Anne Shirley Debuts as Laudable Literary Heroine

Five years ago, when I was a freshman in college wrapping up my nerve-wracking first semester, I read the Chronicles of Narnia. I’d already read the first two and a half, but I felt I really should delve into them again in order to properly appreciate the subsequent volumes. Once I did, I found I didn’t at all mind rereading such glorious prose as Lewis’, and the books became a great comfort to me during my last month of school. I have no particular challenge to overcome at the moment, but having rekindled my interest in one of my favorite literary heroines, Anne Shirley, I’ve decided to read through Lucy Maud Montgomery’s books about her, even though I’ve read the first two. It’s another case of “I can’t believe I never read the rest of them.” I’ve been spending the past few days in familiar territory, just finishing Anne of Green Gables yesterday. Though the edition I possess is riddled with typographical errors, it took only a paragraph or two to find myself delightedly immersed in the goings-on of Avonlea, the quaint Prince Edward Island town where the book is set.

Reading Montgomery’s book, it’s clear that the author loves words just as much as her most famous character. Her descriptions, particularly of the various Avonlea landscapes, are lush and enticing. They give the reader a very clear vision of the world they are entering, one that is confirmed upon viewing the glorious film adaptation. Did that movie, I wonder, do as much for the tourism industry in Prince Edward Island (or Canada at large) as Lord of the Rings did for New Zealand? It should have. Montgomery presents us with a location that is at once utterly realistic and fantastical. It is almost difficult for me to believe that this is a true representation of life as it was just a hundred years ago and a few hundred miles north of us. It makes me wish I could have inhabited that town, replete with natural wonders and simple pleasures and providing so much “scope for the imagination.”

Just as fully realized as the places in the book are the people. Anne bursts onto the scene with several half-page-long monologues, interrupted briefly by Matthew’s feeble attempts to answer the questions she tosses his way. This exchange is very amusing, giving us a great deal of information about Anne and Matthew as individuals and establishing the sort of relationship they will enjoy in the future. Anne’s breathless chatter continues for at least half the novel. She jumps so quickly from subject to subject that modern sensibilities might peg her as having ADD. Certainly she can’t be counted on to concentrate on anything for any given length of time, and the book is riddled with examples of catastrophes brought on by her propensity for daydreaming.

In addition to verbosity and wild imagination, Anne possesses a fiery temper to match her hated tresses. Because of her sweet, affectionate nature and her growing resolve to be more refined, this temper does not rear its head all that often. But when it does, it is something fierce to behold. More common than temper tantrums are plunges into “the depths of despair,” preceded or followed so quickly by flights of ecstasy that a modern psychologist would probably suspect manic depressiveness as well. Though she does tend to exaggerate the anguish brought about by life’s little disappointments and mishaps and relishes dreaming up the most melancholy stories she can imagine, she has an inextinguishable joie de vivre and a knack for getting people to like her.

Montgomery’s droll sense of humor is apparent from the first. She introduces three of the most important secondary characters in the novel with chapter headings all their own indicating the disruptive influence Anne has on her future family and neighbors. First Mrs. Rachel Lynde, then Matthew, then Marilla “is Surprised.” Each reacts to the surprise differently. For gossipy Mrs. Lynde, the news of her neighbors’ decision to adopt an orphan is something of a calamity, compounded several chapters later when she meets the child. Matthew is startled to discover a boy rather than a girl awaiting him and caught off guard when he discovers he enjoys her company. Stern Marilla does not take to the girl as readily as Matthew but finds in his reluctance to send her back a compelling reason to let her stay.

Of the three, Mrs. Lynde, though initially adversarial, is probably most like Anne, as she has a sharp tongue that wags freely and often. She little cares who she offends with her speech, though she is kind at heart and sometimes regrets being unduly harsh. Marilla possesses some of Anne’s spunk, but it has been submerged for so long that severity is her most notable trait. She spends the novel trying to balance what she feels is her duty to bring Anne up properly with a growing awareness of affection for the girl. Shy and quiet as Matthew is, he shows none of his sister’s reserve when it comes to expressing his adoration for Anne, and he remains always her most devoted admirer.

Among her peers, Anne finds a fast friend in Diana Barry, a lovely young girl a few weeks older than her who makes up for in loyalty what she lacks in imagination. Diana indulges Anne’s fantasies as best she can but is ultimately a practical girl with too many years of ladylike upbringing to match Anne’s capacity for creativity. She finds other kindred spirits in Rubie Gillis and Jane Andrews, who are pleasant playmates even though they have little more imaginative capacity than Diana. Josie Pye, meanwhile, a well-to-do sourpuss from a notably unpleasant family, conspires to make Anne’s life miserable whenever possible.

By far my biggest frustration with Anne in this novel is her refusal to treat Gilbert Blythe civilly. She takes his tiny bit of teasing as the deepest of insults and insists upon holding a grudge. The fact that he is the only student who can compete with her academically serves to further injure her pride, and it is heartbreaking to observe Gilbert’s unabashed good will refused time and again, until at last he gives up on ever winning Anne’s friendship. The film allows Anne to relent a bit earlier, waylaying some of the icy antagonism Gilbert adopts in the book when even a heroic rescue fails to move her. But Gilbert’s jubilation when Anne finally, in the book’s final pages, admits that she was in the wrong for snubbing him for so many years makes up for his cold silence.

Some of the usages in this text are a bit dated; such statements as “an important toilet was being made” are likely to strike modern readers as perfectly ridiculous. Montgomery could also be accused, I suppose, of excessively flowery prose. She has a particular obsession, it seems, with color, describing tints and hues in as many different ways as possible. (Who ever heard of the word “empurpled?”) Nonetheless, I enjoy drowning in her descriptions, which are often replete with masterful metaphors, and Anne’s rambling is just as beguiling to read, if a bit more exhausting.

Anne’s youthfulness in this first chronicle is especially appealing, and according to the introductory note this was the only of the Anne books Montgomery intended to write, it having grown out of a planned Sunday School serial. Anne grew so popular that publishers coaxed seven sequels out of her, but even if she had only written the one Anne would remain a memorable young heroine capable of resonating with readers a century later, nestled in a setting readers would wish they could inhabit themselves. At least, stepping into the pages of this glorious classic, they can, if only for a little while.

DiCaprio Resurfaces as Con Man Extraordinaire

Poor Leonardo DiCaprio. It must be hard to go from the most popular guy in Hollywood to the laughingstock is just months. Leo was a victim of his own success, grinning out from king-size posters, whispering fervently on that annoyingly spoilerific radio version of My Heart Will Go On (which must have played about once an hour) and appearing in various forms in the lockers and notebooks of millions of teenage girls across the country. It was overkill, and for a while I wondered whether we’d ever see him again. He seemed to drop almost entirely out of view. Then I saw Catch Me If You Can.

It’s five or so years later, and Leo once again is cast as a teenager, just 15 at the earliest point in this movie’s chronology. The teen in question is Frank Abagnale, Jr., a sweet-natured kid who turns con man in order to evade the responsibility of choosing which parent to live with after their divorce. Once his ingenious schemes begin and he starts to make money, he becomes determined to earn enough to replace everything they lost when his father (Christopher Walken), a bit of a con man himself, got caught and had his assets seized.

I can’t help but be reminded a bit of Huck Finn with Frank Abagnale, even though the circumstances are entirely different. Both are kids who are absolutely brilliant when it comes to pulling off highly improbable schemes. Moreover, both start running because of their fathers, though Huck hates his Dad and Frank adores his. At any rate, there’s something very appealing about this young man. He’s very likable, and nothing he does has malicious intent. When Frank begs Carl Hanratty (Tom Hanks), the agent who has been chasing him, to call a truce, we wish he could just give up the game with no consequences.

DiCaprio does a fantastic job as Frank, giving us just the right combination of sweetheart and wise guy. It’s come to the point at which it seems silly to even entertain the suggestion that Tom Hanks could be lousy in a movie. His performance, complete with a heavy New York accent, certainly measures up to DiCaprio’s. While Hanratty is a bit harsher than most of the characters we are used to seeing Hanks play – as demonstrated in an amusing scene that may have been what earned the film its PG-13 rating – he is really a decent guy, and it becomes evident that as aggravated as he is by the fact that Frank keeps slipping through his fingers, he has come to care about the teenager.

Walken turns in a rather haunting performance as Frank Sr. We get the sense that his son is succeeding where his father failed. His father is proud and perhaps a bit jealous as well, and he doesn’t see surrender as a viable option. His son has the Feds on the run; that should be enough to make him happy. Amy Adams turns in a sweet performance as insecure Brenda Strong, a candy-striper to whom Frank becomes very attached during his tenure as a doctor. When she brings him home to meet her parents, he has to reckon with her father (Martin Sheen), who seems intimidating at first but turns out to be a big softie. I really enjoyed his scenes with this family and, as a Lutheran, found their devotion to that denomination charming.

There’s something vaguely campy about the style of this movie. It’s a drama, but it has almost equal parts comedy. As Frank runs the gamut of impersonations – substitute teacher, airline pilot, doctor, lawyer – he relies as much on his charisma as his impressive check-forging skills. There are many scenes demonstrating his remarkable quick thinking, and these are generally the most riotous in the film. His first encounter with Hanratty is especially hilarious.

Catch Me If You Can is a fun movie with a largely happy ending. Like The Terminal, it’s light-hearted enough that it probably won’t go down as a milestone in the careers of its main participants. But it’s an enjoyable couple of hours with little objectionable content, and it was what convinced me that DiCaprio’s career is far from over. Catch yourself watching Catch Me If You Can.

Anne's Off for Adventure, But There's No Place Like Avonlea

After writing my review of Anne of Green Gables last week, I felt an urge to pull out Anne of Avonlea and watch that for the first time in years. The urge struck, oddly enough, around 11:30 at night, but I watched the second installment of Anne’s adventures without so much as a nod of the head. My rapt attention did not fade until the film ended after 3:00. When I finally succumbed to sleep, I had sweet dreams indeed.

I admit that due to the more youthful exploits chronicled in Anne of Green Gables, not to mention the idyllic locale and the presence of more beloved characters, especially Matthew, I prefer the original and return to it more often. But Anne of Avonlea is a beautiful work in its own right, showing us an Anne (Megan Follows) now teetering on the edge of adulthood and wishing that everything in her life could simply remain unchanged – a sentiment with which I can readily identify.

But numerous changes are in store for Anne, whether she welcomes them or not. Her best friend Diana (Schuyler Grant) accepts a marriage proposal from a young man whom Anne considers a most unsuitable suitor. “He’s very good,” Anne complains to an exasperated Marilla (Colleen Dewhurst), explaining that she would prefer a man who could be wicked if he wanted to be. Even more distressing than her changing relationship with Diana, however, are the affections of the steadfast Gilbert Blythe (Jonathan Crombie), who confesses what the audience has known all along: that he has loved her for as long as he can remember. Gilbert’s devotion to Anne is heartbreaking as she is convinced that an engagement to her old chum would simply not satisfy her adventurous whims.

What would satisfy them, for the time being at least, is the teaching position offered by her former instructor Miss Stacey (Marilyn Lightstone) at a prestigious school for girls in a town dominated by the aristocratic Pringle family. The numerous Pringles she encounters upon her arrival prove Anne’s greatest stumbling block, though icy headmistress Katherine Brooke (Rosemary Dunsmore) doesn’t do much to make her reception warmer. Here in this school setting, Anne must muster her deepest reserves of ingenuity to win over her defiant students. Her one kindred spirit, a girl named Emmeline Harris (Genevieve Appleton), is pulled out of school after a scuffle with Jen (Susannah Hoffman), the prissiest Pringle of all, and Anne must undertake a quest to become Emmeline’s personal tutor.

While I still am most enthralled by the goings-on in Avonlea, Anne’s new placement affords her many opportunities for excitement and gives her charm its greatest challenge yet. Emmeline is a winning new addition to the cast of characters, as are the members of her immediate family: her crusty grandmother (Wendy Hiller), timid aunt Pauline (Kate Lynch) and emotionally distant but soon-to-be-smitten father Morgan (Frank Converse). While Anne faces a host of hurdles in winning the approval of so many antagonistic townspeople, her greatest challenge comes when she actually succeeds and is forced to choose between a glamorous new life or the humble home she left behind.

With the exception of Richard Farnsworth, all the major supporting cast members who so enriched the first film are back in the second, though we see them far less than we’d like to. In spite of a number of amusing incidents later in the film, I find the beginning of the movie the funniest, punctuated by such landmark events as Anne winning the grand prize in a contest she didn’t enter and accidentally selling Rachel Lynde’s (Patricia Hamilton) cow to Gilbert’s father. Still, this is Anne’s time for self-discovery, and her lengthy absence only makes us appreciate Avonlea all the more when she returns after a year of hard work. Most of all, I think, we appreciate Gilbert, who in spite of his long absences from the screen provides the emotional core of the film. His earnestness and loyalty earn him a top slot in my list of all-time best fictional beaus, and Anne’s inevitable realization of her love for him, though initially devastating, ultimately leads to the most satisfying of conclusions.

While this is still a movie that can be appreciated by younger viewers, I would say the target audience is older this time. It is especially appropriate for viewers in their late adolescence or close friends or relatives of someone that age who are beginning to feel the pangs of empty nest syndrome. Anne of Avonlea is a story about change, but it also carries the message that the most important things remain constant, and in such turbulent times as one’s late teens always are, that is a very heartening reminder.

Anne With an "E" for Extraordinary

When I discovered that I would be working on Halloween this year, I wanted to come up with a bookish costume such as would be suitable for someone working in a bookstore. October 30 arrived and I still hadn’t gotten around to figuring something out, but luckily for me I happened to have several items of clothing stashed away that, together, made me into the perfect Anne of Green Gables. For a finishing touch, I got some temporary dye and colored my hair red, then put it into twin braids. The costume was a hit, though I was a bit embarrassed when I realized I was the only one who had come to work in costume. No matter. It was an opportunity to reacquaint myself with one of my favorite literary characters, the irrepressible Anne Shirley. She is also the subject of one of the most delightful – and faithful – film adaptations of a book that I have ever seen, and after Halloween we had to pull it out and watch it again.

When I was younger, my two cousins would come over and spend the night with my brother and me. Sometimes we spent the whole night together and sometimes Shawn and Benjamin went off on their own to put their potion-making powers to use while Kristen and I spent the night amongst pearler beads and paint-by-numbers. But no matter what, we almost always put on Anne of Green Gables shortly after their arrival and switched to Anne of Avonlea when the former ended. We rarely watched much of them, but for seven hours they provided a comforting backdrop to our nocturnal activities.

Megan Follows turns in a magnificent portrayal of Anne (“with an ‘e’”), an eccentric orphan who comes to live with siblings Matthew (Richard Farnsworth) and Marilla (Colleen Dewhurst) Cuthbert by mistake when they request a boy to help out with the family farm. She has a great flair for the melodramatic, insisting on speaking the most elegant words she can think of with the most desperate intonation she can muster. Her whimsy does not entirely meet with the stern and practical Marilla’s approval, but she charms the quiet and gentle Matthew from the start, easing her transition into Marilla’s good graces in spite of the vocal misgivings of busybody neighbor Rachel Lynde (Patricia Hamilton). No one in the community knows quiet what to make of her, but she soon finds acceptance and a much-longed-for “bosom friend.”

Diana Barry (Schuyler Grant) is as timid and feminine as Anne is outspoken and tomboyish, but they form an unbreakable bond and learn a bit from each other as well. Anne inspires Diana to do things she once would have thought too daring while learning from Diana the virtues of restraint. Her primary education, however, comes from Marilla, who keeps a strong guiding hand on her adopted daughter, amused by some of her antics but also insistent that she learn to be respectful. We see too little of Matthew in the movie, but when he shows up he is marvelously kind and his near lack of words stands in comical contrast to Anne’s unending stream of them. Of all the unique supporting characters in the film – and the book – he stands out as my clear favorite.

The other fellow who grabs our attention is Gilbert Blythe (Jonathan Crombie), a dashing young man who makes the practically fatal mistake of intoning Anne’s red hair while trying to get her attention during her first day at school. From then on, he is on her naughty list, even though he takes the blame when she smashes a slate over his head, apologizes profusely to her after class and continues to treat her with nothing but kindness in the ensuing years. Gilbert is a true gentleman, and it is in the matter of her interaction with him that I find Anne’s fiery temper most frustrating. The chorus of the Bryan Adams song Right Here Waiting for You always comes to mind when I think of Gilbert, so patient, so gallant, trying again and again to win the favor of a girl he greatly admires but inadvertently insulted. When Anne finally begins to come around, it is a joyous thing indeed, though her growing feelings of affection do not find true resolution until Anne of Avonlea.

There are many things about this film that appeal. Anne is such an entrancing heroine, all the more so for her frequent foibles. From dying her hair green to mistakenly getting Diana drunk – an act which earns her a lengthy separation from her most beloved friend, Anne always seems to be getting into the most ridiculous of messes. But she is also a girl of great intelligence, ranking high in all her class activities and impressing the community with her literary and theatrical gifts. She is surrounded by well-developed supporting characters with quirks of their own, and they add to the emotional resonance and entertainment of the film.

Another asset is the utter G-ratedness of this film. There is nothing in it that a parent would find objectionable, while Anne’s misadventures provide enough amusement to entrance the youngest viewers, especially during the first half. Anne of Green Gables is a remnant of a more innocent era, with a setting to match. The filmmakers depict turn-of-the-century Prince Edward Island as an arcadian wonderland whose simple beauty approaches that of the Shire, my literary landscape of choice. We are as enchanted as Anne during her first exposure to the landmarks that will become so familiar in years to come. The wistful soundtrack, heavy with strings, evokes a longing for a return to such times as depicted in the film.

Not that Anne’s world is free of heartache. Her early life was full of it, and when tragedy rears its ugly head in Green Gables it is all the more painful because this has become her haven. For a film so full of light and delight, it ends with what must be the most devastating event of Anne’s young life. But such is the power of the story and its characters that this scene is almost as crippling to the audience as to Anne herself. Though the movie has a three-and-a-half-hour running time, it never seems to drag. It was my favorite film of that length until Fellowship of the Ring, one that I don’t mind watching repeatedly and treasuring anew each time. If you haven’t ever experienced it, give the movie a try and let yourself fall in love with Anne of Green Gables for the first – but probably not the last – time.

A King I Will Watch Again and Again

After seeing Shall We Dance, I’ve had the film from which that title was drawn on the brain. The King and I is one of many glorious Rodgers and Hammerstein collaborations I have had the pleasure of seeing on stage since first seeing the film years before. Though both productions were excellent, I was especially enamored of the first, presented at the Erie Playhouse, which featured my theater teacher as the king, his wife as Anna, and his children as Prince Chulalongkorn and Anna’s daughter. It was truly a family affair, chronicled in our high school paper and the Erie Times-News. In order to make his role as authentic as possible, Mr. Gandolfo consented to having his head shaved; that was only one component in a masterful portrayal of one of my favorite Rodgers and Hammerstein characters. Several years later, he took the director’s seat as his son assumed the role of the king in my alma mater’s presentation of the show. I imagine it must have been a slightly surreal experience.

I never met a Rodgers and Hammerstein musical I didn’t like – though my feelings concerning South Pacific are mixed – so it should be no surprise that The King and I meets with my approval. When I went to the high school production of the play, the walls were peppered with student-penned reports about Siam and the culture and how offensive this play was to many people living in Thailand (as Siam is now called). Like The Sound of Music, The King and I is a fact-based tale of a woman who becomes a governess for a rather difficult man and teaches him to see the world differently. But both films stray considerably from historical accuracy, and in the case of this film it is very difficult to know what actually did happen because the primary source, an autobiography by Anna Leonowens, has been denounced as untrustworthy. So maybe The King and I has no more basis in reality than Don Bluth’s Anastasia, but it’s a very enjoyable movie nonetheless.

Its key players are the title characters. The “I” is Anna (Deborah Kerr), a British widow who comes to Siam to teach the king’s multitudinous children. Though her personality, especially when in the company of the children, is sunny enough, she is by turns uptight, self-righteous and condescending in the presence of the king. Though this makes for many comical situations and allows her unique relationship with the king to develop, it also is the source of a great deal of heartache toward the end. She is nowhere near as likable as Maria in The Sound of Music, and at times I find I don’t like her very much at all. On the whole, though, she’s a sympathetic character.

But the king (Yul Brynner) is far more fun, and he is the reason that I find The King and I so enjoyable. He’s a fireball, assured in his authority until Anna comes along and questions it. But he is aware that there is a great deal that he does not know about the world, and he is the most eager of students, enthusiastically embracing such new discoveries as the phrase “et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.” He is also a loving father, as much as he can be when his children number in the dozens. Though he seems intimidating at first, he is in fact the most vulnerable character in the film, as we come to see all too well.

Aside from the king, the two most authoritative figures in his court are Lady Thiang (Terry Saunders) and Kralahome (Martin Benson). Thiang is the most favored of the king’s wives and becomes a motherly confidante for Anna, all the while making her aware of what is expected of her. Kralahome is the king’s stern advisor who is none too happy about the fact that an English woman has come into the kingdom and is treating the king with less respect than he deserves. Other significant characters include Tuptim (Rita Moreno), a girl from another kingdom given as a gift to the king, and Lun Tha (Carlos Rivas), the man she loves who is forced to deliver her to Siam. Although we see all of the princes and princesses in a group throughout the film, the only one really singled out is Prince Chulalongkorn (Patrick Adiarte), who frets over the fact that he must one day assume the throne from his beloved father.

A central source of conflict between Anna and the king is the matter of her living quarters. She insists on reminding her employer continually that she was promised her own house, not the guest room she currently occupies in the palace. When he finally agrees to acquiesce to her request, it is clear the film has reached a turning point. The latter half of the film largely deals with the grand reception Anna plans – at the king’s request – in order to prove to visitors from England that Siam is a civilized country and its ruler a gentleman, not the “barbarian” he was described to be. The meticulously choreographed evening reaches its climax with the performance of The Small House of Uncle Thomas, Tuptim’s adaptation of Harriet Beecher Stowe’s novel. While its craftsmanship impresses the visitors – one of whom is a former flame of Anna’s – its subject matter angers the king and sets the groundwork for the film’s tragic conclusion.

The movie’s songs are, of course, noteworthy. Getting to Know You is a delightful number involving all of the children. I read once that it was originally intended for South Pacific; while I think it could have worked there, it is a musical high point in The King and I that serves the same ice-breaking role that My Favorite Things did in The Sound of Music. Whistle a Happy Tune is a fun little song that gives insight into Anna’s personality while also providing audience members with a nifty trick to try – at least, those lucky enough to have the ability to whistle. (Sigh.) Shall We Dance is the closest we come to a resolution of the unconventional romance that seems to be blooming between Anna and the king. It’s a scene bristling with elegance and eloquence, and we are left to wonder wistfully how their relationship would have progressed if not for the unfortunate events that followed. My favorite song, though, is far and away A Puzzlement. Here we get a fascinating peek into the king’s psyche, and we learn that he is not nearly as sure of himself as everyone thinks he is. While it is the most comical number in the movie, it is also the most introspective and revealing. It is a agonized rant that, like Billy Bigelow’s Soliloquy in Carousel, removes any doubt that this is a good man with whom we should sympathize.

I once watched The King and I with some relatives, and when it came to the moment near the end when Anna denounces the anguished monarch, declaring him to be a heartless man who does not know anything about love, I objected. My aunt said it was true, but I will never believe that. I think he knew a great deal more about love than Anna was willing to admit in that moment, and I’ll always like him far more than Anna. Of all the Rodgers and Hammerstein endings, this is by far the least satisfactory. But the movie as a whole is wonderful, and the king remains a character who will keep me coming back to the movie in spite of its dismal conclusion.

Shall We See Shall We Dance? Yes, Indeed!

I work in a mall that is in walking distance to a dollar theater. I have often taken advantage of this fact when going to the mall with my family or friends, capping off a shopping trip with a movie. But it also came in handy the other day when I closed up my store on New Year’s Day with an hour or so to go before I could get a ride home. I just headed over to the theater and bought a ticket to whatever happened to be playing closest to my time of arrival. The movie, as it turned out, was Shall We Dance, which my parents had just seen two days before. They had liked it, so I had no qualms about going in. And though my friend at work urged me to opt for Shaun of the Dead - which didn’t start for another half an hour - I think I slept easier with this zombie-free romance bouncing around in my head.

The film stars Richard Gere, who already proved his worthiness as a soft-shoe in Chicago, as estate lawyer John Clark, a man vaguely dissatisfied with his life without quite understanding why. Each night during his ride home on the train he passes by a dance studio and sees a beautiful but forlorn-looking woman (Jennifer Lopez) through the window. Intrigued, he decides one day to stop and investigate, taking the first step in an experience that will change his life.

Upon his arrival, he learns that he will not be spending much time with Paulina, the woman he saw from the window, during the ballroom dancing lessons she signs him up for. Instead, he will be under the tutelage of Miss Mitzi (Anita Gillette), a mildly frazzled older woman with years of experience. His fellow pupils are Chic (Bobby Cannavale), a man whose grace on the dance floor is matched by his apparent homophobia, and Vern (Omar Benson Miller), a big teddy bear of a guy who hopes to impress his girlfriend with his newfound skill (and the pounds he will lose because of it). Thrown into the mix is Bobbie (Lisa Ann Walter), an abrasive wannabe diva who spends the bulk of her time at the studio practicing for a tournament she can’t enter without a dancing partner, and Link Peterson (Stanley Tucci), John’s eccentric coworker who secretly does Latin dancing by night.

While the bulk of the movie follows John’s growing love affair with the art of ballroom dancing, the subplot focuses on his wife Beverly’s (Susan Sarandon) concerns that he is engaging in an affair of a different kind. His long absences and secretive behavior, not to mention the unfortunate experience of a coworker, lead her to hire an investigator, uber-casual Devine (Richard Jenkins), to scope out the situation. With the help of his quote-spewing assistant Scottie (Nick Cannon), he uncovers the not-so-adulterous nature of her husband’s activities. But is the marital rift that has already developed reparable?

Shall We Dance is a simple love story that comes to a somewhat unexpected climax. While this movie was advertised as a Gere / Lopez collaboration, her part in the film is smaller than anticipated. In fact, Sarandon’s role is just as important. But Lopez brings suitable depth to a character who obviously has darkness in her past that she hasn’t been able to evict. While Gere is the film’s focal point, and we are treated to several shining examples of his character’s newly acquired skill, it is the supporting cast who make the film so much fun. Tucci brings delightful zaniness to Link, also letting the audience in on the pain the derision of his coworkers causes him. Jenkins makes his detective crusty but lovable, and Cannavale introduces a comical imbalance between Chic’s machismo and obvious delight in gliding across the dance floor. My favorite character, though, is easily Miller’s gentle Vern, which was reminiscent of Forest Whitaker’s turn as Nate in Phenomenon. Though he may not ever be Fred Estaire, Vern has a heart to match his girth; he’s easily the most huggable fellow in the film.

Shall We Dance was never on my must-see list, but I’m glad circumstances conspired for me to watch it. It’s a sweet film that will leave you smiling.

I May Not Like Opera, But I Sure Love Phantom!

This past spring, my house was filled with singing as my brother Nathan prepared for his role in his high school’s production of Fiddler on the Roof. We’d been hearing Fiddler since November, when the choice of show was announced, and had by now accepted it as part of our daily soundtrack. But as the show was wrapping up, Nathan brought home a new and less familiar set of songs, this time from Phantom of the Opera, a production of which he had watched on tape in his theater class. I was of course familiar with the title song, and my piano teacher had introduced me to a couple others years before, but aside from that the soundtrack was unknown to me.

It took a couple times through before I found my comfort level amidst the pounding organ that made me jump each time I heard it and the voices that were often just a bit too operatic for my taste, but by the time I found out about the movie I was almost as eager to see it as my brother. His anticipation heightened as the release date drew nearer; meanwhile, a colleague at work raved about Emmy Rossum, the film’s young star. When Christmas finally rolled around, I’d decided Phantom was the one movie of the holiday season that I absolutely could not miss.

Last night, one year to the day after viewing the desperately anticipated final installment of Lord of the Rings, my wait came to an end. From the magnificent opening sequence in which the decrepit Opera Populaire morphs into a glorious vision of its former self, I dismissed the murmuring of critics, very few of whom seemed to like the film. I instead allowed myself, like my brother and my friend before me, to be swept away in the majesty of Sir Andrew Lloyd Weber’s masterpiece.

The film centers around three main characters. Rossum is radiant as Christine, the talented young chorus girl who becomes a star when she is forced to pinch-hit for resident diva Carlotta (Minnie Driver), who storms out hours before the big production of Hannibal after one too many dangerous “accidents” courtesy of the Phantom (Gerard Butler). Generally speaking I find male characters far more interesting and rarely declare a female to be my favorite character, but Christine’s virtue and innocence won me over completely. I also found Rossum’s voice gentler and less prone to shrillness than Sarah Brightman’s, causing me to like Christine all the more.

Butler is haunting as the Phantom. Though I was mildly disappointed to hear little evidence of his Scottish upbringing in the film – I hate to hear a good brogue go to waste – I was moved by his searing performance. The Phantom is a tragic character whose misery is largely self-inflicted. I left with the feeling that if only he could have kept his temper in check and not hurt anyone, things would have turned out much better for him. His intense insecurity over his deformity first manifests itself when Christine removes his mask, only wishing to see the face of her “angel of music” perhaps the most devastating moment in the musical is when Christine informs him much later that she is repulsed not by his face but his cruel deeds.

In spite of the Phantom’s shortcomings, I was rooting for him the whole time and was prepared from the beginning to dislike Raoul (Patrick Wilson), Christine’s childhood sweetheart who returns at the most inopportune of times ready to rekindle their romance. He’s not a bad fellow, but during most of his screen time I found him incredibly aggravating. First he is condescending, refusing to believe Christine’s tales of an unseen tutor. As soon as he believes, he is determined to destroy this man of whom he declares “genius has turned to madness.” I kept finding myself thinking, Why can’t he leave them alone? What she has with the Phantom seems far more deep and meaningful, if also more dangerous.

Minor characters also add considerably to the film. I love Meg (Jennifer Ellison), the quiet, sweet-natured friend of Christine who duets with her in Angel of Music. She appears very little in the film beyond that point, which I was sorry to see because I found her character very appealing. Her mother, Madame Giry (Miranda Richardson), comes across as the most compassionate of matrons, particularly in a flashback that explains the Phantom’s origins in the theatre. She also seems to have a sly sense of humor bubbling beneath the surface. She was a pleasant surprise for me, as she did not appear in the soundtrack. Driver provides comic relief, making her diva as intolerable as possible, both in vocal and interpersonal terms. Also valuable in that regard are Firmin (Ciaran Hinds) and Andre (Simon Callow), the opera’s rather incompetent new owners.

Visually the film is stunning, with its deep, rich tones and splashes of vibrant color. The Phantom’s lair is particularly impressive. But the music is the real star of the show, and each musical number thrills and entrances. Notes was my favorite song lyrically even though it made no appearance on the movie soundtrack. The throbbing grandiosity of the organ in the title song is even more affecting when coupled with the images on the screen, as is the dramatic moment when Christine goes from timid audition to star performance in Think of Me. Many of the songs made a great deal more sense to me when I could view them in context. All of the vocals sounded transcendent. I think it perhaps best that I had never seen the show itself, as most of the people who did seem to have found the movie a bit of a letdown. When I saw Return of the King, its glory sent me into a month-long stupor, but when I emerged I was able to pick dozens of little details that, on comparison with the book, I found rather bothered me. As I have no such basis for comparison in this case, I suspect Phantom will continue to leave me satisfied, at least until I see the play.

I am a big fan of Jesus Christ Superstar and Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, owning film versions of both as well as two different soundtracks for each. Based on my experience with those Weber rock operas, I assumed that I was getting the vast majority of Phantom through the soundtrack. I knew there must be a few missing pieces – for instance, a reunion between Christine and Raoul before his proposal. But I had no idea just how much of the movie would be completely new to me. Though some of it was simple dialogue, most was sung, or at least spoken in rhyme. While the melodies were predominantly echoes of the main songs that had graced the soundtrack, the intricacy of the lyrics was what really floored me. The clever back-and-forth, replete with internal rhyme, of Notes left me utterly in awe of lyricist Charles Hart, and I wonder why it is that Weber is the only one in this musical partnership who gets any attention. I deem that Hart is just as talented as Tim Rice, but I’ve never even heard his name before. I’m not sure how many “additional lyrics” Richard Stillgoe contributed, but I think both of them ought to get a bigger nod than they do.

I couldn’t help but be reminded time and again of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, and for more reasons than just the French setting. Raoul is less villainous than Gaston, the Phantom more beastly than the Beast, and Christine more conflicted than Belle over which suitor to choose, but I still wanted the Phantom to win out in the end. The transformation of the opera house at the beginning brought to mind the castle at the end of Beauty and the Beast, while Christine’s heart-wrenching Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again recalled Belle’s devotion to her father. Maybe Disney drew influence from Phantom in crafting their version of the classic tale and chose the name Gaston in homage to the novel’s author. Doubtful, but it’s fun to speculate, anyway…

Phantom is, of course, much darker than that award-winning musical, and I suppose a straightforward happy ending would not only be inappropriate but impossible. I like to think that in the end Christine became to the Phantom what Bilbo Baggins was to Gollum; unable or unwilling to give him what he wanted more than anything, she instead provided what he needed: a chance for redemption. Her compassion for the twisted man who molded her into the woman she has become is the heart of the film’s central conflict, achingly verbalized with her entreaty: Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known? God give me courage to show you you are not alone.

If you’ve never seen the play, get thee to the nearest theater and embrace the opportunity. Even if you have seen it, take the chance to be immersed once more in a wondrous creation. Its participants may not be unfolding their magic right before your eyes, but the enchantment remains.

Lots of Razzle Dazzle, But Not Much Else

Two years ago I watched as Chicago took home half a dozen Oscars and wondered whether I would feel bitter about them when I finally got around to seeing the movie. I like musicals, so I wanted to withhold judgment, but when I did get around to watching it I was gravely disappointed. I watched in the company of a roomful of people who loved the film, so I kept my criticisms to myself until I got in the car upon our departure. As it turned out, the members of my immediate family shared my lack of enthusiasm. Maybe we’re just too old-fashioned.

First off, Chicago takes place in probably my least favorite decade of the 20th Century: the 1920s. Anything I see depicting that era seems awash in a haze of cigarette smoke and cynicism. I hated the supposed Great American Novel The Great Gatsby and Chicago didn’t redeem the 1920s for me. I found the dingy nightclub scenes bursting with slinky costumes more depressing than those in the jailhouse.

Don’t get me wrong. This is visually a very impressive film. I happen to dislike all the locales pictured, but I’ll still concede that it looks good. The costumes are flashy, the fantasy sequences are imaginative and the choreography is astounding. I wanted to like this movie, not least because a good friend of mine told me I had to see it. So I gave it a fair shot, but there’s just very little in the film that appeals to me.

I generally find Renee Zellweger irritating, and never more so in this movie, where she plays aspiring star Roxie Hart. When she discovers that the man with whom she is having an affair doesn’t intend to get her into show biz like he promised, she is so enraged that she kills him. Her steady husband Amos (John C. Reilly) rushes to her defense, claiming guilt for himself, until he discovers the affair and has a slight change of heart. I found Amos the only likable character in the whole shebang, and even that isn’t a very strong draw. We feel sorry for him, especially in the song Mr. Cellophane, but in the end he’s bland and not very memorable.

The guy who gets all the attention is Billy Flynn (Richard Gere), the slick lawyer who takes on Roxie’s case and tries to sweet-talk the public into sympathizing with her. This job is made more difficult by the fact that she possesses very limited reserves of tact and restraint, amusingly illustrated in We Both Reached for the Gun. Also making her life harder is Velma Kelly (Catherine Zeta-Jones), the slinky star-turned-murderess she once idolized. Now she stands as her rival to the public’s affections, and Velma’s been around the block a few times and knows how to play the game.

While I can’t find anything remotely likable about either of these leading ladies, Matron “Mama” Morton (Queen Latifah) does hold a certain appeal for me. She is also too cold and conniving for my taste, but she puts forth the appearance, at least, of being warm and motherly at times. There are moments when I think she really does care about the women under her watch, and her African-flavored introductory number is enjoyable enough. She’s my favorite of the gals, but given the company that’s not saying too much.

The whole idea of switching constantly between real life and some dream sequence in the minds of the characters didn’t work for me. I guess I like my musicals more straightforward than that. I have no trouble accepting people bursting forth into song. I do, however, tend to find self-referential theater less than satisfying. It’s a conceit that won many viewers of the movie over, but I’m afraid it turned me off. Add to that the dearth of sympathetic characters, songs that failed to stay with me and an overriding sense of cynicism and what I was left with was a masterfully executed movie that I didn’t get anything out of. It echoed the reaction I had when I saw my alma mater’s production of On Your Toes: Gee, the cast, crew and orchestra are doing a brilliant job, but this is the most pointless play I’ve ever seen. Obviously a lot of moviegoers disagreed with me, so I won’t tell you not to bother with it. But if you’re looking for a good musical, there are a couple dozen others I’d point you to first.

Clay Aiken's Book Shows What a True American Idol Looks Like

Learning to Sing: Hearing the Music in Your Life, Clay Aiken’s memoir which came out this week, was one of two celebrity autobiographies I eagerly awaited this fall. The first, Sean Astin’s, was enjoyable enough but a bit of a disappointment. Clay’s, however, was everything I hoped it would be. It arrived in the Waldenbooks where I work five days before the release date, and I couldn’t help but read the first couple chapters on breaks in the back room. As it turned out, I didn’t work on Tuesday or the day after, so the book was not mine until Thursday. I came home and read the rest of it in one sitting.

Clay’s book is divided into twenty chapters, each of which is broken up into many easily digestible nuggets. Rarely does an individual section last more than a couple pages, making for very easy stopping points. Each chapter bears a metaphorical title. I suspect co-writer Allison Glock assisted with these; I’m still puzzling over what exactly her contribution was and how she happened to be selected for the job. I suspect it had something to do with the fact that she wrote one of the most lyrical and complimentary articles about Clay during 2003's media blitz summer. It’s frustrating for a Claymate not to know which words are his and which were crafted by a more seasoned writer. But whether most of the words are his or hers, the result is a memoir as witty and endearing as the singer himself.

I first heard of the project in the predictably cynical Entertainment Weekly; a blurb accompanied by a Clay caricature noted that he would soon publish an “inspirational memoir” and concluded with a snide remark. I was thrilled and a bit surprised. I had no doubts that Clay had the ability to write a book, as interviews have consistently revealed him as one of the most articulate musicians in the business, but I couldn't fathom where he could find the time. A friend of mine somewhat concurred with EW's opinion, at least as far as the title was concerned. “Isn’t that title terrible?” he urged me to admit. I’ll concede it’s a title that could have been culled from interior of a Hallmark card, but a sap like me won’t complain about that. The “inspirational memoir” bit does seem a tad over the top; he could have left his readership to draw their own conclusions on that score. But Clay’s book is a triumph, and I can’t help but smile to see copies of it peeking out at me whenever I come in to work. I hope it’s up with the bestsellers as long as The Da Vinci Code and The Five People You Meet in Heaven.

All of this, and I really haven’t said much about the book yet. In the first chapter, Clay reveals his trepidation with writing this volume and his uncertainties as he adjusts to life as one of the most adulated celebrities in recent history. As I pored over the pages in the back of Waldenbooks, I struggled to stifle my laughter as his wit rose to the surface immediately with examples of sentences his mom made him write hundreds of times as a child (“I will not say Granny’s face needs ironing”) and the trials he’s had to face living in California (“avocado on all the food”). Alongside it were reminders of the class and integrity that is every bit as integral to Clay’s success as his glorious voice. The chapter concludes with welcome reassurance that success has not corrupted the gangly geek with a heart of gold; he will always strive to wield his astonishing influence in the most positive manner possible. Part of that ideal must be attributed to his mother, Faye Parker, whose moral fortitude and devotion to her son have won the hearts of Clay’s fans. The second chapter focuses mainly on their relationship, and I could not help but hear the eerily autobiographical strains of Proud of Your Boy every time Clay acknowledged his indebtedness to his mother.

The book proceeds thematically, with each chapter focusing on particular people or a certain aspect of Clay’s life after being introduced with a quote from someone who knows Clay, usually his mother. The next folks to take the spotlight are Clay’s grandparents – not only his mother’s parents, whose last names now make up Clay’s full name, but the couple who sheltered Clay and his mother after they fled the man whose name Clay would eventually forsake. Other relatives score a passing mention here, most amusingly his great-grandfather and his brother. Both were accomplished folk musicians whose repertoires, which included songs as diverse as What a Friend We Have in Jesus and Intoxicated Rat, were recorded in the Library of Congress. But the chapter deals mainly with the differences between the two sets of grandparents and Clay’s desire to balance his love for them equally. It includes what I found to be one of the most moving passages of the book, in which Clay recalls evenings listening to the Grand Ole Opry with his grandfather -- his “papa” -- before flashing forward, revealing that his grandfather now has Alzheimer’s but still knows his grandson. Instead of the Grand Ole Opry, he now listens to Clay’s CD every night. “It’s as if I am still there,” he writes, “like I was as a child, lying beside him and singing him to sleep as the darkness falls.”

Later chapters delve into his notoriously troubled relationship with his biological father, Vernon Grissom. It was painful to read about such a compassionate child being rejected by his own father, but he had already exposed that aspect of his childhood in interviews and articles so it was not a shocking revelation. I think it was more difficult to discover that he and Ray Parker, the step-father of whom Clay had always spoken with such love, did not share the wonderful father-son relationship I had envisioned. It was, in its own way, equally strained, and perhaps more tragically so as Clay seems racked with regret over a closeness they might have shared had he been more open to it. There are several points in the book in which Clay hashes out his guilt, most gut-wrenchingly when he blames his sister’s suicide on his reticence. Such entries are reminders of his humanity, his vulnerability, moments of exposure that left me with the urge to envelop him in a big bear hug until the pain has receded.

While Clay notes with gratitude the devotion of his fans, he seems uncomfortable with descriptions of him that deny the patches of darkness in his soul. “Nobody is a saint,” he writes, “and if I had a halo it would be crooked.” The book is filled with examples of childhood mischief to back this up, but it generally comes across as innocent impishness. We get a glimpse of Clay’s rotten treatment at the hands of classmates, partly because he hadn’t yet developed the self-confidence that has helped him become so successful. He fights for what he believes in, but there was a time when he didn’t like who he was. Reading about his own personal journey of becoming comfortable in his own skin – content with his talents, his ideals, his looks – was far more inspiring than seeing the much-ballyhooed makeover on television. Some producers would have us believe that a new hairdo, a pair of contacts, and some fancy duds made the world fall in love with Clay. I say he would have worked his way into just as many hearts had he continued to look like a grad school librarian. I noted with satisfaction that although the cover shots of Clay are suave and debonair, inside he more often than not looks like the boy next door. My favorite photo in the book shows him, probably in his early teens, sitting in an old-fashioned car with a shy smile and a pair of glasses that would make Rick Moranis proud. Every time he shows up for a performance or interview wearing his glasses, I revel in his willingness to remain dorky. It all helps me to think of him more as a guy I would have palled around with at school that an untouchable celebrity, which is appropriate and comforting as he is the first musician I have admired who was not famous before I was born. It's easy to imagine that we could have been friends.

When I read Sean Astin’s autobiography last month, it was really Samwise Gamgee I wanted to hear about, so while I found the whole of his memoir enjoyable enough, the only part I really cared about involved Lord of the Rings. Clay does not linger very long on his experience with American Idol, and it doesn’t bother me a bit. It wouldn’t have mattered to me if he hadn’t mentioned it at all. Though many of Clay’s detractors still fail to see it, this young man is about so much more than a phenomenally popular television program. I find every aspect of his life fascinating, and if he spends more time diving into less familiar territory, so much the better. I did find it intriguing that Clay associates the song Solitaire with his birth father; though I’ve often read speculation that Clay is thinking of his father when he sings I Survived You, the connection with Solitaire had never occurred to me. I would have been interested to hear just how it was that Clay decided upon Bridge Over Troubled Water as his show-stopping final selection. I was one of many fans praying he would sing that, my favorite song, at some point in the competition. But the limited number of pages focusing on American Idol were no disappointment.

One aspect of Clay’s life that has been evident from the beginning is his commitment to children, especially those with special needs. The book chronicles his involvement with the YMCA, which eventually led to his placement as a teacher in a classroom full of autistic children, which in turn led him to study special education in Charlotte and work with Mike Bubel, whose mother suggested he audition for American Idol and would go on to help found the Bubel/Aiken Foundation. Seeing him fall in love with a disenfranchised portion of the population was one of the most inspiring aspects of the book. The effects of his championing these children are staggering. He has become a catalyst, inspiring thousands – maybe millions – to donate their time and money to worthy causes. As one who spent much of his childhood picked on by his peers, Clay now urges everyone to practice tolerance and inclusion.

Clay has managed to reach fans across a broad demographic. Many of his fans come from a Christian background, and sites such as claytonaiken.com, host of one of the first and largest forums dedicated to Clay, dub his faith one of his most laudable characteristics. Clay documents his struggle to remain a role model when fame has handed him opportunities to toss his integrity out the window. “If I’m going to remain a decent human being,” he writes, “it’s really up to me.” But he freely admits he doesn’t smoke, drink, swear or womanize, and it doesn’t appear he has any desire to. He refused to back down when RCA tried to fill his album with lyrics presenting messages that were less than G-rated. He included an overtly religious song – You Were There – in his set list during his first solo tour. But he doesn’t pretend to have all the answers. In spite of his deep faith in God, he became discouraged with church and stopped attending for a time. He wrestles with some of the methods and messages of his fellow Christians. “To me, God is about love, not condemnation,” he writes, striking the perfect balance between his faith and his desire to embrace all people. “I sincerely hope that people whom I love and care about who might be Jewish or Muslim or have different faiths and structure systems than I do also find peace in heaven. And I don’t think it’s my place to tell them they’re not going to.” Amen.

I left the book with a renewed appreciation for the unique, talented, passionate, compassionate gentleman who is Clay Aiken. I can’t wait to see what he does with the rest of his life. Whatever happens, I know that Clay’s time in the spotlight is far from up and the good ripples he causes will continue to expand. “My goal is to be triumphant in using where I am to do something bigger than what I am,” he writes. May God grant him a long and happy life doing just that.

It's Clay. It's Christmas. How Can You Go Wrong?

It’s that time of year again, when every store you go into blasts Christmas music in your ears until you think you’re going to throw up if you ever hear the names Rudolph or Frosty again. Unless you’re like me, and you can’t get enough of it. I’m always the first one in the family to want to listen to Christmas music. Thanksgiving isn’t soon enough to break out the Rocky Mountain Christmas and Christmas With the Chipmunks. The ever-expanding nature of the Christmas season has its drawbacks, but walking out into the crisp fall air with Mannheim Steamroller jingling around in my brain can only serve to improve my mood.

So when I heard that Clay Aiken, the young singer whose performances and personality swept me off my feet during the second season of American Idol, was releasing a Christmas album, I was duly excited. While I had found his first album a bit disappointing – though the songs have grown on me over the past year – I loved the Christmas album released by several Idol alumni. Clay’s rendition of The First Noel gave me the chills I had come to expect his powerful pipes to inspire. After the over-production of his album, the sparse arrangement was just what his voice needed to shine, and the classic material certainly didn’t hurt. With an entire album of songs like this, how could he go wrong? This time, I was not disappointed.

O Holy Night – This powerhouse ballad has always been one of my favorite Christmas songs. When done properly, it has serious shiver potential, and from the beginning it was the one Christmas song I most wanted to hear Clay sing. All its high notes and crescendoes, not to mention the inspiring lyrics, are perfectly suited to his voice. He rises to the challenge and brings to song to a thrilling climax with his trademark “glory note.” The arrangement is mostly piano-driven with a bit of a choral background coming in later. The slight changes he makes to the melody – particularly on “fall on your knees, oh hear the angels’ voices” – help distinguish his version, and it’s certainly in the running for my favorite rendition of this song.

Winter Wonderland – I wasn’t crazy about this number on the American Idol compilation, though I review in the newspaper marked it as the standout track with Christina Christian’s vocals the most outstanding of the bunch. Actually, it seems to me I may have heard that Simon Cowell said that, which would be very surprising given his disdain for impersonations; she sounded just like Marilyn Monroe. At any rate, I like Clay’s version a lot better. It’s just a straightforward take on a Christmas classic, complete with both verses; it seems like I always hear either one or another, and my dad said he’s never heard the second verse before at all. They do strike me more as alternate options than complementary verses, but it works.

Silent Night – There’s a slight guitar presence here, but most of Clay’s accompaniment comes in the form of a very angelic-sounding choir which even takes the lead for a while. I don’t mind, though; it just makes his re-entry more dramatic. A very heartfelt and rich rendition of what is perhaps the most classic Christmas carol of all.

Hark the Herald Angels Sing / O Come All Ye Faithful – A very pleasant duo of songs giving Clay a chance to flex those vocal muscles again after the sedate Silent Night. The latter was one of the group songs on the American Idol album and provided a preview of Clay’s performance here. The choir is featured in prominence in Hark, while Faithful is Clay’s chance to milk his flair for dramatic singing for all it’s worth.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas – Having just read the first two chapters of Clay’s book, it strikes me that this song, with its smooth jazzy flavor – complete with a nifty sax solo – and submerged dark undertones may be especially appropriate given his tumultuous childhood. Troubles weren’t always far away, but Christmas was an opportunity to focus on people who cared about him and the God who sustained him.

Mary, Did You Know – I’d never heard this song before my senior year in high school, when it was the theme of our Christmas program. I seem to remember it being longer. I don’t know whether he cut it or it was extended for the ballet that accompanied it in high school. Maybe I just remember it wrong. At any rate, it’s a quiet, contemplative song that flashes forward to different events in Jesus’ life. Clay does a great job with it, though I’m not crazy about the accompaniment, which sounds like one of the cheesy background tracks on the little Casio keyboard I used to have. My favorite part is the bridge, during which Clay goes into over-the-top mode again and the percussion momentarily disappears.

Joy to the World – This is another song with heavy choral involvement. I’m pretty sure it’s a choir that hasn’t appeared on the CD up to this point. The really drive the song and may even have more singing to do than Clay does. Tobe honest they're a bit harsh at time, and it's on the low end in my ranking of songs on this album. Still, the tone is appropriately jubilant and Clay manages to sneak in another glory note at the end.

The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire) – Another song with a jazzy feel to it. Piano is the prominent instrument here, and to be honest I feel like I’ve heard this exact accompaniment before. So nothing new here, but he sings the song well. Just a thought: What were the folks who named this song thinking? Were they incredibly pompous or just not too bright? These are all Christmas songs; did they think theirs was more Christmassy than any other? It’s a good thing they have that subtitle at least...

Don’t Save it All for Christmas Day – I’m sure I’ve heard this song before, but I’m not sure where. I was unaware that Celine Dion had written it. It’s one of the less familiar tunes on the album, and it has a very good message to it. Clay really goes to town on the choruses – most notably with an impossibly long note coming into the third chorus – and it seems like a very good song for him considering the way he has inspired people to volunteer work, charitable giving and random acts of kindness. I also just heard he’s been selected as an ambassador for UNICEF, so he’ll be taking his humanitarian energy around the globe.

Merry Christmas With Love – The only place I’d heard this title song before was online from a performance of Clay’s on a local show several years ago. So I would call it the closest thing to a signature song on this album. It tells the tale of a disenfranchised and lonely woman whose depressing holiday is uplifted by the presence of a caring troupe of carolers at her door and serves as a companion to the song preceding it.

Sleigh Ride – Perhaps these last two songs were included especially for Clay’s multitudinous female fans. Both are romantic in nature, and most Claymates would probably be thrilled to imagine they’re the ones being invited to share a sleigh ride or New Year’s Eve with Clay. This song has a special place in my heart because I was part of the school orchestra senior year in high school, and this was my most exhausting number in the Christmas show. My primary duty was to provide the steady beat of jingle bells, but I also had to crack the whip – basically a piece of wood attached to another piece of wood with a hinge – and, if I recall, ding the triangle. I was disappointed at the lack of sleigh bells in Clay’s rendition, but it’s still a lot of fun.

What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve – This is another jazzy song, very slow and smooth. It hearkens back to Invisible, a guy hopelessly smitten and feeling as though the one he loves will never acknowledge him. At least in this case he gets up the guts to ask; or is he just practicing in front of his mirror for an encounter that will never occur? Anyway, an enjoyable song.

Clay’s album is a simple collection of Christmas standards. In spite of the mix of sacred and secular holiday tunes, the overwhelming tone of the album is religious. I feel like Clay had more control over the project this time and the results are exactly what I would want in a Christmas album or a Clay album. The classy holiday-themed photos of Clay inside the cover only sweeten the deal; I'm especially fond of the contemplative pose facing the info for The Christmas Song and Joy to the World. I mentioned a signature song before, and it would be nice if this album had one that either Clay had written or that had been written specifically for him. Virtually all of my favorite Christmas albums have them: John Denver’s Apenglow and A Baby Just Like You, Neil Diamond’s You Make it Feel Like Christmas, Peter Paul and Mary’s The Magi and Don’t Let the Light Go Out... even Alvin and the Chipmunks’The Chipmunk Song. But aside from that, it’s a wonderful album and I wouldn’t be at all surprised to hear it blasting from the mall radio shortly after Thanksgiving. I wouldn’t be at all upset either.