This weekend, two of my all-time favorite televisions shows are united on the big screen. LOST creator J. J. Abrams helmed the 2009 theatrical reboot of Star Trek, perhaps my most anticipated film of the year, bringing with him fellow LOST
head honchos Damon Lindelof and Bryan Burk, along with composer Michael
Giacchino and Greg Grunberg, whose part in the film, while even tinier
than his brief turn as the doomed pilot of Oceanic 815, is certainly
memorable, though you'll probably have to consult the credits to figure
out who he is. I watched Star Trek regularly with my family when I
was growing up, and Spock was one of the first fictional characters I
came to adore whole-heartedly. No matter who was involved in this movie,
I would have been standing in line on opening night, but the LOST connections sweetened the deal.
From the time I first heard about this new Star Trek,
I was pleased by all the attention being lavished upon Spock but
slightly nervous about the casting, since Zachary Quinto also plays
Sylar, who sadistically sliced open many an unsuspecting head on Heroes
before I gave up on the series. I imagine the reason for Quinto getting
so much of the spotlight is two-fold: in full regalia (including, of
course, the pointy ears), he bears an extraordinary resemblance to the
original Spock, and the logical half-Vulcan - the only holdover from the
show's first pilot - really is the glue that holds Star Trek
together. The more I saw of Quinto's Spock in magazines and late-night
interviews, the more I embraced him as Leonard Nimoy's successor, so
that by the time my latest issue of Entertainment Weekly arrived
with a cover bearing a crystal-clear headshot of New Spock, I could gaze
at it enthralled and not be remotely reminded of the hated Heroes villain.
Still, looking the part and acting it are two different things, so I
reserved total acceptance until the movie, in which Spock is every bit
as central a character as I'd hoped. Quinto's Spock has slightly less
control over his emotions than Nimoy's; for the most part, he is the
same calmly detached officer, a cool voice of reason rising above the
flaring tempers among his crewmates. But there is conflict within him,
and never are his human emotions so strongly roused as in matters
concerning his mother. The tender relationship the film presents feels
like one of many throwbacks to Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home.
Spock, it transpires, is a bit of a mama's boy, but that doesn't stop
him from being one of the most brilliant minds Starfleet has ever known.
Quinto conveys each subtle inflection of his genius
masterfully while keeping us aware that Spock's feelings are submerged
rather than nonexistent. Speaking in a gentle but authoritative tone, he
is polite and precise and, when the occasion calls for it, droll. And
thankfully, writers Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman give him plenty of
compelling material, not to mention opportunities to whip out many Spock
trademarks, including the Vulcan salute, nerve pinch and mind meld and
the acknowledgement that something is "fascinating".
Spock
also lifts quotes from specific moments in the series and subsequent
movies, my favorite of which is the touching "I have been, and always
shall be, your friend." This line is uttered not by Quinto but by Nimoy,
whose appearance midway through the film is the audacious anchor upon
which the plot rests, allowing Abrams wide creative license as he
proceeds with the series. The movie is loaded with references meant to
appease long-time fans, but Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan
offers especially integral inspiration for the plot, from the
revenge-driven crusade of tattooed Romulan Nero (Eric Bana) to the
unpleasant interrogation method he uses. The nod that excited me the
most involves a cocky young James Kirk (Chris Pine) taking a casual bite
out of an apple as he takes the Academy's no-win scenario test for the
third time.
The movie is hardly a collection of catch-phrases,
but each of the major seven characters gets some time in the limelight,
and there were cheers in my showing each time the officers uttered a
familiar command or exclamation. Keep an ear out for Kirk saying, "Beam
me up"; communications officer Uhura (Zoe Saldana) opening hailing
frequencies; helmsman Sulu (John Cho) putting the ship into warp speed;
ensign Chekov (Anton Yelchin) talking about "wessels" and "Wulcans";
engineer Scotty (Simon Pegg) bellowing, "I'm givin' it all she's got!"
and Dr. McCoy (Karl Urban) snapping, "I'm a doctor, not a physicist!"
Keep an eye out, meanwhile, for a man of little consequence dressed all
in red and a surprising song credit rewarding longtime fans who stick
around after the movie is over. Even with my eyes peeled, I missed the
cameo of late Last Lecture author Randy Pausch, an avowed
Trekker, early in the film; I'm sure that the next time I watch it, I'll
catch plenty of other Easter eggs too.
Fans should be pleased
with all of these opportunities to prove their prowess, and newcomers
aren't likely to be distracted by them. While they miss the fun of the
in-jokes, they have the advantage of not constantly comparing new with
old and wondering whether these incarnations are betrayals. I have
little issue with the acting in terms of these characterizations. More
eyebrow-raising are some of the details written into these characters'
histories and personalities. The aforementioned critical plot point
explains some of the discrepancies, but there's also an extent to which
these characters are being reinvented.
This is most evident in
the cases of Uhura, Sulu and Chekov, whose personalities were always
less developed than the other four. Saldana, who I first saw as an
unabashed Trekker in The Terminal,
makes sweet Uhura quite a bit feistier, especially in run-ins with
Kirk. I appreciate the emphasis on her smarts but found it annoying that
demure Uhura evidently wasn't good enough the 21st century. However, I
like her much better once she gets on the ship, at which point another
surprising aspect of her character emerges. It gels more with the
tender, compassionate woman Nichelle Nichols played, and mostly I'm okay
with it, though it strikes me as a controversial direction to take. Cho
lacks the vocal gravitas to have me entirely convinced that he's Sulu;
of the main seven, he's the only one whose casting I question. His role
is mostly light, and while he does contribute in important ways on a
couple of occasions (I especially like the way his established fondness
for fencing is integrated), he seems a little greener to me than he
should. Chekov, meanwhile, doesn't seem green enough. In the original
series, I tended to think of him as capable but ultimately little more
than comical eye candy. This time around, he's a Wesley Crusher-esque
wunderkind, just as funny and adorable as always but considerably more
indispensable. Of the three second-tier characters, he is my favorite,
both then and now.
I had doubts about Karl Urban as the
irascible Bones, since I previously knew him as Eomer, who I found just
about the most boring character in Lord of the Rings.
Then again, he didn't make much of an impression on me in the book,
either, so I wasn't sure if that was really the actor's fault. Bones
gets almost as much screen time as Kirk does, particularly toward the
beginning, and thankfully, my worries were unfounded; he absolutely
nails the good doctor's drawl and good-natured crankiness and gets many
of the movie's biggest laughs. Particularly funny, especially
considering classic Kirk's unending aversion to Sickbay, is the sequence
in which he chases Jim around the ship, attempting to administer a
series of unwanted treatments. It feels most appropriate that the film
establishes the two as firm friends long before they serve together on
the Enterprise.
Hot-headed, libidinous Jim Kirk was always my
least favorite of the Enterprise Seven. He may have been brave and
heroic, but his lack of respect for authority and his arrogance always
got on my nerves. Unsurprisingly, the early-twenties version is even
more obnoxious. Like everyone else besides Quinto, Pine bears no
especially striking physical resemblance to his predecessor, but he
captures his mannerisms well. I also have to offer kudos to the writers
and young actors alike on the scenes depicting Kirk and Spock in
childhood. Rabble-rousing Kirk's (Jimmy Bennett) is hilarious,
exhilarating and the first of several action sequences that seem
inspired more by Star Wars than Star Trek.
Contemplative Spock's (Jacob Kogan) stands in stark contrast, though it
also demonstrates the half-Vulcan's struggle to come to terms with his
opposing natures, exemplified by an amusing exchange with some older
students causing my brother to exclaim, "Spock's bullies would get beat
up by the bullies on any other planet in the universe!" Instrumental to
Kirk's development this time around is Captain Christopher Pike (Bruce
Greenwood), whose stern but kind mentorly role I love. Greenwood seems a
little on the old side to be playing this captain who was in command in
the show's original pilot, but the relationship feels believable.
That just leaves Pegg's Scotty, who takes so long to turn up I started
to half-wonder if we were going to see him at all. Our introduction to
him is a comical highlight, and he continues to steal the screen
whenever he pipes up, usually with a cheerful assertion of some sort. I
would speculate that of the seven, Pegg had the most fun; the Scottish
engineer seems positively giddy throughout most of his all-too-brief
appearances. I also like his interaction with one of the movie's few
non-humanoid aliens. Few fans would argue with the statement that in the
battle of Star Trek versus Star Wars, the latter has the
coolest aliens. Abrams and his team seem determined to amend that, or at
least remain open to the idea of a more diverse Federation. My favorite
example of this is the disgruntled creature who finds himself lodged
between Kirk and Uhura in the disastrous bar scene reminiscent of Top Gun in which he meets and puts the moves on her.
Giacchino's stirring score blends neatly with the action most of the
time, with some of the more emotional moments containing hints of music
we've heard on LOST. The special effects are impeccable, aside
from a few moments that seem to be overdoing it just a little. I'm not
too used to Jedi-style sword fights and escape from enormous hostile
creatures on this series. Those new to the franchise at least aren't
likely to complain that the movie lacks action. The movie offers
something to love for viewers at any point along the previous Star Trek experience spectrum; as for me, I'm already looking forward to the sequel.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Michael Giacchino Scores a Hit With LOST's Season One Soundrack
I don't usually pay great deal of attention to music on television
shows. Aside from a catchy theme song (increasingly rare these days) or a
well-placed pop song that captures the mood of an especially powerful
scene, the score tends not to be a big focus for me. But from the
beginning, it was clear that LOST's approach to music was every bit as carefully crafted as every aspect of the show. I soon began making comparisons with Lord of the Rings,
another epic adventure whose score was so richly evocative; I find the
soundtracks quite complementary in many ways, exploring much of the same
thematic territory with compositions that cut right to the heart of
certain characters and situations.
We've had the soundtracks for the first two seasons of LOST floating around the house for quite a while, but I never really sat myself down and listened to them straight through, partly because some of the tracks are just plain creepy. But I figured it was high time I did that instead of just running to YouTube whenever I need my Michael Giacchino fix. Any fan as moved by his score as I have been ought to consider laying hands on these albums as well. While you won't find any of the previously written songs incorporated into the show with such intentionality - my favorite season-one example is probably Willy Nelson's contemplative "Are You Sure?", as heard by Hurley on his walkman, which poses a question that has only grown more relevant to LOST as the show goes on - you will get some of the most haunting music ever to have been written to support a story.
Season one has 27 tracks, and if you're only going to buy one of the albums, this is probably the one to get since it sets the stage for the rest, introducing themes that will resurface again and again. (Alas, the bouncy DriveShaft hit You All Everybody doesn't turn up, but that would have been rather out of place...) The liner notes helpfully indicate which episode each track belongs to, though there is no description beyond that; to help you get your bearings if you can't put your finger on which scene goes with each composition, I highly recommend the Lostpedia.com entry on the soundtracks. The article about the show's musical themes is also illuminating, albeit slightly more geared toward those with some background in musical theory.
LOST is an intense series, so it's no great surprise that much of the soundtrack focuses on feelings of urgency and distress. The monster, or at least the threat of the monster, seems to turn up a lot, most impressively in Run Like, Um... H***?, which has low pounding percussion to signify Smokey and a swift, panicky melody representing Kate, Jack and Charlie's frantic escape, and Run Away! Run Away!, a similar but considerably shorter track in which the monster pursues Boone and Shannon. Lostpedia identifies five tracks as "action"-oriented and another four as "suspense," but I would say notes of peril creep their way into at least half of the tracks, sometimes blasting in out of the blue at the conclusion of an especially stirring reverie. Percussion (often incorporating unusual objects) and bass trombones are the instruments most frequently used in association with the direst moments, though shrieking strings also come into play quite a bit as well.
I don't know what went into the naming of the tracks, but I get a chuckle out of perusing the list, which is full of punny titles such as The Eyeland (Jack waking up disoriented in the jungle - the first track aside from the whooshing 16-second main title); Crocodile Locke (establishing John's wilder side); Thinking Clairely (a refreshing piano-driven melody that reflects the character's innocent tenderness, and one of only two unabashedly cheerful tunes on this album); Locke'd Out Again (capturing John's anguish at his lack of success with the hatch, followed by euphoria as he seems to receive divine affirmation); and Booneral and Shannonigans (which flow neatly into each other as Shannon comes to terms with the consequences of Boone's alliance with Locke).
I love the action-packed tracks, which so wonderfully illustrate the idea of pursuit, mystery and danger, but I'm rather inclined to copy the emotionally-heavy tracks onto a separate CD so I can listen to them as I fall asleep without running a high risk of nightmares. The most lullaby-like tracks include the gorgeous Credit Where Credit Is Due, in which post-hero-mode Jack wanders among his fellow passengers after the most immediate danger is over; Just Die Already, which elegiacally accompanies the slow decline of Jack's first on-Island hopeless case; Departing Sun, which has Sun, in a flashback, torn between desire for a new life and the love that first drew her to her husband; We're Friends, which gently conveys a confused Claire's blossoming trust of Charlie, the newfound friend she doesn't remember; and Parting Words, the second-to-last and second-longest track, in which violin and piano alternate as the castaways give the voyagers on the raft a heartfelt send-off rather reminiscent of Lord of the Rings' The Grey Havens.
Speaking of Howard Shore's score, though, the top reason this is a must-own album is because it contains what I would consider the show's main theme, the one melody that invariably provokes a strong emotional reaction and that is all but guaranteed to resurface dramatically in the series finale. Lord of the Rings had many evocative motifs, but the one that seemed to me the strongest was In Dreams, given end-credits lyrics in Fellowship of the Ring but generally expressing itself instrumentally in moments of deepest grief or most heartfelt friendship. Life and Death is Giacchino's crowning LOST achievement, so deceptively simple but so incredibly powerful. Achingly tender and wistful, it has a tendency to turn up in the show's most emotionally gripping moments.
The theme appears twice on this soundtrack before its most famous incarnation in track twenty, the one that gives it its name, as it accompanies the long-awaited birth of Claire's baby and the simultaneous first death of a major character on the show. It's a very slow, basic melody with great potential for subtle variations. Piano and violin, complementing one another and alternating in prominence, are the piece's main instruments, but there's a hint of guitar in Win One for the Reaper, which introduces the theme as Jack stumbles upon the caves, wherein lie the remains of the Island's "Adam and Eve," who seem more and more likely to be characters we've met. I was pleasantly startled by the presence of the harp in Charlie Hangs Around, in which the young rocker's apparent death gives way to celestial euphoria as tenacious Jack yanks him back from the brink, and was impressed by the way the violins in the final and longest track, Oceanic 815 (in which the passengers board the plane and glance around them, not realizing they will soon know these people intimately), take the melody in a different direction while the piano underpinnings keep us grounded in the now-familiar theme.
Giacchino certainly knows both how to tug at our heartstrings and get our adrenaline pumping. With just about every track on this album inspiring grief or fear, then, I've Got a Plane to Catch is a giddy surprise. I laughed aloud when it started playing because it's just so different from everything else, so unexpected. It's a groovy guitar jam that's billed on Lostpedia as an "adventure" track; there's a sense of urgency, but it's peppy and light as Hurley goes to Herculean efforts to overcome all obstacles and ensure he's on Flight 815 so he can get back to Los Angeles in time for his mom's birthday. This is not a life-or-death situation, and it's an awfully nice change to have someone running to something he thinks is good instead of running from something he's sure is bad. There's a tropical flavor to this track reminding me that LOST is filmed in Hawaii, while the prominence of guitar seems to foreshadow Hurley's deep friendship with Charlie. And when the accordion gleefully kicked in, perhaps in homage to Hurley's association with Mr. Cluck's Chicken Shack (Chicken Dance, anybody?), I dissolved into giggles.
So I'll leave it on that happy note, even though it's atypical. If you can't get enough of this show, invest in the first soundtrack and go from there. Thanks to Giacchino's genius, it's very easy to get LOST in this music.
We've had the soundtracks for the first two seasons of LOST floating around the house for quite a while, but I never really sat myself down and listened to them straight through, partly because some of the tracks are just plain creepy. But I figured it was high time I did that instead of just running to YouTube whenever I need my Michael Giacchino fix. Any fan as moved by his score as I have been ought to consider laying hands on these albums as well. While you won't find any of the previously written songs incorporated into the show with such intentionality - my favorite season-one example is probably Willy Nelson's contemplative "Are You Sure?", as heard by Hurley on his walkman, which poses a question that has only grown more relevant to LOST as the show goes on - you will get some of the most haunting music ever to have been written to support a story.
Season one has 27 tracks, and if you're only going to buy one of the albums, this is probably the one to get since it sets the stage for the rest, introducing themes that will resurface again and again. (Alas, the bouncy DriveShaft hit You All Everybody doesn't turn up, but that would have been rather out of place...) The liner notes helpfully indicate which episode each track belongs to, though there is no description beyond that; to help you get your bearings if you can't put your finger on which scene goes with each composition, I highly recommend the Lostpedia.com entry on the soundtracks. The article about the show's musical themes is also illuminating, albeit slightly more geared toward those with some background in musical theory.
LOST is an intense series, so it's no great surprise that much of the soundtrack focuses on feelings of urgency and distress. The monster, or at least the threat of the monster, seems to turn up a lot, most impressively in Run Like, Um... H***?, which has low pounding percussion to signify Smokey and a swift, panicky melody representing Kate, Jack and Charlie's frantic escape, and Run Away! Run Away!, a similar but considerably shorter track in which the monster pursues Boone and Shannon. Lostpedia identifies five tracks as "action"-oriented and another four as "suspense," but I would say notes of peril creep their way into at least half of the tracks, sometimes blasting in out of the blue at the conclusion of an especially stirring reverie. Percussion (often incorporating unusual objects) and bass trombones are the instruments most frequently used in association with the direst moments, though shrieking strings also come into play quite a bit as well.
I don't know what went into the naming of the tracks, but I get a chuckle out of perusing the list, which is full of punny titles such as The Eyeland (Jack waking up disoriented in the jungle - the first track aside from the whooshing 16-second main title); Crocodile Locke (establishing John's wilder side); Thinking Clairely (a refreshing piano-driven melody that reflects the character's innocent tenderness, and one of only two unabashedly cheerful tunes on this album); Locke'd Out Again (capturing John's anguish at his lack of success with the hatch, followed by euphoria as he seems to receive divine affirmation); and Booneral and Shannonigans (which flow neatly into each other as Shannon comes to terms with the consequences of Boone's alliance with Locke).
I love the action-packed tracks, which so wonderfully illustrate the idea of pursuit, mystery and danger, but I'm rather inclined to copy the emotionally-heavy tracks onto a separate CD so I can listen to them as I fall asleep without running a high risk of nightmares. The most lullaby-like tracks include the gorgeous Credit Where Credit Is Due, in which post-hero-mode Jack wanders among his fellow passengers after the most immediate danger is over; Just Die Already, which elegiacally accompanies the slow decline of Jack's first on-Island hopeless case; Departing Sun, which has Sun, in a flashback, torn between desire for a new life and the love that first drew her to her husband; We're Friends, which gently conveys a confused Claire's blossoming trust of Charlie, the newfound friend she doesn't remember; and Parting Words, the second-to-last and second-longest track, in which violin and piano alternate as the castaways give the voyagers on the raft a heartfelt send-off rather reminiscent of Lord of the Rings' The Grey Havens.
Speaking of Howard Shore's score, though, the top reason this is a must-own album is because it contains what I would consider the show's main theme, the one melody that invariably provokes a strong emotional reaction and that is all but guaranteed to resurface dramatically in the series finale. Lord of the Rings had many evocative motifs, but the one that seemed to me the strongest was In Dreams, given end-credits lyrics in Fellowship of the Ring but generally expressing itself instrumentally in moments of deepest grief or most heartfelt friendship. Life and Death is Giacchino's crowning LOST achievement, so deceptively simple but so incredibly powerful. Achingly tender and wistful, it has a tendency to turn up in the show's most emotionally gripping moments.
The theme appears twice on this soundtrack before its most famous incarnation in track twenty, the one that gives it its name, as it accompanies the long-awaited birth of Claire's baby and the simultaneous first death of a major character on the show. It's a very slow, basic melody with great potential for subtle variations. Piano and violin, complementing one another and alternating in prominence, are the piece's main instruments, but there's a hint of guitar in Win One for the Reaper, which introduces the theme as Jack stumbles upon the caves, wherein lie the remains of the Island's "Adam and Eve," who seem more and more likely to be characters we've met. I was pleasantly startled by the presence of the harp in Charlie Hangs Around, in which the young rocker's apparent death gives way to celestial euphoria as tenacious Jack yanks him back from the brink, and was impressed by the way the violins in the final and longest track, Oceanic 815 (in which the passengers board the plane and glance around them, not realizing they will soon know these people intimately), take the melody in a different direction while the piano underpinnings keep us grounded in the now-familiar theme.
Giacchino certainly knows both how to tug at our heartstrings and get our adrenaline pumping. With just about every track on this album inspiring grief or fear, then, I've Got a Plane to Catch is a giddy surprise. I laughed aloud when it started playing because it's just so different from everything else, so unexpected. It's a groovy guitar jam that's billed on Lostpedia as an "adventure" track; there's a sense of urgency, but it's peppy and light as Hurley goes to Herculean efforts to overcome all obstacles and ensure he's on Flight 815 so he can get back to Los Angeles in time for his mom's birthday. This is not a life-or-death situation, and it's an awfully nice change to have someone running to something he thinks is good instead of running from something he's sure is bad. There's a tropical flavor to this track reminding me that LOST is filmed in Hawaii, while the prominence of guitar seems to foreshadow Hurley's deep friendship with Charlie. And when the accordion gleefully kicked in, perhaps in homage to Hurley's association with Mr. Cluck's Chicken Shack (Chicken Dance, anybody?), I dissolved into giggles.
So I'll leave it on that happy note, even though it's atypical. If you can't get enough of this show, invest in the first soundtrack and go from there. Thanks to Giacchino's genius, it's very easy to get LOST in this music.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Get LOST on Gilligan's Island with Season One
One of the fun things about LOST is the rich array of influences that can be identified throughout the series. The drama has made reference to everything from Watership Down and The Chronicles of Narnia to Ulysses and A Brief History of Time.
But before any of us knew how diligently Damon Lindelof and Carlton
Cuse would try to expand our bookshelves and DVD collections, back when
our only inkling of the mystery to follow was Dom Monaghan's enigmatic
"Guys... Where are we?" whispering its way out of the television screen,
one pop culture icon stood out above all others as the most obvious
basis for comparison. I'm talking, of course, about Gilligan's Island.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I spent many happy hours with Gilligan and his merry little band of castaways when it ran in syndication on an available channel. I particularly remember when Weird Al's Amish Paradise renewed my interest by quoting the part of the end-credits lyrics, inspiring me to commit the famous theme song to memory. I suspect I can trace my obsession with stranded-on-an-island stories back to Swiss Family Robinson, but Gilligan's Island certainly helped to feed my fascination. So I was tickled when I received season one on DVD for my birthday this year, along with a note from my dad assuring me he would be LOST without me and speculating as to the possibility of the time-jumping survivors of Oceanic 815 encountering the passengers and crew of the Minnow.
Gilligan's Island, created by Sherwood Schwartz, is one of the silliest shows ever to hit the airwaves. In nearly every episode, you can count Skipper or Gilligan suffering bodily injury, an outlandish plan for rescue or a perilous situation presenting itself and Gilligan either ruining or fixing everything at the last minute. There are plenty of pratfalls, and although each of the seven main characters - paternal, short-fused Skipper Jonas Grumby (Alan Hale, Jr.); hapless, guileless first mate Willie Gilligan (Bob Denver); aristocratic Thurston Howell III (Jim Backus) and his daffy wife Lovey (Natalie Schafer); seductive movie star Ginger Grant (Tina Louise); sweet Mary Ann Summers (Dawn Wells) and brilliant Professor Roy Hinkley (Russell Johnson) - seems anxious to get back home, their Island lives couldn't be cozier. It seems you can make just about anything out of palm branches and coconuts if you've got a genius living with you, and whatever he can't make, the Howells brought, since they are apparently accustomed to packing a year's worth of supplies for a three-hour trip. Ridiculous mishaps are always occurring, but none of them have any consequences. By the next episode, everything is idyllic again.
Before receiving this DVD, it had been several years since I'd watched Gilligan's Island, so I went into it this time with the fresh eyes of a LOST fan, looking for parallels. Naturally, given the specificity of the situation, there were many. There's an attempt to build a raft, though this comes at the beginning of the first season rather than the end as it did on LOST. The S.O.S. signal on the beach comes earlier in the sit-com too - and is built not out of rocks but out of dead fish (one of which, incidentally, previously swallowed the castaways' radio). The all-important radio is much more omnipresent on Gilligan's Island and much more cooperative, allowing the survivors unlimited access to news (and, in Mary Ann's case, soap operas) from the mainland.
Among the more particular parallels are the fact that on both shows, a small plane is found in the jungle; an attempt is made to contact civilization by tying a message to a migratory bird; the government tests a dangerous weapon on the Island; the castaways set up their own golf course for leisure purposes; the de facto leader gives a "live together, die alone"-style speech; and running throughout the series is a fundamental man of science / man of faith debate, in this case between Professor and Skipper. Gilligan's Island has a much smaller cast than LOST - so small I can't imagine what Schwartz was thinking when he relegated the Professor and Mary Ann to "the rest" in the first-season version of the theme song - which means everyone knows each other right off the bat, and we never have the sort of fracturing that must be dealt with on the drama, though the castaways tend to somewhat divide themselves into three groups: the Howells; Skipper, Gilligan and Professor; and Mary Ann and Ginger.
As leader, Skipper has some qualities in common with Jack, though I would more readily compare him with season four addition Frank Lapidus, a crusty but highly capable pilot. Professor, meanwhile, bears some resemblance to Sayid, whose expertise as a communications officer comes in so handy when there's need to get a radio or transmitter working, but he's equally akin to twitchy physicist Daniel Faraday, another season four addition who is in the habit of saying things that go way over the heads of nearly everyone around him. I would compare Ginger to Kate, as they've both spent so much time using their feminine wiles to manipulate people, while wholesome Mary Ann is more like the innocent Claire. Rose and Bernard, like the Howells, are married and older than most of the castaways, and they appear to be fairly well-off, but there's certainly little in their dispositions that would be considered similar. The readiest comparison I tend to make is between Gilligan and Hurley; both are bumbling, honest to a fault, extremely devoted to their friends and much more interested in sharing wealth than possessing it. Of course, Hurley never makes nearly the mess of things that Gilligan does, thank goodness; LOST's castaways have enough problems to deal with already! But each of them, it could be argued, is the heart of his show.
Season one of Gilligan's Island contains 36 episodes - all, sadly, in black and white. But watching the show as a quaint precursor to LOST, I found the lack of color appropriately antiquated. I was a bit surprised to realize that at least in this season, Gilligan's Island doesn't get nearly as much traffic as I thought it did. When people laugh about how ridiculous the show is, one thing they cite is the steady parade of visitors that always manage to get away within the space of an episode when the septet from the Minnow still can't manage it after months. Granted, even one such visitor is cause for a raised eyebrow; nonetheless, it was interesting to me that only a few of these episodes feature more than just the main seven. My favorite of the visitors were a young Kurt Russell as a jungle boy whose presence is never explained and Hans Conried, who I know primarily as the voice of Thorin Oakenshield in Rankin and Bass's The Hobbit, as Wrongway Feldman, a loony pilot who manages to wind up on the island twice. A few memorable nonhuman co-stars also surface, including a chimpanzee, a frog and a duck. Some guests, meanwhile, are a tad cringe-worthy, including a very phony-looking gorilla played by Janos Prohaska and a Japanese soldier who thinks it's still World War II, portrayed in two episodes with embarrassingly stereotypical overtones by Vitto Scotti.
Getting off the Island is not always the primary preoccupation of the episode. Mr. Howell directs a play for the purpose of giving Ginger an ego-boosting starring role. The Howells adopt Gilligan in one episode and try to fix him up with Mary Ann in another. The revelation that Gilligan keeps a diary has all the castaways burning to know what he wrote about them. Skipper and Mr. Howell race tortoises for fun and profit. The castaways hold an election, with surprising results. A desperate search for fresh water ensues when Gilligan accidentally empties the current supply. While the basic arc of each episode tends to be pretty similar - Gilligan accidentally thwarts rescue or Gilligan accidentally averts disaster - there's plenty of room for variation, and it's always fun to see the different ways in which these characters adapt to island life. There's quite a bit of bickering that goes on, but one reason this show is such a pleasure to watch is that these people so clearly care about each other. That includes Mr. Howell, who likes to lord his status over everybody but is a pussycat of a man deep down.
Season one is the longest of the show's three seasons by a few episodes, and the DVD includes a number of fun features, most notably the unaired pilot, Marooned, featuring John Gabriel as the Professor and Kit Smythe and Nancy McCarthy as secretaries Ginger and Bunny. It also has a completely different theme song with a bouncy calypso beat, sung with a goofy accent and including such verses as these: "Two secretaries from U.S.A. / Sail on the Minnow this lovely day. / A high school teacher is next aboard; / All taking trip that they cannot afford. / The next two people are millionaires; / They got no worries, they got no cares. / They climb aboard, and they step inside, / With just enough bags for a 6-hour ride." If you're not too keen on buying a whole season of Gilligan's Island, I recommend looking up this original theme song on YouTube; it's a hoot! But if you've ever dreamed of putting down roots in a hut neighboring Gilligan's - or wanted to wash up on LOST Island but don't fancy dealing with the monsters, polar bears and artillery-laden natives and invaders - sit right back and enjoy season one of Gilligan's Island.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I spent many happy hours with Gilligan and his merry little band of castaways when it ran in syndication on an available channel. I particularly remember when Weird Al's Amish Paradise renewed my interest by quoting the part of the end-credits lyrics, inspiring me to commit the famous theme song to memory. I suspect I can trace my obsession with stranded-on-an-island stories back to Swiss Family Robinson, but Gilligan's Island certainly helped to feed my fascination. So I was tickled when I received season one on DVD for my birthday this year, along with a note from my dad assuring me he would be LOST without me and speculating as to the possibility of the time-jumping survivors of Oceanic 815 encountering the passengers and crew of the Minnow.
Gilligan's Island, created by Sherwood Schwartz, is one of the silliest shows ever to hit the airwaves. In nearly every episode, you can count Skipper or Gilligan suffering bodily injury, an outlandish plan for rescue or a perilous situation presenting itself and Gilligan either ruining or fixing everything at the last minute. There are plenty of pratfalls, and although each of the seven main characters - paternal, short-fused Skipper Jonas Grumby (Alan Hale, Jr.); hapless, guileless first mate Willie Gilligan (Bob Denver); aristocratic Thurston Howell III (Jim Backus) and his daffy wife Lovey (Natalie Schafer); seductive movie star Ginger Grant (Tina Louise); sweet Mary Ann Summers (Dawn Wells) and brilliant Professor Roy Hinkley (Russell Johnson) - seems anxious to get back home, their Island lives couldn't be cozier. It seems you can make just about anything out of palm branches and coconuts if you've got a genius living with you, and whatever he can't make, the Howells brought, since they are apparently accustomed to packing a year's worth of supplies for a three-hour trip. Ridiculous mishaps are always occurring, but none of them have any consequences. By the next episode, everything is idyllic again.
Before receiving this DVD, it had been several years since I'd watched Gilligan's Island, so I went into it this time with the fresh eyes of a LOST fan, looking for parallels. Naturally, given the specificity of the situation, there were many. There's an attempt to build a raft, though this comes at the beginning of the first season rather than the end as it did on LOST. The S.O.S. signal on the beach comes earlier in the sit-com too - and is built not out of rocks but out of dead fish (one of which, incidentally, previously swallowed the castaways' radio). The all-important radio is much more omnipresent on Gilligan's Island and much more cooperative, allowing the survivors unlimited access to news (and, in Mary Ann's case, soap operas) from the mainland.
Among the more particular parallels are the fact that on both shows, a small plane is found in the jungle; an attempt is made to contact civilization by tying a message to a migratory bird; the government tests a dangerous weapon on the Island; the castaways set up their own golf course for leisure purposes; the de facto leader gives a "live together, die alone"-style speech; and running throughout the series is a fundamental man of science / man of faith debate, in this case between Professor and Skipper. Gilligan's Island has a much smaller cast than LOST - so small I can't imagine what Schwartz was thinking when he relegated the Professor and Mary Ann to "the rest" in the first-season version of the theme song - which means everyone knows each other right off the bat, and we never have the sort of fracturing that must be dealt with on the drama, though the castaways tend to somewhat divide themselves into three groups: the Howells; Skipper, Gilligan and Professor; and Mary Ann and Ginger.
As leader, Skipper has some qualities in common with Jack, though I would more readily compare him with season four addition Frank Lapidus, a crusty but highly capable pilot. Professor, meanwhile, bears some resemblance to Sayid, whose expertise as a communications officer comes in so handy when there's need to get a radio or transmitter working, but he's equally akin to twitchy physicist Daniel Faraday, another season four addition who is in the habit of saying things that go way over the heads of nearly everyone around him. I would compare Ginger to Kate, as they've both spent so much time using their feminine wiles to manipulate people, while wholesome Mary Ann is more like the innocent Claire. Rose and Bernard, like the Howells, are married and older than most of the castaways, and they appear to be fairly well-off, but there's certainly little in their dispositions that would be considered similar. The readiest comparison I tend to make is between Gilligan and Hurley; both are bumbling, honest to a fault, extremely devoted to their friends and much more interested in sharing wealth than possessing it. Of course, Hurley never makes nearly the mess of things that Gilligan does, thank goodness; LOST's castaways have enough problems to deal with already! But each of them, it could be argued, is the heart of his show.
Season one of Gilligan's Island contains 36 episodes - all, sadly, in black and white. But watching the show as a quaint precursor to LOST, I found the lack of color appropriately antiquated. I was a bit surprised to realize that at least in this season, Gilligan's Island doesn't get nearly as much traffic as I thought it did. When people laugh about how ridiculous the show is, one thing they cite is the steady parade of visitors that always manage to get away within the space of an episode when the septet from the Minnow still can't manage it after months. Granted, even one such visitor is cause for a raised eyebrow; nonetheless, it was interesting to me that only a few of these episodes feature more than just the main seven. My favorite of the visitors were a young Kurt Russell as a jungle boy whose presence is never explained and Hans Conried, who I know primarily as the voice of Thorin Oakenshield in Rankin and Bass's The Hobbit, as Wrongway Feldman, a loony pilot who manages to wind up on the island twice. A few memorable nonhuman co-stars also surface, including a chimpanzee, a frog and a duck. Some guests, meanwhile, are a tad cringe-worthy, including a very phony-looking gorilla played by Janos Prohaska and a Japanese soldier who thinks it's still World War II, portrayed in two episodes with embarrassingly stereotypical overtones by Vitto Scotti.
Getting off the Island is not always the primary preoccupation of the episode. Mr. Howell directs a play for the purpose of giving Ginger an ego-boosting starring role. The Howells adopt Gilligan in one episode and try to fix him up with Mary Ann in another. The revelation that Gilligan keeps a diary has all the castaways burning to know what he wrote about them. Skipper and Mr. Howell race tortoises for fun and profit. The castaways hold an election, with surprising results. A desperate search for fresh water ensues when Gilligan accidentally empties the current supply. While the basic arc of each episode tends to be pretty similar - Gilligan accidentally thwarts rescue or Gilligan accidentally averts disaster - there's plenty of room for variation, and it's always fun to see the different ways in which these characters adapt to island life. There's quite a bit of bickering that goes on, but one reason this show is such a pleasure to watch is that these people so clearly care about each other. That includes Mr. Howell, who likes to lord his status over everybody but is a pussycat of a man deep down.
Season one is the longest of the show's three seasons by a few episodes, and the DVD includes a number of fun features, most notably the unaired pilot, Marooned, featuring John Gabriel as the Professor and Kit Smythe and Nancy McCarthy as secretaries Ginger and Bunny. It also has a completely different theme song with a bouncy calypso beat, sung with a goofy accent and including such verses as these: "Two secretaries from U.S.A. / Sail on the Minnow this lovely day. / A high school teacher is next aboard; / All taking trip that they cannot afford. / The next two people are millionaires; / They got no worries, they got no cares. / They climb aboard, and they step inside, / With just enough bags for a 6-hour ride." If you're not too keen on buying a whole season of Gilligan's Island, I recommend looking up this original theme song on YouTube; it's a hoot! But if you've ever dreamed of putting down roots in a hut neighboring Gilligan's - or wanted to wash up on LOST Island but don't fancy dealing with the monsters, polar bears and artillery-laden natives and invaders - sit right back and enjoy season one of Gilligan's Island.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Charles Dickens Might Want to Haunt the Makers of Ghosts of Girlfriends Past...
There are few stories that have affected me as deeply as A Christmas Carol,
the Charles Dickens classic that was one of the first to introduce to
me the idea of a villain finding redemption. I've seen oodles of
adaptations, and most have been very agreeable, with the Muppet version and the George C. Scott version taking top honors. I've now found one to occupy the bottom of the barrel: Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, written by Jon Lucas and Scott Moore and directed by Mark Waters.
This movie is a mild PG-13, but in some ways it's raunchier than many R-rated comedies. It takes the basic plot of A Christmas Carol but makes the pressing issue not miserly greed and outright misanthropy but insatiable lust and veiled misogyny. Connor Mead, played by Matthew McConaughey, is our Ebenezer Scrooge of sorts, a bachelor who makes a living taking shots of scantily clad women for famous magazines. His conquests seem to loathe him and desire him all at once; not a single female, it appears, is immune to his charms, but when they get together, these ladies have plenty of venom to spill about his callous nature.
While Ebenezer is deliciously acidic, spouting off pithy zingers with the force of a 19th-century Simon Cowell, Connor never has anything particularly eloquent to say. He's just thoroughly obnoxious, though the lechery that condemns him is overshadowed somewhat by the fact that very nearly every other character in the movie is absurdly oversexed. The movie centers around the wedding of Connor's younger brother Paul (Breckin Meyer), who, as Bob and Fred rolled into one, is far more likable than most but still guilty of cheating on his fiancee before they were engaged. If there's a "Tiny Tim" of the movie, it would be his impending marriage, the state of which becomes increasingly fragile from the moment Connor turns up, to the shock of most, for Best Man duty.
Filling the role of Jacob Marley is Wayne, the swingin' uncle who taught Connor everything he knows. Wayne has a much larger role in the film than Marley generally does; we see him playing a pivotal role in flashbacks, and his ghost turns up frequently throughout the film to talk things over with Connor. Michael Douglas plays Wayne as comically despicable, with his affection for his nephew his only really redeeming feature. Even once Connor has learned the lesson Wayne strove to teach him, his deceased uncle is still up to his old tricks, prowling the afterlife for Connor's cast-offs. Those would be the three ghosts - except two of them are clearly not dead, while the other takes the form of a braces-laden teenager, making Wayne's pursuit especially creepy.
As usual, the ghost of the past is the one with the most screen time. It would be nice, then, if she weren't so irritating. Granted, this character is usually a bit of a nag, but in this case, she also appears to be slightly deranged, making her commentary hard to take after a few moments. Luckily, Connor's one true love is much more tolerable. Her name is Jenny, and she is played by Jennifer Garner, which is part of the reason this aspect of the story reminds me of the far superior 13 Going on 30; another is that the teenage version of Jenny is played by Christa B. Allen, who also played the younger version of Garner's character in 13 Going on 30. (I also got a hint of LOST, with pre-adolescent Jenny, like Ben-loving Dharmaville dweller Annie, giving a birthday gift while on the swing set that the recipient still cherishes years later.) In both films, a boy and girl grow up best friends, but a longing for the popular crowd sweeps the girl away. In 13 Going on 30, the girl turns her back on the boy, while he moves on, broken-hearted but still true to himself. In this movie, Jenny never has the chance to make a long-term, conscious decision like that, since at the first whiff of heartache, Connor gets whisked off for indoctrination into his uncle's intensive school of Love 'Em and Leave 'Em. As an adult, she's bitter but otherwise nice enough, while he's the one with major personality defects. The movies wind up in a pretty similar place, but between sullying a beloved classic and making us put up with all sorts of saucy shenanigans, The Ghosts of Girlfriends Past doesn't earn a genuine desire for a happy ending.
McConaughey is an actor who seemed to teeter between endearing and insufferable. In We Are Marshall, the former characteristic was on display, but here, it's definitely the latter. Certain scenes with the lovelorn Jenny and the sweet - but never Bob Cratchit-force - Paul, whose high-strung but devoted fiancee Sandra (Lacey Chabert) is much like Mrs. Cratchit, make him tolerable, but it's too little too late. While those who love A Christmas Carol will have fun pointing out parallels (and M*A*S*H fans should keep an ear out for references to that show courtesy of Sandra's dad, Sergeant Volkom (Robert Forster), a gung-ho Korean War veteran), they might also want to listen for the distant but unmistakable sound of Charles Dickens rolling over in his grave.
This movie is a mild PG-13, but in some ways it's raunchier than many R-rated comedies. It takes the basic plot of A Christmas Carol but makes the pressing issue not miserly greed and outright misanthropy but insatiable lust and veiled misogyny. Connor Mead, played by Matthew McConaughey, is our Ebenezer Scrooge of sorts, a bachelor who makes a living taking shots of scantily clad women for famous magazines. His conquests seem to loathe him and desire him all at once; not a single female, it appears, is immune to his charms, but when they get together, these ladies have plenty of venom to spill about his callous nature.
While Ebenezer is deliciously acidic, spouting off pithy zingers with the force of a 19th-century Simon Cowell, Connor never has anything particularly eloquent to say. He's just thoroughly obnoxious, though the lechery that condemns him is overshadowed somewhat by the fact that very nearly every other character in the movie is absurdly oversexed. The movie centers around the wedding of Connor's younger brother Paul (Breckin Meyer), who, as Bob and Fred rolled into one, is far more likable than most but still guilty of cheating on his fiancee before they were engaged. If there's a "Tiny Tim" of the movie, it would be his impending marriage, the state of which becomes increasingly fragile from the moment Connor turns up, to the shock of most, for Best Man duty.
Filling the role of Jacob Marley is Wayne, the swingin' uncle who taught Connor everything he knows. Wayne has a much larger role in the film than Marley generally does; we see him playing a pivotal role in flashbacks, and his ghost turns up frequently throughout the film to talk things over with Connor. Michael Douglas plays Wayne as comically despicable, with his affection for his nephew his only really redeeming feature. Even once Connor has learned the lesson Wayne strove to teach him, his deceased uncle is still up to his old tricks, prowling the afterlife for Connor's cast-offs. Those would be the three ghosts - except two of them are clearly not dead, while the other takes the form of a braces-laden teenager, making Wayne's pursuit especially creepy.
As usual, the ghost of the past is the one with the most screen time. It would be nice, then, if she weren't so irritating. Granted, this character is usually a bit of a nag, but in this case, she also appears to be slightly deranged, making her commentary hard to take after a few moments. Luckily, Connor's one true love is much more tolerable. Her name is Jenny, and she is played by Jennifer Garner, which is part of the reason this aspect of the story reminds me of the far superior 13 Going on 30; another is that the teenage version of Jenny is played by Christa B. Allen, who also played the younger version of Garner's character in 13 Going on 30. (I also got a hint of LOST, with pre-adolescent Jenny, like Ben-loving Dharmaville dweller Annie, giving a birthday gift while on the swing set that the recipient still cherishes years later.) In both films, a boy and girl grow up best friends, but a longing for the popular crowd sweeps the girl away. In 13 Going on 30, the girl turns her back on the boy, while he moves on, broken-hearted but still true to himself. In this movie, Jenny never has the chance to make a long-term, conscious decision like that, since at the first whiff of heartache, Connor gets whisked off for indoctrination into his uncle's intensive school of Love 'Em and Leave 'Em. As an adult, she's bitter but otherwise nice enough, while he's the one with major personality defects. The movies wind up in a pretty similar place, but between sullying a beloved classic and making us put up with all sorts of saucy shenanigans, The Ghosts of Girlfriends Past doesn't earn a genuine desire for a happy ending.
McConaughey is an actor who seemed to teeter between endearing and insufferable. In We Are Marshall, the former characteristic was on display, but here, it's definitely the latter. Certain scenes with the lovelorn Jenny and the sweet - but never Bob Cratchit-force - Paul, whose high-strung but devoted fiancee Sandra (Lacey Chabert) is much like Mrs. Cratchit, make him tolerable, but it's too little too late. While those who love A Christmas Carol will have fun pointing out parallels (and M*A*S*H fans should keep an ear out for references to that show courtesy of Sandra's dad, Sergeant Volkom (Robert Forster), a gung-ho Korean War veteran), they might also want to listen for the distant but unmistakable sound of Charles Dickens rolling over in his grave.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Number 2300: Season Three Marks the End of an Era in Ballykissangel
Last month, Netflix alerted me to a series that struck me as a perfect
find for St. Patrick's Day. While I'd already ordered up a Jakers!
DVD, prepared to immerse myself in the playful antics of the
computer-animated residents of an idealized 50s-era Irish town, the
discovery that Instant Viewing could bring me an hour-long, adult drama
evoking the same atmosphere was exhilarating. Ballykissangel,
created and, for the first three seasons, largely written by Kieran
Prendiville, quickly proved to be exactly the sort of show I was looking
for. It drew me in to an extent that few shows have, and so it seems
fitting that I should mark my next Epi-milestone with a review of its
most pivotal season. This is number 2300, a number which calls to mind
the 23rd Psalm, so appropriate for a show in which verdant fields
spattered with sheep are ever in the background; a show steeped in
Catholic traditions and focusing on the efforts of one very
conscientious "shepherd"; a season in which the comfort this famous
Biblical passage offers is often so sorely needed.
Although I made an effort to avoid spoilers, I made the mistake of looking over IMDb after I watched the first season; it's common practice for me as I check the names of characters and actors, but it's a dangerous proposition when one is partway through a television series and the cast list itself becomes a landmine of unwanted info about character arrivals and departures. I knew well ahead of time that one way or another, the central conflict of the series would be resolved by the end of the third season and my favorite character would be out of the picture. This left me to imagine all sorts of scenarios that might evolve over the course of 20 more episodes (eight in the second season, twelve in this third). I ran through many possibilities, but the season finale still caught me off-guard.
Ballykissangel begins with the arrival of Father Peter Clifford (Stephen Tompkinson), a Catholic priest from Manchester, England, in the tiny titular Irish village. We get to know all of the quirky residents through the eyes of this compassionate, self-effacing man of the cloth. He has a special gift for connecting with the common folk and assuaging the souls of the suffering, and he is quick to forgive others for their missteps. Going easy on himself is another matter, however, and from the day of his arrival in town, he fights against forbidden feelings that would undermine his vocation. Fiercely agnostic Assumpta Fitzgerald (Dirvla Kirwan), the kind but feisty owner of the locals' favorite watering hole, seems somewhat ill-suited for close friendship with anyone as devout as Peter, but there is an undeniable magnetism between them. As the mutual attraction increases, the viewer has to wonder what type of outcome for these two characters would constitute a happy ending.
My mom, always the romantic, was most invested in Peter and Assumpta's relationship. She was determined to see them wind up married, while I wasn't entirely keen on it, particularly if Assumpta's spiritual outlook remained unchanged. Though a season two conversation reveals that she does not consider herself an atheist, she seems almost incapable of discussing Catholicism without contempt. My primary concern was that Peter not lose his faith, a worry that seemed especially valid after this season's second episode, in which the hoopla over an apparently sweating statue inside St. John's, coupled with Assumpta's acidic critique of Christianity as a whole, causes the curate to question the validity of his beliefs.
Early on, I'd embraced Father Clifford as an inspiration, my favorite fictional clergyman since M*A*S*H's Father Mulcahy. Here was a man who had truly been called to a life of religious service, and he was such an exceptional priest, I despaired at the thought of him abandoning the ministry, though I thought a change in denomination could potentially serve as a suitable compromise. Neither of us wanted to see Ballykissangel turn into The Thorn Birds, with Peter remaining a priest while carrying on a long-term illicit affair with Assumpta. Ultimately, while certain turning points in the main plotline left each of us satisfied - and Tompkinson and Kirwan, who were engaged to each other for much of their run on the show, give electrifying performances in one another's presence - we both had conclusions in mind that we would have preferred to the one we received.
Season three contains twice as many episodes as the first, which allows more time to develop the characters who will presumably move into the spotlight in Peter and Assumpta's absence. Chief among there are newlyweds Niamh (Tina Kellegher) and Ambrose Egan (Peter Hanly), who are ecstatic to welcome an infant into their lives but soon find that parenthood can be an exhausting enterprise, particularly when an injured Ambrose is laid up and Assumpta leaves Niamh temporarily in charge of Fitzgerald's pub. Ambrose's mother Imelda (Doreen Keogh) becomes a prominent supporting character as the Egans are obliged to endure her meddlesome nature in exchange for the convenience of a live-in babysitter. Meanwhile, Niamh's father, Brian Quigley (Tony Doyle), finds himself in severe financial trouble after a much-anticipated business deal goes sour.
Among the rest of the townsfolk, Brian's luckless lackeys Liam and Donal (Joe Savino and Frankie McCafferty) continue to wreak havoc wherever they go; most of the catastrophes are unintentional, though in one instance they take their shenanigans a shade too far. They also have some moments of solemnity, as Brian's foul fortunes have a very direct effect upon them. Veterinarian Siobahn (Deirdre Donnelly), aspiring lawyer Padraig (Peter Caffrey), schoolteacher Brendan (Gary Whelan) and stern Father MacAnally (Niall Toibin) all receive life-altering news on the personal front, and each deals with the revelation in a unique and illuminating manner.
I found Father Mac's trajectory especially compelling; he becomes more human this season, and he also has the occasion to deliver a most excellent sermon that defies audience expectations. His most devoted parishioner, persnickety shopkeeper Kathleen (Aine Ni Mhuiri), becomes more sympathetic, if only momentarily, when a 50s-style dance and an unlikely suitor - the gentle farmer Eamon (Birdy Sweeney), whose deep affection for his livestock endears him to me even as his indistinct dialogue tempts me to reach for the "subtitles" button - transports her back to her girlhood. Assumpta's old flame Leo (James Nesbitt), a sophisticated journalist previously seen only once in season one, returns for several episodes in a surprising capacity.
As for Assumpta and Peter, both are missing for about a third of the season as Assumpta decides to get a taste of big city life in Dublin while Peter goes on a Father Mac-recommended retreat to deal with his conflicted feelings and later returns to Manchester for a family crisis. The good news is that while their absence is felt in those episodes, the other characters' stories are sufficiently interesting to make me think the show is probably still pretty good without its original stars. Nonetheless, part of the beauty of those episodes is the way they heighten the anticipation for the main duo's return. Without that as an anchor, will the fourth season be as engrossing?
Like so many television stars before them, Tompkinson and Kirwan evidently grew weary of their regular gig, necessitating that the series' most prominent storyline come to an end. Going back to the number 23, I'm reminded of LOST's Mr. Eko, a Catholic priest from Nigeria whose first centric episode was entitled The 23rd Psalm. After only a season, Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje wanted off the show, leading the writers to dispose of his character in a manner both shocking and, to many, distressing. I can't help but wonder in both cases whether the writers' initial intentions were completely different from what was necessitated by the actors' availability.
On the other hand, M*A*S*H is an example of a show that worked through dramatic character changes and actually became stronger for it; in my opinion, most of the best episodes in that series come when Potter, Winchester and Hunnicut have replaced Blake, Burns and Trapper. But how would the show have managed if Alan Alda had been the one who requested an exit? Could it have flourished after losing its central character? These are questions I consider as I contemplate delving into the fourth season, and I'm not sure I like the answers. I suspect the last three seasons will seem more like a sequel than a continuation; without my beloved Father Clifford on board to keep me riveted, I hope I won't feel inclined to kiss Ballykissangel goodbye.
Although I made an effort to avoid spoilers, I made the mistake of looking over IMDb after I watched the first season; it's common practice for me as I check the names of characters and actors, but it's a dangerous proposition when one is partway through a television series and the cast list itself becomes a landmine of unwanted info about character arrivals and departures. I knew well ahead of time that one way or another, the central conflict of the series would be resolved by the end of the third season and my favorite character would be out of the picture. This left me to imagine all sorts of scenarios that might evolve over the course of 20 more episodes (eight in the second season, twelve in this third). I ran through many possibilities, but the season finale still caught me off-guard.
Ballykissangel begins with the arrival of Father Peter Clifford (Stephen Tompkinson), a Catholic priest from Manchester, England, in the tiny titular Irish village. We get to know all of the quirky residents through the eyes of this compassionate, self-effacing man of the cloth. He has a special gift for connecting with the common folk and assuaging the souls of the suffering, and he is quick to forgive others for their missteps. Going easy on himself is another matter, however, and from the day of his arrival in town, he fights against forbidden feelings that would undermine his vocation. Fiercely agnostic Assumpta Fitzgerald (Dirvla Kirwan), the kind but feisty owner of the locals' favorite watering hole, seems somewhat ill-suited for close friendship with anyone as devout as Peter, but there is an undeniable magnetism between them. As the mutual attraction increases, the viewer has to wonder what type of outcome for these two characters would constitute a happy ending.
My mom, always the romantic, was most invested in Peter and Assumpta's relationship. She was determined to see them wind up married, while I wasn't entirely keen on it, particularly if Assumpta's spiritual outlook remained unchanged. Though a season two conversation reveals that she does not consider herself an atheist, she seems almost incapable of discussing Catholicism without contempt. My primary concern was that Peter not lose his faith, a worry that seemed especially valid after this season's second episode, in which the hoopla over an apparently sweating statue inside St. John's, coupled with Assumpta's acidic critique of Christianity as a whole, causes the curate to question the validity of his beliefs.
Early on, I'd embraced Father Clifford as an inspiration, my favorite fictional clergyman since M*A*S*H's Father Mulcahy. Here was a man who had truly been called to a life of religious service, and he was such an exceptional priest, I despaired at the thought of him abandoning the ministry, though I thought a change in denomination could potentially serve as a suitable compromise. Neither of us wanted to see Ballykissangel turn into The Thorn Birds, with Peter remaining a priest while carrying on a long-term illicit affair with Assumpta. Ultimately, while certain turning points in the main plotline left each of us satisfied - and Tompkinson and Kirwan, who were engaged to each other for much of their run on the show, give electrifying performances in one another's presence - we both had conclusions in mind that we would have preferred to the one we received.
Season three contains twice as many episodes as the first, which allows more time to develop the characters who will presumably move into the spotlight in Peter and Assumpta's absence. Chief among there are newlyweds Niamh (Tina Kellegher) and Ambrose Egan (Peter Hanly), who are ecstatic to welcome an infant into their lives but soon find that parenthood can be an exhausting enterprise, particularly when an injured Ambrose is laid up and Assumpta leaves Niamh temporarily in charge of Fitzgerald's pub. Ambrose's mother Imelda (Doreen Keogh) becomes a prominent supporting character as the Egans are obliged to endure her meddlesome nature in exchange for the convenience of a live-in babysitter. Meanwhile, Niamh's father, Brian Quigley (Tony Doyle), finds himself in severe financial trouble after a much-anticipated business deal goes sour.
Among the rest of the townsfolk, Brian's luckless lackeys Liam and Donal (Joe Savino and Frankie McCafferty) continue to wreak havoc wherever they go; most of the catastrophes are unintentional, though in one instance they take their shenanigans a shade too far. They also have some moments of solemnity, as Brian's foul fortunes have a very direct effect upon them. Veterinarian Siobahn (Deirdre Donnelly), aspiring lawyer Padraig (Peter Caffrey), schoolteacher Brendan (Gary Whelan) and stern Father MacAnally (Niall Toibin) all receive life-altering news on the personal front, and each deals with the revelation in a unique and illuminating manner.
I found Father Mac's trajectory especially compelling; he becomes more human this season, and he also has the occasion to deliver a most excellent sermon that defies audience expectations. His most devoted parishioner, persnickety shopkeeper Kathleen (Aine Ni Mhuiri), becomes more sympathetic, if only momentarily, when a 50s-style dance and an unlikely suitor - the gentle farmer Eamon (Birdy Sweeney), whose deep affection for his livestock endears him to me even as his indistinct dialogue tempts me to reach for the "subtitles" button - transports her back to her girlhood. Assumpta's old flame Leo (James Nesbitt), a sophisticated journalist previously seen only once in season one, returns for several episodes in a surprising capacity.
As for Assumpta and Peter, both are missing for about a third of the season as Assumpta decides to get a taste of big city life in Dublin while Peter goes on a Father Mac-recommended retreat to deal with his conflicted feelings and later returns to Manchester for a family crisis. The good news is that while their absence is felt in those episodes, the other characters' stories are sufficiently interesting to make me think the show is probably still pretty good without its original stars. Nonetheless, part of the beauty of those episodes is the way they heighten the anticipation for the main duo's return. Without that as an anchor, will the fourth season be as engrossing?
Like so many television stars before them, Tompkinson and Kirwan evidently grew weary of their regular gig, necessitating that the series' most prominent storyline come to an end. Going back to the number 23, I'm reminded of LOST's Mr. Eko, a Catholic priest from Nigeria whose first centric episode was entitled The 23rd Psalm. After only a season, Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje wanted off the show, leading the writers to dispose of his character in a manner both shocking and, to many, distressing. I can't help but wonder in both cases whether the writers' initial intentions were completely different from what was necessitated by the actors' availability.
On the other hand, M*A*S*H is an example of a show that worked through dramatic character changes and actually became stronger for it; in my opinion, most of the best episodes in that series come when Potter, Winchester and Hunnicut have replaced Blake, Burns and Trapper. But how would the show have managed if Alan Alda had been the one who requested an exit? Could it have flourished after losing its central character? These are questions I consider as I contemplate delving into the fourth season, and I'm not sure I like the answers. I suspect the last three seasons will seem more like a sequel than a continuation; without my beloved Father Clifford on board to keep me riveted, I hope I won't feel inclined to kiss Ballykissangel goodbye.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
It's the Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown Leaves a Bit to Be Desired
In honor of National Poetry Month, I'm writing a few reviews in rhyme this April. Here's my take on It's the Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown,
a Peanuts special from the 70s that is amusing but doesn't quite do
justice to the holiday. I was similarly disappointed with the Peanuts
Thanksgiving special; maybe Peppermint Patty and Marcie are to blame...
It's the Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown
I know that when the holidays come 'round,
A Peanuts special likely will appear.
I've come to count on good ol' Charlie Brown
Delivering a dose of Christmas cheer,
And Halloween just wouldn't be the same
If Linus didn't haunt that pumpkin patch.
So Charles Schulz's genius is to blame
If each one is a show I want to catch.
In It's the Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown,
The unifying theme is not as strong.
We see the buddies venture into town,
Where money-toting Snoopy tags along
To buy a birdhouse for his feathered pal,
Whose luck with homes is Eeyorishly poor.
As Patty and the glasses-wearing gal,
Who's shockingly unversed in Easter lore,
Attempt to boil and color a few eggs,
Resilient Linus bends young Sally's ear
About the Easter Beagle, and he begs
A second chance to prove he is sincere.
An Easter Beagle? Hm, I wonder who
Could frolic merrily onto the scene,
Convincing Linus his beliefs are true?
And how is it that Marcie is so green
She absolutely cannot comprehend
That hard-boiled eggs are neither fried nor cooked?
Does Patty ever think to show her friend
The process Marcie somehow overlooked?
The special is all silly slapstick stuff.
It doesn't mention any empty tomb.
If all you're seeking is a bit of fluff,
Then it's a yummy goodie to consume.
But is it up to standard? No, not quite.
It's not profound. The plot's a little thin.
The members of the voice cast don't sound right.
And in the end, poor Charlie still can't win.
The characters? Inarguably great.
The music? Peppy. Animation? Fun.
But if you want the best installment, wait
Till Christmas; this is clearly not the one.
It's the Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown
I know that when the holidays come 'round,
A Peanuts special likely will appear.
I've come to count on good ol' Charlie Brown
Delivering a dose of Christmas cheer,
And Halloween just wouldn't be the same
If Linus didn't haunt that pumpkin patch.
So Charles Schulz's genius is to blame
If each one is a show I want to catch.
In It's the Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown,
The unifying theme is not as strong.
We see the buddies venture into town,
Where money-toting Snoopy tags along
To buy a birdhouse for his feathered pal,
Whose luck with homes is Eeyorishly poor.
As Patty and the glasses-wearing gal,
Who's shockingly unversed in Easter lore,
Attempt to boil and color a few eggs,
Resilient Linus bends young Sally's ear
About the Easter Beagle, and he begs
A second chance to prove he is sincere.
An Easter Beagle? Hm, I wonder who
Could frolic merrily onto the scene,
Convincing Linus his beliefs are true?
And how is it that Marcie is so green
She absolutely cannot comprehend
That hard-boiled eggs are neither fried nor cooked?
Does Patty ever think to show her friend
The process Marcie somehow overlooked?
The special is all silly slapstick stuff.
It doesn't mention any empty tomb.
If all you're seeking is a bit of fluff,
Then it's a yummy goodie to consume.
But is it up to standard? No, not quite.
It's not profound. The plot's a little thin.
The members of the voice cast don't sound right.
And in the end, poor Charlie still can't win.
The characters? Inarguably great.
The music? Peppy. Animation? Fun.
But if you want the best installment, wait
Till Christmas; this is clearly not the one.
Hannah Montana: The Movie Should Win Over Target Audience Despite Improbable Plot
It's been years since my family got the Disney Channel, so I was a bit
late to discover Hannah Montana. I first heard of her a couple years ago
when her calendars started flying off the shelves at the kiosk where I
was working. I soon realized that she was the Next Big Thing among
tweens, but my own experience with her has remained limited to
television guest appearances. This week, I finally got a whopping dose
of Hannah when I went to her movie in the company of a very ardent fan.
Now at least I have a better idea of what all the hype is about.
Hannah Montana: The Movie is a G-rated adventure with a storyline that Disney and other family-friendly filmmakers have used time and again. Unassuming kid hits the big time and lets it go to her head; by the end of the movie, she's developed a renewed appreciation for her roots. It's nothing new, but it's a logical angle to take for a film about a superstar trying to live a normal life. As the film begins, we find Robby Ray Stewart (Billy Ray Cyrus) concerned that his daughter Miley (Miley Cyrus) is getting too caught up in her Hannah Montana act. She's starting to act like a diva: ignoring commitments to family and friends, fighting with supermodels over shoes and just generally being rather obnoxious. It's time for an intervention. Can a couple of weeks as plain old Miley in her grandmother's (Margo Martindale) farmhouse in her tiny hometown of Crowley Corners, TN, cure her of her egotism?
The impression I got from what I've heard about the show is that Miley is a pretty grounded young woman; it seems her poor behavior is a recent development. And it's problematic enough to convince her dad to out-fox her conniving agent Vita (Vanessa Williams) and force his daughter to blow off a major awards ceremony in favor of Grandma's birthday party. That doesn't strike me as very responsible, despite his good intentions; it's one of many plot devices that fall just a tad flat. Other eyebrow-raising moments in the first few minutes include a confusing transition from a concert to a video shoot and a bit about Miley's brother Jackson (Jason Earles) heading off to college, though nothing in the rest of the movie seems to indicate that he's doing anything other than working at a small-town zoo.
Jackson's animal antics amused me, particularly because an ostrich is involved at one point, but the character serves little purpose in the film other than to take pratfalls, which include crashing to the ground from the top of a ladder, nearly being bitten by an alligator and trying to shake off a ferret that has wound up entangled in his clothing. Pa Stewart is pretty clumsy too, especially in one wince-worthy scene toward the beginning, but his character has considerably more depth. Much of the film is about his attempts to reconnect with his daughter while navigating a possible new romance with alluring local Lorelai (Melora Hardin). Meanwhile, Miley, who also seems to have inherited the family klutz gene, rekindles a friendship with her childhood buddy Travis (Lucas Till, who doesn't sing or dance but still may find himself the next Zac Efron-like teen dream), now a handsome ranch hand. Travis's aw-shucks manner and dimply grin endeared him to me quickly, making the teen romance angle the most interesting element of the story for me, though I also appreciated the emphasis on the importance of family.
There is, of course, a lot of singing in the movie, most of it done by Miley. Her performances are mostly fun and bubblegumish, occasionally reflective. Her countrified, motion-heavy Hoedown Throwdown, which she appears to have made up off the top of her head, seems destined to be this summer's Macarena. Also popping up in the film are the members of Rascal Flatts doing a down-home, folksy rendition of their hit God Blessed the Broken Road and Taylor Swift with a song that affords Miley and Travis the opportunity for their first slow dance. I found the flashiness of some of the concert scenes annoying - and the instant costume changes inexplicable - but Cyrus's voice is pleasant enough - when she's singing, anyway. While her speaking voice didn't make much of an impression on me, my mom found it grating. I couldn't tell if there was a huge difference between Hannah and Miley's speaking voices; I thought she seemed to have more of a twang as Miley, but I'm not sure that was consistent. As with Superman, I certainly question how nobody realizes that Miley and Hannah are the same person. The main difference between them seems to be that Hannah has a blonde wig and excessive makeup.
In the tradition of many corny live-action Disney flicks, Hannah Montana: The Movie features several bumbling villains. One, a developer named Mr. Bradley (Barry Bostwick) who wants to turn Crowley Corners' bucolic meadows into a megamall, is essentially a retread of Alonzo Hawk from the Herbie movies. British tabloid reporter Oswald Granger (Peter Gunn) is rather like 101 Dalmatians' hapless Horace and Jasper; he even works for a foul woman reminiscent of Cruella De Vil. Needless to say, their threat level is minimal, though Mr. Bradley introduces some conflict when Miley is compelled to bring Hannah Montana to Tennessee for a benefit concert. Though her best friend Lilly (Emily Osment) is on hand to help her be two people at once, complications naturally arise. Their eventual resolution stretches believability beyond reasonable limits, but at least the requisite happy ending is achieved.
I enjoyed this movie well enough, and I imagine that most fans of the show will eat it right up like my friend did. In a movie landscape in which G ratings are increasingly rare, I appreciate how inoffensive the film is. It promotes wholesome values, and the romance between Travis and Miley is sweet and reminds me of the puppy love storyline in Princess Diaries, which I thought was terrific. Yes, just about every aspect of this movie reminds me of another film, usually a better one; Hannah Montana: The Movie is derivative to the max, and screenwriter Daniel Berendsen doesn't seem to give viewers much credit for being able to pick up on plot absurdities and inconsistencies. This movie won't be taking home any Oscars next year. But I bet it'll clean up at the Teen Choice Awards, which should be enough to satisfy the famous songstress and her admirers.
Hannah Montana: The Movie is a G-rated adventure with a storyline that Disney and other family-friendly filmmakers have used time and again. Unassuming kid hits the big time and lets it go to her head; by the end of the movie, she's developed a renewed appreciation for her roots. It's nothing new, but it's a logical angle to take for a film about a superstar trying to live a normal life. As the film begins, we find Robby Ray Stewart (Billy Ray Cyrus) concerned that his daughter Miley (Miley Cyrus) is getting too caught up in her Hannah Montana act. She's starting to act like a diva: ignoring commitments to family and friends, fighting with supermodels over shoes and just generally being rather obnoxious. It's time for an intervention. Can a couple of weeks as plain old Miley in her grandmother's (Margo Martindale) farmhouse in her tiny hometown of Crowley Corners, TN, cure her of her egotism?
The impression I got from what I've heard about the show is that Miley is a pretty grounded young woman; it seems her poor behavior is a recent development. And it's problematic enough to convince her dad to out-fox her conniving agent Vita (Vanessa Williams) and force his daughter to blow off a major awards ceremony in favor of Grandma's birthday party. That doesn't strike me as very responsible, despite his good intentions; it's one of many plot devices that fall just a tad flat. Other eyebrow-raising moments in the first few minutes include a confusing transition from a concert to a video shoot and a bit about Miley's brother Jackson (Jason Earles) heading off to college, though nothing in the rest of the movie seems to indicate that he's doing anything other than working at a small-town zoo.
Jackson's animal antics amused me, particularly because an ostrich is involved at one point, but the character serves little purpose in the film other than to take pratfalls, which include crashing to the ground from the top of a ladder, nearly being bitten by an alligator and trying to shake off a ferret that has wound up entangled in his clothing. Pa Stewart is pretty clumsy too, especially in one wince-worthy scene toward the beginning, but his character has considerably more depth. Much of the film is about his attempts to reconnect with his daughter while navigating a possible new romance with alluring local Lorelai (Melora Hardin). Meanwhile, Miley, who also seems to have inherited the family klutz gene, rekindles a friendship with her childhood buddy Travis (Lucas Till, who doesn't sing or dance but still may find himself the next Zac Efron-like teen dream), now a handsome ranch hand. Travis's aw-shucks manner and dimply grin endeared him to me quickly, making the teen romance angle the most interesting element of the story for me, though I also appreciated the emphasis on the importance of family.
There is, of course, a lot of singing in the movie, most of it done by Miley. Her performances are mostly fun and bubblegumish, occasionally reflective. Her countrified, motion-heavy Hoedown Throwdown, which she appears to have made up off the top of her head, seems destined to be this summer's Macarena. Also popping up in the film are the members of Rascal Flatts doing a down-home, folksy rendition of their hit God Blessed the Broken Road and Taylor Swift with a song that affords Miley and Travis the opportunity for their first slow dance. I found the flashiness of some of the concert scenes annoying - and the instant costume changes inexplicable - but Cyrus's voice is pleasant enough - when she's singing, anyway. While her speaking voice didn't make much of an impression on me, my mom found it grating. I couldn't tell if there was a huge difference between Hannah and Miley's speaking voices; I thought she seemed to have more of a twang as Miley, but I'm not sure that was consistent. As with Superman, I certainly question how nobody realizes that Miley and Hannah are the same person. The main difference between them seems to be that Hannah has a blonde wig and excessive makeup.
In the tradition of many corny live-action Disney flicks, Hannah Montana: The Movie features several bumbling villains. One, a developer named Mr. Bradley (Barry Bostwick) who wants to turn Crowley Corners' bucolic meadows into a megamall, is essentially a retread of Alonzo Hawk from the Herbie movies. British tabloid reporter Oswald Granger (Peter Gunn) is rather like 101 Dalmatians' hapless Horace and Jasper; he even works for a foul woman reminiscent of Cruella De Vil. Needless to say, their threat level is minimal, though Mr. Bradley introduces some conflict when Miley is compelled to bring Hannah Montana to Tennessee for a benefit concert. Though her best friend Lilly (Emily Osment) is on hand to help her be two people at once, complications naturally arise. Their eventual resolution stretches believability beyond reasonable limits, but at least the requisite happy ending is achieved.
I enjoyed this movie well enough, and I imagine that most fans of the show will eat it right up like my friend did. In a movie landscape in which G ratings are increasingly rare, I appreciate how inoffensive the film is. It promotes wholesome values, and the romance between Travis and Miley is sweet and reminds me of the puppy love storyline in Princess Diaries, which I thought was terrific. Yes, just about every aspect of this movie reminds me of another film, usually a better one; Hannah Montana: The Movie is derivative to the max, and screenwriter Daniel Berendsen doesn't seem to give viewers much credit for being able to pick up on plot absurdities and inconsistencies. This movie won't be taking home any Oscars next year. But I bet it'll clean up at the Teen Choice Awards, which should be enough to satisfy the famous songstress and her admirers.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Honest Abe is a Lawyer to Reckon With in Young Mr. Lincoln
Back in February, when I was immersing myself in all things Lincoln, I discovered the movie Young Mr. Lincoln
on Netflix. I'd planned to bump it up to the top of my queue, but I
never got around to it, so it took me until April to see this 1939 movie
directed by John Ford and starring Henry Fonda. It was odd to see
Lincoln from his lawyer days, as I'm used to seeing him portrayed as
President. The case involved was loosely based on a case Lincoln tried
later in his career, but this movie is more about being true to
Lincoln's character than giving us actual facts about his life. In
honor of National Poetry Month, here's my review of the movie in verse.
Young Mr. Lincoln
John Ford and Henry Fonda made a pretty stellar team.
The Grapes of Wrath had Fonda play Tom Joad,
A man who loved his ma, a rugged hero with a dream,
A wanderer who walked a weary road.
Not long before that fabled film, the Ford and Fonda pair
United for another rousing tale
About a budding leader with an unassuming air
Who swore to see that justice would prevail.
Young Mr. Lincoln isn't a biography at all.
Most details it divulges are not real.
But Fonda is believable, a lawyer standing tall,
With witty tongue and a resolve of steel.
As Abe, he shows the sadness of a man who's suffered loss.
His craggy face is gaunt. His eyes are kind.
He's gangly and he's awkward, but he isn't one to cross;
There's power in the way he speaks his mind.
The movie, in its first third, has a muddled sort of style,
With characters we barely get to meet
And scenes of small significance that drag on for a while
As more important ones seem incomplete.
But once Abe has his chance to make a speech, the film's on track,
A courtroom drama full of clever tricks.
Two brothers stand accused of murder. It's Abe's case to crack.
He'll do his best to free them from their fix.
The little hints of romance scattered here and there are odd.
His first true love is given but a scene.
He bumbles through encounters with the ritzy Mary Todd;
She doesn't seem the type to be his queen.
If anything, the tale explores love of a different sort:
The bond between a mother and her son.
His clients' rustic ma is like his own, and in the court,
That helps him to unearth the guilty one.
I'd like the movie better if it weren't in black and white.
The first half hour left me rather bored.
But otherwise, I found this Lincoln tribute a delight,
So kudos, Henry Fonda and John Ford!
Young Mr. Lincoln
John Ford and Henry Fonda made a pretty stellar team.
The Grapes of Wrath had Fonda play Tom Joad,
A man who loved his ma, a rugged hero with a dream,
A wanderer who walked a weary road.
Not long before that fabled film, the Ford and Fonda pair
United for another rousing tale
About a budding leader with an unassuming air
Who swore to see that justice would prevail.
Young Mr. Lincoln isn't a biography at all.
Most details it divulges are not real.
But Fonda is believable, a lawyer standing tall,
With witty tongue and a resolve of steel.
As Abe, he shows the sadness of a man who's suffered loss.
His craggy face is gaunt. His eyes are kind.
He's gangly and he's awkward, but he isn't one to cross;
There's power in the way he speaks his mind.
The movie, in its first third, has a muddled sort of style,
With characters we barely get to meet
And scenes of small significance that drag on for a while
As more important ones seem incomplete.
But once Abe has his chance to make a speech, the film's on track,
A courtroom drama full of clever tricks.
Two brothers stand accused of murder. It's Abe's case to crack.
He'll do his best to free them from their fix.
The little hints of romance scattered here and there are odd.
His first true love is given but a scene.
He bumbles through encounters with the ritzy Mary Todd;
She doesn't seem the type to be his queen.
If anything, the tale explores love of a different sort:
The bond between a mother and her son.
His clients' rustic ma is like his own, and in the court,
That helps him to unearth the guilty one.
I'd like the movie better if it weren't in black and white.
The first half hour left me rather bored.
But otherwise, I found this Lincoln tribute a delight,
So kudos, Henry Fonda and John Ford!
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Inclement Weather Brings People Together in Twister
In honor of National Poetry Month, I've decided to try writing some
reviews in rhymed verse. My second attempt is of the 1996 movie Twister,
an action-packed flick starring Helen Hunt and Bill Paxton as estranged
spouses thrown together in pursuit of a terrifying tornado. The
special effects still look pretty impressive to me after 13 years -
though I suspect flying cows will always look a bit silly... I love
that the movie features two actors from LOST (Jeremy Davies and Sean Whalen), a show which, like Twister, makes repeated reference to The Wizard of Oz, and that Philip Seymour Hoffman
again manages to steal the show every time he's in a scene. Tornadoes
have always freaked me out, so I wasn't all that interested in seeing
this, but I'm glad I did.
Twister
A twister is a brutal bit of weather
That leaves a trail of chaos in its wake.
If one touched down near me, my plan would be to flee,
So chasing one would cause my limbs to quake.
But Dr. Harding has her act together.
This scientist will Hunt, as well she should.
Determined to be brave if there's a chance to save
The helpless, she works for the greater good.
Her passion got its start with childhood trauma.
She's felt the terror of a Level Five,
And sometimes, in her dreams, she still can hear her screams
As Daddy died ensuring she'd survive.
It's almost vengeance, then, that drives the drama
Of seeking storms of monstrous appetite.
And now the moment's here. The gale of her career
Is just about to roar into her sight.
She has her faithful science team behind her,
A band of geeks (and future castaways)
Who thrive upon this thrill. Her erstwhile husband, Bill,
And his new love turn up now, of all days.
As if the doctor needed a reminder
Of her obsession's unrelenting cost!
But thrown into the fray, can Bill honestly say
That he feels no regret for what he lost?
A romance is rekindled through the danger,
And in the trenches, comedy is found
As Hoffman leads the pack in keeping smiles intact
While homes are swiftly lifted from the ground.
Though Michael Crichton's movies have been stranger,
The chance of cloning dinos is remote,
While killer twisters are a greater threat by far.
What's scarier? I think this gets my vote.
Twister
A twister is a brutal bit of weather
That leaves a trail of chaos in its wake.
If one touched down near me, my plan would be to flee,
So chasing one would cause my limbs to quake.
But Dr. Harding has her act together.
This scientist will Hunt, as well she should.
Determined to be brave if there's a chance to save
The helpless, she works for the greater good.
Her passion got its start with childhood trauma.
She's felt the terror of a Level Five,
And sometimes, in her dreams, she still can hear her screams
As Daddy died ensuring she'd survive.
It's almost vengeance, then, that drives the drama
Of seeking storms of monstrous appetite.
And now the moment's here. The gale of her career
Is just about to roar into her sight.
She has her faithful science team behind her,
A band of geeks (and future castaways)
Who thrive upon this thrill. Her erstwhile husband, Bill,
And his new love turn up now, of all days.
As if the doctor needed a reminder
Of her obsession's unrelenting cost!
But thrown into the fray, can Bill honestly say
That he feels no regret for what he lost?
A romance is rekindled through the danger,
And in the trenches, comedy is found
As Hoffman leads the pack in keeping smiles intact
While homes are swiftly lifted from the ground.
Though Michael Crichton's movies have been stranger,
The chance of cloning dinos is remote,
While killer twisters are a greater threat by far.
What's scarier? I think this gets my vote.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Daddy Day Care Is Silly and Sweet
In the spirit of National Poetry Month, I'm going to attempt writing
some reviews in verse form. My first effort is of the movie Daddy Day Care,
which stars Eddie Murphy, Jeff Garlin and Steve Zahn as a trio of guys
who decide to run a day care center. It's frothy. It's fun. It's not
as dumb as the previews made it look. Bonus points for Star Trek references
and a hilairously understated Jonathan Katz as a nebbish child services
inspector. And of course, Eddie Murphy is comic gold.
Daddy Day Care
Daddy One and Daddy Two
(Portly Phil and Chuck)
Try to get some kids to chew
Veggie-Os - oh, yuck!
Talk about a failed campaign!
Hotshot colleagues smirk.
Trudging home, they must explain,
"Daddy's out of work."
Moms bring home the bacon now.
Daddies mind the tots.
Gotta make some dough, but how?
Second Daddy plots.
"Taking care of kids is fun,"
Charlie says to Phil.
"Now we're each in charge of one;
More would pay the bills!"
Daddy Day Care rates are cheap.
Kiddos run amok.
Shy inspector takes a peep;
Daddies are in luck.
Add a couple safety gates,
Sign a couple forms;
They can keep their stellar rates
And their toddler swarms.
With more tykes, they need a third
Man to call upon.
Toss in Marvin, super-nerd
(Casual Steve Zahn).
Three dudes entertain the crew,
Listen when they speak.
Tots are happy. Parents too.
What a winning streak!
Conflicts come but quickly pass.
Potty jokes abound.
Little co-stars sometimes sass.
Plot points are unsound.
Gooey message perseveres.
Goofy antics rule.
Eddie Murphy and his peers
Run a spiffy school.
Silly movie. Do I care?
Really, not at all.
Show the youngsters if you dare;
They will have a ball.
Daddy Day Care
Daddy One and Daddy Two
(Portly Phil and Chuck)
Try to get some kids to chew
Veggie-Os - oh, yuck!
Talk about a failed campaign!
Hotshot colleagues smirk.
Trudging home, they must explain,
"Daddy's out of work."
Moms bring home the bacon now.
Daddies mind the tots.
Gotta make some dough, but how?
Second Daddy plots.
"Taking care of kids is fun,"
Charlie says to Phil.
"Now we're each in charge of one;
More would pay the bills!"
Daddy Day Care rates are cheap.
Kiddos run amok.
Shy inspector takes a peep;
Daddies are in luck.
Add a couple safety gates,
Sign a couple forms;
They can keep their stellar rates
And their toddler swarms.
With more tykes, they need a third
Man to call upon.
Toss in Marvin, super-nerd
(Casual Steve Zahn).
Three dudes entertain the crew,
Listen when they speak.
Tots are happy. Parents too.
What a winning streak!
Conflicts come but quickly pass.
Potty jokes abound.
Little co-stars sometimes sass.
Plot points are unsound.
Gooey message perseveres.
Goofy antics rule.
Eddie Murphy and his peers
Run a spiffy school.
Silly movie. Do I care?
Really, not at all.
Show the youngsters if you dare;
They will have a ball.
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