People celebrate Christmas in many different ways. In her gift book A Christmas Sampler,
artist and poet Joan Walsh Anglund recognizes the diversity of
traditions surrounding this beloved holiday and provides a nice little
primer on them. Unlike Christmas Is a Time of Giving,
which she originally published several decades earlier, this book is in
full color, and it’s much wordier, including a number of poems and
songs containing several verses as opposed to the earlier book, which
has only a sentence per page.
Anglund has a distinctive style,
particularly when it comes to drawing children. The kids in her books
have tiny black dots for eyes and bright rosy cheeks. Beyond that, they
usually have no other facial features. They dress in old-fashioned
attire, which adds to the general coziness of her books. Whether or not
these types of images have any direct correlation to your own youth,
they are a part of countless Christmas songs and specials, so these
nostalgic visions are perfectly suited to this homey time of year.
In
some of Anglund’s books, the adults look significantly more realistic
than the children, but that isn’t the case here. Only the wise men
toward the beginning and the portrait of Mary holding Jesus at the end
of the book include a different facial design than the children. Then
again, there aren’t very many adults in this book at all. What we mostly
have are lots of children gearing up for Christmas in different ways:
trimming the tree, making cookies, going for a sled ride, caroling…
These are all very common images, but that just gives them a comfortably
familiar feel.
She divides the book up into sections, each
entitled “The _____ of Christmas.” The longest section is the last, “The
Meaning of Christmas,” which is a poem that spans eight pages. “The
Poems of Christmas” are written in rhyme as well, and “The Songs of
Christmas” are simply two popular carols. The book also includes a
couple of introductory poems. The rest is prose, including several short
descriptions of Christmas customs, legends and traditions and a recipe
for gingerbread cookies.
This book is much more explicit that
the earlier one when it comes to both Jesus and Santa. Each appears in
both in illustrations and text. Anglund also discusses St. Nicholas,
citing him as the inspiration for Santa Claus. Her sampling of various
traditions from around the world is educational, and even though I am a
Lutheran who absolutely loves live Christmas trees, I had never before
heard that Martin Luther was said to have started that custom by
erecting a fir in his home. Some research on the subject leads me to
believe that there is some debate about that, but just the possibility
is fascinating. I was familiar with the idea that St. Francis of Assisi
had developed the crèche, an interesting tidbit for those who haven’t
encountered that detail before.
Anglund’s poetry is fairly
uncomplicated and generally follows an ABCB rhyme pattern. I don’t know
that it would be strong enough to stand on its own, but alongside her
charming pictures, it works. She writes of preparing the heart and the
home for the arrival of Christmas and of extending kindness to others
during this season of giving. As Mary Poppins’ Feed the Birds
is one of my favorite songs, I especially like Anglund’s poem
encouraging children to distribute birdseed to hungry birds in the
winter.
A Christmas Sampler reminds me of a miniature version of Ideals.
It includes a similar mix of poetry, recipes and Christmas legends and
traditions. All that’s missing is some fiction, but Anglund has other
books to satisfy that desire. Because the pages are so small, the print
is miniscule and may be difficult for some to read. Stick this in
somebody’s stocking, and you may want to include a pocket magnifier.
Still, this is an adorable collection, and while I still slightly prefer
Christmas Is a Time of Giving, this more recent book aptly demonstrates many of the joys of the season.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Celebrating Art Garfunkel's 70th Birthday With Breakaway
“How terribly strange to be 70…” In the late 1960s, Paul Simon wrote
those words, and Art Garfunkel sang them. At the time, they were young
20-somethings thinking ahead to old age, and their morose vision of 70
has little to do with the still-robust men they are today. Nonetheless,
that age has always loomed as especially significant. Paul reached it
three weeks ago, and today it’s Art’s turn. As Art’s place as my
favorite living singer was cemented when I spoke with him briefly 11
years ago, I knew I’d have to find some way of marking this day, so I
thought I’d turn my attention to Breakaway, one of the few solo
Garfunkel albums I haven’t already reviewed. Produced, with the
exception of one track, by Richard Perry, it’s an excellent example of
Art’s skill as a vocalist and musical interpreter.
I Believe (When I Fall in Love It Will Be Forever) - Most of the songs on this album have mingled threads of romance and melancholy, so this piano-driven Stevie Wonder song is a good way to kick off the album. It’s an optimistic song, but there’s a lot of pain behind the hopeful words; it’s clear that this guy has been through a few relationships that haven’t worked out so well. Anguish tinges Art’s voice in the first verse, while the second feels less extreme. The chorus is the real kicker, though, especially the extended repetition at the end as he harmonizes with himself, flirting with the melody but rarely hitting it dead on as though to suggest that what he wants is within reach but he’s just not quite there yet. “I believe when I fall in love with you it will be forever. I believe when I fall in love, this time, it will be forever.”
Rag Doll - This song has a gentle lullaby feel to it with delicate chimes and soft percussion evocative of raindrops. Regret is the driving theme here as he sings of a woman who seems to have been just a shade offbeat. It seems that her oddity embarrassed him and it was only after he rejected her that he truly realized what a remarkable person he had lost. The tone here reminds me of Jack Shephard at the midpoint of LOST making a startling declaration about reclaiming the destiny he never wanted; he sounds very determined, but it seems most unlikely that what he desires will actually come about. Stirring. “The wind in the trees sings a sad, sad, sad song. I lie in my bed listenin’ all night long.”
Break Away - This, too, is about a fractured relationship, and while the tone is romantic, it’s hard not to read it in the context of Simon and Garfunkel, whose need for artistic space turned into a permanent breakup. Whether a singing partnership or a romance, the gist is similar; he wants to give the other person freedom but fears the consequences of a departure. Will he be left alone permanently? This was the first song on the album that I heard, and it remains one of my favorites. These days, it reminds me of Train’s Drops of Jupiter; she’s searching for herself, he’s torn between saying, “Go for it!” and “Please don’t go.” It’s sort of the opposite of Kelly Clarkson’s song of the same name, as she is the one leaving, while he is the one being left. The keyboard adds to the upbeat tone, and I love the bright vocal layers on the chorus, but this seems to be one of those songs that sounds a lot more cheerful than it actually is. “It’s not the place you’re goin’ to; it’s just a phase you’re goin’ through. Though I won’t stop you, I don’t want you to break away, fly across your ocean…”
Disney Girls - This mellow Beach Boys classic written by Bruce Johnston expresses a yearning for more innocent days gone by. The longest song on the album by more than half a minute, it’s an ideal vehicle for Art because of those exceptional Beach Boy harmonies. It too has a wistful quality to it, but the focus is on the beauty of those blissful days he’s not ready to relinquish. There’s a sense that he won’t be able to hang onto his personal Neverland forever, but for the time being, he’s going to try his hardest to live carefree. From the laid-back guitar and smooth woodwinds to the whistling at the end and the little melodic laugh on the chorus, the track certainly captures that breezy feeling. “Reality, it’s not for me, and it makes me laugh. But fantasy world and Disney girls, I’m comin’ back.”
Waters of March - This song, originally written in Portuguese by Brazilian musician Antonio Carlos Jobim, who also wrote the English lyrics, is a peculiar list of nouns. It’s made up of clipped sentences containing only a few words, and many of them begin with the words “It’s” or “It is.” The song reads a bit like one long word-association exercise; one image leads naturally to another and then another, but compare the images in one verse with another and you might not see a strong connection. There is a definite South American flavor to this guitar-driven reflection on life and all its little pleasures and discomforts. His delivery is very deliberate here as though this were a speech therapy exercise; each word is carefully pronounced, so although it’s an exhausting list, none of the lyrics are difficult to understand. “And the riverbank talks of the waters of March. It’s the promise of life; it’s the joy in your heart.”
My Little Town - It’s just a tad amusing that Simon and Garfunkel’s first post-breakup recording together would appear on an album entitled Breakaway. It also appeared on Paul’s Still Crazy After All These Years; the two titles juxtaposed are suggestive of the personal and professional tug-of-war that marked much of their association with each other in the post-duo decades. A part of them wants to just make a clean break, but ultimately, the friendship, messy as it may be at times, is just too important. At any rate, while this is a reunion, it’s also a song that reflects the album title, since it speaks of a hometown as a place of stagnation. It’s as though the speaker is trying to look back on his childhood fondly but just can’t quite manage it. The affection is disingenuous; he just wants to shake the dust off his shoes and move on. Paul’s lower voice gives this rather hard-edged song a very different sound than any of the others on the album, and there’s a bit of cognitive dissonance here because the lyrics eschew looking back, but boy, does it do the heart good to hear those voices together again. “And after it rains, there’s a rainbow, but all of the colors are black. It’s not that the colors aren’t there; it’s just imagination they lack. Everything’s the same back in my little town.”
I Only Have Eyes For You - I’ve heard many different versions of this song originally written in 1934, but this low-key version is my favorite. One certainly gets the sense that the speaker’s affections are returned, so this is perhaps the only song on the album without a hint of depression. Of course, tweak the words a tiny bit and it could be a total downer of an unrequited love anthem. Instead, however, the tone is one of pure joy that bubbles up from within him, and it’s just a delight to listen to Art’s delivery here, particularly toward the end when he hits those high notes with such enthusiasm. I also love the dense harmony on the word “garden” in the bridge. The instruments are great, though I would warn against listening to this one on the headphones; the opening bars create a curiously psychedelic ear-ringing effect that takes a few measures to shake. Nonetheless, this straightforward song of unbridled affection is one of his most romantic recordings. “You’re here; so am I. Maybe millions of people go by, but they all disappear from view, and I only have eyes for you.”
Lookin’ for the Right One - I kinda wish this track had gone before the last one so I could think of that song as the sequel to this aching one. There’s a quaver in his voice here as he sings of believing he has found “the right one,” only to be rejected time and again. Piano and guitar team up here for this sorrowful meditation. There’s a moment in the bridge that seems to be a musical quote of George Harrison’s Something, which would be fairly fitting; in fact, it seems to answer the question posed in that song in a far more despairing manner than the Beatles hit suggests. “They say there’s no use runnin’ after somethin’ you’ll never get, but my heart says, ‘Don’t say no.’ Somewhere in this lonesome city is the woman for me; will I wait another lifetime just to keep on looking for the right one?”
99 Miles from L.A. - Considering that Art is a native New Yorker, it’s interesting that the two songs on this album with the strongest positive nostalgic associations have a California connection. I remember reading that Art wasn’t sold on this song at first, but it’s one of the album’s strongest tracks, another expression of romantic regret and longing for reconciliation. I love the steady ripple of the acoustic guitar here and increasingly prominent plinking percussion that imitates the raindrops on his windshield. I’ve always presumed that he is headed to L.A. to connect with the woman he loves, though I suppose it’s possible that’s where he lives. In either case, it would seem that these two live fairly far from each other – though not far enough, perhaps, to merit a plane ticket. How did they meet in the first place? There’s a lot of story simmering under the surface here, and we’re only getting tantalizing hints as he contrasts his memories of their happy times together with his miserable present speeding along the freeway in the rain toward someone who might not want anything to do with him. “Passing the white sandy beach, we’re sailing; turning the radio on, we’re dancing. Ninety-nine miles from L.A., I want you, I need you. Please be there.”
The Same Old Tears On A New Background - This Stephen Bishop song ends the album on a note of feigned optimism. Like Paul’s American Tune, which came out a couple years earlier, it includes a repeated assurance of “I’m alright” that is basically contradicted by everything else in the song. He’s trying to put a brave face on things, but this guy is struggling. The lush piano and string combo here puts me in mind of All I Know, Art’s first smash solo hit, which covers similar thematic territory. A moody conclusion. “It’s the same old me crying the same old tears, and I’ll walk away like I always do, still in love with you…”
I’ll admit that the grainy black-and-white photo of Art with a woman on each arm, surrounded by half-empty wine glasses, is my least favorite of his album covers, particularly because one of the women is smoking a cigarette. Perhaps he was trying to break away from his largely innocent image? I’m not sure, but I could do without it, and I wish the album included something beyond a track list in the way of liner notes. With the music itself, however, I have no complaint, and it holds up well all these years later, when Art is a man of seven decades who can look back on more than half a century as a recording artist and truly be proud of his contributions. Happy 70th, Artie!
I Believe (When I Fall in Love It Will Be Forever) - Most of the songs on this album have mingled threads of romance and melancholy, so this piano-driven Stevie Wonder song is a good way to kick off the album. It’s an optimistic song, but there’s a lot of pain behind the hopeful words; it’s clear that this guy has been through a few relationships that haven’t worked out so well. Anguish tinges Art’s voice in the first verse, while the second feels less extreme. The chorus is the real kicker, though, especially the extended repetition at the end as he harmonizes with himself, flirting with the melody but rarely hitting it dead on as though to suggest that what he wants is within reach but he’s just not quite there yet. “I believe when I fall in love with you it will be forever. I believe when I fall in love, this time, it will be forever.”
Rag Doll - This song has a gentle lullaby feel to it with delicate chimes and soft percussion evocative of raindrops. Regret is the driving theme here as he sings of a woman who seems to have been just a shade offbeat. It seems that her oddity embarrassed him and it was only after he rejected her that he truly realized what a remarkable person he had lost. The tone here reminds me of Jack Shephard at the midpoint of LOST making a startling declaration about reclaiming the destiny he never wanted; he sounds very determined, but it seems most unlikely that what he desires will actually come about. Stirring. “The wind in the trees sings a sad, sad, sad song. I lie in my bed listenin’ all night long.”
Break Away - This, too, is about a fractured relationship, and while the tone is romantic, it’s hard not to read it in the context of Simon and Garfunkel, whose need for artistic space turned into a permanent breakup. Whether a singing partnership or a romance, the gist is similar; he wants to give the other person freedom but fears the consequences of a departure. Will he be left alone permanently? This was the first song on the album that I heard, and it remains one of my favorites. These days, it reminds me of Train’s Drops of Jupiter; she’s searching for herself, he’s torn between saying, “Go for it!” and “Please don’t go.” It’s sort of the opposite of Kelly Clarkson’s song of the same name, as she is the one leaving, while he is the one being left. The keyboard adds to the upbeat tone, and I love the bright vocal layers on the chorus, but this seems to be one of those songs that sounds a lot more cheerful than it actually is. “It’s not the place you’re goin’ to; it’s just a phase you’re goin’ through. Though I won’t stop you, I don’t want you to break away, fly across your ocean…”
Disney Girls - This mellow Beach Boys classic written by Bruce Johnston expresses a yearning for more innocent days gone by. The longest song on the album by more than half a minute, it’s an ideal vehicle for Art because of those exceptional Beach Boy harmonies. It too has a wistful quality to it, but the focus is on the beauty of those blissful days he’s not ready to relinquish. There’s a sense that he won’t be able to hang onto his personal Neverland forever, but for the time being, he’s going to try his hardest to live carefree. From the laid-back guitar and smooth woodwinds to the whistling at the end and the little melodic laugh on the chorus, the track certainly captures that breezy feeling. “Reality, it’s not for me, and it makes me laugh. But fantasy world and Disney girls, I’m comin’ back.”
Waters of March - This song, originally written in Portuguese by Brazilian musician Antonio Carlos Jobim, who also wrote the English lyrics, is a peculiar list of nouns. It’s made up of clipped sentences containing only a few words, and many of them begin with the words “It’s” or “It is.” The song reads a bit like one long word-association exercise; one image leads naturally to another and then another, but compare the images in one verse with another and you might not see a strong connection. There is a definite South American flavor to this guitar-driven reflection on life and all its little pleasures and discomforts. His delivery is very deliberate here as though this were a speech therapy exercise; each word is carefully pronounced, so although it’s an exhausting list, none of the lyrics are difficult to understand. “And the riverbank talks of the waters of March. It’s the promise of life; it’s the joy in your heart.”
My Little Town - It’s just a tad amusing that Simon and Garfunkel’s first post-breakup recording together would appear on an album entitled Breakaway. It also appeared on Paul’s Still Crazy After All These Years; the two titles juxtaposed are suggestive of the personal and professional tug-of-war that marked much of their association with each other in the post-duo decades. A part of them wants to just make a clean break, but ultimately, the friendship, messy as it may be at times, is just too important. At any rate, while this is a reunion, it’s also a song that reflects the album title, since it speaks of a hometown as a place of stagnation. It’s as though the speaker is trying to look back on his childhood fondly but just can’t quite manage it. The affection is disingenuous; he just wants to shake the dust off his shoes and move on. Paul’s lower voice gives this rather hard-edged song a very different sound than any of the others on the album, and there’s a bit of cognitive dissonance here because the lyrics eschew looking back, but boy, does it do the heart good to hear those voices together again. “And after it rains, there’s a rainbow, but all of the colors are black. It’s not that the colors aren’t there; it’s just imagination they lack. Everything’s the same back in my little town.”
I Only Have Eyes For You - I’ve heard many different versions of this song originally written in 1934, but this low-key version is my favorite. One certainly gets the sense that the speaker’s affections are returned, so this is perhaps the only song on the album without a hint of depression. Of course, tweak the words a tiny bit and it could be a total downer of an unrequited love anthem. Instead, however, the tone is one of pure joy that bubbles up from within him, and it’s just a delight to listen to Art’s delivery here, particularly toward the end when he hits those high notes with such enthusiasm. I also love the dense harmony on the word “garden” in the bridge. The instruments are great, though I would warn against listening to this one on the headphones; the opening bars create a curiously psychedelic ear-ringing effect that takes a few measures to shake. Nonetheless, this straightforward song of unbridled affection is one of his most romantic recordings. “You’re here; so am I. Maybe millions of people go by, but they all disappear from view, and I only have eyes for you.”
Lookin’ for the Right One - I kinda wish this track had gone before the last one so I could think of that song as the sequel to this aching one. There’s a quaver in his voice here as he sings of believing he has found “the right one,” only to be rejected time and again. Piano and guitar team up here for this sorrowful meditation. There’s a moment in the bridge that seems to be a musical quote of George Harrison’s Something, which would be fairly fitting; in fact, it seems to answer the question posed in that song in a far more despairing manner than the Beatles hit suggests. “They say there’s no use runnin’ after somethin’ you’ll never get, but my heart says, ‘Don’t say no.’ Somewhere in this lonesome city is the woman for me; will I wait another lifetime just to keep on looking for the right one?”
99 Miles from L.A. - Considering that Art is a native New Yorker, it’s interesting that the two songs on this album with the strongest positive nostalgic associations have a California connection. I remember reading that Art wasn’t sold on this song at first, but it’s one of the album’s strongest tracks, another expression of romantic regret and longing for reconciliation. I love the steady ripple of the acoustic guitar here and increasingly prominent plinking percussion that imitates the raindrops on his windshield. I’ve always presumed that he is headed to L.A. to connect with the woman he loves, though I suppose it’s possible that’s where he lives. In either case, it would seem that these two live fairly far from each other – though not far enough, perhaps, to merit a plane ticket. How did they meet in the first place? There’s a lot of story simmering under the surface here, and we’re only getting tantalizing hints as he contrasts his memories of their happy times together with his miserable present speeding along the freeway in the rain toward someone who might not want anything to do with him. “Passing the white sandy beach, we’re sailing; turning the radio on, we’re dancing. Ninety-nine miles from L.A., I want you, I need you. Please be there.”
The Same Old Tears On A New Background - This Stephen Bishop song ends the album on a note of feigned optimism. Like Paul’s American Tune, which came out a couple years earlier, it includes a repeated assurance of “I’m alright” that is basically contradicted by everything else in the song. He’s trying to put a brave face on things, but this guy is struggling. The lush piano and string combo here puts me in mind of All I Know, Art’s first smash solo hit, which covers similar thematic territory. A moody conclusion. “It’s the same old me crying the same old tears, and I’ll walk away like I always do, still in love with you…”
I’ll admit that the grainy black-and-white photo of Art with a woman on each arm, surrounded by half-empty wine glasses, is my least favorite of his album covers, particularly because one of the women is smoking a cigarette. Perhaps he was trying to break away from his largely innocent image? I’m not sure, but I could do without it, and I wish the album included something beyond a track list in the way of liner notes. With the music itself, however, I have no complaint, and it holds up well all these years later, when Art is a man of seven decades who can look back on more than half a century as a recording artist and truly be proud of his contributions. Happy 70th, Artie!
Friday, November 4, 2011
Christmas Is a Time of Giving... and Lots of Other Things
Joan Walsh Anglund is an artist and poet best known for her tiny gift books, which celebrate the simple joys of life. Christmas Is a Time of Giving
is one of those, and it also happens to be one of my favorites of her
books. Like most books of hers that I’ve read, it doesn’t have a plot,
but it is instead a list of qualities that are associated with
Christmas.
The book, originally published in 1961, includes a mix of black-and-white and full-color illustrations, though the color drawings limit the colors to shades of red and green, further emphasizing the Christmassy theme. With a couple of exceptions, pictures are on the right page of the book, while text is on the left. The most notable exception is the pair of facing black-and-white pages, one of which shows a group of children wrapping presents in front of an old-fashioned pot-bellied stove, the other of which shows a young girl making cookies.
While the illustrations are pretty small, they are filled with intricate detail. Anglund’s iconic rosy-cheeked children are adorable as ever, while the adults looks distinctly different, having a more realistic appearance instead of the almost blank-canvas faces of the children. I love the landscapes, which look like something out of a Currier and Ives painting. I especially like the colorless drawing of the boy with the sled under the barren branches of a windswept tree surveying the snowy expanse of a valley town.
The writing is minimalist, with no single page featuring more than a sentence. There’s a bit of a poetic quality to it, but the extensive repetition is the most notable quality of the prose this time around. Every sentence includes at least one “a time of” statement, for a total of 16, though one could say that there are quite a few more than that, since there are several “and”s scattered throughout the story. For instance, “It is a time of stars and midnight… and soft prayers whispered in the dark.”
The primary focus of the book is on all that makes Christmas cozy. While Jesus is not mentioned directly, one picture shows several children gazing upon an outdoor nativity. In general, the tone seems vaguely religious, and nothing in either the words or pictures specifically suggests Santa Claus or his reindeer. We see the children waiting, but we also watch them prepare gifts, so they could well just be waiting to give them to each other. Even the stocking hangings over the fireplace don’t necessarily reflect anticipation of Santa.
Instead, the book celebrates togetherness. Peace, love, understanding… These are the sorts of things that Anglund associates with Christmas here. All but two of the illustrations feature at least two characters (three illustrations if you don’t count the dog as a distinct character). The sense of warmth and community seeps through the pages, counteracting the slight shiver that comes with the sight of all that snow. I’m not sure if she had any particular location in mind when she put this book together, but it reminds me of New England. In any case, it looks like a place I would love to visit.
Of the four Anglund Christmas books that I have read, this simple volume is my favorite. It only takes a few minutes to read, but the warm glow cast by Christmas Is a Time of Giving might just last the whole day.
The book, originally published in 1961, includes a mix of black-and-white and full-color illustrations, though the color drawings limit the colors to shades of red and green, further emphasizing the Christmassy theme. With a couple of exceptions, pictures are on the right page of the book, while text is on the left. The most notable exception is the pair of facing black-and-white pages, one of which shows a group of children wrapping presents in front of an old-fashioned pot-bellied stove, the other of which shows a young girl making cookies.
While the illustrations are pretty small, they are filled with intricate detail. Anglund’s iconic rosy-cheeked children are adorable as ever, while the adults looks distinctly different, having a more realistic appearance instead of the almost blank-canvas faces of the children. I love the landscapes, which look like something out of a Currier and Ives painting. I especially like the colorless drawing of the boy with the sled under the barren branches of a windswept tree surveying the snowy expanse of a valley town.
The writing is minimalist, with no single page featuring more than a sentence. There’s a bit of a poetic quality to it, but the extensive repetition is the most notable quality of the prose this time around. Every sentence includes at least one “a time of” statement, for a total of 16, though one could say that there are quite a few more than that, since there are several “and”s scattered throughout the story. For instance, “It is a time of stars and midnight… and soft prayers whispered in the dark.”
The primary focus of the book is on all that makes Christmas cozy. While Jesus is not mentioned directly, one picture shows several children gazing upon an outdoor nativity. In general, the tone seems vaguely religious, and nothing in either the words or pictures specifically suggests Santa Claus or his reindeer. We see the children waiting, but we also watch them prepare gifts, so they could well just be waiting to give them to each other. Even the stocking hangings over the fireplace don’t necessarily reflect anticipation of Santa.
Instead, the book celebrates togetherness. Peace, love, understanding… These are the sorts of things that Anglund associates with Christmas here. All but two of the illustrations feature at least two characters (three illustrations if you don’t count the dog as a distinct character). The sense of warmth and community seeps through the pages, counteracting the slight shiver that comes with the sight of all that snow. I’m not sure if she had any particular location in mind when she put this book together, but it reminds me of New England. In any case, it looks like a place I would love to visit.
Of the four Anglund Christmas books that I have read, this simple volume is my favorite. It only takes a few minutes to read, but the warm glow cast by Christmas Is a Time of Giving might just last the whole day.
A Friendly Mouse Plays Sherlock Holmes in The Aristocats and the Missing Necklace
Some mysteries involve nefarious villains, while others hinge more on
misunderstandings and peculiar circumstances. While the lack of a
menacing antagonist can lessen the appeal for some, I tend to enjoy
these mysteries that lack a “bad guy” just as much as more traditional
fare. That’s certainly the case with The Aristocats and the Missing Necklace, a part of Disney’s Wonderful World of Reading.
In this simple picture book, dainty white cat Duchess and her three kittens, Marie and her brothers, here nicknamed Tu-tu and Berly, have headed for the countryside for the summer with the elegant Madame. A handsome estate in the French countryside is an enticing playground for three energetic kittens, but when their rambunctious antics coincide with the disappearance of a gold necklace, Madame becomes very angry and blames the cats for its disappearance. How will they ever find it again?
Luckily, they are not alone in having made this trek. Their faithful friend Roquefort, a mouse, has come along for the ride, and he fancies himself an amateur detective, so he volunteers to track down the culprit. Readers know before he does what happened to the necklace, but it’s fun to watch the intrepid mouse track its whereabouts. This is a tale about conducting a careful investigation and also about not jumping to conclusions.
Thomas O’Malley, the tomcat who is arguably the most dynamic character in the movie of which this book is a spin-off, does not make an appearance here, but goose sisters Amelia and Amanda are heavily involved in the story, upping the silly factor. Roquefort’s dashing little red detective’s outfit adds a touch of whimsy as well. Every animal in the book wears some type of clothing at some point in the book, but the mouse’s outfit is much more extensive, and more than the others, he acts in ways that are entirely atypical for his species.
The illustrations are lovely, particularly the ones that take the characters outside into the lush farmland and eventually to a refreshing pond. The information for the book, published in 1983, lists no specific author or illustrator, but whoever was responsible for the artwork here did a nice job. The writing is good as well but basic enough that it should pose few problems to budding readers, aside from the name Roquefort. I assume that the names Toulouse and Berlioz were shortened with those young tongues in mind.
Because the book reveals what happens to the necklace right off the bat, the plot will not be much of a mystery to young readers, but The Aristocats and the Missing Necklace is still a fun and engaging story about an unconventional friend using his ingenuity to help the unjustly accused.
In this simple picture book, dainty white cat Duchess and her three kittens, Marie and her brothers, here nicknamed Tu-tu and Berly, have headed for the countryside for the summer with the elegant Madame. A handsome estate in the French countryside is an enticing playground for three energetic kittens, but when their rambunctious antics coincide with the disappearance of a gold necklace, Madame becomes very angry and blames the cats for its disappearance. How will they ever find it again?
Luckily, they are not alone in having made this trek. Their faithful friend Roquefort, a mouse, has come along for the ride, and he fancies himself an amateur detective, so he volunteers to track down the culprit. Readers know before he does what happened to the necklace, but it’s fun to watch the intrepid mouse track its whereabouts. This is a tale about conducting a careful investigation and also about not jumping to conclusions.
Thomas O’Malley, the tomcat who is arguably the most dynamic character in the movie of which this book is a spin-off, does not make an appearance here, but goose sisters Amelia and Amanda are heavily involved in the story, upping the silly factor. Roquefort’s dashing little red detective’s outfit adds a touch of whimsy as well. Every animal in the book wears some type of clothing at some point in the book, but the mouse’s outfit is much more extensive, and more than the others, he acts in ways that are entirely atypical for his species.
The illustrations are lovely, particularly the ones that take the characters outside into the lush farmland and eventually to a refreshing pond. The information for the book, published in 1983, lists no specific author or illustrator, but whoever was responsible for the artwork here did a nice job. The writing is good as well but basic enough that it should pose few problems to budding readers, aside from the name Roquefort. I assume that the names Toulouse and Berlioz were shortened with those young tongues in mind.
Because the book reveals what happens to the necklace right off the bat, the plot will not be much of a mystery to young readers, but The Aristocats and the Missing Necklace is still a fun and engaging story about an unconventional friend using his ingenuity to help the unjustly accused.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Two Sisters Find Friendship in an Arcadian Wonderland in My Neighbor Totoro
Last year, I watched Ponyo, acclaimed Japanese filmmaker Hiyao Miyazaki’s latest feature, a take on Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Mermaid.
I found it strange but charming and looked forward to familiarizing
myself with more of the films helmed by this man I’ve so often heard
praised as a giant in the realm of fantastical animated movies. Just
recently, I went further back in his catalog with My Neighbor Totoro,
originally released in the 1980s, though I watched the 2005 version
released by Disney and dubbed by American actors, including sisters
Dakota and Elle Fanning as movie sisters Satsuki and Mei Kusakabe.
Satsuki (Dakota) and Mei (Elle) have just moved into a ramshackle house out in the country with their father (Tim Daly), a professor who is kind and fun-loving but rather absorbed with his work. The purpose of the relocation is to be closer to the girls’ ailing mother (Lea Salonga), who resides in a nearby hospital. It’s obvious from the start that this is a close-knit family, and the children and their dad take genuine delight in exploring the house and surrounding wilderness together.
While Satsuki is strikingly mature for her age, she is almost as prone to giddy exhibitions of glee as her hyperactive little sister. Both of them absolutely love their new playground, and the notion that their home and the surrounding forest might be haunted intrigues them much more than it frightens them. They have the proper spirit for such a place, and soon their appreciation will be rewarded as the entities populating the forest reveal themselves.
The animation is breathtakingly gorgeous. Its idyllic countryside setting surrounded by thick stands of trees and shallow ponds looks so lifelike and appealing that I spent the whole movie wishing I could step into it. The girls’ exuberance is entirely understandable. What kid wouldn’t want to live in a place like that? The beauty of some scenes, such as the sequence in which the sisters and their dad spend the day thoroughly exploring their idyllic surroundings and the moment when the duo get caught in a torrential downpour, is enough to recommend the movie even if it weren’t attached to a charming story.
Oh, but it is. Satsuki and Mei are absolutely lovable in their childlike wonder and devotion to each other. Mei does get rather exhausting at times simply because her energy is so boundless and her lung capacity matches it, but this contributes to some of the sweetest moments involving Totoro (Frank Welker), the enormous gray creature she finds asleep in the woods one day. Drowsy Totoro, so named by Mei after the noises he makes upon seeing her for the first time, has a gentle ursine quality to him. He has a ferocious roar, but mostly he just seems like an overstuffed teddy bear. At first, when Mei relates her account of their meeting, Satsuki thinks her imagination is running away with her. However, she soon begins to hope that she might meet Totoro for herself.
This movie features several fantastical beings, but the title character is the most engaging. While he does not speak in any intelligible tongue, the girls nonetheless forge a tentative friendship with him, and he allows them glimpses into his world in mystical moments that remind me of the wintry flight of fancy taken by the boy at heart of the silent film The Snowman. Their interactions are tender, funny, magical and sometimes just a bit frightening. This is a powerful entity, but his intentions are not malicious. This, then, is a simple story of friendship and respect as the girls overcome apprehensions to reach out to Totoro and he repays the favor.
Visually, the calm, lush countryside of this movie appeals to me more than the roiling seascape of Ponyo, and when the spirits of the house and forest are absent, the movie has a purely natural look about it, whereas Ponyo always seems a bit surrealistic. The fact that only the sisters can see the mysterious beings living around them almost begs the question of whether they are even there or if this place is just a fertile breeding ground for childhood fantasies. However, enough tangible evidence of their presence exists that I would come down on the side of their being real. They look quite as strange as the sea creatures in Ponyo, but there is beauty in the eccentricity, whether they’re gasping over the tiny dust balls that scurry out of the way when they enter a room or marveling at the enormous flying bus-shaped cat that serves as a shuttle to the spirits. Through it all, a sense of innocent fun prevails, particularly when Joe Hisaishi’s cheerful score, reminiscent of a mid-century program like Leave It to Beaver, kicks in.
My Neighbor Totoro is a feast for the eyes, a treat for the ears and a joy for the child in all of us. Everybody should be so lucky as to have a neighbor like Totoro.
Satsuki (Dakota) and Mei (Elle) have just moved into a ramshackle house out in the country with their father (Tim Daly), a professor who is kind and fun-loving but rather absorbed with his work. The purpose of the relocation is to be closer to the girls’ ailing mother (Lea Salonga), who resides in a nearby hospital. It’s obvious from the start that this is a close-knit family, and the children and their dad take genuine delight in exploring the house and surrounding wilderness together.
While Satsuki is strikingly mature for her age, she is almost as prone to giddy exhibitions of glee as her hyperactive little sister. Both of them absolutely love their new playground, and the notion that their home and the surrounding forest might be haunted intrigues them much more than it frightens them. They have the proper spirit for such a place, and soon their appreciation will be rewarded as the entities populating the forest reveal themselves.
The animation is breathtakingly gorgeous. Its idyllic countryside setting surrounded by thick stands of trees and shallow ponds looks so lifelike and appealing that I spent the whole movie wishing I could step into it. The girls’ exuberance is entirely understandable. What kid wouldn’t want to live in a place like that? The beauty of some scenes, such as the sequence in which the sisters and their dad spend the day thoroughly exploring their idyllic surroundings and the moment when the duo get caught in a torrential downpour, is enough to recommend the movie even if it weren’t attached to a charming story.
Oh, but it is. Satsuki and Mei are absolutely lovable in their childlike wonder and devotion to each other. Mei does get rather exhausting at times simply because her energy is so boundless and her lung capacity matches it, but this contributes to some of the sweetest moments involving Totoro (Frank Welker), the enormous gray creature she finds asleep in the woods one day. Drowsy Totoro, so named by Mei after the noises he makes upon seeing her for the first time, has a gentle ursine quality to him. He has a ferocious roar, but mostly he just seems like an overstuffed teddy bear. At first, when Mei relates her account of their meeting, Satsuki thinks her imagination is running away with her. However, she soon begins to hope that she might meet Totoro for herself.
This movie features several fantastical beings, but the title character is the most engaging. While he does not speak in any intelligible tongue, the girls nonetheless forge a tentative friendship with him, and he allows them glimpses into his world in mystical moments that remind me of the wintry flight of fancy taken by the boy at heart of the silent film The Snowman. Their interactions are tender, funny, magical and sometimes just a bit frightening. This is a powerful entity, but his intentions are not malicious. This, then, is a simple story of friendship and respect as the girls overcome apprehensions to reach out to Totoro and he repays the favor.
Visually, the calm, lush countryside of this movie appeals to me more than the roiling seascape of Ponyo, and when the spirits of the house and forest are absent, the movie has a purely natural look about it, whereas Ponyo always seems a bit surrealistic. The fact that only the sisters can see the mysterious beings living around them almost begs the question of whether they are even there or if this place is just a fertile breeding ground for childhood fantasies. However, enough tangible evidence of their presence exists that I would come down on the side of their being real. They look quite as strange as the sea creatures in Ponyo, but there is beauty in the eccentricity, whether they’re gasping over the tiny dust balls that scurry out of the way when they enter a room or marveling at the enormous flying bus-shaped cat that serves as a shuttle to the spirits. Through it all, a sense of innocent fun prevails, particularly when Joe Hisaishi’s cheerful score, reminiscent of a mid-century program like Leave It to Beaver, kicks in.
My Neighbor Totoro is a feast for the eyes, a treat for the ears and a joy for the child in all of us. Everybody should be so lucky as to have a neighbor like Totoro.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Matthew Broderick Sets Off a Dangerous Game in WarGames
When my dad, a computer science professor, decided to incorporate
computer-related movies into one of his classes this year, one of the
first films he considered was WarGames, the 1983 drama in which a
pre-Ferris Beuller Matthew Broderick hacks into a government computer
and almost starts World War III. I’d seen it years before, and as I
watched, I found that I remembered most of it. The movie is
simultaneously tense and light-hearted and includes some great dialogue
and terrific chemistry between Broderick and an equally youthful Ally
Sheedy.
Broderick plays David, a smart-alecky teen who mouths off at teachers and doesn’t apply himself to his studies despite being extremely intelligent. In his off time, he plays around with computers, whether that involves racking up the points in the arcade or using the impressive techie setup in his room to tap into programs to which he shouldn’t have access. His classmate Jennifer, played by Sheedy, doesn’t know the first thing about computers, but she’s attracted to David’s quick wit and, once the righteous indignation wears off, touched by his offer to change her failing science grade. Hence, she is with him when he taps into what he thinks is a computer gaming company.
While he thinks he is playing a state-of-the-art video game, he has actually activated WOPR, a secret government computer simulating wars between nations to calculate the repercussions on both sides. As a result, the higher-ups, who are just getting used to this simulator, believe that the United States is under attack. A computer expert explains the situation, and after the evening news reports on the false alarm, David realizes that he is responsible. What’s more, though he tries to shut down the program, the computer insists upon finishing the game, a fact that officials refuse to acknowledge when they bring him in for questioning. It’s up to one clever kid and his plucky sidekick to convince the government not to strike against the Soviet Union. If he doesn’t stop them from taking defensive measures in time, the results will be apocalyptic.
It’s very scary to think that a tech-savvy teenager could bring the world to the brink of accidental nuclear war. The scenario is just shy of realistic, yet it certainly has enough believable elements to make it compelling viewing. Watching this will teach viewers a few important lessons. Never write your password down and tape it next to the computer – especially if you are a high school principal. Never use a single word as entry into your computer – especially if that computer happens to be capable of setting off a major international conflict. And chiefly, never allow a computer such power in the first place. Incidentally, aside from all these fairly obvious lessons, the movie also taught me a nifty way of eating corn on the cob that I had never before encountered. Butter a piece of bread, then wrap the bread around the corn and you’ll have a uniformly buttered cob without a lot of dripping. Of course, you also have a spare piece of bread lying around, but still, I was happy with the results when I tried it.
Because of my dad’s profession, computers have always been a part of my life, even as far back as this movie’s release. In the nearly hour-long making-of documentary, Broderick talks about how this movie exposed many people to the idea of home computers for the first time. I remember the black screen and the command prompts, as well as the kick I got out of having a “conversation” with the computer in which I typed and it talked back. For me, then, seeing the now clunky-looking technology in David’s room was a nice nostalgia blast.
Another thing that the documentary mentions is that originally, screenwriters Lawrence Lasker and Walter Parkes envisioned John Lennon portraying Falken, the reclusive genius who created the WOPR and whose aid David seeks after he breaks out of NORAD, the government facility where WOPR is housed. Instead, John Wood plays Falken, and the creepiest part of the movie occurs when he hollowly tells the teens of the futility of their efforts as a film about the extinction of the dinosaurs plays in the background. Wood’s morose maturity balances out their vibrant urgency; he has the gravitas and expertise to convince the government that David speaks the truth, while it’s up to David and Jennifer to persuade the bereaved programmer that human existence is worth preserving.
While the main plot involves David’s quest, we also periodically check in with NORAD, where the chief characters are Dabney Coleman’s McKittrick, a snappish official who is all for taking missiles out of the hands of the humans and turning over as much responsibility to the computer as possible, and Barry Corbin’s General Beringer, who’s not too keen on WOPR and whose colorful, homespun exclamations add levity to most of the movie’s darkest moments.
Keeping the primary focus on the teenagers helps to lighten the movie’s mood, so while this is a high-concept film with a truly unsettling premise, it’s also fun to watch. As annoying as David can be in the presence of authority figures, he’s mostly the kind of guy you want to root for, and Sheedy, who I mostly know from her wonderful turn as batty animal lover Stephanie in Short Circuit, simply shines alongside Broderick. If you’ve never seen this commentary on the dangers of giving computers too much control, now is a good time to play WarGames.
Broderick plays David, a smart-alecky teen who mouths off at teachers and doesn’t apply himself to his studies despite being extremely intelligent. In his off time, he plays around with computers, whether that involves racking up the points in the arcade or using the impressive techie setup in his room to tap into programs to which he shouldn’t have access. His classmate Jennifer, played by Sheedy, doesn’t know the first thing about computers, but she’s attracted to David’s quick wit and, once the righteous indignation wears off, touched by his offer to change her failing science grade. Hence, she is with him when he taps into what he thinks is a computer gaming company.
While he thinks he is playing a state-of-the-art video game, he has actually activated WOPR, a secret government computer simulating wars between nations to calculate the repercussions on both sides. As a result, the higher-ups, who are just getting used to this simulator, believe that the United States is under attack. A computer expert explains the situation, and after the evening news reports on the false alarm, David realizes that he is responsible. What’s more, though he tries to shut down the program, the computer insists upon finishing the game, a fact that officials refuse to acknowledge when they bring him in for questioning. It’s up to one clever kid and his plucky sidekick to convince the government not to strike against the Soviet Union. If he doesn’t stop them from taking defensive measures in time, the results will be apocalyptic.
It’s very scary to think that a tech-savvy teenager could bring the world to the brink of accidental nuclear war. The scenario is just shy of realistic, yet it certainly has enough believable elements to make it compelling viewing. Watching this will teach viewers a few important lessons. Never write your password down and tape it next to the computer – especially if you are a high school principal. Never use a single word as entry into your computer – especially if that computer happens to be capable of setting off a major international conflict. And chiefly, never allow a computer such power in the first place. Incidentally, aside from all these fairly obvious lessons, the movie also taught me a nifty way of eating corn on the cob that I had never before encountered. Butter a piece of bread, then wrap the bread around the corn and you’ll have a uniformly buttered cob without a lot of dripping. Of course, you also have a spare piece of bread lying around, but still, I was happy with the results when I tried it.
Because of my dad’s profession, computers have always been a part of my life, even as far back as this movie’s release. In the nearly hour-long making-of documentary, Broderick talks about how this movie exposed many people to the idea of home computers for the first time. I remember the black screen and the command prompts, as well as the kick I got out of having a “conversation” with the computer in which I typed and it talked back. For me, then, seeing the now clunky-looking technology in David’s room was a nice nostalgia blast.
Another thing that the documentary mentions is that originally, screenwriters Lawrence Lasker and Walter Parkes envisioned John Lennon portraying Falken, the reclusive genius who created the WOPR and whose aid David seeks after he breaks out of NORAD, the government facility where WOPR is housed. Instead, John Wood plays Falken, and the creepiest part of the movie occurs when he hollowly tells the teens of the futility of their efforts as a film about the extinction of the dinosaurs plays in the background. Wood’s morose maturity balances out their vibrant urgency; he has the gravitas and expertise to convince the government that David speaks the truth, while it’s up to David and Jennifer to persuade the bereaved programmer that human existence is worth preserving.
While the main plot involves David’s quest, we also periodically check in with NORAD, where the chief characters are Dabney Coleman’s McKittrick, a snappish official who is all for taking missiles out of the hands of the humans and turning over as much responsibility to the computer as possible, and Barry Corbin’s General Beringer, who’s not too keen on WOPR and whose colorful, homespun exclamations add levity to most of the movie’s darkest moments.
Keeping the primary focus on the teenagers helps to lighten the movie’s mood, so while this is a high-concept film with a truly unsettling premise, it’s also fun to watch. As annoying as David can be in the presence of authority figures, he’s mostly the kind of guy you want to root for, and Sheedy, who I mostly know from her wonderful turn as batty animal lover Stephanie in Short Circuit, simply shines alongside Broderick. If you’ve never seen this commentary on the dangers of giving computers too much control, now is a good time to play WarGames.
Friendship Is Universal in Joan Walsh Anglund's A Friend Is Someone Who Likes You
What exactly constitutes a friend? Writer-illustrator Joan Walsh Anglund explores this question in the classic gift book A Friend Is Someone Who Likes You.
Like many of her books, this one, originally published in 1958, is
fairly tiny. While it’s on the tall side for this type of book, it’s
only half as wide as it is tall, and its 26 pages include significant
amounts of whitespace. Still, while this won’t take long to read, it is a
charming book that shares a sweet sentiment through adorable pictures.
As is pretty typical for her books, this one includes a mix of color and black-and-white drawings. The pages alternate on this, with the black-and-white illustrations generally being the larger, more detailed ones. While I’m always in favor of color, my favorite picture happens to be one of the black-and-white ones. Featuring a girl placidly sitting by the creek and gazing out over the farmland on which rests a large barn, it presents a perfect picture of rural beauty. Of the color drawings, I love the one with the little girl being buffeted about by a strong autumn wind. Both pictures have a Wyeth-esque quality to them that I find very appealing.
Anglund’s artistic style is easy to recognize, especially when it includes people. Her characters – usually children – have wide faces, rosy cheeks and tiny black eyes. In most cases, they lack visible mouths, but they somehow seem all the more expressive for it. Given the theme of the book, we have people on every page, though not every example of a friend in this book is a person or even an animal. Instead, Anglund finds examples of perceived friendliness in natural landmarks such as trees and streams. She’s anthropomorphizing, but anyone who was a loner as a child will probably be able to relate to the way that these things can almost feel like friends to one who spends a great deal of time in solitary pursuits. I know John Denver once described the “out-of-doors” as his “first and truest friend.”
Because she counts even the wind as a friend, I guess it’s not too much of a stretch for her to assert that everyone has at least one friend, though I found myself thinking of Archibald Asparagus’s objections after Larry sang the VeggieTales Silly Song The Water Buffalo Song, reminded of the dangers of using such broad terms. “How can you say everybody’s got a friend when everybody does not have a friend?” I imagine him protesting. Nonetheless, everyone should have at least one friend, and this book offers some suggestions on how to make that happen if friends seem scarce.
As someone who is shy, I appreciated Anglund’s nod to folks like me who aren’t so skilled in getting a conversation started. “Sometimes you don’t know who are your friends,” she writes. “Sometimes they are there all the time, but you walk right past them and don’t notice that they like you in a special way.” While many of the pictures feature children in isolation, the ones that most effectively convey the idea of friendliness show two or more of them together, clearly enjoying each other’s company. My favorite of these closes the book with two girls dressed in pink and green, arms around each other’s shoulders and gazing out at the world where more friends are waiting to be found.
Anglund has a fairly minimalist writing style, and sometimes, her words have the appearance of free verse poetry. This is not the most poetic of her books, but she does seem to have put some thought into where each line ends and which words will complement each other well. Yes, even the words themselves feel friendly here. While I wish I couple more pages had been devoted to human friendships, especially considering the fact that many people probably buy this specifically to give to a friend, I find this book suitably sweet, and going by her simple definition, Anglund has a friend in me.
As is pretty typical for her books, this one includes a mix of color and black-and-white drawings. The pages alternate on this, with the black-and-white illustrations generally being the larger, more detailed ones. While I’m always in favor of color, my favorite picture happens to be one of the black-and-white ones. Featuring a girl placidly sitting by the creek and gazing out over the farmland on which rests a large barn, it presents a perfect picture of rural beauty. Of the color drawings, I love the one with the little girl being buffeted about by a strong autumn wind. Both pictures have a Wyeth-esque quality to them that I find very appealing.
Anglund’s artistic style is easy to recognize, especially when it includes people. Her characters – usually children – have wide faces, rosy cheeks and tiny black eyes. In most cases, they lack visible mouths, but they somehow seem all the more expressive for it. Given the theme of the book, we have people on every page, though not every example of a friend in this book is a person or even an animal. Instead, Anglund finds examples of perceived friendliness in natural landmarks such as trees and streams. She’s anthropomorphizing, but anyone who was a loner as a child will probably be able to relate to the way that these things can almost feel like friends to one who spends a great deal of time in solitary pursuits. I know John Denver once described the “out-of-doors” as his “first and truest friend.”
Because she counts even the wind as a friend, I guess it’s not too much of a stretch for her to assert that everyone has at least one friend, though I found myself thinking of Archibald Asparagus’s objections after Larry sang the VeggieTales Silly Song The Water Buffalo Song, reminded of the dangers of using such broad terms. “How can you say everybody’s got a friend when everybody does not have a friend?” I imagine him protesting. Nonetheless, everyone should have at least one friend, and this book offers some suggestions on how to make that happen if friends seem scarce.
As someone who is shy, I appreciated Anglund’s nod to folks like me who aren’t so skilled in getting a conversation started. “Sometimes you don’t know who are your friends,” she writes. “Sometimes they are there all the time, but you walk right past them and don’t notice that they like you in a special way.” While many of the pictures feature children in isolation, the ones that most effectively convey the idea of friendliness show two or more of them together, clearly enjoying each other’s company. My favorite of these closes the book with two girls dressed in pink and green, arms around each other’s shoulders and gazing out at the world where more friends are waiting to be found.
Anglund has a fairly minimalist writing style, and sometimes, her words have the appearance of free verse poetry. This is not the most poetic of her books, but she does seem to have put some thought into where each line ends and which words will complement each other well. Yes, even the words themselves feel friendly here. While I wish I couple more pages had been devoted to human friendships, especially considering the fact that many people probably buy this specifically to give to a friend, I find this book suitably sweet, and going by her simple definition, Anglund has a friend in me.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Disney Presents Some of Its Greatest Love Songs in The Essential Disney Love Song Collection
Some of the greatest love songs of the past 70 years have come from
Disney movies, so it makes sense that they would be the theme of several
albums. One of those is The Essential Disney Love Song Collection,
an 18-track album featuring six songs lifted straight from the movies,
11 “romantic renditions” of movie songs and one song original to the CD.
While I’m a little disappointed at some of the songs excluded –
particularly Candle on the Water from Pete’s Dragon and Jolly Holiday from Mary Poppins
– and I’m a bit puzzled about the reasons for having this mix instead
of all established recordings or all new ones, I found it a pretty nice
collection overall.
When You Wish Upon a Star - I like that the beginning of this track includes a musical nod to Little Wooden Head, the sweetly quirky song Geppetto, my favorite character in the movie, sings to Pinocchio before he comes to life. Craig Toungate performs the song against lush instrumentation, and something in his tonal quality reminds me of Jiminy Cricket. While I don’t really consider this a love song, I seem to keep encountering it in that context, and it’s not too much of a stretch to make it fit.
Can You Feel the Love Tonight - The general sound of this one is very similar to the movie, though the voices, especially the singing voices, are obviously different. Assuming the names are listed in order, Dennis Razze and Toungate are Timon and Pumbaa here, and they approximate their voices pretty well for their banter, but Alicia Kay, Virgil Seals and Patty Rowell have a significantly distinct sound. While I prefer the original version, this one is almost as good.
True Love’s Kiss - The first song on the album that is the original rather than a new recording. Amy Adams has such a perfect Disney princess voice, and she bubbles over with innocent enthusiasm here as she imagines the ecstasy of the kiss that will change her life. James Marsden, when he finally shows up here, makes a wonderful complement to her, and the uncredited woodland creatures are adorable. The song mostly feels like a slightly tongue-in-cheek nod to Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’ I’m Wishing / One Song; it is very sweet and slightly silly.
Bella Notte - I love the mandolin and accordion that usually accompany this song, as well as the thick Italian accent on the singer. Those elements are present in this new version performed by Joe York and Scotty Roberts, so I’m happy with this track, which clocks in at under a minute and a half.
Kiss the Girl - Samuel E. Wright is so wonderfully expressive as Sebastian, the Jamaican-accented crab who serves as King Triton’s advisor in The Little Mermaid. This is another original, so you’ve got his wonderful performance, along with all those great reggae-ish instruments that help set a mood that is both exotic and persuasive.
So This Is Love - Meredith McCall sings this new version of the Cinderella classic, another short one at just over a minute and a half. Accompaniment is minimal, with strings and occasional harp plucking; the main thing distinguishing this is York’s presence as the very stately-sounding prince. I’m torn, but I think I might like it even better as a duet.
Once Upon a Dream - This Sleeping Beauty tune has very similar accompaniment and a comparable feel to it. York is the prince again, and he sounds about the same as in the last track, which works because really, while Phillip is more developed than his predecessors, it’s easy to get those three early Disney princes mixed up. Another nice duet.
A Whole New World - Given the immense popularity of the movie version, performed by Brad Kane and Lea Salonga, I’m not surprised this was one of the tracks that stuck to the original. It’s an exhilarating ballad with the music evoking the joy of a world-traversing magic carpet ride and the eager voices reflecting the thrill of awakening love. I’ve read many comparisons of Tangled’s I See the Light with this song, and they are apt, though I still consider the latter an exquisite song in its own right. In fact, I prefer it, but that doesn’t stop me from loving this exuberant duet as much as I ever did.
Something There - Interestingly, this album includes two songs from Beauty and the Beast, and both are the original versions. While this is not as iconic as the title song, which comes later, I like it better, since it feels much more down-to-earth and personal. The other one is grandiose and archetypal; I prefer listening to these specific characters express their confusion and wonder as their feelings for one another change, not to mention the astonishment and excitement of their enchanted observers. It’s such a perfect movie moment.
One Dance - This one is interesting because Jodi Benson, who plays Ariel in The Little Mermaid, performs the song, but it’s a new rendition because this is from the Broadway show and was originally recorded by Sierra Boggess. I have yet to see the stage musical or listen to the cast recording, so this song was new to me, but it’s easy to see how it would fit in. Ariel’s ardent devotion to Eric despite their limited interaction is apparent. I confess I’ve always struggled with Ariel, finding myself troubled by her eagerness to cast off the world of her youth and so permanently separate herself from the family and friends who love her. However, her assertions here feel very true to her character.
Baby Mine - This is obviously a song of love, but when I hear “love song,” the implication is generally that we’re talking romance, especially when the liner notes use the words “romantic renditions.” This new version by Paige Morehead definitely feels like a lullaby, with guitar and keyboard adding a gentle musical backdrop. It’s not romantic, but it’s very tender.
I Won’t Say (I’m in Love) - This sassy “methinks she doth protest too much” song from Hercules has the same basic sound to it as the original, with Rebecca Schoolar taking on the role of emotionally wary Megara and Laura Benedict, Alicia Jones and Chris Martin filling in as the Muses who aren’t buying her objections. It’s a fun song, in part because it’s such a change from the instant, unprotesting ardor of so many Disney heroines. Her practical objections feel more realistic, while still leaving room for her true attraction to peep through. Probably the peppiest song on the album.
If I Never Knew You - Jon Secada and Shanice perform this radio-ready end-credits duet from Pocahontas. It’s the original version, which is interesting because it has much more of a pop sound to it than the other straight-from-the-movie tracks, which feel more like Broadway. One unusual aspect of Pocahontas is that the main romantic couple does not end up together. Of course, in real life, they weren’t a romantic couple at all; as fast and loose as Disney played with history here, separating Pocahontas and John Smith at the end definitely was the right call. This song is similar in many ways to Wicked’s For Good, a duet celebrating a powerful relationship that cannot last but that has changed both parties profoundly. While I find the sound of the song a little over-the-top, it’s a touching testament to the strength of a bond that will remain although circumstances force a parting of the ways.
You’ll Be In My Heart - This new version of the Tarzan song, performed by Rolan, is very short but still a great track, with the strong male vocals complementing the jungle-inspired instruments. A touching lullaby along the same lines as Baby Mine.
I Wonder - This Sleeping Beauty track, a new rendition by Leslie French, captures the wistful sweetness of the original in a mere 83 seconds. The harp is an especially nice touch.
My Gift Is You - Craig Hella-Johnson and Leslie Whitely perform this new song, a mellow Christmas love song that, based on the liner booklet illustration, I take to be a duet between Mickey and Minnie, though their voices sound nothing like the high-pitched mice. This acoustic number is pretty standard domestic holiday fare, full of cozy images like hot cider and falling snow and an overarching assertion of mutual affection.
Beauty and the Beast - Angela Lansbury’s mature British voice brims with wisdom and good will in the final movie version on the album. The advanced age of her character makes her especially suited to interpret what has been happening between the title characters, and the timeless quality of the song assures that it will continue to strike a chord for many years to come.
Stay Awake - It makes sense that this reverse-psychology lullaby would be a final song on an album, but I confess I find it a strange choice for this album, since this is most definitely not a romantic song, at least not in context. I suppose that this rendition, sung by Karen Taylor-Good and accompanied by delicate harp, could be interpreted in a romantic light, but that seems a stretch. It is a beautiful performance, though, and whatever the type of love at play, the desire for the addressee to have a good night’s sleep is a caring sentiment.
This album fills a similar niche to Disney’s Fairy Tale Weddings as it features mostly new recordings of classic Disney love songs. Eight of the songs found in this collection are on that one as well, though of course they sound different. Those looking for something unique may be frustrated by the original tracks and those eager to listen to songs they know and love may be thrown off by the new versions, but for me, it works. The attractive liner booklet, which has a red, white and pink color scheme and includes pictures of pertinent characters, along with lyrics to the songs, is the icing on the cake. I don’t know if I’d call this album “essential,” but it certainly makes for easy listening.
When You Wish Upon a Star - I like that the beginning of this track includes a musical nod to Little Wooden Head, the sweetly quirky song Geppetto, my favorite character in the movie, sings to Pinocchio before he comes to life. Craig Toungate performs the song against lush instrumentation, and something in his tonal quality reminds me of Jiminy Cricket. While I don’t really consider this a love song, I seem to keep encountering it in that context, and it’s not too much of a stretch to make it fit.
Can You Feel the Love Tonight - The general sound of this one is very similar to the movie, though the voices, especially the singing voices, are obviously different. Assuming the names are listed in order, Dennis Razze and Toungate are Timon and Pumbaa here, and they approximate their voices pretty well for their banter, but Alicia Kay, Virgil Seals and Patty Rowell have a significantly distinct sound. While I prefer the original version, this one is almost as good.
True Love’s Kiss - The first song on the album that is the original rather than a new recording. Amy Adams has such a perfect Disney princess voice, and she bubbles over with innocent enthusiasm here as she imagines the ecstasy of the kiss that will change her life. James Marsden, when he finally shows up here, makes a wonderful complement to her, and the uncredited woodland creatures are adorable. The song mostly feels like a slightly tongue-in-cheek nod to Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’ I’m Wishing / One Song; it is very sweet and slightly silly.
Bella Notte - I love the mandolin and accordion that usually accompany this song, as well as the thick Italian accent on the singer. Those elements are present in this new version performed by Joe York and Scotty Roberts, so I’m happy with this track, which clocks in at under a minute and a half.
Kiss the Girl - Samuel E. Wright is so wonderfully expressive as Sebastian, the Jamaican-accented crab who serves as King Triton’s advisor in The Little Mermaid. This is another original, so you’ve got his wonderful performance, along with all those great reggae-ish instruments that help set a mood that is both exotic and persuasive.
So This Is Love - Meredith McCall sings this new version of the Cinderella classic, another short one at just over a minute and a half. Accompaniment is minimal, with strings and occasional harp plucking; the main thing distinguishing this is York’s presence as the very stately-sounding prince. I’m torn, but I think I might like it even better as a duet.
Once Upon a Dream - This Sleeping Beauty tune has very similar accompaniment and a comparable feel to it. York is the prince again, and he sounds about the same as in the last track, which works because really, while Phillip is more developed than his predecessors, it’s easy to get those three early Disney princes mixed up. Another nice duet.
A Whole New World - Given the immense popularity of the movie version, performed by Brad Kane and Lea Salonga, I’m not surprised this was one of the tracks that stuck to the original. It’s an exhilarating ballad with the music evoking the joy of a world-traversing magic carpet ride and the eager voices reflecting the thrill of awakening love. I’ve read many comparisons of Tangled’s I See the Light with this song, and they are apt, though I still consider the latter an exquisite song in its own right. In fact, I prefer it, but that doesn’t stop me from loving this exuberant duet as much as I ever did.
Something There - Interestingly, this album includes two songs from Beauty and the Beast, and both are the original versions. While this is not as iconic as the title song, which comes later, I like it better, since it feels much more down-to-earth and personal. The other one is grandiose and archetypal; I prefer listening to these specific characters express their confusion and wonder as their feelings for one another change, not to mention the astonishment and excitement of their enchanted observers. It’s such a perfect movie moment.
One Dance - This one is interesting because Jodi Benson, who plays Ariel in The Little Mermaid, performs the song, but it’s a new rendition because this is from the Broadway show and was originally recorded by Sierra Boggess. I have yet to see the stage musical or listen to the cast recording, so this song was new to me, but it’s easy to see how it would fit in. Ariel’s ardent devotion to Eric despite their limited interaction is apparent. I confess I’ve always struggled with Ariel, finding myself troubled by her eagerness to cast off the world of her youth and so permanently separate herself from the family and friends who love her. However, her assertions here feel very true to her character.
Baby Mine - This is obviously a song of love, but when I hear “love song,” the implication is generally that we’re talking romance, especially when the liner notes use the words “romantic renditions.” This new version by Paige Morehead definitely feels like a lullaby, with guitar and keyboard adding a gentle musical backdrop. It’s not romantic, but it’s very tender.
I Won’t Say (I’m in Love) - This sassy “methinks she doth protest too much” song from Hercules has the same basic sound to it as the original, with Rebecca Schoolar taking on the role of emotionally wary Megara and Laura Benedict, Alicia Jones and Chris Martin filling in as the Muses who aren’t buying her objections. It’s a fun song, in part because it’s such a change from the instant, unprotesting ardor of so many Disney heroines. Her practical objections feel more realistic, while still leaving room for her true attraction to peep through. Probably the peppiest song on the album.
If I Never Knew You - Jon Secada and Shanice perform this radio-ready end-credits duet from Pocahontas. It’s the original version, which is interesting because it has much more of a pop sound to it than the other straight-from-the-movie tracks, which feel more like Broadway. One unusual aspect of Pocahontas is that the main romantic couple does not end up together. Of course, in real life, they weren’t a romantic couple at all; as fast and loose as Disney played with history here, separating Pocahontas and John Smith at the end definitely was the right call. This song is similar in many ways to Wicked’s For Good, a duet celebrating a powerful relationship that cannot last but that has changed both parties profoundly. While I find the sound of the song a little over-the-top, it’s a touching testament to the strength of a bond that will remain although circumstances force a parting of the ways.
You’ll Be In My Heart - This new version of the Tarzan song, performed by Rolan, is very short but still a great track, with the strong male vocals complementing the jungle-inspired instruments. A touching lullaby along the same lines as Baby Mine.
I Wonder - This Sleeping Beauty track, a new rendition by Leslie French, captures the wistful sweetness of the original in a mere 83 seconds. The harp is an especially nice touch.
My Gift Is You - Craig Hella-Johnson and Leslie Whitely perform this new song, a mellow Christmas love song that, based on the liner booklet illustration, I take to be a duet between Mickey and Minnie, though their voices sound nothing like the high-pitched mice. This acoustic number is pretty standard domestic holiday fare, full of cozy images like hot cider and falling snow and an overarching assertion of mutual affection.
Beauty and the Beast - Angela Lansbury’s mature British voice brims with wisdom and good will in the final movie version on the album. The advanced age of her character makes her especially suited to interpret what has been happening between the title characters, and the timeless quality of the song assures that it will continue to strike a chord for many years to come.
Stay Awake - It makes sense that this reverse-psychology lullaby would be a final song on an album, but I confess I find it a strange choice for this album, since this is most definitely not a romantic song, at least not in context. I suppose that this rendition, sung by Karen Taylor-Good and accompanied by delicate harp, could be interpreted in a romantic light, but that seems a stretch. It is a beautiful performance, though, and whatever the type of love at play, the desire for the addressee to have a good night’s sleep is a caring sentiment.
This album fills a similar niche to Disney’s Fairy Tale Weddings as it features mostly new recordings of classic Disney love songs. Eight of the songs found in this collection are on that one as well, though of course they sound different. Those looking for something unique may be frustrated by the original tracks and those eager to listen to songs they know and love may be thrown off by the new versions, but for me, it works. The attractive liner booklet, which has a red, white and pink color scheme and includes pictures of pertinent characters, along with lyrics to the songs, is the icing on the cake. I don’t know if I’d call this album “essential,” but it certainly makes for easy listening.
Monday, October 31, 2011
The Circle of Life Sequence Gets the Picture Book Treatment in Morning at Pride Rock
There have been many movie previews that have made an impression on me, but none can match the impact of the one for The Lion King,
which was simply the opening sequence of the movie. I had never seen
anything as eye-poppingly epic as the sight of hundreds of animals
rushing toward Pride Rock to the tune of African chanting, stirring
instrumentals and a powerful lead vocal describing the “Circle of Life.”
This is the scene recreated in Teddy Slater’s Morning at Pride Rock, illustrated by Robin Cuddy and David Pacheco.
The illustrations in the book are magnificent, recalling the majesty of that opening scene. While the last picture is on a single page, the book otherwise consists of 14 two-page spreads, most of which feature a particular type of animal reacting to the summons to Pride Rock. A cheetah. A pair of rhinoceroses. An octet of meerkats. We have gracefully wading storks, lumbering elephants and soaring flamingos, stampeding zebras, scampering moneys and galloping gazelles. Giraffes and topi are the final animals to be highlighted. It would have been nice if all 11 species could have been represented in the picture showing the animals bowing before the new prince, but the up-close view of the animals that we get instead is enjoyable.
The focus of this book is mostly on the diversity of the creatures who answer to the lions. Counting the royal family, Zazu the hornbill and Rafiki the baboon, there are 14 distinct types of animals here, and each reacts to the presentation in a different way. While it doesn’t quite have the same epic scope as that part of the movie, it’s perfectly plain that something big is happening. The sense of urgency and excitement is apparent throughout the book. It’s also interesting to watch the progression of the sunrise, which so gorgeously shapes the backgrounds. At the beginning, the sky is a deep reddish orange color. The shade shifts slightly from page to page so that by the conclusion, we’re looking at a brilliant blue sky.
I thought that Morning at Pride Rock might simply use the lyrics to Circle of Life as its text, but instead, the narration featured in the colored strip that runs along the bottom of each page is unique to this book. Written in large italics, the words are limited to one sentence on most pages. Usually it’s only one line of text, but sometimes there are two. The writing is fairly simple but has a poetic ring to it, especially in the descriptions of the animals. The giraffes are “elegant,” the gazelles “graceful,” the cheetah “tawny.” Slater incorporates some good verbs as well; the elephants “trumpet” the news of Simba’s birth; the storks “plod.” Even though this is far from a wordy book, youngsters might be introduced to a new word or two.
Without the exceptional music and fluid movement across a vast expanse, it’s hard for a book to truly pack the punch of one of my favorite Disney scenes ever, but Morning at Pride Rock comes close.
The illustrations in the book are magnificent, recalling the majesty of that opening scene. While the last picture is on a single page, the book otherwise consists of 14 two-page spreads, most of which feature a particular type of animal reacting to the summons to Pride Rock. A cheetah. A pair of rhinoceroses. An octet of meerkats. We have gracefully wading storks, lumbering elephants and soaring flamingos, stampeding zebras, scampering moneys and galloping gazelles. Giraffes and topi are the final animals to be highlighted. It would have been nice if all 11 species could have been represented in the picture showing the animals bowing before the new prince, but the up-close view of the animals that we get instead is enjoyable.
The focus of this book is mostly on the diversity of the creatures who answer to the lions. Counting the royal family, Zazu the hornbill and Rafiki the baboon, there are 14 distinct types of animals here, and each reacts to the presentation in a different way. While it doesn’t quite have the same epic scope as that part of the movie, it’s perfectly plain that something big is happening. The sense of urgency and excitement is apparent throughout the book. It’s also interesting to watch the progression of the sunrise, which so gorgeously shapes the backgrounds. At the beginning, the sky is a deep reddish orange color. The shade shifts slightly from page to page so that by the conclusion, we’re looking at a brilliant blue sky.
I thought that Morning at Pride Rock might simply use the lyrics to Circle of Life as its text, but instead, the narration featured in the colored strip that runs along the bottom of each page is unique to this book. Written in large italics, the words are limited to one sentence on most pages. Usually it’s only one line of text, but sometimes there are two. The writing is fairly simple but has a poetic ring to it, especially in the descriptions of the animals. The giraffes are “elegant,” the gazelles “graceful,” the cheetah “tawny.” Slater incorporates some good verbs as well; the elephants “trumpet” the news of Simba’s birth; the storks “plod.” Even though this is far from a wordy book, youngsters might be introduced to a new word or two.
Without the exceptional music and fluid movement across a vast expanse, it’s hard for a book to truly pack the punch of one of my favorite Disney scenes ever, but Morning at Pride Rock comes close.
Get Acquainted With the Ghosts of Disney World's Haunted Mansion
Earlier this year, I joined my aunt, uncle and cousin on a trip to
Florida that included Universal and Disney World. We spent one full day
and one evening in the Magic Kingdom, where I went into a bit of sensory
overload at a place I’d wanted to visit all my life. There was too much
to take in on even two trips, but one ride I definitely experienced to
the fullest was the Haunted Mansion, which we rode three times – the
first time because it was on the Must List, the second and third because
the line was so short when we happened by and the ride was just so much
fun.
Our first time around, there was a bit of a wait, partly because we opted to go the long way around in line, which allowed us to see more of the grounds. The spooky but comical statues erected outside the mansion itself are a lot of fun and present plenty of photo opportunities. I especially liked the ornate organ that we encountered about halfway through our wait. It was a leisurely walk, and we didn’t mind the wait because there was so much to see. On the other hand, it was nice to be able to get on the ride almost immediately by going the other route the second and third time.
The inside of the Mansion, like the movie it inspired, is creepy but in a purely fun way. I don’t think any guests but very young children are likely to find it truly frightening. The first portion of the ride is walk-through as guests are ushered into a large room with portraits on the walls, which expand as the ghostly narrator speaks. The paintings are comical, with each deceased person having a strong personality that comes across in two-dimensional form. The host’s voice is suitably spooky, and with the room changing and the lights turning off and on, I’m pretty sure I jumped a bit while I was standing there, and I know I grabbed onto my aunt’s hand when the room went pitch-dark, at least the first time.
It’s after this point that we loaded up into the buggies and got to the riding portion of the ride, which is full of intricate displays of ghosts engaged in all sorts of different activities. There are so many displays that it’s hard to see everything on the first go-round. Bibliophile that I am, I especially liked the ghostly library, and the ballroom where so many of the ghosts converge for some musical revelry is the most raucous part of the ride. Tombstones, candelabras and other eerie props help to set the mood. Parts of it put me in mind of my hometown park’s dark ride, the Whacky Shack, but the Haunted Mansion is much more sophisticated, and it is character-centric rather than relying mostly on loud noises and disorienting lighting effects. There’s a bit of twisting and turning, but nothing likely to cause much trouble for the sensitive rider. I’m prone to motion sickness, and I didn’t have any problems.
When my mom went to Disney World on a choir trip in the 1970s, this was one of the only rides she had a chance to go on, and she sang its praises. Having finally gotten a chance to ride it for myself, I have to agree that it’s top-notch, and the scary factor is outweighed by the fun factor. I went in March, and it felt like I was getting a foretaste of Halloween. I would imagine that the Haunted Mansion is particularly popular with guests at the park today, but no matter what time of year it is, this ghostly ride is grand and shouldn’t be missed.
Our first time around, there was a bit of a wait, partly because we opted to go the long way around in line, which allowed us to see more of the grounds. The spooky but comical statues erected outside the mansion itself are a lot of fun and present plenty of photo opportunities. I especially liked the ornate organ that we encountered about halfway through our wait. It was a leisurely walk, and we didn’t mind the wait because there was so much to see. On the other hand, it was nice to be able to get on the ride almost immediately by going the other route the second and third time.
The inside of the Mansion, like the movie it inspired, is creepy but in a purely fun way. I don’t think any guests but very young children are likely to find it truly frightening. The first portion of the ride is walk-through as guests are ushered into a large room with portraits on the walls, which expand as the ghostly narrator speaks. The paintings are comical, with each deceased person having a strong personality that comes across in two-dimensional form. The host’s voice is suitably spooky, and with the room changing and the lights turning off and on, I’m pretty sure I jumped a bit while I was standing there, and I know I grabbed onto my aunt’s hand when the room went pitch-dark, at least the first time.
It’s after this point that we loaded up into the buggies and got to the riding portion of the ride, which is full of intricate displays of ghosts engaged in all sorts of different activities. There are so many displays that it’s hard to see everything on the first go-round. Bibliophile that I am, I especially liked the ghostly library, and the ballroom where so many of the ghosts converge for some musical revelry is the most raucous part of the ride. Tombstones, candelabras and other eerie props help to set the mood. Parts of it put me in mind of my hometown park’s dark ride, the Whacky Shack, but the Haunted Mansion is much more sophisticated, and it is character-centric rather than relying mostly on loud noises and disorienting lighting effects. There’s a bit of twisting and turning, but nothing likely to cause much trouble for the sensitive rider. I’m prone to motion sickness, and I didn’t have any problems.
When my mom went to Disney World on a choir trip in the 1970s, this was one of the only rides she had a chance to go on, and she sang its praises. Having finally gotten a chance to ride it for myself, I have to agree that it’s top-notch, and the scary factor is outweighed by the fun factor. I went in March, and it felt like I was getting a foretaste of Halloween. I would imagine that the Haunted Mansion is particularly popular with guests at the park today, but no matter what time of year it is, this ghostly ride is grand and shouldn’t be missed.
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