Family Bonding and Friendship Come to the Forefront in The Wild

Several years ago, Dreamworks released Madagascar, and shortly thereafter, Disney released The Wild. Both were computer-animated films about a ragtag group of animals who escape a New York City zoo and are forced to fend for themselves in the wild. Both groups included a lion and a giraffe. On the whole, the premises looked so similar that they sort of canceled each other out in my mind and I didn’t watch either of them, but I finally got around to seeing The Wild recently. While I occasionally found it a bit manic for my tastes, for the most part, I thought it was a fun movie.

The Wild, directed by Steve Williams, is a quest story in which daddy issues play a major role. In that regard, it is rather like Finding Nemo, but in this case, the father, a lion named Samson (Kiefer Sutherland), has several plucky sidekicks aiding him in his search every step of the way. Samson delights in regaling the other zoo animals with tales of his early years in the wild, back when the ferocity of his roar sent the most monstrous wildebeests running for cover.

His son Ryan (Greg Cipes), who can’t produce anything more than a kittenish snarl, does not appreciate the tales so much, and after a particularly humiliating incident, he decides to run away and find his roar. By the time he has a chance to rethink his plan, he’s already on a truck headed out to the harbor. Neither he nor Samson, who dashes off to the rescue, can imagine the perilous journey that lies ahead.

The movie’s early scenes showing the rapid transformation the zoo undergoes at night and the amusing ways in which Samson and his companions interact with the big city in which they find themselves are entertaining. While one scene involving a peculiar sport the zoo residents play dragged a bit for me, I loved the homage to Star Wars that accompanies the friends’ arrival in the city at large, and I also found the incorporation of animals reflective of the escapees amusing. For instance, the runaways catch a glimpse of Geoffrey, the Toys ‘R’ Us giraffe, on a sign as they run through the city streets.

Joining Samson on his mission are four close friends. The closest is the squirrel Benny (Jim Belushi), who is annoying but fiercely loyal. He also harbors a not-so-secret crush on Bridget (Janeane Garofalo), a dignified giraffe. I found this plot point pretty odd until I recalled the romance between Donkey and Dragon in Shrek and figured that if I could accept that, this wasn’t too much of a stretch. Ultimately I enjoyed the way their interaction with each other changed over the course of the movie. Many of the stand-alone comedic moments belong to Nigel (Eddie Izzard), a koala from a London zoo who is plagued by the popularity of a plush toy in his image. Of the four, the snake Larry (Richard Kind) made the least impact on me, but he still gets a few good gags in.

The movie includes several prominent nods to The Lion King, from a glimpse of the marquee for the Broadway show in the city to the general prevalence of wildebeests in the plot. The opening in particular offers many visual parallels with that Disney classic, as does the climax, revolving around a deranged wildebeest played by William Shatner – the only voice actor, incidentally, who I recognized at once. Meanwhile, another element of the climax reminded me of one of my favorite scenes in Return of the Jedi, though I don’t think that was a direct homage.

The visuals in the movie are excellent, from the natural landscapes to the bright lights of a New York City night, and most of the animals have a very realistic look to them. The lions and wildebeests often seem as if they were lifted out of The Lion King and given computer-animated embellishment. Some of the smaller characters, particularly the snake and the pigeons, look a bit cartoonish and silly, but in most cases, the animation is impressive. I wasn’t particularly fond of the soundtrack, mostly, I guess, because I tend to find it distracting when songs designed for radio are deposited in animated movies. I suppose I shouldn’t feel that way, since I often enjoy their use in live-action films, but I generally didn’t feel like the songs added much. The exception is the wildebeest song that is essential to the plot, though frankly, I just found that one pretty weird.

Overall, I liked the themes of father-son understanding and self-discovery, along with the importance of having friends who will stick with you no matter what happens. Some of the humor gelled with me and some of it didn’t; at times, I think there was a little too much going on and the jokes got lost in the shuffle. Mostly, though, this is a well-crafted movie whose characters complement one another well and conquer their fears through the power of love. Factor in the top-notch animation, and it’s easy to be wild about this family-friendly film.

Young New Yorkers Seek Greater Self-Awareness in Josh Radnor's Happythankyoumoreplease

My friend Dan is in town this week, and that always means a movie night or two. This time around, we headed for the video store with no clear idea of what we wanted to rent, and after half an hour or so of uninspired browsing, we finally decided to take a chance on 2010’s Happythankyoumoreplease, whose screenplay had received praise on a blog he reads. I’m glad we did. Written and directed by How I Met Your Mother’s Josh Radnor, who also stars, this movie with the rather cumbersome title is a gem of an indie about late 20-somethings in New York City trying to figure out who they are and how they fit into the world.

Radnor is Sam Wexler, a scruffy struggling novelist burdened with an idyllic childhood that’s left him insufficiently angsty. In addition to his lack of personal tragedy, he suffers from reluctance to commit that carries over into his writing. His short stories are brilliant, but sustaining one character for hundreds of pages proves a problem. Then something – or rather someone – comes along to challenge his M.O. On the subway ride to another meeting with an editor, he sees Rasheen (Michael Algieri), a young dark-skinned boy with a sullen, silent face, fail to get off with his family.

Moved in spite of himself, he takes the boy under his wing, only to eventually discover that the separation was intentional and that he is trying to escape from an abusive foster care situation. He knows he should turn Rasheen over to police, but the boy seems to need him, and he likes feeling so valued for a change. His discovery of Rasheen’s raw artistic talent furthers his reluctance to release him to a system that seems to have failed him.

During their first day together, Sam and Rasheen come into contact with three important people. One is Mississippi (Kate Mara), a bartender and cabaret singer who catches Sam’s eye. Neither has the best history of romantic relationships, but each is clearly interested in the other, and Sam proposes an unusual way to get to know each other.

Another is Mary Catherine (Zoe Kazan), a short, fiery friend of Sam’s from way back who is anxious to express her disapproval for his life choices. She is about to face a major decision of her own as her boyfriend, Charlie (Pablo Schreiber), returns home from a business trip and announces his intention to move to L.A. Can she follow the man she loves if it means giving up the places and people that have meant home to her for so long?

The third major character we meet here is Sam’s best friend Annie (Malin Akerman), a woman whose lifelong lack of hair has left her fragile and convinced that she is unworthy of genuine romantic love. Despite her history of being hurt by insensitive cads, there is a radiance to her countenance reflecting a strength of spirit no one can take from her. The depth of friendship she and Sam share is touching, though I found myself wondering why two people who care so deeply for each other never became romantically involved, an issue one of the deleted scenes addresses but never answers. Into Annie’s world steps another Sam, a coworker played by Tony Hale, who I know as Chuck’s deliciously irritating Emmett Milbarge. Sam #2, as he comes to call himself, admires Annie with an unsettling intensity, and the question of whether he is a creep or merely an unconventional suitor becomes one of the most intriguing of the movie.

All of the performances are excellent, from the somber quietude of young Algieri, making his film debut, to the dazed confusion of Radnor as a man who seems to be almost sleepwalking through life. Akerman’s gentle joy is mesmerizing, and Hale left the longest lingering impression on me. In addition to the actors, singer-songwriter Jaymay has a strong presence in the film through her folksy, acoustic songs, most of which manage to sound cheerful and melancholy all at once. This is particularly true when she harmonizes with herself, producing a sound that puts me in mind of my favorite duo, Simon and Garfunkel. Her sprightly melodies and pensive lyrics enhance many of the film’s scenes, and I’m glad the DVD includes a short featurette focusing on her role in the film. In fact, no sooner was the DVD out of the machine than I started searching YouTube for her music.

This movie is rated R for its adult language and situations. Mostly, that means a lot of bedroom scenes, though nothing really explicit, and a liberal sprinkling of a certain word beginning with the letter “f.” If it weren’t for that particular word’s use, I really see no reason why this couldn’t have been PG-13. While it mostly made me roll my eyes, I must admit I got a chuckle out of Sam’s outbursts in the company of Rasheen, to which he immediately adds the admonition, “Don’t swear.” It’s an oddly sweet demonstration of his struggle to make a change in how he relates to the world.

I’d never heard of this movie before last night, and if hadn’t been for our trip to the video store, I don’t know if it ever would have caught my eye. While I didn’t have any negative expectations going into it, I didn’t expect to find the film so moving. I’m happy I watched it, so thank you to Dan for suggesting it, and to Josh Radnor, I will simply say, “More, please!”

Divorcees Juggle Kids and Career in One Fine Day

Journalist Jack Taylor (George Clooney) and architect Melanie Parker (Michelle Pfeiffer) are divorced New Yorkers trying to juggle high-powered careers and parenthood. Jack’s daughter Maggie (Mae Whitman) and Melanie’s son Sammy (Alex D. Linz) are kindergarten classmates. After a carpooling attempt gone bad causes them to miss their field trip, their parents have to spend all day trying to figure out what to do with them in the 1996 rom-com One Fine Day.

This is one of those movies that I’ve stumbled upon multiple times while channel surfing, and I finally decided to watch it from the beginning recently when it came up for Instant Viewing on Netflix. This PG-rated movie is part romance, part parent-child bonding film. Jack and Melanie have never met before this day, but they immediately clash as his lackadaisical tendencies set the day’s chaotic events into motion. Jack does not have primary custody, and although he loves his little girl, he finds it hard to be bothered with the minutiae of looking after her when his ex-wife drops her at his door unexpectedly. Control freak Melanie is the primary parent, but her focus on her career is so intense that Sammy sometimes gets left in the lurch. Both of them are extremely distracted, which causes problems for them as they try to pull off career-saving moves while keeping their kids busy.

Sammy and Maggie are both adorable and aggravating. While his primary problem is a propensity for putting objects in his nose, hers is wandering off quietly so that no one realizes until moments later that she has disappeared. Both are sweet-natured but oblivious to the trouble they are causing with their fidgety actions. Some of the mischief they get into is funny, while at other times it’s cringe-inducing. This is a big, dangerous city, after all, and both Jack and Melanie, who alternate supervising the kids, have a very difficult time keeping a close eye on them. Several scenarios would really be pretty alarming if they occurred in real life.

Of course, part of the development of the characters over the course of this single day is the adults realizing they need to be more attentive and, to a lesser extent, the kids realizing they need to stop running wild. The lesson doesn’t sink in so much with the children, but I would say there’s a least a hint that they will make more of an effort in the future. Then, of course, there’s Jack and Melanie, and while they mostly meet each other briefly before going their separate ways, they gradually get to know each other and begin to understand that their initial distaste for each other may have been misplaced.

In the midst of this jam-packed day, we see the four of them interact with a variety of people as Jack tries to find a key witness to back up something he printed in the paper and Melanie attempts to sell her latest design to a high-powered bidder. These brief interactions are fun, and I especially liked Charles Durning as Jack’s irascible boss and Ellen Greene as his key witness. However, this movie is mostly about the kids and their parents and how their being thrown together leads them to a better understanding of themselves and the possibility of more meetings to come. Epic romance this is not, but it is a cute movie showing that sometimes, a single day can tell two people quite a lot about each other.

When In Rome, Avoid Magical Fountains...

Last month, my dad was out of town for the weekend and my mom and I had the house to ourselves, so we decided to indulge in a chick flick marathon. One of movies we watched was When In Rome, a 2010 movie directed by Mark Steven Johnson and starring Kristen Bell.

In this romantic comedy, Bell plays Beth, a career-driven art expert who flies to Rome for her sister’s wedding, where she clicks with Nick (Josh Duhamel), another ambitious young American. After she catches him locking lips with another woman, she drunkenly makes her way to the nearby wishing fountain littered with the coins of those desperate for love and pockets five of them in a symbolic gesture of her contempt for romance. As a result, the men who dropped the coins are instantly drawn to her like a magnet, and once she returns to New York, she has to fight them off with a stick.

The premise of this movie is very silly, but it makes for a pretty entertaining comedy. Beth is in the midst of an important gallery opening, and she has no time for distractions, but it’s hard to focus on her work with these strange men chasing after her all the time. Meanwhile, when Nick resurfaces, she finds herself falling for him but worries that he is only suffering from the same loony lovesickness that has afflicted her other suitors.

These four fellas are a lot of fun. John Heder of Napoleon Dynamite fame plays Lance, an offbeat magician who seems to click with Beth more than the other two young artistic types over whom she has inadvertently cast her spell. Will Arnett is Antonio Donatella, an Italian artist who shows his affection for Beth by painting massive murals of her for all of New York to see, and Dax Shepard is the obnoxious Gale, an aspiring model who is totally in love with himself. Then there’s Danny DeVito, who plays Al, a gentle widower who expresses his romantic ardor with food. Of the four, he is probably my favorite.

Scenery plays a big role in the movie, with many scenes showcasing landmarks in Rome and New York. The impassioned pursuits across the city are amusing, while the fairly standard courtship with Nick is sweet, with some fun twists. One scene involving Kristen Schaal in full goofball mode as a waitress in a restaurant specializing in sensory deprivation is patently absurd, providing both laughs and a squirm or two. There’s slapstick aplenty in the movie, and I would really call it more of a comedy than a romance, though the movie is drenched in romance of the superficial variety.

This is nothing but light, frothy fun, but as long as you approach it as such, When In Rome is an entertaining fantasy that deals with the exhilaration and pitfalls of infatuation.

Rhys Bowen Brings Early 20th-Century Irish Immigrant Experience to Life in Murphy's Law

Like most people I know, I have a mixed bag of ethnic backgrounds, but the one with which I identify most strongly is Irish. Maybe it’s because my name is so Irish; maybe it’s because some of the first music I can recall listening to was Irish. Whatever the case, I am especially drawn to anything that involves Ireland, so when the Molly Murphy mystery series was brought to my attention during my All Things Irish Write-Off last year, I knew I would have to check it out eventually.

The series, written by Rhys Bowen, begins with Murphy’s Law, which finds the narrator, fiery redhead Molly Murphy, fleeing for her life from her tiny hometown of Ballykillin after accidentally killing a man while defending her virtue. Fortune works in her favor initially as she finds a friend in the big city who asks her to assume her name and escort her children to America on the boat. If she can just make it into New York City and find the children’s father, she figures she will be fine and free to start a new life. However, her luck takes a downturn when a man she had scuffled with during the ride turns up dead. While there is not enough evidence for police to hold her in custody, Michael, a gentle young man she befriended on the way over, remains a prime suspect. For both their sakes, she is determined to discover the true culprit in this crime.

Bowen does a good job of setting the scene for us, capturing the excitement and trepidation of the immigrant experience in the early 1900s. It reminded me of movies like Far and Away and An American Tail, where those coming over have big dreams of what their life in America will be like and reality doesn’t quite match up. Molly doesn’t really come to New York full of starry-eyed fantasies, but she does face some disillusionment when she sees how limited her employment options are, with most bosses hiring only workers from their own cultural background and most decent remaining jobs requiring references that she can’t provide since she is both on the lam and impersonating another woman. Her job search offers an interesting peek into the economy of the time.

But Molly doesn’t have much time for work when she has a murder investigation on her hands. Her contact at the police station is Daniel Sullivan, who initially suspects that she was an accomplice in the murder and later simply finds her a bit of a nuisance. He could use the help with the case, and he likes her plucky personality, but the mean streets of New York are no place for a woman fresh off the boat who doesn’t yet understand the way the city works.

Bowen puts Molly into several dangerous situations as she relentlessly pursues her leads. Even people who have nothing whatsoever to do with the murder pose a threat. Molly always seems to be in danger of unwanted amorous attention from various men who find her tart tongue intriguing and her unspoiled looks alluring. Considering the reason she went on the run in the first place, avoiding their advances without resorting to violence is a constant struggle.

Generally speaking, I enjoyed the spunky Molly and the historical setting in which she resides. It’s fun to spend time in the New York of a century ago, particularly when the focus is so much upon the Irish neighborhoods and way of life. Bowen makes many references to towns and counties in Ireland, and the atmosphere in New York seems consistent with what I know of the period. I didn’t hear the brogues in my head as readily as I sometimes do when reading fiction focusing on Irish characters, but the manner of speaking rang pretty true. Of everyone in the book, the one whose voice I had the easiest time imagining was Michael, my favorite side character.

Some of the sequences in the book, like Molly’s ill-advised foray into one of the seediest parts of the city unaccompanied, are gripping, while others seem a bit plodding. The climax is fairly satisfying, though it seems slightly unrealistic. Still, I certainly enjoyed it enough that I hope to continue with the series and see where Molly’s new life in America takes her next.

Show and Tell Causes a Crisis in Knuffle Bunny Too: A Case of Mistaken Identity

In the thoroughly charming mixed-media Caldecott Honor picture book Knuffle Bunny, Mo Willems introduces readers to a fictionalized version of his family, at the heart of which is Trixie, a little blond-haired girl with a beloved stuffed bunny. In that book, she is a mere toddler too young to form thoughts into coherent words, which drives the minor disaster around which the plot revolves. In Knuffle Bunny Too: A Case of Mistaken Identity, Trixie is older and fully capable of comprehensible speech. She’s old enough to attend preschool, where a new Knuffle kerfuffle is about to unfold…

Trixie loves her Knuffle Bunny as much as she ever did. She is exceedingly proud of this well-worn toy that is beginning to look a bit like the Velveteen Rabbit. When she is allowed to bring him to school for Show and Tell, she can scarcely contain her excitement. Then disaster strikes. A classmate arrives with the exact same bunny! This is grounds for instant hatred. And you thought it was bad when two seniors wore the same dress to the prom! Trixie and Sonja are so incensed with each other that their teacher confiscates both bunnies, returning them later. The feud dissipates. But later that night, when Trixie is alone in her bed trying to snuggle her way into dreamland, she makes a traumatic discovery. She has the wrong bunny.

While accidental toy-switching is not something I have experienced, it seems like a very believable scenario, as does the fierce sense of jealousy and hurt pride that set up the circumstances under which the switch took place. Trixie is our protagonist, and most kids reading this book will probably have read the first installment already, so we see Sonja largely through her eyes. This means that initially, she doesn’t come across so well. In fact, she looks downright mean as she argues with Trixie about the correct pronunciation of “Knuffle” – perhaps a sly nod to existing debate by readers on this very topic.

As before, the backgrounds in the book are black-and-white photographs with occasional hand-drawn elements and color highlights. Set against a pale blue backdrop, the boxes pop on the pages, sometimes one large illustration, sometimes as many as three. They are populated with figures that have a flat look to them but nonetheless feel vibrant and full of personality. This is especially true of Knuffle Bunny himself, with his big black nose, buggy eyes and rotund middle, as well as Trixie and Sonja and their frazzled fathers.

In both books, we get a scene of Trixie’s dad frantically running somewhere to save the day for his darling daughter; in this book, it may be even funnier because Sonja and Trixie have more than just a bunny in common. Each girl has a dad who is willing to go above and beyond the call of duty to restore tranquility to his daughter. That’s not to say they rush into superhero mode without some grumbling, but the realization that both dads are undergoing major inconvenience only makes their actions more endearing.

One defining trait of Willems’ work is his minimalism. While the illustrations here are busier than in some of his books, capturing the hustle and bustle of New York City life, the story remains very simple, and he uses as few words as possible to tell it. Sometimes the picture does the talking all by itself, rendering the narration scarcely necessary, as when we first see Sonja with her bunny in a series of panels that zoom further in on him each time. As I look at these pages, I imagine a series of suspenseful violin shrieks such as one might find in a thriller. Meanwhile, placing Trixie directly upon the blue page instead of inside an illustration box accentuates the way her world has just been shaken.

As wonderful as the original book is, I would argue that Knuffle Bunny Too is even funnier and sweeter than the first, and while it’s loaded with kid appeal, much of the humor will probably resonate most strongly with parents. While a child might take away from the book a desire to use commonalities as a way to build friendships instead of rivalries, adults will also see it as a tribute to the crazy things parents will do for their kids – sacrifices that, in many cases, will sail right over the kids’ heads.

It’s odd to think of a book of this length having an epilogue, but setting the final two-page spread slightly apart from the rest just increases the impact of what’s probably my favorite bit of the story. It’s one of the parts that adults will probably appreciate most. They may also be quicker to pick up on Willems’ references to his own work throughout the book, including nods to Pigeon, star of several acclaimed tales, and Leonardo the Terrible Monster. But children who loved Knuffle Bunny will definitely want to pick up Knuffle Bunny Too, which is probably the most relatable of the trilogy, since the protagonist is old enough to be a peer this time and since it occurs under much more normal circumstances than the third book, which is equally entrancing. The presence of two Knuffle Bunnies may be problematic for Trixie and Sonja, but it sure is a treat for us.

An Epic Modern Fairy Tale Unfolds in Season One of Beauty and the Beast

When I was ten years old, Disney's Beauty and the Beast arrived in theaters, introducing me to my favorite Disney heroine. While I'll never be mistaken for the most beautiful girl in town and I have a long way to go before I can begin to match her courage, I've always related to Belle on a number of other levels.

We're both bookworms who appreciate the enchantment inherent in rows of well-worn volumes lining a library wall, who have heads so full of dreams and distant stories that our peers perceive us as odd as we wander past, half-dazed. We are fiercely loyal to our families, and we have a certain tendency to see the world and those in it a little differently than most. Beauty and the Beast is a masterpiece that I watch for many reasons, but perhaps the main one is that I see in Belle the best possible version of myself. The me I could be if my longing for adventure in the great wide somewhere became strong enough to convince me that I want much more than this provincial life.

I watch Disney's Beauty and the Beast mostly for the Beauty. But there is another Beauty and the Beast, an entrancing television series that debuted when I was six. Created by Ron Koslow, it is a modern-day fairy tale set in New York City, half in the upper urban landscape of crime and corruption, half in a mystical, Gothic underworld populated by sweet-spirited outcasts. At the heart of this secret world is Vincent. Magnificently portrayed by Ron Perlman, he is leonine and regal, ferocious when defending those he loves but rarely raising his voice above a murmur. Unlike the Beast of the traditional tale, Vincent's appearance is not a curse inflicted upon him in retribution for a stony heart. Indeed, if there is one trait that Vincent possesses above all others, it is empathy.

A gentle philosopher with a particular passion for poetry, he is content to reside in the shadowy splendor of the haven crafted by a compassionate but quietly tormented soul known to most in the tunnels as Father. Then he rescues Catherine Chandler, and in her he finds a love of which he had only ever dreamed. He cannot join her world, yet he is with her as she goes about her work as an assistant to a District Attorney. He feels what she feels, and when she is in danger, he forgoes the safety of his seclusion to be her protector. I watch this Beauty and the Beast mostly for the Beast.

That isn't to say that I'm not fond of Catherine, played with warmth and spunk by Linda Hamilton of Terminator fame. She shares many traits in common with Belle, and she devotes as much of her energy as she can to aiding the disenfranchised. Her connection with Vincent allows her to be even more aware of those in need, and because of her job, she is in a prime position to help them. She goes to bat for the battered, the homeless, the orphaned. And those in Vincent's world soon come to love her too, especially the many children plucked from lives as street urchins. Of course, there is always the nagging thought that while Vincent can never truly be a part of her world, she could be a part of his. Several adults are a part of Father's close-knit community; why couldn't she be one of them? The season one finale delves deeply into this question as Catherine struggles to balance her two very different but interconnected lives.

As much as I like Catherine, my second-favorite character is Father. Classically trained British actor Roy Dotrice (father of Mary Poppins co-star Karen Dotrice) brings a magisterial bearing to the role of this benevolent overseer with darkness in his past. My LOST-geek senses tingled when, upon watching the first season for the first time since it originally aired, I realized that his name was Jacob. The two leaders share many qualities, including an affinity for the broken, a love for games of strategy, an inclination to impose strict rules and a frustrating aloofness. But while Father may hold himself at a bit of a distance, he nonetheless knows each resident of his realm intimately, and all love him, even though some find his mandates maddening. Some of my favorite episodes are those that plunge into his past, revealing a soul as vulnerable as Vincent's.

The underworld occupied by Father's family is utterly mesmerizing, a gorgeous landscape of waterfalls, crystalline caverns and cozy living quarters. It's a complex underground kingdom with homes that breathe comfort as much as any hobbit hole, and its artistry could outshine the most hallowed dwarf hall. Yes, although the New York City sewer setting might more readily put me in mind of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, I couldn't help catching a whiff of Middle-earth, as well as the Utopian camaraderie of Brian Jacques' Redwall series. This hodge-podge of cast-offs always teeters on the edge of hunger, yet their underground domain is dazzlingly beautiful, and together, they procure whatever they need to survive, with help from friends on the outside.

Among the many underworld denizens, two particularly stand out to me. My favorite is Mouse (David Greenlee), a twitchy, open-hearted young man with a pet raccoon named Arthur, a brilliant mind for engineering and a certain disregard for the rules. This entirely lovable character, who comes across as mildly autistic, makes his debut in Shades of Gray, an episode reminding my very much of The Moth, one of my favorite season one LOST episodes. Both involve the leader being trapped in a cave-in and a maligned character making up for past misdeeds with a heroic rescue. This episode also introduces Winslow, played by James Avery. Like Philip Banks, the uncle on Fresh Prince of Bel-Air whom Avery is best known for playing, Winslow is imposing and ornery but cares deeply about his unconventional family.

Up above, the most prominent secondary character is Catherine's boss, Deputy D.A. Joe Maxwell (Jay Acovone). Joe, who is in nearly every episode, is a cheerful, down-to-earth guy most of the time, though sometimes the stresses of the job cause him to snap at his hard-working assistant. Their rapport reminds me a bit of Betty and Daniel on Ugly Betty, though Joe is more competent than Daniel is. Nonetheless, I get the sense that he would have a hard time getting along without Catherine. Their chummy relationship is one of my favorite elements of Catherine's world, which is far less captivating than Vincent's. There's a definite '80s cheesiness to this part of the show, particularly when it comes to the bottom-feeders who threaten Catherine's well-being.

The first season is pretty episodic, with most episodes focusing on one of Catherine's cases, though the most compelling storylines are more introspective, having to do with the unique challenges of Catherine and Vincent's relationship. These include Masques, in which Vincent dares a night on the town to attend a masquerade ball in hopes of meeting and conferring with his favorite author and No Way Down and Nor Iron Bars a Cage, both of which find Vincent captured above-ground and reliant upon the kindness of strangers as a frantic Catherine tries to locate him. The relationship between Catherine and Vincent, so intense from the beginning, doesn't change much; it's minor characters appearing in a handful of episodes who make the season best enjoyed in the proper order.

Beauty and the Beast is a rare slice of the fantastical that, due to the departure of one of the leads, lasted only three seasons. It is part crime procedural and part superhero chronicle, but above all else, it is a tale of deep and abiding romance. Like the similarly short-lived Pushing Daisies, it chronicles a chaste but profound love that endures despite far from ideal conditions, and stunning art direction, a wondrous score and hypnotic narration (by Perlman, in this case) bolster its fairy tale quality. So does the theme song, frequently incorporated in the score and given lyrics by Melanie Anne Safka-Schekeryk (though only heard in instrumental form throughout the first season), which has a timeless quality reminiscent of Storybook Love, the Princess Bride theme. “And if wishes and dreams are merely for children and if love's a tale for fools, I'll live the dream with you.” A truly beautiful series.

A Bengali Family Struggles to Maintain Traditions in The Namesake

A young Indian man named Ashoke is traveling by train, perusing a book by his favorite author, Nikolai Gogol, when an accident occurs. The last thing he hears before the train wreck that kills most of the other passengers is the advice of an older man seated nearby. “Pack a pillow and blanket. See the world,” he tells him. “You will never regret it.” After a rehabilitation process, Ashoke does just that, eventually settling in New York, the bustling city to which he will bring his new bride, Ashima, a woman he barely knows.

This is the situation that sets the stage for The Namesake, the 2006 film directed by Mira Nair and adapted from Jhumpa Lahiri’s novel by Sooni Taraporevala. The movie, at least so the description had me believe, is not about these two characters but about their son Gogol, a young man named for that author and struggling to find his way in a world where he is torn between the traditions of his parents and the lure of contemporary America. Kal Penn, as perpetual fish out of water Gogol, is the film’s star, and certainly his character develops over the course of the film as he tries to figure out just who he is. To me, though, the movie is more about the parents.

Irrfan Khan gives a marvelous, understated performance as Ashoke, who is quiet, studious and gentle. He is the character I felt most drawn to, a true compassionate soul although he finds it difficult to express his feelings openly. Despite his reserve, we see through many small actions what a good man he is; even when his new life with Ashima gets off to a shaky start, it’s clear that he will be a kind and attentive husband. Tabu is also excellent as Ashima, and I would argue that more than any other character, this is her story. She, too, is on the quiet side, but we understand her excitement and apprehension at starting a new life so far from her home and extended family, and during moments of anguish, we truly feel her turmoil.

Gogol’s story is about being a first-generation American, born with one foot in two different cultures. For Ashima, it’s about learning to embrace an entirely different way of life while retaining as much of her own culture as she can. It’s also a love story, with Ashoke and Ashima reminding me of Tevye and Golde in Fiddler on the Roof. Their personalities are not so in opposition, and they have more of a say in their marriage than the central couple in that classic musical. Still, the circumstances of their matrimony seem pretty strange to a modern American audience. Could you move halfway around the world to start a new life with a man you didn’t know existed a couple days earlier? But Ashima does, and later in the movie, she and Ashoke share a conversation much like Do You Love Me?, the song in which Tevye questions Golde about her feelings toward him after all these years together. Their relationship really works.

Gogol is not interested in seeking out marriage the way his parents did. He rejects his mother’s attempts to introduce him to a nice Bengali girl, especially since she turns out to be obnoxious. (This young woman, incidentally, is played by Zuleikha Robinson, who portrayed Ilana, one of my favorite characters in LOST’s final season, though I found her role disappointingly underdeveloped.) Instead, he embraces the dating scene like any typical college student and forms a close bond with Maxine (Jacinda Barrett), a sweet girl whose family adores him. But incidents in his own family cause him to question whether he can turn away from his upbringing so completely.

The Namesake is a low-key but compelling film about family and culture clashes in modern America. While Gogol’s story is engaging, I found myself more drawn to Ashoke and Ashima, but whichever generation holds the greater appeal, I recommend this movie as a compelling examination of the struggles inherent in trying to juggle two worlds.

Books Connect Continents in 84, Charing Cross Road

Books have the capacity to bring people together. I’ve read several charming books exploring the ways that shared texts deepen friendships and particularly recommend the Mother-Daughter Book Club series for intermediate readers. In 84, Charing Cross Road, Helene Hanff shares a 20-year-long correspondence centered upon books. Frank, her primary correspondent, finds them for her, and she reads them. They don’t discuss the books’ contents at length, or at least he doesn’t, and yet these volumes bind them together in a powerful way, bridging the gap between two continents.

I stumbled upon the movie 84 Charing Cross Road on Netflix last year, and in light of National Poetry Month, I thought it seemed a good time for me to read the book that inspired the movie. After all, Hanff is extremely passionate about poetry. The book is simply a collection of just under 100 letters between Helene Hanff, a New York writer, and Frank Doel, a London bookseller. Occasionally, letters to and from other employees at Marks and Co., Booksellers, as well as Frank’s wife Nora and a sprinkling of other acquaintances, work their way into the book, but the real heart of the story is the reserved, humble Frank, who, from Helene’s first letter requesting a few hard-to-find books, works tirelessly to secure her desired volumes and never charges her any more than he needs to.

Most of the letters are well under a page in length; generally speaking, Helene’s are much longer. She fills her letters with impressions of the books she has received – sometimes glowing praise, sometimes stern rejoinders. Beyond just the words, she is often awed by the craftsmanship of the books themselves: “I just never saw a book so beautiful. I feel vaguely guilty about owning it. All that gleaming leather and gold stamping and beautiful type belongs in the pine-panelled library of an English country home…”

On the other hand, it’s not at all uncommon to find her missives peppered with words in all caps, and it’s easy to imagine her pounding away at her typewriter in fury. She’s a fiery woman, and it infuriates her to see poor editorial decisions hampering her enjoyment of beloved authors. For instance, she lavishes disdain upon an abridged version of Pepys’ Diaries that excludes some of her favorite entries and scratches her head at a volume of poetry that includes the complete works of both John Donne and William Blake. “Will you please tell me what those two boys have in common? – except they were both English and they both Wrote?” She also delights in scolding Frank if he goes too long without sending her something. She “needles” him endlessly, while he takes her jabs with good grace.

Frank’s notes are polite and tend to be rather detached, though the warmth of his gratitude shines through when he writes to thank her for the packages she sends to the bookshop containing food that is scarce in England of the 1950s thanks to rationing. He always comes across as extremely appreciative. Additionally, though he always passes her letters around to the other employees, once they begin writing to Helene they make it clear that he treasures their correspondence and thinks of her as his own personal pen pal. It’s charming to see his subtle wit peek through as he gradually becomes less formal with Helene. One of his funniest moments comes about halfway through their exchange, when he announces, “Prepare yourself for a shock. ALL THREE of the books you requested in your last letter are on the way to you and should arrive in a week or so.”

“From where I sit,” Helene writes in one of her letters, “London’s a lot closer than 17th Street.” She says this to indicate that it’s easier to write to Frank for what she wants than to walk all the way to a New York bookshop that probably won’t have it anyway, and almost certainly not as nice an edition as Frank is all but sure to find for her. But it also emphasizes the sense of intimacy that develops between her and Frank, as well as his close circle of associates and his wife. Yet physical proximity eludes her. There’s never any talk from England of a visit to America; it doesn’t seem to be within the realm of possibility. But Helene wants nothing more than to come to London, and it’s apparent that Frank and the others want this to happen as much as she does. At a certain point in the correspondence, nearly every letter from London includes some sort of entreaty to come soon, with the tone growing ever more wistful. Frank’s letter ten years into their exchange seems particularly poignant: “We are all sorry to hear that your television shows have moved to Hollywood and that one more summer will bring us every American tourist but the one we want to see.”

It’s often the case that reading the book makes a person rather disdainful of the movie that followed, but in this case, I gained a deeper appreciation for just how well-done the movie is. It incorporates the majority of the letters in the book, trimming some of them, while providing just enough in the way of dialogue and unspoken scenes to give us what feels like a complete story. Of course, Anne Bancroft’s zesty performance and Anthony Hopkins’ quiet gestures give us a strong sense of Helene and Frank’s personalities as well. The book is a wonderful record of a lasting correspondence, but it lacks any sort of context or transitions between the letters, which, toward the end, become ever more infrequent. Given the choice between the two, I would actually first recommend the movie; it’s an incredibly faithful adaptation with just a bit of embroidery to make the tale feel more complete.

That’s not to say, however, that I don’t recommend the book wholeheartedly. If you’re someone who loves “antiquarian” books or the art of letter-writing, you’re sure to find it a rare delight.

The Bob-Whites Hit the Big Apple in The Mystery of the Blinking Eye

I’ve been to New York City a couple of times and spent just enough time there to know that you could stay a year and not get the full experience of everything the city has to offer. Intriguing sights await on every corner. As a vacation destination for a group of chummy teens, it’s “wonderfully wonderful,” to use the phrase favored by Barbara, one of three faraway friends who flies to New York to meet up with the Bob-Whites in The Mystery of the Blinking Eye, the twelfth book in the Trixie Belden series. But just sight-seeing like a typical tourist is not sufficient for intrepid 14-year-old super-sleuth Trixie. She has a knack for stumbling into mysteries wherever she goes, and here in the Big Apple, she blunders her way into a humdinger.

Earlier books in the series have established that Trixie has rather eccentric tastes, so it’s not too surprising when she goes gaga for an ugly Incan idol she discovers in an antique shop. What’s more startling is the fact that her peculiar souvenir has attracted the intense interest of some pretty shady characters. Trixie and her fellow Bob-Whites – sweet best friend Honey, grandiloquent Mart, practical Brian, gallant Jim, elegant Diana and reformed Dan – have all been to New York before, but they’re thrilled to be giving their Iowan pals – twins Barbara and Bob and their neighbor Ned – the grand tour. But whether they’re taking a carriage ride through Central Park, perusing the Museum of Natural History or ascending the Empire State Building, shadowy men lurk nearby, and they clearly want that statue for themselves. Why? And how can Trixie stop it from falling into those nefarious hands?

The questions of what’s so special about this knick-knack and who these men are should pose quite enough mystery for one volume, but the ghost writer adopting the name Kathryn Kenny for this volume decided to make things even more enigmatic by introducing yet another odd element: a prophecy given to Trixie by an elderly fortune teller she assists in the airport. More precisely, the woman gives Trixie a purse, and in the purse is a poem written in Spanish. Trixie’s curiosity consumes her, and she begs Miss Trask, Honey’s former governess who is serving as chaperone on this trip, to translate it into English for her.

When I was in high school, I wrote rhyming poems in French for the school’s literary magazine on two occasions. I then translated them into English. And let me tell you, it was a heck of a lot easier to write the poem from scratch – even in another language – than to translate it and leave both form and meaning intact. But what does Miss Trask do? She sits down with a pen and paper and painstakingly translates that poem. Ten couplets and, for no particular reason I can discern, one set of three rhyming lines. Half an hour later, she has a poem that sounds a lot like gibberish but nonetheless rhymes perfectly and displays nearly seamless iambic tetrameter throughout. Either Miss Trask is some kind of poetry translating savant or this little feat is just as unbelievable as the contents of the poem itself.

Trixie sees the prophecy as a treasure map of sorts, a guide to unfolding events, though it only ever seems to make any sense in retrospect. What the poem mostly does is serve as a structure for the book, with something in every chapter corresponding to a couplet or two. It’s awfully involved for a prediction, and it’s mostly just a series of abstract images. As Miss Trask firmly states late in the book, “A person can twist words to get almost any meaning out of them he wants.” Trixie may have her career path all laid out before her, but if for some reason she decides she’d rather pursue something less harrowing than detective work, she’s got a real future as an English major. She certainly displays an aptitude for making tenuous connections.

Poetry comes into play in a more natural way as Bob and Barbara entertain first their friends, then a wider audience with tragic ballads they wrote themselves. Between the prophecy and the songs, which have a certain folksy charm about them, particularly considering that they were supposed to have been written by teenagers, that’s a lot more rhyming than I’ve seen in any other Trixie Belden book. This leads me to suspect that this particular Kathryn Kenny was a frustrated poet.

Along with the poetry, literary references abound here. Sherlock Holmes gets a nod in almost every book, and this is no exception. We’ve also got Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz and Hans Christian Andersen, and Mart made me chuckle by mentioning the mighty mouthful Mephistopheles, since I imagine that the unwieldy nature of the name is the main reason he brought it up. My biggest smile, though, came early in the book when, during a trip to Central Park, the Bob-Whites-plus-three observe several park-goers floating boats out on the nearby pond. I immediately thought of Stuart Little, so I laughed aloud when, a couple paragraphs down, Honey said, in reference to a boy with a boat, “He makes me think of Stuart Little in E. B. White’s book.” Right there with ya, Honey…

This is the first time that all seven Bob-Whites have taken a trip together. Indeed, Dan, who made his first appearance in the eighth book, all but dropped out of the series for the next three, so it’s nice to see him so involved here. He’s lost the angst that he had when we first met him, but he remembers his street rat days well enough to play a vital role when Trixie tangles with a tough crowd in a scene that makes her ill-advised trip to the Skid Row of Sleepside, NY, in the fourth book look like a cakewalk. Mart treats his buddies to a magic show; Diana shares an unsettling experience with Trixie at the Empire State Building. Everyone has at least one moment in the spotlight.

Other characters still have room to emerge, however. Along with the affable Ned and Bob and the exuberant Barbara, we’ve got Honey’s father and those shifty men who keep tailing Trixie. The most memorable new character is Dr. Joe Reed, a physician and family friend who invites the teens over to have a look at his model railroad. I grinned as I imagined Big Bang Theory’s locomotive-loving Sheldon Cooper geeking out over the intricate display. And speaking of geeking out, I love the way that normally reserved Brian wears his Hippocratic passion on his sleeve when Dr. Reed shows them around the hospital where he works.

For those whose passions include the Bob-Whites, The Mystery of the Blinking Eye is really the first book in the series to integrally involve all seven of them, and certainly the first away-from-home adventure to include them all. Between that and the exciting setting, this is a great installment, even with that absurd prophecy underpinning their New York adventure.

Disenchanted Suburbanites Get More Excitement Than They Bargained For in Date Night

I generally get a kick out of Steve Carell’s characters, and I often find Tina Fey funny, so I was interested to see that they had co-starred in a comedy-adventure. I don’t ever recall seeing a preview for 2010’s Date Night, written by Josh Klausner and directed by Shawn Levy, so when my cousin and I stumbled upon it recently, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but she reported that she’d seen it and found it funny. While I didn’t end up liking it as much as most of Carell’s comedies, it was a fairly fun romp.

Phil (Carell) and Claire Foster (Fey) are a busy couple living in the suburbs of New York City. They both keep pretty busy with their jobs, and Claire spends a lot of time running the household as well. Alone time with each other is rare, and when they do go out to dinner, their favorite pastime is poking fun at nearby couples by imagining ludicrous conversations for them. But when friends of theirs decide to separate, Phil and Claire decide to put some spice back into their marriage by having a real date night. What starts out as a romantic evening escalates into a series of disasters as they get caught up in a world of thugs and theft.

Fey and Carell both have serious comedic chops, and they’re on display here much of the time, though the dialogue is rather hit-and-miss. Too often the movie substitutes “crude” for “funny,” with the result that this tale of rekindling romance in middle age often feels like it was written by junior high schoolers. On the other hand, there are genuinely funny moments, and Carell and Fey make a nice couple. They feel believable together, and their squabbles throughout the film seem a natural outgrowth of two people who are used to each other but now have more of a tendency to see each other’s irritating habits than their endearing qualities. As absurd as some of their adventures throughout the night are, it’s sweet to see them rediscover what attracted them to one another in the first place.

The movie has slapstick aplenty, particularly in the form of elaborate car wrecks. One sequence in which the Fosters’ car becomes entangled with a hapless cabbie is especially memorable. While Fey and Carell anchor the movie, various supporting players also add to the humor, or sometimes to the groans. I didn’t find much to like about William Fichtner as D. A. Frank Crenshaw, who spends most of his time on screen lusting creepily after various exotic dancers, particularly the under-cover Fosters. I found Ray Liotta’s performance as a mob boss rather corny but fun, and James Franco and Mila Kunis provide some of the movie’s biggest laughs as a pair of petty thieves who get mixed up with the Fosters and unwittingly help them rekindle their passion. As suave millionaire Holbrooke Grant, Mark Wahlberg doesn’t have to do much beyond standing around looking like a shirtless Ken doll, but his brief moments of interaction with the Fosters drive much of the movie’s action.

Date Night isn’t a movie I would watch more than once, but it made for decent late-night viewing for my cousin and me. Carell and Fey both have better movies to offer, but this wacky comedy isn’t a bad way to kill a couple hours.

It's Love at First Listen for Annie in Sleepless in Seattle

“Do you believe that two people can be connected? Like soulmates?” This is the question that gentle Libby poses to The Teddy Bear Formerly Known as Hurley in Everybody Loves Hugo, his only centric episode of LOST’s sixth season. They’ve never met in this intriguing timeline in which everything seems slightly askew, but Libby can’t shake the feeling that he is her destiny. Crazy, right? Or could there be something to it?

This was the scene that kept replaying in my mind as I watched Nora Ephron’s Sleepless in Seattle for the first time in years. With Libby, it’s a glimpse on TV that sparks the sense of recognition. For Annie Reed (Meg Ryan), the young woman in the movie, it’s hearing him on the radio. After his precocious 8-year-old son Jonah (Ross Malinger) calls in to a radio show to discuss the sad state of his dad’s life, recently widowed Sam Baldwin (Tom Hanks) reluctantly spills his guts to radio psychiatrist Dr. Marcia Fieldstone (Caroline Aaron).

Annie is not the only woman who feels an instant connection; hundreds of women write to him after the show airs, offering to help him dip into the dating scene again. But Annie is our focus, and we’re meant to believe that her attraction to him is deeper. That they truly are soulmates. Which would mean, it seems, that Sam has two, since all indications are that he and his wife Maggie (Carrie Lowell) shared an idyllic relationship, and now he can scarcely function without her. Early in the movie, Sam states, “It doesn’t happen twice.” That’s not to say that a person can’t have two happy, fulfilling marriages. But if he and Annie were "MFEO" ("made for each other," one of the annoying acronyms coined by Jonah’s even more precocious friend Jessica (Gaby Hoffman)), where does that leave Maggie?

That aspect of the movie bothers me a bit. Jonah, like Eddie in The Courtship of Eddie’s Father, is obsessed with finding a replacement mom. “I’m starting to forget her,” he sadly confides at one point, but mostly he seems to be okay with that. He wants to get the show on the road. Sam doesn’t. Sam seems like a very real, reasonable guy who spends most of the movie in a bit of a haze. He’s a devoted dad; that’s his one defining characteristic here. But he still misses his wife terribly and just isn’t sure how to proceed in her absence.

Sam is the one unwittingly caught up in this, annoyed by his son’s initial interference and later fixation on a woman who lives on the opposite coast. Throughout the movie, he is all practicality – except on the three occasions on which he actually sees Annie. The first two times, he doesn't know that she is the one who wrote the letter that so impressed Jonah, but he too feels a sense of connection. It’s enough to jostle him out of his stupor. But he has no idea if he will ever see her again.

Ryan brings all of her usual charm to the role of Annie, though anyone who acted as she does in real life would be charitably considered erratic. She abuses her privileges as a journalist to essentially stalk Sam and Jonah “for a story”, flying all the way out to have a look at them for herself. But when Sam spots her looking and greets her from across a busy street, she panics and bolts.

Her obsession with Sam is all the more troubling because she is engaged. Walter (Bill Pullman) isn’t one of those stereotypical jerk boyfriends you so often find in movies like this. We’re meant to find him boring, and clearly there’s a certain zing lacking in their relationship. But Walter is a seriously nice guy who has done nothing whatsoever to drive his fiancée into the arms of a strange man. So while I confess that I do get caught up in the whimsy of this movie and catch myself feeling all fluttery, I can’t help feeling really sorry for poor Walter, who, while the woman he loves is dashing off to fulfill a cinematic fantasy atop the Empire State Building, is having the worst Valentine’s Day of his life.

And then there’s the fact that this big moment is preceded by Jonah, with the help of Jessica, securing a plane ticket to New York and somehow managing to make that journey all by himself and then spending the day atop the Empire State Building waiting for Annie to show up, as she proposed in her letter, to which he responded – except, since he has no idea what she looks like, he has to ask every woman in sight if she is Annie. It’s a colossally stupid and dangerous plot.

Four years later, Ryan and Hanks teamed up again for You’ve Got Mail, which was loosely based on the Jimmy Stewart classic Shop Around the Corner and features another unconventional romance, this time involving anonymous Internet pals who are falling in love online and don’t realize that they are rivals in real life. I really like that movie and the gradual development of the relationship at its heart. While I’m watching Sleepless in Seattle, I like it too. But when I stop to think it over, it’s no surprise to me why my dad walked out on it after ten minutes. “This is so contrived,” he complained. Although I am not immune to its charms, I can’t disagree.

“It was a million tiny little things that, when you added them all up, they meant we were supposed to be together,” Sam tells Dr. Fieldstone when she asks what was so special about Maggie. A million tiny little things that he doesn’t know about Annie. Do I believe that two people can be connected? Like soulmates? Yes. But once the warm fuzzies wear off, I don’t think that Sam and Annie are quite there.

Rob Thomas Encourages Compassion in A New York Christmas

I really love the radio this time of year. Usually, I don’t listen to it much, except at work, where I don’t have much of a choice. In December, instead of merely tolerating the music – aside from those rare gems that make me burst out in an exuberant smile and, given a sufficiently empty hallway, sing along – I feed off of it. I’m completely energized by hearing all those marvelously familiar songs on a subject so near and dear to my heart. Another plus: every once in a while, something comes along that I’ve never heard before. And once in a great while, it’s a song that grabs me and refuses to release me, sending me scrambling for YouTube videos to keep my fixation in check. This year, the main song in question is Rob Thomas’s A New York Christmas. It took me a couple of times through it for me to realize just how m much I loved it, but there’s no mistaking it now, and whenever it comes on the mall radio, I can’t help but smile.

This is a Christmas song that is totally contemporary but with a timeless message. It is specifically rooted in New York City, which is very much associated with Christmas. You have all the morning shows that broadcast from New York, showing the city in all its decorated glory; Christmas traditions like the Rockettes and the Rockefeller Center Tree Lighting; movies like Miracle on 34th Street, Home Alone 2 and Elf. New York is gorgeous indeed this time of year, but there are many who are cold, hungry and otherwise in great need during this season of celebration, and this song asks us to think of them. The tone is not accusatory, but it is a rallying cry as well as a prayer. God help us, and let us help those around us.

I discovered that Thomas wrote this song in the aftermath of 9/11, when the suffering in New York City was especially acute, and that the song is tied in with his Sidewalk Angels Foundation, which supports a number of charitable causes. Its mission is stated as follows: “The world can move so fast that those in need are often passed by. From animals that have been abandoned and abused to those who are destitute, homeless, or cannot afford proper medical care - these are universal problems that Sidewalk Angels Foundation, through its efforts, encourages people to address locally.” On 9/11, we saw the worst of humanity, but we saw the best of it as so many people banded together to help each other. For all too brief a time, the sense of community was palpable. This song makes that come rushing back and serves as a reminder that it shouldn’t take a horrific tragedy to get us to pay attention to each other.

A New York Christmas has a rock edge to it, but it also has a powerful driving melody that’s hard to get out of your head. There’s a swift undercurrent of percussion that sets an energetic tone for the verses. The electric guitar puts me in mind of traditional folkie grassroots movements, while the hints of the organ tie in nicely with the generally reverent feeling of the song. The whole thing feels bustling and energetic like the New York itself; it’s easy to imagine you’re hearing the heartbeat of the city. While Thomas’ voice is wonderfully melodic, it also has a rough edge to it that encourages everyone to sit up and take notice.

I don’t think I heard this song before this year, when it joined the regular Christmas music rotation in the mall. I don’t recall ever having heard it on the regular radio or on television, though that seems surprising to me. Thomas is a fairly big-name guy, having been in the band Matchbox 20, and this is an outstanding song that strikes me as a modern classic. When I first heard it this year, what initially caught my attention was the word “compassion”. That’s one of my favorite words, and it’s not one you hear in too many songs, though you should. The first song that comes to mind for me in association with that word, especially this time of year, is God Bless Us Every One, from the 2004 musical version of A Christmas Carol: “Let the stars in the sky remind us of man’s compassion. Let us love till we die and God bless us everyone.”

In this song, it’s, “Bring your compassion, your understanding (or, in the later verse, forgiveness). Lord, how we need it on this New York City Christmas.” The song is loaded with religious imagery, particularly angels. I especially love the line, “Hear the sidewalk angels echo hallelujah.” In this context, “angels” makes me think of Hebrews 13:2, which reads, “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” This song is all about caring for those who could use a little extra help, whether that’s in the form of warm clothing, food or just a kind word. It’s a refreshingly unmaterialistic message. “So call on your angels, your beaten and broken. It’s time that we mend them so they don’t fade with the season. Let our mercy be the gifts we lay from Brooklyn to Broadway…”

I just discovered this song a couple of weeks ago, but it has quickly become one of my favorite Christmas songs. It’s a stirring anthem that reminds me how good I have it and how many people don’t have it so easy. You don’t have to go to New York City to find people in need. This is a song for New York, but it’s also a song for America and beyond. Now, to act on it…

Hugh Dancy and Rose Byrne Edify Each Other in Adam

Recently, my friend told me that I should go see Adam, the 2009 movie written and directed by Max Mayer that details the relationship between Beth, an aspiring children’s book author, and Adam, an electrical engineer with Asperger’s Syndrome. When I mentioned the movie to my mom, she said that she’d been wanting to see it too, so it quickly made its way to the top of my Netflix queue.

Adam is portrayed by Hugh Dancy, a Brit who previously charmed me in Ella Enchanted and The Jane Austen Book Club, and I found him just as adorable here as a quirky American with a sweet temperament, an expansive interest in astronomy and a deep discomfort with social interaction. Rose Byrne is equally endearing as Beth, who moves into his apartment building and quickly develops a friendship with him, even as she notes the awkwardness of their conversations and wonders if she is the cause.

Twenty minutes or so into the film is when the term “Asperger’s Syndrome” first comes up, at which point the movie briefly takes an overly didactic turn, making it feel more like an after-school special than a feature for theaters. But aside from a few minutes of rather heavy-handed explanations of how those with Asperger’s differ from “neuro-typicals,” I felt that Adam’s traits were integrated pretty naturally into the movie.

While both leads are very sympathetic, Adam’s bluntness and difficulty in connecting with emotions and social cues sometimes frustrate Beth and cause her to react sharply. Meanwhile, when he is confronted with an upsetting situation, Adam has a tendency to throw tantrums that are destructive and, Beth fears, potentially violent. All told, I think the two aren’t so different as Mayer would have us think; both are quiet, polite outsiders with an occasional angry streak.

We see a variety of different people react to Adam, whether it’s his boss, who tries to be kind but is ultimately more concerned about this young man’s impact on his company’s bottom line, or a police officer who sees him lurking near the playground of the school where Beth teaches and takes rather brutal action. Adam’s closest friend is his dad’s old buddy Harlan, played with an appealing mix of crustiness and warmth by Frankie Faison. He’s known Adam his whole life, so he is better equipped to understand where he’s coming from than most. There’s a lot of respect there from both ends, and I found their relationship one of the most enjoyable aspects of the movie.

Beth, too, is an only child, but while Adam is an orphan, both of her parents are very much alive. Peter Gallagher comes across as affectionate and uppity as her father, a businessman whose indictment causes Beth a great deal of anguish. He’s likable at times, but he also comes across as controlling and sleazy. Amy Irving is more like her daughter and more helpful in navigating the ups and downs of the romance that develops between Beth and Adam.

I enjoyed the look of this movie, which accentuates natural beauty even in the midst of bustling New York. A night-time stroll in the park proves especially lovely, and Adam’s living-room planetarium is an impressive sight. I also enjoyed the soundtrack, which feels mellow and folkie-ish, with one song reminding me very much of the sound of Simon and Garfunkel. Additionally, the opening voice-over from Beth comparing Adam to the Little Prince (and herself to the pilot) is effective in setting the tone of the movie and hinting at the direction in which it might go.

This is a quiet little movie about two people getting to know one another and growing because of that experience. It’s neither dry and clinical nor especially sappy; as Adam says in response to Beth’s inquiry about what living with Asperger’s feels like, “It just is.” Straightforward, with turns that are sweet, funny and sad, Adam was worth the recommendation, which I will gladly pass along.

An Ellis Island Christmas Tenderly Recaptures an Immigrant's Experience

When I think of immigrants pouring into Ellis Island, the first image that usually pops into my head is from An American Tail, the Don Bluth-directed movie in which young Fievel Mousekewitz becomes separated from his family shortly before their arrival in America. The Mousekewitzes are Russian Jews, and that movie begins with a humble Chanukah celebration.

In An Ellis Island Christmas, written by Maxinne Rhea Leighton and illustrated by Dennis Nolan, the narrator, Krysia Petrowski, is a Polish Christian, but in many ways her story resonates with Fievel’s. There is an element of familial separation, as her father is already in America and she, her mother and her brothers Josef and Tomek are going to meet him.

Though Krysia hates to leave her friends, she longs to see her papa and yearns for the security of the land her mother envisions. “In America,” Mama says, “tables are filled with food, and there are no soldiers with guns on the street.” This is strikingly similar to the exuberant song early in American Tail in which the mice optimistically declare, “There are no cats in America, and the streets are paved with cheese!”

Like the Mousekewitzes, the Petrowskis spend a long time cooped up on the boat taking them to America, and Krysia writes rather graphically of the seasickness most of the passengers eventually suffer. Once they arrive in America, she describes the fear that consumes her as she worries about being turned away and her curiosity as she embraces new experiences like eating bananas and calling Saint Mikolaj by the name Santa Claus, all while wondering when and how they will find her father again.

The book is written in such a way as to make it relatable to children, with historical tidbits sprinkled in and a page-long addendum featuring several facts, such as the fact that for a period of about 30 years around the late 1800s and early 1900s, 70 percent of new arrivals came through Ellis Island, 80 percent of whom were granted immediate entry into the country. Nolan’s intricate watercolors wonderfully capture both the enormity and the intimacy of the experience.

While this is a story that includes a Christmas celebration, the primary focus is on immigration, making it a book that is less tied to the season than most. Children with an interest in history and especially descendants of immigrants who came through New York about a century ago would do well to read An Ellis Island Christmas.

Anne of Green Gables: The Continuing Story Takes Anne in Desolate Directions

I've been on a bit of an Anne of Green Gables kick for the last couple of months, ever since I pulled out the first two Kevin Sullivan miniseries on a whim and watched them. We own the third, but it arrived completely mangled, and we never got around to going to our local PBS affiliate and requesting a new copy. So I decided to refresh my memory of the third installment courtesy of Netflix. I remembered Anne of Green Gables: The Continuing Story fairly well, but it had been nearly a decade since I'd watched it. I'm glad I saw it again, but I really don't think we're missing out on much by not owning it. This isn't a miniseries likely to get a lot of repeat viewings.

In reading up a bit on this production, which came out in 2000, I learned that Kevin Sullivan was in the midst of a dispute with the family of series author L. M. Montgomery. One might think that under such circumstances, he wouldn't make another movie with Anne as the subject, but he went ahead and did it, evidently free to use Montgomery's characters but not allowed to replicate any of her plots. Hence, making a faithful adaptation was impossible. Nonetheless, Sullivan and co-writer Laurie Pearson took enormous liberties with the story and characters, so that even fans of the miniseries who've never read the books might object to the drastic shift in tone.

The first two miniseries have their share of darkness, but for the most part they are fairly light and funny and thoroughly heartwarming and life-affirming. The Continuing Story, by contrast, is pretty dreary right from the get-go. Within minutes, Anne (Megan Follows), who has been away on a teaching position with an orphanage, beholds Green Gables and nearly gets into a fight with its cranky owner, who is content to let the house of Anne's happiest years fall into squalor. As usual, we see far too little of Gilbert (Jonathan Crombie), and while he's clearly devoted to Anne, he spends most of the movie seeming exhausted and depressed. Similarly, Diana (Schuyler Grant), who has grown up into a proper lady rather like her mother, fears her marriage to Fred (Greg Spottiswood) is falling apart. He's surly all the time, right up until he sneaks off to join his comrades in World War I, leaving Gilbert to explain things to Diana - and to find his own sense of duty stirred.

Probably my favorite portion of the movie occurs when not-yet-married Anne and Gilbert are living in New York. Initially, I thought they were co-habitating, which seemed a little odd for early 20th-century devout Christians, but a throwaway line from Gilbert explains that they have separate apartments. Gilbert longs to make a difference as a doctor, while his superiors seem keen to limit his skills to healing the prestigious members of society. Anne gets an in with a publishing company and strikes up a friendship with suave Jack Garrison (Cameron Daddo), a bestselling adventure novelist, who insists that her work has potential and might actually reach a decent audience if his name were attached to it. There are hints of romance between these two from Jack's end, but Anne keeps very firm boundaries. It's nice to see her actively pursuing her writing dreams, which she abandons in the novels by the time she and Gilbert are married, and there's some humor and spunk in the way she deals with her curmudgeonly boss and his rather persnickety assistant.

In the books, by the time World War I hits, Anne and Gilbert are around 50 years old. But this movie takes place only five years after Anne and Gilbert's engagement, which puts them in their mid-20s. Montgomery does write in some detail about the war in Rilla of Ingleside, but it's from the home front perspective, and neither Anne nor Gilbert ever come anywhere near a combat situation. But here, Gilbert is guilted into signing on as a trauma surgeon, and Anne decides to spend the bulk of the war traipsing around Europe searching for him. So instead of idyllic Avonlea, we spend most of the movie in one war zone or another, as Anne absurdly searches for Gilbert, making a nuisance of herself as often as not. In the process, she manages to track down Fred and get tangled up with Jack again, which leads to a fulfilling writing job but also a dangerous mission. Moreover, despite her obsession with finding Gilbert, she grows somewhat uncomfortably close to both Fred and Jack during this time.

Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Avonlea are both family films, but I wouldn't say there's much here to hold the interest of children. There are basically no juvenile characters, with the exception of Jack's infant son, and the movie has a very adult, bleak tone. War is raging, so there is violence and peril as well as hints of marital discord and extramarital tomfoolery. Rarely do we get to see Anne's sparkling smile; Follows still plays Anne well, but this Anne spends so much of her time depressed, she's not a very uplifting character. All the old faces are fine for what they have to work with, but the writers have bathed everyone in disillusionment, making Anne feel like Ring-tormented Frodo, Avonlea like the polluted Shire. I suppose it's somewhat interesting to put Anne in such a different setting, but I don't think most Anne fans really want heart-racing adventure. They'd prefer the simple pleasures and mishaps Montgomery details in most of her books.

To that end, they may find themselves more drawn to the Special Feature, which is a rather extended promo for the episode of the television series Road to Avonlea in which Marilla dies and Green Gables falls into the hands of land-grubbing neighbor Mr. Harrison. I wish the whole episode had just been included; the clips are wonderful, quite touching and occasionally funny despite the dark circumstances. There's little humor to be found in The Continuing Story, whether it's Fred glowering at the world or Anne in hysterics as she asks every nurse in France if she's seen her husband. If you're a fan of Sullivan's previous Anne projects, you'll probably want to check this out, but don't expect the same level of satisfaction. You may also want to look into Montgomery's later books, especially Anne's House of Dreams, to see how Montgomery covered this period of Anne's life. For me, The Continuing Story is an interesting but dreary side trip, and I don't think I'll ever be able to think of it on the same level as Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Avonlea.

Beatlemania Has Taken Over in I Wanna Hold Your Hand

My brother Nathan, the most avid Beatles fan in our family, was home this week, so the timing was just right for my latest Netflix delivery, a movie called I Wanna Hold Your Hand that takes place on the February day in 1964 when the Beatles played the Ed Sullivan Theatre. Though I wasn't familiar with any of the principal cast members, I'm certainly a fan of director Robert Zemeckis and producer Steven Spielberg, and the subject matter intrigued me, so when my friend Beth reviewed it here a while back, I stuck it in my queue. While I agree with her that it's a little excessively silly, a few laughs were just what we needed last night.

I Wanna Hold Your Hand chronicles the adventures of six teenagers who, for one reason or another, are determined to get to the Ed Sullivan Theatre in New York City for the Beatles' big show. They're from Jersey, and intrepid aspiring photographer Grace (Theresa Saldana), who is desperate for the chance of a career-making photo, has discovered that limousines are allowed to pull up to the hotel where the Beatles will be staying, so she sweet-talks the shy, awkward, not-yet-licensed Larry (Marc McClure) into commandeering his dad's limo and taking a little road trip.

Also along for the ride are reluctant Pam (Nancy Allen), who's about to get married and doesn't think her fiance will be thrilled about her spending her last night as a single woman out chasing the Beatles, and spastic Paul fanatic Rosie (Wendie Jo Sperber), who knows the answer to every trivia question on the radio and will risk life and limb to get to a phone in an effort to win a coveted pair of tickets. Janis (Susan Kendall Newman), a long-haired counter-culturalist who I'm guessing was named after Janis Joplin, wants to protest these artistically barren moptops in a place where she's most likely to get extensive exposure. The last to join the group is Tony (Bobby DiCicco), a Fonzie-like greaseball with a too-cool-for-school 'tude who tags along by pulling off one of the most reckless automobile stunts I've ever seen.

The chief attribute of this movie is that it is loud. My goodness, those Beatles groupies could screech. And it isn't just squealing and hollering, either; it's sobbing hysterically and trampling each other in an effort to catch a glimpse of their beloved Liverpool boys. If I were John, Paul, George or Ringo, I think I would be terrified. We don't really get to see the lads much, though we do catch a few glimpses of them thanks to Pam, who, despite not really wanting to be there at all, manages to get within close proximity to them on a couple of occasions. It's fun to hear their banter and to observe Pam's reactions, though her initial response to being in the Beatles' hotel room is rather indecent. I would have expected it of the ludicrous Rosie, but not the apparently level-headed Pam. But then this day is all about self-discovery.

While the teens arrive together, it doesn't take long for them to split up, so there's a lot of madcap action as their paths intersect and each faces different challenges in achieving the desired end. After her initial stalking efforts are thwarted, Rosie wriggles out of police custody only to hook up with Richard (Eddie Deezen), a bespectacled geek who is, amazingly, even more of a spaz than she is. An avid collector of Beatles memorabilia, this young man who insists on being called Ringo has been holing up illegally in one of the hotel's rooms. Though Rosie is still madly in love with Paul, she can't help but feel a spark of connection between her and this oddball.

Janis, too, makes a new friend in New York, a boy named Peter (Christian Juttner) whose father is holding his tickets to the Ed Sullivan Show hostage until the moptop gets a haircut. It's funny to hear the irascible father (Read Morgan) rant and rave about his son's girly hair when it's a style that, looking back, seems so natural and inoffensive. Peter is so attached to his look that he'd rather miss out on the Beatles than comply with his father's wishes, but with some help from an agitated Tony, Janis hatches a plan that leads to the boy going directly into the den of terror, complete with an intimidating one-eyed barber who reminds me of surly Mikhail from LOST.

Poor Larry does his best to accommodate Grace throughout the day, but she's so focused on getting her snapshot that it takes her a long time to realize what a gentleman he is. He strikes me as a prototype for Back to the Future's wimpy George McFly, particularly in one scene in which he utters a line that is given to George seven years later. He seems like the most normal one of the bunch, though he has his quirks, most notably very poor driving skills - though his unruly passengers don't help him out any on that score. If the hysterics of the young (and not-so-young) women in this movie are disturbing, the driving habits of the general teenage population are downright alarming.

Fans of the Beatles will enjoy bopping along to some of their hits, particularly the title song, which plays in the opening credits atop footage of the lads landing in New York. They'll also want to keep an ear out for references to later songs that are cleverly incorporated into dialogue. Meanwhile, if the 60s is your scene when it comes to music, it's fun to hear various characters discuss other musicians like Joan Baez, Bob Dylan and Peter Paul & Mary. Zemeckis fans, meanwhile, should be on the lookout for elements incorporated into his later films.

I Wanna Hold Your Hand is a silly movie, and most of its characters are so shrill that they can only be handled in small doses. There's some risky business going on behind closed hotel room doors as well as out in the streets, where obsessed fans will do just about anything to increase their likelihood of contact with John, Paul, George or Ringo. But the protagonists are likable even when they're irritating, and it's fun to watch the very different ways in which they come closer to their goals. I'm not sure if I could have braved a crowd in the throes of Beatlemania, but watching it all unfold on my TV screen is a pretty enjoyable way to spend an evening.

Jessica Tandy Works Simple Enchantment in The Story Lady

With so many other entertainment options available, many people suspect that good old-fashioned books are going out of style. The Story Lady, a 1991 made-for-TV movie starring Jessica Tandy, posits that the thirst for good stories is as strong as ever. In this charming film, Tandy portrays Grace McQueen, a widow who has just moved in with her daughter Meg (Tandy Cronyn) and son-in-law Norm (Richard Masur). Uninterested in the senior center Meg suggests she attend, Grace seeks out volunteer opportunities but is rejected at every turn until she discovers public access television and decides to broadcast her own show reading classic tales like Thumbelina and The Little Mermaid.

Just a silver-haired lady in a rocking chair reading a picture book. It doesn't seem like the formula for thrilling television, but with a little help from Scott (Christopher Gartin), the fresh-out-of-college producer immediately enchanted by her unassuming manner, her weekly show becomes a staple for hundreds of children and their parents. One child especially taken with the series is lonely Alexandra Pollard (Lisa Jakub), who lives with her workaholic mother, Julie (Stephanie Zimbalist). When Julie sees Alex watching Story Lady, she detects an opportunity. It's time to take Grace to the big time. Julie invites Grace to stay with her and Alex in New York City for a week while she films the pilot of a new, amped-up version of her little show. But how will this humble woman hold up under the bright lights of network television?

The film concludes toward the end of December, making this a movie that could be classified as a Christmas special. Key elements of the ending include an elementary school presentation of A Christmas Carol and a special Christmas delivery courtesy of Grace. But most of the movie isn't particularly tied to the holiday. It's an any-time-of-year story of families learning to respect and make time for one another, whether that means cutting back on work hours or simply making a date to enjoy a story together. It's about a mother and daughter reconnecting and a disheartened woman reclaiming a sense of joy by spreading happiness to others.

Tandy leads a strong cast, creating a character who is warm and witty, a bit bewildered by certain aspects of modern life but too savvy to be taken advantage of. Her rapport with young Jakub and the endearing Gartin is especially good, and she shares a great scene with Charles Durning as a judge late in the movie. While the movie is more sappy than comical, there are plenty of funny moments, particularly when Grace gets to the big city and learns what is expected of her. The Story Lady is a feel-good film that families can enjoy together, and its emphasis on quality time and excellent literature is just as refreshing today as when it was made.

Richard Jenkins Turns in a Subtle, Superb Performance in The Visitor

I didn't make too much of an effort to see a lot of nominees before the Oscars this year, but I did peruse Netflix and find a few films that were recognized by the Academy and were actually out on DVD already. One of the ones I added to the list was Tom McCarthy's The Visitor, for which Richard Jenkins received a Best Actor nomination.

A few years back, McCarthy directed The Station Agent, a quiet movie about a little person named Fin who moves into a train depot in the middle of nowhere after the death of his only friend. The two movies are similar in many ways. Like Fin, Professor Walter Vale (Jenkins) is recently bereaved and not very sociable. Just as gregarious hot dog vendor Joe helps bring Fin out of his shell, cheerful Syrian musician Tarek (Haaz Sleiman) is a liberating influence on Walter, despite the awkward circumstances of their meeting.

Walter spends most of his time in Connecticut, but he owns a Manhattan flat, and he's startled when he enters one day and finds two immigrants living there. One is Tarek, the other his stand-offish girlfriend, Zainab (Danai Gurira), who is from Senegal and earns money selling handmade jewelry. They claim to have rented the flat from someone Walter has never heard of and offer to vacate the premises immediately. At first, he agrees, but they're not long gone before he chases them down and invites them to come back.

So begins an unconventional friendship that deepens when Walter discovers his fondness for Tarek's African drum-playing and begins to learn how to play the large instrument himself. The first half of the film has a fairly light, buddy comedy feel to it, but it takes a more sober tone when Tarek is arrested and faces deportation, as we discover he is an illegal immigrant. While Walter tries to find a way to free his friend, he develops romantic feelings for Tarek's mother Mouna (Hiam Abbass), who comes to New York from Michigan to be near her son during his ordeal.

Clearly, McCarthy is making a political statement about illegal immigration in his movie, but mostly, it's a moving human story. Jenkins is wonderfully understated as the repressed professor whose window into another culture awakens passions he didn't know he had. Though he finds interaction with others awkward, he is polite and considerate to Tarek, Zainab and Mouna and eventually grows genuinely comfortable around them.

There's a lot of subtle humor to his mannerisms, and I found myself reminded a bit of James Cromwell's Farmer Hoggett as I watched. While it's intriguing to watch his characteristics change over the course of the movie, some of his funniest scenes are with minor players who barely share the screen with him, including brisk piano teacher Barbara (Marian Seldes) and dorky dog owner Jacob (Richard Kind).

While the romance that unfolds between him and Mouna is touching, his friendship with the emotionally open Tarek is more significant, as this is the relationship that has such a lasting effect upon his outlook on life. Though the movie does not provide a neat Hollywood ending, it does make it clear just how profound Tarek's impact has been.

Aside from one outburst near the beginning of the movie, there's very little profanity or violence in this PG-13-rated film. It deals with a complex issue, but The Visitor is primarily a story of unlikely friendships among a quartet of people who are, in one way or another, visitors.

Dickens Goes to the Dogs in Oliver and Company

When I was seven years old, the movie Oliver and Company hit the theaters. I immediately declared myself a big fan. I hung a large poster on the wall of my bedroom. I placed a finger puppet version of Oliver in the hot air balloon I had suspended over my bed so I saw him whenever I looked up. I bought the picture book adaptation from the Scholastic Book Club. But I never actually saw the movie. I'm not sure how that happened, as just about every other Disney movie that came out when I was a kid merited a trip to the theater, especially if it was animated. But I never got around to this one, and for some reason, I never rented it either. I finally got to see what I was missing this week when I rented it from Netflix.

Oliver and Company is an extremely loose adaptation of Charles Dickens' Oliver Twist. Instead of 19th-century London, it takes place in 1980s New York City. Little orphan Oliver (Joey Lawrence) is an orange kitten who strikes out on his own after his siblings are plucked from a street-corner box. The Artful Dodger is just plain Dodger (Billy Joel), a super-cool mutt who, after a rocky introduction, takes Oliver under his wing. Fagin (Dom DeLuise) looks pretty rough around the edges, but this human leader of Dodger's ragtag canine gang has a heart of gold, which I expected as soon as I heard DeLuise's voice. I always felt sorry for Fagin despite his villainous traits, but this Fagin is much more victim than villain and even has a heroic moment late in the film. The true villain is Sykes (Robert Loggia), to whom Fagin must deliver a hefty chunk of cash - or else.

Oliver's benefactor in this movie is Jenny (Natalie Gregory), a rich, lonely girl whose parents are often away on business. She lives under the supervision of jovial butler Winston (William Glover) and shares a home with pampered show poodle Georgette (Bette Midler). When Jenny happens upon Oliver, she is ecstatic, and Oliver, though he enjoys the company of Dodger's posse - dopey Einstein (Richard Mulligan), feisty Tito (Cheech Marin), regal Francis (Roscoe Lee Browne) and maternal Rita (Sheryl Lee Ralph) - couldn't be happier to have the home he always wanted. So he's not too pleased when they "rescue" him just as he's settling in and even less tickled to find himself being used as a bargaining chip to get Fagin out of debt.

This is a fun movie full of peppy songs and funny zingers, mostly from Dodger and his fellow dogs. I was a little disappointed to discover that Billy Joel had not written the music; it was his name I most associated with the movie, and I thought his role in it was slightly larger. Still, he does get the big show-stopping musical number, Why Should I Worry?, which bears a certain resemblance to Aladdin's One Jump Ahead. (It also includes the line "I got street savoir-faire," which my mom mis-heard as "I got fleas in my hair." Which no doubt was true as well!)

The other big number is Once Upon a Time in New York City, the opening song performed by Huey Lewis that firmly establishes the setting. This movie never lets us forget where we are, whether we're gazing up at the Twin Towers or joining Jenny and Oliver for an idyllic carriage ride through Central Park. Jenny does get her own song too, the very sweet and quiet Good Company, while Georgette's braggy Perfect Isn't Easy is amusingly over-the-top.

Just before the conclusion, there's one very dark moment involving Sykes, and there are slightly racy undertones with the way Tito and Georgette interact with one another. For the most part, however, this is a very sanitized version of the Dickens classic. The backgrounds have a somewhat flat quality to them, but they still are effective in capturing the hustle and bustle of the Big Apple. I confess it didn't hold my attention quite as much as I thought it might; I would say it's not quite up there with Lady and the Tramp or 101 Dalmatians. But for a lover of Disney, Dickens or dogs, Oliver and Company is a worthwhile movie to watch.