You're Never Too Young to Be Old in Howl's Moving Castle

This fall, I’ve been enjoying the Disney releases of some of master Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki’s movies. They’re very unusual, rich in artistry and imagination and full of surrealistic images. One of the weirder ones is Howl’s Moving Castle, originally released in 2004.

Sophie (Emily Mortimer) is a young woman who works at a haberdashery. One day, she runs afoul of the Witch of the Waste (Lauren Bacall), a woman of monstrous girth who puts a curse on her. Sophie soon realizes that she has instantly aged about 60 years. Instead of young and slim, she is elderly and stooped, and she can’t stay at home in this condition. So it is that Sophie, now looking like an old crone (Jean Simmons), makes for the countryside and eventually seeks refuge inside Howl’s Moving Castle.

Howl (Christian Bale) is a mysterious sorcerer who comes and goes at will. He’s mildly intimidating but mostly kind, and he is happy to welcome Sophie into his home as a housekeeper. His household also includes a cheeky but sweet boy named Markl (Josh Hutcherson) and a wise-cracking fire demon named Calcifer (Billy Crystal) who could be the key to restoring Sophie to her former self.

In her travels she also meets a scarecrow with an enormous smile pasted on his face. Although this cursed fellow who she dubs Turniphead is mute and can only get around by hopping, using the post on which he is stuck as a pogo stick, he proves a valuable ally after she earns his loyalty by saving him from a compromising situation. She also comes into contact with the Witch of the Waste again, and how these two continue to relate to one another is one of the oddest but most touching elements of the movie.

Much of the movie takes place inside Howl’s castle, which wanders over the countryside on mechanical legs and features a magical device that allows its door to open upon one of several terrains, depending on which way the dial is pointed. One of the landscapes added into the mix is a glorious meadow, and there are a couple of idyllic moments in which Sophie sits placidly by a lake, so relaxed that the years seem to drop off her.

In these scenes, we see Miyazaki’s love of nature, but overall, that’s not a huge focus here. The movie does not feature as much cold industrialism as Castle in the Sky, but it does seem to encroach, and some scenes are pretty dark. Additionally, there’s at least one subplot that doesn’t quite seem to fit in. The movie is two hours long, and I wonder if he wasn’t cramming a bit too much into it.

On the whole, however, this is an enjoyable movie populated with fantastical characters and celebrating the power of love. It’s also an interesting commentary on the perspective that old age grants; though Sophie is barely an adult at heart, the wisdom she develops as a result of her curse is most beneficial. Themes of redemption and sacrifice also run strong. Meanwhile, Crystal’s excellent voice work helps to keep the movie light-hearted, as most of Calcifer’s interjections are good for a laugh.

While I didn’t like it quite as much My Neighbor Totoro, I think I prefer to Castle in the Sky and would probably put it at about the same enjoyment level as Ponyo. It’s a strange and surreal movie; you’ll have to accept the magical qualities of this world going into it. If you can roll with the strangeness, however, you may just find Howl’s Moving Castle a moving film experience.

Children Bond Amidst Bleak Industrialism in Castle in the Sky

I’ve been working my way through the films of acclaimed Japanese writer-director Hayao Miyazaki, and after the isolated, bucolic beauty of My Neighbor Totoro, I was startled by the industrialism and violence of Castle in the Sky, originally from 1986 but recently released by Disney in America with dubbing by English-speaking actors. This movie is considerably darker and longer than Totoro and involves an epic quest to discover a legendary floating city along the lines of Atlantis but concealed in the clouds.

Our heroes are Sheeta (Anna Paquin), a mountain girl whose mysterious amulet makes her the target of kidnapping by two different groups of unsavory characters, and Pazu (James Van Der Beek), the working-class boy who finds her floating above the quarry where he lives after she escapes her would-be captors. It doesn’t take the children long to realize that the necklace is the reason she is endangered, and they soon make the connection between it and the lost city that Pazu’s father, an explorer, once claimed to find. Both seek the city for answers about their heritage, but they will have to contend with slimy government official Muska (Mark Hamill) and his minions, who are after the knowledge and power the island houses, as well as a ramshackle band of pirates led by cantankerous matriarch Dola (Cloris Leachman), who has her eye on its fabled treasure.

This is a bleak movie. It has a futuristic feel to it, as so much of it takes place in the sky aboard “airships.” Given Miyazaki’s love of nature, I expected to see more of it, but we are offered only fleeting glimpses. Granted, what he does show us, particularly in the pristine garden that greets the children after they finally reach the island of Laputa, is stunning. Mostly, however, it’s cold fortresses, crumbling mines and lots and lots of propellers. Unlike Totoro, the world of this movie was not one I wanted to visit, particularly since explosions seem to rock the landscape about every ten minutes.

Hamill is flat-out creepy as he voices the slick Muska. For the most part, his manners are genteel, but underneath that cajoling exterior is roiling malice. It doesn’t take too long to realize that of the two villainous factions pursuing Sheeta, his is the more malevolent. Leachman is hilariously ornery in her role as the unkempt pirate queen who reminds me of hillbilly Ma Gogan in Pete’s Dragon. The pirate family is ultimately a twinge more warm-hearted than that dastardly crew, and Dola, her husband, who usually wears only an undershirt above the waist and whose build and enormous mustache make him look like the Lorax, and their many borderline dopey sons are consistent sources of much-needed comic relief.

The heart of the movie, however, is the deep friendship that develops between the elegant, ethereal Sheeta and the earthy, rough-and-tumble Pazu. They bond quickly, particularly during their time with a slightly daffy elderly miner Pazu calls Uncle Pomme (Richard Dysart). It is at this point that they realize just how strong Sheeta’s connection to Laputa is and what a potentially dangerous object she carries. Shades of Lord of the Rings entered my mind as Uncle Pomme uttered dark warnings about the amulet’s powers falling into the wrong hands. While Sheeta feels guilty for dragging Pazu into a dangerous situation, he seems to thrive on the adrenaline rush, and the movie includes an amusing number of instances in which he falls, dangles or crash-lands. He has great physical strength and little foresight. It isn’t really until the climax that he learns to think things through a minute before he leaps.

My Neighbor Totoro left me feeling warm and fuzzy, wanting to run out in a rainstorm and twirl around or give someone a great big bear hug. Castle in the Sky has a very different tone to it. While there is happiness in the conclusion, it is elegiac, and the final image strikes loneliness into the soul, as does the state in which the children find the island and the assertions Muska makes about it. The film seems to be largely a fable about the dangers of superior power unchecked by compassion. The central friendship brings it down to a more relatable level, while the antics of the pirates keep us from getting too bogged down in despair. Hope does peer out through the crevices of this movie. However, at times it feels almost as elusive as the titular castle.

Two Sisters Find Friendship in an Arcadian Wonderland in My Neighbor Totoro

Last year, I watched Ponyo, acclaimed Japanese filmmaker Hiyao Miyazaki’s latest feature, a take on Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Mermaid. I found it strange but charming and looked forward to familiarizing myself with more of the films helmed by this man I’ve so often heard praised as a giant in the realm of fantastical animated movies. Just recently, I went further back in his catalog with My Neighbor Totoro, originally released in the 1980s, though I watched the 2005 version released by Disney and dubbed by American actors, including sisters Dakota and Elle Fanning as movie sisters Satsuki and Mei Kusakabe.

Satsuki (Dakota) and Mei (Elle) have just moved into a ramshackle house out in the country with their father (Tim Daly), a professor who is kind and fun-loving but rather absorbed with his work. The purpose of the relocation is to be closer to the girls’ ailing mother (Lea Salonga), who resides in a nearby hospital. It’s obvious from the start that this is a close-knit family, and the children and their dad take genuine delight in exploring the house and surrounding wilderness together.

While Satsuki is strikingly mature for her age, she is almost as prone to giddy exhibitions of glee as her hyperactive little sister. Both of them absolutely love their new playground, and the notion that their home and the surrounding forest might be haunted intrigues them much more than it frightens them. They have the proper spirit for such a place, and soon their appreciation will be rewarded as the entities populating the forest reveal themselves.

The animation is breathtakingly gorgeous. Its idyllic countryside setting surrounded by thick stands of trees and shallow ponds looks so lifelike and appealing that I spent the whole movie wishing I could step into it. The girls’ exuberance is entirely understandable. What kid wouldn’t want to live in a place like that? The beauty of some scenes, such as the sequence in which the sisters and their dad spend the day thoroughly exploring their idyllic surroundings and the moment when the duo get caught in a torrential downpour, is enough to recommend the movie even if it weren’t attached to a charming story.

Oh, but it is. Satsuki and Mei are absolutely lovable in their childlike wonder and devotion to each other. Mei does get rather exhausting at times simply because her energy is so boundless and her lung capacity matches it, but this contributes to some of the sweetest moments involving Totoro (Frank Welker), the enormous gray creature she finds asleep in the woods one day. Drowsy Totoro, so named by Mei after the noises he makes upon seeing her for the first time, has a gentle ursine quality to him. He has a ferocious roar, but mostly he just seems like an overstuffed teddy bear. At first, when Mei relates her account of their meeting, Satsuki thinks her imagination is running away with her. However, she soon begins to hope that she might meet Totoro for herself.

This movie features several fantastical beings, but the title character is the most engaging. While he does not speak in any intelligible tongue, the girls nonetheless forge a tentative friendship with him, and he allows them glimpses into his world in mystical moments that remind me of the wintry flight of fancy taken by the boy at heart of the silent film The Snowman. Their interactions are tender, funny, magical and sometimes just a bit frightening. This is a powerful entity, but his intentions are not malicious. This, then, is a simple story of friendship and respect as the girls overcome apprehensions to reach out to Totoro and he repays the favor.

Visually, the calm, lush countryside of this movie appeals to me more than the roiling seascape of Ponyo, and when the spirits of the house and forest are absent, the movie has a purely natural look about it, whereas Ponyo always seems a bit surrealistic. The fact that only the sisters can see the mysterious beings living around them almost begs the question of whether they are even there or if this place is just a fertile breeding ground for childhood fantasies. However, enough tangible evidence of their presence exists that I would come down on the side of their being real. They look quite as strange as the sea creatures in Ponyo, but there is beauty in the eccentricity, whether they’re gasping over the tiny dust balls that scurry out of the way when they enter a room or marveling at the enormous flying bus-shaped cat that serves as a shuttle to the spirits. Through it all, a sense of innocent fun prevails, particularly when Joe Hisaishi’s cheerful score, reminiscent of a mid-century program like Leave It to Beaver, kicks in.

My Neighbor Totoro is a feast for the eyes, a treat for the ears and a joy for the child in all of us. Everybody should be so lucky as to have a neighbor like Totoro.

Allen Say Details His Mother's Journey of Self-Discovery in Tea With Milk

A couple months ago, I read Grandfather’s Journey, a book Japanese-American author-illustrator Allen Say wrote about how his grandfather’s love of both Japan and America meant that no matter where he was, he was missing his other home. That sense of dual identity also pervades Tea With Milk, which is primarily about Say’s mother. The two make ideal companion books, since there is some overlap between the two stories. While that book is largely about homesickness, this one has more to do with the idea of a home revolving around other elements instead of a certain place.

Masako, known by her parents as Ma-chan and by her friends as May, is a Californian who speaks Japanese at home but generally feels more in touch with American culture. When her parents decide to move back to Japan, it turns her world upside-down. She doesn’t want to be a proper young Japanese lady who must wear a kimono all day and master the art of the tea ceremony. She doesn’t even like green tea; she much prefers the tea with milk and sugar that she drank at her friends’ houses. Her parents seem determined for her to be someone who she isn’t, and when her mother begins to consult with a matchmaker, it’s the last straw. She realizes that if she is going to take control over her life, she will need to do something drastic.

Masako’s story made me think of Disney’s Mulan, in which a young Chinese woman feels smothered by the ladylike expectations placed upon her and dreams of distinguishing herself in a way that feels true to herself. Masako does not want to embrace the life her parents have chosen for her, so she must strike out on her own, trying to decide as she does whether the same sense of belonging that she felt in America can still be achieved in Japan or whether she should make it a priority to return to California. It’s mostly a story of self-discovery, but there’s also a thread of romance that develops. The two are entwined, since it’s important for Masako to choose her own husband rather than having one forced upon her.

This is a wordier book than Grandfather’s Journey. Aside from the final page, which features an illustration on the top and text on the bottom, each left-hand page contains several paragraphs of text, while each right-hand page features a full-page watercolor painting. Instead of focusing on landscapes, Say zeroes in on Masako in each detailed, realistic illustration. In only one painting is she less than prominent, and that is so that he can convey how tiny she feels when she moves to Osaka on her own. The primary focus is on her character development, and we can read varying levels of comfort in her face depending on where she is and to what extent she is in control of the situation.

Multi-culturalism is just as integral a part of this story, however. As she makes her way in the big city, she comes to appreciate both her American and Japanese upbringing. In addition to helping her secure a good job, this varied background helps her to bond with a young man who also understands what it’s like to be a part of two different cultures. Tea with milk (and honey) becomes a metaphor for all that she wishes to preserve about her American heritage.

Say has several books based upon his family that illustrate the beauty and struggle inherent in being a part of two very different cultures. As a stand-alone or a complement to those other stories, Tea With Milk is an excellent tale of two people embracing the dichotomy and letting it help them find a new outlook and ultimately a new life.

Allan Say Describes Having One Foot in Two Worlds in Grandfather's Journey

“Leavin’, it never is easy. There’s no place like home’s what they say…” So begins Ryan Kelly’s The Village That They Call the Moy, a wistful song about emigration and love of one’s hometown. Homesickness is a thread weaving its way through much of Irish folk music, but it’s certainly not unique to immigrants from the Emerald Isle. In the picture book Grandfather’s Journey, Allen Say poignantly describes his grandfather’s experience of exploring the world and making a home in two different countries, with the result that he always was yearning for one while he was in the other.

Say has written other books reflecting his Japanese-American heritage, including Tree of Cranes, which describes a Christmas celebration that incorporates Japanese traditions. In Grandfather’s Journey, Say presents his grandfather as an adventurous young man eager to experience all that America had to offer. With just a sentence or two per page, he conveys the exhilaration of discovery that his grandpa experienced. Eventually, that gives way to nostalgia, to longing for the land of his childhood. So throughout the book there is a gentle tug of war, with both Japan and the United States – particularly California – staking a claim on his heart.

Say’s paintings are realistic and rich in detail. In the first portion of the book, we feel as though we are making the thrilling journey along with his grandpa, with windswept fields, shadowy mountains and towering cliffs all capturing the imagination. America feels wild and unexplored, while there’s a sense of familiarity in the paintings set in Japan. Say does an excellent job of portraying the sense of returning to one’s roots. In addition to the beautiful landscapes, there is his grandfather himself, who we see grow older and whose face often betrays a sense of wistfulness.

This is a finely crafted book that is a bit on the tall side, so it might not fit easily on some shelves, but it would make an excellent addition to a classroom or school library. It has educational value as it provides a glimpse into the immigrant experience, and it does so by encouraging children to see the world through the eyes of Say’s grandfather. Additionally, the connection between the author/narrator and the main character might inspire young readers to talk to their grandparents or other elderly relatives and friends about their experiences.

In Grandfather’s Journey, Say has created a succinct but lovely tribute to his grandfather and, by extension, to all those who have loved more than one home and find themselves forever torn in two. No matter what your cultural background, this Caldecott Award-winning book is an excellent exploration of the ties one immigrant feels to each place he has lived.

Allan Say Brings Christmas to a Small Japanese Family in Tree of Cranes

As someone who has grown up with Christmas as far back as I can remember, it’s easy to take the holiday for granted. But imagine being a little bit older at the time of one’s first Christmas experience. That’s what Allen Say does in Tree of Cranes, a lovely picture book that offers a peek at a cross-cultural Christmas celebration.

The unnamed narrator recounts for us the first Christmas of his life, which occurred in Japan “when I was not yet old enough to wear long pants.” We never learn just who the boy is, because although this is primarily a story about a boy and his mother, and to a much lesser extent his father, neither parents calls the child by name. Indeed, there is a definite distance between child and adults; it seems that Papa is rarely home, while Mama longs for some alone time, though for safety’s sake she forbids the boy to wander to his favorite spot, the neighbor’s pond, where we see him playing in the first of the book’s paintings, and one of the loveliest. There is a luminous quality to the illustrations reflecting the peace that prevails throughout this little family.

The boy is a sweet, albeit overly curious, child. I can’t fault him much for his inquisitiveness because his mother is so tight-lipped. Eventually, she explains to him what she is up to, but before that, she seems to ignore him for long stretches of time, apparently not so much because she wants to surprise him but because she has become so caught up in nostalgia that she scarcely remembers he exists. Her reprobation regarding the pond would probably be unnecessary if she were more attentive to her son. This odd disconnect between parent and child is the one negative in this story, though there is a sense that perhaps this shared Christmas celebration will bring them closer together.

My favorite aspect of the story is the pine tree his mother brings into the house. It’s the boy’s, as his parents planted it when he was born in hopes that he, like the tree, would enjoy a long life. This seems like a beautiful tradition, and it reminds me of The Little Fir Tree, a wonderful Christmas story by Margaret Wise Brown. What is especially neat is the sight of this particular tree, which looks like an oversized bonsai, all covered with paper cranes and shining candles, making it very unusual-looking but thoroughly beautiful. The boy’s longed-for Christmas present and the snowman he builds also are indicative of Japanese culture, with his mother’s California upbringing creating an interesting hybrid.

I don’t know if this book is intended to be autobiographical or is merely a story that Say made up, but in any event, Tree of Cranes is a touching story of two cultures coming together.

My Top Ten Movies of the Late '80s ('85-'89)

The late 1980s were some of the most formative years of my life, as I headed off to school for the first time and experienced some major milestones, including gaining a brother and losing a grandfather.  The movies that I saw during these years really stuck with me.  Here are some of my favorites.

Back to the Future (1985) / Back to the Future II (1989) - For some reason, I saw the second installment of this classic Robert Zemeckis trilogy first, so that when I saw the first movie several years later, a lot of the jokes made a lot more sense. Each is much funnier in tandem with the other, but as stand-alones, they're great, too. Michael J. Fox is irresistible as Marty, the teenager who gets propelled backward then forward through time courtesy of Doc Brown, who is played to the eccentric hilt by Christopher Lloyd. Since LOST became preoccupied with time travel, I've been especially getting the urge to go back and watch these two movies, which so humorously examine all of the problems that might arise from such a feat. Extra kudos to Crispin Glover, who is a bundle of neuroses as Marty's wimpy dad, George, and Thomas F. Wilson, who perfectly portrays the brutish, dim-witted Biff Tannen and has forever lodged in my mind the phrase "Why don't you make like a tree and get outta here?"

Anne of Green Gables (1985) / Anne of Avonlea (1987) - These gorgeously filmed adaptations of the first few books in L. M. Montgomery's classic series are two of the first videos we ever owned - or I should say four, as both run well over three hours in length and require two cassettes each. We used to pop them in whenever we had my cousins over for a sleepover, as they made a very comforting backdrop, and if we were still up when the second movie was over, we could really consider ourselves champion night owls. Megan Follows is spectacular in the title role, especially the first time around when she gets to play Anne in her early teenage years to the over-dramatic hilt. But then every character is perfectly cast, from Colleen Dewhurst as stern but kind Marilla and Patricia Hamilton as busybody Rachel to Richard Farnsworth as incurable softie Matthew and Jonathan Crombie as the incredibly patient Gilbert. The first film is extremely faithful to the first book, while the second takes considerable liberties as it combines elements of the second, third and fourth novels. Both make for excellent, high-quality, wholesome viewing, not to mention some of the best advertising Prince Edward Island has ever gotten.

An American Tail (1986) / Land Before Time (1988) - I always think of these two Don Bluth films in association with each other. They came out within a couple of years of each other, and they both concern a young animal who is separated from his family making new friends as he undertakes a dangerous journey in hopes of an eventual reunion. The first features Fievel the mouse and his close-knit family, who happen to be Russian Jews, and it is a full-blown musical, with the earnest duet Somewhere Out There a particular highlight. While American Tail introduces kids to the immigrant experience, Land Before Time gives some background on dinosaurs while presenting a powerful tale of faith and friendship. Too many shoddy sequels followed both of these movies, but the originals remain outstanding.

Flight of the Navigator (1986) - Another time travel movie, this one about a boy who finds himself the navigator of a snarky ship carting dozens of aliens across the universe. Young David only jumps ahead eight years, but he's surprised to discover how many things have changed. There's an element of poking fun at the decade in this fun fantasy that is mostly about the unlikely bond that develops between the boy and the sentient spaceship voiced by Paul Reubens. It's been too long since I've seen it, but when I was a kid, I absolutely loved it.

Great Mouse Detective (1986) / The Little Mermaid (1989) - The former was the first movie I remember seeing in the theater. It's a little dark for Disney, focusing on a kidnapped inventor and a plot against the queen of England by a diabolical villain by the name of Ratigan. But I love this very English tale of about Basil, an arrogant detective, and Dawson, his faithful assistant, doing their best to avert a disaster for the sake of sweet young Olivia, the inventor's daughter. Most of the characters in this are rodents or other scuttling creatures, while The Little Mermaid features an array of aquatic characters and some incredibly catchy songs. Disney's twist on the Hans Christian Andersen tale is more upbeat and includes plenty of amusing sidekicks, most notably the world-weary Caribbean crab Sebastian, advisor to the quick-tempered but affectionate King Triton. I wasn't sure how much I'd like this one when it came out, but once I saw it I quickly became obsessed with it. Both are great examples of the magic of Disney in some of its most exceptional years.

Karate Kid II (1986) - When we were growing up, my brothers and I all took karate at one point, as did my dad. I suspect that a lot of folks did that in the '80s after cheering on Daniel, the east coast teen who moves to California with his mom and gets over his fish-out-of-water blues by striking up a friendship with his elderly neighbor, karate expert Mr. Miyagi. I love the movies, particularly because of Mr. Miyagi, who is such a wise and funny character. The second film is my favorite of the trilogy because it focuses primarily on him, delving into his past and using his example to teach Daniel and the audience a powerful lesson on the value of mercy and redemption. It also includes my favorite of Daniel's three girlfriends, whose relationship with him unfolds on screen with some help from a montage backed by The Glory of Love, perhaps the ultimate '80s power ballad.

Short Circuit (1986) - I've always had a soft spot for robots, whether it's Data in Star Trek: The Next Generation or R2-D2 and C-3PO in Star Wars, but Johnny Five may just be may favorite robot of all. The first time my family watched this movie, I was in the other room reading, and the sounds of laughter drew me to the television within minutes. It wasn't long before I was laughing too: at the malapropisms spewed by Fisher Stevens' perpetually befuddled foreigner Ben; at the lovable robot's inappropriate behavior as he insatiably seeks more input; at the incredulity of adorable Steve Gutenberg's Newton Crosby as he comes to accept that his creation has actually come to life. This incredibly quotable movie is one of the most hilarious I've ever seen, and it has moments of real tenderness as well. It introduced me to several terrific actors, and may it well have even sparked my fondness for Dr Pepper, which has long been my beverage of choice.

Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (1986) - Easily the most accessible of the Star Trek movies, this fourth installment is also by far the funniest, though the stakes are higher here than in any other. The fate of the entire planet is at stake, so it's up to the crew of the Enterprise to save world by going back in time and fetching a couple of humpback whales. Like Back to the Future, this movie toys around with the absurdity of time travel, but it saves most of its energy to skewer '80s culture while making our heroes look like a bunch of buffoons as they try to navigate it. Among the highlights are Kirk and Spock's disastrous trip to the aquarium and the conversation in the car that follows it; Scotty's attempt to interact with a primitive computer; and a hospital escapade that involves high speed, heaps of deception and an instant kidney. All that, plus a lesson in environmental consciousness makes this the only original Trek film that rivals The Wrath of Khan.

The Princess Bride (1987) - Every year at Christmas, we watch this with my dad's side of the family, laughing late into the night over jokes we've all heard dozens of times before, dialogue we've had memorized for a couple of decades. This movie has everything: fantasy, adventure, romance... Most of all, it has humor. Every other line is a quotable classic, impeccably delivered by a top-notch cast. Burly, lovable Fezzik (Andre the Giant), Spanish, revenge-driven Inigo (Mandy Patinkin) and short, demeaning Vizzini (Wallace Shawn) are particularly memorable among a host of entertaining characters. The decision to frame the story with scenes of a grandfather reading the book to his cynical grandson is the icing on the cake in this film that perfectly blends so many elements to create a masterpiece I will never get tired of watching.

Dead Poets' Society (1989) - I remember hearing about this movie when it came out, but it's the only one of the bunch I didn't see until many years later. We watched this in my eleventh grade English class, which was led by an unconventional teacher not so different from the man Robin Williams portrays. This film has a darker tone to it than anything else on this list, but it is inspirational in many ways, demonstrating the power that literature and an involved teacher can have in one's life. It also shows the danger of trying to exert too much control over one's children as they reach adulthood. One of Williams' finest performances, and my introduction to the terrific Robert Sean Leonard.