Mary Martin and Company Fly Where Disney Falls

When I entered my sophomore year of high school, I quickly heard the news that a spring musical had already been chosen and that the musical in question was Peter Pan. Now, I wasn’t exactly an active member of the theater department. I’d desperately wanted to be in The Sound of Music, but alas! That didn’t happen. But I was sure I could correct whatever mistakes I made the first time around to prevent me from winning a part in my favorite musical. I would be in Peter Pan, and that would be almost as good. Most of the theater folks did not seem to share my enthusiasm. I heard comment after comment about what a lame show we were staging, and I wondered why these students were bothering to try out if they hated the play so much. But such is theater, I guess. You soldier on, no matter how little regard you have for the material itself. But I geared up.

I very much wanted to sing I’ve Gotta Crow, but I couldn’t find the accompaniment for the song anywhere. I wound up with Distant Melody, coupled with the monologue in which Tinkerbell drinks Peter’s medicine. The song went okay, but I’m sure I would’ve garnered more attention with the song I wanted. The monologue was decent, but they cut me off before the end, so I didn’t even get to crow there. I really had hoped to show off my rooster imitating skills. Nonetheless, it seemed a good sign when I was called into the other room for a dance audition. That hadn’t happened the year before. Unfortunately, a few minutes of trying to keep up with the hand-clapping in Ugg-a-Wugg convinced both me and the dance director that I did not possess sufficient coordination for such a venture, and thus ended my foray into musical theater. Sniff. So I can’t help but feel a tinge of regret when I watch the film version of the Broadway production starring Mary Martin and Cyril Ritchard. These days, the possibility of my being in a musical seems about as distant as the possibility of being able to fly (which, by the way, is the superpower I would choose above all others). Nonetheless, it remains one of my favorite musicals.

No doubt, there’s some weird stuff going on here, with Peter Pan played by a gal (a woman in her 40s, no less); Wendy played by the same actress who plays her daughter Jane, indicating that ultimately the two girls are the same to Peter; and Wendy’s uptight father played by the same actor who portrays Captain Hook. Ritchard stands as a sort of metaphor for adults and adulthood in general, the implication being that they are always on hand to attempt to ruin everyone’s fun, and there’s no escaping them even in Neverland. Mr. Darling reminds me of Mr. Banks in Mary Poppins. Both men try to keep a tight rein on their household, but in reality they have no control over their children at all, and a supernatural visitor is required in order for the father to attain a healthy relationship with his offspring. In this case, however, Wendy (Maureen Bailey) is the fussbudget and the one who eventually does the leaving, much to Peter’s dismay.

Mary Martin has a grand old time playing Peter, though it’s hard to forget entirely that she’s a woman. Her Peter is bright and energetic, and oh the joy whenever he takes flight! Wendy, by contrast, is far too concerned with adult matters, and we soon realize that she’s almost too old as it is to venture into Neverland. Her relationship with Peter is complicated by their differing perspectives. Peter has been a boy for years and years, and the only role he can imagine Wendy in is that of his mother. He is perplexed and even repulsed when realization dawns that she may be more interested in a romantic relationship. Wendy’s siblings, intellectual John (Joey Trent) and cuddly Michael (Kent Fletcher), quickly assimilate into the Lost Boys, but Wendy’s place in the group is unique – and threatened by the Indian princess Tiger Lily (Sondra Lee), who competes for Peter’s affections. A trace of that tension comes across in Ugg-a-Wugg, the complicated gesture of friendship between Tiger Lily’s tribe and Peter’s. This scene is pivotal in that Peter and Tiger Lily had been enemies up until this time, but now they’ve come to the realization that they must unite against a common foe: adulthood (Captain Hook, but also the unwanted advances of Wendy).

To my mind, the most entertaining character in the whole bunch is the slightly flamboyant, overdramatic Captain Hook, who insists upon striking up the band every time he makes an announcement, who embarrasses himself by developing a crush on a woman who turns out to be Peter in disguise (a woman playing a boy playing a woman!), who bonks his faithful servant Smee (Joe E. Marks) on the head whenever the mood hits him. His songs plotting the demise of Peter and his friends are deliciously devious, backed by the silly instrumentation provided by his devout band of pirates, while his flirtatious back-and-forth with Peter in Oh, My Mysterious Lady is priceless. That’s not to say that Peter doesn’t have delightful musical numbers all his own. In fact, most of the songs star him, from the delightfully cocky I Gotta Crow and the joyful I’m Flying to the boisterous Wendy and I Won’t Grow Up, which exemplifies the author’s driving point that childhood is far preferable to the drudgery of adult life.

Because this is about as direct an adaptation as you’re likely to see of a Broadway show, some of the elements come across as rather cheesy to an audience used to sophisticated special effects. The fly lines are often visible. The nonhuman residents of Neverland are people dressed in strange costumes; the dog responsible for babysitting Wendy and her brothers is also a person is a costume, which has to have been incredibly uncomfortable. Tinkerbell is indicated only by a flashlight and a bell, though I have to admit this is a pretty cool effect, and as she is my least favorite character I’m happy to see and hear as little of her as possible. My school shelled out the big bucks to get a laser image of Tinkerbell to project whenever she was supposed to be on stage, but in this case I think simplicity is better, and it would have saved the theater department a nice chunk of change to stick with the flashlight. The sets are fairly sparse, leaving much to the imagination, though perhaps not as much as in Cinderella. The score is delightful to listen to, if not to play; my friends who were in the band that year just about keeled over trying to make sense of the complicated orchestrations, worsened by the fact that the sheet music was riddled with hand-written notes to the actors involved in the original production.

My dad finds Peter Pan annoying and bizarre, and I can see his point – especially when I watch the Disney version. But my affection for the fairy world J. M. Barrie created remains, especially as manifested in this masterful adaptation of the Broadway production. If I can’t live it and I can’t be in it, I’m happy at least to be able to watch it.

Never Before Has Neverland Seemed So Within Our Grasp

Last year, I watched Two Brothers and fell in love with Freddie Highmore, the English answer to Haley Joel Osment. I soon learned he was set to star with Johnny Depp in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, a prospect that pleased me very much. But in the meantime, there was another film starring the two to watch out for: Finding Neverland. I already was convinced of the superiority of the cast, but glowing reviews from friends and critics and an NPR program in which an expert on accents applauded Depp’s work in the film made me even more eager to see it. As too often occurs, I missed it in the theater, but I was all too happy to finally watch it when it came out on video.

I’ve always been a fan of Peter Pan – the general story if not every version – but over the course of several years, particularly in college, my information led me to believe that author J. M. Barrie was at best deluded, at worst a pedophile, and probably both. When I first heard of this movie, I thought it might be rather gritty and cynical. As it turned out, it was just the opposite. I don’t know which account to believe, but I certainly like this one better, and the idealist in me embraces it.

Depp stars as Scotland native Barrie, and I must say that he was awfully easy on the ear. I don’t mask my prejudices. There are few things in this world more beautiful than a Scottish accent. It’s the reason I fell in love with Billy Boyd; it’s the reason I started watching Craig Ferguson after Letterman every night. So even though Depp naturally has just a plain old American accent, I forget that in an instant here. Flawless. But there’s more to this performance than admirable command of a dialect. Depp portrays Barrie as a man rather like Michael Jackson (ironic given the abundant comparisons his role as Willy Wonka produced) but with none of the creepy oddball associations. The people around him may make those accusations, but we see him simply as a gentle man intimately in touch with his inner child and unable to mold himself to the conventions of polite society. Like John Denver, his life’s work and his charitable causes are of greater concern to him than his personal life, which has deep ramifications for his relationship with his wife (Radha Mitchell).

In Barrie’s case, the “charitable cause” that consumes him and troubles his wife is the family of Sylvia Llewelyn Davies (Kate Winslet), a recently widowed woman with a brood of four boys, three of whom (Joe Prospero, Nick Roud, Luke Spill) are energetic and imaginative. The odd one out is Peter (Highmore), who is deeply scarred by his father’s death and has little use for the falderal Barrie happily trots out for the boys’ benefit. Nonetheless, the author perseveres, encouraging Peter to write his own stories. Meanwhile, he is so inspired by his afternoon romps with the children that he recovers from a writing slump, writing what is destined to be by far his most popular play, though his producer (Dustin Hoffman) is overcome with worry that this exceedingly strange piece of theater will be a colossal flop. Hoffman remains an understated comic presence, and I can only assume he was asked to assume the role as a nod to his performance as Hook in the film of the same name. At the same time, Sylvia’s stern mother (Julie Christie) shows increasing disapproval of the playwright’s involvement with her daughter and grandchildren, particularly once Sylvia begins to display signs of a serious illness.

The look of this film is magical, suffused with dappled sunlight that almost invariably overpowers the shadows that linger on the periphery. The visions of Neverland are especially bright, and for fans of the story it’s exhilarating to feel as though we are watching the genesis of these beloved characters and events. Perhaps my favorite such moment is when Barrie observes the Davies children jumping on the bed and imagines them continuing upwards instead of falling back upon the soft mattress, flying out of the open window into a land where they will never grow older and never change. As much as he tries to preserve their innocence, he cannot shield them from harsh reality, but he can give them a gift: the power of story, latent within each of them, to unlock the magic so many weary souls have left behind and never attempted to reclaim.

Top-notch acting, superior cinematography, a gentle story and tender score all come together to create a masterpiece of which all its participants can be proud. Peter flies high once again, and he’s never before looked so much like one of us.

The Wildlife Concert - John Denver

If you want a collection of most of John Denver's best songs, The Wildlife Concert beats any Greatest Hits album.

Epinions Addiction Write-Off: Can't Stop Writing!

Am I addicted to Epinions? Well, to some degree I suspect I am, though my answers to most of the questions below don't necessarily indicate that. But I figured, what the hey. I'll join in and admit my addiction. This is in response to jonnie's write-off prompt. I hope I'm with Epinions for many years to come!

1. Once you heard about Epinions, did you join?

Yep. Right away. I was looking for a place where I could write reviews, and though I at first thought Epinions sounded to good to be true (back in the glory days of 10 or 30 cents per hit), I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the payments were legitimate, and I loved the fact that I could just publish something without any middle man.

2. Once you joined, did the "wheels start turning" and the writer in you emerge?

Sort of, though in the beginning I was out to make a quick buck, and it wasn't until the incentives were drastically reduced that the quality of my reviews became consistently high. I wish I could have kept up the quantity of that first year, but not at the expense of the quality of my current output. At any rate, I've always wanted to be a writer, so Epinions helps keep me in practice when my creativity is not cooperating.

3. Do you find yourself sleeping less?

Ha. Well, I've always had a touch of insomnia... I don't know, I've been here five and a half years. I don't know that it's changed my habits all that much, but if I'm up in the middle of the night Epinions is a good place to turn. And yeah, sometimes if I'm reading reviews I may find that two or three hours have passed and I barely noticed. Mostly I write reviews in the daytime, though.

4. Have you called in sick at work or quit your job altogether?

Because of Epinions? Not quite... I wish I made enough money here for it to qualify as an actual job!

5. Is your house a mess?

Depends on who you ask. I'm not much of a neatnik, so I don't notice if things are out of order. Then again, I'm usually the one causing the mess. But it has nothing to do with Epinions.

6. Have you developed PC spread? (your rear end is now hanging over the sides of your chair)

No, but I noticed I have put on a couple pounds this summer, and I've written quite a few reviews in that time...

7. If you haven't quit your job, do you find yourself pretending to be working, but you are really reading and writing epinions?

Can't at my job, but I always did in college and I probably would if I could at work. Then again, maybe not. I always try to play by the rules...

8. Do you see signs that your spouse/boyfriend/girlfriend/roommate has been there but you haven't really talked to them lately?

No, not really. I mostly do Epinions when nobody's around.

9. Are TV dinners what's on the menu again tonight?

Pizza! As for in general, my mom does the cooking around here, and the microwave is my friend when it comes to lunch.

10. Do you even get dressed anymore?

Eventually...

If you found yourself shaking your heads in agreement to any of the above questions, the answer is, yes, you are addicted. Me too; isn't it great?

Yes, it is!

Once Again, With Grim Grotto, Snicket Really Satisfies You

As anyone who was stuck in Hurricane Katrina's path can attest, water has the potential to be deadly. But the aqueous troubles facing the Baudelaires in the thus-far final installment of the Series of Unfortunate Events have little to do with the weather - though Snicket goes to great lengths to make certain his readers understand the intricacies of the water cycle, less in an attempt to educate than to bore his audience to sleep if they are too stubborn to put down the book after his repeated warnings. At the outset of the book, the orphans are racing through the waters of a massive melted waterfall, but the remainder of the book takes place deep underwater - inside both a submarine and a mysterious cave known as the Gorgonian Grotto.

This book differs from previous chapters in several ways. Once the orphans descend from the icy current into the relative safety of a submarine occupied by VFD sympathizers, they remain in a peaceful for the next hundred pages or so. Yes, they're still evading a dangerous villain and searching for a valuable artifact that he desperately wants, but they are in the company of kindred spirits, folks who appreciate their talents and are able to offer them reasonably comfortable accommodations. On board are one surprisingly familiar chap and two strangers who nonetheless know just who the children are and what has happened to them. These new friends introduce themselves as Captain Widdershins, a loud, addled man bound by the personal philosophy "He (or she) who hesitates is lost" and overly fond of the word "aye," and his stepdaughter Fiona, a triangle-spectacled mycologist a bit older than Violet. Though there are more comforting locations to be in than a rickety submarine, the stretch of pages from the Baudelaires' entry onto the vessel to their departure in search of the all-important sugar bowl is possibly the most pleasant since their stay with Uncle Monty, even if their captain's hasty speech leads to some confusion.

When Olaf finally does show up, there is no attempt at a disguise; of course, he hasn't resorted to that tactic since the eighth book, but it's nonetheless a bit abrupt the way he appears and demands that the children join him on his own hi-jacked vessel. What's especially unusual is that when Olaf captured the underwater vehicle, he had no idea that the children were inside. At this point, the Baudelaires and their new friend Fiona - of whom Klaus is especially fond - have already encountered a deadly situation. One could perhaps call the perpetrator malicious, but most likely the venomous mushrooms that poisoned Sunny took no pleasure in the act. Nonetheless, this fungus poses a far more serious threat than the count, who is so taken with his new form of villainous laughter that he has little attention to devote to anything else.

Esme, meanwhile, is preoccupied with Carmelita Spats, the Baudelaires' dreadful classmate who conducts herself with all the charm of Veruca Salt. One would presume that, given her eagerness to deride orphans, Carmelita has parents of her own, but she seems perfectly content to be adopted by the villainous couple. Because Esme adores her and Olaf - whom Carmelita calls "Countie" - is badgered by her (to the point of reluctantly naming his submarine after her), she gets to do whatever her little heart desires, and under the influence of the violinist vice-principal at Prufrock Prep it seems her favorite pastime is performing recitals. Her dancing is abysmal, but her singing - usually an acrostic song she composed in which she insists that the "m" in her name stands for "gorgeous" - is akin to the sort of torture Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy describes in relation to Vogon poetry readings.

Speaking of poetry, more of the author's literary preferences shine through this volume. In the last book, we learned he was an admirer - nay, a friend - of poet Robert Frost. Here, we note his approval of the uniforms worn by Widdershins and his crew. They feature a portrait of Herman Melville, an appropriate source of inspiration for seafarers. Widdershins' admiration for the Moby Dick author - whose style Klaus describes as "strange" and "experimental" as well as humanitarian - is also apparent in his decision to name the vessel in homage of Queequeg, Ishmael's faithful crewmate. The children later encounter poetry by Louis Carroll - which Violet dismisses as "too whimsical" - and T. S. Eliot - which Klaus complains is "too opaque." In spite of these less than glowing opinions, however, Snicket asserts that anyone would agree these two poets are preferable to the man featured on the uniforms worn by Olaf and his crew. This name of this poor abused fellow, Edgar Guest, seemed familiar to me, but I had to do a bit of searching before I discovered just what it was he had written to make Snicket deride him as "a writer of limited skill, who wrote awkward tedious poetry on hopelessly sentimental topics." The problem? As I had slightly suspected would be the case, I rather liked the guy. I guess his is the sort of verse you might encounter on a Hallmark card. Certainly his generally family-oriented or inspirational poems don't seem the sort of which Olaf and his crew would approve, but apparently that was not sufficient reason to pass up an opportunity to pummel a prolific pedestrian poet.

When I read these books, I have taken to jotting down page numbers containing particularly interesting phrasing, and I believe I jotted down more numbers here than ever before. Snicket is at his snarky best, pulling out one mangled metaphor, bizarre illustration or pithy observation after another, all the while building upon the central conceit of the water cycle and demonstrating Sunny's ever-improving speech skills, which seem to indicate that she will be fluent in several languages. A few random examples of the author's genius:

* "Having a personal philosophy is like having a pet marmoset, because it may be very attractive when you acquire it, but there may be situations when it will not come in handy at all."

* "It is one of life's bitterest truths that bedtime so often arrives just when things are really getting interesting."

* "If you are stricken with a great sadness, you may feel as if you have been set aflame, not only because of the enormous pain, but also because your sadness may spread over your life, like smoke from an enormous fire. You might find it difficult to see anything but your own sadness, the way smoke can cover a landscape so that all anyone can see is black. You may find that happy things are tainted with sadness, the way smoke leaves its ashen colors and scents on everything it touches. And you may find that if someone pours water all over you, you are damp and distracted, but not cured of your sadness, the way a fire department can douse a fire but never recover what has been burnt down."

Ah, the poetry. As I gaze at the back cover of the book I have just finished, I notice Snicket's traditional warning, which this time cautions me to find a happier book "in order to keep [my] eyes and [my] spirits from being dampened." Alas, I did not listen, and I'm sitting here with my waterlogged soul, despairing in the knowledge that I have finished the series thus far and I cannot proceed immediately to the next installment. Oh, the calamity! But I will be shedding tears of a different sort than Snicket warns against when the enigmatic next book arrives. As the Baudelaires embark on the final stages of their grand adventure, I will be awash with joy and blessing this morose narrator for his perseverance.

Songs for a Storm Write-Off: A Soundtrack for Katrina and Other Natural Disasters

For the past week and a half or so, it seems all that anyone can talk about is the weather. It’s been some of the fiercest America has ever seen, bearing down in full force upon the communities along the Gulf Coast, most noticeably New Orleans. Certainly I have rain on the brain. I wish there was something concrete I could do to help the countless victims, something that felt more substantial than sending my paltry donation along to the Red Cross. We’re a bit removed from all this here Erie; though there are a few folks relocating here, it’s because they have relatives. It’s an awfully long drive from Louisiana to Pennsylvania to seek shelter from a stranger. But if people are looking for a safe haven from the tumultuous climate, they really couldn’t do much better than Erie. We get all the basic weather phenomena, of course: rain, snow, occasional sleet. But hurricanes? Forget about it. The season is only half over, and I can’t help but wonder if any other unpleasant surprises are in store, so I’m grateful to be where I am, feeling only mild after effects from the fierce winds and waves that buffet cities far south. The following are songs for a stormy season, and I invite anyone who reads this to ponder what music you listen to in inclement weather and join me in my Songs for a Storm Write-Off. Pick as many or as few as you like, for whatever reason. I’ve been giving it some thought, and while I know there are plenty of others I might recall given enough time, here are a few that entered my mind right off the bat.

Atmospheric

These songs capture the mood of a variety of weather phenomena, ranging from gentle to ghastly. Weather is a rather popular topic in song, so there’s a fairly wide range of song styles represented.

The Rain, Rain, Rain Came Down, Down, Down - This is a gentle little Winnie-the-Pooh song expressed with appropriately simplistic lyrics that mix impending danger with light humor. Do we really believe any harm can come to one of the Wood’s fluff-filled residents? Nonetheless, the escapade is thrilling in its own small way, illustrating various ingenious evacuation methods. If only everyone could flee their flooding home in an empty honey pot. Ten honey pots he rescued, / enough to see him through. / But as he sopped up supper, / the river sopped up Pooh. / And down the creek he traveled / in a honey pot canoe. Another Disney song accompanying a sequence showing how various woodland creatures deal with a fierce storm is Little April Shower. This Bambi tune is intriguing because the music follows the pattern of an actual rainstorm, starting out in slow, faint drips, building to incorporate fierce winds, driving rain and claps of thunder, and finally dying down to the little drips again. Drip, drip, drop / little April shower / beating a tune / as you fall all around. / Drip, drip, drop / little April shower / what can compare / to your beautiful sound?

Kathy’s Song - This is usually the first song I associate with rain. It provides such a lovely, ethereal backdrop for one of Paul Simon’s sweetest love songs and serves as a moody extended metaphor. He sounds so young and naive here, though his voice is marked with the pangs of forlorn love. Like the sky, he is weeping; he feels as dull as the steely clouds that loom overhead. Yet there is a sense of peace in the steady stream of raindrops. Paul misses Kathy, but he is grateful rather than despondent, for he knows that they will not be parted for long, and soon he will be reunited with the woman who completes him. As I watch the drops of rain / weave their weary paths and die, / I know that I am like the rain: / There but for the grace of you go I. A shame, really, that things didn’t work out between them. It was such a sweet young romance. Kathy was Paul’s Annie, but girls inspiring such pure reflections could not adjust to the cruelties of the music business. Anyway, check out Annie’s Song while you’re at it; comparable in terms of the addressee, and though considerably less melancholy, it also speaks to yearning. Not to mention the great line about filling up his senses like a walk in the rain.

Calypso - While I’m thinking of John Denver, I have to mention this tune, which is more a tribute to the sea than a commentary on atmospheric condition, but one cannot think of hurricanes without recalling the sea. I hold that in a career full of songs of exuberance, Denver never sounded more joyful than when singing this song. It must have been an amazing kick for him to visit this vessel of a man he so admired, getting a rare first-hand glimpse of the tasks Jacques Cousteau and his men so diligently performed. His exhilaration is palpable, particularly when he reaches the end of the chorus and his yodel-like vocals burst forth ever stronger. I can’t attempt to sing the song without running out of breath. All the energy of the sea is harnessed in this one tune, and it’s a reminder of all the beauty and glory the waves can carry with them. It’s easy to forget that in the midst of such destruction. Aye, Calypso, the places you’ve been to, / the things that you’ve shown us, the stories you tell. / Aye, Calypso, I sing to your spirit, / the men who have served you so long and so well. Another great song celebrating the majesty of the natural world is Earth and All Stars, a hymn we used to sing every year in elementary school when we did a short program for the church with which the school was affiliated. This particular church had a very impressive organ and a very talented organist, and the effect of the various vocal groupings and instrumentals was always stirring. As students, we always had to sing by ourselves the verse mentioning classrooms and labs, but the nods to the environment were more prevalent. Many people seem to hate this hymn, but I can think of few songs that, when performed properly, can glorify God with greater feeling. Hail, wind and rain, / loud blowing snowstorms, / sing to the Lord a new song!

Flood - Things could be worse. As horrible as the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina has been, the water is already receding, and the vast majority of victims escaped with their lives. Still, if I were there, I imagine I might feel a bit like Noah, helplessly watching as water engulfs everything in sight, left with no recourse but to simply trust in God for deliverance. This Jars of Clay song is dark and gritty, throbbing with despair, but in the end the sense of hope is what prevails, as it must for the victims of this current disaster. Rain, rain on my face. / It hasn’t stopped raining for days. / My world is a flood. / Slowly I become one with the mud. / But if I can’t swim after forty days / And my mind is crushed by the thrashing waves / Lift me up so high that I cannot fall. / Lift me up. For a lighter take on the story of Noah’s flood, try the Irish Rovers’ The Unicorn (Noah looked out through the driving rain. / Those unicorns were hiding and playing silly games, / kicking and splashing while the rain was pourin’… / Oh, those silly unicorn.) or, to lift your spirits, the incessantly upbeat and seemingly never-ending Rise and Shine (aka “The Arky Arky Song”), used by Ned Flanders on one occasion to drive Homer Simpson to distraction (The Lord said to Noah, there’s gonna be a floody, floody…)

Wildfire - Okay, so it’s not rain. But it’s still a doozie of a storm. Hmmm, this one put in an appearance on The Simpsons too, when Lisa played it on the saxophone for her horse, but that didn’t occur to me until just now. This Michael Martin Murphey composition is a spooky tune with a wild sound to it, and given the constant pictures we’re seeing of thousands of animals victimized by Katrina, it is especially appropriate. It’s a reminder of this whole other segment of the population for whom storms have even greater potential to be deadly. There’s despair here, but there’s also a wispy sense of hope in the speaker’s mysterious concluding words. Oh, they say she died one winter / when there came a killing frost, / and the pony she named Wildfire / busted down its stall. / In a blizzard he was lost. This next song perhaps more appropriately belongs in the second half of my review; it doesn’t have much to do with any particular form of weather, but it similarly examines death as a sort of mystical journey, encouraging the listeners not to be fearful of its arrival. Annie Lennox’s vocals are stirring, while the instrumentals and lyrics that give a nod to Tolkien made it the perfect send-off for the Lord of the Rings film series. Hope fades into the world of night, / through shadows fallen out of memory and time. / Don’t say we have come now to the end. / White shores are calling; / you and I will meet again.

I’m saving the best for last. Well, the last of this half anyway. The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Wow. Now this is an impressive song, about as stormy as they come. Gordon Lightfoot’s epic tale about the tragic fate of an ore boat that got stuck in the fiercest of maritime storms packs an incredible punch. I saw him in concert five years ago, and this number was absolutely stunning to see and hear. You truly feel that you are in the midst of a perfect storm, with waves crashing all around and wind howling past your ear. Lightfoot pours all of his passion into this one, and the well-crafted lyrics are augmented by the whining of electric guitars and the coordinated flashing of stage lights. This is just a brilliant accomplishment, and it contains one of the most exquisite lines in lyrical history: Does anyone know where the love of God goes / when the waves turn the minutes to hours? I don’t know of any maritime tune that can chill the blood quite like this, but if you’re looking for some good sea shanties, the Irish Rovers are loaded with them. I’ve just recently discovered the Decemberists, and I suspect they might have a few as well.

Comfort

I know I have mentioned a few of these in earlier write-offs, but I can’t help but bring them up again. Songs about wind and rain and other stormy elements might help us empathize with those who are experiencing such things, but for those actually in the midst of all that, probably the last thing they want to hear is a song about inclement weather. More likely, they are seeking comfort, and that is exactly what the songs in the second portion of my list provide. Some are more general songs of hope and inspiration, though most apply especially well to the situation. All are uplifting in one way or another.

My Heart Will Go On - I can’t help it, ships and storms go together in my mind, and while the destruction of the Titantic was due to an iceberg (and a whole lot of human error / arrogance), it seems to fit, and the Celtic overtones are both stirring and soothing. There is immense yearning in this song, but there is also conviction. Many people have lost loved ones in this storm, and like the speaker they want assurance that, as Wesley stated in The Princess Bride, “Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.” Near, far, wherever you are / I believe that the heart does go on… Whenever I hear this song, I am reminded of another James Horner tune written for a film. Somewhere Out There is another song of searching, but in this case, the separation is merely one of distance and unknown coordinates. Not to lessen the inherent predicament. According to ABC News, nearly a thousand children were separated from family members in the hurricane and still have not been reunited. The process of matching the missing with one another is arduous, but those who are searching cling to that hope of a reunion. I imagine it’s all that’s keeping some people going. Somewhere out there, if love can see us through, / then we’ll be together, somewhere out there, / out where dreams come true.

Lean on Me - Ever since the severity of Hurricane Katrina became known, people have been assembling their resources, their time and their talent in order to assist the victims in any way possible. Closer to the danger zone, citizens have been helping one another find medical care, food and a way out of the city. Homes across the country have opened up to those who now have no house to return to. Children are selling lemonade to raise money and giving up their toys so the kids who lost everything will have something to play with. I was a story about a couple who traveled hundreds of miles to pick up four pets at a shelter and deliver them to the owners, strangers who were staying another several hundred miles away. Everyone is helping everyone else; it’s inspiring to see how people come together in times of crisis. Few songs capture the energy of this helping spirit as well as Bill Withers’ perennially popular tune. Lean on me / when you’re not strong. / I’ll be your friend. / I’ll help you carry on. Another great song in this vein is You’ve Got a Friend. I always associate this one with James Taylor, but Carole King wrote and recorded it originally. Either version is good, and it carries the same message as Lean on Me in a quieter, more contemplative manner. If the sky above you should turn dark and full of clouds / and that old north wind should being to blow, / keep your head together and call my name out loud, / and soon I will be knocking upon on your door.

Put Your Hand in the Hand - My grandma is really into this song right now. Ironically, it was the anthem at our church shortly before all this began, but it is a particularly good one to sing during this time. It’s a community song, one that continues to build strength as more and more people join in. There are countless versions of it out there, but this is one that’s probably most helpful if you sing it yourself, clapping along if you’re one of those lucky folks who has rhythm. Whenever I hear this song, I remember an episode of Family Matters in which Grandma Winslow invited Urkel to church, much to the disgust of Rachel, who was the choir director. Urkel couldn’t carry a tune in a bag, but he had more enthusiasm than just about anybody else there, and in the end his sincere spirit brought unity to a fractured choir as they sang this song of encouragement and faith. Put your hand in the hand of the man who stilled the water, / put your hand in the hand of the man who calmed the sea. / Take a look at yourself and you may look at others differently. / Put your hand in the hand of the man from Galilee. A similar song of faith that is probably better listened to – though joining in the chorus is certainly not frowned upon – is Josh Groban’s You Raise Me Up. Well, it’s not technically his song, I guess, but he popularized it. I first heard of Josh when Clay Aiken was on American Idol and numerous comparisons were made, but I didn’t actually hear him until months later, when he performed this song on Good Morning America in honor of Veteran’s Day. A Wind Beneath My Wings sort of song except that the addressee appears to be of a divine nature. The Celtic-flavored tune, replete with bagpipes, shares its melody (Londonderry Aire) with perhaps that most famous of all Irish songs, Danny Boy, and like Put Your Hand in the Hand, it builds up most impressively by the end. You raise me up so I can stand on mountains. / You raise me up to walk on stormy seas. / I am strong when I am on your shoulders. / You raise me up to more than I can be.

Falling Leaves - Ever since Katrina hit, the news media has been referring to those displaced as refugees, and when I heard that word my first thought was of this, one of John Denver’s most beautiful and reflective songs. His passion for social activism is apparent here as he compares the homeless to endlessly drifting falling leaves and wishes to bless them. When he repeats the first verse, a chorus of children join him in an expression of conviction and hope for the future, and indeed the children have been among the most active in seeking ways to help the victims of this hurricane. Though the song bemoans the fact that homelessness is allowed to exist, it expresses immense gratitude for the gift of life, which all should be able to share equally. This is for the refugees, / the ones without a home. / A boat out on the ocean, / the city streets alone. / Are they not some dear mother’s love? / Are they not you and I? / Are we the ones to bear this shame / and they the sacrifice? You may note that John Denver is over-represented here. It’s just the nature of his musicianship, I guess. An interesting companion to the above song is And So It Goes, which Denver sang but didn’t write. This gentle song notes that all solid possessions and even locations dissipate with time, but love remains forever. Ultimately, what we have is far less important that what we are. Ashes to ashes, dust into dust. / Buildings will crumble, bridges will rust, / mountains will disappear, / rivers will dry up. / So it goes with everything but love.

You’ll Never Walk Alone - When Jerry Lewis sang this inspirational classic from the film Carousel at the conclusion of his telethon this year, it was twice as powerful as usual. Anyone going through a dreadful struggle can take comfort from these words with the soaring accompanying melody. Faith and hope can endure even in the direst of circumstances. When you walk through a storm, / hold your head up high / and don’t be afraid of the dark. / At the end of the storm / is a golden sky / and the sweet silver song of a lark. / Walk on through the wind, / walk on through the rain / though your dreams be tossed and blown. / Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart / and you’ll never walk alone. I must invoke the Beatles at least once before I conclude, and I can think of no more inspirational song to mention than Let It Be. I tend to think of You’ll Never Walk Alone as a song for the individual, but Let It Be is one for the community, its members gaining strength from one another and joining together in the conviction that better times are ahead and someone is looking out for us even though it might not look like it right now. When the night is cloudy, / there is still a light that shines on me. / Shine until tomorrow, let it be. / I wake up to the sound of music. / Mother Mary comes to me, / speaking words of wisdom, / let it be.

Again I’ve saved my favorites for the end. Each of these two is equally powerful, and both rely on the central metaphor of stormy waters. Candle on the Water is possibly my all-time favorite Disney song. Certainly a contender. It’s a love song, though it doesn’t necessarily have to pertain to romance. It can be addressed to anyone about whom the singer cares a great deal; you could even stretch it and say the speaker is God, thereby turning it into a hymn. Helen Reddy does a beautiful job with the gorgeous melody and lyrics, and the scene in Pete’s Dragon is very affecting as she belts out her serenade from the top of her lighthouse overlooking the water that has caused her such distress. Everyone displaced by the hurricane ought to have somebody ought there who would sing this song for them. A cold and friendless tide has found you. / Don’t let the stormy darkness pull you down. / I’ll paint a ray of hope around you, / circling in the air, lighted by a prayer. If you know me at all, you knew this next one was coming. It’s a perfect complement to the song above, offering the strong support of a bridge rather than the glowing guide of a lighthouse. In the end, they amount to about the same thing. I’m pleased as punch that Clay Aiken covered Bridge Over Troubled Water, but my vote always goes to the original, with its masterful orchestration, exquisite vocals and dark undertones that give way to true exultation. You can read the song in many contexts, making it a love song, an ode to friendship (which I think it is first and foremost) or a hymn. But bask in the pairing of Paul Simon’s brilliant songwriting and Art Garfunkel’s celestial vocals, and hope and inspiration cannot help but find their way to you. When you’re down and out, / when you’re on the street, / when evening falls so hard, I will comfort you. / I’ll take your part when darkness comes / and pain is all around. / Like a bridge over troubled water, / I will lay me down.

And that is where I will stop. After 9/11, a long list of songs deemed inappropriate for radio play was composed. I think the idea was rather silly and that some of the choices were almost insulting to the intelligence. “Oh, we can never play a song that mentions an airplane again.” Oddly enough, many of the songs that made it onto the list were just the sort that would be most helpful in a time like this. In fact, at least a couple of the songs on the list above were considered too likely to raise negative emotions. The way I see it, music has the power to heal, and I’ve rarely heard of someone being so moved to despair after hearing a song that it made their situation drastically worse. (Perhaps I’ll make an exception for Dust in the Wind. That song is desolation itself, and it’s about the worst song I can think of to play right now. I notice they’ve switched to only playing the instrumental introduction in those Saturn commercials, and I’m not complaining.) At any rate, I think music is one of our greatest tools for soothing shattered souls, and I suspect it can do far greater good than harm. Share your own songs and leave me a comment so I can link to them below. Right now, the world needs all the music it can get.

Alexdg1's Fave Fab Four Songs Write-Off: Lyrical Liverpudlians' Longevous Legacy

What is it about the Beatles? The four famous mop-tops didn’t start out so different from other Britpop boy bands of the day, but they quickly became the seminal rock group. No matter what kind of music you listen to, it’s almost certain that you’re going to be able to find at least one song in their incredibly diverse catalog to love. A couple years ago, I read an article stating that the Beatles are the most popular band even among Gen-Xers. The release of The Beatles: 1 probably helped; it was the biggest seller of the year even though the band had not existed for 30 years. I’ve always been a fan of the Beatles, but I didn’t really immerse myself in their music until my brother Nathan decided they were his favorite band. Since then I’ve heard dozens of their songs with which I was previously unfamiliar, and my respect for them as artists and individuals has deepened. Would that we all could reach such creative peaks in our twenties… I’m no good at favorites, so this list is not definitive, but here are, at least, 25 Beatles songs that I like a lot, in alphabetical order. (Okay, so I stretched it a wee bit…) And the others are pretty good too.

Do You Want to Know a Secret? (Please Please Me) - I just find this one very fun. It’s sweet, it’s goofy, it’s got some nifty harmony. It’s very teenagerish, the idea of this love being a secret; it brings to mind the image of a piece of paper being passed up the aisle with “yes” and “no” written next to boxes where the recipient is supposed to place a checkmark. Cute. This is one of their earliest recordings, so they’re still essentially a little skiffle group having a good time and probably having little notion of just how big they’re about to get. Listen, do you want to hear a secret? / Do you promise not to tell? / Closer, let me whisper in your ear, / say those words you want to hear: / I’m in love with you.

Eleanor Rigby (Revolver) - About as far as you can get from bubblegum. This is one of the Beatles’ most depressing and insightful songs. The lyrics breathe poetry, and the strings-drenched instrumentation carries their dirge-like message to fruition. Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name. / Nobody came. / Father McKenzie wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave. / No one was saved

Hello Goodbye (Magical Mystery Tour) – I just love the sound of this one. It’s peppy in spite of the rather despondent lyrics, and they’ve got some really great harmonies going. This is the sort of song you’d sing around the campfire. You say goodbye, and I say hello. / Hello, hello. / I don’t know why you say goodbye, / I say hello.

Help! (Help!) - I like this one even better, and for the same reason. It’s just so much fun to listen to and to try to sing, and the tone is very upbeat. When I was younger, so much younger than today, / I never needed anybody’s help in any way. / But now these days are gone. I’m not so self-assured. / Now I find I’ve changed my mind and opened up the doors.

Here Comes the Sun (Abbey Road) - Good ol’ George. I’m glad the quiet Beatle got a chance to shine now and again, and it’s appropriate that one of his brightest achievements is a song about the sun. Winter can be awfully gloomy and depressing, and that first sight of real spring sunshine is sometimes euphoric. Anybody who’s lived here in Erie can appreciate George’s sentiments here. The song is as gentle and quiet as its composer. Little darlin’, it’s been a long and lonely winter. / Little darlin’, it seems like years since it’s been here. / Here comes the sun.

Here, There and Everywhere (Revolver) – I heard it first from Clay Aiken. Crazy, no? But it’s a beautiful song, and I don’t blame Art Garfunkel for declaring it his favorite Beatles offering. In fact, it got his vote for best song period. It’s soft and sincere and well suited to the harp, and that can’t be a bad thing. I want her everywhere, / and if she’s beside me I know I need never care, / but to love her is to need her everywhere, / knowing that love is to share.

Hey, Jude (Beatles 1967-1970) – Talk about a long song. It’s probably longer than it needs to be, what with the massive amounts of repetition. But this is a number that builds on itself, gaining such momentum as the minutes tick by that the repeated choruses are appreciated rather than brushed off as superfluities. Great tune, great communal feel and great back story. Hey, Jude, don’t let me down. / You have found her, now go and get her. / The minute you let her under your skin, / then you’ll begin to make it better.

I’ll Follow the Sun (Beatles for Sale) – Just a very sweet and simple early Beatles tune penned by a teenage Paul who, in an apparent lack of emotional maturity, declares that to prevent future heartache, he’s leaving his love early. Ah, the joys of young love… And now the time has come / and, my love, I must go. / And though I lose a friend / In the end you will know…

If I Fell (Hard Day’s Night) – The first time I heard this song was when I saw the movie a couple years back, and I was struck by its melodiousness. The lyrics tell of a boy who’s been wounded by a prior relationship and seeks assurance that it won’t happen again. It’s just another sappy love song of the sort sure to make girls swoon, but the tune and the harmony of the voices puts this one ahead of most similar songs in my book. If I give my heart / to you, / I must be sure / from the very start / that you / would love me more than her.

In My Life (Rubber Soul) – Wistful and contemplative, this one’s a bit nostalgic, though the speaker ultimately decides the present is better. A very sweet and slightly sad song. There are places I’ll remember / all my life, though some have changed, / some forever not for better, / some are gone and some remain.

Let It Be (Let It Be) – Whether you consider it a hymn or simply a very personal tribute to Paul’s mother, this is a glorious song of hope and unity that was an ironic swan song for a group increasingly marred by interpersonal crises. One of their longest, it is another one that continues to build until everyone listening is singing along and, if they happen to be at a concert, dramatically waving a lighter or glow stick or cell phone high in the air. When I find myself in times of trouble, / Mother Mary comes to me, / speaking words of wisdom: / Let it be.

Long and Winding Road (Let It Be) - I think of this as the Beatles’ afterthought, a tender post script on a career spanning less than a decade in its existence but far into the future in its influence. It’s wistful yet appreciative, and it’s rather nice to think of it as a thank you note to all the fans who bolstered the Beatles in the years when they reigned supreme. The long and winding road / that leads to your door / will never disappear. / I've seen that road before. / It always leads me here, / leads me to your door.

Maxwell’s Silver Hammer (Abbey Road) - I shouldn’t like this song. It’s so cold-blooded. Yet it’s such a fun song, peppy and rather silly although its subject matter is quite grotesque. The hammer in the chorus is a hoot. The lyrics are well crafted and tough to wrap your tongue around sometimes; they toss around a number of unusual words. Just a really amusingly odd little song. Joan was quizzical, studied pataphysical / science in the home, / late nights all alone with a test-tube, / ohh-oh-oh-oh...

Norwegian Wood (Rubber Soul) – Although it was not one of his compositions, I always associate this song with George because of the pervasiveness of the sitar. This song just sounds really cool. The subject is a bit shady, I suppose, but the instrumentals are brilliant, and they’re what landed this one on my list. I once had a girl, / or should I say, she once had me. / She showed me her room. / Isn’t it good, Norwegian wood?

Nowhere Man (Rubber Soul) – A song about living life to its fullest. So many of us wander through life feeling un focused, unappreciated, unnoticed, unneeded… By showing us the ultimate conglomeration of such feelings, the Beatles put up a reflector by which to see ourselves and make a change. Doesn’t have a point of view, / knows not where he’s going to, / isn’t he a bit like you and me?

Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da (White Album) – Raucous and life-affirming. It’s one of many Beatles songs I first heard somewhere else, probably one of the first I ever heard period. I know it was voted one of the worst songs ever last year by Blender magazine, but I don’t put much stock in that. I think it’s just good, solid storytelling, and while other songs may do it a bit better, I have no complaints with this one. In a couple of years they have built / a home sweet home / with a couple of kids running in the yard / of Desmond and Molly Jones.

Octopus’ Garden (Abbey Road) – There’s no point to this, really, but it’s about time Ringo got a song to himself here. This is just an idle bit of reverie that he wrote and sang, and its pleasantness just washes over you as you listen to it and imagine yourself swimming in the cool blue water amongst schools of fish and other aquatic animals. We would be warm below the storm / in our little hideaway beneath the waves, / resting our head on the sea bed / in an octopus' garden near a cave.

Penny Lane (Magical Mystery Tour) – Paul’s poeticism comes across especially well in this upbeat number rife with observations about the residents of the titular street. The tune is fun and there’s some interesting instrumentation, but it’s the lyrics that really get me here. In Penny Lane there is a barber showing photographs / of every head he’s had the pleasure to know. / And all the people that come and go / stop and say hello.

She’s Leaving Home (Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band) – This one seems just as sad as Eleanor Rigby, though it signals an adventurous new beginning from the perspective of the daughter. What we’re getting, though, is the perspective of the parents. Sort of. It’s skewed, I think, rather sarcastic. The parents are moaning that they have lost their daughter, but they were the ones who drove her out with their inflexibility. At any rate, the strings and the plaintive vocals make this song sound tragic, even if it isn’t quite. She (We gave her most of our lives) / is leaving / (sacrificed most of our lives) / home (We gave her everything money could buy). / She's leaving home after living alone / For so many years. Bye, bye.

Something (Abbey Road) – George again. An earnest love song with nice guitar work and aching vocals. He didn’t have too many songs as a Beatle, but when he did write one, it stood out. Something in the way she moves / attracts me like no other lover. / Something in the way she woos me…

We Can Work It Out (Beatles 1962-1966) – This early song is a wonderfully catchy tune on the verses that turns introspective and plaintive at the chorus. The contrast is a bit strange, but I like both parts so much that it doesn’t make much difference to me. Life is very short, and there’s no time / for fussing and fighting, my friend. / I have always thought that it’s a crime, / so I will ask you once again…

When I’m 64 (Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band) – I love the “oompah-oompah”ing instrumentation and the overall light-hearted look at growing older. While 64 doesn’t seem all that old, it’s still considerably removed from one’s twenties. It’s interesting to see the contrast between how old age is portrayed in this and in Eleanor Rigby. Of course, there’s a key difference, and I suppose the message is that growing old isn’t so bad as long as we have someone in the same boat to keep us company. When I grow old and I’m losing my hair / many years from now, / will you still be sending me a Valentine, / birthday greetings, bottle of wine? / If I stayed out till quarter to three, / would you lock the door? / Will you still need me, / will you still feed me / when I’m 64?

With a Little Help From My Friends (Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band) – I’m not all that crazy about the titular song leading into this; I’d prefer to just listen to it all by itself. Ringo has a hang-dog expression in his voice. One can imagine the speaker’s been down and out many times, but he can never sink too low because he has people who care about him. Good message and melody, and I just love it when Ringo gets the chance to sing.

Yellow Submarine (Yellow Submarine) – See? There he is again! Yeah, it’s a silly song that spawned a sillier movie, but I get a kick out of it nonetheless. It’s bouncy and imaginative, and you can’t resist joining in that chorus. So we sailed up to the sun / till we found the sea of green. / And we lived beneath the waves / in our yellow submarine.

Yesterday (Help!) – Such a wistful, aching song. The melody is beautiful, the lyrics despondent, the total package a song that has been covered more times than any other. And to think Paul almost cursed it with the lyrics Scrambled eggs, / oh my baby, how I love your legs.. Triple ick. Instead, we have an enduring classic about the agony of regret. Why she had to go, / I don’t know, she wouldn’t say. / I said something wrong. / Now I long for yesterday.

And I’m spent. As I said, the list is negotiable. For a band that was together for less than a decade, the Beatles sure recorded a lot of songs! I really think there is something there for everybody. I wish I could’ve witness the Beatles’ rise to fame. The sixties were such an incredibly exciting time musically. But I’m glad that they focused their attention on writing and recording rather than touring so that folks like me can enjoy their music just as easily as those who discovered it first.

Little Mermaid II: Return to the Video Store for a Better Film

Sixteen years ago, The Little Mermaid splashed its way into the hearts of millions of viewers, becoming one of the most beloved Disney films ever made. Eleven years later, Hans Christian Andersen rolled over in his grave. (Not for the first time…) They had to do it, didn’t they? It seems Disney has gotten desperate. Apparently running out of ideas, they are resorting to a constant stream of remakes and direct-to-video sequels, hoping to cash in on the popularity of the earlier, high-quality films. There are exceptions to the low-quality rule, of course. The Aladdin and Lion King sequels were decent; Toy Story 2, The Rescuers Down Under and Fantasia 2000 were exemplary. But The Little Mermaid II: Return to the Sea has little hope of being counted among such prestigious company.

The basic plot of the film is an exact reversal of the first. Melody (Tara Charendoff), daughter of the mermaid-turned-human Ariel (Jodi Benson), adores the sea but is forbidden from going near it. The justifications are different; while King Triton (Kenneth Mars) harbored an inherent distrust of humans, Ariel loves the sea’s inhabitants but fears that Melody will get kidnapped if she ventures anywhere near the water. Melody is headstrong like her mother, and predictably she disobeys the edict. But Ariel’s attitude is so bothersome that it poisons the film from the start. When the ceremonious unveiling of the infant princess – accompanied by a rather shrill and jarring song containing too many random snippets of dialogue – is cut short by the arrival of Morgana (Pat Caroll) – sister of the late sea witch Ursula (also Pat Caroll) – who tries to snatch the infant, Ariel is so spooked that she declares the sea off-limits until Morgana is found (which nobody seems to take much trouble to do in the intervening years). For some reason, this means that Ariel can’t go near the sea either and that none of her relatives can visit. She cuts herself and her daughter off from their heritage – even tossing away the locket her father gave Melody as a reminder of her connection to the kingdom of Atlantica – and she never offers Melody any word of explanation as to why she must stay within the castle walls, let alone a word of warning to watch out for a skinny half-octopus woman who hangs around with two manta rays and a pygmy shark (Clancy Brown).

In addition to the obvious cloning of the first film – Morgana gives Melody fins, for crying out loud! – the filmmakers are most definitely borrowing heavily from Sleeping Beauty. Artistically speaking, that is a haunting film, but it terms of plot, it has always gotten on my nerves. The logic seems to me incredibly faulty. Why couldn’t Aurora’s parents just keep a close eye on her and, when she got old enough to understand, warn her not to touch a spinning spindle? Or if they were going to go through with keeping her in cognito, why in the world didn’t they wait one more day to take her back to the castle? Similarly, why didn’t Ariel just tell Melody what was going on? How can she think she’s protecting her well if her daughter lacks all the pertinent information? And, recalling her own recent headstrong ways, how can she think that Melody will accept blanket prohibitions that come with no explanations and no opportunity for discussion? Then again, if she is so absolutely determined to keep Melody away from the sea, then why don’t they move to a nice castle several hundred miles inland? If the situation is that desperate, then surely a move wouldn’t be out of order. At any rate, Morgana’s sudden appearance within the first ten minutes of the movie, right in the middle of a presentation celebration to which she was not invited, carries strong echoes of Maleficent, except that the Sleeping Beauty opening was elegant and the villain’s grand entrance chilling. This opening is cloying, and Morgana just looks silly and out of place when she shows up using her tentacles as water skis. As in Sleeping Beauty, the parents’ insistence on keeping the princess in the dark leads to disaster. At least Ariel finally admits that she screwed up.

The animation is decent. Certainly it would be appropriate for a high-quality Saturday morning cartoon. I loved the Little Mermaid television series, but whatever they did right in that instance they failed to do here. Of course, that entire series was a prequel, which allowed the creators to place Ariel and her friends in all sorts of innocent undersea adventures that could resolve themselves in the course of half an hour. As films go, the artistry lacks something. Then again, there simply is not a worthwhile enough story to merit the care that went into each frame of the original. It mimics the original to a groan-worthy degree, taking side trips that feel entirely unnecessary. We get all these hints of a backstory with the whiny Morgana, who is endlessly bitter toward her favored sister Ursula, but it serves little purpose. We are offered glimpses of Melody’s human peers, who all seem to be snobby, pig-faced jerks, aside from a very cute fellow who just appears to be a first-class wimp. We get similarly brief peeks at the pre-teen merfolk, all of whom seem friendly and attractive. (One bears a slight resemblance to Aaron Carter.) The lesson: humans bad, merfolk good? The walrus and penguin comic relief duo Tip (Max Casella) and Dash (Stephen Furst) fail to perform their humorous duties effectively. They don’t seem to belong in the film at all, and the song they sing as they promise to escort Melody on her adventure seems like a theme song to a television series where they would be more appropriately placed – though I suspect if such a series were in place, it would not outlast a season. More effective is Undertow, Morgana’s tough-talking shark sidekick who spends most of the movie in an unnaturally small state thanks to Triton’s trident, though the funniest character is still Sebastian (Samuel E. Wright), whose current thankless task is looking our for Melody’s welfare.

Which brings me to another point. Many of the characters in this film are not human, yet it seems as though they are being afforded life spans that are comparable to that of a human. Twelve years later – at least 13 years after the conclusion of the first film – Max (Frank Welker) the dog still romps around with a puppyish energy, though common sense indicates that he must be at least 15 years old. Sebastian complains that he is getting too old for such a stressful job and a now deep-voiced Flounder (Cam Clarke) is twice as big and has a brood of half a dozen fry, so at least some passage of time is acknowledged, but I would think that by this time Flounder, Sebastian and Scuttle (Buddy Hackett) would have gone to their great reward – especially considering the fact that the youth of Disney films tend to grow up unnaturally quickly. Similarly, Morgana spends 12 long years trying to change Undertow back to his former self and is no further along when we meet her again than on her first attempt. If I were him, I would’ve given up on her at that point and gone groveling to King Triton.

Additionally, the dialogue is anachronistic and much sloppier overall than in the first film. I notice that on imdb no one has bothered to list any memorable quotes from the film, most likely because there aren’t any. Many lines simply come across as corny and cliched, while others are cringe-worthy for their use of nineties dialogue. When Melody explained to Sebastian that she was “just kickin’ it,” a communal groan resounded throughout my living room. Such phrases continued to mar what was supposed to be a period film. I disapprove of compromised dialogue in the name of pandering to children. There’s also a lack of continuity. We’ve just celebrated Melody’s 12th birthday, but Ariel sympathizes to her, “I know how hard it is being a teenager.” Okay, so maybe she was just skipping a year, but still. And Melody, aghast when she learns of the secret her mother has hidden from her all this time, angrily asks her how she could do this to her. “You know how much I love the sea!” she shouts. How is Ariel supposed to know that when Melody has never told her? Earlier, Melody confided in Sebastian and Scuttle that she could never tell her mother about her love of the sea.

It’s interesting that this mediocre film managed to snag almost all the original voice cast. Even Max is played by the same person. Only Eric (Rob Paulsen), Grimsby (Kay E. Kuter) and Flounder are different. So that’s one bright spot, or is it a dim one? With a cast that proved so solid before, this film simply does not hold water. It’s a shame, because if they’d put more effort into the script – and the songs, which fail to be memorable – this could have been another classic.

March to the Nearest Theater to Appreciate the Penguins!

In a recent discussion of summer movies, Good Morning America reviewer Joel Siegel called 2005 the Summer of the Penguins. He was overstating the situation, of course, as only two of the summer’s blockbusters have involved penguins at all. Nonetheless, they do seem to be a popular draw. I haven’t seen Madagascar yet; I’ve heard it’s rather stupid but that the penguins steal the show. I wonder if the part they played in that film helped prepare audiences for March of the Penguins. Perhaps they had penguins on the brain and were predisposed to enjoy a movie featuring the awkward birds. Certainly the film’s success has been something of a surprise. I first heard about it in a brief article buried toward the back of a newspaper in May, but by the time it hit theaters, this unassuming little film had gathered enough momentum to blast away a number of records for documentaries. So what is it about the movie that makes it so compelling?

I finally got to see for myself the other day. Enthusiasm for the movie has apparently dimmed a bit, as there couldn’t have been more than ten other people in our theater, and half of them left after the toddler in their group began making inordinate amounts of noise. The rest were senior citizens, probably pleased to hit upon a film containing no objectionable content, a rare find these days. A G rating is intriguing in and of itself given the current state of movies; most Disney films don’t even carry that stamp anymore. It’s not fast-paced, with the constant action and frequent jokes common to kids’ films, but then this really isn’t a movie for kids; and the inoffensive material is atypical for a film geared at older audiences, but then this isn’t really a movie for adults. March of the Penguins is a movie for everyone.

The film follows the arduous journey the emperor penguins must make every year in order to propagate the species. It opens with a wavering panoramic shot of a large group walking slowly toward the horizon. Though we all know the subject of the movie, when Morgan Freeman’s narration begins, it is easy to forget that he is not talking about people. When we get our first close-up of the intrepid journeymen to which he refers, it almost comes as a surprise. Theirs is a story of dedication and determination; it is, as Freeman tells us, “a story about love.” We learn here that penguins recognize one another by sound. Our ears are not so finely tuned, so we have no way of distinguishing one bird from the next. It is a tale of individual tragedy or triumph, but the communal experience of the march is our focus. We don’t have the identifiers to root for a particular penguin over another, so we simply root for them all, cheering when a fuzzy chick takes its first squinting look at the frozen world around him, groaning along with the bereaved parent when a chick succumbs to the cold, gasping when the hunter becomes hunted as one of the mothers falls victim to the jaws of a sea lion. (This brief segment of the movie is the most disturbing and includes frightening close-ups of the predator’s teeth. It could scare children just a bit; it startled me.) We marvel at the complex ritual of marching 70 miles to the breeding grounds; laying the egg and transferring it to the father, who must care for it until the mother returns fully fed months later after the chick is born; taking the chick from the father and resuming the journey back to the food source; and finally leaving the chicks to fend for themselves for days at a time and eventually for good. How can anything survive in such a hostile environment? It is a tribute to tenacity.

There are moments of levity even in this harsh landscape, though these are subtle and brief, largely deriving from the juxtaposition of the narrator’s words to the actions of the penguins. When the mother penguins return to the sea where they are most at home, Freeman notes that they are very eager to enter the water. “Some are a little too eager,” he says as two jump in at once, resulting in both being stuck, as the opening in the ice is really only large enough to accommodate one penguin. Most of the humorous moments similarly involve penguins being klutzy: tripping over one another, bumping into one another, sliding along on their bellies to avoid having to waddle about on land. But this is a serious film, a drama, a quest for survival. Dangers, chief among them freezing to death and starvation, are omnipresent. Yet there is warmth. We see the penguins snuggling together contentedly once they have found their mate for the year and cuddling as a family once they are reunited months later. Beyond the individual, we see the entire group huddling together to protect one another from the fierce winds that surround them, and we realize that the only reason these creatures are able to survive is that they are willing to work together to an astonishing degree.

The cinematography is beautiful, and the dedication of the filmmakers in capturing this footage is remarkable. I can imagine few less comfortable working environments. This film, like last year’s Two Brothers, is the effort of a French director with an obvious affection for the environment. Director Luc Jacquet, who originally conceived the story, draws the audience in so that we begin to think of these two-footed travelers not as animals but simply as pilgrims who are in many ways as human as us. Abject anthropomorphism? Perhaps, but it forces us to consider that we may not be the only species capable of those virtues we so admire in other people. The sense of connection would not be nearly as strong without the narration, written by Jordan Roberts and provided – in America, at least – by Freeman, who seems like the go-to guy for film narration these days. So many of his roles are as a narrator or some sort of leader, such is his presence. He has such a perfect voice for such a task, paternal and gentle, infused with warmth and humor, imparting information of educational value without ever being dry. The marriage of his voice with the expertly written narration is flawless. His is a voice of calm amidst all the strife the film’s subjects endure; I find it an interesting juxtaposition that shortly after Hurricane Katrina hit, he organized a charity auction to benefit the victims. It seems roles such as this are a reflection of real life.

I was struck by the readability of the credits upon the film’s conclusion. Usually it’s a seemingly endless stream of names going by too quickly to be read, but here each name was printed in large letters with a solid gap before the next name. There was ample time to read the names as they passed and watch the clips of the film crew interacting with their subjects. Of course, the only person to have any presence on the screen was Freeman; Jacquet wasn’t about to name each of the penguins and bill them individually. The result? Credits that were as sparse as the location on which the movie was filmed. In that case, the emptiness was convenient. But Antarctica is anything but, and I can’t help but feel grateful that North America is so much more hospitable. If we were forced to switch territories with these flightless birds, who would fare better? I certainly have no desire to test my endurance in such a manner. More power to the penguins!

The Baudelaires Struggle Along the Road Less Traveled By in The Slippery Slope

When I was in college, I took an advanced poetry class during which the professor, with the aid of another Creative Writing professor, sought to explain how the poem The Road Not Taken has been misused by the vast majority of its readers since the time it was published. What is generally heralded as an inspirational ode to individuality is instead a cynical and depressing commentary stating that we may forge out a path for ourselves in hopes of achieving a life of greatness and nobility, but in the end none of it really matters. It has, in fact, not made all the difference, and Robert Frost was a bitter old coot. I don't know which of these readings is closer to the truth, but I suspect Lemony Snicket would fall into the camp of those who prefer the latter interpretation. Then again, the orphans he so dutifully chronicles are well-defined individuals, and it seems that the path they decide to take will make a great deal of difference. How far will they be willing to go in order to preserve their lives? To the point of not preserving their integrity? These are some of the difficult questions served up in The Slippery Slope, tenth in the Series of Unfortunate Events.

I must say, these books almost invariably have brilliant beginnings. Each one is so masterfully executed, so memorable and entertaining, that it winds up a contender for my list of all-time favorite literary openings. As a student of poetry and a particular fan of Robert Frost, I was especially drawn into the opening paragraph of this tenth tome, and I might venture to say it is my favorite grand entrance thus far: "A man of my acquaintance once wrote a poem called 'The Road Less Traveled,' describing a journey he took through the woods along a path most travelers never used. The poet found that the road less traveled was peaceful but quite lonely, and he was probably a bit nervous as he went along, because if anything happened on the road less traveled, the other travelers would be on the road more frequently traveled and so couldn't hear him as he cried for help. Sure enough, that poet is now dead."

And so with the image of a frost-laced headstone with Frost's name on it, we are drawn into the ever more perilous journey of the Baudelaire orphans. This book signals a major departure, because for the first time, the siblings are separated for the vast majority of the book. In the fourth book, Klaus was hypnotized for a portion of the time, and in the eighth, Violet was abducted and readied for a cranioectemy. But the focus remained on the capacitated siblings. Here, the reader must switch back and forth between adventures, spending more time with Violet and Klaus but also checking in occasionally with the dreadfully isolated young Sunny. At first, it isn't clear whether we are going to get to witness her portion of the story at all, but once we do, she shows herself to be surprisingly self-reliant.

Several characters re-emerge here in surprising places, and the Baudelaires find new enemies to conquer but also new allies to depend upon. Additionally, we finally begin to crack the secrets of V. F. D., those mysterious initials that seem to pop up everywhere and that are linked to a secret organization of which most of the Baudelaires' acquaintances, it seems, were a part. The orphans also must deal with one of the most horrific menaces they've yet faced: a large community of snow gnats, which sting people for no reason whatsoever. Snicket finds another set of absurd people to poke fun at, and they are even more ludicrous than the incessantly singing Volunteers Fighting Disease. They are the Snow Scouts, an intrepid group of kids containing one person the orphans had hoped never to meet again and two who seem vaguely familiar. Just as those hospital visitors had a theme song, these folks have a pledge consisting of one word for every letter of the alphabet, each ostensibly detailing a desirable quality in a scout. But several of the adjectives are pointless or contradict one another, and the presence of one of them is inexcusable, as the word is a noun, not an adjective, and is inappropriate for describing anyone. The Scouts add a lot of amusement to the book and evidently are an indication that the author often finds pledges - and perhaps scouts - rather silly.

The parts of the book I most enjoyed, however, were those dealing with Sunny's exploits. For one, this meant more of Count Olaf and his troupe, and the lines between good guys and bad blur once again as certain characters who seemed wicked and unscrupulous begin to display shades of compassion and decency. We also meet two sinister figures who are known only as "the man with a beard but no hair" and "the woman with hair but no beard." It seems odd that no mention was made of them before, as they appear to be instrumental to Olaf's plans, rather to his displeasure, it seems. Even he is intimidated by these villains.

But what really distinguishes this section of the story is the way Sunny flourishes apart from her siblings. She is beginning to develop a distinct personality; there's more to this kid than a passion for biting things. Turns out she is also an accomplished cook, and it seems she somehow, at her young age, already possesses a vast knowledge of academic subjects ranging from history to literature to cinema. In the early books, while the translations for her comments seemed intelligent, her words were almost exclusively gobbledygook. But increasingly, she has peppered her speech with actual words. Usually there is a very logical link between what comes out of her mouth and what she means, though the connection is often abstract. I found her remarks consistently amusing and indicative of a great intellect. Examples:

"Godoti??" - "We don't know where to go, and we don't know how to get there."
"Sakesushi" - "I don't think you'll enjoy salmon if it's not cooked."
"Bicuspid?" - "Should I drag my teeth across the ice too?"
What really got me, though, was the author's sneaking a sly bit of political commentary into the book via Sunny's innocent mouth. Coincidence? Perhaps. But if the word Sunny chooses sounds remarkably like two men in high positions of power in our country, well, I suspect it was intentional.
"Busheney" - "You're an evil man with no concern whatsoever for other people."

When we leave the orphans, the useless Mr. Poe is nowhere to be found, and the children are hurtling down a slippery slope toward a predicament that will probably be even more treacherous than their last. But with their sister's newfound skills and a new friend out there waiting for them somewhere, they may just have a few more resources at their disposal, and that can be enough to make a very significant difference when you are spending your life fleeing from despicable people who want to kill you. The Baudelaires' road of misfortune is not one many have had to tread, but we are privileged to traverse it from a distance in order to discover whether the difference it has made for the orphans is indeed as deadly as the author would have us believe.