A Pretty Impressive Capper, But Vader Should Still Seek Revenge for Defamation of Character

“Star Wars is the defining event of our lives,” my dad remarked to my mom on our way home from seeing Episode III: Revenge of the Sith. “The first one came out just as we entered adulthood, and the last one just as our kids are entering adulthood.” It’s a formidable thought. Nearly 30 years for George to complete his legacy. Unless he still has the triple trilogy in mind… It’s strange, setting up a series in such a way that everyone knows how the story ends long before it begins. We all knew that this third installment leading directly into the epic that started it all would be by far the darkest of the six. It makes for a slightly surreal experience, knowing that everything has to go wrong, watching in revulsion but stopping just short of willing it not to happen because you know it’s required for the glorious events of the original trilogy. In the end it begs the question: Did we really need these prequels in the first place? I’m not a hard-core enough fan to answer that question. But I recognize this is the end of an era, and I celebrate it by making it my 600th review – one hundred for each movie if you like. No matter what, you have to admit George Lucas had a pretty impressive accomplishment.

So, how was it? Well, I missed the mayhem of opening night, though my brother and our exchange student got in on the fun. My parents and I saw it three days later. We still had to buy our tickets three hours in advance and wait in line for an hour after turning in our tickets in order to be assured decent seats. Aside from a few light sabers, ours was not a costumed audience. Only one man had the full regalia, a fellow who’d been there for the first showing (and maybe every night after) in his $2700 Darth Vader costume. I want one. Not really. I’d rather have a life-size R2-D2. Anyway, we were treated to a rather unusual occurrence that night. Just before the previews were about to start, the lights went up and a man, armed with the disclaimer that he had nothing to do with the movie, announced that he was attending with his girlfriend, who was very special to him, and he requested that she join him in front of the screen. Then he proceeded to get down on one knee and propose, and her affirmative answer was met with rapturous applause. Oddly enough, I think it was the loudest applause of the night…

Trouble is, Revenge of the Sith is rarely a movie that makes you cheer. It’s like a Shakespearean tragedy, with Anakin (Hayden Christiansen) in the spot occupied by Othello and MacBeth and other anti-heroes who leave the audience groaning and thinking again and again, You moron! Anakin is a decent guy at the start of the film, teaming up with master Obi-Wan Kenobi (Ewan McGregor) to battle evil robots while rushing to the defense of indispensable little R2-D2 (Kenny Baker) when his mentor maligns him. His passion is his undoing, however. In spite of Yoda’s warnings to release himself from attachment to anything he fears to lose, he is increasingly driven by paranoia brought on by a series of disturbing dreams about his beloved secret bride Padme (Natalie Portman). Christiansen doesn’t bug me as much in this movie as he did in Attack of the Clones, but he’s still too moody and whiny to be very likable, or very impressive. I can put up with Luke’s petulance at the outset of A New Hope; at least he comes across as a sweet guy. I don’t know how I wanted Anakin to be, but I think I preferred having his origins ambiguous. Darth Vader is arguably the most formidable movie villain in cinematic history, and I find him cheapened by an inadequate history. And while we are supposed to believe that the intensity of his love for Padme is so great that he is willing to all but destroy the Jedi order to ensure her safety, they always seem wooden in their scenes together. It doesn’t help that they’re still hampered by the occasional excruciating dialogue. If my husband had just told me that he wanted to take over the galaxy, I’d like to think I could have come up with something more useful to say than “You’re breaking my heart.”

If Christiansen still lacks chemistry with Portman, he demonstrates it with McGregor. They kick off the film together with a dizzying action sequence at the conclusion of which a light-hearted conversation between Obi-Wan and Anakin reveals just a hint of jealousy that the padawan is outranking his teacher. Theirs is a relationship torn by the tension between affection and ambition. For the most part, we do get the sense Obi-Wan accepts the notion that he is training a Jedi who will become more powerful than him and resents the fact that other members of the council find Anakin less than trustworthy. Anakin, however, is less generous, always grumbling about Obi-Wan standing in the way of what he wants to do. It doesn’t take him long to abandon concern for his master. As Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid) leads him further down the path of corruption, Obi-Wan looks more and more like the enemy. McGregor helms most of the film’s truly emotional scenes, most notably the culmination of their climactic battle in which an agonized Obi-Wan is forced to admit once and for all that he has lost his padawan forever. We see a great deal more from McGregor this time around, and I would classify him as a much better actor than Christiansen. It’s just a shame that one of the most beloved Star Wars characters was played by two different actors who’ve seemed almost resentful of the fact that they were involved. I suspect McGregor’s recent comments on his fans may have alienated a few people; I guess he has a hunch now how Sir Alec Guinness felt.

I found it very hard to feel sorry for Anakin throughout the film, even if his initial motivation was noble. It’s sad to see him manipulated by Palpatine, who is perhaps the true star of the film as McDiarmid takes him from benign presence who nonetheless seems to possess a slightly sinister air to fully disclosed evil emperor. But it seems good judgment should have tipped him off early on that Palpatine was up to no good. He recoils at Palpatine’s request to kill Count Dooku (Christopher Lee, who must be getting tired of playing second-tier villains with somewhat embarrassing death scenes) and refuses to acquiesce to his demand that – supposedly in the interests of time – they leave Obi-Wan behind. But apparently there are years of influence at work that we don’t see on screen. Palpatine is truly frightening for most of the film, evoking a moral crisis in Anakin, particularly when he announces his familiarity with the dark side and offers to pass on his knowledge. I found the altercation in the theater unsatisfactory on Christiansen’s end, or at least whoever wrote the dialogue. Palpatine’s fine, but Anakin again seems stiff and unconvincing. The scene sets us up for the moment that should demonstrate to him once and for all that this guy is extremely bad news but instead seems to eradicate any trace of a decent human being in young Skywalker. Perhaps he sees himself as party to such a calamity that he already deems himself irredeemable. All he supposedly cares about now is Padme, though once he begins to carry out Palpatine’s orders it can hardly be said that thoughts of her have any influence over his actions. The last indication in the film that she still means anything to him is so excruciating, one wonders how James Earl Jones could have been convinced to decimate his dignity by agreeing to it.

Mace Windu (Samuel L. Jackson) embodies the struggle for the Jedi to remain relevant in a time of great change. He is a formidable force, rather like the man who plays him. I find it amusing that he talked Lucas into giving him a purple light saber so he’d stand out and that he actually included a stipulation in his contract that his character had to have a noteworthy death scene. Visually, it’s pretty riveting. Emotionally, it’s the turning point of the whole film. Yoda (Frank Oz) spends much of the movie hobnobbing with the Wookiees, and while I was looking forward to this aspect of the film, it didn’t really satisfy me. For one thing, I imagined the planet as an idyllic locale, and it might have been if not for the fact that it was a war zone. The Wookiees almost looked like Klingons with all their ammo and war decorations, and when it came right down to it the whole interlude at their planet seemed to serve little purpose other than to get Yoda out of the line of fire for a while. Chewy (Peter Mayhew) shows up, but we don’t get any sense of his personality except that he’s on Yoda’s side. So that was a bit of a disappointment, but Yoda never fails to come through for me. He’s one of my three favorite characters in the trilogy, all of which conveniently appear in the prequels portrayed by the same actors. I still prefer the swamp-dwelling Yoda to the more dignified personage of the prequels, but he’s still the same delightful character, and he radiates wisdom and heart in a film whose protagonist stands in sore need of both.

The droids are my other favorites. There is precious little to be seen of C-3PO, though when he is on screen he certainly attracts attention with his ultra-shiny new frame. Generally he’s a great chatterbox, and I could have used more of his silly comments. I was also rather perplexed by his appearance just after Anakin departs to subvert the inevitable altercation between Palpatine and Mace Windu. It cuts to Padme, and C-3PO waddles up to her, and then it cuts to a completely different scene. Those five or ten seconds seemed completely superfluous, and I was left with the impression that a scene had been deleted and due to sloppy editing or a teaser for the DVD or whatever, they left the beginning of it intact. R2-D2 shines in Sith, however, particularly at the beginning. He is as much a hero as Anakin or Obi-Wan in the opening minutes, and he handles his sticky situation with typical good humor. Most of the movie’s funniest moments involve him. When we bought our tickets, we received a complementary copy of Flick, a Cinemark magazine, and this issue focused entirely on Star Wars. One page advertises various available merchandise, including life-size cardboard stand-ups that come equipped with a chip allowing them to speak quotes from the movie. One of the figures is R2-D2, which begs the question, of what significant quote my favorite little garbage can-like being could boast. Still, he’s awfully expressive for a guy who speaks exclusively in a series of unintelligible squeaks, beeps and whistles, and you can never really accuse him of having a lame line.

So did Sith deliver all that I expected? I can’t say for sure, though a hunch still tells me no. Phantom Menace was a lot more fun, and I rather liked our feeling of jubilation as we exited the theater. It seemed the only appropriate reaction to the end of Sith was pensiveness. But it wasn’t any more depressing than I expected, and less violent than I thought it would be. It was visually stunning, though it lacked the beauty of Naboo as revealed in different forms in the first and second installments. The dizzying chases through space and sky threatened to give me vertigo, while Palpatine passed on the creepy crawlies every time he appeared on screen. Anakin, too, mainly in the horrific scenes following Mace Windu’s death that are as distressing for what they don’t show as what they do. The most tragic moment for me in the entire film was when a young Jedi, eyes wide with fear and trust, turned to Anakin for protection and received something entirely unexpected. In ten seconds, that young man packed an emotional whallop infinitely greater than what Jake Lloyd was able to accomplish in the course of an entire movie.

I won’t say that Sith impressed me as much as I thought it could have, but all in all it was a pretty affecting film and a mostly satisfactory link between Episodes I and II and the original trilogy. But I still think Darth Vader will never be quite as cool as he was before the prequels exposed Anakin as a character most undeserving of being the subject of a grandiose 6-part space epic.

Clint Eastwood's Baby Worth Millions of Dollars in Ticket Sales

The 2004 Oscars were very exciting for me. Though I missed the beginning, I was there to watch Return of the King pick up an award in all the remaining categories for which it had been nominated. It was thrilling to see a film for which I had so much passion receive such resounding recognition from the distinguished Academy. This year, I didn’t really care. I was mildly interested, but I had no personal stake in it since I’d only seen a couple films under consideration, and those were just in editing categories. There was hardly a Jacksonesque clean sweep this time around, but Million Dollar Baby still managed to fare quite well, garnering awards in four major categories. As I watched the end of the ceremony, I couldn’t help but be a bit intrigued about this film that was getting so much attention. When my dad later saw it and gave it his stamp of approval, I knew it wouldn’t be too long before I checked it out for myself.

I finally got around to it last week. I can’t say I’m too fond of boxing as a sport. Watching two people try to knock each other out is more likely to make me cringe than cheer. Nonetheless, Far and Away is one of my favorite films, so I wasn’t going to prejudice myself against the movie on that account. I was also warned that the movie was a bit of a downer, which tends to make me rather reluctant to watch a film. I don’t usually go to the cinema to get depressed. Still, if Million Dollar Baby ends on a tragic note, the echoes of triumph can’t be denied. In any case Clint Eastwood has another fine film to add to his intimidating resume.

Eastwood portrays gruff trainer Frankie Dunn. He’s skillful in spying and cultivating talent in the boxing ring, but he’s weighed down by a burden that prevents him from taking potential champions to the highest level. His is a lonely life, and at the start of the movie his only meaningful relationship is with Eddie Dupris (Morgan Freeman), a former prizefighter who now helps run Frankie’s training center. Frankie has more than boxing woes to pester his conscience; each week he receives unopened letters from his daughter, a visible reminder of their estranged relationship. Perhaps that is part of the reason he is so reluctant to accept the task of training Maggie Fitzgerald (Hilary Swank), though it probably has more do with fears that he will put her into a situation in which she is not properly protected. Certainly he has a hefty load of guilt on his shoulders, as his beleaguered priest points out.

Swank turns in a sincere performance as determined, endlessly optimistic Maggie. Frankie tries to thwart her attempts to join his gym again and again, but she perseveres, practicing long into the night and always insisting upon each meeting with him that he is the only trainer for her. She is fiercely loyal, curiously so before he finally gives her the time of day. One explanation is that she craves a challenge and sees him as the man who can take her where she wants to go. Another is that, as she confides later, he reminds her of her father. It’s amusing to observe his frustration as she shows up, day after day, with a smile on her face and the slightest indication that she may be receiving a little inside help.

Eddie seems to be far more in control of things than Frankie. He’s accepted his lot in life and is spared the torture of the demons that haunt his friend, even when they involve him. Initially, it is he who gets in Maggie’s corner and refuses to abandon her. He is a benevolent if rather grimy presence, always willing to help the underdog. When Frankie finally accepts responsibility for getting Maggie into gear, Eddie remains as a mentor and comforter, while focusing his physical energy on young Danger Barch (Jay Baruchel), an eager but inept young man with a heart inversely proportional to his mental capacities. Freeman brings boundless grace to each scene in which he appears, and he acts as a calming, confidential narrator. I confess I did sometimes find him – and occasionally Swank as well – difficult to understand, but not so much that I couldn’t follow what was happening. All three lead actors play well off each other, lending warmth and believability to their portrayals.

The look of the film is dark and gritty, mostly taking place in Frankie’s dimly lit center or some boxing ring in the center of a packed arena. Though an advertisement for The Apprentice places the action firmly in the present, there is usually little to indicate just what the time period is. The gas station they patronize looks like it could have come straight out of the fifties. I’m guessing this is to indicate that they live in a rather backwards community. I found Frankie’s fascination with Ireland an intriguing part of his character, and his appreciation for William Butler Yeats and silken Gaelic garments taps into something undeniably sweet beneath his harsh exterior.

Though the film’s conclusion has been deemed controversial by some, there’s little in this film that should offend. There are a couple heinous acts by unaccountably brash individuals, but it seems Eastwood’s intentions are always to extol the virtues of love and loyalty, faith and fortitude. While I generally consider profanity as polluting to my ears as cigarette smoke is to my nose, I couldn’t help but be amused by the single use of the f-word in this film. Usually the single instance of that word allowed in a PG-13 movie is a throwaway, leaving you wondering why they even bothered to insert it. Here it certainly gets the audience’s attention by its unlikely placement, cementing the movie’s impression that when it comes to the really tough theological questions, you have to battle things out for yourself. Moreover, there are no easy solutions, but greater fulfillment may lie along the more difficult path.

Million Dollar Baby is a movie that encourages its audience to think and to feel. For that, it is well worth the millions of dollars it generated.

Prelutsky Gives Something Big to Teachers Eager to Inspire Young Readers

The past couple years have been fairly unproductive for me as a writer, but recently it seems I’m getting the knack back. I’ve spent the past couple weeks writing a proliferation of poems as if to make up for lost time. They’re not all masterpieces, to be sure, but it’s nice to feel like I can write something creative again. In my quest to get my creative juices flowing, there were two poets I knew I had to turn to first. My college professors would perhaps shake their heads and sigh if they knew which poets I hold in the highest esteem. We certainly never studied them in any of the classes that led to the conferring of a bachelor’s degree in English on lowly little me. But I have no shame in proclaiming that aside from lyricists (and that is a rather pointless exclusion since these two both have been occasional songwriters as well) my favorite poets are Shel Silverstein and Jack Prelutsky.

Silverstein seems to be the more universally known of the two. His distinctive pen and ink style, his poignancy in works such as The Giving Tree, his contributions to the musical world with such classics as The Unicorn and I’m Being Swallowed By a Boa Constrictor, the silliness he brought to so many poems collected in books ostensibly for children but just as much for adults… Say the name, and most people will know whom you’re talking about. For some reason, this doesn’t seem to be the case with Prelutsky, though his verse is just as accomplished and accessible. I was introduced to him at a tender age with the volume The New Kid on the Block. It recently occurred to me that I do not possess that seminal book, an omission I mean to rectify before too long. In fact, I only own one collection of Prelutsky’s poems, a most unfortunate oversight. I owe my aunt a debt of gratitude for giving me Something Big Has Been Here so many years ago. It holds a place of honor on my shelf.

I read that before Prelutsky fell into writing verse, his primary interest was in art. Thus, it seems rather strange that his poems are not accompanied by his own illustrations. I won’t complain, however. In all honesty, I’m not a huge fan of Silverstein as an artist. He holds his own, but I probably wouldn’t give his drawings a second look independent of his writing. So maybe it’s just as well that Prelutsky leaves the illustrations in this book to James Stevenson. They are far more detailed and realistic than Silverstein’s drawings, and I find them much more enjoyable to look at.

While Silverstein’s poems are occasionally serious, Prelutsky is silly across the board, at least in Something Big Has Been Here. The books is dedicated to children’s booksellers, and he clearly had kids in mind when choosing his subject matter. Many poems are written from a child’s point of view, often complaining about some gross unfairness or another. Several conclude with a twist at the end. In addition to amusing juvenile exploits, there are plenty of unusual animals, including some creatures Prelutsky invented himself.

When my aunt presented this book to me, she made note of several favorites, and I admit I’m biased in their favor, particularly Belinda Blue, which describes a temper tantrum of seismic proportions that I suspect I may have at one time had myself, and The Zoo Was in an Uproar, which features a vast cast of incensed creatures. Both are ideal examples of the two elements, aside from rhyme, that are most prevalent in Prelutsky’s poems: big words and alliteration. His poems roll off the tongue. They are fun to read, and a young child reading them aloud can’t help but feel a bit intellectual. Prelutsky was building kids’ vocabularies long before Series of Unfortunate Events was a twinkle in Daniel Handler’s eye. An excerpt to demonstrate: ”Repellant!” puled a puma, / “Bizarre!” a badger bawled, / the donkeys were disgusted, / the pandas were appalled…

My biggest complaint with Prelutsky is his almost blanket use of commas at the end of his lines when they are often clearly uncalled for. I’m not sure why he does this. Is it to make the poems easier for a child to read aloud, equipped with a reminder as to when to take a breath? It grates on me after a while, and I find myself mentally putting in the appropriate line-end punctuation (or lack thereof). Aside from this minor quibble, Something Big Has Been Here is a superior collection of poems that I would recommend to elementary school students and to older folks who still dare to admit that this stuff resonates with them. With a hundred poems in the collection, there’s bound to be something in there for any child. If you’re a Shel Silverstein fan, you definitely should check out Jack Prelutsky. He may not be quite as well-known, but he’s just as likely to inspire a love of reading in the impressionable and imaginative minds of the young.

Will Smith Tries His Best to Get Deserving Guys Hitched

Back when I went to see Pooh’s Heffalump Movie, the day before my birthday, Hitch was playing in the other theater. Although going to see Winnie-the-Pooh was her idea, my friend has playfully rubbed it in ever since that she could’ve seen Hitch one time, but instead we had to go see that dumb Pooh movie… So last night we finally amended that. It’s nice to have a six-screen dollar theater. It means that most of the movies we wanted to see when they first came out make it to the more affordable big screen before landing on video.

The first thing we noticed was the apparent randomness of the previews. Usually there is a certain overriding theme. Revenge of the Sith boasted previews for action / adventure flicks, predominantly involving superheroes. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe probably aims a little younger than the other films, but it qualifies as an epic fantasy and probably will be this Christmas’ big blockbuster. And after all, C. S. Lewis did say that really great children’s literature appeals as much to adults as kids, and that’s especially true when the current adults were kids when the book in question came out and recall it fondly. But I’m in danger of losing myself on a tangent. The point I wanted to make is that the previews here ranged from Kicking and Screaming to The Interpreter, apparently indicating that Hitch is a film with a diverse audience. To my surprise, none of the trailers were for a romantic comedy.

I go into most movies without terribly high expectations. I expect to be entertained, and usually I am. But I leave the “You’d better wow me or else” attitude for monumental movies like the LOTR trilogy. I had heard a lot of good things about Hitch, so I figured I’d like it, but for a buck I didn’t really care too much if it fell a little flat. Luckily, it turned out to be a dollar well spent.

Will Smith plays Alex Hitchins, known to his clients simply as Hitch. He’s a rather unlikely date doctor, given the fact that in college he had all the panache of Steve Urkel (and looked suspiciously like him too). But a longtime lack of luck with the ladies must have inspired him to concentrate on tapping into their psyches, because in the present day he is smooth and savvy, sure he’s discovered all the tricks for getting a girl’s attention. For the most part, he focuses that inside information in a positive direction, helping hopelessly geeky guys win the affections of the women they adore – as long as they really are interested in a relationship and not a sleazy one-night stand. It’s an altruistic pursuit, particularly when he takes on the case of Albert (Kevin James), a clumsy, bespectacled accountant head over heels for beautiful heiress Allegra Cole (Amber Valletta).

Smith is the film’s focal point. He often directly addresses the audience, imparting his wisdom. At several points in the movie, the scene alternates between Hitch giving Albert advice on an upcoming date and Albert doing his best to take it and fly with it once he’s in the actual situation. The first half of the movie is full of disastrous hilarity, not only on the part of the perpetually klutzy Albert but also Hitch, who finds his own insight seems to fail him miserably when he’s faced with the prospect of pursuing a serious relationship of his own. The object of his affection is Sara (Eva Mendez), a career-centered journalist who’s always first on the scene when the fodder for juicy gossip is born. Both Allegra and Sara seem pretty receptive to the advances of their wooers, though Sara is hard-pressed to admit it. I heard many comments about the lack of chemistry between Smith and Mendez, but I thought they made a fairly convincing couple, while James and Valletta were adorable together. The most chemistry, however, is clearly between Smith and James, whose scenes together are both riotous and touching. If Smith is suave and debonair, James is sweetly bumbling, and it’s easy to see why an heiress would fall for his character.

There’s nothing terribly unpredictable in this film, but when’s the last time you were shocked by a romantic comedy? Though my friend loved the beginning, she though the movie descended into implausibility, but I thought it was all pretty cleverly done, and while it may have been a tad over-the-top, the film illuminated some of the difficulties that two people who could make a beautiful couple create for themselves. Mainly, though, this film is simply a lot of fun.

Minnesota Gives Indiana a Run For His Money

I arrived home the other day to a delightful surprise: a VeggieTales ambassador kit containing promotional materials and a preview copy of Minnesota Cuke and the Search for Samson’s Hairbrush. I have to get busy distributing the activity packs and seeing about showing the movie at church before its release date the end of next month. But first I need to record my impressions of the latest offering from my favorite brand of Christian entertainment.

The show begins, as most do, with a letter, though in this case it winds up being two letters, both addressing the same distressing topic: bullies. I recently saw an episode of Dr. Phil in which his battered young guests received a shot of encouragement from the exquisite Clay Aiken, who has never hidden the fact that before his rapid rise to stardom he was looked upon as a loser by many of his peers. By the time he left high school, he’d learned how to stand tall in the face of bullies, and I think he would heartily appreciate the episode’s message. I, meanwhile, would heartily appreciate the possibility of a guest appearance by him in a future video. If Rebecca St.-James can do it, why not Clay? A girl can dream.

Anyway, the topic at hand is bullies, and who better to demonstrate that affliction than juvenile goody-goody Junior Asparagus? Some folks don’t care much for Junior because of his preciousness, not to mention the self-righteousness he displays in several episodes. I, however, still think he’s darn cute, and his segment of this show is most enjoyable. It plays a bit like A Christmas Story as we are treated to visions of his wild imagination. In these daydreams, he fills the shoes of Robin Hood (accompanied by some marvelous minstrel music), a star quarterback and a starship captain. But his real-life problem is as daunting as any his overactive imagination can cook up. With a little help from his dad and his friends (among them, the adorable bespectacled Annie, who rather resembles me), he comes to a conclusion by the end of the tale about how to deal with a particularly ferocious bully so that he can get back to his merry-making on the playground. Keep an ear out for a soft echo of Little Guys Can Do Big Things Too from Dave and the Giant Pickle as Junior, inspired by something greater than Garrison Keillor’s famed powder milk biscuits, goes out and does what needs to be done. Incidentally – and I may have mentioned this in my review of Duke and the Great Pie War because I was so impressed with it just from the preview – Junior has a really cool tree house. It’s just your basic tree house, really, I suppose, but I envy him. I always wanted one but never had a tree big enough to support it. Oh, well, that’s a subject for another episode, I suppose…

For the astute observer, a scene near the beginning of Junior’s escapades provides us with a glimpse of the next segment, a Silly Song entitled Pizza Angel. It’s reminiscent of His Cheeseburger, in which Mr. Lunt croons passionately about Jerry Gourd’s unrequited love affair with a cheeseburger. Here, Larry is doing the singing for himself, moaning about the fact that his beloved pizza is taking far too long to arrive. The tragic ballad recalls such maudlin fare as Leader of the Pack, while I assume the title is a play on Johnny Angel. Larry sings with such gusto, you’re likely to catch your tummy rumbling just a bit by the end of the song. You may even be inspired to order a pizza yourself – or, given the outcome of the song, perhaps it’s more likely you will be dissuaded from your next attempt at a quick and yummy meal. Kudos to the ever-savvy lyricist for the reference to ordering pizza online.

Minnesota Cuke (Larry) is the main attraction, and he draws us in right from the outset, clutching a golden carrot while he frantically sleds away from the noseless snowman head relentlessly pursuing him. As if sudden near-avalanches aren’t enough, he has to deal with Professor Rattan (Mr. Lunt), who has undermined every mission he’s ever undertaken. In fact, their rivalry dates all the way back to early elementary school, when Rattan replaced the gummy worms in Minnesota’s lunch with real worms, fostering a lifelong hatred of the invertebrates akin to Indiana Jones’ ophidiophobia. (What a cumbersome word to describe “fear of snakes” I think I fear the word more!)

This is not Minnesota’s first appearance. He also starred in a video game, which I admired but never wound up buying. Maybe one of these days. I hope he becomes a recurring character like Larry-Boy. His posse includes his assistant Martin (Bob), a pair of barbers (of Seville) and the lovely Julia, apparently sliding into being typecast as Larry’s love interest, which is basically a new direction for VeggieTales. She was first seen as Petunia in Duke and the Great Pie War. I wouldn’t be shocked if she showed up in the next video as an elf maiden with a name suspiciously similar to Arwen. The two have great chemistry in this adventure, and we’re treated to several exciting feats of daring-do in which both are participants. The soundtrack is inspiring, with its swelling heroic backdrops, including a nod to the all-time most popular Silly Song.

I found it amusing that this adventure revolves around Niagara Falls. We just visited the falls last weekend with our exchange student, Cathi, who had to settle for the American side due to visa complications. Thanks to the Maid of the Mist, however, she managed to get a pretty up close and personal look at both majestic waterfalls. Every time I visit Niagara Falls, I am reminded of Superman II and that delightful scene in which he rescues a child who falls over the railing; as he flies her up to safety, an elderly woman in the crowd comments, “What a nice man!” One would think that such a national landmark – not to mention the honeymoon capitol of the world – would make an ideal location for many a movie, but the only other film reference we could come up with was Bruce Almighty. Now I have another movie to add to my flimsy arsenal. I have a feeling I’m missing a lot of movies…

VeggieTales is usually pretty good about rewarding those fans who are faithful enough to sit through the credits, and in this case those who persevere are rewarded with the Minnesota Cuke theme song, performed by bluegrass legend Charlie Daniels. It all adds up to a wildly entertaining ride, one of the best Veggie offerings yet, making me even more optimistic about their November release – one video to rule them all.

Secondhand Lions is Not Second-Rate

There was a beautiful moment during the Academy Awards in 2000 when Michael Caine, during his acceptance speech for the Best Supporting Actor Oscar, gave a nod to young Haley Joel Osment, nominated for The Sixth Sense, praising him for his masterful performance. The respect evident in that instant made the prospect of a future collaboration appealing, and fans of both actors got to see two masters at opposite ends of the spectrum work together in 2003's Secondhand Lions. Make that three. Osment stars alongside not only Caine but veteran Robert Duvall, another favorite actor of mine. When I learned of their collaboration, it sweetened the deal on a movie I already wanted to see just based on Osment’s participation.

The film’s premise intrigued me all the more. Walter (Osment) is an awkward boy just on the cusp of adolescence, as evidenced by his often squeaky voice. His mother (Kyra Sedgewick), a rather shifty woman with a knack for falling for abusive guys, decides to leave Walter with his uncles for the summer while she goes fishing for men, and we’re not talking in the spiritual sense. She has more expansive goals than getting rid of the kid for a while, though. She sees Walter as the key to a fortune, as Hub (Duvall) and Garth (Caine), recently returned from who-knows-where, are rumored to be filthy rich.

I was particularly drawn to these uncles because of two gentlemen in my family who have rather legendary status in our folklore. In The Land That Gives and Takes Away, the book I wrote chronicling the memories and family stories abundant in my grandma’s birthplace of Little Pine Valley, I devote a poem to these two eccentric brothers whose booze was in such demand during the Prohibition that they wound up fabulously wealthy. Like Hub and Garth, though, you wouldn’t know Oren and John were rich. They lived as though they were scraping for a living, and no one expected to find money stashed away in every corner of the house when they died. Seeing two of my favorite actors step into similar roles was thrilling; it was almost like they were bringing my long-departed relatives, whom I’d never been able to meet, to life.

They’re an ornery old pair, unused to company and none too fond of it. Walter suits them all right, though, because he doesn’t talk much and consequently doesn’t bother them. He just observes, jittery, while Garth and Hub demonstrate their idea of entertainment: shooting traveling salesmen. They never hit them, of course, but it’s a little too close for comfort. Then there’s the fact that he’s trailed constantly by several dogs and a pig, all of whom are rather intimidating to him at first. But Walter finds a reason to stay in the stories he first discovers in an old trunk and later draws out of the mellower Garth. The uncles, meanwhile, find his presence beneficial once they discover he’s a deterrent to the visits of another set of relatives who happen to be utterly obnoxious.

What unfolds is a gentle coming of age tale in which Walter finally begins to grow out of his paralyzing timidity and the uncles recall the glory of living life to its fullest. We see their magnificent past through a series of stories told by Garth. There is an air of fantasy about them. The colors are too bright, the action too choreographed, the victories too complete. We are left to determine the degree to which what we see through Garth’s telling is reflective of reality. Hub eventually tosses in his two cents, noting that sometimes it’s worth believing in something whether it actually happened or not. A similar line was once uttered in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. The point we are left with is that truth goes beyond cold fact; sometimes pure fiction can be more meaningful than what actually happened, and in any case faith is worth holding onto no matter how improbable the object of that faith seems.

The acting is solid throughout. Though it won’t be the most acclaimed performance by any of its leads, all three do an excellent job, imbuing their characters with warmth and humor. Hub, the crustier of the two, takes a while to come around, but in the end it’s clear he’s grown as attached to the boy as Garth has. Sedgewick is eminently irritating as Walter’s mother, and I wonder whether that’s good acting or just the way she is. She annoyed me in Phenomenon, too, and she wasn’t supposed to. The supplementary characters, particularly the interfering relatives and salesmen, are a hoot. I love the rural setting and the fact that all of Walter’s new companions are quadrupeds. He soon doesn’t mind being trailed by a gaggle of dogs and one pig with an identity crisis, and he lavishes love upon the weathered old lioness he adopts after his uncles deem her an unsuitable hunting target. In spite of his initial trepidation, he establishes a rapport with these creatures quickly, as evidenced in a funny moment early on when he glances uneasily from his uncles’ sausage and egg breakfast to the pig standing outside the door with a chicken resting on his head.

The flashback moments are fun, but they’re a bit over-the-top and are really just meant as a visual interpretation of Garth’s stories. (When that style joins with the present in the alternative ending, it really doesn’t gel. The more subdued finale they chose works much more nicely.) There’s nothing quite like being regaled by a master storyteller, and one of the best parts is filling in the visual blanks for yourself. Secondhand Lions is a story about stories, about family history and how truth and legend become intermingled to the point that no one knows just what really happened and no one really cares. It’s what the stories mean to the people today that becomes important.

One interesting aspect of the film was the end credits. I love when a movie rewards those who bother to stick around for the credits. In this case, we learn that Walter has grown up to be a cartoonist. The credits show us scenes from his youth as told through his artistry – another form of storytelling. The cartoons come courtesy of Berkeley Breathed, who complied with director Ted McCanlies’ request to furnish illustrations. It was the first time his work had been seen in several years, and from what I read the gig reinvigorated him, leading him to create the weekly strip Opus, which revived one of his most popular characters. That may or may not have been a good thing...

Secondhand Lions didn’t get all that much attention when it came out, and many critics who did bother to review it weren’t kind. But I think it’s a sweet, down-home family film led by a stellar trio of actors, and I would heartily recommend it to help you remember “the things worth believing in.”

It's Not Hard to Love Card With These Soothing Tunes

Whenever I write a review for Epinions, I know that at least four people will read it: my mom, my dad, and my grandparents. I’m very grateful for their support, but once in a while it means them reading a review of something potentially unsavory. I’m afraid I may have rattled my grandparents just a bit with my recounting of the raucous concert I attended, and I mean to salve the shock by following it up with a discussion the softest, most inoffensive album I can find. And hopefully this review will inspire me to finally get around to all the other Michael Card albums I’ve been meaning to write about for five years.

I sometimes feel a bit guilty that essentially my entire musical repertoire consists of “secular” music. I put the term in quotes because it has such a negative ring to it, and I don’t think it should. You don’t have to be singing to a specifically Christian audience in order to have lyrics consistent with Christianity. I find God present in the songs of John Denver, Simon and Garfunkel, Don McLean, James Taylor, Gordon Lightfoot and many, many others whose music would not be featured on a Christian radio station. But while I’m hopelessly devoted to VeggieTales, most of the music sold in Christian bookstores leaves me rather cold.

That is due in large part to a lack of lyrical sophistication. Praise choruses may be easy to sing, but they sure are boring. I was mildly offended when I first heard Baptized in Water, which places very mundane and repetitive lyrics to the tune of Morning Has Broken, one of my very favorite hymns. Personally, I think that’s a melody that ought to be left alone, so perfect is the marriage between words and notes, though I’ll at least give Praise and Thanksgiving credit for trying. Anyway, this is just the stuff we sing in church. What shows up on the radio often lacks rhyme, not to mention verses. And when the lyrics are complex, they’re usually lost in a sea of electric guitars and vocals shouted in order to appeal to a hip young crowd.

Michael Card is different. He fits right in with the finest in the genre of sensitive singer-songwriters, but his lyrics convey a message that is clearly Christian and often strongly rooted in Scripture. Sleep Sound in Jesus is one of a few albums that, instead of focusing mainly on certain stories and passages from the Bible, follows a particular theme with more modern implications. This album is a collection of gentle tunes intended to serenade an infant off into dreamland. Its soothing tone can’t help but induce placid snoozing in older listeners as well.

Sleep Sound In Jesus - This first song, accompanied by strings and electric piano, is reminiscent of the old bedtime prayer most Christian kids learned at a young age: “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep...” Only in this case it’s the parents doing the talking, telling the child to go to sleep and not to worry because God is taking care of him. Betsy Hernandez, who is a prominent presence throughout the album, takes the first verse, Card the second, and the third they sing together. Know for His sake you’ll be safe for the night. Sleep sound in Jesus. I’ll turn off the light.

He'll Wipe Away Your Tears - Hernandez takes this one by herself with the accompaniment of a piano and later a harp. There seems to be a slight Jewish air about this song, which is based on two verses in Revelation. It’s nice but more minor-toned than most of the tracks, and given its source it carries with it shadows of gearing up for a grim battle. Nonetheless, the focus is on God providing comfort. He’ll wipe away your tears and still your restless sighs, and lovingly He’ll listen till you stop your wordless cries.

Even The Darkness Is Light To Him - Though this song’s lyrics hint at darkness, the melody speaks only of safety in God’s arms. Card takes the helm here, singing almost in a whisper with the electric piano backing. Very soft but upbeat. Even the darkness is light to Him and night is as bright as the day. So you are safe though the light grows dim...

Sweet Sleep Descends - Back to Hernandez and the piano again. This is a song devoid of a chorus, chronicling a mother’s anguish at the difficulty with which her child finally succumbs to sleep. This song feels more heavily produced than it is, though another instrument – a sax? – does take the spotlight atop the piano during a break in the vocals. Throughout the house of faith it’s known the soul finds rest in God alone...

Dreaming Jacob's Dream - Hooray for mandolins! Alluding to my love of folk music, my friend Libbie once teased me that my favorite instrument is the mandolin, and I’ve had a special fondness for it since. Anyway, it makes an appearance here, along with the piano and strings. This song makes reference to the biblical Jacob’s dream in which he wrestled with God, wondering whether the infant being observed is similarly experiencing God first-hand during slumber. Card warmly sings this tune that he dedicated to his own son. You and Jacob aren’t alone; we all need dreams to seek Him.

Song Of Jesus - The guitar is the star in this song, an upbeat ditty helmed by Card that has the feel of an offering by a troubadour. Strings make an appearance now and then, but they’re scarcely needed. This is a short, simple tune that serves as an introduction to Jesus for the youngest of his would-be followers. The note structure, ascending and descending like a flight of stairs, adds to the impression that the song is providing elementary instruction. Let me tell you of a man who was before the world began, who loves you more than anyone can, known by the name of Jesus.

Unseen Warriors - It’s back to Hernandez for this mother’s plea for protection for her baby. It’s a plaintive song backed by electric organ that is basically just a bedtime prayer that has its basis in a verse in Matthew. I presume the warriors in question are angels. Oh, unseen warriors, brothers, friends who for our safety we depend, I ask you now to come defend this precious little baby.

Wordless Ones - The electric piano is the prominent instrument once more, though as with the majority of the songs in which Hernandez takes the lead there is heavier instrumentation, or at least there seems to be. About halfway through Card jumps in to harmonize with Hernandez in this song about parents dedicating their child to God. We offer You this child who’s only ours for just awhile. How could we keep him back from You when You gave Your only child?

He Grants Sleep to the Ones That He Loves - My favorite song on the album. I just really like this one. It’s so tender and even comical at times. Electric piano and understated strings drive the song, while a saxophone makes a couple brief but effective appearances. The vocals are Card’s, conveying the mild frustration and boundless affection of a father putting a child to bed after a very long and trying day. Card turns in another very heartfelt performance, perhaps in part because this song is dedicated to his daughter. For he grants sleep to the ones that he loves, and I live to love you as well. The last words you’ll hear tonight will be ‘I love you,’ for love takes us all of a lifetime to tell.

Jesus Let Us Come to Know You - This song has been featured on several Card albums. The accompanying piano is quite elegant, offsetting the song’s simplicity, its lyrics framed in two-syllable sets ending with a three-syllable set. The harmonica that emerges, taking another verse after Hernandez has finished singing, adds a plaintive tone to the song. There’s something beautifully lonesome about a harmonica, making it a perfect fit for the lyrics which yearn for a connection to the creator. Jesus draw us ever nearer. Hold us in your loving arms. Wrap us in your gentle presence, and when the end comes, bring us home.

All You Are - For whatever reason, guitar and Card seem to go together on this album. This contemplative tune is backed nicely by guitar and bass with strings coming in during the instrumental break. Card’s earnest vocals wrap around lyrics that recall the exquisite Joseph’s Song from The Promise. Though the speaker is discussing an ordinary child an not the song of God here, all children are miracles, especially to the parent holding them in their arms for the first time. For all you are and all you’ll be, for everything you mean to me, though I don’t understand I know you’re from the father’s hand.

Lullaby for the Unborn - A harp accompanies Hernandez for this whispery lullaby sung to a child who has not yet been born. It’s a very short song consisting of only two verses with no repetition. Blessings upon you, my baby unborn, safely inside me asleep and so warm...

Sleepy Eyes - Another song about a child resisting sleep, it’s fairly upbeat and features guitar and bass as well as the occasional mandolin. Card takes the vocals on this song that clocks in at just a minute and a half but still manages to be one of the album’s most endearing. Sleepy eyes, your disguise cannot fool me with its lies. Let the angels come and close your sleepy eyes.

Hold Me Gently - A very pretty little song with lovely legato piano augmented by the saxophone. It’s just Hernandez on this one, and it’s possibly my favorite of her solos, providing a picture of a very intimate relationship with the creator. Live your life within me day by day. So goodnight, my forever friend.

Barocha - The album’s final track is very simple and familiar, a benediction often repeated in church and hung on plaques in hallways. It’s slow, solemn, and all a capella, first one voice, then two, then three, and from what I can tell it’s all Card. The lower register displayed the third time around adds an especially nice dimension. The Lord bless you and keep you, the Lord make His face shine upon you, and give you peace, and give you peace, and give you peace forever.

All in all, it’s a very soothing album, perhaps even more so for those old enough to understand the words. Hernandez’ presence works well as she provides a maternal voice to Card’s paternalism, and she does have a lovely voice. However, my favorite tracks all belong to Card. They have a different feel to them, more straightforward perhaps – a little less sappy and a little more earnest. Besides, I tend not to particularly connect with female vocals, while I love Card’s voice. It’s incredibly warm and gentle and remarkably similar to that of Dan Fogelberg, another musician whose work I admire. Its pure timbre is a joy to listen to, and I’m very glad that the lyrics he’s vocalizing are just as worthwhile.

Rock Concert Leaves Veteran Concert-Goer Feeling Green (Green Day in Pittsburgh, Mellon Arena, 4-23-05)

I’m not exactly what you’d call a novice concert-goer. The list of artists I’ve seen live include Sharon, Lois and Bram (I’m pretty sure that was my first ever), Nichelle Nichols, the Irish Rovers (thrice), Michael Card (thrice), Art Garfunkel (thrice), Simon and Garfunkel, Clay Aiken (twice), Neil Diamond, Gordon Lightfoot, Livingston Taylor and Don McLean, and I’m sure that’s not an exhaustive list. Most of those have been in small venues such as churches and philharmonic halls, but a few were large outdoor gatherings and massive arenas. But even the mayhem of the American Idol concert in Cleveland failed to entirely prepare me for the first concert I’ve attended in which the vast majority of the audience was my age or younger.

Back in the beginning of this school year, less than a month after her arrival in America, our exchange student Cathi got to experience her first American concert. Unfortunately, it was an artist she’d never heard of and whose style did not appeal to her. Based on my set of experiences, a Clay Aiken concert is pretty darn happenin’. But he almost might as well be Perry Como compared to the atmosphere at a concert whose core audience is angsty adolescents. Mom was determined to arrange for tickets to see at least one band Cathi really likes before she returns to Germany, so when the Green Day concert in Pittsburgh made a blip on Mom’s radar, she pounced, unintimidated by the inevitable culture shock that would occur when three tame folkies joined a throng of green-haired Gen-X-ers in a line that began to look like it would rival the parade of pilgrims in Rome three weeks ago. Yes, we decided to make this a family affair, so while Cathi, Nathan and our next-door neighbor awaited the hour with great anticipation, Mom, Dad and I leaned a bit towards trepidation. Just what were we getting ourselves into?

Before we even entered the Mellon Arena, I was struck by the differences between this concert and others I had attended. For one, there was the monster line, which we managed to hit at its longest point before officials finally opened the doors less than an hour before the concert. It wound halfway around the block and was patrolled by scalpers and opportunists selling discount Green Day t-shirts, neither of which I’d ever encountered before. It was actually just after 8:00 by the time we found our seats after a good deal of Mom trying to make sense of the arena map and Cathi urging her to ask for directions in the same agitated tone I’ve used on numerous occasions when I’ve been needlessly afraid that a concert I’d been desperately looking forward to would start without me. After nervously navigating my way to my seat in the dark, I sat down, determined to give the show my best shot. My ears were already under assault.

They haven’t recovered yet, and that’s probably 90 percent due to the efforts of the cover band that began playing as we got settled. I’d never heard of them before, though my hipper companions apparently had. None of us found that they added much to the concert except to make us grateful for the relative silence when they abandoned the stage to allow for half an hour of preparation for the main act. My Chemical Romance was on stage for about half an hour. In that time I understood exactly zero words to any of their songs, but our neighbor later assured me that was probably for the best. I was able to make out what the band leader said well enough to get the impression that, as Forrest Gump said of the flag-adorned protester in D.C., “He liked to say the f-word.” This was another first. I’ve never been to a concert in which that word was uttered once, and here it was flying at me at 200 decibels every 30 seconds. There was an especially worrisome moment when he asked for the attention of the female contingent of the audience and discussed the practice of certain bands asking gals to remove their shirts for a shot at a backstage pass. Before my visions of mass upper body nudity were realized, however, I was relieved to hear him admonish the gals for giving into such unseemly demands. “You’re better than that!” he shouted unexpectedly as I dared to remove my hand from my face.

What followed was an intermission of sorts, with the lights up and the music down, though loud enough to encourage a party atmosphere. The stereo blared such varied fare as Green Day’s own cover of I Fought the Law and Queen’s We Will Rock You while audience members batted around enormous beach ball-style balloons, initiated an impromptu wave that made it around the arena five times, and cheered wildly whenever the sound check man made an appearance. With the advent of YMCA, the audience enthusiasm ratcheted up a whole category, especially after their participation was encouraged by someone on stage in a big pink bunny suit who may or may not have been a member of Green Day. At any rate, this marked the end of the waiting, and soon the audience was roaring its welcome to the band it had come to see.

The show kicked off with American Idiot and Holiday before the band continued with a repertoire consisting mainly of songs I’d either never heard before or had but didn’t recognize. Lead singer Billie Joe Armstrong did most of the talking, pumping up the audience - often from a runway that took him out among the large group of people standing on the arena floor - by frequently encouraging our participation in the concert, if only to do the wave or shout “heyyyy-o.” I’ve seen him on television before and found him slightly ominous, with his dark make-up and his manner of barking out each syllable as though it were a separate word. I’d never heard him speak before but I found his banter with the audience – profanity and vulgarity aside – enjoyable. He clearly enjoys interacting with his fans and seems to appreciate their role in his rise to musical success.

While there was no jumbotron at this concert to help those in the nosebleeds see what was going on, I managed to get a pretty good idea of what was happening. While we were probably closer to the stage at the Simon and Garfunkel concert, our visibility with Green Day was better, as we were in the third row up from the balcony railing, dead center. Between that and our pair of mini binoculars, we were set. The most visual aspect of the show was something we would have experienced no matter where we were sitting. The lights on the stage played a large role in setting the mood for each song and sometimes flashed in time to the music on more raucous numbers. There were also a few explosions of flame that would have made me very nervous had I been on stage; as it was, the first of these made me jump. I could feel the heat from the flames all the way up in the balcony.

Though most of the music was pretty rowdy, it still retained a certain melodic quality that was notably absent during the set from My Chemical Romance. Songs that slowed and quieted it down a bit demonstrated the band members’ prowess as musicians, and performances such as Wake Me Up When September Ends became especially moving when half the audience brandished their cell phones, lighters and glow sticks to create the mood of a vigil. One of my favorite moments was when, after entertainingly introducing the members of Green Day (bassist Mike Dirnt, drummer Tre Cool and several assisting members whose names I didn’t catch), Billie Joe drew three eager volunteers from the audience to form an impromptu band that would play a brief song on stage. I’ve seen singers and dancers recruited a couple times, but never instrumentalists. It was a kick to see three ordinary guys out there on the stage getting one of the thrills of their lives, and I found it particularly touching that the young man chosen as the guitarist got to keep the guitar.

It wasn’t until the end of the concert that most of the songs I recognized emerged. Aside from a mid-concert performance of Basketcase, it was mostly unfamiliar fare for me until Minority, which if I recall correctly closed out the concert until their return for an encore of rather generous length. First Maria, then one of the two songs I was really waiting for: Boulevard of Broken Dreams. It’s a very poignant song, starting with the poetic title, and it calls to mind Robert Frost and his road less traveled (in spite of assurances by academia that that poem has been grossly misinterpreted ever since its publication). At any rate, this is a forlorn anthem, mingling solitary misery with defiant independence. It was one of the quieter songs of the evening, though nothing in that arena approached anything I would truly consider “quiet” – a hazard of such vast venues. You have to crank up the volume even when it doesn’t really suit the music.

The band seems to have a particular affection for Queen, and the encore’s grand send-off was a rousing We Are the Champions, complete with lights flashing the words so the audience could sing along (though I suspect that was superfluous) and giant machines spewing gobs of confetti. It was quite an impressive effect. The concert officially ended with just Billie Joe and his guitar in the song that, judging from the reaction, seemed to be the audience favorite. Perhaps that’s because just about everybody, no matter what their level of familiarity with the band, has heard it. I think of it as the Seinfeld finale song; my brother said he thinks of it the song played at every single graduation ceremony. In any case, the abrasive title of Good Riddance is unsuccessful in masking the song’s sentimentality. It’s a very tender tune and certainly a perfect pick to conclude the evening, both in terms of its subject matter and popularity. I was struck by how many people in the audience responded when asked if this was their first concert. I suspect that, particularly if they were die-hard Green Day fans, they had, indeed, “had the time of [their] life.” I started out the evening playing along with a bit of perfunctory applause, but by the encore I didn’t have to pretend anymore. They managed to draw out some genuine enthusiasm.

As I said, this was an interesting experience for me. It was extraordinarily loud, to the detriment not only of my ears but of my nerves as the bass and the enthusiastic audience rumbled together with a force that shook our seats up in the balcony. As I watched three especially enthusiastic teens try to mosh against the balcony railing and I fought off visions of one of them flipping over, I worried whether the whole structure might collapse underneath us. My concern was not too serious, but I worried nonetheless. This is not the sort of concert I am used to. Nonetheless, I enjoyed a great deal of the concert, and when I wasn’t blushing from the words coming out of Billie Joe’s mouth, I was usually applauding them. I get the feeling ultimately that he’s a pretty decent guy, a notion strengthened when I went to the band’s web site and saw that they were encouraging fans to bring nonperishable food donations to their concerts to be distributed through USA Harvest. I confess I left the concert with a touch of exhilaration, brought on partly by the thrill of being in such a vast and enthusiastic crowd but partly because the band wasn’t too hard to take after all. Ultimately, though Green may not be my cup of tea, a sip or two won’t do me any harm.

VeggieTales Presents a Medieval Triumph

A couple months ago, I received an email from Big Idea, the company that produces my much-adored video series VeggieTales, inviting me to serve as an ambassador for the company, which would basically involve them sending me a preview video and accompanying materials that I could screen and distribute at my church. I was jazzed. Unfortunately, the response was so overwhelming they decided they wouldn’t engage me in assisting them until their next video. So I didn’t get in on Duke and the Great Pie War early, but I was happy to purchase it when it did hit the stores. I probably would have anyway. I’d been gearing up for it by playing a game at www.bigidea.com in which the object was to accumulate points by flinging Mr. Lunt into a barrel of goo via a catapult. I never became very accomplished at the game, so I didn’t earn enough to land me a prize-worthy score. Playing the game and answering the periodic trivia, however, did give me some clues as to what this next offering from the ingenious Phil Vischer, Mike Nawrocki and friends involved.

A friend of mine who is rather less devoted to VeggieTales than I am actually got to see the video first when she took her niece to a screening at her church. She complained that it was just two completely unrelated stories and it didn’t make any sense. From her description, it seems for whatever reason that the preview copy skipped the introductory and concluding material tying the two parts together. She didn’t mention Silly Songs with Larry – actually The Blues with Larry – so maybe that was absent as well. At any rate, it certainly is not unusual for one of their videos to contain to separate stories united only by a common theme. In fact, this is the case in most of their offerings. When they stray from their established formula, I often miss it; I was particularly disappointed with the much-hyped Esther, which departed so much from the norm that I felt a bit disenfranchised. There is an upcoming video in which I don’t anticipate that being a problem, but I’ll get to that later.

Duke and the Great Pie War is a video about family and taking care of one another. The stories are precipitated by a letter to Bob and Larry from a young girl feeling down because she has to take care of her baby brother all the time and feels as though no one really cares about her anymore. Larry takes the helm here, explaining that he understands her plight, having gone through the same thing with his brother. To Bob’s increasing exasperation, Larry announces that he has three brothers. “I’ve known you for ten years!” Bob complains, wondering why he never heard about these clandestine siblings before. But we must leave Bob with his frustration as we venture into the first story, a familiar one for most who have gone through the ranks of Sunday school.

Baby Sister in DeNile is the tale of young Miriam’s efforts to save her baby brother Moses during a time when Egyptian law decreed that all male infants must be killed. The climactic moment mentioned in the Bible has some build-up here as Miriam (played by Laura Carrot) must deal with her new responsibilities as Moses’ babysitter and try not to feel too unappreciated by her parents, who now only seem to dote on the baby. It becomes a story all too familiar to any child who has had to deal with the mixed emotions of welcoming a younger sibling to the family. In the end it is an act of kindness by her older brother Aaron that convinces Miriam of her sacred duty. Aside from the inner inconsistency of having Moses portrayed as a carrot when he was clearly a zucchini in Josh and the Big Wall, this is a sweet tale that seems especially geared toward children in helping them deal with issues of sibling jealousy. Special highlights include a Jewish-flavored musical rant by Miriam and the notion of a beach pool that must be emptied of Hebrews for the Egyptian princess’ swimming hour.

Larry tries to tackle the blues with his silly song, but he’s just too darn upbeat. Perhaps we can call him a cock-eyed optimist. He’s gettin’ down with a gourd guitarist who clearly means business, but every time it seems as though Larry has found something to be downcast about, he finds a way to make lemonade out of lemons, much to the frustration of his multi-talented buddy. (The gourd in question also plays the harmonica. I can buy that. What I don’t get is how a guy with no hands can provide complex finger-picking…) The song degenerates, as so many of Larry’s musical efforts do, but it ends with Larry finding a more appropriate medium through which to express his exultation.

The main offering is a medieval-style story complete with expertly calligraphied pages and a chorus of narrating minstrels fulfilling the same purpose as the Mikado chorus in Sumo of the Opera. This gives the whole thing a nice mythic, storybook quality. Though the names have been changed, it is based on the biblical account of Ruth and Naomi, the in-laws who stuck by one another so faithfully even when it meant sacrificing a more comfortable lifestyle. Ruth becomes Petunia, a sweet-natured rhubarb, while Naomi is now Nona, whose maternal presence is provided by the usually more distant Madame Blueberry. Petunia is a newcomer but bears a bit of a resemblance to Esther, another shapely biblical heroine (though portrayed by a leek). Our Hero is Duke Duke – biblical counterpart Boaz – who provides Larry’s first chance to play a romantic lead (though there were hints of it in other videos with The Piano Must Go Up! and My Sport Utility Vehicle). Bob plays his loyal assistant, and Mr. Lunt is a villainous presence as Otis the Elevated, who Duke Duke decides to face in battle in an effort to win back the other half of Nona’s golden duck, which when put together provides access to all the riches of the kingdom she fled. (Yeah, it’s a bit complicated.)

The scenery is most appealing, a lush vision of the English countryside. I have trouble feeling too sorry for the two women being forced to live in poverty in a tree stump because it’s such an incredibly charming home. Given the setting and the creators’ obvious affection for Monty Python, it’s no surprise that a reference or two to those zany Brits manages to surface. Puns abound, and we’re treated to allusions to Three-Dog Night, surf music and that famous Abbot and Costello routine. Duke makes a dashing if rather clumsy knight; both of these qualities are most evident in his association with Petunia. Infatuated into an inconvenient state of awkwardness, he spends most of his time around her bumbling about, tripping or bumping heads with her. His decency is readily apparent, however, overshadowing his clutziness. Though he hasn’t known Petunia long, he is willing to go to great lengths to look after her well-being, even if it means a joust for which he is ill equipped.

The video concludes back on the countertop, where our hosts drive home the importance of being your brother’s keeper, so to speak. Whether or not it’s your actual family, you should make the effort to look after those entrusted to your care. There’s an extra treat at the end as Larry introduces his brothers, a curious crew who don’t seem to fit with the description Larry provides of them. We’re left with Bob’s perplexity and the possibility that more revelations on Larry’s relatives are yet to come. Hopefully we are also left with a greater urge to assist our friends and family when they are in need.

This was a good offering. I can’t express how glad I am that Big Idea did not fold when it went bankrupt. These folks are a constant source of amusement and inspiration. What I wouldn’t give to have the drive and creativity to build up such an empire from practically nothing. They’re amazing, and I hope they keep doing what they’re doing for a very long time. I know that they will for a while, at least. Even though the previews were in a separate section rather than mandatory viewing before the film as they sometimes are on DVDs, I couldn’t help but sneak a peek at them before I watched this video. The first was a source of great excitement. VeggieTales already has a video game featuring Minnesota Cuke (Larry, of course), but now they have a full-blown video coming up that parodies Indiana Jones, with the illustrious cucumber searching for Samson’s hairbrush. It promises to be a thrilling ride, accompanied by an aside about Junior’s troubles with a bully (featuring a glorious-looking tree house) and a silly song about Larry’s burning passion for pizza. But Minnesota Cuke… How cool is that?

Not as cool as what’s coming in November. I can’t believe I didn’t get it when I saw the title Lord of the Beans. My mind briefly flitted to Lord of the Flies but not to the parody I have hoped for more than any other in my 8-year obsession with VeggieTales. Even when I saw, to my delight, what was obviously a hobbit hole, I took it as a passing (albeit exhilarating) reference. But it soon became evident that what we were dealing with here was another epic VeggieTales offering, tackling a tale that so deserves their attention. In their version, a Flobbit named Toto Baggypants (Junior Asparagus) must go on a quest to the Land of Woe to determine how he must use the magic bean bequeathed to him by his uncle Billboy. Though he is pursued by relentless armies of Sporks seeking to deliver him to the evil lord Scaryman, he is assisted by a ragtag team of veggies bearing suspicious resemblance to Gandalf (Mr. Nezzer), Gimli (Pa Grape), Aragorn (Larry) and Legolas (Jimmy Gourd). (From what I’ve seen so far, it looks like Toto may be the only Flobbit, which unfortunately means no parodying Sam. What a disappointment if this is the case, but I’ll learn to live with it…) The scenery is glorious, the casting inspired and I can’t wait to see what they come up with for music.

How can I wait until November? At least it is something glorious to look forward to. And the tie-in merchandise… I anticipate buying it all. And if they’re smart, they’ll market this as aggressively as possible in order to tap into the vast legions of Lord of the Rings fans who may not be aware of or interested in VeggieTales but will undoubtedly eagerly lap up such a carefully orchestrated parody. While Lord of the Beans is not hitting the theaters and will clock in at a mere 44 minutes, the main story will fill that entire space, and in this instance I do not mind at all. After all, such a method was charmingly employed in their Dickensian parodies (The Star of Christmas and An Easter Carol), and if anybody deserves a whole video to himself it’s Tolkien.

So yeah, you may be figuring out that while I liked Duke and the Great Pie War and would certainly recommend it, greater things lie ahead. Much greater things. Long live Toto!

A Worthy Tribute to Pope John Paul II the Great

A couple years ago, as Catholics around the world were preparing to celebrate Pope John Paul II’s 25th year in the papacy, my dad happened upon Pope John Paul II: A Tribute, published by LIFE magazine on the occasion of the new millennium. He picked it up and brought it home for me, knowing the high esteem in which I held the pontiff. Very soon the magazine racks will be lined with tributes to the third-longest-reigning Pope in the history of Catholicism, and many books will no doubt follow. For the moment, though, I’m glad I have this book to pore over while I reflect on the life of this great man.

The book, which is in the same large format typical of regular issues of the magazine, spans 120 or so pages and five chapters. Its cardstock pages are filled with photographs from the life of Karol Wojtyla; nearly every page features an illustration, and some of these pictures even span two pages. Rather than a detailed account of the most recent Pope’s tenure in the Vatican, the book chronicles his life up to that point, leaving the last two chapters to deal with the most famous portion of his long life.

At the end of every chapter is a two-page spread making note of Popes and other religious figures with special significance in the history of the Church. These aside are a treasure trove for trivia. Some samples: The 20th century’s beloved Pope John XXIII was the second to bear that name, though the original’s reign was not acknowledged, earning him instead the title of antipope, shared by several other pontiffs whose claim to the papacy was disputed. According to legend, the Church was once headed by a woman named Joan, whose femininity was exposed when she went into labor while horseback riding. Pope Leo X had a white elephant that he cherished as a pet and frequently paraded around the city, much to the disgust of contemporary Martin Luther. I found such tidbits fascinating, and the continual reminder of the papacy throughout history gave me more cause to ponder the historical legacy of Pope John Paul II.

The first chapter in the book deals with Wojtyla as a child and young adult. It begins in 1999, chronicling one of the Pope’s last visits to his homeland, including a trip to the house where he grew up in the town of Wadowice. Author Robert Sullivan takes the reader from the Pope’s fond recollection of those bygone days into that time when he was just a little boy known by the nickname Lolek. Even from those early days, it seemed he was special, though few could have predicted just how important he would eventually become. There’s something very encouraging in the realization that this future Pope was a fairly normal child. More gifted and compassionate than most, perhaps, but enjoying a number of activities typical of youngsters. He was especially fond of soccer, skiing and hiking; his passion for the outdoors would endure throughout his life, as would his flair for drama and poetry. In fact, Sullivan tells us he had originally intended to study drama, a plan that would fall through with the advent of the Nazi invasion and the closing of his university. By his early 20s, he’d lost his brother and both parents to illness and countless friends, many of them Jewish, to the Nazis.

The second chapter focuses on his journey from clandestine seminarian to bishop. While he studied for the priesthood, aware that all around him clergy and academics were being hauled off to concentration camps, he worked in a quarry and at a chemical plant. The tragedy and cruelty of World War II cemented his sense of purpose in being a priest; the ensuing decades would find him dealing with another oppression, that of communism. He owed much to the mentorship of several clergy, perhaps most of all Cardinal Sapieha, who had him pegged for the priesthood when he saw Wojtyla present an oration in his honor in high school and continued to groom him for greater things in the Church even after his death, passing responsibility of the young cleric to Archbishop Baziak. During these early years, Wojtyla made a reputation for himself as a teacher and speaker and earned the affection of his parishioners and students, whom he often led on theologically-charged nature hikes.

The third chapter follows Wojtyla’s unlikely path to becoming a Cardinal. While it seems the most dangerous times for Wojtyla were during World War II, he continued to face challenges, and that he was able to rise through the ranks to achieve the title of Cardinal essential to be considered for the papacy is a testament to the notion that his election was providential. Communism was increasingly a threat at this point, but he managed to remain active in his ministry in spite of the oppressive government and somehow eluded their radar as a political force to be reckoned with. It was a time of great change in the Church, and his childhood experiences helped inform his insistence on absolving Jews of responsibility in the death of Jesus. He championed his beliefs passionately, revealing an intriguing mix of progressive ideals, such as ecumenism and taking an active role in aiding Third World countries, and conservative values, such as disapproval of divorce and of any actions that deny the sanctity of life – including abortion and birth control. His stance of these subjects and others would remain steady throughout his papacy.

Chapter four discusses the demise of Pope Paul VI and the strange weeks that followed: first the death of Pope John Paul I after barely a month in office, then the election, after much deliberation, of the first non-Italian Pope in 450 years. Most were surprised by the choice, which is hard to imagine for the millions of us who have grown up knowing only this Pope. Clearly, he quickly adapted to the role, using the influence of his position as well as his natural charisma to win over hordes of devout Catholics and, impressively, world leaders with whom he had fundamental disagreements. It’s generally agreed that the fall of communism owes a great deal to Pope John Paul II. His oratorical skill and common touch also aided in making him perhaps the greatest papal “fisher of men” since Peter and probably the most visible man of the century. Traveling as many miles during his 26 years as would be required for a round trip to the moon, he allowed millions of people in dozens of countries to see him in person, while countless others watched him on television. He reached out to the poor, the sick, the disenfranchised… even to the man who nearly succeeded in murdering him in 1981. He remained a formidable force.

Chapter five stands almost as an afterthought, assessing the Pope’s relevance at the turn of the millennium while acknowledging all he accomplished up to that point. Sullivan notes that as the year 2000 neared, he became more beloved but less obeyed. Particularly those in America objected to his doctrines, often too conservative for such a contemporary country. But he stuck to his principles, always speaking out against injustices he saw in the world. In spite of accumulating ailments, the peripatetic Pope continued to preach throughout the world, while begging forgiveness on behalf of the Church for wrongs done in the name of Catholicism over the past two millennia. Perhaps that passion would be the legacy he would leave history to record.

As is typical of LIFE books, half of this tribute is pictorial. Though the fuzzy quality of many of the early photographs is disappointing, that can hardly be helped, and they allow us a glimpse of a very holy man when he was still trying to figure out his direction in life. My favorite pictures are those portraying Wojtyla enjoying the great outdoors or the company of adoring young people. I was surprised to discover that one of my favorite pictures of the Pope, in which he forms eyeglasses with his fingers, is not included; I’m puzzling now over which book I have that includes that candid moment displaying his sense of humor. I get a kick out of the portrait on page 83 of him smiling in African regalia amongst natives on his first tour of that continent and the captured moment on page 60 of him feeding a kangaroo during a pre-papal expedition to Australia, and the serene shot of him reading while reclining amidst lush greenery recalls his fondness for the outdoors and literature and ends the book on a peaceful note.

This is a fine overview of the life of one of the most important figures of the 20th century and one of the greatest Popes in a 2000-year history. For an in-depth understanding of Pope John Paul II’s significance, it would probably be better to turn to a biography such as George Weigel’s Witness to Hope or, of course, one of the several books written by Pope John Paul II himself. I would not be surprised if LIFE either expands this book or comes out with a new one chronicling the Pope’s last days; it might be worthwhile to wait and see. Standing alone, however, this is a fine tribute to a man whose vast influence is becoming all the more clear this week. I highly recommend it for anyone as charmed and inspired by him as I was.