Strict Barriers Come Down in the Tween Rom-Com Geek Charming

My friend Libbie invited me over to her house recently, in part because she had noticed that the Keisha Knight Pulliam / Phylicia Rashad movie Polly, a made-for-TV musical adaptation of Pollyanna, was among the Video On Demand choices for the week. I’d gushed about the movie before, and she remembered. Unfortunately, when we went to watch it, the movie wasn’t there anymore. Instead, though, we went with a different made-for-TV Disney movie, the much more recent Geek Charming, starring Sarah Hyland from Modern Family as a stereotypical mean girl who gets thrown into a close association with a nerdy classmate.

This is pretty much your average uber-predictable tween movie about an outcast getting in with a popular crowd and briefly abandoning his friends before repenting in a very public manner (usually, as is the case here, at a school dance). There’s a slight twist here as it’s not just about the geek getting in with the popular crowd but also about the popular girl unleashing her inner geek. In other words, it’s about breaking down barriers. While it’s still pretty cheesy and over-the-top, it has many moments of genuine sweetness.

Matt Prokop is Josh Rosen, an aspiring filmmaker in desperate need of a subject for a documentary contest that could help him get into film school. Hyland is Dylan Schoenfield, who just has to be pronounced Blossom Queen at the upcoming dance. She’s a queen bee with a loyal posse, but she has tough competition, and a film like the one Josh wants to make could just be what she needs to win over enough fans to take the crown.

Josh is generally very likable, aside from his sour attitude about popular kids in general. He definitely comes across as a bit elitist himself in the beginning. As a gal who considers “geeky” to be practically a prerequisite for my own idea of Prince Charming, I didn’t have much trouble sympathizing with him, though he’s far from the most endearing geek I’ve encountered on TV. Meanwhile, Dylan, who lives in a mansion and is waited on by a housekeeper, is never quite as blanketly obnoxious as the mean girls in these types of movies usually are. Even when she’s at her worst, she has a nice streak, so the gulf between these two isn’t as wide as it might be in some movies.

The gradual friendship and sparks between these two is the heart of the movie, and the development is done pretty well. There are a couple of cute scenes with Dylan’s surprisingly down-to-earth dad (Andrew Airlie) and Josh’s wise, supportive mom (Lilli Birdsell), and Josh’s gang of misfits is fun. There’s also an interesting subplot with Amy (Sasha Pieterse), the artsy girl Josh admires from afar who has a past connection with Dylan. My favorite side character, though, is Josh’s film advisor, Mr. Farley (David Milchard), mostly for the incredibly compelling reason that he has a Scottish accent and I love listening to him talk.

Generally, I found neither the writing nor the acting to be particularly noteworthy, but aside from some of the silly jargon Dylan uses – particularly the oft-used “’what’ and ‘ever’” – the dialogue usually feels reasonably realistic. Some of the plot elements are a bit cheesy, but that’s to be expected. One thing I loved and didn’t see coming at all was a scene in which several of the characters see Flight of the Navigator at the theater and discuss it afterward. I mean, what Cineplex is re-running Flight of the Navigator - and where can I sign up? I was so tickled by their discussion I had to watch that Disney classic again for myself.

While the big confessional scenes – there are two in this movie instead of the traditional one – are just as overblown as I would have expected, the quieter moments that get us to that point are enjoyable, and I appreciated that this was not just about a nice kid mingling with the in crowd and returning to his old friends but about a diva remembering she wasn’t always that way and learning how to be herself again. I still much prefer Polly, but Geek Charming is certainly not without its charms.

Jamie's Journal Goes Viral in Disney Channel's Read It and Weep

I have never had much luck keeping a private journal. I can’t seem to motivate myself much when I’m writing only for myself, and it’s a little nerve-wracking to be writing down things you specifically don’t want anyone else to read, because what would happen if they did? In Disney Channel original movie Read It and Weep, teen scribe Jamie Bartlett is about to find out.

Jamie (Kay Panabaker) is a quiet, geeky girl who totes her tablet computer with her everywhere and spends all her free time scribbling down her frustrations about the unfair world of high school. Except in her journal, which features fictionalized versions of everyone in the school, the geeks triumph and the jerks are humiliated. It’s a great release for her, but she is appalled when she accidentally e-mails it to her friend instead of the essay she intended to enter in the school’s contest. After it wins, she is praised as a biting satirist and given a book deal that catapults her to writing fame. But will her sudden stardom turn her into the kind of monster she derided? And how will her classmates react when they realize the characters were modeled after them?

This is pretty much your typical teen flick about an awkward kid who becomes popular, loses sight of what’s important and eventually remembers. Jamie is likable, albeit overdramatic, but then most of the characters here come across as a bit cheesy and over-the-top. Panabaker’s older sister Danielle plays Is, Jamie’s fictional alter-ego who begins to take over her life. Their confrontations are fun to watch, especially when they occur in front of other people, who, of course, can only see and hear Jamie. Is basically becomes the devil on Jamie’s shoulder, continually urging her to ignore her good impulses and stick with self-involvement and false friends like catty queen bee Sawyer (Allison Scagliotti) and guileless but lunkheaded dreamboat Marco (Chad Broskey).

Other key characters include Jamie’s best buddies, a trio of outsiders who have stuck together for years. Offbeat artist Harmony (Alexandra Krosney), animal rights activist Lindsay (Marquise Brown) and shy Connor (Jason Dolley), who is secretly in love with Jamie, eat lunch together and work at the struggling pizza parlor owned by Jamie’s parents. Both of them are kind and supportive, with her mom (Connie Young) a bundle of bubbly energy and her dad (Tom Virtue) a goofy dreamer with a bad habit of tainting his pizzas with disgusting experimental toppings like prunes and liver and onions. By contrast, Jamie’s brother Lenny (Nick Whitaker) is surly and argumentative, but that’s largely because he has a dream of his own that is not being nurtured.

I don’t know the current Disney channel line-up well enough to be familiar with the actors here, several of whom I gather are veterans of other tween Disney projects. I recognized only Krosney, and it wasn’t until I consulted with IMDb that I realized it was because she played aggressive young Other Ellie in the season five LOST episode Jughead. The acting all around is acceptable but corny, with most characters constantly displaying exaggerated expressions. The most understated performance probably comes from the instantly sympathetic Dolley.

The movie has a faux-hip vibe to it that makes it rather grating at times. Nowhere is that more apparent than in the constant shots of the journal itself, in which no two words are the same size and different colors and fonts, along with snarky doodles, scream out that this alleged work of genius is more style than substance. The speed with which it all happens is absurd, too; she seems to go from having excerpts of her journal in the school paper to full-blown published book in a matter of days. Additionally, most of the dialogue has the unmistakable whiff of writers who think they are being trendy and clever but aren’t.

Still, while the characters never felt fully real to me, the main quartet is likable enough to root for, and Jamie’s parents are quite endearing for all their quirkiness. Like most contemporary Disney channel original movies, Read It and Weep does not transcend the narrow confines of its genre, but it’s reasonably entertaining for an hour and a half.

Lemonade Mouth Encourages Friendship and Self-Expression

My familiarity with tween Disney phenomena is fairly limited, so before this week I had never heard of the made-for-TV movie Lemonade Mouth, but when Netflix directed me to it, I decided to take a chance on this movie that’s a bit like a mash-up of High School Musical and The Breakfast Club.

Adapted from the Mark Peter Hughes book by April Blair, this movie, directed by Patricia Riggen, could probably be instantly pegged as a tween Disney musical. It just has that look and feel to it. It’s contemporary and earnest, walking the line between hip and corny without fully landing in either territory. For the most part, it’s not as cheesy as I thought it might be, though it definitely has its moments.

Lemonade Mouth takes its name from the band that five Mesa High School students form after an impromptu musical moment in detention, which they serve in the dilapidated music room. Only one of the five is a rabble-rouser; one is there for attempting to cut class under coercion from her boyfriend, and the others are there almost by accident. The beginning of the movie introduces each of them, swiftly establishing their personalities and family issues.

Blond pianist Wen (Adam Hicks) is bitter because his dad (Bob Jesser) is head over heels in love with a 28-year-old bombshell named Sydney (Ariana Smythe) and doesn’t seem to give two hoots about how Wen feels about their quickly-progressing relationship. Half-Japanese anarchic guitarist Stella (Hayley Kiyoko) hates the world because she is living in the shadow of her super-genius parents (Aimee Dale and Scott Takeda), who just moved her across the country a month into the school year.

Floppy-haired drummer Charlie (Blake Michael) is living under his mother’s (Lora Cunningham) expectation that he will be just like his soccer star brother, and Indian-American bassist Mo (Naomi Scott) gets exceptional grades but still feels she can’t live up to her father’s (Shishir Kurup) ideal of a perfect Indian woman. Our narrator, introverted blond singer-songwriter Olivia (Bridgit Mendler), is the only one whose family dynamics come out more gradually; in the beginning, all we know is that she lives with her grandmother (Judith Rane) and sickly cat.

The movie really does an excellent job of distinguishing these characters from one another and making us care about their situations. I found myself invested in every one of them, particularly Wen, whose dad is astonishingly insensitive but whose sweet soon-to-be-stepmom is truly making an effort to reach out to him. My favorite, though, is Olivia, whose quiet disposition and writerly impulses remind me of myself. While aggressive Stella is the driving force behind the band’s formation, gentle Olivia is the most essential as the lead singer and primary songwriter.

Lemonade Mouth starts at the end, with Olivia relating the band’s story at a point at which they have become enormously successful. We see the almost instantaneous rise to fame, and while the hearing-their-song-on-the-radio-for-the-first-time moment pales in intensity to That Thing You Do! or LOST’s Greatest Hits, their joy is still infectious. More striking, however, are communal displays of favor – the Lemonade Mouth signs that start popping up around school, the moment late in the film when fans touchingly demonstrate their absorption of the band’s lyrics.

Those lyrics are generally messages of affirmation, individuality and friendship. A couple of the songs have a rebellious streak, as the band is largely a reactionary effort against Principal Brenigan (Christopher McDonald), who rules over the school with Shatneresque authoritarian cheese. His office wall is covered in surveillance feeds from around the school; his face greets students multiple times a day via video announcements; he makes the rounds of the hallway on his Segway, gleefully distributing detentions.

Brenigan’s the Big Bad, but not really; he’s too silly to be truly intimidating, and every once in a while it’s evident that he truly does care about all his students. However, his chief concern at the moment is the athletics program, which is under the thumb of a sports drink company. The lemonade from the soon-to-be-ousted machine outside the music room becomes a symbol for freedom of expression and the idea that all extracurricular activities should be given adequate attention. The only other adult in the school who we get to know is music teacher Miss Reznick (Tisha Campbell-Martin), an enthusiastic educator frustrated by the principal’s policies and eager to help the kids make their voices of dissent heard.

McDonald and Campbell-Martin give the campiest performances in the movie, but they rarely made me wince and often caused me to chuckle. The songs fall firmly into the teen pop category, so I’m not all that into the style of most of them, but I like the message of most of Lemonade Mouth’s, and their chief rivals, punk rockers Mudslide Crush, offer an amusing juxtaposition with their hostile, self-aggrandizing lyrics. I would never buy the soundtrack to the movie, but the music is enjoyable enough in context.

I expected to find Lemonade Mouth pretty silly, and at times I did, but I was surprised at how invested I got in the main quintet. By the time each of them finds some resolution to the problems pressing on them at the beginning, I actually caught myself misting up a little. I certainly recommend this to the tween crowd, but if you’re older than that, you might consider giving it a shot anyway. It sure didn’t leave a sour taste in my mouth.

Charlie Tries to Participate in His Own Life in The Perks of Being a Wallflower

When I realized that it was Banned Books time again, I wondered what I could review to take part in the write-off. I haven’t read anything very controversial lately and I wanted it to be something fresh in my mind, so I figured this merited a trip to the library. A glance at the list of recently banned books turned up Stephen Chbosky’s The Perks of Being a Wallflower, which has long intrigued me as I am a wallflower myself.

In this epistolary novel, a high school freshman named Charlie chronicles his year from August to August through a series of letters to an anonymous recipient who never writes back. He neither expects nor wants a response; he simply likes the idea of knowing that somewhere out there, another person knows his innermost thoughts. The idea that an actual individual is reading his words gives them focus. While he goes off on tangents from time to time, it’s generally pretty easy to follow his line of thinking.

Charlie is a sweet kid who feels more like an observer than a participant in his own life. The book opens with his recollection of his only friend’s suicide earlier in the year. It doesn’t take long to see that Charlie is a deeply sensitive soul who cries at the drop of a hat and who intently watches everyone around him and develops keen insights into how they operate while they barely notice his presence. He comes across as deeply naïve, empathetic and anxious, always thinking primarily of the good of others, always obsessing over what he might have done differently in a particular situation, never knowing how to refuse a request that makes him uncomfortable or initiate something that he wants to have happen. While I have never been in most of the gritty situations he describes, I often found his general way of reacting to things comparable to my own, especially in high school.

It helps that he spends so much of the book drawing in various references to pop culture. When one of his favorite memories involves watching the series finale of M*A*S*H and he includes a Simon and Garfunkel song on a mix tape, how can I not like this kid? The novel is also propelled by the reading of books, since Charlie’s English teacher, a hip young man who insists upon being called Bill outside of class, has given him a list of classics to ingest and write about as a sort of independent study. Charlie rarely goes into depth discussing these books, but they help provide a framework for the year.

Charlie’s home life is generally supportive. His mother dotes on him, while his father is more distant but never abusive, as Charlie is quick to point out lest his reader think he has it worse than he does. His macho older brother has just started his freshman year playing football for Penn State, a detail that made this Penn State Behrend alum smile, and his sister is a high school senior developing some very bad habits when it comes to boys. Their relationship is one of the most tumultuous and interesting of the book, and an early passage wonderfully illuminates the dynamic between them.

”I hate you.”
My sister said it different than she said it to my dad. She meant it with me. She really did.
“I love you,” was all I could say in return.

This exchange is typical of Charlie’s interactions with others. He always wants to think the best of people even when they have done terrible things. On the other hand, when he does something regrettable, he can’t stop beating himself up over it. When he does find some friends, he becomes the go-to shoulder to cry on, but while he enjoys his time with these vivacious people, he still often feels as though he is on the fringes, particularly when it comes to Sam, the senior who he considers the sweetest, most beautiful girl he has ever known.

If this book were a movie, it would most definitely be rated R. I can think of a dozen reasons why it might have been challenged, starting with the suicide. The book deals heavily with myriad aspects of teen sexuality, from Charlie’s first erotic dream – which he spends most of the year trying to forget – to the covert relationship between Sam’s brother Patrick and the quarterback of the high school football team. Throughout the year, Charlie is exposed to and sometimes ingests alcohol, marijuana and LSD, and he becomes thoroughly addicted to cigarettes. Other controversial topics that arise include molestation, domestic abuse, racism and abortion. Finally, while Charlie has a very clean mouth, he occasionally quotes the profanity of others, and most of it is pretty harsh.

If my first introduction to this book was that laundry list of topics, I doubt I’d be too interested in picking it up. As it was, I won’t pretend that some of the things I read didn’t make me squirm. However, Charlie’s compassion and idealism as he observes and weathers some very difficult issues keep this from being depressing or degrading. It also was a quick read, with the 210 pages only taking me a few hours to get through. While I wouldn’t recommend this to anyone younger than high school, I wouldn’t ban it either, and considering how many teens report feeling disenfranchised, I’m sure that many would relate to Charlie’s struggles to understand his place in the world. “I think everyone is special in their own way,” Charlie tells his unknown reader late in the book. “I really do.” Maybe that’s a message that a few wallflowers who feel that they have outgrown the affirmations of Mr. Rogers could stand to hear again.

Fans Say Farewell to Friday Night Lights With Teary Eyes and Aching Hearts

Several years ago, my friend Dan got my parents and me hooked on Friday Night Lights, the NBC small-town Texas football drama that has received critical raves but little Emmy attention and consistently lackluster ratings. This week, we bid farewell to the show that we followed for five seasons. The series went out as it came in, low-key and heartfelt, with the focus on ordinary people struggling to make the best of difficult circumstances.

As the 13-episode-long fifth season begins, Coach Eric Taylor (Kyle Chandler) and his wife Tami (Connie Britton), the couple who serve as the cornerstone of the series, are preparing to see their precocious daughter Julie (Aimee Teegarden) off to college. While she is anxious to fly the coop, they’re not having such an easy time letting her go, and it’s little surprise when her sense of intellectual superiority lands her in a quandary early in her first semester. They both have other pressing concerns, however. Tami has her work cut out for her as the new guidance counselor at East Dillon High School, and Eric is under pressure to keep up the good work he did the year before with the town’s fledgling football team, turning these young men into a group with actual winning prospects.

Because this is a high school drama, most of the major players from the first season are no longer in the mix except as occasional guest stars. This season does find excuses to bring back almost everyone for at least one episode, which is nice, but it’s definitely a different group of students getting most of the attention this time around. Chief among these is star quarterback Vince Howard (Michael B. Jordan), who, having overcome ties to petty thugs and helped his mother through rehab, now faces potential setbacks as his volatile father returns home after a stint in jail. By his side is Jess Merriweather (Jurnee Smollett), a kind but tough football enthusiast who, in the midst of caring for her younger brothers in her father’s business-related absence, convinces the coach to take her on as a team manager.

Hard-working farmhand Luke Cafferty (Matt Lauria) tries to swallow his jealousy that Vince is getting his share of the glory and rekindles a relationship with Becky Sproles (Madison Burge), an aspiring beauty queen whose troubled home life leads her to take refuge with mechanic and new father Billy Riggins (Derek Phillips) and his wife Mindy (Stacey Oristano) at the behest of his brother Tim (Taylor Kitsch), who is serving a prison sentence for a crime Billy committed. This is probably my favorite of the student stories this season because Billy, Tim and Mindy have been a part of the show from the beginning, and this arc really shows how far they have come. Billy’s desire to honor Tim’s sacrifice and make a fresh start leads him to seek a role as assistant coach, while Mindy, up until now presented as a rather shallow side character, truly comes into her own as she deals with Becky’s intrusion into her life.

Among the old guard who make just a few appearances, one of the most compelling is Mindy’s sister Tyra Collette (Adrianne Palicki), a thriving college student who, despite overcoming incredible obstacles to make her way in the world, still feels drawn to Dillon. The other is Matt Saracen, the standout character of the first season. That Zach Gilford’s haggard season four performance in The Son, an episode that finds lovable everyman Matt conflicted over the death of his absentee father in combat, did not earn him an Emmy nomination is a travesty; here, his role is understated, but he’s around just enough to serve as a reminder of how truly beautiful the simple things can be. His beloved, mildly senile grandmother (Louanne Stephens) also appears in a few episodes, reminding us of how the show started, mostly focusing on a plucky underdog with a heart of gold who is thrust into the limelight.

As always, the show has a realistic slice-of-life feel to it, with comedy and drama stemming organically from the actors as well as the excellent writing. All of the characters face challenging obstacles, but all have come a long way from when we first met them. This is particularly true of the troubled Riggins-Collette clan and Buddy Garrity (Brad Leland), the fast-talking salesman who caused Eric so many headaches in the first season and is now one of his closest allies. These are people who often make stupid decisions but constantly strive to do better. The Taylors are stabilizing forces in the lives of so many families, though even the solid foundation of their marriage is tested in this season as the show comes full circle. When each of them receives an offer of a dream job, which of them will yield? Or will the pull of geographically disparate career paths be enough to separate the spouses in one of the most touching marriages on television?

When Friday Night Lights began airing, I didn’t pay much attention. After all, I’m not a football fan. But the show is about so much more than that. Chances are that if you go into it with my kind of pigskin ambivalence, you’ll develop a deeper appreciation for the way the sport can build character and bring a town together. More than that, though, you’ll find characters to truly care about whose everyday trials reflect the joys and sorrows of a life lived in community.

Jeremy and His Parents Exasperate Each Other in Zits Unzipped

If you were to ask me to identify my favorite comic strip, I would most likely tell you Peanuts. Charlie Brown, Linus Van Pelt, Snoopy and the rest of the gang have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, always bringing a smile whether I find them on a greeting card or a Christmas ornament. But if you wanted to know which strip makes me laugh hardest on a regular basis, I would probably have to go with Zits.

I first became aware of this strip by Jerry Scott and Jim Borgman my freshman year of college, when Jeremy Duncan, the central character, reminded me of my brother Benjamin, then In high school. Nowadays, he reminds me even more of my brother Nathan, who just graduated from college. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read the strip and felt like Scott and Borgman must have a surveillance camera trained on our house. No two teenagers are alike, but these two seem to have tapped into something fairly universal when it comes to capturing the struggle of adolescents to make sense of school, friends and parents. While Jeremy is the primary focus, we also get plenty of the other side of the coin as we get inside the heads of Jeremy’s mom and dad, Connie and Walt. While teens can laugh at all the exasperating things the adult Duncans do, parents can sympathize with them as Jeremy makes them want to tear their hair out.

In Zits Unzipped, published in 2002, we get about 120 pages of black and white comic strips featuring Jeremy, his parents, his mellow best friend Hector, his girl-next-door-type girlfriend Sara, his offbeat buddy Pierce and various other friends and acquaintances. A majority of the strips deal with Jeremy’s home life. Connie is over-involved and high-strung, while Walt is oblivious and square. Jeremy is surly and uncommunicative. He’s also a pretty good kid, though, and Connie and Walt are pretty good parents. They’re all just muddling along together. The biggest laughs tend to involve Connie’s abject horror at some aspect of Jeremy’s personality, but I love the more gentle humor of Walt’s cluelessness as he tries to grasp modern pop culture and technology.

This is a fairly early collection, and while most of the characters look pretty much the same as they do now, Jeremy looks slightly off, and Pierce, who is introduced in this book, has a significantly different appearance. He’s still very recognizable with all those piercings, however. Minor characters like attached-at-the-hip Richandamy and know-it-all Brittany don’t seem to have changed much, nor have Hector, Connie or Walt.

While the look of the strip is generally fairly realistic, it often incorporates unusual techniques to achieve a certain effect. For instance, in one strip, Connie is driving somewhere with Jeremy in the passenger seat. As she jabbers, we see Connie’s head on wheels with a bored Jeremy sitting inside. In another, Jeremy and Walt have the house to themselves, and the sight of two bears raiding the kitchen gives us an idea of the disaster they leave in their wake when they get hungry. Some such moments incorporate pop culture references as well, like the strip that alludes to Cast Away as Walt tries to converse with Jeremy. Gradually, he seems to grow masses of facial hair, while a palm tree pops up in the background and Jeremy’s head morphs into a volleyball.

The book contains a mix of individual strips and those that tell a story stretching across several pages. It’s nice to have a liberal sprinkling of both. The one-offs are great for a quick laugh, while the multi-strip stories allow greater investment. Two of my favorites in this collection involve Jeremy and Sara exchanging Christmas presents and Jeremy having an ill-advised horror movie marathon when his parents go out of town overnight.

Zits is a comic strip that continues to delight with its keen insights into the dynamics of parent-teen relationships and the pressures of contemporary high school life. If a weekly or even daily dose of Jeremy, his parents and his friends isn’t enough for you, Zits Unzipped is a wonderful book in which to immerse yourself.

Norah Has a Convoluted Plan to Capture Her Crush's Heart in A Novel Idea

I recently read Scones and Sensibility, an Austen-inspired mid-grade reader that sent me to the online library catalog in search of more books influenced by the late great Jane. That's how I found A Novel Idea, a young adult novel by Aimee Friedman about a reclusive high school junior who starts a book club to beef up her extracurricular activities for her college applications.

I'm not really sure why this book came up when I looked for Jane Austen, since aside from a very offhand reference to Sense and Sensibility, her books didn't come up at all. I kept thinking that the book club would eventually settle on one of her books to read for the month; by the time I realized that wasn't going to happen, I had to keep reading anyway to finish the story. Still, that was a bit of a disappointment.

While our narrator, Norah, drops the occasional reference to real books, she mostly focuses on two fictional authors: Irene O'Dell, who writes cheesy romance novels, and Philippa Askance, a mysterious novelist whose debut made a big splash but who never makes public appearances. Both become very important to Norah between February and May, the time during which she runs her book club. Her fellow members rally around the idea of getting the elusive Philippa to do a reading at the bookstore where the club meets, while Irene O'Dell provides inspiration to Norah as she ponders how to win the affections of her new crush.

The small club only includes six members: Norah; her best friend Audre, an aspiring baker; their flamboyant friend Scott, who always knows the right thing to say to cheer the girls up on an off day; geeky Neil, who is hoping to read some sci-fi; Neil's quiet friend James, who seems to share a lot of common ground with Norah; and prissy Francesca, a gorgeous girl who is only interested in books like The Devil Wears Prada and Gossip Girl. Griffin, the hunky bookstore employee Audre has an ardent crush on, sometimes pops in on the meetings as well.

Despite the sense of connection that seems to develop between them almost the moment they meet, Norah finds it hard to believe that James could actually like her, so she implements a convoluted plan used by the heroine in Irene O'Dell's latest novel to arouse his interest. This plot basically involves making James jealous, and her schemes have great potential for humiliation. Besides, if James is as shy as Norah, which he seems to be, knowing that she has the suitors lining up would be just as likely to drive him away as make him express his own feelings.

James is my favorite character in the book, so I found myself very annoyed with Norah's method of trying to win him over. I'm painfully shy myself, so I completely get where she's coming from when, upon first realizing how much she likes him, she muses, “my crush on him was only going to lead to disaster when he inevitably rejected me.” Even though it seems at first that he might like her, she figures she must be reading too much into small gestures. None of her other crushes have ever gone anywhere; either she flubs up big-time with the guy she likes or, more often, he flat-out isn't interested. It's little wonder she's afraid to pursue James. But pursue she does, in an incredibly awkward, roundabout way that's bound to leave him terribly confused and has the potential for hurt feelings on a wider scale, particularly when she involves Audre's brother and Neil.

I'm not crazy about Norah's narrative voice, either. She's got a snarky, I-hate-the-world vibe to her, rather reminiscent of the main character from the TV show Daria. Some of her language is rather coarse, and it's tiring to hear her dismiss so many people for a variety of reasons. You would think someone who feels on the fringes would be a little more empathetic. Curiously, like the narrator in Scones and Sensibility, she seems to have a special loathing for Lord of the Rings fans. Are romance and fantasy not supposed to mix? I don't know, but that certainly didn't endear her to me. I also found it odd that, for a girl who claims no interest in fashion, she is constantly describing the clothes that people wear, mentioning name brands as she does so. More understandable is her constant dropping of references to indie bands, but this gets a little tiresome after a while, especially since I've never heard of most of them and can't tell if they're real or just inventions of the author.

The side characters are a mixed bag. I love Norah's scatterbrained parents, both of whom are brilliant scientists, but they only show up a couple of times, which is rather disappointing. Philippa is also an intriguing character, and I like the storyline involving her better than the one involving Irene O'Dell. There's very little actual book discussion that occurs, another disappointment, though I do like the way that a shared love of certain books sparks romance between two different couples.

This is a quick and fairly forgettable read. While I did get caught up in the potential romance between Norah and James and wanted it to work out for them, I often wanted to take Norah by the shoulders and give her a good shake. Some of her behavior is very frustrating, and she isn't as likable as Friedman intends her to be. While it's not too bad for a lazy afternoon read, A Novel Idea is not my idea of a great novel.

High School Nemeses Reunite in You Again

When I was in high school, I was pretty easily identifiable as a nerd. Happily, however, I never had a nemesis striving to make my school days miserable. This can’t be said of Marni (Kristen Bell), the main character in the 2010 comedy You Again, written by Moe Jelline and directed by Andy Fickman. She most definitely had a tormenter, and she is horrified to learn, after a few years away from home making it big at a PR firm, that her beloved older brother Will (James Wolk) is about to marry Joanna (Odette Annable), the woman who bullied her so relentlessly in high school. Even more galling, Joanna claims not to remember her.

Marni is furious and determined to break up the impending nuptials. She doesn’t buy Joanna‘s nice-girl act one bit. Meanwhile, as she plots sabotage, her mother (Jamie Lee Curtis) discovers that Joanna‘s aunt (Sigourney Weaver) is her very own high school chum, with whom her relationship went sour. While the middle-aged women try to keep their hostility for one another veiled, Marni scarcely disguises her contempt for her sister-in-law-to-be. Caught in the crossfire of all these negative vibes is good-natured Will. Is there any hope for his marriage?

This movie boasts a cast full of A-listers, which I’m guessing is the main reason that the first time my friend and I tried to rent it, all 20-odd copies were out. In addition to Bell, Weaver and Curtis, there’s Victor Garber as Marni‘s father, who is gently befuddled by all the drama unfolding around him; Kristin Chenoweth as a vivacious dance instructor helping the family prepare for the big reception; and Betty White as Bunny, Marni‘s zesty grandmother. Though less of a big name, I also recognized Wolk from the short-lived drama Lone Star, and he fares well in providing much of the movie’s heart. All of the actresses turn in primarily comedic performances, with slapstick particularly prevailing toward the end.

I found each of the main quartet to be fairly likable, though all of them stoop at some point to ludicrous behavior. Although I sympathized with her, I found Marni the most abrasive of the characters, and I was a little turned off by the extent of her grudge against Joanna. Granted, she suffered great abuse in high school, and certainly an apology is warranted, but some of her actions are still inexcusable. But then the movie’s premise wouldn’t really work if everybody took the high road. This is a movie that requires a massive catfight followed by reconciliation.

White is hilarious as always here, stealing whatever short scenes she has. Annable is the only major cast member I didn’t recognize, and she does a good job of making her character likable despite what we know about her past. Some of the humor is pretty absurd, but I laughed several times, and I enjoyed the heartwarming bits as well. I’m glad we didn’t give up after our first rental attempt because You Again is plenty of fun.

Stephenie Meyer Hits Her Stride With Eclipse

October seems like an ideal month to finish up Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series, which involves an ordinary girl caught up in the conflicting worlds of vampires and werewolves. If I can get to the library in the next couple of days, I might manage to be done with the series by Halloween. Though the final installment was not particularly well-received - I recall a particularly derisive review in Entertainment Weekly - I've got the itch to read it, since I just finished Eclipse, the third book in the series, and liked it about twice as much as either of the previous books.

Eclipse finds 18-year-old Bella Swann back to her relationship with Edward Cullen, a drop-dead gorgeous, unfailingly courteous vampire. In the previous book, he had abandoned her for about six months, intending to stay out of her life entirely for her own good, but perilous circumstances had brought them back together, resulting in Edward's promise never to leave her again. As she has gotten increasingly entangled in the vampires' world, Edward finally has agreed to turn her into a vampire, though he has deep misgivings, and he refuses to consider it before high school graduation.

Meanwhile, Bella's dad Charlie, who despises Edward for the pain he caused Bella in his absence, has his daughter under house arrest after finding out that she spent much of her Edwardless time zooming around on a motorcycle trying to get herself seriously injured. So her time with Edward is limited, and there's an additional wrinkle in the form of Jacob Black, an old family friend to whom Bella became especially close while Edward was out of town. As the book begins, Jacob, stung by her return to Edward after all that he did to her, is still refusing to speak to Bella, and she's still not too happy with him for ratting her out about the motorcycle. Moreover, Jacob is a werewolf, the natural enemy of the vampire, so Edward doesn't want her going near him for any kind of reconciliation. But soon, a sinister threat will force Edward and Jacob both to set aside their prejudices and jealousies for the greater good.

Reading Eclipse, I couldn't help but think that the first two books might have been better if they'd been consolidated into one, cutting out a lot of extraneous prose. New Moon's main purpose of developing Bella's friendship with Jacob probably could have been accomplished if Twilight had skipped a couple hundred pages of describing Edward's perfect features and if New Moon has skipped a couple hundred pages of Bella feeling sorry for herself. In any case, though, once I got to Eclipse, the first two volumes seemed mostly like set-up. Here, we really get to the meat of the story.

Bella is still a rather annoying character, whiny and sulky. She gets huffy with most of the other characters in this book, particularly Charlie and Alice, Edward's "sister" and her best friend, because of their attempts to "babysit" her, and Edward and Jacob, because of their disdain for each other. Now that she has Edward back, it's rather refreshing to see that her life doesn't completely revolve around him. She tries to make the most of her few remaining months with Angela, a sweet, intuitive girl at school, as she reasons that she will have to break off contact once she makes the transformation - though I would think that she could maybe manage an occasional e-mail... Additionally, once she and Jacob get over their aggravation with one another, Bella spends as much time with him as she can, even when it means defying Edward, because she knows how deeply she has hurt him and yearns to somehow make things right. Unfortunately, her show of fraternal affection only muddies the waters, leaving smitten Jacob more reason to hope.

Some of Jacob's actions in this novel are frustrating too, but understandable, since he is so desperately in love with Bella and so afraid of losing her, not just to Edward, but to vampirism. For how can they maintain any sort of friendship when she has transformed into his mortal enemy? Meyer gives us more background on each of the werewolves and, most interestingly, lets us sit in on a pow-wow where the elders of the Quileute tribe of which Jacob is a part recount the old legends explaining the origins of their werewolf forms. Meanwhile, we're also given insight into the backgrounds of a couple of the Cullens, with Jasper's history particularly important to understanding the string of deaths that has nearby Seattle terrorized.

Bubbly, affectionate Alice is still my favorite character, and hers is a nearly constant presence throughout the novel. While the obsessive quality of Bella's relationship with Edward gives it an occasionally unhealthy flavor, her friendship with innocent Alice is a breath of fresh air, despite Bella's tendency to be a wet blanket. Though he doesn't trust Edward, Charlie adores cheerful Alice, which is quite understandable; everyone who knows her seems to regard her with the same unabashed affection lavished upon Kaylee, the empathetic ship's mechanic in Firefly. Like Edward, she seems to appreciate the value of the human experience more than Bella does, and with no memories of her own human life, she never misses an opportunity to live vicariously through her.  Additionally, her unique ability to see into a constantly changing future makes her an indispensable resource as the Cullens strategize about their upcoming ambush.

This book feels much more balanced than the previous two, as Bella divides her time between Edward and Jacob, and there's a slow build toward the book's final conflict; we see it coming almost from the beginning, and Meyer heightens the tension over several hundred pages. What I especially like is the way this threat, from another group of vampires, forces the Cullens and the werewolves into an alliance, particularly Edward and Jacob. Additionally, while Carlisle, the Cullen patriarch, has a pretty small role in this book, his compassionate nature manifests itself powerfully on a couple of occasions. It's unfortunate that the happy event of these feuding factions uniting must be precipitated by the threat of violence; readers are treated to a fairly gruesome battle, though much of it occurs "off-screen".

One of the oddest elements of the book is Bella's revulsion when it comes to the subject of marriage. Her life revolves around Edward. He is like air to her, like water and food. There's really no way to exaggerate the heights of her devotion to him. And she wants nothing more than for him to end her human life by transforming her into a vampire, a permanent commitment if ever I heard one. Yet when Edward tells her that he will only transform her himself (as opposed to Carlisle, who has volunteered his services) if she agrees to marry him first, she recoils. She's completely willing to give up her human existence to spend the rest of eternity with Edward, but marriage? Man, that's just asking too much! She has her reasons, but in context, it's impossible for them not to sound pretty weak and silly.

The pacing of this book is much better, the conflict more compelling, whether it's the ever-present sense of danger from intruding vampires or the tug Bella feels between Edward, who she knows she can't live without, and Jacob, who dragged her out of the depths of despair during her darkest moments. Meyer aptly opens the book with the Robert Frost poem "Fire and Ice," and throughout the book, the metaphor is extended, with warm, furry Jacob fire and stone-cold Edward ice. Given the extent to which this series is all about Edward, I couldn't imagine that it could end any other way than with Bella and Edward together, presumably with her finally a vampire herself.

Whenever I read the passages in which she and Jacob were together, I couldn't help thinking of Ryan Kelly's angst-ridden rendition of Ride On, with part of Bella, a part she can't quite always submerge, aching to return Jacob's romantic devotion. The violence of the line "Run your claw along my gut one last time" seems particularly appropriate for this young man who is also a savage creature, as is the speaker's assertion, "I could never go with you, no matter how I wanted to." Yet Meyer manages to make the possibility of Bella choosing Jacob over Edward actually seem plausible.

My understanding is that when Eclipse came out, it was billed as a conclusion to the series, and if Meyer had left it at this, I can imagine fans being disappointed. The ending does have a ring of finality to it, but readers who waited for three books to see certain things occur have to count on their imaginations to fill in the blanks. However, since there is now a fourth installment, a true conclusion, I think this book's ending is just right, a reflection of a book that exceeded its predecessors considerably.

Edwardless Bella Turns Evel Knievel in Stephenie Meyer's New Moon

I’ve been hearing a lot about Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight series over the past few years, so I figured it was about time for me to read the books and see what all the fuss was about. I recently finished New Moon, the second book in the series, and found it better than the first in some ways and worse in others.

Once again, the book is narrated by Bella Swan, a fairly ordinary 18-year-old living with her father, a police chief, in the gloomy town of Forks, Washington. As the book begins, life is good for Bella. She and her father get along well, and she’s in a stable, albeit strange, relationship with Edward Cullen, the man of her dreams. What’s more, she gets to hang out with his family, who she loves, particularly his effusive sister Alice and tender mother Esme. But Bella is not happy, since turning 18 means being older than Edward, who, as a vampire, is permanently stuck at the age of 17, when he was bitten. It’s a painful reminder to her that no matter how deeply she and Edward care for one another, their time together is limited by her mortality.

I expected that Bella would spend most of the book in a tug-of-war with Edward, trying to convince him to transform her into a vampire like him, an act that he unselfishly refuses to take because he believes that it would destroy her soul. To my surprise, however, Edward vanished after the first few chapters and remained absent for the majority of the book. I can’t imagine that this was a popular decision among readers who had so eagerly anticipated another 600 pages of the exquisite Edward. It was aggravating for me too, especially toward the beginning, when Bella is so bogged down in the enormity of her loss that it becomes painful to read. Then again, there’s the sweetness of anticipation, as you just know that Edward is going to show up again before the book is over.

Edward leaves Bella amid claims he no longer loves her, but after watching seasons of such behavior from Clark Kent on Smallville, it was pretty obvious to me that this was just a line he gave her in order to make their parting for her own protection more permanent. His departure follows a minor accident that demonstrates how dangerous Bella’s position is, even among vampires as benevolent as Edward and his “family”. I was disturbed to find myself siding with Bella, wishing Edward would just bite Bella already and end the complications.

But New Moon removes Bella from Edward long enough for her to form an attachment to someone else, building a relationship that feels much more authentic and healthy, a love forged in friendship without all the obsessive underpinnings. She eases the incessantly referenced hole in her heart by palling around with Jacob Black, who is a couple of years younger than her. Cheerful and easy to talk to, he helps her to come out of a four-month-long stupor – until he suddenly becomes distant. It turns out that Jacob has a secret too. He is a werewolf, and werewolves and vampires are natural enemies.

On the whole, I found Jacob a more interesting companion for Bella than Edward. They seem to be more on equal footing, as opposed to Edward’s obvious superiority, which Bella describes for us ad nauseam. In this book, the pain is so raw that Bella rarely allows herself to think about Edward, which means we’re spared a lot of tedious praise of his various perfections. However, she spends far too much time complaining about the gaping hole Edward left in her chest. The book invites comparisons with Romeo and Juliet, particularly since Bella draws such comparisons herself. As someone who never found that story romantic, I can’t say that was encouraging, though I did appreciate Bella’s sudden empathy for Paris as she assigned that part in the tale to Jacob.

I always thought that Romeo and Juliet were a couple of stupid teenagers who were all too willing to destroy their lives and tear their families apart for the sake of a powerful infatuation. Though Bella and Edward are generally more considerate of how their actions affect others, each finds the thought of living while the other is dead unendurable. There’s a religious fervor to their devotion; Bella decides that she can survive Edward’s abandonment, just as long as she knows that somewhere out there, he exists. He later confesses to similar feelings, and when he is led to believe that Bella has committed suicide, he immediately tries to follow suit.

Bella, at least, does not attempt suicide in this book, but she does indulge in several horribly dangerous stunts, partly out of a spiteful desire to break her promise to Edward not to do anything reckless and partly because, when the adrenaline really starts pumping, she starts hearing his voice in her head, as clearly as if he was standing next to her. This destructive behavior is one of the most problematic elements of the book, and a reflection of the dangerously obsessive nature of this particular romance. The sequence in which Edward finally comes back into the picture is the most vivid in the series thus far, all set into motion by a stupid misunderstanding that makes the comparison to Romeo and Juliet even more appropriate. It concludes with a scene that, despite leaving almost everything to the imagination, has given me several nightmares, making me question whether I want to continue with the series.

I probably will, though, if only out of interest in some of the supporting characters, especially Alice, who I have found to be the most intriguing and likable character in the series. This book drops more hints about her back story that I’m hoping are explored more deeply in Eclipse and Breaking Dawn. I’m also curious as to whether Bella’s father Charlie will eventually be let in on the secret. I like the fact that New Moon allowed readers to focus a little bit more on other characters instead of all Edward, all the time, and Meyers’ more overt broaching of religious subjects encourages some deep discussion. But the book never really offers a clear condemnation of Bella’s reckless behavior, so parents should definitely be on the lookout for that. Neither Edward nor Bella wants the other hurt, but they ought to treat themselves with the same sort of care.

Edward Cullen Sets Hearts Aflutter in Twilight

I first heard of Twilight two or three years ago when a couple of my friends began gushing about how much they loved the series. Gradually, I noticed that more and more of my friends had read it, and with the release of the movie last year, anything connected with Twilight flew off the shelves of the kiosk where I was working. I heard comparisons to Harry Potter and followed along with discussions about its literary and spiritual merits. Finally, I decided that I needed to check it out for myself.

Twilight is the first book in the series. It’s narrated by Bella Swan, the nondescript daughter of divorced parents who has just left her emotionally immature mother in Arizona for her preoccupied father in dreary Forks, Washington. Bella is a bit of an oddball who doesn’t mingle naturally with others. She manages to make a few friends at her new school but is fairly bored by their interactions. The only thing that makes her new life bearable is her fascination with one particular group of students, a cluster of gorgeous, aloof siblings, one of whom sits next to her in science class. His name is Edward, and it doesn’t take long for him to turn into an all-encompassing obsession.

Bella has a few distinct traits. She’s described as having brown hair and pale features. She’s absurdly klutzy, constantly inflicting injury on herself. On the other hand, she’s industrious, a good student and a capable housekeeper who cheerfully takes care of all the household tasks, especially cooking. She’s also kind-hearted, despite being rather wrapped up in herself. On the whole, however, she’s not an especially well-defined character, and I get the impression that author Stephenie Meyer mostly intended for her readers to insert themselves into Bella’s shoes, to become her for the duration of the series. Because nobody, it seems, reads the books for Bella. They read it for Edward.

Edward Cullen is a 17-year-old with hard, alabaster skin, bronze hair and angelic features. He’s seductive, chivalrous and wholly devoted to the frail, plain Bella, who can’t understand why anyone as perfect as him would single out someone as average as her. To some extent, one could say that it was love at first sniff. No one in the world smells as beautiful to Edward as Bella does. Unfortunately, that makes their relationship Bella’s most dangerous circumstance yet, because Edward is a vampire. A vampire who has no intention whatsoever of giving into his thirst for Bella, but who suspects the best way to avoid that possibility is to stay away from her altogether. But Edward is just as deeply in love as Bella is, so abandonment isn’t that easy.

It’s easy to see the attraction of Edward, as well as the objections. On the plus side, here is a man who is never going to age physically. He’ll always be young and gorgeous. What’s more, he’s incredibly romantic and protective. And, at least at this point, his courtship with Bella is quite chaste. On the other hand, he’s about a century old, which makes his dalliance with Bella a tad creepy, especially when one considers the fact that he sneaks into her house at night, sometimes when even she isn’t aware of it. He’s also very condescending, and he doesn’t really offer Bella the chance to make decisions for herself.  Additionally, though he is always worried about Bella hurting herself, he drives like a maniac while she is in the car with him, laughing as he lets the spedometer creep up to twice the speed limit. 

Though the Harry Potter comparisons are what I most often hear, the similarities there are limited. Of course, Robert Pattinson plays Cedric in one film series and Edward in the other. Both series have stirred up considerable controversy. Both concern a supernatural population kept hidden from the greater public. Moreover, Bella’s attraction to Edward’s “family,” who in fact are not related to one another at all, feels similar to the delight Harry takes in the Weasley family. But Bella has parents of her own, and though they are separated, each clearly cares about her a great deal, so she’s hardly an orphan. Additionally, while J. K. Rowling’s world is full of color and inventive elements, Meyer’s is drab and shadowy, and melodramatic Twilight could sorely use a dose of Rowling’s humor. One might argue that both series are ultimately about one thing: love. But Harry Potter delves most deeply into the idea of sacrificial love, while Twilight is all about romance. A romance for which Bella may indeed sacrifice her life as she knows it, but the benefit, it seems, would be to her and Edward alone. This is a lot less like Harry Potter than it is like Romeo and Juliet. Bella and Edward are all wrong for each other, but they’re determined to have a go at it anyway.

While I understand why Edward is so appealing, Meyer lays the adulation on a little thick. Scarcely a page goes by in which Bella fails to mention some element of his perfection, and she quickly runs out of new ways to say it, so the novel starts to sound pretty repetitive. To be honest, I found myself much more interested in some of the side characters, particularly Edward’s bubbly, compassionate “sister” Alice, who is able to catch glimpses of the possible future, and warm, heroic Cullen patriarch Carlisle, who is the oldest of the bunch and has become so disciplined after centuries of practice that he is able to work as a surgeon without being tempted by the smell of human blood. He and the others in his family feast only on animal blood, making them less of a threat than just about any other vampires in the world. Nonetheless, not all members of the family have Carlisle’s self-control, so they still aren’t exactly safe, at least as long as Bella is human.

Going back to Harry Potter, that series is quite preoccupied with death, and so is Twilight. All of super-villain Voldemort’s actions are motivated by his desire to conquer death, and we see other characters toy with that prospect. Ultimately, the series seems to confirm headmaster Albus Dumbledore’s comment that there are things far worse than death, and at the moment, this is how Edward feels. But Bella desperately wants to bypass the natural order of things in order to become an equal to Edward, no longer a liability, no longer doomed to grow old while her true love remains young and vital. Bella is determined to be transformed into a vampire, despite Edward’s fear that becoming a vampire destroys one’s soul. This conflict finds no resolution in the first book, but the two points of view could create some interesting fodder for discussion.

I’m only halfway through the series myself. I’ll probably finish it, but I’m not committed to doing so. These are not characters who have seeped into my soul, and after two more books, I doubt they will be any more real to me than Lemony Snicket’s Baudelaire orphans - and at least those books were hilarious. Nonetheless, as I was reading, I couldn’t stop turning the pages. I was engrossed enough that I had to know what would happen next and impressed with the many positive qualities various members of the Cullen clan display. I wouldn’t recommend the series to children younger than high school, and I do think that parents would do well to read the books themselves so they can talk about some of their more unsettling elements; some worthwhile conversations could result. As for me, I’ll still take Cedric Diggory over Edward Cullen – and Neville Longbottom over Cedric Diggory – but I see no need to toss Edward on the bonfire.

If You Like The Lovely Bones, You Should Try Dead on Town Line

Back in July, I read Waiting for Normal, a novel by Leslie Connor, an author with whom I had no prior familiarity. I found myself unable to put the book down and hoped that she had written other books as well. My search yielded two results: the picture book Miss Bridie Chose a Shovel and Dead on Town Line, a novel in verse. I have limited familiarity with this unusual form, the best other example I can give being Love That Dog, a lovely reflection on the power of poetry to shape young lives and aid in the grieving process. But while that explores some similar themes, it aims at a much younger audience.

Dead on Town Line is the story of a 16-year-old girl who is murdered. Just how, and by whom, we gradually discover as she reveals the details one poem at a time. Like Susie in The Lovely Bones, Cassie Devlin speaks to us from beyond the grave, but instead of inhabiting some celestial almost-heaven while she awaits closure, she remains at the scene of the crime, occasionally feeling a tug leading her to "the next" but unable to follow while those who loved her search for her in vain.

Through Connor's carefully crafted free verse, we get to know Cassie, a girl similar in some ways to Addie, the 11-year-old narrator of Waiting for Normal. Both girls are compassionate, eager to extend kindness to the marginalized. Both live alone with their mothers, though unlike Addie, Cassie enjoys a tranquil home life with a mom who is entirely capable and devoted. Perhaps most of all, Cassie and Addie are united by their love of music. While Addie plays the flute, Cassie is a pianist, and a composer to boot. Her most precious possession is Morning of the Moths, a work in progress and the object at the heart of her untimely demise.

Cassie's poems are short, generally one or two pages long with terse titles printed in all capital letters. Connor is quite as successful at capturing a teenager's voice as an 11-year-old's. We also hear another young woman speak frequently. Waiting with Cassie is Birdie, a Southern, dark-skinned mother-to-be who was also buried nearby, more than sixty years earlier. Murdered by the man who impregnated her, she is dour from years of abuse and neglect and merely wants solitude in her afterlife.

But Cassie is curious, and eventually Birdie begins to open up as together, they explore the possibility of manipulating the matter around them, reminding me of Sam and the spooky longtime subway dweller in Ghost. There's nothing quite so dramatic as avalanches of paperwork or invisible fingers on a keyboard, but they find that a gentle, well-directed breeze can have a powerful impact.

Other characters come to light as well. Kyle, the gentle boyfriend upon whom suspicion rests. Abel Sorrenson, the music teacher and mentor who searches most diligently. Gail Sherman, the problem student Cassie took into her Composer's Workshop. Jory, her cowed brother. Mrs. Devlin, whose life is empty without the daughter who defined it. And from many years before, the corrupt preacher who kept Birdie in a state of near-slavery and the unborn infant who vanished while her mother stayed.

The decision to include Birdie adds considerable depth to the story. It gives Cassie someone to converse with; it presents two girls who have been burned by previous relationships slowly building a friendship with one another. Learning to trust again, which is particularly difficult for Birdie, who has not had love in her life for a very long time, if ever. It's a gruesome tale in some ways, with two murders described and frequent discussion of bones and blood and death. But for all that, the reflections, often tinged with the extended metaphor of music, have beauty.

"Death's hard to explain," Cassie tells us early in the book. "Even now, / When I should know. / It reminds me of / A dog bite..." She goes on to recall her experience of being bitten and watching the resulting bruise grow ever darker. "I was almost relieved / To find out: / Okay. / So this is a / Dog bite. / And okay, / So this is / Death. / But like the bruising, / More seems to be coming. / Being dead / Isn't being done."

I don't know whether Connor was influenced at all by The Lovely Bones, but despite slightly different approaches, the two books cover enough of the same territory with similarly lyrical writing for me to suspect that those who like one will enjoy the other. Dead on Town Line is much shorter at just over 130 pages, with empty spaces, full-page illustrations in stark black-and-white and lines scarcely more than a few words long. I read it in little more than an hour, but it again cemented in my mind the fact that Connor is a writer of great talent and heart whose name I intend to seek out on library shelves for years to come.

You Don't Have to Be a Football Fan to Love Friday Night Lights

Fall is in the air, and football season has begun. While I've always enjoyed autumn, I never gave the pigskin much thought, but I know a lot of my classmates got pretty excited about high school football. Their enthusiasm pales, however, in comparison to that of the townspeople of Dillon, Texas, where the television drama Friday Night Lights takes place. For Dillon residents, supporting the Panthers is a matter of civic pride, since it is the only football team in town. Most businesses shut down on the day of a home game; the stadium is the only place to be.

It is into this community that Eric Taylor (Kyle Chandler) comes as the new head coach of the Panthers. Expectations are high; the team has done very well for itself in the past, and the current starting quarterback, Jason Street (Scott Porter), is one of the most talented athletes recruiters have seen in years. The pressure is intense enough even with this golden boy in the lead, but when a tragic accident puts Jason out of commission, Coach Taylor must scramble to keep the team in the running for the championships, and himself in a job. That means trusting in sweet, shy, stuttering second-stringer Matt Saracen (Zach Gilford), who has his hands full as it is holding down a job and looking after his beloved grandmother (Louanne Stephens), who slips in and out of dementia. Nervous and bumbling at the beginning, Matt gains confidence over the weeks without sacrificing his deeply ingrained sense of integrity.

While the show focuses most prominently on the twin journeys of Matt and his coach as they try to become comfortable in their new roles, we also watch several other characters develop. Initially, Eric's wife, Tami (Connie Britton), struck me as a bit of a bubble-head, but that first impression soon corrected itself. A patient and caring wife and mother with occasional bursts of temper that match her husband's, she finds her place in the town when she takes a job as school counselor and begins advising students, who benefit greatly from her concern. Her new job occasionally causes friction, however, since she sometimes finds herself butting heads with her husband on certain issues, like the school looking the other way when football players cheat on tests. His daughter Julie (Amy Teegarden), meanwhile, is 15 and full of attitude, an intellectual whose determination to have nothing to do with the sport that obsesses her dad falters as Matt gradually works up the nerve to ask her out.

As Jason learns to adjust to life in a wheelchair, his solid relationship with perky cheerleader Lyla Garrity (Minka Kelly) begins to crumble, despite her faithfulness in visiting him daily at the hospital and in rehab. Meanwhile, he wonders bitterly why his best friend, surly Tim Riggins (Taylor Kitsch), hasn't come to visit; when he finally does, their friendship is tested after Jason discovers a shattering secret. Other notable students include bad-girl Tyra Collette (Adrianne Palicki), Tim's on-again, off-again girlfriend; Smash Williams (Gaius Chales), a hot-shot who is probably the most likely remaining member of the team to go pro; and Landry Clarke (Jesse Plemons), Matt's nerdy best friend who dishes out bad dating advice while pining over Tyra. Tim and Tyra remind me a lot of Daniel and Kim from Freaks and Geeks and follow a similar progression, while Matt's struggles to keep his new status as football star from going to his head recall Clark in season four of Smallville.

All of these students have problems, and we often see the parents taking an active role in helping their children through their difficulties. The Taylors present the best example of a mom and dad supporting each other and their child, and indeed they wind up playing parents to dozens of students throughout the year. Eric can holler with the best of them out on the field or in the locker room, but he is fair, and he values respect and hard work. He does sometimes get a little too caught up in his job, however, and that's when it's up to Tami to remind him how important family time is. Apart from the Taylors, my favorite parent is Smash's mother, Corrina (Liz Mikel), a widow and devout church-goer who raises her children with a firm hand tempered with expansive affection.

Lyla's affluent parents strive to keep a stable home for their children, but her father Buddy's (Brad Leland) philandering makes that difficult; Jason's parents are so desperate to provide for Jason in the face of his costly medical bills that they decide to sue Coach Taylor for their son's injury. Tyra's mother (Dana Wheeler-Nicholson) is deeply devoted to her daughter but tragically addicted to men who take advantage of her, and she does nothing to foster Tyra's opportunities to further her education. Tim lives with his brother Billy (Derek Phillips), who generally is a bad influence but at least is there for him, which is more than can be said of his father (Brett Cullen, who's appeared on LOST and Ugly Betty, two of my other favorite shows), who only shows up long enough to remind Tim what a lousy role model he is. Similarly, Matt's dad (Brent Smiga) spends most of the season off-screen, and his arrival from Iraq causes more problems for Matt than it solves, at least initially, but his grandma, even at her least lucid, remains warm and loving.

Each episode juggles all these storylines and characters quite well, aided by a jerky cinematography style that I initially disliked but that grew less distracting for me as the season progressed. There are many scenes in which several of the key characters are scattered across a room or a field, and often the camera will pan away from one conversation to another occurring feet away. This seems to happen especially often in the beginning, when there is a need for us to get to know the different characters as quickly as possible. Later episodes tend to put more focus on characters' individual paths, and there is plenty of room for them to make mistakes and mature; writers Peter Berg and Buzz Bissinger see to it that most characters do plenty of both.

Several of the characters - most prominently Lyla and Smash's family - are vocally Christian, and it seems most of the townsfolk attend church, which is refreshing to see, though it doesn't prevent anyone from getting into sticky situations. More than half a dozen characters are unfaithful to a spouse or significant other over the course of the season, and there are instances of bullying, violence, unethical practices, racism, underage drinking, theft and drug use. Such mis-steps have consequences, however, and most characters are considerably wiser at the end of the season than they were at the beginning.

Friday Night Lights is a slice-of-life show that demonstrates how a town can be both divided and united by a passion for football and how times of change and trauma help to build character. Though the show was snubbed by the Emmys and didn't manage to rein in a large audience, it has another chance to find its footing this fall, and I hope it does because whatever accolades it receives are well-deserved. I probably won't be spending any time at the football stadium this autumn, but I'm all too happy to get into the spirit by watching Friday Night Lights.

Smallville Enthusiast Takes the Plunge Into Veronica Mars

I have a friend who's been trying to get me to watch Veronica Mars for more than a year. It's not that I objected to the idea, but I was a tad wary of the possibility of adding yet another show to my list of obsessions, and anyway I figured it would be more fun to watch the show with him. I finally got my chance last month when he cane back to town for an extended stay. By this time, he'd hooked his sister, and the three of us sat down to watch the show together. I was entertained but not enraptured, and my lack of outward enthusiasm led them to suspect they were forcing the show on me; I was hooked enough, however, that I objected and insisted I really did want to see the rest of the season. Last week, I finished it. Do I have another obsession to deal with? Nah. But I would like to watch the last two seasons...

Until the merger, Veronica Mars aired on UPN, which I tend to think of as the WB's older brother. So when I sat down to watch this show, I couldn't help but compare it with Smallville, which is similar in many ways but rather less edgy. Veronica (Kristen Bell) reminds me a great deal of Chloe, the dangerously inquisitive high school journalist who manages to crack most of the mysteries in her little town, with plenty of help from a long list of contacts. Like Chloe, she's gutsy and snarky; she lives alone with her father after her train wreck of a mother takes off; there are certain mysteries she's especially obsessed with solving... She even looks like Chloe with her shoulder-length blond hair. Moreover, she pals around with good-natured, indispensable Wallace Fennel (Percy Daggs III), who's practically a dead ringer for Pete Ross, right down to my suspicion that he has an unrequited crush on Veronica. Toss in the Luthor-like dynamic between smart-alecky rich kid Logan Echolls (Jason Dohring) and his movie star father Aaron (Harry Hamlin) and this show is only a few cornfields and super-powered teenagers short of a small town in Kansas.

In the pilot episode, we're introduced to the three major mysteries that will preoccupy our heroine throughout the season. 1) Where is her mom? 2) What happened the night of the party that ended with her waking up half-clothed in a strange bed? 3) Who really murdered her best friend Lilly Kane (Amanda Seyfried)? She pursues the first two questions quietly and occasionally, focusing most of her attention on the third, because of which a man's life hangs in the balance, to say nothing of her father's reputation. Keith Mars (Enrico Colatoni) used to be the sheriff of Neptune, California, but when he went after Lilly's influential parents following her death, he was forced out of office. Now he runs a private practice with his sleuthing daughter, with whom he enjoys a chummy relationship. While he tries to keep her from getting in too far over her head, he recognizes that Veronica is a very clever and determined young lady, so he generally gives her a pretty loose rein.

Wallace, a newcomer to Neptune who meets Veronica when she rescues him from humiliation on his first day of school, is subsequently willing to put himself on the line for her, and there are many scenes of them enjoying lunch together in the sun-drenched cafeteria outside the school, plotting another covert activity. Oddly enough, another of Veronica's good buddies is Eli "Weevil" Navarro (Francis Capra), the gang leader who antagonized Wallace. Weevil's a tough guy, but deep down he's a softie, and he too owes Veronica after she clears his name when he is wrongfully sent to prison, so he often lends a hand when Veronica needs it. Also firmly in her camp, though not seen quite as often, is Cindy "Mac" Mackenzie (Tina Majorino), an off-beat computer whiz who evidently plays a larger role in later seasons.

And what would a teen drama be without a little romance? Although prior to the beginning of the show, Veronica only had one boyfriend - Lilly's brother Duncan (Teddy Dunn), who dumped her without explanation shortly before his sister's death - she manages to have three major romantic relationships in her junior year of high school. The first and shortest-lived of these is with Troy Vandegraff (Aaron Ashmore), a friend of Duncan's who seems like a great guy but appears to be hiding something. Later, she falls for Leo D'Amato (Max Greenfield), a sweetheart of a cop who provides a refreshing contrast to the corrupt Sheriff Lamb (Michael Muhney), but that relationship is compromised with the advent of ardent affections from a surprising source.

The cast is solid, with the notable exception of Dunn, who wanders lifelessly through nearly every scene. Keith is probably my favorite character, a doting father with a fantastic sense of humor, childlike enthusiasm and an unconventional way of getting his job done. Wallace and Leo are instantly lovable, while Weevil and Logan are sweet underneath a carefully constructed exterior. The latter is an especially fun character, always ready with a smirk and a biting remark, and has further to go than Weevil when it comes to being a decent guy, but he steps up to the challenge impressively a couple of times. Mac is an intelligent outsider who has much more in common with Veronica than Lilly ever did; Veronica herself is nearly always likable, with a strong sense of morality and loyalty to her friends and parents, though she sometimes stoops to dubious methods to extract information. Among the more minor players, I'm especially fond of cynical lawyer Cliff McCormack (Daran Norris), who often assists Veronica in her endeavors, and perpetually exasperated principal Van Clemmons (Duane Daniels), who skulks about the school with a hangdog expression, wanting the best for his students but annoyed by Veronica's ability to outsmart him.

Joel Silver and Rob Thomas are the show's producers, with the latter having a hand in writing all the episodes. It's well written, though the dialogue veers much closer to R-rated territory than Smallville does. Like LOST, it makes frequent use of flashbacks, but these are filmed in a fuzzy, jarring way, and we never stay immersed in them very long. Otherwise, the cinematography is pleasing enough, and while most of the music used on the show is a little loud for my tastes, it fits the tone well. One of my favorite aspects of the show is the episode titles, nearly all of which are a pop culture reference, from Star Trek to Leave it to Beaver.

Like the first season of Smallville, which features a succession of new Kryptonite-infected terrors to defeat, the first season of Veronica Mars is full of individual mysteries, but the season-long arc is well-defined enough that watching individual episodes out of order is likely to be confusing, and most of the questions are tied up nicely enough by the end that this season could stand alone. That it doesn't need to should be a comfort to fans who are mourning its spot on the CW's fall lineup, and I'm looking forward to watching the rest of the series. There might not be any meteors to contend with, but Mars is out of this world!

Hairspray Exuberantly Examines the Notion of Otherness

I've been hearing a lot about Hairspray over the last couple years thanks to the enthusiasm of my young cousins, who were such fans of the show that they went to see it on Broadway. Aside from hearing the effervescent opening number, Good Morning, Baltimore - a grand hello to a bustling city that reminds me a lot of our beautifully boisterous introduction to Belle and her little town in Beauty and the Beast - on late-night and early-morning television, in the Macy's Parade and on Ugly Betty, I was pretty unfamiliar with the play, but all the buzz about it was enough to get me pretty pumped up for the movie when I heard that director Adam Shankman would be bringing it to the big screen.

Yesterday, my parents, my friend Libbie and I decided to see for ourselves what all the hype was about. What we got was a joyous kaleidoscope of slightly over-the-top early-sixties eye candy, with the darker edges of that era bubbling beneath the surface until they are brought into the full light of scrutiny when Queen Latifah's matronly Motormouth Maybelle leads a soulful march protesting the segregationist policies of The Corny Collins Show, the American Bandstand-esque television program that turns Tracy Turnblad (Nikki Blonsky), a starry-eyed teen with a heart as oversized as her pudgy frame, into an overnight sensation.

Blonsky is absolutely infectious in the lead role. The girl is a ray of sunshine, undeterred by all the obstacles that stand in the way of her dream of dancing on her favorite TV show, while also unwilling to compromise her principles for the sake of her ambition. As the film progresses, she becomes acutely aware of how the black students from whom she learns her best dance moves are oppressed, and she yearns to create an environment in which race need no longer be a barrier to opportunities. Just as she has broken down conventional societal expectations of beauty, she strives to show everyone that integration is the wave of the future.

Along the way, she dances her heart out and takes a few time-outs to sigh dreamily over Ricky Nelson-esque Link Larkin (Zac Efron), who gradually comes to see Tracy as a young woman of such substance that she overshadows his perfectly coiffed girlfriend Amber Von Tussle (Brittany Snow), whose conniving mother (Michelle Pfeiffer), the manager of the station on which the dance show airs, undermines the new girl every step of the way despite opposition from host Corny (James Marsden), whose dazzling smile gleams all the brighter whenever Tracy takes to the stage.

Her best friend Penny Pingleton (Amanda Bynes), a wisp of a girl with an omnipresent lollipop, ducks out from under the icy repression of her puritanical mother Prudy (Allison Janney) when she falls head over heels for Maybelle's exuberant son Seaweed (Elijah Kelley). Tracy, meanwhile, aims to bring her mother Edna (John Travolta), a frumpy laundress whose crippling self-image has long led her to eschew the outside world, into contemporary society. She's not an unreasonable woman; she's just insecure and set in her ways, and with a little nudging she is ready to support her daughter in her endeavors, though perhaps not as whole-heartedly as Tracy's gentle, eccentric father Wilbur (Christopher Walken), who achieved his own long-held goal when he opened a novelty shop, which enjoys an upsurge in business in the wake of Tracy's newfound celebrity.

Much was made of Travolta's gender-bending performance here, and he certainly immersed himself in the part, though I was never quite able to forget that she was actually a he, and neither was the rest of the audience, judging by the nervous titters that rippled whenever Walken edged in for a kiss. After his over-the-top performance in High School Musical, I wasn't sure what I would think of Efron, but he was much more nuanced here, even though he was in a similar role as a dreamboat who is startled into self-awareness by the arrival of an unconventional gal. I didn't think there was a weak link in the cast, and I give special kudos to Janney for making such a simultaneously humorous and terrifying impression in her brief appearances.

As someone with limited familiarity with the songs in this film, I was impressed by their energy and complexity. The lyrics in particular are very clever, perfectly capturing the various speech patterns of characters and often riddled with sly innuendoes that indicate this was not such an innocent time after all. Most of these are subtle enough that they would probably go right over the heads of youngsters, and there's little else in the movie that could be considered objectionable. Indeed, Hairspray is an ideal film for the family to see together, as the bouncy dance numbers and likable characters reel audiences in for a poignant lesson in the importance of accepting other people's differences. Don't miss out!

Barrymore's Josie Has Never Been Kissed, But She's Got Two Contenders For the Job

Surfing through the channels recently, my brother and I happened upon a movie that had just started. "Oh," Nathan said, "This must be Never Been Kissed." And so it was. So I asked him whether it was a good movie. "Oh, it's okay, I guess," he said. "But it has Drew Barrymore in it." This withering critique was not enough to dissuade me, particularly since I loved Music and Lyrics, her latest movie. And Nathan, for all his protests, didn't mind watching it again with me.

Never Been Kissed is a film with an improbable premise. A young journalist, Josie Geller (Barrymore), gets the first big assignment of her career, which involves posing as a high school student. She's young and girlish enough that this isn't too much of a stretch, though it seems like she would have had a little more trouble with this ruse, and certainly her brother Robert (David Arquette), lacking her professional resources, shouldn't have been able to enroll on a whim so he could look out for his sister. Moreover, she goes to the school without a very clear idea of what her article is supposed to be about, and weeks later, she still doesn't really know; presumably she's only still there because her high school experience has turned into the soap opera that's keeping all her officemates entertained. But what exactly is she doing during this stretch of time for the newspaper? All of her time appears to be occupied with this assignment, but what paper would invest all those resources into such a non-story, especially when at the end of it her article is shorter than this review?

So yeah, it's not the most logical plot in the world. Nor the most original, since it treads all the same territory as typical high school films. I can't condemn it for its glaring similarities to Mean Girls, however, since this movie came out first; evidently that film borrowed from this considerably. While sweet-natured Josie never quite turns to the dark side - befriending members of the top high school clique but not becoming utterly insufferable in the process - the story follows a similar arc. She initially feels awkward and is befriended by math geek Aldys Martin (Leelee Sobieski). She falls for Guy Perkins (Jeremy Jordan), a popular, hunky fellow who isn't as nice as the love interest in Mean Girls. She has a party at her house. She alienates her nerdy friend by getting caught up in the activities of the popular girls, albeit on orders from her boss, Augustus Strauss (John C. Reilly). She's declared Prom queen and makes a preachy speech about how people have to start being nicer to each other. Typical stuff.

But it's a cute movie. Barrymore is winning, playing up the charm as a girl who never fit in when she was in high school and is trying to get it right this time around. While she swoons for Guy, her real connection is with English teacher Sam Coulson (Michael Vartan). Their pairing would be perfectly appropriate under other circumstances, but he believes that she is only 17, so he's deeply uncomfortable with the intense attraction he feels to this mature, insightful student. At one point he even hops on the ferris wheel with her at the fair, which is very romantic, though it sets off alarms. It's the nature of this movie that in context, both of Josie's romantic interests are unsuitable, yet she pursues both anyway Her brother, meanwhile, not only finds a romantic entanglement of his own but joins the baseball team and dreams of being snatched up by a college talent scout.

In the end, pretty much everyone ends up with whatever they deserve, and we're hardly surprised about it. Josie finally blossoms into a confident young woman, having stepped out of the shadow of her traumatic high school memories, most notably being egged by her Prom date while waiting on her front porch in a hideous dress that looks like it was made of aluminum foil. There's plenty of humor in the movie, most of it pretty benign, and the blooming relationship between her and her teacher is very sweet, especially since he never completely crosses the line into an inappropriate teacher-student relationship while he believes Josie is a teenager. It's not the best high school movie out there, but it's a pretty entertaining way to spend a lazy Sunday afternoon.

A Flippin' Sweet Movie That Sounds Like It's Been Picked Over By TBS

Back in the fall of 2004, my family took in an exchange student from Germany. Shortly into her stay, she and my brother went to see Napoleon Dynamite with a friend and invited me along. I accepted the invitation, eager for any opportunity for a bonding experience. So we got to the theater, watched the movie and waited outside for about an hour for my parents. We talked about all sorts of random shmoo, but we didn't say a word about the movie. None of us really knew what to say.

Napoleon Dynamite is an oddity. It's a triumph of independent film-making, having quickly achieved cult status as more and more teens and young adults cracked up over the antics of its strange characters and repeated their catch-phrases incessantly. Like so many other films before, it, Napoleon Dynamite is about an unpopular high school student who manages to make good. In this case, that student is beyond awkward. Hovering over the heads of his classmates, Napoleon (Jon Heder) glares out from behind thick glasses and under a mop of reddish curls, gritting his enormous teeth and spitting out vitriolic words at whoever crosses him. Almost every line is uttered with such agitated exaggeration that it seems he should be swearing up a storm. It's refreshing but jarring to note the lack of profanity; whenever he talks, I can't help but feel as though I'm watching a poorly dubbed movie on TBS. But then that is part of the movie's humor.

His manner of speaking is just so bizarre, as is everything else about him. He explodes periodically with "GOSH!". He emphasizes most statements with "pretty much", "freakin'" or "flippin'". He draws hideous hybrid creatures and practices "sweet" dance moves to corny '80s videos. He loves tater tots so much he stuffs them in a zippered pants pocket for later noshing. He bellows belligerently at his llama, builds a time machine and, when asked to regale the class with a current event, launches into a fanciful account involving explosives, the Loch Ness Monster and wizards.

Also strange is Pedro Sanchez (Efren Ramirez), the glassy-eyed new student whom Napoleon befriends after offering to show him the ropes at school. Pedro seems to spend his life in a daze, always looking bored, disinterested and utterly unengaged in the world around him. It's a surprise, then, when he decides to run for class president, but it sets us up for the nerds' inevitable shining moment. Deb (Tina Majorino, the only cast member I recognized) is a friend of both boys, though she associates more closely with Napoleon. She's very quiet and shy, but she seems to like Napoleon, and he has no objection to her, even wooing her with the ever-so-romantic observation that she's not fat, so she doesn't need to drink one percent milk.

And then there's his brother Kip (Aaron Ruell), a lisping wisp of a geek with thick glasses and a peach-fuzz mustache who spends virtually every minute of the day in front of the computer, often chatting with his dream girl, who turns out to be the robust, hip, polar opposite LaFawnduh Lucas (Shondrella Avery), who reminded me of Charlene in Bringing Down the House. There's also Uncle Rico (Jon Gries), a slimy shyster who Napoleon loathes, and Grandma (Sandy Martin), who's not in the movie much once she takes a nasty tumble while ATV-ing on some sand dunes.

They're all as quirky as can be, but Napoleon is the one commanding the audience's attention. We watch him in rapt fascination, wondering whether anyone could really be this awkward. He's so off-kilter, and there's such an aggressive manner about him, it's rather hard to fall in love with him. He's not as likable as Sam, Neil and Bill from Freaks and Geeks, Luke from Joan of Arcadia, Damian from Mean Girls, Matt from 13 Going on 30... But by the end of the movie, we can't help but like him a bit, despite the fact that he usually seems ready to bite someone's head off. And if nothing else, he provides plenty of amusing quotes to randomly incorporate into everyday conversation. I don't know if I'd quite call him "dynamite," but this movie boasts more sizzle than fizzle.

Whoopi Robes Up Again for a More than Satisfactory Sequel

Shortly before I went into sixth grade, my mom and I went school shopping. We made a day of it, with lunch at Chuck E. Cheese’s and then a movie. As I recall, our intention was to see Three Ninjas, but the showing was sold out, so we examined our options, and I suggested Sister Act. Mom was dubious; she didn’t know much about it, and she suspected I might find it boring. But we gave it a shot, and rarely have I found a movie so engaging and entertaining. Just a year later, a sequel arrived. There’s always something lost with a sequel; much of the power of surprise is gone. You basically know what to expect at this point. A first film may sweep you away, but a sequel rarely will. Sister Act 2 failed to enthrall me the way the first did, but as sequels go, it was incredibly well done in spite of the similarities in plot to its predecessor.

The beginning of this movie finds Delores van Cartier (Whoopi Goldberg) enjoying greater success as a lounge singer than ever before, thanks to her unlikely star-making stint as choir director for a fleet of cloistered nuns. Her habited buddies, Sisters Mary Robert (Wendy Makkena), Patrick (Kathy Najimy) and Lazarus (Mary Wickes), corner her after one of her shows and entreat her to return with them to their current residence, a parish in charge of St. Francis Academy, a school catering to inner city students. A now gentler Mother Superior (Maggie Smith) greets her upon her arrival and begs her to join the teaching staff as a music instructor, to which Delores reluctantly agrees. Once again she must go in cognito in order to deceive the school administrators, but this task isn’t so difficult now that most of her friends know who and what she really is.

The basic plotline is very similar to the first, though there’s far less at stake for Delores this time around, and the tensions between her and school principal Father Maurice (Barnard Hughes) and superintendent Mr. Crisp (James Cogburn) are nothing compared to the frosty relationship she enjoyed with Mother Superior in the first film. Delores has changed, so her motivations are different in this film, and her character doesn’t have much room to evolve. But once again she finds herself in a position to save a struggling organization by taking a ragtag group and turning them into a world-class choir.

Personally, I identify more with nuns than rowdy teens, so I preferred when the focus was on the Sisters. Delores had a difficult task in whipping them into shape, but they were ready and willing to participate. The complications arose much more from Mother Superior’s disapproval than the nuns themselves. Here, Delores’ first job is to command her students’ respect, and it’s not easy. Once she does, though, she still has her work cut out for her in teaching them how to work together and believe in themselves. Several students stand out: “Amahl,” (Ryan Toby) who is extremely passionate about his African heritage and who overcomes his timidity with an exhilarating solo much as Sister Mary Robert did in the first film; “Sketch,” (Ron Johnson) a gentle soul who is a talented artist but who always sleeps through class due to long hours working after school; and “Frankie,” (Devin Kamin) a wannabe rapper with his own theme song. Most prominent, however, is Rita (Lauryn Hill), who possesses an extraordinary voice but has a crummy attitude fostered by her mother (Sheryl Lee Ralph), who refuses to foster her daughter’s dreams of singing professionally. Her mother comes across as a bit too severe here, ordering her to quit the choir because “singing does not put food on the table;” after all, it doesn’t take food off the table, either. In fact, Rita seems to have been completely uninterested in school up to this point, but the choir provides her with motivation. I would think a mother would be more supportive of her daughter’s talent, but I guess she’s just seen how hard it is to bring such dreams to fruition and doesn’t want Rita getting hurt.

When Father Maurice announces that the school will be closing at the end of the year, the students rally under the nuns’ enthusiastic suggestion that they enter the singing contest that this academy has won in years past. Their efforts are complicated by Father Maurice’s caution and near-sabotage by dour Mr. Crisp, who stands to gain quite a bit from the destruction of the school. The last-minute efforts to thwart those plans are an amusing side-plot involving the monks who also teach at the school. They don’t have quite as much to do as the nuns, but these men add a lot to the film. I especially like curmudgeonly Latin teacher Brother Thomas (Brad Sullivan), Mary Lazarus’ counterpart, and gentle, gregarious math teacher Brother Ignatius (Michael Jeter), who combines the best qualities of Mary Patrick and Mary Robert.

The ending is fairly predictable, but the kids’ grand musical number is impressive nonetheless. I can’t help but recall The Sound of Music while watching the musical competition, and I’m happy to embrace any film that makes me think of that classic, which may qualify as my all-time favorite. Of course, it also reminds me of Sister Act. In the end, this sequel is not quite as funny, creative, or surprising as that was, but it comes awfully close.