between human and animal, the journey Spielberg asks viewers to take is an important one with a bittersweet conclusion emphasizing the power of love in the midst of unbearable pain.

One Was Johnny, Who Just Wanted Some Time to Read

It’s always fun to stumble upon a new-to-me book by a beloved author, especially when that writer is deceased. Such was the case for me with One Was Johnny, a counting book written by Maurice Sendak in 1962. At half a century old, the book is fairly simplistic and doesn’t quite reflect the inventive brilliance of which Sendak was capable, but the illustration style is recognizably his, as is his fondness for mayhem.

The book is small, about seven inches tall and five inches wide, and contains 42 pages of story, though only about half of those pages contain text. The rarely-broken pattern finds a picture covering two pages, with two lines of text on the right page. The first page rhymes with the second, and so on. Additionally, nearly every page with text begins with a number – first 1 through 10, then 9 through 1. The number 10 is a bit of a cheat, since every other number correlates to how many living beings are in the room. However, it makes an effective mid-point to the story.

Sendak seems to have been having fun with this book, despite the ornery attitude of the main character, a solitary boy named Johnny. All of the animals in this book are up to some sort of mischief, so things have gotten pretty wild by the time Johnny decides he needs to put a stop to it. Sendak also comes up with some rather inventive rhymes such as “Havana” and “banana.”

As is typical of books from this time period, One Was Johnny includes some color, but it still has a fairly drab look to it. Mostly, he uses shades of blue and yellow to augment the black and white drawings. One might think all the blue in Johnny’s house could be indicative of a sad spirit, but watching his facial expressions change from page to page, it’s quite evident that he is perfectly happy with his life as it is and the only thing that brings him misery is too much company.

I suppose one could say, then, that the tone of the tale is a bit anti-social, but any introvert can appreciate this young man’s need for alone time. As a man who spent much of his life writing and drawing in some degree of seclusion, I imagine that Sendak would have been annoyed by such a barrage of uninvited guests too. It’s probably worth noting that when the book begins, Johnny is reading, truly an endeavor worthy of a little space.

There are other counting books that I prefer to this, but if you’re looking for something simple yet entertaining, this quick romp through a little room filled with a boy and eight interlopers is an enjoyable option.

An Ivy Leaguer Gets a Circus Education in Water for Elephants

This line from the Buddy Mondlock song The Kid sprang to mind right away as I watched the 2011 drama Water for Elephants, in which a contemporary centenarian reflects on his experience in the circus in 1931. The movie was a gift from my aunt, who came to town with my uncle last week to visit my convalescing mom. One of two movies that she offered as film night fodder, it appealed to her especially because of the animals involved, particularly Rosie, the elephant referred to in the title.

Robert Pattinson doesn’t stray far from the golden boy image he’s presented as noble Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory in the Harry Potter series and protective vampire Edward in the Twilight series. Jacob is intelligent, sensitive and a bit coddled, having had a very happy childhood with his Polish farmer parents. His world comes crashing around him when, in the very midst of taking the final exam that will grant him his veterinarian’s license, his parents are killed in a car crash and he learns that all of their resources belong to the bank. Grief-stricken and penniless, he takes to the rails and winds up on a circus train. He has the skills needed to tend to the menagerie, but dealing with deranged ringmaster August (Christoph Waltz) and resisting the charms of his vulnerable wife Marlena (Reese Witherspoon) prove more difficult.

Jacob is extremely likable, a compassionate soul who is about to receive an intense education in how brutal the world can be. Marlena is a gentle but tragic figure, a woman of deep empathy for the creatures her husband abuses and an attraction to this young newcomer who is so much kinder than the man she married. Pattinson and Witherspoon work beautifully together, while the scenes with Waltz are fraught with tension as he so effectively plays a smiling tyrant whose next move can never be predicted. August’s brokenness is all too apparent, which makes him pitiable despite the desire to see him removed from his position and never allowed to hold sway over another again.

These three characters, along with the sweet and talented elephant August hopes will revive his circus’s fortunes, are central to the point that others are scarcely more than window dressing, but a side story involving paternal circus hand Camel (Jim Norton) and standoffish, short-statured Kinko (Mark Povinelli) helps draw us into the wider plight of circus performers, while Paul Schneider’s endearing performance as modern-day circus owner Charlie opposite Hal Holbrook’s aged Jacob show us how the business has changed.

There is some real darkness in this movie that explores the cruel underpinnings of a beloved form of entertainment. August is truly monstrous, not only to his animals but to his human employees, thinking nothing of having them heaved from the moving train when they misbehave or he simply can’t afford to keep them. I shudder to think this was common practice, but most of the film’s grimmer aspects are easy to believe. Nonetheless, while the film is steeped in ugliness, there are moments of piercing beauty, and the movie leaves us guessing right up until the final moments just how badly Jacob’s stint with August’s circus will end. The movie takes some cues from Titanic as it shows the gritty underbelly of what at first seems glamorous and sets us up for disaster, but we don’t know how encompassing that disaster will be, and that keeps the tension cranked up high throughout.

While the PG-13 movie has little language and very limited displays of sexuality, the violence is extreme at times, even if much of it is left to the imagination. I would stick with the rating guidelines here and avoid showing this to younger children, but teens should be able to handle it, and it might even be well-suited to a high school history class because of all the Depression-era issues it explores. While it’s not an entirely happy movie, Water for Elephants is well worth watching.

iSteve Offers a Humorous Look at Two Fascinating Steves

One of the perks of finding a movie or television series I really love is that it provides an entry point to countless other movies and series through its actors. My favorite series is LOST, which is rich and diverse enough in characters and their histories that there are about a hundred actors I can see in another setting and instantly identify them. Smaller is the list of LOST actors I actively seek out, and at the top of that list is Jorge Garcia, who played the expansively compassionate Hurley.

I have delighted in Garcia’s post-LOST appearances on How I Met Your Mother, Alcatraz and Once Upon a Time, a series whose LOST connections are almost too numerous to count, but until last month, the only movies I had seen him in were several years old. If it weren’t for his involvement, I don’t know how long it would have taken me to hear about iSteve, the Ryan Perez-directed movie that spoofs the life of Steve Jobs, but thanks to a Facebook tip-off, I was able to watch it within days of its being released on the website Funny or Die.

Given that my dad spent over three decades teaching computer science at the college level, I had some interest in and knowledge of the rocky path that Steve Jobs followed to techie superstardom, particularly since accounts of his life were so prevalent after his death in 2011. Those stories usually mentioned Steve Wozniak, painting him as a quieter, humbler man whose computer genius may have exceeded that of Jobs. When I saw him at a motivational seminar last summer, I was impressed with his message and his cheerful attitude, and I’ve remained especially drawn to his side of the story.

iSteve is primarily the tale of Jobs, which he narrates as part of a presentation in a venue not revealed until the film ends. However, it is also the story of Wozniak, and in many ways, it is a greater tribute to his perseverance and devotion. Justin Long plays the charismatic Jobs, who always manages to bounce back after even the most crushing defeats, while Garcia is the ever-faithful Wozniak, who tinkers with computers for the sheer love of it and follows Jobs out of loyalty even when his friend barely seems to acknowledge his existence.

The movie is classified as a spoof, so it becomes difficult sometimes to extract the threads of fact from the outright fabrications. However, the general trajectory of Jobs’ career can be found in this film, and the dynamics of his friendship with Wozniak seem to reflect much of what I have read about them. Other aspects, such as a longstanding flirtation between Jobs and Melinda Gates (Michaela Watkins), seem to have no basis in reality.

Given Long’s breakout role as the hip young Mac opposite a schlubby PC in a popular, long-running series of Apple ads, the very fact that he is playing Jobs feels amusingly appropriate. Meanwhile, the cuddly brand of geekery Garcia expressed so well as Hurley feels perfectly at home in Wozniak. Beyond these two familiar faces, the only cast member I recognized was Big Bang Theory’s John Ross Bowie as rival John Sculley, though several characters are prominent public figures, particularly Bill Gates (James Urbaniak).

As comedies go, I would say that iSteve is fairly understated. There were times I laughed aloud, but most of the action was pretty straightforward with just a quirky touch here and there. However, I found it very accessible and less dry than many biopics tend to be. My boyfriend Will agreed to watch it with me, expecting to be bored, and instead enjoyed it from beginning to end. It helps that it’s a fast-moving film that clocks in at just over an hour. There’s a bit of foul language and lewdness, but for the most part, it’s a reasonably clean movie that encourages interest in two great innovators and the tug-of-war that often occurs between entrepreneurship and friendship.

1989's Polly Injects Fresh Life Into a Classic Tale

My mom and boyfriend both count Disney’s Pollyanna among their favorite movies, and while I enjoy that sunny Hayley Mills classic, I fell in love with the perpetually optimistic orphan through another route. When I was around 10, my aunt sent us a few movies she’d taped off of television, one of which was the made-for-TV Disney movie Polly, released in 1989 and moving the setting up to the 1950s. This lively remake features Keshia Knight Pulliam and Phylicia Rashad, then starring as Rudy and Clair Huxtable on The Cosby Show, as the free-spirited Polly and her restrictive aunt of the same name.

As will happen with movies taped off of TV, the video went bad years ago, and Disney never made it available for purchase… until very recently. My friend Libbie, recalling my past praises of the movie, bought it a couple months ago, eager to share this beloved movie from my childhood with me, as well as her niece. We watched it together at her house, and then I borrowed it to watch with Mom and Will. Seeing it again after all these years was a joyful experience.

Like Rudy Huxtable, Pulliam’s Polly is a little spitfire, more tomboyish and less demure than Mills’ Pollyanna. She has an impish grin and can’t help putting a little ‘tude into her conversations, especially when she is dealing with a particularly stubborn person. The one exception to that is her severe aunt, to whom she is quietly respectful, though she does gently prod her in the direction of a more liberated way of living. Polly has a gift for seeing the good in every situation and individual, part of the legacy left to her by her father. She has a knack for lighting up places where darkness has come to dwell, so her presence in a town cowering under her aunt’s thumb is a refreshing game-changer.

In addition to giving this tale a more modern setting, director Debbie Allen and writer William Blinn give it a deeper impact by segregating the Alabama town of Harrington and making young Polly the means to integration. Celeste Holm is the cantankerous but secretly sweet Miss Snow, a name that is particularly appropriate here since she is generally considered the white version of the elder Polly, known to most of the townsfolk as Miss Harrington. She resides on the other side of a creek that was briefly covered by a bridge, but it burned down under mysterious circumstances shortly after it was built, deepening the divide between the two segments of town. Pollyanna already satisfies my deep longing for redemption stories, but the added dose of reconciliation makes this version especially powerful to me.

Rashad provides narration at the beginning and end, explaining that this is the story of a child who helped to build a bridge. The warmth in her voice allows us a foretaste of the thawing that occurs as the movie progresses. Though her demeanor is icy, this Polly never comes across as cruel. Instead, it’s apparent that she is someone who has built walls around herself in a gesture of self-preservation. While she speaks sternly to her niece at times, flickers of affection are apparent as well, and her slow return to romance with old beau Dr. Shannon, played with charm and a dazzling smile by Dorian Harewood, is complex and touching.

Aside from Holm, this is a film with an entirely black cast, and the musical numbers are largely reflective of Gospel and rhythm and blues. Several exuberant songs exist mainly for their own sake as the characters bask together in the joy of music, though a few quieter numbers are there primarily for character development.

The voices are great, as well as natural-sounding. I particularly appreciate that Polly is permitted to sing like a little girl, in a soft, sweet voice instead of trying to sound grown-up and glamorous with excessive runs and a brassy tone. Her Rainbow Maker, which she shares with Rashad and Vanessa Bell Calloway as affable maid Nancy, is a melodic treasure that incorporates one of the story’s most memorable elements, the prisms that scatter rainbows across the home of grumpy old Eben Pendergrass, played with dignity and a twinkly eye by Brock Peters. My favorite song, though, is probably the doo-wop number Sweet Little Angel Eyes, which includes wonderful harmonies and fancy footwork and cements Polly’s friendship with mischievous orphan Jimmy Bean (Brandon Quintin Adams).

I’m so happy that this movie is finally available on DVD, albeit exclusively through the Disney Movie Club and Disney Movie Rewards, as well as second-hand sources. Watching it was a delightful blast from the past, and I was excited to learn that the movie had a sequel, Polly Comin’ Home, which I am eager to check out soon. If you loved the 1960 version of Pollyanna, give Polly a try; I have a hunch it will make you just as glad.

It May Come As No Surprise, But Ostriches Are Oddities I Adore

With the exception of small stinging insects, I love animals of all kinds, but there are a few for which I have a special fondness. One of those is the ostrich, which my friend Libbie knows very well, so when she ran across the educational picture book But Ostriches…, written by Aileen Fisher and illustrated by Peter Parnall, she tucked it away to give me for Christmas.

Like many thrift store finds, this is an older book. It hails from 1970 and is black and white except for the cover, which includes variations of green and orange. The pictures are detailed line drawings not only of ostriches but also of many other birds. That’s because this book educates about ostriches by first educating about other types of birds.

Fisher gives examples of actions undertaken by certain birds then follows it with the title words. Some birds fly, but ostriches don’t. Some birds are tiny, but ostriches are huge. Some birds sing, but ostriches are far from melodic. These comparisons are composed through intricate rhymes, and the verse has a punchy, humorous quality to it. I laughed aloud several times on my first read-through. The language is also very lyrical at times, utilizing devices like alliteration and metaphors to create a sense of serenity or excitement.

There’s no set rhyme or rhythm scheme; it changes from page to page. Nonetheless, the writing on each page is expertly crafted, and the variety just adds to the fun of the book. It has often been my experience that verse in books for young children is a bit sloppy, so it makes my soul smile to see picture book poetry that just sings as this does.

For instance, the book begins in the following fashion: “Over the elms / and over the willows, // Over the pools / and ponds and billows, // Over the hills / and heights and hollows // Woodpeckers fly, and gulls, and swallows.” It goes on for another eight lines before we turn a page and learn, “But ostriches / never / can fly at all. / They’re far too big / and their wings / too small.” The book also dispels some bird-brained myths, chiefly: “And they don’t, / by the way, / with danger at hand / go bury their heads / in the sunny sand.”

I was surprised at how much information was jam-packed into this small square book of about 40 pages. It covers method of movement, number of toes, height and weight, nesting habits, eggs, vocalization and suitability as pets, with several pages spent on most topics. In addition to the ostriches, the book specifically mentions woodpeckers, gulls, swallows, orioles, hawks, sparrows, hummingbirds, wrens, linnets, robins, bluejays, crows, frigate birds, eagles, buzzards, herons, owls, whooping cranes, trumpeter swans, flickers, albatrosses, chickens, petrels, loons, larks, grouses, quail, canaries, parrots and mynah birds. Many other birds are referenced generally as part of a group such as songbirds or marshbirds.

I think it would be fun to publish a new edition of the book illustrated with full-color photographs of these fascinating animals. However, Parnall does an excellent job of capturing the beauty and awkwardness of the ostrich and its fellow feather-bearers. If you have a young ornithologist in your life or would just like to learn a bit more about birds yourself, But Ostriches… is a richly informative, intricately written and surprisingly entertaining resource.