A Brilliant Concept that Should Have Produced More Hits

If you were to ask me to name a Beatles album, the first to come to mind would most likely be Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. It’s just one of those iconic albums, though I wouldn’t have been able to tell you until recently what was on it. I might have been able to produce the comment that it boasts an extremely fun cover, with the Beatles front and center, all decked out in the fancy duds of the aforementioned band, surrounded by a wide array of personages including wax versions of themselves and plenty of famous folks. The flowers spelling out “BEATLES” just in front of the drum bearing the fictional band’s name complete the colorful vision. At some point I would also have thought to mention that this was a concept album, considered quite innovative and a great motivator to Paul Simon in writing the material for Bookends. It would not have occurred to me that none of the tracks on this landmark effort managed to hit number one on the charts. When I discovered that, I deemed it a great irony. Perhaps it happened because this album, more than most, was intended to be taken as a whole, so singling out individual tracks would seem a bit inappropriate. Whatever the reason, it’s certainly not a lack of quality.

Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band is a rather raucous number that introduces the idea that this album is a concert by the title band. Some of the instruments used give the feel of a marching band, while cheers and applause on the track land the listener squarely in a concert frame of mind. Paul’s rather hoarse vocals present the idea that he has to scream out his announcement over the audience in order to be heard. Because of this, it’s not a terribly melodic song, but it’s fun nonetheless and an essential element of the album.

I first knew With a Little Help From My Friends as the theme song to The Wonder Years. It was years before I heard the original version, and I was so used to the almost mournful cover by then that I had a bit of trouble adjusting to Ringo’s bouncy rendition. My brother Nathan, the most devoted Beatlemaniac in a family full of them, was aghast when I suggested I might like the television version better; he dislikes it almost as much as Karen Carpenter’s dirge-like Ticket to Ride. I can’t help but feel a bit of loyalty to the first version I hear of a song. But Ringo’s snappy version wins out for me now. His role as the perpetually optimistic underdog makes him especially appropriate for the song’s lyrics, and it’s one of my favorite tracks on the album.

Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds is an extraordinarily bizarre song in which John takes the lead. I always subscribed a bit to the LSD theory, though the explanation that it was inspired by a child’s drawing is more appealing – or, in the end, is it more disturbing? I can’t get over the line “rocking horse people eat marshmallow pies.” Nathan said the song sounds exactly like something that would come out of the head of a little kid – or someone tripping on LSD. Funny how that works… The lyrics are an eerie mishmash of surrealistic images, and the vocal distortion leaves me with the feeling of riding through a series of funhouse doors painted with a mirror-like succession of squares. (This is a specific reference to the Wacky Shack, an attraction at my hometown park of Waldameer, and it’s the creepiest part of the ride.) It’s an interesting song to listen to, certainly, and I enjoyed its significance in the film I Am Sam. I don’t know whether I prefer puzzling out the psychedelics of the original version of laughing out loud over William Shatner’s tunelessly over-the-top attempt to do it justice. Either way, it’s a standout track that I couldn’t believe never hit number one. Then again, maybe it’s not such a surprise…

I’m sure I heard another version of Getting Better first, but I don’t know whose. I imagine it popped up on a commercial somewhere. At any rate, this is a very upbeat song with a positive chorus to balance out the chorus listing some negative past experiences. Paul’s voice is in prominence in one of the album’s only songs with a romantic element.

Fixing a Hole is an interesting song, again with Paul in the lead. I have trouble latching onto just what is happening in this song. On the surface it’s just a man making repairs to his house, but it seems to function on a metaphorical level as well. Or is he just saying that he’s too distracted by the condition of his house to think about the things he wants to think about? I hear a hint of Zen here, I think. Anyway, it has an intriguing melody and unique subject. It also makes me chuckle because I’m always reminded of the Letterman parody during one edition of “Stump the Band”: “I’m dressing myself in a masculine way / to stop my friends from wondering / if I’m gay…”

She’s Leaving Home is one of the songs this album introduced me to. My first thought was, “Gee, this is a really depressing song.” Drenched in strings as it is, with Paul’s sensitive vocals and the almost falsetto descant of the remaining group members chiming in on the chorus, this song sounds every bit as melancholy as Eleanor Rigby. The lyrics, replete with internal rhyme and creative phrasing, are especially well-crafted and brimming with regret, particularly on the part of the parents: “What did we do that was wrong? We didn’t know it was wrong.” I’m reminded of the plaintive plea in Simon and Garfunkel’s considerably less melodic Save the Life of My Child. Both seem to focus on the generation gap – the frustration of the youth in feeling stifled, of the parents in failing to understand where their children are coming from. Though the overall tone is tragic and we can’t help but sympathize with the parents, there’s also the sense that the daughter who is leaving is entering a new world of opportunity, and in that sense her part of the story is happier than not. I wasn’t sure what to think of this song at first, but it’s really grown on me, to the point of possibly being my favorite song on the album.

Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite! features John, and it seems sort of random. It’s basically a commercial for an upcoming circus-like event, featuring one Mr. Kite and the Henderson family (and, of course, the waltzing Henry the Horse, which we almost feel like we see thanks to the extended instrumental bit following this announcement). The instrumentation all helps listeners feel as though they are at a circus. It’s a fun little song, but it’s sort of an oddity, and the lack of a chorus adds to the tune’s somewhat rambling feel.

Within You Without You is far more rambling, however; my brother describes it as “the song nobody loves.” That’s a shame, because it’s the only song on the album starring George. When I sit down and look at them, I quite like the lyrics, which reflect George’s deepening spirituality. However, listening to it, I find I can hardly make them out. They seem dim and distant, difficult to hear under the sea of sitars. The melody has a mystical sound to it and evokes India readily, but it carries all the hypnotic quality of chanting, and I find it hard to imagine it getting much airtime. It’s the sort of song likely to put a listener to sleep.

When I’m Sixty-Four is a very upbeat song that takes the idea of entering one’s later years and faces it with humor and optimism. My other favorite song on the album, it’s sung by Paul and boasts a peppy tempo as listeners are invited to envision the speaker growing old comfortably with his wife. The clarinet that is accentuated throughout the song adds to its charm. There are a few nice harmonic moments on the lines suggesting rough patches ahead (“you’ll be older too,” “we shall scrimp and save”) in which cooperation with one another will be mutually beneficial. It’s a far happier look at senior citizenship than that offered by Simon and Garfunkel in the wistful Old Friends. True, the mentioned age is six years younger, but it feels about 30 years younger. Ringo is 64 this year, and somehow that carries with it a series of pleasant images instead of the dread that comes with contemplating Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel turning 70 in less than seven years. Both comical and poignant, this is one of the Beatles’ sweetest love songs, with a hint of Do You Love Me? from Fiddler on the Roof. It’s also perhaps my favorite sequence in Yellow Submarine.

Lovely Rita is an upbeat narrative number featuring Paul and introducing an eccentric character. It’s an entertaining number with fun lyrics, though it doesn’t really make much of an impression on me and I don’t quite get the odd noises that punctuate its conclusion. They seem to have a thing for putting weird stuff at the end of their songs…

Good Morning Good Morning also features an array of strange noises, but I don’t mind these. It begins with the crowing of a rooster that continues throughout the song, and apparently by the end every creature in a ten-mile radius has arisen. A cat, a dog and even an elephant make an appearance. John takes the lead in this energetic song that also includes quite a bit of brass, making sure that the listeners are wide awake as well.

Not really much to say about Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (Reprise), because it just picks up where the first track left off, bringing the album full circle. Basically the same song, though perhaps I prefer this one because there isn’t any shouting.

Paul and John share lead vocals A Day in the Life on another strange one that has a melancholy feel to begin with, though it gradually morphs at a couple points into a very cheery sounding song, reminding me of several 80s odes that never seem to end and appear to contain two or three distinct songs within their boundaries. After a lengthy stretch of seemingly dead air, the end deteriorates into craziness, and I must say I find the effect unsettling to say the least. It makes for a very odd ending to the album.

Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band is a remarkably creative album, a Herculean effort approximately 700 hours in the making that set a precedent many musicians would try to follow. This is the mature Beatles, far removed from their skiffle days and doing as much musical experimentation as they could. Several of the songs are what I would consider essential Beatles tracks, while others resonate more with me personally. There are a couple songs that don’t really do it for me, but all are excellent examples of the Beatles’ exquisite artistry. Don’t miss it.

A Plastic Monument to a Perpetually Mixed Up Cucumber

My brother has a strange obsession with potatoes. One year in art class, most of his projects centered on them. A movie poster proclaiming “Paul Schaffer is… Potato.” An ad featuring a herd of potatoes running gracefully over a rolling plain, accompanied by the words “Free the Potatoes.” That little venture had the teacher questioning Nathan’s sanity. It’s no surprise with this predilection for promoting potatoes that my brother is a fan of Mr. Potato Head. He has a couple different versions of the classic spud and has gotten a kick out of rearranging the parts into both logical and dubiously artistic combinations. When Nathan saw an advertisement for VeggieTales Dress-Up Mix-Up Larry, a toy based on the same premise but instead featuring our favorite ludicrous cucumber, he expressed an interest in that as well. I promptly gave it to him for his birthday. Somehow, Larry found his way into my room, and there he has stayed. But if Nathan is ever looking for a friend for that cynical spud, he knows where to find one.

The reason that the creators of VeggieTales settled on using fruits and vegetables as the stars of their series was simple. Computer animation was only beginning to emerge as a distinct form of animation, and Mike Nawrocki and Phil Vischer wanted to work with images of the least complexity possible. As a result, all their main characters lack limbs. Suspension of disbelief is required to accept the idea of them maneuvering objects while so unappendaged, but then suspension of disbelief is required for every aspect of a series revolving around singing vegetables.

Because of this, Larry has fewer parts than Mr. Potatohead, though the parts he does have are more interesting. No hands for him. No pairs of shoes – though he does come with a single brown shoe that can be placed on his head. All of his attire is a nod at one video or another. Most of the articles can be seen on the video Very Silly Songs! The pirate bandana, beard and eye patch are a reference to The Pirates Who Don’t Do Anything, the silly song created especially for that video. The aforementioned shoe stems from Larry’s time as a resident of Flibber-o-loo in the Seussian retelling of the story of the Good Samaritan. The bath towel and brush are taken from Oh Where is My Hairbrush?, generally agreed to be the most popular silly song even all these videos later. Larry has a Gilligan-style hat from the parody of that show featured in God Wants Me to Forgive Them?! and a Gourd’s Gym shirt/towel, a headband, a tool belt and a hard hat, all from Larry’s failed attempts to discern the purpose of the Very Silly Songs! video. And, just for good measure, Larry has an extra silly set of extra eyes, because silliness and Larry go together like tomatoes and cucumbers.

Throughout the series of videos, Larry has donned a wide variety of costumes. Recently, some of them have been rather complex, most notably his Dickensian get-up in The Star of Christmas and An Easter Carol. It’s a shame more of his guises could not have been incorporated; maybe they’ll eventually come out with an expansion set. I’m surprised that there were no Larryboy accessories, considering that this Batman-style superhero is one of Larry’s most popular incarnations, spawning a video series all his own.

Unlike Mr. Potatohead, Larry does not have a little hole in the back in which to store his attachments. They would be too large to fit in there anyway. He does come with a plastic display base, but it would be nice if there were some sort of storage for Larry’s parts. Additionally, he is larger and more cumbersome than his starchy counterpart, and he can’t stand on his own without the plastic base. Still, he’s oodles of fun, especially for those who are particularly fond of VeggieTales’ goofiest character. My brother can have his potatoes. I’ll stick with Larry any day.

Sparks Tearjerker a Film to Remember

The first time I heard of Nicholas Sparks was when my mom read The Notebook. Someone had lent her the book, and she loved it so much that she immediately entreated my dad and me to read it as well. It was this sort of word-of-mouth momentum that propelled the book quickly into bestseller status and set Sparks up for assured success with similarly sappy tales. I don’t mean that adjective as an insult; if someone opened me up they’d probably find enough syrup to last through a hundred pancake breakfasts. For whatever reason, I didn’t get around to reading The Notebook until several years later, but in the meantime I saw two films based on his later books. The first was the rather disappointing Message in a Bottle. The second was the far more satisfying A Walk to Remember.

I saw the movie with some friends of mine on both ends of the sappiness tolerance scale. One spent half the movie bawling her eyes out, while the other groaned about how corny everything was. I fell somewhere in the middle, leaning closer to the reaction of the friend emptying a box of tissues. While the movie didn’t make me cry – I can count on my fingers the films that have accomplished this feat – it certainly qualifies as a tearjerker. I guess I don’t mind having my emotions yanked around by a filmmaker.

The movie stars Shane West and Mandy Moore as two very different teens whose lives are about to come together in a most unexpected way. Landon Carter is a troublemaker who is thrown into the school production as punishment for some deviant activities earlier in the year that resulted in the injury of another teenager. Jaime Sullivan is the shy, conservative daughter of a preacher (Peter Coyote). I just watched the movie Saved! last week and am struck by the difference between the two characters Mandy portrays in the films. While Hilary Faye, Moore’s character in Saved!, is an illustration of all the worst characteristics of overzealous Christians, the equally conservative Jaime highlights the best of Christian attributes. She is gentle, passionate and forgiving, an unassuming witness to a young man who so badly needs guidance.

Shortly after I saw the movie, I read the book and was surprised to discover how much the film veered from its source. Most notably, the book takes place in the 50s, while the film is modern day. Jaime is even more angelic in the book, while Landon is less mean-spirited than unfocused. The play in which the two are involved is a Christmas play in the book, and Landon signs up for it voluntarily. The differences continue, and I can’t decide which version I prefer. I’m inclined to say the book, but the film has increased emphasis on the redemptive quality of Jaime’s relationship with Landon, and I appreciated that.

It’s a pretty predictable story, at least as far as the romantic aspect is concerned. These are two seemingly very mismatched people, but as their acquaintance blooms into friendship and eventually even more than that, they manage to draw out the best in one another. Jaime shares her list of things she wants to do before she dies. Landon begins to contemplate the possibility of medical school. They encourage one another, and when Landon’s friends give him a hard time because of his dorky new demeanor, he has to decide if this new relationship is worth all the grief it’s going to cause him. Ultimately, it isn’t a very difficult decision.

The real conflict is a discovery Landon makes towards the end of the film, something over which he has no control. How he and Jaime deal with this unwanted twist reveals a great deal about their character. Sparks seems to insist on infusing all of his tales with tragedy, so I wasn’t surprised to find it here. But somehow, the film left me feeling contented in spite of the darkness tarnishing the bloom of young love.

I found the performances pretty solid. I especially enjoyed Moore, who I have found obnoxious in most of her other movie roles. Her Jaime is sincere and sweet-natured, a truly inspirational character. I also enjoyed Coyote as her father, who comes across as rather strict and stand-offish but clearly adores his daughter and has her best interests at heart. The soundtrack is pretty good too, especially the song Moore sings during the play. That moment, in fact, is a highlight for several reasons.

I will admit that the film has corny moments. The exaggerated horror with which Jaime responds to a cruel prank orchestrated against her – compounded by heavy-handed cinematography – is probably the most glaring example. I was surprised that she was so distressed, actually; it seemed a little out of character for her to get so bent out of shape over the teasing of her classmates.

On the whole, though, I really enjoyed the film. It is uplifting and life-affirming, very different from the book but still a well done adaptation. My brother agrees it’s a very good movie; in fact, he’s more likely to tear up over it than I am. So it’s not just a movie that girls can appreciate. Anyone who enjoys a good love story and doesn’t mind keeping a few tissues handy should find A Walk to Remember a film to remember.

The Best Suspense Since The Sixth Sense

When I watched The Sixth Sense, it was under a bit of duress. I loathe horror movies, and that film was certainly marketed as one. But the person I was with was intrigued by it, and as there was no film playing at the moment that I particularly wanted to see, I went along with his suggestion, reassuring myself with the hope that a PG-13 movie featuring a young child could not be too scary. It was faulty logic, I know, but I needed something to cling to. The Sixth Sense wound up being one of my favorite movies. So when another friend proposed, a couple years later, that we see The Others, I let my recollection of that serendipitous movie viewing override my trepidation. And what do you know? It turned out The Others didn’t really qualify as a horror movie either. Suspense, yes. But when I watched it the second time around, I wasn’t frightened for a minute. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a good thing.

In recent years, I have determined that Nicole Kidman is one of the finest actresses working at the moment. I first took note of her in the grossly underrated Far and Away (which I watched last night in honor of St. Patrick’s Day). Since then, I have seen her in many films, and her performance has rarely failed to impress me. Here, she plays Grace Stewart, a withdrawn, ultra-conservative British woman who retreats with her two children to the island of Jersey while her husband is away fighting World War II. She is extremely religious and determined to bring her children up with her ideals, though by the end she finds that she has considerably more questions than answers. When I watched the film with my uncle, it was this aspect of the movie with which he took issue. He enjoyed the film except for its religious implications.

Alakina Mann and James Bentley make their film debuts as Anne and Nicholas, the young Stewarts blighted with photosensitivity, a condition in which exposure light can be fatal. There’s something slightly unsettling about these children to begin with; we don’t see them at first, and I wondered at one point whether they actually existed or if they were the figment of a deranged Grace’s imagination or something even more sinister. But they soon work their charm on the audience. For me, they recalled Jane and Michael, the scalawags whose lives Mary Poppins arrived to improve. Anne possesses Jane’s precocious nature, while Nicholas, like Michael, is the innocent, slightly cowed little brother. You have to feel sorry for them, doomed to perpetual darkness and living under the shadow of a very strict and tightly wound mother.

Their lives take an interesting turn when three strangers arrive. Of these, the standout is Bertha Mills, a powerful maternal force played with stern gentleness by Fionnula Flanagan. She explains to Grace that she and her companions, an older gentleman named Edmund Tuttle (Erik Sykes) and a mute girl named Lydia (Elaine Cassidy), worked at the house before and would like to offer their housekeeping services. Mrs. Mills possesses a wide array of knowledge of the house and has a knack for keeping the sometimes unruly Anne in line. She also provides Grace with some much-needed adult companionship and tries to settle her nerves when odd things begin to happen throughout the house…

Dialogue-wise, this is a very quiet, understated movie. The speech is almost as sparse as the light filtering through the heavy curtains. The score is haunting and is responsible for the majority of the film’s truly suspenseful moments. The first time around, I spent a good deal of the movie holding my breath and shielding my eyes because the music seemed to be building toward a moment that I didn’t want to watch. But whenever I was most convinced that something scary was just around the bend, I found that my fears were unfounded. There were a couple of scenes that did make me jump, one largely because one of my companions let out a blood-curdling scream. I had a hunch that there was a major twist to be found somewhere in the film, but when it came it managed to creep up on me pretty unexpectedly.

The moody cinematography complements the other elements to make this a film similar to The Sixth Sense in its execution and heart. Grace is not as readily sympathetic as Mrs. Sear, and Anne and Nicholas together don’t quite match the impact of the haunted Cole. But setting aside those comparisons, The Others is an excellent and thought-provoking movie. The questions it raises may be troubling, but perhaps that makes them all the more worth exploring.

The Saster of Milliness Ives Lagain

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.