Windy Poplars No Avonlea, But a Pretty Nice Stop on the Way Back

Before I began to read Anne of Windy Poplars, I had seen it described as a book consisting entirely of Anne’s correspondence with Gilbert. I thought that sounded interesting, certainly a change from the previous novels. But as I began to read, I found it wasn’t a change that I liked. Anne is a wonderful character, but I much prefer Montgomery as a narrator, offering her impassive observations of Anne and all those with whom she comes into contact. After 30 pages flowing from Anne’s pen, I was wondering whether I would be able to endure an entire book written in this fashion, complete with all sorts of rather awkward interjections of “darling,” “dearest,” beloved,” and all those other words that I wonder if people actually use, even when addressing their fiance. They don’t seem to fit Anne somehow and strike me as an unnatural affectation. But I suppose old chums fall into different manners of address after they’ve become engaged.

It was with relief that I observed, shortly thereafter, that this epistolary style was not sustained throughout the entire book. As soon as I fell comfortably back into Montgomery’s familiar narration, I began to enjoy the book much more and didn’t mind the lapses back into letters that continued throughout the remainder of the novel, but never more for 40 pages at a time. I even managed to avoid being too disappointed that Avonlea virtually vanishes in Anne of Windy Poplars, resurfacing only twice in order to show its transformative powers over a bitter young woman and a lonesome little girl of Anne’s acquaintance. Of the old Avonlea crowd, the only one we really see at all is Mrs. Lynde, mostly indirectly through Anne’s correspondence. Marilla and Diana are essentially absent. Oddly enough, Gilbert is too, though Anne is forever writing to him. But we are never actually in his presence at any point in the book. Anne of the Island dealt largely with Anne’s dissatisfaction in putting childhood behind her and accepting the shifting of her cherished relationships. Here, Anne seems to have come to terms with this new stage of her life. This is her real entrance into adulthood, and it seems appropriate that she is surrounded by strangers and forced to work things out on her own.

Of course, no one can stay a stranger to Anne for long. She meets all sorts of interesting new characters in Summerside, where she is to be principal for three years. The town, dominated by the proud Pringle family, initially seems turned against her, but one by one Anne charms even the most ardent of her enemies, quickly becoming one of Summerside’s most beloved figures. Montgomery’s tendency towards weaving a series of vignettes is especially pronounced here, as she often entangles Anne in the affairs of a group of characters who become the book’s focus for two or three chapters and then are never heard from again. Evidently all this was a bit much for the director of the film Anne of Avonlea, who combined the threads of five such stories in order to create one of the film’s major subplots concerning young Emmeline Harris, her crusty grandmother and timid aunt, and the distant father who would fall in love with Anne. I wondered how that wisp of a romance would work in this novel, as Anne and Gilbert are already engaged, and found it interesting that in fact that entire aspect had been invented, though there were in it threads of Anne’s earlier courtship with Roy at Redmond University.

Anne’s greatest personal challenge in the book is resolved in the first half of her first year. The remainder recalls Anne of Avonlea, as she spends the bulk of her time trying to help her new neighbors out of their troubles. While many characters are only a part of the novel briefly, several play an important role throughout. Most prominent of these are Aunt Chatty and Aunt Kate, the elderly widowed sisters who own Windy Poplars, which Anne makes her home for three years; Rebecca Dew, their eccentric and contrary but ultimately loveable housekeeper; Dusty Miller, the affectionate cat frequently maligned by Rebecca Dew; and Elizabeth, the neglected, elf-like young girl for whom Anne becomes a much-needed confidante. I found them much more engaging than Anne’s Redmond housemates and grew quite fond of them by the end of the book. The dozens of characters introduced in vignettes throughout the novel are similarly well-defined and the incidents in which they are involved amuse and enthrall.

In the end, I liked Anne of Windy Poplars quite a bit more than I thought I would after those first few chapters. It seems rather isolated amongst the books, just Anne on her own without her friends in Avonlea or the old familiar landscape to back her up. I suspect it is also the most epistolary of the novels, which is just as well. For a book so set apart from the beloved Green Gables, it is ultimately quite satisfactory.

Gilbert Fills Gap Left By Green Gables

When I went to college, I attended the school where my dad has taught for years and continued to live at home with my family. Thus, the transition was not very difficult. In Anne of the Island, Anne Shirley faces a much more jarring collegiate experience. After seven years in Avonlea, she has taken Marilla up on her suggestion to go to Redmond College, for which she gave up a scholarship in favor of helping Marilla maintain Green Gables after her brother Matthew’s death. Though she welcomes the opportunity to distinguish herself in such a scholarly environment, Anne feels terribly lonesome in the beginning with no familiar faces except Priscilla, a friend from Queen’s College, and fellow Avonleaers Gilbert and Charlie, both of whom have begun acting very strangely around her. The acquaintance of boisterous Philippa helps Anne to feel more accepted at Redmond, especially since Philippa’s social connections grant Anne and Priscilla admittance into clubs and activities that would otherwise be off-limits to them.

As college progresses, Anne and her friends rent a charming establishment called Patty’s Place that soon becomes almost as home-like as Green Gables. Its cozy interior is augmented by three cats, one of whom adores Anne exclusively in spite of her early attempts to be rid of him. Feline affections cause Anne far less trouble than those of humans as Anne finds herself the recipient of proposals by five different suitors during her time in college. Of these, three are patently ridiculous as far as Anne is concerned, but the other two give her pause. One of these is the ever-faithful Gilbert, whom Anne views as the greatest of chums but nothing like her romantic ideal. The other is Royal Gardner, a dashing young man whose grand entrance halfway through the novel is reminiscent of Willoughby’s in Sense and Sensibility. His flowery poetry, bouquets of roses and melancholy good looks are exactly what Anne has dreamed of all her life. But is she willing to break her cherished friend’s heart in favor of the beau who swept her off her feet?

Anne’s isn’t the only romance to grace the pages of this novel. Philippa, so used to being fawned over by scores of gentleman and torn between two particularly earnest lads back home, finds herself falling hard for the unlikeliest of candidates, and Anne lands herself in the home of a middle-aged woman whose courtship has been 25 years running. Diana, Anne’s childhood bosom friend, marries pudgy Fred after a long engagement. Even Davy, the young twin in Marilla’s keeping, announces intentions to marry a classmate. Romance is everywhere, and Anne can’t seem to escape it.

Gilbert haunts the pages of this novel as he did in Anne of Green Gables. Anne constantly finds herself thinking about him in spite of her determination not to. His presence is never forgotten as it occasionally was in Anne of Avonlea, where he occupied that pleasant role of friend with none of the complications of the feud that preceded it or the attempted courtship that followed it. He allows for what is perhaps the most interesting part of the novel, Anne’s awakening awareness of what real romance is all about.

If Gilbert’s increased presence is satisfying, the infrequency of Avonlea’s appearances in the novel is disappointing – though not unexpected. When Anne does go back, she is met with changes. During the first summer back, her old friend Ruby Gillis appears pale and sickly and Anne must eventually reconcile herself to the fact that Ruby is dying. As Ruby herself finally comes to grips with this notion, Anne strives to comfort her with some of the most theological passages in the series thus far. Though it is a happier occasion, Diana’s wedding is a source of great sadness for Anne as it signals a chapter of childhood that has closed behind her. There is still some room for some good old-fashioned mishaps, most notably Anne winning the prize to a contest she disapproves of after Diana alters and enters her story. When her school breaks allow it, the trips back to Avonlea are refreshing for the reader, but they don’t occur often enough and when they do they are tinged with a feeling of gloomy emptiness.

I was once again struck by how little correlation there was between this book and the film. From what I understand, the movie Anne of Avonlea draws from the second, third and fourth books, but Redmond College does not factor into the film at all. The city of Kingsport in which the college is located is retained, but it serves an entirely different purpose. The only events that make it into the movie occur in Green Gables, and some dialogue, such as Mr. Harrison’s criticism to Anne regarding her writing style and Davy’s announcement that Gilbert is dying, is transferred to other characters. The end of the book, however, is the end of the film, so I can only surmise that the bulk of the film is drawn from Anne of Windy Poplars.

I enjoyed Anne of the Island, particularly the resolution of the long-lingering question of what would happen between Anne and Gilbert. But as cozy as Patty’s place was, I missed Green Gables, and I didn’t find any new characters in Redmond that were nearly as interesting as those left behind in Avonlea. I especially missed Marilla and Mrs. Lynde, not to mention the landscape that is like a character (or several) in itself. I have a hunch that the further Anne moves into adulthood, the less enthralling I will find her adventures. But I still give this book five stars, if only because of Gilbert.

Older and Wiser, but Always Lovable Anne

I recently decided to take it upon myself to read the eight books written by L. M. Montgomery concerning Anne Shirley. From what I recalled, I had only ever read the first two books. Now that I’ve finished the second volume, I can’t be sure I ever read even that one. Certain parts of it rang familiar, but I suspect that is only because of the second film and the series Road to Avonlea, which I caught on TV a couple times. Most of it seemed new to me, and I was struck by just how far the film Anne of Avonlea strayed from the books after such a close adaptation of the original. Precious little from this book made it into the film, and the most memorable event – Anne accidentally selling her neighbor’s cow – is transferred to the established Mrs. Lynde, omitting altogether the new character this incident introduced.

Quite a few new characters spring up in this second installment. The aforementioned Mr. Harrison moves into the farm near Green Gables and seems at first to be quite the crusty old curmudgeon, but Anne soon finds that this eccentric, outspoken fellow is a kindred spirit after all. She spends a good deal of time with him throughout the novel discussing local politics, and at one point she is indirectly responsible for bringing about a major change in his life. Another new face is Miss Lavendar Lewis, a middle-aged woman who lives in a charming stone cottage with her young helper, devoted Charlotta the Fourth. Anne comes upon her home by accident and discovers a woman whose imagination is just as fertile as hers and whose eyes are just as young, if her hair is a bit grayer. Her interaction with Miss Lewis eventually leads to what might be called the book’s climax.

Anne has grown into a sparkling young woman, still romantic and imaginative but not quite so disaster-prone. Lest there be too much calm in the previously sedate Green Gables, Montgomery introduces twins Dora and Davy, orphans of one of Marilla’s cousins. They are six years old when Marilla takes them in, and while Dora is so prim and dutiful as to be nearly invisible, Davy more than makes up for her good behavior. He is always getting into trouble and asking dozens of frustrating questions, but his affectionate nature keeps Anne and Marilla from being too aggravated with him; in fact, they confide in one another that they both prefer Davy over Dora in spite of his rambunctious nature. In contrast to Davy is a wisp of a boy named Paul Irving. Though Anne tries not to choose favorites among her pupils, she can’t help loving Paul most of all. Wise and sensitive, Paul also possesses a most extraordinary imagination and is wholeheartedly devoted to his teacher.

There is a wise quote from The Hobbit which could be applied to Anne of Avonlea and explain the director’s reasoning for using so little of it in his sequel. “Now, it is a strange thing, but things that are good to have and days that are good to spend are soon told about, and not much to listen to.” The second installment of the Anne books is very pleasant but a bit dull in comparison with Anne of Green Gables. I still enjoyed it a great deal, but I missed Anne’s ridiculous propensity for getting into scrapes and the melodrama of her early adolescence. She remains a passionate person, but already she is far more sensible and tactful than the 11-year-old waif who first talked Matthew’s ear off on her first ride to Green Gables. As a result, the most outrageous incidents generally are initiated by Davy, not Anne.

Anne of Green Gables was full of childhood milestones, all the more thrilling because the first 11 years of Anne’s life were so desolate. By Anne of Avonlea she has grown so used to her new life that it seems it has always been hers, and the bulk of the book is two years in which not too much happens to Anne. She is a part of a village improvement committee, she helps raise Davy and Dora, she serves as schoolteacher for the Avonlea children. But these are ongoing tasks and for the most part, monumental events occur to others in the community, though Anne’s vicarious nature allows her to experience them with as much vigor as the participants themselves.

Marilla and Mrs. Lynde remain characters of great importance. Both seem to have softened up a bit since Anne’s arrival; Marilla is less stern and Mrs. Lynde less judgmental. They were the first major characters Anne met in the first book, aside from the dearly departed Matthew, who I missed in this novel. I suspect the book would have played out far differently, however, had Matthew still been alive. The climactic event in Anne of Avonlea is joyful and half the book in the making, but it cannot match the emotional impact of Matthew’s death in the first book. Still, it sets us up nicely for the next book and the hints of romance that will begin to creep into Anne’s life. We see too little of Gilbert once again. Though he may actually appear more in Anne of Avonlea, his presence doesn’t pervade the book as it does in Anne of Green Gables, where Anne’s refusal to forgive him is a dark blight on her otherwise magnanimous soul. I almost forgot about poor ol’ Gil until the end of the book, whose last page was once again occupied with a change in the relationship between Gilbert and Anne.

Looking through my books, I discovered that I have all the Anne books through the sixth, so it will be a while before I must invest in the last two in order to see this feisty heroine’s adventures through to Montgomery’s conclusion. Though I probably will not love any quite as much as the first, the lush language and engaging characters will keep me coming back six more times.

Hide Yourself from Hokey Horror

I rarely post negative reviews here on Epinions, so I figured I was about due to come up with a movie I can genuinely say deserves a low rating. I caught Hide and Seek on TV one night a while back just as it was starting. If there's one kind of movie I hate, it's horror, but there was nothing else on and my parents and I decided to leave it on for the time being. We wound up watching the whole thing, though I nearly gave up on it several times. Besides being grotesque, it is one of the most absurd movies I've ever seen.

The film stars the usually gorgeous Daryl Hannah as Anne, a most unfortunate woman who spends most of the film looking - and feeling - half-dead and utterly wretched. This is with good reason, as she is kidnapped at the beginning of the film by Frank (Vincent Gallo), a quiet surgeon with a sadistic streak and a fierce fear-driven loyalty to his wife Helen (Jennifer Tilly). Having rendered Helen unable to give birth after a botched abortion, Frank selects Anne to be an unwilling surrogate, intending to keep her chained in the basement until she gives birth.

Though at first Frank seems the movie's villain, it becomes increasingly clear that Helen is the one to watch out for. When she flies at Frank in a rage and bashes him to death with a baseball bat, it seems like a fortunate turn of events for Anne, but in reality Helen is much harder to handle alone than when Frank is there to keep her somewhat grounded.

Watching the film, I was quickly reminded of Misery, though I think that movie was done much better. Hide and Seek is uncomfortable to watch, focusing as it does on one extremely bedraggled woman desperately fighting to stay alive and another who is nothing short of psychopathic. Moreover, she seems to be indestructible and conveniently surrounded by people who are either to stupid or too scared to put an end to her reign of terror. As her hysteria increases and she pursues Anne out of her home to a desolate truck stop and a hospital, the scenarios become more and more absurd. It is Tilly who carries the film, leaving the audience aghast at her freakish antics.

This does not strike me as the type of movie that would have appeared in theaters. It plays like a low-grade made-for-TV movie, complete with gaping plot holes, especially toward the end. While not as patently ludicrous as Critters 3, it is just over-the-top enough that it's never really scary. Seek this movie out for Tilly's psychotic performance, then hide it away where no one will ever see it.

Anne Shirley Debuts as Laudable Literary Heroine

Five years ago, when I was a freshman in college wrapping up my nerve-wracking first semester, I read the Chronicles of Narnia. I’d already read the first two and a half, but I felt I really should delve into them again in order to properly appreciate the subsequent volumes. Once I did, I found I didn’t at all mind rereading such glorious prose as Lewis’, and the books became a great comfort to me during my last month of school. I have no particular challenge to overcome at the moment, but having rekindled my interest in one of my favorite literary heroines, Anne Shirley, I’ve decided to read through Lucy Maud Montgomery’s books about her, even though I’ve read the first two. It’s another case of “I can’t believe I never read the rest of them.” I’ve been spending the past few days in familiar territory, just finishing Anne of Green Gables yesterday. Though the edition I possess is riddled with typographical errors, it took only a paragraph or two to find myself delightedly immersed in the goings-on of Avonlea, the quaint Prince Edward Island town where the book is set.

Reading Montgomery’s book, it’s clear that the author loves words just as much as her most famous character. Her descriptions, particularly of the various Avonlea landscapes, are lush and enticing. They give the reader a very clear vision of the world they are entering, one that is confirmed upon viewing the glorious film adaptation. Did that movie, I wonder, do as much for the tourism industry in Prince Edward Island (or Canada at large) as Lord of the Rings did for New Zealand? It should have. Montgomery presents us with a location that is at once utterly realistic and fantastical. It is almost difficult for me to believe that this is a true representation of life as it was just a hundred years ago and a few hundred miles north of us. It makes me wish I could have inhabited that town, replete with natural wonders and simple pleasures and providing so much “scope for the imagination.”

Just as fully realized as the places in the book are the people. Anne bursts onto the scene with several half-page-long monologues, interrupted briefly by Matthew’s feeble attempts to answer the questions she tosses his way. This exchange is very amusing, giving us a great deal of information about Anne and Matthew as individuals and establishing the sort of relationship they will enjoy in the future. Anne’s breathless chatter continues for at least half the novel. She jumps so quickly from subject to subject that modern sensibilities might peg her as having ADD. Certainly she can’t be counted on to concentrate on anything for any given length of time, and the book is riddled with examples of catastrophes brought on by her propensity for daydreaming.

In addition to verbosity and wild imagination, Anne possesses a fiery temper to match her hated tresses. Because of her sweet, affectionate nature and her growing resolve to be more refined, this temper does not rear its head all that often. But when it does, it is something fierce to behold. More common than temper tantrums are plunges into “the depths of despair,” preceded or followed so quickly by flights of ecstasy that a modern psychologist would probably suspect manic depressiveness as well. Though she does tend to exaggerate the anguish brought about by life’s little disappointments and mishaps and relishes dreaming up the most melancholy stories she can imagine, she has an inextinguishable joie de vivre and a knack for getting people to like her.

Montgomery’s droll sense of humor is apparent from the first. She introduces three of the most important secondary characters in the novel with chapter headings all their own indicating the disruptive influence Anne has on her future family and neighbors. First Mrs. Rachel Lynde, then Matthew, then Marilla “is Surprised.” Each reacts to the surprise differently. For gossipy Mrs. Lynde, the news of her neighbors’ decision to adopt an orphan is something of a calamity, compounded several chapters later when she meets the child. Matthew is startled to discover a boy rather than a girl awaiting him and caught off guard when he discovers he enjoys her company. Stern Marilla does not take to the girl as readily as Matthew but finds in his reluctance to send her back a compelling reason to let her stay.

Of the three, Mrs. Lynde, though initially adversarial, is probably most like Anne, as she has a sharp tongue that wags freely and often. She little cares who she offends with her speech, though she is kind at heart and sometimes regrets being unduly harsh. Marilla possesses some of Anne’s spunk, but it has been submerged for so long that severity is her most notable trait. She spends the novel trying to balance what she feels is her duty to bring Anne up properly with a growing awareness of affection for the girl. Shy and quiet as Matthew is, he shows none of his sister’s reserve when it comes to expressing his adoration for Anne, and he remains always her most devoted admirer.

Among her peers, Anne finds a fast friend in Diana Barry, a lovely young girl a few weeks older than her who makes up for in loyalty what she lacks in imagination. Diana indulges Anne’s fantasies as best she can but is ultimately a practical girl with too many years of ladylike upbringing to match Anne’s capacity for creativity. She finds other kindred spirits in Rubie Gillis and Jane Andrews, who are pleasant playmates even though they have little more imaginative capacity than Diana. Josie Pye, meanwhile, a well-to-do sourpuss from a notably unpleasant family, conspires to make Anne’s life miserable whenever possible.

By far my biggest frustration with Anne in this novel is her refusal to treat Gilbert Blythe civilly. She takes his tiny bit of teasing as the deepest of insults and insists upon holding a grudge. The fact that he is the only student who can compete with her academically serves to further injure her pride, and it is heartbreaking to observe Gilbert’s unabashed good will refused time and again, until at last he gives up on ever winning Anne’s friendship. The film allows Anne to relent a bit earlier, waylaying some of the icy antagonism Gilbert adopts in the book when even a heroic rescue fails to move her. But Gilbert’s jubilation when Anne finally, in the book’s final pages, admits that she was in the wrong for snubbing him for so many years makes up for his cold silence.

Some of the usages in this text are a bit dated; such statements as “an important toilet was being made” are likely to strike modern readers as perfectly ridiculous. Montgomery could also be accused, I suppose, of excessively flowery prose. She has a particular obsession, it seems, with color, describing tints and hues in as many different ways as possible. (Who ever heard of the word “empurpled?”) Nonetheless, I enjoy drowning in her descriptions, which are often replete with masterful metaphors, and Anne’s rambling is just as beguiling to read, if a bit more exhausting.

Anne’s youthfulness in this first chronicle is especially appealing, and according to the introductory note this was the only of the Anne books Montgomery intended to write, it having grown out of a planned Sunday School serial. Anne grew so popular that publishers coaxed seven sequels out of her, but even if she had only written the one Anne would remain a memorable young heroine capable of resonating with readers a century later, nestled in a setting readers would wish they could inhabit themselves. At least, stepping into the pages of this glorious classic, they can, if only for a little while.

DiCaprio Resurfaces as Con Man Extraordinaire

Poor Leonardo DiCaprio. It must be hard to go from the most popular guy in Hollywood to the laughingstock is just months. Leo was a victim of his own success, grinning out from king-size posters, whispering fervently on that annoyingly spoilerific radio version of My Heart Will Go On (which must have played about once an hour) and appearing in various forms in the lockers and notebooks of millions of teenage girls across the country. It was overkill, and for a while I wondered whether we’d ever see him again. He seemed to drop almost entirely out of view. Then I saw Catch Me If You Can.

It’s five or so years later, and Leo once again is cast as a teenager, just 15 at the earliest point in this movie’s chronology. The teen in question is Frank Abagnale, Jr., a sweet-natured kid who turns con man in order to evade the responsibility of choosing which parent to live with after their divorce. Once his ingenious schemes begin and he starts to make money, he becomes determined to earn enough to replace everything they lost when his father (Christopher Walken), a bit of a con man himself, got caught and had his assets seized.

I can’t help but be reminded a bit of Huck Finn with Frank Abagnale, even though the circumstances are entirely different. Both are kids who are absolutely brilliant when it comes to pulling off highly improbable schemes. Moreover, both start running because of their fathers, though Huck hates his Dad and Frank adores his. At any rate, there’s something very appealing about this young man. He’s very likable, and nothing he does has malicious intent. When Frank begs Carl Hanratty (Tom Hanks), the agent who has been chasing him, to call a truce, we wish he could just give up the game with no consequences.

DiCaprio does a fantastic job as Frank, giving us just the right combination of sweetheart and wise guy. It’s come to the point at which it seems silly to even entertain the suggestion that Tom Hanks could be lousy in a movie. His performance, complete with a heavy New York accent, certainly measures up to DiCaprio’s. While Hanratty is a bit harsher than most of the characters we are used to seeing Hanks play – as demonstrated in an amusing scene that may have been what earned the film its PG-13 rating – he is really a decent guy, and it becomes evident that as aggravated as he is by the fact that Frank keeps slipping through his fingers, he has come to care about the teenager.

Walken turns in a rather haunting performance as Frank Sr. We get the sense that his son is succeeding where his father failed. His father is proud and perhaps a bit jealous as well, and he doesn’t see surrender as a viable option. His son has the Feds on the run; that should be enough to make him happy. Amy Adams turns in a sweet performance as insecure Brenda Strong, a candy-striper to whom Frank becomes very attached during his tenure as a doctor. When she brings him home to meet her parents, he has to reckon with her father (Martin Sheen), who seems intimidating at first but turns out to be a big softie. I really enjoyed his scenes with this family and, as a Lutheran, found their devotion to that denomination charming.

There’s something vaguely campy about the style of this movie. It’s a drama, but it has almost equal parts comedy. As Frank runs the gamut of impersonations – substitute teacher, airline pilot, doctor, lawyer – he relies as much on his charisma as his impressive check-forging skills. There are many scenes demonstrating his remarkable quick thinking, and these are generally the most riotous in the film. His first encounter with Hanratty is especially hilarious.

Catch Me If You Can is a fun movie with a largely happy ending. Like The Terminal, it’s light-hearted enough that it probably won’t go down as a milestone in the careers of its main participants. But it’s an enjoyable couple of hours with little objectionable content, and it was what convinced me that DiCaprio’s career is far from over. Catch yourself watching Catch Me If You Can.

Anne's Off for Adventure, But There's No Place Like Avonlea

After writing my review of Anne of Green Gables last week, I felt an urge to pull out Anne of Avonlea and watch that for the first time in years. The urge struck, oddly enough, around 11:30 at night, but I watched the second installment of Anne’s adventures without so much as a nod of the head. My rapt attention did not fade until the film ended after 3:00. When I finally succumbed to sleep, I had sweet dreams indeed.

I admit that due to the more youthful exploits chronicled in Anne of Green Gables, not to mention the idyllic locale and the presence of more beloved characters, especially Matthew, I prefer the original and return to it more often. But Anne of Avonlea is a beautiful work in its own right, showing us an Anne (Megan Follows) now teetering on the edge of adulthood and wishing that everything in her life could simply remain unchanged – a sentiment with which I can readily identify.

But numerous changes are in store for Anne, whether she welcomes them or not. Her best friend Diana (Schuyler Grant) accepts a marriage proposal from a young man whom Anne considers a most unsuitable suitor. “He’s very good,” Anne complains to an exasperated Marilla (Colleen Dewhurst), explaining that she would prefer a man who could be wicked if he wanted to be. Even more distressing than her changing relationship with Diana, however, are the affections of the steadfast Gilbert Blythe (Jonathan Crombie), who confesses what the audience has known all along: that he has loved her for as long as he can remember. Gilbert’s devotion to Anne is heartbreaking as she is convinced that an engagement to her old chum would simply not satisfy her adventurous whims.

What would satisfy them, for the time being at least, is the teaching position offered by her former instructor Miss Stacey (Marilyn Lightstone) at a prestigious school for girls in a town dominated by the aristocratic Pringle family. The numerous Pringles she encounters upon her arrival prove Anne’s greatest stumbling block, though icy headmistress Katherine Brooke (Rosemary Dunsmore) doesn’t do much to make her reception warmer. Here in this school setting, Anne must muster her deepest reserves of ingenuity to win over her defiant students. Her one kindred spirit, a girl named Emmeline Harris (Genevieve Appleton), is pulled out of school after a scuffle with Jen (Susannah Hoffman), the prissiest Pringle of all, and Anne must undertake a quest to become Emmeline’s personal tutor.

While I still am most enthralled by the goings-on in Avonlea, Anne’s new placement affords her many opportunities for excitement and gives her charm its greatest challenge yet. Emmeline is a winning new addition to the cast of characters, as are the members of her immediate family: her crusty grandmother (Wendy Hiller), timid aunt Pauline (Kate Lynch) and emotionally distant but soon-to-be-smitten father Morgan (Frank Converse). While Anne faces a host of hurdles in winning the approval of so many antagonistic townspeople, her greatest challenge comes when she actually succeeds and is forced to choose between a glamorous new life or the humble home she left behind.

With the exception of Richard Farnsworth, all the major supporting cast members who so enriched the first film are back in the second, though we see them far less than we’d like to. In spite of a number of amusing incidents later in the film, I find the beginning of the movie the funniest, punctuated by such landmark events as Anne winning the grand prize in a contest she didn’t enter and accidentally selling Rachel Lynde’s (Patricia Hamilton) cow to Gilbert’s father. Still, this is Anne’s time for self-discovery, and her lengthy absence only makes us appreciate Avonlea all the more when she returns after a year of hard work. Most of all, I think, we appreciate Gilbert, who in spite of his long absences from the screen provides the emotional core of the film. His earnestness and loyalty earn him a top slot in my list of all-time best fictional beaus, and Anne’s inevitable realization of her love for him, though initially devastating, ultimately leads to the most satisfying of conclusions.

While this is still a movie that can be appreciated by younger viewers, I would say the target audience is older this time. It is especially appropriate for viewers in their late adolescence or close friends or relatives of someone that age who are beginning to feel the pangs of empty nest syndrome. Anne of Avonlea is a story about change, but it also carries the message that the most important things remain constant, and in such turbulent times as one’s late teens always are, that is a very heartening reminder.

Anne With an "E" for Extraordinary

When I discovered that I would be working on Halloween this year, I wanted to come up with a bookish costume such as would be suitable for someone working in a bookstore. October 30 arrived and I still hadn’t gotten around to figuring something out, but luckily for me I happened to have several items of clothing stashed away that, together, made me into the perfect Anne of Green Gables. For a finishing touch, I got some temporary dye and colored my hair red, then put it into twin braids. The costume was a hit, though I was a bit embarrassed when I realized I was the only one who had come to work in costume. No matter. It was an opportunity to reacquaint myself with one of my favorite literary characters, the irrepressible Anne Shirley. She is also the subject of one of the most delightful – and faithful – film adaptations of a book that I have ever seen, and after Halloween we had to pull it out and watch it again.

When I was younger, my two cousins would come over and spend the night with my brother and me. Sometimes we spent the whole night together and sometimes Shawn and Benjamin went off on their own to put their potion-making powers to use while Kristen and I spent the night amongst pearler beads and paint-by-numbers. But no matter what, we almost always put on Anne of Green Gables shortly after their arrival and switched to Anne of Avonlea when the former ended. We rarely watched much of them, but for seven hours they provided a comforting backdrop to our nocturnal activities.

Megan Follows turns in a magnificent portrayal of Anne (“with an ‘e’”), an eccentric orphan who comes to live with siblings Matthew (Richard Farnsworth) and Marilla (Colleen Dewhurst) Cuthbert by mistake when they request a boy to help out with the family farm. She has a great flair for the melodramatic, insisting on speaking the most elegant words she can think of with the most desperate intonation she can muster. Her whimsy does not entirely meet with the stern and practical Marilla’s approval, but she charms the quiet and gentle Matthew from the start, easing her transition into Marilla’s good graces in spite of the vocal misgivings of busybody neighbor Rachel Lynde (Patricia Hamilton). No one in the community knows quiet what to make of her, but she soon finds acceptance and a much-longed-for “bosom friend.”

Diana Barry (Schuyler Grant) is as timid and feminine as Anne is outspoken and tomboyish, but they form an unbreakable bond and learn a bit from each other as well. Anne inspires Diana to do things she once would have thought too daring while learning from Diana the virtues of restraint. Her primary education, however, comes from Marilla, who keeps a strong guiding hand on her adopted daughter, amused by some of her antics but also insistent that she learn to be respectful. We see too little of Matthew in the movie, but when he shows up he is marvelously kind and his near lack of words stands in comical contrast to Anne’s unending stream of them. Of all the unique supporting characters in the film – and the book – he stands out as my clear favorite.

The other fellow who grabs our attention is Gilbert Blythe (Jonathan Crombie), a dashing young man who makes the practically fatal mistake of intoning Anne’s red hair while trying to get her attention during her first day at school. From then on, he is on her naughty list, even though he takes the blame when she smashes a slate over his head, apologizes profusely to her after class and continues to treat her with nothing but kindness in the ensuing years. Gilbert is a true gentleman, and it is in the matter of her interaction with him that I find Anne’s fiery temper most frustrating. The chorus of the Bryan Adams song Right Here Waiting for You always comes to mind when I think of Gilbert, so patient, so gallant, trying again and again to win the favor of a girl he greatly admires but inadvertently insulted. When Anne finally begins to come around, it is a joyous thing indeed, though her growing feelings of affection do not find true resolution until Anne of Avonlea.

There are many things about this film that appeal. Anne is such an entrancing heroine, all the more so for her frequent foibles. From dying her hair green to mistakenly getting Diana drunk – an act which earns her a lengthy separation from her most beloved friend, Anne always seems to be getting into the most ridiculous of messes. But she is also a girl of great intelligence, ranking high in all her class activities and impressing the community with her literary and theatrical gifts. She is surrounded by well-developed supporting characters with quirks of their own, and they add to the emotional resonance and entertainment of the film.

Another asset is the utter G-ratedness of this film. There is nothing in it that a parent would find objectionable, while Anne’s misadventures provide enough amusement to entrance the youngest viewers, especially during the first half. Anne of Green Gables is a remnant of a more innocent era, with a setting to match. The filmmakers depict turn-of-the-century Prince Edward Island as an arcadian wonderland whose simple beauty approaches that of the Shire, my literary landscape of choice. We are as enchanted as Anne during her first exposure to the landmarks that will become so familiar in years to come. The wistful soundtrack, heavy with strings, evokes a longing for a return to such times as depicted in the film.

Not that Anne’s world is free of heartache. Her early life was full of it, and when tragedy rears its ugly head in Green Gables it is all the more painful because this has become her haven. For a film so full of light and delight, it ends with what must be the most devastating event of Anne’s young life. But such is the power of the story and its characters that this scene is almost as crippling to the audience as to Anne herself. Though the movie has a three-and-a-half-hour running time, it never seems to drag. It was my favorite film of that length until Fellowship of the Ring, one that I don’t mind watching repeatedly and treasuring anew each time. If you haven’t ever experienced it, give the movie a try and let yourself fall in love with Anne of Green Gables for the first – but probably not the last – time.

A King I Will Watch Again and Again

After seeing Shall We Dance, I’ve had the film from which that title was drawn on the brain. The King and I is one of many glorious Rodgers and Hammerstein collaborations I have had the pleasure of seeing on stage since first seeing the film years before. Though both productions were excellent, I was especially enamored of the first, presented at the Erie Playhouse, which featured my theater teacher as the king, his wife as Anna, and his children as Prince Chulalongkorn and Anna’s daughter. It was truly a family affair, chronicled in our high school paper and the Erie Times-News. In order to make his role as authentic as possible, Mr. Gandolfo consented to having his head shaved; that was only one component in a masterful portrayal of one of my favorite Rodgers and Hammerstein characters. Several years later, he took the director’s seat as his son assumed the role of the king in my alma mater’s presentation of the show. I imagine it must have been a slightly surreal experience.

I never met a Rodgers and Hammerstein musical I didn’t like – though my feelings concerning South Pacific are mixed – so it should be no surprise that The King and I meets with my approval. When I went to the high school production of the play, the walls were peppered with student-penned reports about Siam and the culture and how offensive this play was to many people living in Thailand (as Siam is now called). Like The Sound of Music, The King and I is a fact-based tale of a woman who becomes a governess for a rather difficult man and teaches him to see the world differently. But both films stray considerably from historical accuracy, and in the case of this film it is very difficult to know what actually did happen because the primary source, an autobiography by Anna Leonowens, has been denounced as untrustworthy. So maybe The King and I has no more basis in reality than Don Bluth’s Anastasia, but it’s a very enjoyable movie nonetheless.

Its key players are the title characters. The “I” is Anna (Deborah Kerr), a British widow who comes to Siam to teach the king’s multitudinous children. Though her personality, especially when in the company of the children, is sunny enough, she is by turns uptight, self-righteous and condescending in the presence of the king. Though this makes for many comical situations and allows her unique relationship with the king to develop, it also is the source of a great deal of heartache toward the end. She is nowhere near as likable as Maria in The Sound of Music, and at times I find I don’t like her very much at all. On the whole, though, she’s a sympathetic character.

But the king (Yul Brynner) is far more fun, and he is the reason that I find The King and I so enjoyable. He’s a fireball, assured in his authority until Anna comes along and questions it. But he is aware that there is a great deal that he does not know about the world, and he is the most eager of students, enthusiastically embracing such new discoveries as the phrase “et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.” He is also a loving father, as much as he can be when his children number in the dozens. Though he seems intimidating at first, he is in fact the most vulnerable character in the film, as we come to see all too well.

Aside from the king, the two most authoritative figures in his court are Lady Thiang (Terry Saunders) and Kralahome (Martin Benson). Thiang is the most favored of the king’s wives and becomes a motherly confidante for Anna, all the while making her aware of what is expected of her. Kralahome is the king’s stern advisor who is none too happy about the fact that an English woman has come into the kingdom and is treating the king with less respect than he deserves. Other significant characters include Tuptim (Rita Moreno), a girl from another kingdom given as a gift to the king, and Lun Tha (Carlos Rivas), the man she loves who is forced to deliver her to Siam. Although we see all of the princes and princesses in a group throughout the film, the only one really singled out is Prince Chulalongkorn (Patrick Adiarte), who frets over the fact that he must one day assume the throne from his beloved father.

A central source of conflict between Anna and the king is the matter of her living quarters. She insists on reminding her employer continually that she was promised her own house, not the guest room she currently occupies in the palace. When he finally agrees to acquiesce to her request, it is clear the film has reached a turning point. The latter half of the film largely deals with the grand reception Anna plans – at the king’s request – in order to prove to visitors from England that Siam is a civilized country and its ruler a gentleman, not the “barbarian” he was described to be. The meticulously choreographed evening reaches its climax with the performance of The Small House of Uncle Thomas, Tuptim’s adaptation of Harriet Beecher Stowe’s novel. While its craftsmanship impresses the visitors – one of whom is a former flame of Anna’s – its subject matter angers the king and sets the groundwork for the film’s tragic conclusion.

The movie’s songs are, of course, noteworthy. Getting to Know You is a delightful number involving all of the children. I read once that it was originally intended for South Pacific; while I think it could have worked there, it is a musical high point in The King and I that serves the same ice-breaking role that My Favorite Things did in The Sound of Music. Whistle a Happy Tune is a fun little song that gives insight into Anna’s personality while also providing audience members with a nifty trick to try – at least, those lucky enough to have the ability to whistle. (Sigh.) Shall We Dance is the closest we come to a resolution of the unconventional romance that seems to be blooming between Anna and the king. It’s a scene bristling with elegance and eloquence, and we are left to wonder wistfully how their relationship would have progressed if not for the unfortunate events that followed. My favorite song, though, is far and away A Puzzlement. Here we get a fascinating peek into the king’s psyche, and we learn that he is not nearly as sure of himself as everyone thinks he is. While it is the most comical number in the movie, it is also the most introspective and revealing. It is a agonized rant that, like Billy Bigelow’s Soliloquy in Carousel, removes any doubt that this is a good man with whom we should sympathize.

I once watched The King and I with some relatives, and when it came to the moment near the end when Anna denounces the anguished monarch, declaring him to be a heartless man who does not know anything about love, I objected. My aunt said it was true, but I will never believe that. I think he knew a great deal more about love than Anna was willing to admit in that moment, and I’ll always like him far more than Anna. Of all the Rodgers and Hammerstein endings, this is by far the least satisfactory. But the movie as a whole is wonderful, and the king remains a character who will keep me coming back to the movie in spite of its dismal conclusion.

Shall We See Shall We Dance? Yes, Indeed!

I work in a mall that is in walking distance to a dollar theater. I have often taken advantage of this fact when going to the mall with my family or friends, capping off a shopping trip with a movie. But it also came in handy the other day when I closed up my store on New Year’s Day with an hour or so to go before I could get a ride home. I just headed over to the theater and bought a ticket to whatever happened to be playing closest to my time of arrival. The movie, as it turned out, was Shall We Dance, which my parents had just seen two days before. They had liked it, so I had no qualms about going in. And though my friend at work urged me to opt for Shaun of the Dead - which didn’t start for another half an hour - I think I slept easier with this zombie-free romance bouncing around in my head.

The film stars Richard Gere, who already proved his worthiness as a soft-shoe in Chicago, as estate lawyer John Clark, a man vaguely dissatisfied with his life without quite understanding why. Each night during his ride home on the train he passes by a dance studio and sees a beautiful but forlorn-looking woman (Jennifer Lopez) through the window. Intrigued, he decides one day to stop and investigate, taking the first step in an experience that will change his life.

Upon his arrival, he learns that he will not be spending much time with Paulina, the woman he saw from the window, during the ballroom dancing lessons she signs him up for. Instead, he will be under the tutelage of Miss Mitzi (Anita Gillette), a mildly frazzled older woman with years of experience. His fellow pupils are Chic (Bobby Cannavale), a man whose grace on the dance floor is matched by his apparent homophobia, and Vern (Omar Benson Miller), a big teddy bear of a guy who hopes to impress his girlfriend with his newfound skill (and the pounds he will lose because of it). Thrown into the mix is Bobbie (Lisa Ann Walter), an abrasive wannabe diva who spends the bulk of her time at the studio practicing for a tournament she can’t enter without a dancing partner, and Link Peterson (Stanley Tucci), John’s eccentric coworker who secretly does Latin dancing by night.

While the bulk of the movie follows John’s growing love affair with the art of ballroom dancing, the subplot focuses on his wife Beverly’s (Susan Sarandon) concerns that he is engaging in an affair of a different kind. His long absences and secretive behavior, not to mention the unfortunate experience of a coworker, lead her to hire an investigator, uber-casual Devine (Richard Jenkins), to scope out the situation. With the help of his quote-spewing assistant Scottie (Nick Cannon), he uncovers the not-so-adulterous nature of her husband’s activities. But is the marital rift that has already developed reparable?

Shall We Dance is a simple love story that comes to a somewhat unexpected climax. While this movie was advertised as a Gere / Lopez collaboration, her part in the film is smaller than anticipated. In fact, Sarandon’s role is just as important. But Lopez brings suitable depth to a character who obviously has darkness in her past that she hasn’t been able to evict. While Gere is the film’s focal point, and we are treated to several shining examples of his character’s newly acquired skill, it is the supporting cast who make the film so much fun. Tucci brings delightful zaniness to Link, also letting the audience in on the pain the derision of his coworkers causes him. Jenkins makes his detective crusty but lovable, and Cannavale introduces a comical imbalance between Chic’s machismo and obvious delight in gliding across the dance floor. My favorite character, though, is easily Miller’s gentle Vern, which was reminiscent of Forest Whitaker’s turn as Nate in Phenomenon. Though he may not ever be Fred Estaire, Vern has a heart to match his girth; he’s easily the most huggable fellow in the film.

Shall We Dance was never on my must-see list, but I’m glad circumstances conspired for me to watch it. It’s a sweet film that will leave you smiling.