A Friendly Mouse Plays Sherlock Holmes in The Aristocats and the Missing Necklace

Some mysteries involve nefarious villains, while others hinge more on misunderstandings and peculiar circumstances. While the lack of a menacing antagonist can lessen the appeal for some, I tend to enjoy these mysteries that lack a “bad guy” just as much as more traditional fare. That’s certainly the case with The Aristocats and the Missing Necklace, a part of Disney’s Wonderful World of Reading.

In this simple picture book, dainty white cat Duchess and her three kittens, Marie and her brothers, here nicknamed Tu-tu and Berly, have headed for the countryside for the summer with the elegant Madame. A handsome estate in the French countryside is an enticing playground for three energetic kittens, but when their rambunctious antics coincide with the disappearance of a gold necklace, Madame becomes very angry and blames the cats for its disappearance. How will they ever find it again?

Luckily, they are not alone in having made this trek. Their faithful friend Roquefort, a mouse, has come along for the ride, and he fancies himself an amateur detective, so he volunteers to track down the culprit. Readers know before he does what happened to the necklace, but it’s fun to watch the intrepid mouse track its whereabouts. This is a tale about conducting a careful investigation and also about not jumping to conclusions.

Thomas O’Malley, the tomcat who is arguably the most dynamic character in the movie of which this book is a spin-off, does not make an appearance here, but goose sisters Amelia and Amanda are heavily involved in the story, upping the silly factor. Roquefort’s dashing little red detective’s outfit adds a touch of whimsy as well. Every animal in the book wears some type of clothing at some point in the book, but the mouse’s outfit is much more extensive, and more than the others, he acts in ways that are entirely atypical for his species.

The illustrations are lovely, particularly the ones that take the characters outside into the lush farmland and eventually to a refreshing pond. The information for the book, published in 1983, lists no specific author or illustrator, but whoever was responsible for the artwork here did a nice job. The writing is good as well but basic enough that it should pose few problems to budding readers, aside from the name Roquefort. I assume that the names Toulouse and Berlioz were shortened with those young tongues in mind.

Because the book reveals what happens to the necklace right off the bat, the plot will not be much of a mystery to young readers, but The Aristocats and the Missing Necklace is still a fun and engaging story about an unconventional friend using his ingenuity to help the unjustly accused.

Of Mice and Me, Both Skewered at the David Sedaris Reading at Mercyhurst College, 10-22-11

During my last semester of college, I was introduced to the work of David Sedaris in a Creative Non-Fiction class. While it was a writing course, we read several books in order to give us an idea of the different memoir styles out there and integrate techniques employed by the writers into our own work. Of all the writers I encountered in college for the first time, Sedaris is one of my favorites. While some of his essays get pretty off-color, there’s just something so irresistible about his pointed observations about the absurdities of how people interact with each other. Much of what he says rings very true to my ordinary experience, while some of his more outlandish stories make me wonder how he ever survived his 20s. He’s a riveting storyteller.

However, my experience of Sedaris is almost entirely limited to the page. I’m not much for audiobooks and I’ve rarely caught him on National Public Radio, where he often reads essays, but those who have listened to him more than read him have insisted that his work is far more entertaining when he reads it himself. Thus, when my brother Nathan told me that Sedaris would be giving a reading at Mercyhurst College, it didn’t take a lot of persuading to convince me to go too. Also attending were his girlfriend Morgan and my mom, whose exposure to Sedaris was very limited. I wasn’t sure what she would make of him, but while some of his discussion topics made her squirm a bit, she mostly found him very funny and astute.

We bought our tickets in late August, and by the time of the reading on October 22, the theatre, which accommodates several hundred, was sold out. It got started a bit late, allowing time for stragglers to make their way in from the lobby, and lasted just over an hour and a half, with Sedaris reading four full-length stories, followed by excerpts from his diary. He also took a little time out for questions from the audience at the end.

His first selection was The Squirrel and the Chipmunk, the story from which the cover illustration of his latest book is taken. This collection of animal fables is a departure for him, as he mostly writes of his own experiences. However, the tales here certainly have applicability to people, and that’s especially true of this story, which deals with prejudice, peer pressure and fear of the unknown getting in the way of a relationship. It’s a bittersweet story, yet it is not simply a case of a perfect relationship being ruined by disapproving relatives. It also demonstrates how much better things tend to look in hindsight, especially when they have been, to some extent, forcibly taken away.

The longest and most riotous of the stories was the second, Easy, Tiger, a New Yorker piece in which Sedaris discusses the oddities of the Pimsleur language instruction tapes that he has used to help him navigate other countries. In it, he shares several actual conversations used on these tapes, commenting on the uselessness of some of the banter and what the differences in dialogue between languages reveals about the countries in which they are spoken. For this, he played us samples of actual Pimsleur tapes and also demonstrated his skills in Japanese, Italian and German. The impact of his expressive voice, whose timbre is remarkably like that of John Fiedler, who played Piglet for about four decades in various Disney projects, is amplified by his impeccable comic timing. While this essay was mostly funny, it also posed some interesting questions about how and why we learn foreign languages and whether, as more and more people around the world learn English, Americans will cease to bother trying to bridge the communication gap themselves.

Atta Boy, which comments on today’s tendency toward over-indulgent parenting as compared with the brutal but effective tactics employed by his father and, to a lesser extent, mother, resonated strongly with many in the audience. Looking around, I could see a lot of people nodding in agreement with his disgust over the parents who threaten to sic the police on a man who lays a hand on their son to apprehend him after catching him at spray-painting a mailbox. His description of his own parents is howlingly funny, particularly his aggressive dad who hoards after-work snacks, threatens to pummel neighborhood smart-alecks and removes his pants during dinner – and, when the doorbell interrupts the meal, insists on answering the door himself. I think a lot of people felt pretty grateful for their families after hearing this essay.

The final essay focused on Sedaris’s experiences with various doctors, including one whose response to medical issues is too lackadaisical for his liking and another who subjects him to bizarre travel shows on mute while he is poking around in his mouth. This was the essay that inspired my brother, who recently graduated from college with a Fine Arts degree, to draw a mouse on a skewer for him as a gift in exchange for his autograph. It was as funny as the others, and we got to hear him speak French, but I was glad when it was over because all that medical talk was getting rather icky.

The diary entries were taken from the last two years and mostly commented on individuals who struck him as unusual or related jokes that people had told him at readings. These were invariably crude, as was a quip about a quiz show that most of the audience didn’t get, and it kind of worries me that I did. The funniest bit was probably his baffled description of the Occupy Wall Street protesters he encountered in the organic hipster wonderland of Burlington, Vermont. Most of these were very short, sometimes only a couple of sentences, and it was fun to get these quick laughs after the much longer stories.

The question and answer period wasn’t all that illuminating, especially since one of the questions was incomprehensible, but his recollection of the crummy Bangor, Maine motel where he stayed during this tour was hilarious. On the more serious side, he encouraged everyone to go out into the lobby and buy a copy of Peter Kessler’s River Town, a piece of immersion journalism about life among Chinese schoolchildren that particularly impressed Sedaris.

After the reading, the audience had three options: leave, head for the book table or line up for the signing. I’d brought a book, so I got in the signing line, though it took me a while to get there, especially since we bumped into a friend on the way out of the theater, and as a result, Mom and I wound up near the back of the line, which barely seemed to move at all in the first half hour. Nathan and Morgan opted to lounge around the lobby, where they had a good view of the signing table where Sedaris was engaging each person who came up to him in conversation. After more than an hour of waiting, Mom got Nathan to take her place in line while she found a bench, and I gave him the pen and notepad for him to draw his skewered mouse while we waited. As we drew closer, we caught snatches of his conversation with other attendees. I especially liked his request to the 13-year-old pianist ahead of us to, after his concert the next day, “Go out and do something autumnal. Rake some leaves, do something with an apple… I don’t know. Just go outside and be autumnal!”

When we finally made it to the table, I presented my book, the copy of Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk that Nathan had bought me for Christmas, and I mentioned that I had bought it for Nathan as well and that we’d snapped a picture of us holding up our identical books. He made a comment about the dangers of that happening in a family at Christmas and how he and his sister had bought each other the same CD or DVD on occasion. He signed the book “To Erin with friendly friendship” and handed it back… and then he noticed my “purse.” “I’m sorry, is that your purse?” he asked. I replied that it had started out as a camera bag and I ended up just carrying it around everywhere. It’s a clunky red and black thing, not ladylike in any sense of the word but certainly utilitarian. “I just have to say,” he persisted, “that is the most ungainly handbag I have ever seen. I mean, if there was a contest for ugly purses, that would take first prize!”

Well, what can I say? I’ve never claimed to fashion-conscious. I just sort of smiled and shrugged, and he shook his head and laughed, and then he noticed the button on the side. He asked what it said, and I explained that I’d picked it up in Salem, Massachussetts – the trip, incidentally, which made me decide to switch from raggedy ten-year-old purse to hardy compact camera bag – and that it read, “Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and good with ketchup.” Of course, he informed me that the dragon button just made the ensemble all that much worse, and then he fixed his eye on my green VeggieTales bracelet and asked if that was to go with the button, and I told him that it was a bracelet tied in with the kids’ video series VeggieTales. At this point, he was looking at me a bit like I was some sort of intergalactic visitor, and he laughed again and said, “You are absolutely adorable.”

Nathan should have gone first because I’d already introduced him as my brother, so the signature he got in his copy of Holidays on Ice was “Think Celine,” who Sedaris informed him is a designer of upscale handbags whose work he insisted Nathan track down so he could get me a less mortifying purse for Christmas. However, he seemed delighted with Nathan’s detailed doodle – “Oh! It’s a mouse on a skewer! Well, look at that!” – and then the two of them spent a few minutes discussing their favorite artists, so I think that Nathan probably managed to demonstrate that his visual tastes are a little more refined than his sister’s. We each selected a twisted postcard to tote home with us; I was hoping to snag the one cheerily chirping, “Let’s explore diabetes with owls!” but that was gone by the time I got there, so I had to satisfy myself with the Pekingese skull.

It was closing in on midnight by the time we left, so it was a full evening, and not only did I have the pleasure of listening to him share his keen insights with that wonderful delivery, I think I also got a taste for what it must feel like to be an inadequate American Idol contestant in front of Simon Cowell. Or Ugly Betty. But hey, at least I’m adorable!

Beatrix Potter Becomes a Vibrant Character in Susan Wittig Albert's Tale of Hill Top Farm

Several years ago, I had the distinct pleasure of watching Miss Potter, an enchanting biopic detailing the early publishing life of beloved children’s book author Beatrix Potter. I’d always loved her stories, but this film gave me a better idea of who she was as a person. I loved her spirit, her artistic drive and her conservationist fervor, and I was utterly touched by the deep friendship she shared with her publisher, Norman Warne, the childlike young man who would ultimately propose marriage to her. This chaste but intense relationship unfolds beautifully upon the screen, and echoes of it resonate throughout The Tale of Hill Top Farm, the first in a series of novels by Susan Wittig Albert that explores Beatrix’s life in England’s Lake District.

While the plots and most of the characters are invented for the series, the books use the contours of Beatrix’s life as a framework, and in this first book, Norman is still very much on Beatrix’s mind. The story is tinged with sadness because Beatrix is attempting to rebuild her life in the wake of his sudden death from a severe illness. Sometimes, the agony of her solitude nearly immobilizes her, as does regret over her failure to stand up to her disapproving parents, which could have allowed her a bit more precious time with Norman. Albert writes movingly of Beatrix’s struggle to get on with her life, particularly in the second chapter, when Beatrix reflects upon “Gentle Norman, whom she had loved with all the fierce, pent-up passion of a heart that had long ago despaired of loving or being loved.”

She also explores her devotion and bereavement through another character, Beatrix’s pet mouse Tom Thumb, who lost his wife, Hunca Munca, in an accident the year before. Of course, his feelings are not quite so deep as Beatrix’s, as we discover rather comically the first time he comes into contact with another mouse. But Tom is distraught enough to elicit sympathy from his perceptive owner.

Just as Miss Potter included understated animation to give us the sense of the way the animals she drew came alive for Beatrix, Albert incorporates animals organically as well. Many of them are meant to be animals Beatrix based her book characters on, and she has some fun setting up contrasts between the animals’ personalities or physical features and those of their fictional counterparts. Some chapters focus exclusively upon these animals, whose dialogue is all rendered in italics, a simple but effective way to help readers keep track of whether the speaker is an animal or a “Big Person,” as they call the humans. They are also present throughout the rest of the novel, commenting on the conversation of village residents and wishing they could make themselves understood. Some of my favorite parts of this first book involve the animals finding clever ways to help Jeremy, a sensitive, artistic child who has been falsely accused of stealing by his ill-tempered teacher.

Most likely, some people will find the integration of the animals annoying or feel that it takes them out of the story, but in my case, it drew me in more, and it was fun to see the differing perspectives on the same event. The human characters are enjoyable as well, though I found myself a bit overwhelmed by them. This is one of those tiny towns like Mitford or Ballykissangel where a host of colorful residents reside and everyone knows each other. Albert helpfully provides a glossary of characters, mentioning both humans and animals and indicating those that actually existed, but I still got a little bogged down at first. I’m sure this will get better as the books go along, since this one is so much about establishing the various characters. My favorites include the independent-minded Dimity Woodcock, who lives with her bachelor brother, a Justice of the Peace; Samuel Sackett, the mild-mannered vicar who does his best to keep the peace among the sometimes contentious townspeople; strong-willed Bertha Stubbs, who has a habit of accidentally inventing words in her attempts to be grandiloquent; and the aforementioned Jeremy, a thoroughly charming child. Then, of course, there is shy solicitor William Heelis, one of the few real-life characters and the man Beatrix would eventually marry.

Albert uses over-the-shoulder narration that flits from one person to the next, so meandering through the novel feels a lot like listening to one of Garrison Keillor’s tales from Lake Wobegon. We focus on one character, then another, then another, and by the time we get back to the first character we’ve half-forgotten what he or she was doing. But, as with Keillor, I was mostly too busy getting swept away to notice, even though few really extraordinary things happen. It’s a sleepy plot punctuated by a few exclamation point moments.

Albert lives in Texas, but her use of English speech patterns feels authentic, and her descriptions of the lush countryside are enough to make me want to book a trip there. While we spend so much time in other characters’ heads that I’m not sure it would be entirely accurate to call Beatrix the central character in this novel, the author does take particular care when writing about this spunky but reserved artist-storyteller in her early 30s who is looking for a fresh start. A woman with a sharp sense of humor but a compassionate spirit, Beatrix is very easy to latch onto, and I found myself empathizing with her often.

I grew up with Peter Rabbit, Jemima Puddle-Duck, Jeremy Fisher and so many other wonderful Beatrix Potter characters, and Beatrix herself is someone I relate to in many ways. Even though this first volume spends more time on background and character set-up than plot, I enjoyed it very much and look forward to visiting with Beatrix again soon.

Meet Casey, Hiawatha and Other Greats in Walt Disney's Timeless Tales: Volume Three

I love classic Disney cartoons, so I was happy to find the Walt Disney’s Timeless Tales series on Netflix recently. Volume Three includes two Disney shorts I’ve long loved, along with four others that I think I may have seen once, or at least heard of, but that might just be because three of the stories were familiar and the other was similar to one of my favorite Mickey, Donald and Goofy shorts. That last one is the only one of the six that, as far as I can tell, is a wholly original story; the rest are based on established poems, folktales and American history (or, more to the point, fictional adaptations thereof). It’s a nice collection of cartoons from the mid-1930s to 1950; some of them do feel a bit dated, but they are a lot of fun to watch.

Casey at the Bat (1946) – Ernest Thayer’s tragi-comic ballad upon which this is based has always been a favorite poem of mine. I’m not big into sports, and I’ve never had any team loyalties beyond rooting for Penn State, but I do like baseball. I enjoy getting out to the ballgame at some point during the summer if I can, where I can watch the game proceed at its rather leisurely pace and usually have a pretty good idea of what’s going on. I love all the elements that come together to make this an edge-of-your seat tale that’s at the same time pretty easy to memorize and bust out around the campfire or other appropriate occasion.

The Disney version features narration by Jerry Colonna and lots of visual humor depicting Casey as an overgrown oaf and everyone else at the fateful baseball game as pretty ridiculous in some way or another. An opening song includes a line about the ladies at the ballpark not knowing a hit from a strike, which I find a bit insulting; all the female fans are gussied up and swooning over the ballplayers but don’t have a clue what’s going on. Though I don’t know, in the thick of things, they seem pretty into it to me. The ball players themselves are a bundle of quirks, and all of them have a tendency to sweat profusely, a la Striker attempting to fly the plane in the comedy Airplane!. The short is just over eight minutes long and is a fun, pretty straightforward take on the classic poem; I know it also spawned a sequel in the 1950s, which I hope to see one of these days. I don’t know when I first saw this one, but it’s probably what introduced me to the poem in the first place and is a definite Disney classic.

Little Hiawatha (1937) – This was another short I’d seen many times, as we’d taped it once during a stint of taping old Disney cartoons during the Duck Presents program on the Disney channel. It uses bits of the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow poem about Hiawatha, but the majority of it is wordless and has little to do with the poem. In this short, Hiawatha is just a youngster who looks like he can’t be much more than five. He wants to appear fierce with his bow and arrow, but that’s tough when his pants keep falling down every time he turns around. There are some silly pratfalls here, but ultimately it becomes a story of compassion and cooperation as he manages to corner a young rabbit, then decides to let him go free, thus earning the loyalty of the woodland creatures, who come to his aid when a bear attacks him.

This is probably my favorite cartoon of the six. The animation is beautiful, and the interaction between Hiawatha and the animals is wonderful, both before and after his encounter with the rabbit. The choreography of the bear chase is especially well done and reminds me of playing the Jungle Book Super Nintendo game, where everything in the jungle has to be lined up just so in order for Mowgli to successfully continue on his journey. Talk about a community effort! And in this short, which came out around the same time as Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, it’s easy to see the similarities to Whistle While You Work. Three cheers for the woodland brigade!

The Wise Little Hen (1934) – I’ve always been a fan of the story The Little Red Hen, with the conscientious hen who can’t get any of her fellow farm animals to help her out with her planting project. This is a fun short as well, and it’s notable because it marks the entrance of Donald Duck, played by Clarence Nash. But it’s also just a bit grating. That’s because everybody is borderline incomprehensible. Donald always is, of course, and it’s part of what makes him endearing, but one of the reasons it works is because he’s almost always complaining about something. Somehow the quacking just fits really well. Pinto Colvig plays Peter Pig, whose voice is a strange combination of guttural oinking noises and a German accent. His voice annoys me more than Donald’s.

But the one that really bugs me is Florence Gill’s Wise Little Hen. I suppose that this is mostly because she does the vast majority of the talking – or, rather, singing various annoying verses of Help Me Plant My Corn. I’d be tempted to refuse her just so I wouldn’t have to listen to that voice – and because if I didn’t know the story, I probably would have no idea what she was asking. It’s a very cute cartoon. But boy, does a little of that clucking go a long way.

The Golden Touch (1935) – Another familiar story, though like the preceding cartoon, I can’t say for sure if I’d ever seen it before. It recounts the story of a greedy king (Billy Bletcher) whose only delight is in counting his gold coins like a proto-Uncle Scrooge. When a mischievous sprite comes along to tempt him with the Golden Touch, he succumbs immediately. In some versions of the story, it’s obvious that the supernatural being’s main aim is to teach Midas a lesson about what’s important in life. Here, that’s not so clear, since he stands to gain from the king’s realization that the Golden Touch isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

The odd thing is that we don’t see how any of this affects anyone except the king’s poor cat, who happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. What exactly is this man a king of? He seems to live in complete isolation. And what happens to everyone in his kingdom after he trades away everything he owns to his mysterious visitor? Or maybe he’s only a king in his own mind… Still, it’s pretty entertaining to see him turning things gold left and right, especially during the dramatic dinner scene when he realizes what a problem this is going to be.

Morris the Midget Moose (1950) – An interesting story of the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer variety. Except in this case, there are two “defective” creatures, and it’s their cooperation with each other that makes them able to thrive. Morris is tiny but has regular-sized antlers. When he meets Balsam, a regular moose with tiny antlers, they team up to defeat the ferocious Thunderclap, who is the established dominant moose in the group.

This cartoon reminds me quite a bit of the 1937 Mickey / Donald / Goofy cartoon Moose Hunters, mostly because in both shorts, we see two moose ferociously fighting each other by locking antlers and tossing each other to the ground. Things don’t end so well for our intrepid hunters on that occasion. Thankfully, Morris and Balsam get a rather happier conclusion. This short also marks the last appearance of the wise character Bootle Beetle. A bit odd, perhaps, that a beetle is telling stories about a moose… But I guess he’s been around enough to have experience with plenty of species beyond his fellow insects. A cute cartoon.

Ben and Me (1953) – Twice as long as the next-longest cartoon on the DVD, this one is based on a book by Robert Lawson. The basic idea is that Ben Franklin was not such a brilliant American after all. Rather, he just happened to get together with an ingenious mouse. This humble fellow named Amos is voiced by Sterling Holloway, best known as the voice of Winnie the Pooh, and the lilting, relaxing quality of his voice is just as present here. I just love listening to him speak. Charles Ruggles provides the voice of Ben, who comes off as entirely addled. I also got a kick out of hearing the voice of Hans Conried, who I know best as the voice of Thorin Oakenshield in the Rankin and Bass version of The Hobbit, playing Thomas Jefferson.

While it’s nearly 60 years old, this short is still the most recent thing on the DVD, and both that and the fact that it is set in such a definite time period make it feel like the least dated of the cartoons here. If it were made today, I’m not sure that too many things would have changed. There’s excellent attention to detail as we see Amos and Ben in Revolutionary times and watch as history gets just a bit skewered. Here, Amos has a humble hand (or paw) in the creation of the Franklin stove, bifocals, The Pennsylvania Gazette and even the Declaration of Independence. A very clever and comical little ode to an important chapter in American history probably best appreciated by slighter older kids, as 21 minutes is a bit on the long side and it’s funnier if you know some of the background already.

You can watch all six of these in one sitting as I did or dole them out one at a time. Either way, while some of these shorts show their age just a bit, Walt Disney’s Timeless Tales: Volume Three is a great collection for any fan of classic Disney cartoons.

Carell and Clement Are Endearingly Odd in Dinner for Schmucks

I’ve been seeing a lot of promotion lately for Dinner for Schmucks, the Jay Roach-directed comedy that opens this weekend, but all those ads didn’t manage to give me a very clear idea of what the movie was about. All that really stuck with me was the fact that one of the stars was a distinctly odd-looking Steve Carell and that based on the quick clips shown in the previews, it looked pretty stupid. I was much more interested in Carell’s other movie, Despicable Me, but when my friend suggested we go see the schmucks, I was game. It turned out to be one of those movies I’m glad someone else suggested; I wouldn’t have gone on my own, but I ended up really liking it.

While it is Carell’s performance that really drives the action of the movie, Paul Rudd is the main character here, which I found interesting, since I last saw him in I Love You, Man, in which he plays a man on the verge of marriage whose engagement and life in general become overhauled when he meets the strange man who will quickly become his best friend. In this movie, he’s in a solid relationship, but he and artistic Frenchwoman Julie (Stephanie Szostak) are not yet engaged, much to his dismay. Tim is a clever, resourceful guy who is willing to do his homework in order to get ahead at the office. When a promotion pops up, his initiative and extensive research place him in an ideal opportunity to advance. But then complication arise...

Those complications come mostly courtesy of Carell’s Barry, a sweetly eccentric IRS agent who spends all of his free time building dioramas and scouting out tiny, already-deceased residents to fill them. Like most of Carell’s characters, Barry is endearingly naive, with character quirks that cause him to appear quite moronic. He has spectacles, an absurd set of teeth that cause him to talk strangely and an absolute inability to pick up on most basic social cues. And once Tim dramatically enters his life - in a manner that serves as a blatant warning about the dangers of driving while using a cell phone - he’s stuck with Barry, who is desperate to do all he can to assist his new (and only) friend.

Tim immediately sees in Barry his ticket to that bigger office, since he seems the perfect candidate for the top-secret dinner upon which his promotion largely hinges. The tradition? Each person from the office brings someone with a strange ability to dinner, and by the end of the night, one of them will be awarded a trophy. What the winner will be too clueless to realize is the fact that he and his fellow guests have only been invited so these executives can have a laugh at their expense. As soon as Julie learns of the dinner, she is horrified, and this is the cause of the initial friction between her and Tim. Barry sets off a series of mishaps exacerbating their problems, but it all boils down to the fact that this job has turned Tim into someone who does despicable things.

I was surprised at how much I came to like Julie so quickly. In these types of movies, there’s usually at least some question as to whether the main character might be better off without his current girlfriend. Usually there is a grating side to her personality, but Julie is utterly charming in one of the few straightman roles in the movie. I’d never seen Szostak in a movie before, but I’ll keep an eye out for her name; her radiant performance as the vulnerable but fiercely moral Julie won me over completely.

Also reeling me in was Flight of the Conchords‘ Jemaine Clement as Kieran, the artist whose show Julie is in the midst of curating. Though I’ve found Clement hilarious ever since his run of ads for Outback Steakhouse several years ago, I failed to recognize him in the previews. That’s not so surprising, however, since he plays a completely different character than the painfully awkward version of himself I grew used to seeing on his short-lived HBO sit-com. This long-haired incarnation of Clement bristles with brazen intensity. Julie and Barry both refer to his appeal as “animal magnetism,” and he’s certainly tapped into something visceral by surrounding himself with exotic wildlife at his ranch.

Unflappable and virile, he initially comes across as narcissistic since he is the focal point of every one of his carefully composed photographs, which depict him in animalistic costumes against provocative backdrops, but there’s something very Zen about his approach to the world. He’s an oddball, to be sure, but he’s also refreshingly honest and attuned to the emotions of others, and although he’s a rival for Julie’s affections, I found it impossible not to like him.

Although fellow FotC alum Kristen Schaal never shares the screen with Clement, it’s fun to see them both appear in the same movie. Her role is much smaller than his; she plays Tim’s personal assistant, who desperately wants Tim to make a play for power so she can move up to the seventh floor with him. Carell isn’t the only familiar face from The Office, either; Larry Wilmore, who plays a drab fellow from corporate trying to clean up Michael Scott’s messes in several episodes, portrays an officemate who would horrify that uber-politically correct character. Among the many other minor players, the one who caught my eye most was Patrick Fischler. Here, he’s Vincenzo, a bandaged vulture handler whose control over his bird is less than complete, while I know him as beady-eyed Dharma drone Phil on LOST.

Exuding a sort of smarmy executive charm is Bruce Greenwood as Tim’s boss Lance Fender, who tries to dismiss this young go-getter but finds himself increasingly impressed. While this is a man who seems to delight in the misfortunes of others, his charisma makes Lance’s crass nature harder to see. Same goes for Mueller (David Walliams), the Swiss businessman whose support is so crucial to the future success of the company. Mueller comes across as very sophisticated, and he’s pleased with Tim’s smooth attempts to court his favor, but before the movie is over, we get to see just how undignified he can be.

In many ways, this movie reminded me of the comedy What About Bob?, in which a psychiatrist played by Richard Dreyfuss has his perfect weekend obliterated by the affable patient who crashes his family getaway. This uptight professional on the cusp of the greatest triumph of his career watches in horror as his wife and children become attached to disaster-prone Bob, whose presence poses a grave threat to his big break. Barry is an incredibly sympathetic character, but some of his actions truly are idiotic, and when Tim’s mouth twitches in suppressed rage, it’s easy to understand why.

It’s a comedy of extravagant errors, and the resulting wanton destruction is my least favorite element of the movie. That sort of thing always makes me cringe a bit, whether it’s in Mouse Hunt or Bean. Both of those movies aim at a younger audience; Dinner for Schmucks is clearly for adults, with no characters under the age of 20 and a fair amount of sensuality. There’s also a smattering of profanity, though that’s kept to a minimum; more potentially offensive is a scene involving Barry’s artistic representation of The Last Supper, but everything Barry does is so earnest that while Tim’s reactions bugged me, the initial artwork seems almost reverent.

Barry, for all his eccentricities, is an exceptionally talented artisan. His attention to detail is astounding, as we see in the whimsical opening sequence set to the Beatles’ Fool on the Hill. It may sound a bit morbid to turn taxidermied mice into works of art, but his intricate displays pop with a candy-coated joy that reminds me of Pushing Daisies. This is a lonely man who has not had much success in life, but his ability to see the best in every situation clearly comes across in his artwork.

While I’ve become a pretty solid fan of Carell in recent years, I had serious doubts about Dinner for Schmucks. It’s a gentler film than I expected, and while it does have its crude and painfully disastrous moments, I spent a majority of the movie with a smile on my face. My conclusion? This bunch of schmucks did all right.

Mice Assist a Glorious Goose in The Snow Angel

In the past few years, I have become a big fan of illustrator Jane Chapman, whose sweet paintings have graced the pages of many picture books, including Bear Snores On, Bear Stays Up For Christmas, Bear Wants More, Bear's New Friend, Bear Feels Sick, Mortimer’s Christmas Manger and The Very Snowy Christmas.

Her most frequent collaborator is Karma Wilson, but she has worked with other authors as well. The Snow Angel teams her up with Christine Leeson, who has half a dozen book credits to her name. I hadn’t read her work before, but I want to now that I’ve read this tender tale.

The book is eye-catching right from the start, with the cover page featuring a white goose whose feathers are augmented with glitter. Blue-green sparkles glint throughout the book, adding an extra bit of magic to this endearing story. The goose is the “snow angel,” so described by Sam and Daisy, the pair of mice who discover her injured and separated from her flock. The two mice live with their mother and, after collecting nuts and berries for their Christmas dinner, they opt to play in the swirling snow, which leads them to the goose.

While most of Wilson’s stories are written in verse, Leeson sticks with prose here. The writing is simple but artful as she describes the ways in which the mice offer aid to the poor lost creature. It’s the illustrations that really make an impact here, though. Chapman has a real knack for drawing expressively adorable animals, especially mice. Meanwhile, the “angel” looks truly majestic, especially in one gorgeous two-page spread in which she opens her wings and flies off into the sunset.

This book reminds me a bit of Aesop’s fable of the mouse and the lion. Of course, these mice are never in any danger from the goose, but they certainly do demonstrate to her that little friends may prove great friends indeed. A warm story of hospitality and kindness, The Snow Angel is a fine addition to any Christmas shelf.

An Evergreen Is Ever Useful in Who Would Like a Christmas Tree?

Last weekend was Halloween. Our house is still decked out with pumpkins, black cats and bats. But I heard my first carol on a commercial last night, and the grocery store down the street is selling artificial trees. The Christmas season has unofficially begun. One of my favorite ways to ring in this part of the year is to peruse Christmas picture books. This season’s first for me is Who Would Like a Christmas Tree?: A Tree for All Seasons, written by Ellen Bryan Obed and illustrated by Anne Hunter, both of whom have first-hand experience with Christmas tree farms. This is a nice book to ease me into Christmas mode, since it focuses on a Christmassy object, but mostly in non-Christmassy situations.

Obed and Hunter follow the same basic format through the book. “Who would like a Christmas tree in January? is the opening inquiry. Turn the page, and you’ll see the response, once again in bold print: “We would like a Christmas tree in January.” Each month gets two pages in which the volunteers explain, in fairly lengthy paragraphs, why they would like a Christmas tree in that particular month. First it’s the black-capped chickadees, then the field mice, then the white-tailed deer and so on.

Each month offers insights into the habits of that particular animal (or, in one case, plant), and the accompanying illustrations show the changing of the seasons. Some descriptions make references to Christmas despite their distance from the actual holiday; for instance, the monarch butterflies, who would like a tree in August, indicate that they “feed on flowers and rest like delicate black and orange ornaments on the milkweeds and Christmas trees.” In October, the fox, first mentioned in association with the mice, gets a month to himself. Throughout the first 11 months of the year, we see the trees serving a variety of important purposes before finally coming to rest, on the last page, in the living room of a happy family.

Like Ann Purmell’s Christmas Tree Farm, this is a book whose aim is mostly educational. Children can learn about various types of wildlife and how evergreens fit into that picture. In a two-page segment in the back, children can read what tree farmers do during each month of the year to prepare for December. This section shows how much work is involved in operating a tree farm and mentions that the trees shown in the book are Balsam Firs and Fraser Firs. The writing is pretty dry; it’s mostly a collection of facts, with the familiar refrain and the fairly detailed pictures to help keep kids’ interest. My favorite illustration shows a trio of bright-eyed chickadees searching for seeds among fir branches.

For a child interested in the background of Christmas tree production, I recommend this and Christmas Tree Farm together. As a story, it’s only mildly engaging, but as a learning tool, Who Would Like a Christmas Tree? is useful.

Count to Ten and Beyond With a Christmassy Mouse

In my intensive Christmas book perusals, I've come to discover that mice are pretty popular as subjects for holiday tales. Maybe the mouse's small role in the opening lines of the iconic A Visit From St. Nicholas has something to do with that, maybe not. But The Little Drummer Mouse, Who Is Coming to Our House?, A Merry Little Christmas: Celebrate From A to Z and Angelina's Christmas are just a few examples of Christmas books that feature mice in prominence. Another is Merry Christmas, Mouse! by Laura Numeroff and illustrated by Felicia Bond.

Numeroff and Bond have collaborated on several mouse-related books in the past, starting with If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, which has become a classic. Merry Christmas, Mouse!, a sturdy mid-sized board book, is their latest, and while it's very short on text, that doesn't make it any less adorable than their previous efforts.

Mouse has taken it upon himself to decorate the Christmas tree, and each page brings a new type of decoration. First he puts up one ornament, then two of a kind, then three of a another kind all the way up to ten, at which point the book takes an unexpected and entertaining turn. Among the decorations Mouse uses are traditional favorites like angels, snowflakes, snowmen and tin soldiers, but he also changes things up a bit by including robots and rocket ships.

Not only is the book a fun lesson in counting, it enables kids to feel as though they are decorating the tree along with Mouse. My family's Christmas tree has always been beautifully chaotic, with a marvelous mish-mash of uncoordinated ornaments, and it's fun to see Mouse's tree similarly arrayed, particularly at the end of the book when we realize just how big a decorating job he has ahead of him!

Merry Christmas, Mouse! contains only four sentences, but the vibrant illustrations say enough that few words are needed. If you give a mouse a Christmas tree and a box of ornaments, a lot of fun will follow!

Angelina's Christmas Pays Tribute to the Postal Service

When I was in fifth grade, I discovered the Pleasant Company. I'd been aware of it before, as several of my classmates had been obsessed with American Girl dolls, but by the time I fell under the spell of Kirsten, Samantha and Molly, my friends had outgrown them. I didn't mind having the obsession to myself, though, and gladly immersed myself in the catalogues, which were filled with intricate, expensive accessories appropriate to the time period of each particular girl.

Along with all of the pages devoted to these historical pre-teens, I sometimes caught a glimpse of a little mouse by the name of Angelina. This charming young rodent, an avid ballerina, is the star of her own series of books written by Katharine Holabird and illustrated by Helen Craig. The latest of these is Angelina's Christmas.

This yuletide tale finds Angelina eagerly preparing for her role as one of The Nutcracker's Sugar Plum Fairies in her school's Christmas show. Meanwhile, she notices that a neighbor, former postman Mr. Bell, is all by himself during this magical season, and she decides to share a little holiday cheer with him. She wants some help from her little cousin Henry, but he's so excited about Santa's arrival that he finds it hard to think of anything else. Will a visit with the elderly mouse change his perspective?

The drawings in this book are just as intricately detailed as befits a story told at mouse eye level. I especially love the illustration of Angelina and her friends, each in a wispy fairy costume of a different color, dancing elegantly on stage, soon to be joined by a very special visitor. The text is prose, with a couple of simply written paragraphs per page.

One thing I really like about this book is the way it pays tribute to those in the postal service, who, if you really think about it, perform Santa-like duties all year long and especially during the Christmas season when so many people are sending cards and gifts to one another. They too must battle sometimes ferocious weather in order to accomplish their task. Some say that the Internet has brought about the demise of traditional mail, but as someone who leaps up like an excited puppy at the sound of the mailman's truck each day, I am very grateful for these public servants and hope that people will always deem some things worthy of a stamp and a little extra effort.

You don't have to be into ballet to enjoy Angelina Ballerina, especially in this story, which is much more about her effort to ensure that this man who helped make so many Christmases merry throughout his career has a happy holiday himself. For Mr. Bell and for happy readers, Angelina is very pleasant company indeed.

11 Pairs of Outstanding Animal Movies

I am an animal lover, so movies about animals have always been among my favorites. Here are ten pairs of outstanding animal flicks - eh, make it 11 for good measure. There are just way too many good ones out there...

Two Brothers / The Bear - If you're looking for outstanding nature footage, either of these will do. Both are efforts by director Jean-Jacques Annaud attempting to instill in audiences a respect for nature. The Bear barely has any dialogue at all, leaving the bulk of the action to the bears, while the few humans in the film don't have much to say. Two Brothers involves a lot more people, but once again the main focus is on two creatures of the same species making their way in the world when their well-being is threatened by humans.

Old Yeller / The Yearling - Tearjerkers. Just about everybody must know by now how Old Yeller ends, and The Yearling isn't any better. But in the meantime, they are great stories about powerful friendships between boys and the animals they love, and about how life forces those boys to grow up too quickly.

Bambi / The Lion King - In the first, we get haunting hints of humans, while in the second, there are no traces of people to be found. The animation on both films is gorgeous, displaying all the glory of two very different natural landscapes and its inhabitants. Both feature fairly carefree young princes that lose a parent, drastically change their living arrangements, fall in love with childhood playmates and take on the leadership roles they were born to play in closing scenes that echo the films' dramatic openings.

The Shaggy Dog / The Incredible Mr. Limpet - Pure silliness about people turning into animals. The former has more ridiculous sight gags than you can toss a stick at, and its sequels are similarly ludicrous. I haven't seen the recent Tim Allen adaptation, but despite advances in special effects, I can't imagine it provided more laughs than the original. The latter, meanwhile, boasts Don Knotts, who's always good for a laugh, and Don Knotts as a fish is even better. I'm always a fan of half-animated, half-life action films, and this one is lots of fun.

Beethoven / 101 Dalmatians - I like the original 101 Dalmtians just fine, but the new version tickles my fancy even more. It's just the right amount of slapstick for a modern-day Disney movie - not quite as relentless as in years past, but still plenty of well-executed gags, not to mention some very sweet moments, all those adorable puppies, and Hugh Laurie. And Beethoven may have gone a little overboard with the sequels, but the first one is a blast, another throwback to classic Disney family films; Dean Jones even shows up as a not-so-competent villain. Grand fun.

The Rescuers Down Under / Cheetah - Down with poachers! One of these is animated and the other live action, but both feature valiant struggles to save endangered creatures. One is a bald eagle, the other a cheetah. The latter is an inspiring story of friendship and determination complete with wonderful footage of Africa, while the former features dazzling animation of the Australian outback and its dazzling array of creatures, not to mention one of my all-time favorite Disney villains, voiced by George C. Scott.

Andre / Free Willy - Both of these inspirational movies are about children who are outcasts in one way or another bonding with aquatic mammals. In each case, the animal is the child's closest friend, yet the time comes when they realize that it is in the best interests of the creature to depart. Both films thus come to a conclusion that is both exhilarating and sad.

Fly Away Home / March of the Penguins - Two very different types of migration, both very inspiring. The first is more of a traditional movie than the second, telling the true story of a girl and her father who use ultra-lights to help guide a flock of geese to their proper home at the changing of the seasons. The second is more a general story of survival that repeats itself again and again. It's a documentary, but that doesn't signal boring, since the cinematography is exceptional and Morgan Freeman's narration has all the right shading to help us see the beauty in these creatures forced to cope with such a forbidding environment.

The Incredible Journey / Homeward Bound - Same story, two different versions. The first is a lot closer to the real story, and the movements of the animals on their epic trek are compelling enough on their own that there's no need to imagine dialogue for the intrepid pets. But when they do talk, in the second film, it adds another, albeit not quite as realistic, dimension to the tale. The dynamics of the three very different personalities add to the fun and allow for some truly heartwarming moments.

Watership Down / The Rats of NIMH - Two fairly dark animated films about small animals - rabbits and rats - trying to start over after their lives are fundamentally altered by humans. The somber tone of each is alleviated by a raucous bird providing comic relief and a gorgeously soothing theme song.

Babe / Charlotte's Web - And we mustn't forget about the pigs. These two films feature beautiful cinematography and state-of-the-art computer animation techniques allowing real animals' mouths to speak in synch with human actors. Both movies are adaptations of classic children's books about porkers who evade the slaughterhouse thanks to a combination of sweet-naturedness and very good friends. The latter ends on a bittersweet note, but the former's conclusion is just plain satisfying, in no small part thanks to James Cromwell's outstanding portrayal of the taciturn farmer who sees the possibilities in an unassuming little pig.

Well, I think that's more than enough. I was supposed to list ten and instead I mentioned 22. And I've no doubt seen another 22 that are worth a look. What can I say? Movies and animals. They just go together so well...

Tidy Mrs. Tittlemouse Plots to Remove Uninvited Guests

I grew up with Peter Rabbit and enjoyed several other stories by Beatrix Potter, but a recent trip to the library reminded me how many of her books I still have yet to enjoy. I started my immersion with The Tale of Mrs. Tittlemouse.

Potter is known as much for her talent as a artist as a storyteller, and rightly so. The watercolors in this tiny volume are marvelously detailed. The titular mouse, a wide assortment of creepy-crawly critters including ladybugs, bees, butterflies, spiders and beetles, and a neighboring frog who often stops by to visit all look very much like the real thing, except for the fact that the mouse and the frog are wearing clothes, and exquisitely designed articles they are. Besides the clothes, there is the furniture, the dishes and other human accoutrements, but Mrs. Tittlemouse lives in a large sandy burrow that seems very much like the sort of home a real mouse would choose for herself.

The story is not quite so satisfying to me as the illustrations. Mrs. Tittlemouse is incredibly fastidious. She sweeps constantly, a pretty futile effort when one's home is made of dirt. What's worse, she has a steady stream of uninvited guests - for there's nothing really to allow her to claim this bank under the hedge as her own. Other creatures are quite inclined to wander its passageways freely. Unfortunately, they all happen to be animals of a messy nature, and Mr. Jackson, an affable but imposing frog, is worst of all. How will this poor mouse ever get all these intruders to go away?

I feel a little sorry for Mrs. Tittlemouse. For one thing, while she lives a life of extreme solitude whenever possible, it would seem that she was not always on her own. My guess is that she is a widow, since she is a "Mrs." but there's no sign of a husband. So I don't want to be too hard on the bereaved. Also, it must be rather intimidating to never know when another strange creature is going to drop by. We all appreciate our privacy, and she seems to more than most; I wouldn't be thrilled either if I had to worry about tripping over beetles and bees every time I walked down the hall.

But she's also rather a pain, always shooing away the creatures she meets, always wiping up after those who leave prints on the floor (which, given the make-up of her home, seem like they should fade away naturally). She strikes me as just a bit uncharitable. Also, Potter has two characters in this book make a distinct series of noises. Babbitty Bumble, a bee, makes buzzing sounds whenever someone speaks to him, while Mr. Jackson says "tiddly, widdly, widdly" repeatedly. After two or three times, I find this grating, though young children might enjoy the repetition.

Although the packaging is tiny, there is quite a bit of text for a picture book. I counted nearly 70 paragraphs. Most of these are fairly short, however. I caught at least two references to nursery rhymes, which astute children are likely to point out, and that adds to the fun. Overall, though, while the illustrations are fantastic, the story isn't quite as engaging as some of her other tales. The Tale of Mrs. Tittlemouse is worth reading, but this fussy old mouse can't compete with messy young Peter.

Arabian Nights Meets Stone Soup in Mouse Soup

I love Arnold Lobel, so I was disappointed when his Mouse Tales failed to deliver the level of enjoyment I usually derive from his books. As a result, I was tentative upon opening Mouse Soup, which is described as that collection's companion. Happily, though these stories boast no recurring characters, which doesn't allow for the sort of development that happens in such books as the Frog and Toad collections, they are richly imaginative and amusing, and they all tie together in the end with the mouse's clever plan to escape being the main ingredient in mouse soup.

The book begins and ends with a mouse who has been disturbed from his reading by a sudden weasel attack. Before the weasel can cook him, the mouse's quick wits win him some time as he informs his captor that the soup will be no good without a few stories to add flavor. The gullible weasel agrees to hear the mouse's stories, at the conclusion of which he even more trustingly follows the mouse's complicated instructions for getting the stories into the soup.

The first is Bees and the Mud, the tale of a clever mouse who finds himself in an annoying situation when a bees' nest falls on his head. The bees want to stay right where they are. Luckily, he has a scheme for changing their minds...

Two Large Stones is a melancholy tale but probably my favorite of the stories. Two rocks sit side by side amid the grass and flowers and wonder what sights lie on the other side of the hill. When a passing bird tells them of the beauties they are missing, they are very sad... until a mouse comes along and offers them a different perspective.

The Crickets made me laugh because it reminds me of a familiar situation in my home. Mom might say to Dad, "Buy some peanut butter, but make sure it isn't crunchy." Unfortunately, as "crunchy" is the last word to reach his ears, that is precisely what he remembers, so the instruction has the opposite effect. Such is the case here, in which a mouse maid attempts to drive away a growing ensemble of cricket musicians who only catch the last part of her plea and not the negatives that precede it, leading to confusion and increased aggravation.

Finally, The Thorn Bush is the off-beat story of an eccentric old mousemaid who enlists the aid of a passing policemouse when the thorn bush growing in her chair begins to droop. His solution to her woes is simple but effective, and his efforts are rewarded in more ways than one.

Each of the stories is about ten pages long. The drab illustrations are very nicely done, if not quite to Frog and Toad standards. I especially applaud Two Large Stones; Lobel really does manage to make two hunks of rock look depressed. All told, a charming collection for beginning readers that makes up for my slight disappointment with Mouse Tales.

Dude! Teenage Mutant Ninja Rodents Unite to Save the Day in Ragweed

"A mouse has to do what a mouse has to do." That's the catch-phrase of rebellious mouse Ragweed in Avi's series of Tales From Dimwood Forest. In Ragweed, fans of the series are treated to a whole book full of Ragweed doing what he has to do, though the proper course of action is often more complicated to determine than the four-month-old upstart imagines when he leaves home to see the world.

Though Ragweed is known for his rash actions and unconventional style, when we meet him he is mostly timid and polite, a well-mannered yokel trying to adjust to city ways after a trip on a train lands him in Amperville, where mice live in constant fear of Silversides, a mean-spirited, well-to-do white housecat, and Graybar, a grungy tomcat. The first mouse Ragweed meets is Clutch, a green-haired, purple earring-wearing, street-smart guitarist who saves him from the feline welcoming committee by yanking him into her hole in the nick of time. Though initially in sensory overload and hopelessly confused, Ragweed quickly absorbs the culture, learning the strange speech patterns of Clutch and her friends and devising a plan to free them from the cats' reign of terror.

Several secondary characters are introduced throughout the book, including Clutch's father Windshield, who dreams of a revolution but does nothing to help it along except to paint abstract propaganda; her mother Foglight, a perpetually revising poet who is utterly detached from the world around her; and her bandmates Dipstik and Lugnut. Most significant, though, is Blinker, an albino mouse bred in a laboratory who has lived most of his life as the special pet of the girl who owns Silversides, fueling the cat's resentment. When Blinker breaks free of the confines of his home, he finds the outside world invigorating but terrifying. Gratified to befriend Clutch and Ragweed, he hopes he can help them turn the tables on the cats once and for all.

Ragweed is a fast-paced, 27-chapter adventure with a strikingly different feel to it from other Dimwood Forest tales, since the bulk of it takes place in the city. In this urban setting, Ragweed develops into a valiant young mouse, facing challenges foreign to his family back at the Brook while dealing with his first potential romance, which rapidly becomes a love triangle.

If I have one complaint about the book, it's that the vernacular used by Clutch and her fellow young city mice is over-done. Its primary purpose is to help make these mice distinct from the forest dwellers to which we've become accustomed and to show us Ragweed's transformation. However, readers are inundated with slang, half of which sounds a decade out of date even for its 1999 publication.

Even that aspect has entertainment value, though, so the overall result is another engaging animal adventure from master storyteller Avi, with complementary illustrations by Brian Floca. You won't catch me ragging on Ragweed!

Rebellious Rodents Are Just as Troublesome as Human Teens...

Whatever can one do with a rebellious teenager? It's a question that has plagued plenty of parents from all walks of life. In the case of Poppy's Return, the parent in question just happens to be a mouse. And while the word "teenager" doesn't make a whole lot of sense when applied to a creature who is a mere three months old, the troublesome son of the title heroine is unmistakably an adolescent, tearing up Dimwood Forest as best he knows how and scowling about how lame and clueless his mom and dad are. But maybe a little bit of forced quality time can change all that...

Poppy's Return is the latest in Avi's series of books about the creatures of Dimwood Forest, most notably a noble young mouse by the name of Poppy. In this book, she's not quite so young as before, but her vivacious spirit hasn't been washed away with the passing of time. Nonetheless, she is deeply discouraged that her son Ragweed Junior has chosen to take after his namesake, the irresponsible mouse who was Poppy's first love before his shenanigans got him killed. He snaps at his parents, tosses insults and profane phrases at whoever passes by, and spends his days holed up in the darkest part of the house or wandering the woods with Mephitis, his best friend who just happens to be a skunk. What's more, he has dyed his fur to match the skunk's, much to his mother's consternation. Even the crusty old porcupine Ereth has no idea how to straighten Junior out.

Then Poppy's sister, a very prim and proper mouse named Lilly, arrives to entreat Poppy to return to the home she abandoned long ago, as her father is unwell and the farm where they live is in danger of being bulldozed. Could this be the perfect opportunity for her to reacquaint herself with her son? Though Lilly balks at the notion of bringing Junior along - particularly when he conditions his coming on bringing Mephitis - Poppy hopes a reconciliation may be in the making. More than one, actually, since she didn't leave her parents on particularly good terms. After being used to freedom for so long, how will she handle her parents' restrictive natures? And what does her father so urgently wish to discuss with her?

Poppy's Return is a sweet and funny tale of family: how we adjust for the ones we love and when we must refuse to budge. It's a story about growing up and growing older and sliding into those roles, however awkwardly. Poppy is a tender and sympathetic character whose youthful antics return to her throughout the trip, reminding her that she and her son are not so different. Ragweed Junior, meanwhile, is entertainingly frustrating, a rebel without a cause who's more bluster than anything and who really is a caring individual under all his tough talk. Mephitis has a mysterious background, and while he's initially pegged as a "bad influence," we soon learn there's more to him than meets the eye. Add ornery old Ereth and Lungwort, Poppy's cantankerous, elderly father, into the mix, and there's plenty of humor to be gleaned from this coming of age tale, which is perhaps the least violent of the installments, with a run-in with a pair of bears the only truly perilous moment, though the climax is also cause for a bit of nervous breath-holding.

Because it was published in 2005, the book has a very modern feel to it, so while Junior's language (with favorite phrases including the bored (and Scooby-Doo-esque) "rucks to be you" and any variation on the word "freaking") is toned down from what you might find in a typical teen movie, his mannerisms ring true. Wilderness lovers should get a kick out of this charming tale, as should parents struggling with unruly teenagers and teens convinced their parents could never have been anything remotely approaching "cool".

Eeyorish Ereth's Bad Birthday Leads to Big Responsibility

"We can't all, and some of us don't. That's all there is to it," gripes Eeyore in Winnie the Pooh, moaning that apparently some creatures, even those living in an enchanted and benevolent locale like the Hundred Acre Wood, are not entitled to happiness on their birthday. The old donkey feels rejected and neglected on what should be a joyous occasion, and so does the old porcupine who is the title character in Ereth's Birthday, a middle reader by Avi that is part of a series of tales about Dimwood Forest.

When Ereth wakes up on his birthday to find that his best friend, a mouse named Poppy, is off wandering the woods somewhere with her husband, he is so disappointed, disgruntled and downright disgusted that he decides to have a little adventure if he is to be denied a warm and fuzzy celebration. Hopefully the end result of his quest will be a birthday present for himself: a nice chunk of salt, his favorite thing in all the world. After a very long and gloomy walk, made more uncomfortable by a fresh sprinkling of snow, he finds just what he's looking for. In a cabin usually occupied by hunters. He's seen them leave, though, so he doesn't especially fear them. But his dreams of his desired delicacy are dashed when he hears someone crying out from a distance, wailing piteously, and despite his delight at his discovery, he cannot bear to gorge himself while some other creature is suffering.

So he investigates and soon finds the source of the sound: a luxurious vixen caught in a vicious steel trap that has gnawed at her leg for hours. With her last few breaths, she begs Ereth to go take care of her three kits. Though he grumbles mightily on the way to fulfilling her request, Ereth doesn't have the heart to ignore her dying wish and soon finds himself full-time babysitter to spirited Nimble, surly Tumble and timid Flip. As if their antics alone weren't enough, he is haunted by the knowledge that the surrounding area is littered with steel traps, all concealed by the snow. Moreover, his worries about what will happen if the kits' father doesn't show up give way to worries about what will happen is he does, and all the while, unbeknownst to him, a sinister pair of eyes studies him from a distance.

Ereth's Birthday is a charming and lively tale about a crusty curmudgeon remembering that he actually does care about those around him. In spite of the omnipresent covering of snow, the story is infused with warmth and tenderness, but Ereth's harsh exterior provides for plenty of comedic moments, particularly when he speaks, with a tongue as salty as his favorite treat. His alliterative, exasperated exclamations could put a sailor to shame. A sampling: "smidgen of slipper slobber," "dangling doggerels," buckled badger burgers," "chewed over cow cuds," "antelope uncles," "busted bug bottoms"... and that's just for starters.

Prior familiarity with the series is helpful but not essential to a reading of this book. Ereth is the only character from previous chronicles featured in prominence, and he is established quite firmly from the get-go, requiring no reliance on material from other installments. Each of the kits has a distinct enough personality that we can begin to see them as individuals as the story progresses rather than merely members of a threesome, which is important since the bulk of the novel deals with their interaction with Ereth. Adding to the appeal of the book are the detailed, expressive drawings of Brian Floca, illustrator for the other Dimwood Forest tales. A fairly breezy read at 180 pages broken into 27 chapters, Ereth's Birthday is great for existing fans of the series and for anyone who loves adventuresome animal stories and don't mind giving a lonely old porcupine a chance.

There's No Place Like Home, and No Illustrator like Jan Brett

Most people have heard the story of the town mouse and the country mouse. It’s an old tale that has appeared in many different manifestations over the years, but few versions are more charming than that of writer/illustrator Jan Brett. One of my absolute favorite illustrators, Brett puts incredible detail into every one of her illustrations. Each page is a work of art.

Town Mouse Country Mouse follows two different storylines, alternating pages between the adventures of the town mouse and his wife and the country mouse and his wife. The first two-page spread in the story (though not in the book – the prior three pages are lavishly illustrated as well) establishes the surroundings that each couple is used to, and it isn’t difficult to see that the transition from one setting to another is going to be rather difficult. The town mice dress lavishly in silk and glittery jewels, lounging atop an elegant clock. The country mice, meanwhile, dress in rags; one wears an outfit fashioned out of ferns and flowers. They sit anxiously on the roof of their tree stump house, which is covered with greenery and whose windows sport mushroom awnings.

The town mice are more proactive than the country mice, heading straight for the woods when the husband recollects his idyllic childhood there. The country mice at first just daydream about the abundant cheese in town, but when the town mice stop outside their door they propose a housing trade. Both parties agree enthusiastically to the deal, but none of the four mice have any idea of the dangers in store.

We do, however, as each full-page illustration is framed on each side with a picture detailing the activities of the creature that will ultimately be the mice’s most powerful adversary. For the country mice, it is the cat, dressed in brown pants and a sleeveless gold-trimmed shirt decorated with flowers over a white silk shirt. He is shown in such domestic pursuits as cooking and curling up for a nap in the kitchen and speaks in rhyme when addressing the mice, reminiscent of the giant in Jack and the Beanstalk. The silent owl is far more threatening, swooping from branch to branch and scanning for prey against a stormy sky. His clothes are much simpler: red overalls and a plaid shirt. It takes longer for him to locate the mice, but when he does he is even more frightening than the cat is to the country mice.

The border around the picture changes with each page. As the country mice and town mice agree to switch houses, the trim is of pine needles with fungus and pine cones at the corners or tips. Other borders include yarn with button corners, pencil with postage stamp corners, and feathers and branches with maple leaf and helicopter corners.

While the illustrations are the book’s selling point, the story as told in words is very nice a well. At about 50 to 150 words per page the text propels the story along. The carefully chosen dialogue and description fits the mood of the illustrations perfectly.

Town Mouse Country Mouse is filled with beauty and humor and leaves the reader with the message that when it comes right down to it, there’s no place like home. The illustrations are a joy to pore over, from the mouse hairs so carefully drawn that they could be counted to the town mice’s corduroy slipper bed whose soft ridges are so lifelike they are nearly tangible. A masterpiece from cover to cover, this is not a picture book to be missed.

My First Movie

As I recall, this is the first movie I ever saw in the theater. This was a great experience for me, and I probably would have been impressed no matter what the movie was. But this particular film happened to be Disney's The Great Mouse Detective, a fine member of the Disney full-length animated features collection which is too often overlooked.

The story takes place in Great Britain and begins with Olivia, the daughter of a brilliant toymaker. When her father is kidnapped by Ratigan, a vicious rat with plans to take over the royal throne, young Olivia seeks the services of the famous detective Basil of Baker Street. She is led to his residence by Dawson, a portly doctor who is well acquainted with the "Great Mouse Detective". Basil and Dawson are very similar in appearance and personality to Sherlock Holmes and Watson.

Basil, who is a bit haughty and sometimes rather daft, is balanced out by the kindly and practical Dawson. With Olivia in tow, they embark on a mission to save her father. Upon their arrival, they discover that the toymaker's task is to create a robotic queen who will fool the masses and through whom Ratigan will rule. This, of course, means that the current queen will have to be taken care of as well, so it's a race against time for the sleuthing pair to keep the queen from falling to Ratigan's lethal aspirations.

This is a great Disney movie full of adventure and suspense, leading up to a fabulous climax at Big Ben. London is a popular setting for Disney movies, and it is once more used most effectively here. My favorite character is the gentle Dawson, but there are many well-defined characters here to enjoy. Even the dog, who provides their transportation. Ratigan is despicable, and he's got one of the liveliest songs a Disney villain has ever been given. I'm not sure why this film has been overlooked so often, but don't let that deter you from introducing your children to the wonderful world of The Great Mouse Detective.

Hunt for a Better Movie

Part Home Alone and part Henry's Awful Mistake, Mouse Hunt is the chaotic tale of a pair of estranged brothers united in the effort to sell their recently deceased father's antique mansion. Ernie Smuntz (Nathan Lane) is a chef who has just lost his job because of an unfortunate (and thoroughly disgusting) incident involving the mayor and a dinner which includes a roach as an uninvited ingredient. Obnoxious and manipulative, he only seems concerned with milking the most out of his father's inheritance.

Lars Smuntz (Lee Evans) is a pitiable fellow who shares his father's love of string and is determined to do what his father would want him to. He is the gentler of the pair, initially more reluctant to cause physical harm to the four-legged houseguest who will soon make the brothers' lives miserable. Recently separated from his money-loving and heartless wife, Lars joins Ernie in moving into the creepy old mansion his father left them. It seems to be a dusty old dump until a set of blueprints reveals that it was designed by a world-famous architect. Soon they are busy preparing for the grand unveiling of the house and concern themselves with getting it in perfect condition for the auction.

Their attention is soon diverted, however, when they discover a mouse in their house. For some reason, they decide to focus all of their efforts on disposing of this uninvited houseguest, taking ridiculous measures and destroying the house in the process. Not only is the mouse tiny, he's crafty and manages to beat the brothers at their game every time. Minutes after the first meeting with the mouse, I could see this was going to be a very long movie. I found myself groaning over and over again, wondering how these two could possibly be so stupid. Just leave the mouse alone, already! What the heck is the big deal?

A monster cat and a psychotic exterminator (Christopher Walken) fail to foil the mouse's determination to survive, and each plot turns out more disastrous than the last. The mouse has no great hatred against the brothers; all of the damage he causes them is an unavoidable side effect of his attempts at survival. In the end he wins, and the brothers, after losing their house to their furry nemesis, finally learn to combine their talents to create a business that both of them can enjoy. Who shows them the way? Why, the mouse, of course. And in the end, they're all the best of friends.

The slapstick is overwhelming in this movie; it's just about all there is. And while a couple of pratfalls are good for a laugh, an hour and a half of them gave me a monster headache. It was much too far-fetched to be funny for long, and much too painful. None of the characters was especially likable, with the possible exception of the mouse, but few were despicable. They were just sorta there, and their personalities were inconsistent throughout the film. "Since you are lukewarm I shall spit you out of my mouth..." That's what I suggest you do with this movie.

"You Roll Your Dice, You Move Your Mice. Nobody Gets Hurt."

Bob the Tomato was right on when he made this dry remark in Veggie Tales' "The Toy Who Saved Christmas". While "Mouse Trap" is as zany and crazy as it gets, it is also completely safe (unless someone swallows one of the mice). Younger kids enjoy just playing with all of the neat gadgets without bothering to try to put it all together. Just be sure not to leave a toddler alone with it as there are a very few game pieces small enough to be swallowed.

On the other hand, for the future engineer or inventor in your family, the elaborate setting up of the game is so intriguing that they may insist on setting the whole thing up before the game begins. The elaborate chain reaction which eventually leads to the capture of the unfortunate mouse/mice is simply ingenious, and the young participants may feel inspired to set up a fancy machine of their own.

Bright colorful plastic pieces and whimsical gameboard illustrations come together to create a five-year-old's cross between miniature golf and a role-playing game. One of the most creative games ever invented, no children's game closet is complete without it.

Of Mice Like Men

I have heard it said that no one wants to read books about talking animals, but even the most hardened anti-anthropomorphist would be hard pressed to not be charmed by Redwall's inhabitants. Matthias is the unlikely hero of "Redwall", a bumbling young mouse who discovers that he is intimately linked with the legendary founder of Redwall Abbey.

The tale centers around Matthias, but other characters are simultaneously shadowed in ensuing chapters as they are in the other books of Redwall. Each species has a specific place in Jacques' world. Hares are military personnel with seemingly bottomless stomachs. Otters are burly sailors, wonderful friends but dangerous enemies. Sparrows are primitive and warlike. Badgers are wise and serene except when they are possessed by the Bloodwrath, when they become vicious killing machines. Moles are simple folk who live underground. Shrews are quarrelsome boatmen allied with Redwall. Rats are pirates. Snakes are just plain evil. Squirrels, mice, hedgehogs and voles make up most of the population of Redwall Abbey, and villains include foxes, ferrets, stoats, weasels and lizards.

Each book includes one or more of each of the following: a romance, a complicated puzzle, the death of one or more major characters, the discovery of goodness in an animal assumed bad (rat, ferret, etc.), poetry, gory battle scenes and mouthwatering descriptions of feasts. Common themes run through each book, and the fewer, weaker animals always prevail over the stronger ones which outnumber them. The lines between good and evil are blurred as abbey-dwellers find friends in unexpected places. Despite the commonalities, each book in this series, starting with Redwall, is delightful in its own right and is only enhanced by the reading of other books in the series. Each book runs several hundred pages and includes many British colloquialisms that may be unknown to some children, but the page-turning adventure makes it well worth the effort.