When I was a senior in high school, I was saddened to learn that one of
my favorite writers, Shel Silverstein, had died. So when I saw his name
on the list of upcoming new releases at my bookstore, I was excited. I
did not expect to see any new Silverstein books, and the prospect
intrigued me. I bought a copy yesterday and quickly devoured it.
What I really would have cherished, I think, is a collection of poetry in the vein of Where the Sidewalk Ends, A Light in the Attic and Falling Up.
Those books contain dozens of trademark Silverstein poems ranging from
wacky to inspiring (often both at once), and because of them Silverstein
is one of the first names I think of when asked to name my favorite
poets. Runny Babbit is something a little different. It is a
collection of poems, but they all focus on a particular character, and
most run about eight lines.
Each poem is accompanied by an
illustration, allowing it to spread across two pages. The main character
is a dumpy bunny, a well-mannered little fellow with a host of
oddly-named woodland companions. This is the main conceit of the book,
one that will probably appeal to young children who find delight in
chattering in Pig Latin and other such “secret” languages long after the
adults around them have begun tearing their hair out. The words Runny Babbit (subtitled A Billy Sook)
are all topsy-turvy. Usually the first letters of two words are
switched, though on occasion Silverstein changing something else around
just to throw the readers a curveball (or to make something rhyme). It’s
amusing at first, but I’m afraid I tired of it quickly and found myself
just switching the letters back to normal as I read.
The
illustrations are done in Silverstein’s distinct style, and many of the
poems don’t make sense without them. Some of them also include bits of
dialogue, also written in the flip-flopped style. Basically the book is a
series of vignettes about Runny, calling to mind the delicious
minimalism of James Marshall in his chronicles of George and Martha.
Most of the poems are pretty mundane to begin with but have a concluding
twist that elicits a chuckle. Silverstein takes the ordinary day-to-day
life of his young protagonist and draws humor from it.
Some
of the poems are more successful than others. I found Silverstein’s
reference to George Washington hilarious, but I didn’t really see the
point of the ditty that included Yankee Doodle. It’s one of a few poems
that is just sort of there, with no grand reason for its existence. The best offerings include a sly wink in the last couple of lines, as in Runny and the Scancin’ Dunk:
“ Runny fell in a pud muddle, / and had to clash his wothes, / when
along came Skertie Gunk, / tancin’ on her does. / Skertie Gunk, she
taved her wail / to say, “Hello, my friend.” / So Runny Babbit had to go
/ and clash his wothes again.”
I shouldn’t be too surprised
that a posthumous offering does not quite hold up alongside the seminal
works of a master versifier. Take away the distinctive letter-switching
style, and most of these poems simply don’t provide the zaniness level
I’m used to with Silverstein. Still, it’s a good offering – a great one,
considering the fact that I didn’t expect to read anything new by him
again.
I also have to comment on the photograph on the back of
the book. It’s an interesting pose, him sitting back on a porch with
his knees out, sprawled comfortably. My brother laughed when he saw it
and said he didn’t look anything like an author of children’s books.
He’s as intimidating as the phony author featured on the cover of Lemony
Snicket’s Unauthorized Autobiography; he looks a little like the last man standing on Survivor.
So there’s a certain ironic humor in this portrait, as well as a
poignancy born of the fact that we know he is deceased. I don’t know
when the picture was taken, but to me it says weary defiance. I notice
that the photographer is the person to whom the book is dedicated, so I
imagine that he was a friend trying to capture the author as he was.
What he was to me is a man with a wicked sense of humor and a natural
flair for stringing words together in a most amusing fashion. He also
had a real sense of compassion about him, as is evident in such tales as
The Giving Tree. I don’t know if Runny Babbit will ever achieve that book’s iconic status, but for any fan of the dearly departed poet, it is a reason to be grateful.
Friday, March 18, 2005
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
A Grand Introduction to the Beatles
My brother Nathan has one of the most eclectic music collections of
anyone I know. He is familiar with all sorts of artists I’ve never heard
of as well as plenty I’m obsessed with. He has a song for every
occasion and delights in playing one after another and finding in some
of them a nugget of inspiration for his next video. Music is one of his
greatest passions. But up until a few years ago, he hated it. Oh, he
would make the occasional exception: listening to Simon and Garfunkel
with me and declaring Old Friends his favorite song, singing
along to an installment of VeggieTales’ Silly Songs with Larry,
occasionally allowing us to listen to Froggy, our oldies station, while
he was in the car with us. Usually, however, when someone turned on
music, he complained. Since his graduation from an obsession with Raffi
as a toddler, his disdain was evident nearly every time a tune seeped
out of the stereo.
The Beatles changed all that. His acquaintance with their music was a process, aided largely by Froggy, which plays a large selection of their songs, and a good friend of his who was already a Beatlemaniac. It helped that he was already a Ringo fan thanks to his association with Thomas the Tank Engine. Perhaps I even piqued his interest a bit when I returned from England in 2001 with a Yellow Submarine pin and pen for him. But it seems his fandom didn’t really take off until later that year with the unfortunate death of George Harrison. After that point, he immersed himself in the Beatles. While I had always found their music enjoyable enough, I had only been a casual fan until the dawn of Nathan’s obsession. I soon began hearing dozens of songs with which I was unfamiliar, or which I’d heard of but never really listened to. It soon became apparent just why so many people fell in love with them back in their prime.
This album collects the Beatles’ 27 number-one hits, making it an ideal starter CD. If none of these songs makes you fall in love with those cuddly Liverpudlians, chances are Beatlemania is not in your future. Paul McCartney and John Lennon were incredibly prolific during their partnership, writing an amazing number of songs, and George Harrison contributed a few as well. So this is only the tip of the iceberg, but the included songs are certainly among the best the Beatles put out.
Love Me Do - Definitely in the bubblegum phase of the group. It’s fun, it’s catchy, but it’s one of the least lyrically interesting songs in their canon. To tell you the truth, I find it rather annoying. Love, love me do. You know I love you. I’ll always be true. So please, love me do.
From Me To You - This one isn’t bad, but it’s not one that particularly sticks in my mind. Not as memorable as most of their early hits.
She Loves You - This, along with the next one, are both among the first Beatles songs I was familiar with. In the case of this particular song, that familiarity was aided by Alvin and the Chipmunks. Not a bad cover, if you ask me…
I Want To Hold Your Hand - I recall watching a tribute to the Beatles on the news a few years back, probably on a significant Beatle-related anniversary. It cited this song and noted that while some folks in their day thought the Beatles were bad news, this plea was so earnest and harmless that it made current listeners long for a more innocent time.
Can't Buy Me Love - It’s a nice sentiment, though it seems like the speaker is more interested in getting out of giving his girlfriend expensive gifts than in passing on them himself. Anyway, it’s a nice catchy song.
A Hard Day's Night - I also first experienced this song as a cover by Alvin and the Chipmunks. It’s a strange expression, one which I learned was accidentally coined by Ringo. Thematically a bit like John Denver’s Back Home Again, though this is a much more upbeat song. Denver wins out for me as far as lyrics go, though; the Beatles’ tunes at this point still weren't evidence of the work of master wordsmiths.
I Feel Fine - Another very catchy ditty. I have neutral feelings about most of it, but I really like the harmony on I’m so glad and She’s so glad. Those six words make the song for me.
Eight Days A Week - A bouncy song with a nice sentiment attached, but another of the tracks that isn’t very memorable to me.
Ticket To Ride - This is a fairly hard-rocking song. My brother and dad heard on the radio that Karen Carpenter’s dirge-like rendition of this number was rated the worst Beatles cover ever. Having heard William Shatner’s maleficent mangling of Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, I find that rather hard to believe, but certainly it accomplished a very different effect than the original.
Help! - The first song on the album that I love. Let’s face it, some of those early hits were a bit monotonous. This song is melodically vibrant, more lyrically complex and harmonically mesmerizing. It’s especially fun to sing along to as well because you can pick which half of the Beatles you want to join in with. When I think of great harmony, I tend to think of Simon and Garfunkel, the Beach Boys and Peter Paul and Mary before I think of the Beatles. This song stands up to any of those groups’ offerings masterfully.
Yesterday - My brother, it seems, is a very melancholy sort. He picked the most wistful song in the Simon and Garfunkel canon as his favorite and managed to do it again with the Beatles. It’s a very sad, quiet song, lovely in its understatement. From the mournful accompaniment to the plaintive vocal, this is a gorgeous song musically and lyrically. I heard once that it was the most widely covered song in the world. It certainly deserves to be a contender – though I suspect most covers fall far short of the original.
Day Tripper - Too hard-rocking for me. I just don’t like this one at all, so I don’t have much to say about it.
We Can Work It Out - This is another good one for demonstrating how tight the Beatles’ vocals could be. It takes a few melodic side trips, making us appreciate the pulsing rhythm of the verses all the more. Its most memorable line, however, is off by itself: Life is very short, and there’s no time for fussing and fighting, my friend. Another one of my favorites on the album.
Paperback Writer - Lyrically, I can identify with this, since I, like the weary speaker of the song and the tirelessly untalented Snoopy, long to get a publisher’s attention. Hopefully one day I will meet with a bit more success than seems to be in the cards for either of those two. Melodically, though, I just can’t get into this song. It’s rather whiny – which I guess makes sense, but it gets on my nerves…
Yellow Submarine - Definitely one of the first Beatles songs I heard, and still one of my favorites. My feelings towards the film are mixed. Largely it’s a little too weird for my taste. But I love the title song. It’s just odd enough to stick in the mind; it’s a Beatles signature that paved the way for plenty of related merchandise. There’s a definite childlike air to it as well. It sounds like a bedtime story one of them could have made up for a small child, and that is appealing. Very vibrant and imaginative.
Eleanor Rigby - If Yesterday is as melancholy as Old Friends, then Eleanor Rigby is as tragic as A Most Peculiar Man. Both pairs of songs even have a similar structure. In the former, the title both begins and ends the first verse. The lyrics are succinct, the pace is slow and the song is punctuated by a plaintive bridge. In the latter, the subject of both songs is a lonely person who dies and is not mourned by the community. The sad melodies proceed with rambling urgency as if to try to prove to the listener before it is to late that this person’s life had some meaning. Eleanor Rigby’s verses spiral downwards, leading the listener down a staircase of gloom throughout the duration of the song. The violins add to the song’s pathetic quality. There is also an interesting observation slipped in towards the end when the lyrics state no one was saved, hinting at the notion that clergy tend to prefer funerals to weddings for their redemptive possibilities. When no one bothers to mourn the dead, however, that opportunity is obviously lost. Probably the Beatles’ most depressing song.
Penny Lane - An interesting song to follow Eleanor Rigby. These songs are almost opposites. Both feature verses composed of vignettes, but Penny Lane is as cheerful as the previous song is gloomy. It’s a tribute to a particular place recalling all of the sights and sounds brought back with memories of that locale. The chorus has an open ending leading directly into the next verse, lending the impression that the speaker could continue his reflections indefinitely. In the end, he has to cut himself off before he gets too carried away. The tone is bright and the peeks at the characters who inhabit Penny Lane are amusing. Another favorite.
All You Need Is Love - One of the Beatles’ most quoted lyrics and the central theme of I Am Sam and Moulin Rouge. There’s an odd quality to this song, what with the regal introduction and continuing march quality that lends it the air of a war song – an ironic nod, perhaps, to the idea of making love, not war. The lyrics are seemingly candidates for inclusion in the Department of Redundancy Department, and I’m honestly not crazy about them. But it’s an enduring classic.
Hello, Goodbye - This is another of my very favorites. It has more of an early Beatles feel to it in terms of its lyrics. They are simple and repeat over and over again, but the harmonies build on one another, making for a joyous romp of a song that eventually loses itself in an exuberant extended coda. Though the lyrics call to my mind Leaves that are Green, with its disheartening sentiment Hello, hello, hello, hello. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. That’s all there is, its tone recalls Bye Bye Love, whose downcast lyrics stand in clear contrast to the cheerful melody in which they are enclosed. This is just a very fun and well-crafted song.
Lady Madonna - I love the piano on this one. I think I missed the boat on it, though. When I listen to it, I usually hear a jab at religion similar to Simon and Garfunkel's Blessed. However, I've read that this is actually a tribute to motherhood, and reading it with that in mind I see that's probably right. I just can't get past the "madonna," I guess. I don't like it as much as some others, but it's still good.
Hey Jude - But I like this one a lot better. One of the longest songs to ever hit the airwaves, though I heard the record for longest number-one hit goes to McArthur Park. As to how that ever became a number-one hit… I like the story behind Hey Jude, the fact that Paul wrote it for John’s son as a way to comfort him during a difficult time. I’m amused by continual speculation about drug references. If they really are intended to be there, please don’t tell me. I just love the way the song builds, starting out so quiet and ending in an extended coda reminiscent of and rivaling the one in The Boxer. Watching a stadium full of people join in on a candlelight chorus of the song during the Superbowl gave me chills. Certainly one of the Beatles’ longest songs, and also one of the best.
Get Back - This is another one with strange lyrics, and it’s also a more hard-edged than most of Beatles songs. I usually tend to skip this one.
The Ballad Of John & Yoko - My brother couldn’t believe that this song made it onto the CD. He always skips it, but I think it’s an alright song. Sort of a chance for John to vent, I guess, as Paul Simon did in A Simple Desultory Philippic. He got an awful lot of grief over Yoko Ono, and this seems to be his way of lashing out. It’s an all right song, though it doesn’t really seem the sort that would make it to number one on the charts.
Something - A nice chance for George to shine. While Ringo is sometimes maligned as the least talented of the Beatles, George is too often forgotten altogether. Before his death, I couldn’t honestly say I knew much of anything about him. He always seemed to blend into the background. It is a sad fact that I often am unaware of many of the contributions of people until after their death. I have a much better idea now of who George was and just how important he was to the group. This song is calm and quiet, rather like its composer, and I’m glad it was included.
Come Together - The guitar on this is kinda fun, but the lyrics are waaay out there. I just don’t get it.
Let It Be - The Beatles’ swan song, comparable to and, according to one interview with Paul McCartney, inspired by Bridge Over Troubled Water. I’ve only heard that on one occasion, however. The much more common tale for the composition of this hymnlike masterpiece is that it came to Paul after he had a vision of his deceased mother comforting him with the words “let it be,” rather similar to the way Pat Monahan later explained his smash hit Drops of Jupiter as a gift from his late mother in the middle of the night. It’s awfully convenient that Paul’s mother’s name was Mary; no other name would have had nearly the same impact or potential for broader interpretation. I always assumed that Paul was talking about the mother Mary. I’m sure he was conscious as he was writing of the fact that many of his listeners would interpret the song in this way. Thus, a small private moment became a global message of hope and, as with Bridge, a band in interpersonal turmoil managed to end on a note of hope and brotherhood. Also like Bridge, the most notable instrument in the song is the piano, which provides a gorgeous legato backdrop as the song builds on itself. Definitely one of their best.
The Long And Winding Road - A very quiet song with a wistful feel to it. Perhaps it was meant on one level to be a farewell from the Beatles. Though the song continually comes back to reconciliation, it can be read as a promise that the individual members of the Beatles would continue to share their music with the public. It could also hint at the fact that while they weren’t able to remain together professionally, the Beatles would always maintain affection for each other. Disregarding any context into which the song could be placed, it’s still a nice, soft song celebrating love and loyalty. A nice finish to the album.
I’m not crazy about all the songs here, and many of my favorite Beatles songs didn’t make the cut. With a Little Help From My Friends, If I Fell, When I’m Sixty-Four, In My Life, Maxwell’s Silver Hammer, Octopus’ Garden and Here Comes the Sun are only a sampling of Beatles songs I particularly like but have to find somewhere else. I guess it wouldn’t be too strategic, though, to include every song a fan could possibly want on one album. In fact, given the Beatles’ output, it wouldn’t be possible. This at least is a grand introduction to one of the greatest bands of all time.
The Beatles changed all that. His acquaintance with their music was a process, aided largely by Froggy, which plays a large selection of their songs, and a good friend of his who was already a Beatlemaniac. It helped that he was already a Ringo fan thanks to his association with Thomas the Tank Engine. Perhaps I even piqued his interest a bit when I returned from England in 2001 with a Yellow Submarine pin and pen for him. But it seems his fandom didn’t really take off until later that year with the unfortunate death of George Harrison. After that point, he immersed himself in the Beatles. While I had always found their music enjoyable enough, I had only been a casual fan until the dawn of Nathan’s obsession. I soon began hearing dozens of songs with which I was unfamiliar, or which I’d heard of but never really listened to. It soon became apparent just why so many people fell in love with them back in their prime.
This album collects the Beatles’ 27 number-one hits, making it an ideal starter CD. If none of these songs makes you fall in love with those cuddly Liverpudlians, chances are Beatlemania is not in your future. Paul McCartney and John Lennon were incredibly prolific during their partnership, writing an amazing number of songs, and George Harrison contributed a few as well. So this is only the tip of the iceberg, but the included songs are certainly among the best the Beatles put out.
Love Me Do - Definitely in the bubblegum phase of the group. It’s fun, it’s catchy, but it’s one of the least lyrically interesting songs in their canon. To tell you the truth, I find it rather annoying. Love, love me do. You know I love you. I’ll always be true. So please, love me do.
From Me To You - This one isn’t bad, but it’s not one that particularly sticks in my mind. Not as memorable as most of their early hits.
She Loves You - This, along with the next one, are both among the first Beatles songs I was familiar with. In the case of this particular song, that familiarity was aided by Alvin and the Chipmunks. Not a bad cover, if you ask me…
I Want To Hold Your Hand - I recall watching a tribute to the Beatles on the news a few years back, probably on a significant Beatle-related anniversary. It cited this song and noted that while some folks in their day thought the Beatles were bad news, this plea was so earnest and harmless that it made current listeners long for a more innocent time.
Can't Buy Me Love - It’s a nice sentiment, though it seems like the speaker is more interested in getting out of giving his girlfriend expensive gifts than in passing on them himself. Anyway, it’s a nice catchy song.
A Hard Day's Night - I also first experienced this song as a cover by Alvin and the Chipmunks. It’s a strange expression, one which I learned was accidentally coined by Ringo. Thematically a bit like John Denver’s Back Home Again, though this is a much more upbeat song. Denver wins out for me as far as lyrics go, though; the Beatles’ tunes at this point still weren't evidence of the work of master wordsmiths.
I Feel Fine - Another very catchy ditty. I have neutral feelings about most of it, but I really like the harmony on I’m so glad and She’s so glad. Those six words make the song for me.
Eight Days A Week - A bouncy song with a nice sentiment attached, but another of the tracks that isn’t very memorable to me.
Ticket To Ride - This is a fairly hard-rocking song. My brother and dad heard on the radio that Karen Carpenter’s dirge-like rendition of this number was rated the worst Beatles cover ever. Having heard William Shatner’s maleficent mangling of Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, I find that rather hard to believe, but certainly it accomplished a very different effect than the original.
Help! - The first song on the album that I love. Let’s face it, some of those early hits were a bit monotonous. This song is melodically vibrant, more lyrically complex and harmonically mesmerizing. It’s especially fun to sing along to as well because you can pick which half of the Beatles you want to join in with. When I think of great harmony, I tend to think of Simon and Garfunkel, the Beach Boys and Peter Paul and Mary before I think of the Beatles. This song stands up to any of those groups’ offerings masterfully.
Yesterday - My brother, it seems, is a very melancholy sort. He picked the most wistful song in the Simon and Garfunkel canon as his favorite and managed to do it again with the Beatles. It’s a very sad, quiet song, lovely in its understatement. From the mournful accompaniment to the plaintive vocal, this is a gorgeous song musically and lyrically. I heard once that it was the most widely covered song in the world. It certainly deserves to be a contender – though I suspect most covers fall far short of the original.
Day Tripper - Too hard-rocking for me. I just don’t like this one at all, so I don’t have much to say about it.
We Can Work It Out - This is another good one for demonstrating how tight the Beatles’ vocals could be. It takes a few melodic side trips, making us appreciate the pulsing rhythm of the verses all the more. Its most memorable line, however, is off by itself: Life is very short, and there’s no time for fussing and fighting, my friend. Another one of my favorites on the album.
Paperback Writer - Lyrically, I can identify with this, since I, like the weary speaker of the song and the tirelessly untalented Snoopy, long to get a publisher’s attention. Hopefully one day I will meet with a bit more success than seems to be in the cards for either of those two. Melodically, though, I just can’t get into this song. It’s rather whiny – which I guess makes sense, but it gets on my nerves…
Yellow Submarine - Definitely one of the first Beatles songs I heard, and still one of my favorites. My feelings towards the film are mixed. Largely it’s a little too weird for my taste. But I love the title song. It’s just odd enough to stick in the mind; it’s a Beatles signature that paved the way for plenty of related merchandise. There’s a definite childlike air to it as well. It sounds like a bedtime story one of them could have made up for a small child, and that is appealing. Very vibrant and imaginative.
Eleanor Rigby - If Yesterday is as melancholy as Old Friends, then Eleanor Rigby is as tragic as A Most Peculiar Man. Both pairs of songs even have a similar structure. In the former, the title both begins and ends the first verse. The lyrics are succinct, the pace is slow and the song is punctuated by a plaintive bridge. In the latter, the subject of both songs is a lonely person who dies and is not mourned by the community. The sad melodies proceed with rambling urgency as if to try to prove to the listener before it is to late that this person’s life had some meaning. Eleanor Rigby’s verses spiral downwards, leading the listener down a staircase of gloom throughout the duration of the song. The violins add to the song’s pathetic quality. There is also an interesting observation slipped in towards the end when the lyrics state no one was saved, hinting at the notion that clergy tend to prefer funerals to weddings for their redemptive possibilities. When no one bothers to mourn the dead, however, that opportunity is obviously lost. Probably the Beatles’ most depressing song.
Penny Lane - An interesting song to follow Eleanor Rigby. These songs are almost opposites. Both feature verses composed of vignettes, but Penny Lane is as cheerful as the previous song is gloomy. It’s a tribute to a particular place recalling all of the sights and sounds brought back with memories of that locale. The chorus has an open ending leading directly into the next verse, lending the impression that the speaker could continue his reflections indefinitely. In the end, he has to cut himself off before he gets too carried away. The tone is bright and the peeks at the characters who inhabit Penny Lane are amusing. Another favorite.
All You Need Is Love - One of the Beatles’ most quoted lyrics and the central theme of I Am Sam and Moulin Rouge. There’s an odd quality to this song, what with the regal introduction and continuing march quality that lends it the air of a war song – an ironic nod, perhaps, to the idea of making love, not war. The lyrics are seemingly candidates for inclusion in the Department of Redundancy Department, and I’m honestly not crazy about them. But it’s an enduring classic.
Hello, Goodbye - This is another of my very favorites. It has more of an early Beatles feel to it in terms of its lyrics. They are simple and repeat over and over again, but the harmonies build on one another, making for a joyous romp of a song that eventually loses itself in an exuberant extended coda. Though the lyrics call to my mind Leaves that are Green, with its disheartening sentiment Hello, hello, hello, hello. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. That’s all there is, its tone recalls Bye Bye Love, whose downcast lyrics stand in clear contrast to the cheerful melody in which they are enclosed. This is just a very fun and well-crafted song.
Lady Madonna - I love the piano on this one. I think I missed the boat on it, though. When I listen to it, I usually hear a jab at religion similar to Simon and Garfunkel's Blessed. However, I've read that this is actually a tribute to motherhood, and reading it with that in mind I see that's probably right. I just can't get past the "madonna," I guess. I don't like it as much as some others, but it's still good.
Hey Jude - But I like this one a lot better. One of the longest songs to ever hit the airwaves, though I heard the record for longest number-one hit goes to McArthur Park. As to how that ever became a number-one hit… I like the story behind Hey Jude, the fact that Paul wrote it for John’s son as a way to comfort him during a difficult time. I’m amused by continual speculation about drug references. If they really are intended to be there, please don’t tell me. I just love the way the song builds, starting out so quiet and ending in an extended coda reminiscent of and rivaling the one in The Boxer. Watching a stadium full of people join in on a candlelight chorus of the song during the Superbowl gave me chills. Certainly one of the Beatles’ longest songs, and also one of the best.
Get Back - This is another one with strange lyrics, and it’s also a more hard-edged than most of Beatles songs. I usually tend to skip this one.
The Ballad Of John & Yoko - My brother couldn’t believe that this song made it onto the CD. He always skips it, but I think it’s an alright song. Sort of a chance for John to vent, I guess, as Paul Simon did in A Simple Desultory Philippic. He got an awful lot of grief over Yoko Ono, and this seems to be his way of lashing out. It’s an all right song, though it doesn’t really seem the sort that would make it to number one on the charts.
Something - A nice chance for George to shine. While Ringo is sometimes maligned as the least talented of the Beatles, George is too often forgotten altogether. Before his death, I couldn’t honestly say I knew much of anything about him. He always seemed to blend into the background. It is a sad fact that I often am unaware of many of the contributions of people until after their death. I have a much better idea now of who George was and just how important he was to the group. This song is calm and quiet, rather like its composer, and I’m glad it was included.
Come Together - The guitar on this is kinda fun, but the lyrics are waaay out there. I just don’t get it.
Let It Be - The Beatles’ swan song, comparable to and, according to one interview with Paul McCartney, inspired by Bridge Over Troubled Water. I’ve only heard that on one occasion, however. The much more common tale for the composition of this hymnlike masterpiece is that it came to Paul after he had a vision of his deceased mother comforting him with the words “let it be,” rather similar to the way Pat Monahan later explained his smash hit Drops of Jupiter as a gift from his late mother in the middle of the night. It’s awfully convenient that Paul’s mother’s name was Mary; no other name would have had nearly the same impact or potential for broader interpretation. I always assumed that Paul was talking about the mother Mary. I’m sure he was conscious as he was writing of the fact that many of his listeners would interpret the song in this way. Thus, a small private moment became a global message of hope and, as with Bridge, a band in interpersonal turmoil managed to end on a note of hope and brotherhood. Also like Bridge, the most notable instrument in the song is the piano, which provides a gorgeous legato backdrop as the song builds on itself. Definitely one of their best.
The Long And Winding Road - A very quiet song with a wistful feel to it. Perhaps it was meant on one level to be a farewell from the Beatles. Though the song continually comes back to reconciliation, it can be read as a promise that the individual members of the Beatles would continue to share their music with the public. It could also hint at the fact that while they weren’t able to remain together professionally, the Beatles would always maintain affection for each other. Disregarding any context into which the song could be placed, it’s still a nice, soft song celebrating love and loyalty. A nice finish to the album.
I’m not crazy about all the songs here, and many of my favorite Beatles songs didn’t make the cut. With a Little Help From My Friends, If I Fell, When I’m Sixty-Four, In My Life, Maxwell’s Silver Hammer, Octopus’ Garden and Here Comes the Sun are only a sampling of Beatles songs I particularly like but have to find somewhere else. I guess it wouldn’t be too strategic, though, to include every song a fan could possibly want on one album. In fact, given the Beatles’ output, it wouldn’t be possible. This at least is a grand introduction to one of the greatest bands of all time.
Nobody Celebrates a Birthday Quite Like Sesame Street!
Up until last year, we had a library down the street from my house. When
I was little, we were frequent visitors to that institution, and I’m
afraid we took slight liberties with our borrowing privileges. By the
time I was in elementary school, I had a large collection of tapes that
had been copied from records and cassettes taken out of the library. The
downside to all this free music was that the tapes didn’t hold up very
well, and I am only in possession of a couple of them today. Happy Birthday from Sesame Street
somehow managed to survive. From what I can gather, it was just
recently re-released; in previous searches I was never able to find it
available for purchase. It remains one of my favorite Muppet-related
albums, and I still pull it out and listen to it now and then.
The album contains almost as much dialogue as music and could have been a televised special, though I’m not aware that it was. I suppose it may be more suited to audio, though, because of the direct address format. One could just say that the residents of Sesame Street are celebrating the birthday of an unnamed friend who never speaks throughout the whole production, but it seems what they really intend is for the listener to be the friend whose birthday is being celebrated. Accordingly, much of the album is interactive, as it gives the listener a glimpse of what’s happening with different characters during the party and often invites participation.
Happy Birthday From Sesame Street gets things rolling, establishing the occasion and the guests who will be popping up again later. Each guest presents the birthday child with a special wish, continuing in the style of The 12 Days of Christmas and other such listing songs. Calm, leaderly Bob, Maria and David come up with wishes that are generic but well-meaning while Big Bird, Bert, Ernie, Oscar and Cookie Monster offer more personalized felicitations. It’s a joyous opener that settles us firmly on Sesame Street.
I can’t find it on the track list, but Little Bit Older should go here. It’s a nice little song led by Bob in which several Sesame Streeters reflect on the differences that come with another birthday. They can’t be too bad, though, because the singers declare that “every year we like you even more.”
A Cat Had a Birthday is a jazzy little number that encourages the listener to join in. David, who departed from the Street (and this world) years ago, leads this simple but groovin’ song about how different animals wish each other a happy birthday. Rather along the lines of Old McDonald Had a Farm.
A Very Unhappy Birthday to You is possibly my favorite song on the album. Like Oscar’s more famous I Love Trash, this song is a litany of broken, dirty, unsavory things, all of which make a grouch’s birthday very unhappy indeed – but hey, for a grouch, that’s happy! So don’t be offended when he croons, “May the presents that you get make you angry and upset.”
Musical Chairs is led by Maria and Big Bird. This is perhaps the most interactive of the games; you can actually play this track as the backdrop to a game of musical chairs. It’s very repetitive, of course, just the same chorus again and again reminding you to keep walking around the chairs until the music stops. I actually played this at my thirteenth birthday party. I probably lost, too…
When Will My Birthday Come? is a soft lament by poor unloved little Grover, who was not invited to the birthday party. This is a crushing blow to such an affable monster, but he tries to pretend it doesn’t bother him. What results is a reflection on Grover’s desire to have a birthday all his own when everyone will gather to tell him that he’s special. “It seems like there are so many days; there must be a day for me.” It’s a bit reminiscent of Eeyore’s famous forgotten birthday. Oddly, though, we get the impression that Grover has never had a birthday in his life, and that clearly can’t be the case. He must just have a short memory… Anyway, never fear, because tears cannot last long on Sesame Street, and the song ends on a happy note for Grover.
Put a Cookie in My Mouth, like Musical Chairs, is an actual playable party game. This variation on Pin the Tail on the Donkey is tailored to the gluttonous blue monster as he encourages players to attach cookies to his mouth on a giant picture of his face. I recently played a similar game at a baby shower, except in this instance it was a pacifier. The song goes through several players’ turns until finally Cookie is satisfied with one player getting the cookie exactly where it ought to be.
Blow Out the Candles features Bob again, and I’m afraid I find this one a bit of a snoozer. Good old steady, dependable Bob… but he’s just a bit boring. Still, it’s a pretty song encouraging the listener to make that all-important birthday wish in whatever way seems best; whatever the preferred wishing method, Bob is eager to impart the blessing “may all you wish for come true.”
Everyone Likes Ice Cream is my other favorite track, featuring a group of young Muppets. It turns out that each of them is very different, but there is one vital thing that they can agree on. This is a fun tune whose verses reveal a bit about the characters involved. The song celebrates diversity while finding common ground and reminds me of a book my grandma had (and, I presume, still does) at her house in which a bear and a mouse become friends but cannot agree on anything to do together until they discover their mutual love of ice cream. “Search the whole world over, travel near and far, but everyone likes ice cream, no matter who they are.” They won’t find a detractor to their theory in me!
Birthday Rhyme Game features Big Bird and Maria again. This game, the only one that is not sung, is also interactive with a series of unfinished rhymes that the listener has to try to figure out. Big Bird is almost annoyingly dopey in this one, forever forgetting that the missing word is supposed to rhyme. I guess that’s to make the kids feel smart…
Thanks for the Party brings the album full circle with an upbeat number that once again gathers everyone and collects their impressions of the party. Each character makes a comment, with the humans again setting the structure but the Muppets providing the more interesting remarks. I think Oscar’s cantankerous commentary amuses me most, and I wouldn’t mind at all if he were to tell me mine was “the yuckiest birthday party since I can’t remember when.”
All in all, this is a solid album with lots of fun tracks. Its intended audience is towards the younger end of the scale, but older audiences can appreciate it as well. I certainly do.
The album contains almost as much dialogue as music and could have been a televised special, though I’m not aware that it was. I suppose it may be more suited to audio, though, because of the direct address format. One could just say that the residents of Sesame Street are celebrating the birthday of an unnamed friend who never speaks throughout the whole production, but it seems what they really intend is for the listener to be the friend whose birthday is being celebrated. Accordingly, much of the album is interactive, as it gives the listener a glimpse of what’s happening with different characters during the party and often invites participation.
Happy Birthday From Sesame Street gets things rolling, establishing the occasion and the guests who will be popping up again later. Each guest presents the birthday child with a special wish, continuing in the style of The 12 Days of Christmas and other such listing songs. Calm, leaderly Bob, Maria and David come up with wishes that are generic but well-meaning while Big Bird, Bert, Ernie, Oscar and Cookie Monster offer more personalized felicitations. It’s a joyous opener that settles us firmly on Sesame Street.
I can’t find it on the track list, but Little Bit Older should go here. It’s a nice little song led by Bob in which several Sesame Streeters reflect on the differences that come with another birthday. They can’t be too bad, though, because the singers declare that “every year we like you even more.”
A Cat Had a Birthday is a jazzy little number that encourages the listener to join in. David, who departed from the Street (and this world) years ago, leads this simple but groovin’ song about how different animals wish each other a happy birthday. Rather along the lines of Old McDonald Had a Farm.
A Very Unhappy Birthday to You is possibly my favorite song on the album. Like Oscar’s more famous I Love Trash, this song is a litany of broken, dirty, unsavory things, all of which make a grouch’s birthday very unhappy indeed – but hey, for a grouch, that’s happy! So don’t be offended when he croons, “May the presents that you get make you angry and upset.”
Musical Chairs is led by Maria and Big Bird. This is perhaps the most interactive of the games; you can actually play this track as the backdrop to a game of musical chairs. It’s very repetitive, of course, just the same chorus again and again reminding you to keep walking around the chairs until the music stops. I actually played this at my thirteenth birthday party. I probably lost, too…
When Will My Birthday Come? is a soft lament by poor unloved little Grover, who was not invited to the birthday party. This is a crushing blow to such an affable monster, but he tries to pretend it doesn’t bother him. What results is a reflection on Grover’s desire to have a birthday all his own when everyone will gather to tell him that he’s special. “It seems like there are so many days; there must be a day for me.” It’s a bit reminiscent of Eeyore’s famous forgotten birthday. Oddly, though, we get the impression that Grover has never had a birthday in his life, and that clearly can’t be the case. He must just have a short memory… Anyway, never fear, because tears cannot last long on Sesame Street, and the song ends on a happy note for Grover.
Put a Cookie in My Mouth, like Musical Chairs, is an actual playable party game. This variation on Pin the Tail on the Donkey is tailored to the gluttonous blue monster as he encourages players to attach cookies to his mouth on a giant picture of his face. I recently played a similar game at a baby shower, except in this instance it was a pacifier. The song goes through several players’ turns until finally Cookie is satisfied with one player getting the cookie exactly where it ought to be.
Blow Out the Candles features Bob again, and I’m afraid I find this one a bit of a snoozer. Good old steady, dependable Bob… but he’s just a bit boring. Still, it’s a pretty song encouraging the listener to make that all-important birthday wish in whatever way seems best; whatever the preferred wishing method, Bob is eager to impart the blessing “may all you wish for come true.”
Everyone Likes Ice Cream is my other favorite track, featuring a group of young Muppets. It turns out that each of them is very different, but there is one vital thing that they can agree on. This is a fun tune whose verses reveal a bit about the characters involved. The song celebrates diversity while finding common ground and reminds me of a book my grandma had (and, I presume, still does) at her house in which a bear and a mouse become friends but cannot agree on anything to do together until they discover their mutual love of ice cream. “Search the whole world over, travel near and far, but everyone likes ice cream, no matter who they are.” They won’t find a detractor to their theory in me!
Birthday Rhyme Game features Big Bird and Maria again. This game, the only one that is not sung, is also interactive with a series of unfinished rhymes that the listener has to try to figure out. Big Bird is almost annoyingly dopey in this one, forever forgetting that the missing word is supposed to rhyme. I guess that’s to make the kids feel smart…
Thanks for the Party brings the album full circle with an upbeat number that once again gathers everyone and collects their impressions of the party. Each character makes a comment, with the humans again setting the structure but the Muppets providing the more interesting remarks. I think Oscar’s cantankerous commentary amuses me most, and I wouldn’t mind at all if he were to tell me mine was “the yuckiest birthday party since I can’t remember when.”
All in all, this is a solid album with lots of fun tracks. Its intended audience is towards the younger end of the scale, but older audiences can appreciate it as well. I certainly do.
Friday, March 11, 2005
Anne Passes the Torch to her Children
Anne of Ingleside marks the last of the Anne books currently in
my possession. There are two more, but I have been told that they have
much less to do with Anne than with her children. The same might be said
of this book, but she does come back into focus at several points in
the narrative, even if her children hog the spotlight most of the time. I
will probably get those last two books eventually, but I may not rush
right out to do so.
I found the back-cover description on this book confusing. The first sentence places us directly at the beginning of the novel, but the second skips right to a moment 20 pages from the end of the book and speaks of it as though it were a great central conflict in the book. It struck me as rather misleading. I kept waiting for an unpleasant change in Gilbert’s demeanor, but by the time it happens it’s so late in the game it almost feels tacked on, especially after so many chapter focusing on the Blythe children.
There can be no question at this point that Anne is an adult. We see a bit of the old Anne in the beginning when she has a chance to wander through Avonlea with Diana and again, later in the book, when she puts forth great effort in an ill-conceived matchmaking attempt. Now comfortably settled at the stately manor of Ingleside, Anne presides over a brood of five – soon to be six – children and seems to be the envy of the town. Certainly her children worship her and share in her earlier capacity for getting into any number of unsettling situations.
It is the children on whom Montgomery focuses most of her attention: Jem (named in honor of Captain Jim), the oldest and perhaps most practical of the bunch; Walter, an especially imaginative boy reminiscent of Anne’s beloved pupil Paul; Nan and Di, a pair of twins – which Anne just can’t seem to escape – who, rather to their mother’s dismay, look and think nothing alike; Shirley, the youngest boy who is scarcely mentioned in the book at all; and Rilla, who is born during the course of the book and completes the Blythe crew. Each of the children have their own adventures chronicled in this volume – except, unless it was so insubstantial I forgot it as soon as I read it, for Shirley. (And is it just me, or is Shirley a rather inappropriate name for a boy?)
I think I enjoyed the first portion of this book the most. It is during this part that the Blythe household is overshadowed by an affliction by the name of Aunt Mary Maria. The dourest of sourpusses, this 55-year-old woman makes the Blythes miserable, casting a pall over their otherwise cheery household. But they cannot turn her out, in spite of the fact that she has a home of her own that is lying vacant, because of Gilbert’s sense of family loyalty. How they eventually manage to get rid of her is surprising and makes for a very satisfying conclusion to that problem. As I read this part of the book, I found myself thinking again and again that they had to get rid of this horrible woman, knowing deep down that the book would be less interesting without her. In fact, she provides a crucial conflict at the beginning of the book. Without that, the remainder of the novel is unfocused, mostly a series of vignettes concerning the misadventures of the young Blythes.
I enjoyed this book, and I found the antics of Anne’s children amusing. But it did make for a rather odd reading experience, with the focus jumping around so much. At least Anne has the beginning and end of the book to herself, and we are able to get a glimpse of how she has changed – and hasn’t – over the course of the book. It almost seems, though, that Mary Maria could have had a book to herself had the details of her stay been expanded upon more and that the rest of the book could have stood on its own as a series of adventures with nothing in particular tying them together except for the Blythe name. In any case, this is a very different Anne book from the fifth. Having actually been written after the fourth, it reintroduces Rebecca Dew and allows her and Susan to become fast friends. It retains the anecdotal quality of that book, wherein the most pressing conflict was similarly resolved within the first quarter of the novel.
This is still a very worthwhile addition to the Anne chronicles, but it shifts away from Anne herself to her children, introducing a whole new generation of youngsters with whom, it can be hoped, we will eventually fall in love. I suspect, however, that when I do read the last two books, none of them will be able to capture my fancy nearly so strongly as that plucky, red-headed orphan who talked Matthew’s ear off on the ride to Green Gables.
I found the back-cover description on this book confusing. The first sentence places us directly at the beginning of the novel, but the second skips right to a moment 20 pages from the end of the book and speaks of it as though it were a great central conflict in the book. It struck me as rather misleading. I kept waiting for an unpleasant change in Gilbert’s demeanor, but by the time it happens it’s so late in the game it almost feels tacked on, especially after so many chapter focusing on the Blythe children.
There can be no question at this point that Anne is an adult. We see a bit of the old Anne in the beginning when she has a chance to wander through Avonlea with Diana and again, later in the book, when she puts forth great effort in an ill-conceived matchmaking attempt. Now comfortably settled at the stately manor of Ingleside, Anne presides over a brood of five – soon to be six – children and seems to be the envy of the town. Certainly her children worship her and share in her earlier capacity for getting into any number of unsettling situations.
It is the children on whom Montgomery focuses most of her attention: Jem (named in honor of Captain Jim), the oldest and perhaps most practical of the bunch; Walter, an especially imaginative boy reminiscent of Anne’s beloved pupil Paul; Nan and Di, a pair of twins – which Anne just can’t seem to escape – who, rather to their mother’s dismay, look and think nothing alike; Shirley, the youngest boy who is scarcely mentioned in the book at all; and Rilla, who is born during the course of the book and completes the Blythe crew. Each of the children have their own adventures chronicled in this volume – except, unless it was so insubstantial I forgot it as soon as I read it, for Shirley. (And is it just me, or is Shirley a rather inappropriate name for a boy?)
I think I enjoyed the first portion of this book the most. It is during this part that the Blythe household is overshadowed by an affliction by the name of Aunt Mary Maria. The dourest of sourpusses, this 55-year-old woman makes the Blythes miserable, casting a pall over their otherwise cheery household. But they cannot turn her out, in spite of the fact that she has a home of her own that is lying vacant, because of Gilbert’s sense of family loyalty. How they eventually manage to get rid of her is surprising and makes for a very satisfying conclusion to that problem. As I read this part of the book, I found myself thinking again and again that they had to get rid of this horrible woman, knowing deep down that the book would be less interesting without her. In fact, she provides a crucial conflict at the beginning of the book. Without that, the remainder of the novel is unfocused, mostly a series of vignettes concerning the misadventures of the young Blythes.
I enjoyed this book, and I found the antics of Anne’s children amusing. But it did make for a rather odd reading experience, with the focus jumping around so much. At least Anne has the beginning and end of the book to herself, and we are able to get a glimpse of how she has changed – and hasn’t – over the course of the book. It almost seems, though, that Mary Maria could have had a book to herself had the details of her stay been expanded upon more and that the rest of the book could have stood on its own as a series of adventures with nothing in particular tying them together except for the Blythe name. In any case, this is a very different Anne book from the fifth. Having actually been written after the fourth, it reintroduces Rebecca Dew and allows her and Susan to become fast friends. It retains the anecdotal quality of that book, wherein the most pressing conflict was similarly resolved within the first quarter of the novel.
This is still a very worthwhile addition to the Anne chronicles, but it shifts away from Anne herself to her children, introducing a whole new generation of youngsters with whom, it can be hoped, we will eventually fall in love. I suspect, however, that when I do read the last two books, none of them will be able to capture my fancy nearly so strongly as that plucky, red-headed orphan who talked Matthew’s ear off on the ride to Green Gables.
Not Too Unfortunate of an Adaptation
The end of 2004 marked the first holiday movie season after Lord of the Rings,
which meant that there couldn’t possibly be a film that would create
the same level of anticipation in me. Still, there were several movies
in which I had at least a moderate interest, and so far I’ve managed to
see most of them. A glaring exception is Finding Neverland, which never even made it to a theater in Erie. For shame.
A couple weeks ago, my dad noticed that A Series of Unfortunate Events had hit the dollar theater, and he offered to take me to see it that weekend. We went, though Dad didn’t have a very clear idea of what he was in for. He certainly didn’t expect the first unfortunate event, a glitch that resulted in his seeing a trailer for Pooh’s Heffalump Movie upside-down and backwards. I was getting popcorn at the time and was spared the opportunity to search for Satanic messages in the trailer that was so benign the right way around.
But to the film. I applaud the creativity of the opening and closing. The animated bits that persist through the end of the credits reward those few who actually bother to stick around until the screen switches back to its intermediary line-up of trivia and Coke ads. Meanwhile, the beginning sequence, presenting in an obnoxiously bright and cheerful manner the adventures of a happy little elf, calls to mind the fake cover so graciously provided to readers of Lemony Snicket’s Unauthorized Autobiography.
These are potentially the most self-referential stories I’ve ever read, and the film goes to just as much trouble as the books to warn us of impending danger and offer a more palatable alternative. Jude Law, hunched over an antiquated typewriter, provides the doleful, sympathetic voice of Lemony Snicket himself. That narratorial presence is my favorite part of the books, and Law inhabits the role naturally, his vocal timbre a perfect match for Snicket’s warnings and foreshadowing.
The other most impressive on-screen presence is, of course, Jim Carrey. As the film was
promoted, Count Olaf was about the only part of the movie anyone seemed to care about. Carrey camps it up as much as he can, making Olaf a little less sinister and a little more ludicrous. I saw Carrey promoting the movie on Letterman, and he explained that his take on Olaf was a wannabe actor who is very bad at what he does. All of his characterizations are over-the-top and easy to see through; though he reappears in several different guises, the unfortunate Baudelaire orphans recognize him immediately each time (though their incompetent legal representative, Mr. Poe (Timothy Spall) can never see it until it is too late). As in the Austin Powers films, the villain is the most comical character. Of his later incarnations, I find Stefano, the man who comes to assist the reptile-loving Uncle Monty (Billy Connolly), quite irritating, but I love his role as the crusty old sea captain who woos paranoid Aunt Josephine (Meryl Streep). This is fortunate for me, since I adore Uncle Monty but find Aunt Josephine extremely grating.
The orphans, particularly Violet (Emily Browning) and Klaus (Liam Aiken), spend most of the film looking quite somber. Infant Sunny (Kara and Shelby Hoffman) seems to take a brighter view of things, adopting a disposition to match her name. Violet and Klaus are fine, but Sunny gets on my nerves, mainly because of her sarcastic comments (which appear in subtitles as she can only make a series of babyish sounds). The younger members of the audience found this very amusing, but I thought the remarks were stupid and very out of keeping with the style of the book. Snicket does frequently provide possible translations for Sunny’s gurgling, but these speculative bits of dialogue are droll and worth a chuckle. In the film, they’re just going for cheap laughs, and it degrades the integrity of Snicket’s idiosyncratic linguistic usage.
As I mentioned before, Uncle Monty, the affectionate, eccentric snake collector, is a character I hold in high regard. When I read the book, I fell in love with him after some trepidation, initially fearing that he might be as untrustworthy as Count Olaf. He soon became my favorite character in the series up to that point, so I was pleased to see him make the transition to film so well. I did not pick up on his being Scottish in the book, so that was a nice surprise as well. The lilting melody he sings to the orphans with the aid of one of his favorite snakes was one of the film’s high points for me.
Several high-profile actors put in an appearance in the film, most oddly Dustin Hoffman in a very brief role as a theater critic and Gilbert Gottfried uttering just one squawk as a very familiar-looking duck. It’s not so much the actors, though, as the set design that captures the attention. The film is gorgeously grotesque, and every set piece (with the exception of those used in the opening sequence) has a bit of a gothic feel to it.
The film combines the first three books and takes considerable liberties with the material. We still wind up with the ending from the first book, though it is considerably altered to make for a more acceptably dramatic movie climax. While the conclusion is rather dreary and certainly open-ended enough to allow for a sequel, Law’s narration prevents it from seeming like a true unhappy ending. In fact, the film’s last words are “In that sense, they were very fortunate indeed.” Well, I guess a little thread of warm and fuzzy running through all that darkness can’t hurt.
The movie is not as good as the books, but it’s a pretty good adaptation, especially in visual terms. Fans of the books should check it out. And if they can get past the inherent oddity of the movie, as my dad eventually did, the unindoctrinated may just be inspired to pick up one of Mr. Snicket’s books themselves.
A couple weeks ago, my dad noticed that A Series of Unfortunate Events had hit the dollar theater, and he offered to take me to see it that weekend. We went, though Dad didn’t have a very clear idea of what he was in for. He certainly didn’t expect the first unfortunate event, a glitch that resulted in his seeing a trailer for Pooh’s Heffalump Movie upside-down and backwards. I was getting popcorn at the time and was spared the opportunity to search for Satanic messages in the trailer that was so benign the right way around.
But to the film. I applaud the creativity of the opening and closing. The animated bits that persist through the end of the credits reward those few who actually bother to stick around until the screen switches back to its intermediary line-up of trivia and Coke ads. Meanwhile, the beginning sequence, presenting in an obnoxiously bright and cheerful manner the adventures of a happy little elf, calls to mind the fake cover so graciously provided to readers of Lemony Snicket’s Unauthorized Autobiography.
These are potentially the most self-referential stories I’ve ever read, and the film goes to just as much trouble as the books to warn us of impending danger and offer a more palatable alternative. Jude Law, hunched over an antiquated typewriter, provides the doleful, sympathetic voice of Lemony Snicket himself. That narratorial presence is my favorite part of the books, and Law inhabits the role naturally, his vocal timbre a perfect match for Snicket’s warnings and foreshadowing.
The other most impressive on-screen presence is, of course, Jim Carrey. As the film was
promoted, Count Olaf was about the only part of the movie anyone seemed to care about. Carrey camps it up as much as he can, making Olaf a little less sinister and a little more ludicrous. I saw Carrey promoting the movie on Letterman, and he explained that his take on Olaf was a wannabe actor who is very bad at what he does. All of his characterizations are over-the-top and easy to see through; though he reappears in several different guises, the unfortunate Baudelaire orphans recognize him immediately each time (though their incompetent legal representative, Mr. Poe (Timothy Spall) can never see it until it is too late). As in the Austin Powers films, the villain is the most comical character. Of his later incarnations, I find Stefano, the man who comes to assist the reptile-loving Uncle Monty (Billy Connolly), quite irritating, but I love his role as the crusty old sea captain who woos paranoid Aunt Josephine (Meryl Streep). This is fortunate for me, since I adore Uncle Monty but find Aunt Josephine extremely grating.
The orphans, particularly Violet (Emily Browning) and Klaus (Liam Aiken), spend most of the film looking quite somber. Infant Sunny (Kara and Shelby Hoffman) seems to take a brighter view of things, adopting a disposition to match her name. Violet and Klaus are fine, but Sunny gets on my nerves, mainly because of her sarcastic comments (which appear in subtitles as she can only make a series of babyish sounds). The younger members of the audience found this very amusing, but I thought the remarks were stupid and very out of keeping with the style of the book. Snicket does frequently provide possible translations for Sunny’s gurgling, but these speculative bits of dialogue are droll and worth a chuckle. In the film, they’re just going for cheap laughs, and it degrades the integrity of Snicket’s idiosyncratic linguistic usage.
As I mentioned before, Uncle Monty, the affectionate, eccentric snake collector, is a character I hold in high regard. When I read the book, I fell in love with him after some trepidation, initially fearing that he might be as untrustworthy as Count Olaf. He soon became my favorite character in the series up to that point, so I was pleased to see him make the transition to film so well. I did not pick up on his being Scottish in the book, so that was a nice surprise as well. The lilting melody he sings to the orphans with the aid of one of his favorite snakes was one of the film’s high points for me.
Several high-profile actors put in an appearance in the film, most oddly Dustin Hoffman in a very brief role as a theater critic and Gilbert Gottfried uttering just one squawk as a very familiar-looking duck. It’s not so much the actors, though, as the set design that captures the attention. The film is gorgeously grotesque, and every set piece (with the exception of those used in the opening sequence) has a bit of a gothic feel to it.
The film combines the first three books and takes considerable liberties with the material. We still wind up with the ending from the first book, though it is considerably altered to make for a more acceptably dramatic movie climax. While the conclusion is rather dreary and certainly open-ended enough to allow for a sequel, Law’s narration prevents it from seeming like a true unhappy ending. In fact, the film’s last words are “In that sense, they were very fortunate indeed.” Well, I guess a little thread of warm and fuzzy running through all that darkness can’t hurt.
The movie is not as good as the books, but it’s a pretty good adaptation, especially in visual terms. Fans of the books should check it out. And if they can get past the inherent oddity of the movie, as my dad eventually did, the unindoctrinated may just be inspired to pick up one of Mr. Snicket’s books themselves.
Saturday, February 12, 2005
Roo's Heffalump Movie a Glorious Return to the Hundred-Acre Wood
On my twelfth birthday, I got a copy of the original Winnie-the-Pooh
book, along with, if I recall right, a pair of Pooh bookends and a Pooh
watch. Today I am twice that age and Pooh is still just as integral to
my existence. I don’t think a birthday has passed between then and now
in which Pooh hasn’t shown his friendly face in one form or another. Two
days ago, it was a birthday card from my grandparents. Yesterday, it
was a viewing of Pooh’s Heffalump Movie, courtesy of my best friend.
Although I was bound and determined to see both The Tigger Movie and Piglet’s Big Movie in the theater, I didn’t get there in time. So this was my first Winnie-the-Pooh movie-going experience, and it turned out to be an odd one. We were running a bit late, so I figured we’d miss a couple minutes. As it turned out, we walked into an entirely empty theater. “Hey, look, Erin!” Libbie shouted. “I rented a theater for your birthday!” The second we sat down the lights went out and the previews started. It gave me an eerie feeling of power. And this on opening day, if I’m not mistaken! While I think the venue, an out-of-the-way old theater on the east side of town, had something to do with it, I can’t help but think such a turn-out doesn’t bode well for the Silly Old Bear.
I find the title slightly off-putting, just for the reason that they’re following the pattern of naming a movie for its prominent character but apparently figure “Heffalump” doesn’t carry enough brand recognition. I think The Heffalump Movie or Roo’s Heffalump Movie would have been a better fit, and I just hate to think Disney thinks so little of our intelligence that we can’t figure out a movie is located in the Hundred-Acre Wood if it doesn’t feature one of the five most visible characters in the title.
Nonetheless, I enjoyed it. Carly Simon returned to the Wood after a successful involvement in Piglet’s Big Movie. While none of the songs are as memorable as The Wonderful Thing About Tiggers, I’m Just a Little Black Raincloud or the Pooh theme song, they work well in the movie: as an outlet for maternal affection, an anthem of budding friendship and a warning about the looming danger of Heffalumps reminiscent of Pooh’s eerie nightmare in Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day. I was also surprised – and pleased – to catch several wistful wisps of a pan flute – or was it a tin whistle? A wind instrument with a decidedly Celtic air about it.
The movie retains a more British feel to it than The New Adventures of Winnie-the-Pooh. It offers us several panoramic views of a drab yet glorious landscape, all rolling fields, babbling brooks and majestic forests with only the characters’ quiet homesteads and a wooden fence winding its way through the Wood to indicate the presence of its residents. (Where did the fence come from? I don’t recall its ever being there before. And how is it that Rabbit has been living practically next door to the Heffalumps all this time and we never knew it?) I feel like I’m stepping into the British countryside of Milne and Tolkien, purified by memory and imagination perhaps but just real enough that I can’t help but believe it exists and want to go there. (I’ll have my chance to see for myself, I guess, when I hop the pond to England this summer for six weeks. There’s no way I’m letting this trip slip by without a trip to Ashdown Forest.)
More than the setting, though, we have Lumpy, voiced by British then-5-year-old newcomer Kyle Sanger. I had read that he ad-libbed throughout the recording, in part because he had trouble remembering all the lines exactly, and they kept a lot of it because it was so cute. I couldn’t tell where this occurred most of the time, but there can be no denying that he is an adorable addition to the Pooh ensemble. His mother, when she finally appears, is the model of a doting British mum. These are the representatives of the dreaded race that lurks in the shadows of the foreboding trees that loom on the other side of the fence in Heffalump Hollow.
The movie is essentially a lesson in tolerance and stopping to get to know people before determining they are enemies. Just as the end of Pooh’s Grand Adventure revealed that all the frightening stops on their journey were only scary because of their state of mind, so Pooh’s Heffalump Movie assures our furry friends that these elephant-like creatures are nothing to fear. The paradigm shift occurs for Roo, who has captured Lumpy with the intention of bringing him home to proudly show his friends, when he realizes that Lumpy is just as afraid of Tigger, Piglet and Rabbit as they are of the Heffalumps. I’ve heard criticisms that the film tries too hard to be politically correct, but I just saw a sweet story with a couple of misunderstandings and a happy ending.
I had a hunch I was really going to like this movie in spite of my disappointment with Piglet’s Big Movie. This film is straightforward, with only a bit of self-referential narration at the beginning and end to frame the tale. I was confused to see David Ogden Stiers credited on imdb as the narrator. While he would make a fine narrator in the traditional Winnie the Pooh style, I am certain that it was Pooh himself who narrated this movie. An error on the website’s part? They did fail to mention Lumpy in the cast list altogether.
I thought the characters were much more themselves in this film. While Rabbit sternly telling Roo that he was too little to go Heffalump hunting with them, even though it was Roo who convinced them to do it in the first place, didn’t sit well with me, I guess I can accept it as a manifestation of Rabbit’s protective affection for the little marsupial. Rabbit is pretty crotchety in this movie, but that’s not unusual. Tigger is his typical bouncy self, Piglet as timid and Pooh as absent-minded as ever. But none of them are mean-spirited, as they seemed to be at times in Piglet’s Big Movie.
It’s odd for Kanga and Roo, two relatively minor characters in the Pooh canon – though admittedly Roo seems to be becoming more prominent lately – to carry a film, but I don’t mind. And while Eeyore’s presence in the film is negligible – “Why the heck was Eeyore in this movie?” Libbie asked – his bits of screen time, appearing just when everyone has nearly forgotten about him, are amusing. Relegated to the role of beast of burden, he is forced to carry the most bizarre assortment of equipment imaginable. I didn’t think that much stuff could be found among the houses of the Hundred Acre Wood’s inhabitants. I would think that Lumpy’s acquaintance with Roo would please Eeyore; it must be rather dismal to be the only one you know who walks on all fours.
Owl and Gopher are entirely absent from the film, but we don’t particularly miss them. It did seem odd to let an entire movie pass without even a mention of Christopher Robin. I guess the script-writers wanted our friends to solve this problem on their own. The trouble with all Pooh stories is that the Hundred Acre Wood is so akin to Heaven that no real peril can touch it. Atmospheric conditions sometimes threaten and visions of vile creatures may haunt the dreams of timid Piglet and hunny-hoarding Pooh, but the truth is that no bad thing of lasting consequence occurs here. I can’t say I was too surprised when, for the third movie running, the climax involved one of the characters dangling from a tree over a precipice. But it still managed to be endearing, with the heroic effort by the enemy camp a la The Russians are Coming. Of course, by this time the forest-dwellers on both sides of the fence have come to realize that they have nothing to fear from one another.
This is not an exciting movie, and most 24-year-olds would probably find themselves a bit bored by it as my friend did. Instead, I was infused with the warm feeling that must accompany Pooh when he lets a glob of golden hunny slide down his throat. The delightful slide show of further adventures with Lumpy, including an overdue introduction to Christopher Robin and a nod to Pooh’s long-ago tenure halfway through Rabbit’s front door, is the perfect finishing touch on a movie that succeeded beautifully in whisking this now-24-year-old “back to the days of Pooh.” Somehow I don’t think she ever really left.
Although I was bound and determined to see both The Tigger Movie and Piglet’s Big Movie in the theater, I didn’t get there in time. So this was my first Winnie-the-Pooh movie-going experience, and it turned out to be an odd one. We were running a bit late, so I figured we’d miss a couple minutes. As it turned out, we walked into an entirely empty theater. “Hey, look, Erin!” Libbie shouted. “I rented a theater for your birthday!” The second we sat down the lights went out and the previews started. It gave me an eerie feeling of power. And this on opening day, if I’m not mistaken! While I think the venue, an out-of-the-way old theater on the east side of town, had something to do with it, I can’t help but think such a turn-out doesn’t bode well for the Silly Old Bear.
I find the title slightly off-putting, just for the reason that they’re following the pattern of naming a movie for its prominent character but apparently figure “Heffalump” doesn’t carry enough brand recognition. I think The Heffalump Movie or Roo’s Heffalump Movie would have been a better fit, and I just hate to think Disney thinks so little of our intelligence that we can’t figure out a movie is located in the Hundred-Acre Wood if it doesn’t feature one of the five most visible characters in the title.
Nonetheless, I enjoyed it. Carly Simon returned to the Wood after a successful involvement in Piglet’s Big Movie. While none of the songs are as memorable as The Wonderful Thing About Tiggers, I’m Just a Little Black Raincloud or the Pooh theme song, they work well in the movie: as an outlet for maternal affection, an anthem of budding friendship and a warning about the looming danger of Heffalumps reminiscent of Pooh’s eerie nightmare in Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day. I was also surprised – and pleased – to catch several wistful wisps of a pan flute – or was it a tin whistle? A wind instrument with a decidedly Celtic air about it.
The movie retains a more British feel to it than The New Adventures of Winnie-the-Pooh. It offers us several panoramic views of a drab yet glorious landscape, all rolling fields, babbling brooks and majestic forests with only the characters’ quiet homesteads and a wooden fence winding its way through the Wood to indicate the presence of its residents. (Where did the fence come from? I don’t recall its ever being there before. And how is it that Rabbit has been living practically next door to the Heffalumps all this time and we never knew it?) I feel like I’m stepping into the British countryside of Milne and Tolkien, purified by memory and imagination perhaps but just real enough that I can’t help but believe it exists and want to go there. (I’ll have my chance to see for myself, I guess, when I hop the pond to England this summer for six weeks. There’s no way I’m letting this trip slip by without a trip to Ashdown Forest.)
More than the setting, though, we have Lumpy, voiced by British then-5-year-old newcomer Kyle Sanger. I had read that he ad-libbed throughout the recording, in part because he had trouble remembering all the lines exactly, and they kept a lot of it because it was so cute. I couldn’t tell where this occurred most of the time, but there can be no denying that he is an adorable addition to the Pooh ensemble. His mother, when she finally appears, is the model of a doting British mum. These are the representatives of the dreaded race that lurks in the shadows of the foreboding trees that loom on the other side of the fence in Heffalump Hollow.
The movie is essentially a lesson in tolerance and stopping to get to know people before determining they are enemies. Just as the end of Pooh’s Grand Adventure revealed that all the frightening stops on their journey were only scary because of their state of mind, so Pooh’s Heffalump Movie assures our furry friends that these elephant-like creatures are nothing to fear. The paradigm shift occurs for Roo, who has captured Lumpy with the intention of bringing him home to proudly show his friends, when he realizes that Lumpy is just as afraid of Tigger, Piglet and Rabbit as they are of the Heffalumps. I’ve heard criticisms that the film tries too hard to be politically correct, but I just saw a sweet story with a couple of misunderstandings and a happy ending.
I had a hunch I was really going to like this movie in spite of my disappointment with Piglet’s Big Movie. This film is straightforward, with only a bit of self-referential narration at the beginning and end to frame the tale. I was confused to see David Ogden Stiers credited on imdb as the narrator. While he would make a fine narrator in the traditional Winnie the Pooh style, I am certain that it was Pooh himself who narrated this movie. An error on the website’s part? They did fail to mention Lumpy in the cast list altogether.
I thought the characters were much more themselves in this film. While Rabbit sternly telling Roo that he was too little to go Heffalump hunting with them, even though it was Roo who convinced them to do it in the first place, didn’t sit well with me, I guess I can accept it as a manifestation of Rabbit’s protective affection for the little marsupial. Rabbit is pretty crotchety in this movie, but that’s not unusual. Tigger is his typical bouncy self, Piglet as timid and Pooh as absent-minded as ever. But none of them are mean-spirited, as they seemed to be at times in Piglet’s Big Movie.
It’s odd for Kanga and Roo, two relatively minor characters in the Pooh canon – though admittedly Roo seems to be becoming more prominent lately – to carry a film, but I don’t mind. And while Eeyore’s presence in the film is negligible – “Why the heck was Eeyore in this movie?” Libbie asked – his bits of screen time, appearing just when everyone has nearly forgotten about him, are amusing. Relegated to the role of beast of burden, he is forced to carry the most bizarre assortment of equipment imaginable. I didn’t think that much stuff could be found among the houses of the Hundred Acre Wood’s inhabitants. I would think that Lumpy’s acquaintance with Roo would please Eeyore; it must be rather dismal to be the only one you know who walks on all fours.
Owl and Gopher are entirely absent from the film, but we don’t particularly miss them. It did seem odd to let an entire movie pass without even a mention of Christopher Robin. I guess the script-writers wanted our friends to solve this problem on their own. The trouble with all Pooh stories is that the Hundred Acre Wood is so akin to Heaven that no real peril can touch it. Atmospheric conditions sometimes threaten and visions of vile creatures may haunt the dreams of timid Piglet and hunny-hoarding Pooh, but the truth is that no bad thing of lasting consequence occurs here. I can’t say I was too surprised when, for the third movie running, the climax involved one of the characters dangling from a tree over a precipice. But it still managed to be endearing, with the heroic effort by the enemy camp a la The Russians are Coming. Of course, by this time the forest-dwellers on both sides of the fence have come to realize that they have nothing to fear from one another.
This is not an exciting movie, and most 24-year-olds would probably find themselves a bit bored by it as my friend did. Instead, I was infused with the warm feeling that must accompany Pooh when he lets a glob of golden hunny slide down his throat. The delightful slide show of further adventures with Lumpy, including an overdue introduction to Christopher Robin and a nod to Pooh’s long-ago tenure halfway through Rabbit’s front door, is the perfect finishing touch on a movie that succeeded beautifully in whisking this now-24-year-old “back to the days of Pooh.” Somehow I don’t think she ever really left.
Wednesday, February 9, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 8, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, February 3, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 1, 2005
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.
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.
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