Monday, April 18, 2016

Hello, World

Rarely does a film come along that is as thoughtful, charming and affecting as Hello, My Name is Doris. Directed by Michael Showalter and written by Showalter and Laura Terruso, Doris stars Sally Field as the titular character, a woman whose unexpected infatuation with a younger colleague (Max Greenfield) breaks her free from the life she had come to accept as the only life she deserved. Doris could have easily veered into parody – the eccentric older woman falls for a man half her age – but thanks to the authenticity in the writing and performances, Doris is as heartbreaking as it is uplifting.

We meet Doris at her mother’s funeral – a mother for whom Doris sacrificed her life to care for – as her brother and sister-in-law (Stephen Root and Wendi McLendon-Covey, always welcome but underutilized here) attempt to convince her to part not only with the numerous relics left behind in the home shared with her mother but also with the home itself. While the hoarding storyline is a bit clunky it does drive home the basis for Doris’ peculiarities: she is utterly and completely stuck in time. While Doris’ age may qualify her as a mature adult, when Doris put her life on hold to care for her mother her maturation halted.

So it comes as a surprise to Doris herself when she meets and falls hard for her colleague John, a recently hired art director, who happens to be a few decades her junior. Even more surprisingly, and against her better judgment, she sets out to win him over. She gets some assistance in Facebook stalking from her best friend’s (Tyne Daly) granddaughter (Isabella Acres) and suddenly Doris finds herself thrust into John’s world – never more perfectly illustrated than when Doris, outfitted in choice neon attire, attends a concert by the fictional but fantastic band Baby Goya and the Nuclear Winters. Doris and John’s journey, if at times a bit predictable, is kept afloat with relatable events in the storyline and the smart, genuine dialogue that is expertly delivered by the leads.

Field is magnetic in the title role. Doris is a mix of complex despair and fervent optimism. Field’s portrayal of Doris’ array of emotions and steadily increasing bravery is brilliant. She brings intricate emotion into each scene, sometimes with as little as a look in her eye or a subtle change in her facial expression. And Greenfield, playing a less neurotic, sweeter version of his New Girl character, is harmless and compassionate without being dopey (I’m looking at you Keanu Reeves in Something’s Gotta Give).

Much has been made about Field and Greenfield playing opposite as a prospective couple whose age difference is wider than that normally depicted in the media. After all, age is just a number until someone dares to reflect such age on screen.  But it’s important to understand that while the film centers on Doris’ lust for John that’s not at all what the film is about. Doris’ gambit to win over John is merely the lens through which Doris begins to see a larger world outside of her childhood home. Hello, My Name is Doris is a deceptively captivating glimpse at a woman coming of age at a time when age more often restricts than sets free. Watch out world, here comes Doris.

Sunday, February 21, 2016

How to Make a Better Movie

Buried deep inside How to Be Single there just may be a good, or at least watchable, movie. But, as is, this movie is a clunky mess. How to Be Single lacks focus and suffers from an all around lack of energy.

The problems emerge from the get go and never disappear. Perhaps the biggest flaw is that it is never clear which character we, the unsuspecting audience, are supposed to care about. The fact that Dakota Johnson’s Alice narrates the film leads one to believe she is the anchor. A heavy, iron anchor that shows little emotion or character development and drags the movie down to the darkest depths of the cinematic ocean. And just when you think we’re focusing on Alice and we’ll see some kind of plot trajectory, the film pivots. There are disjointed jumps to several other characters, including Alice’s sister Meg (Leslie Mann) and Lucy (Alison Brie), a character who garners nearly an equal amount of screen time as Alice despite the fact that the two characters have no tangible connection apart from frequenting the same bar. Flitting about are various suitors who seem to be significant but are then tossed aside just as quickly as they emerged.

The bright spot in this mess is Rebel Wilson’s Robin. Wilson is in familiar territory, that of comic sidekick, but she slays as she has in similar roles in better (and worse) films. How to Be Single’s Wilson-less stretches are fraught with a palpable lack of energy. A movie about Robin and her escapades, while it may not have been able to reach for the faux-touching territory How to Be Single aspires to, would have undoubtedly been a better movie.

Ultimately, Alice’s self-discovery - that it is actually ok to be single - is unconvincing. The film culminates with Alice’s voiceover expounding on the virtues of independence. Hardly convincing given that Alice spent the entire movie in various stages of dating, hooking up and pining for her ex. 

So how do you make a better movie? Watch How to Be Single and then do the opposite.

Saturday, January 30, 2016

Do You Hear What I Hear?

Probably not. Music is inextricably tied to our individual experience. And, because of that, we interpret and connect with songs for different reasons, and hearing them again months or years later has the power to transport us back in time. Is it any wonder music has been shown to unlock memories in Alzheimer’s patients? Just a bit of melody jolts us back to where we were when we heard them for the first time or obsessively listened to them on repeat. Here is where I end up when I listen to some of my favorite music:

Around the Campfire, Peter, Paul & Mary – A very specific memory. During some last minute – and unnecessary - cramming in the lecture hall ahead of my Zoology 100 final, I very distinctly realized, “I am easily the only person in this room whose pump it up music is PP&M. And I might be the only college student in the country, world, or universe whose pump it up music is PP&M.” That thought assumed the existence of intelligent life in another galaxy, which seemed right after all I head learned about zoology.

Closer, Josh Groban – Just the opening strains of “Remember When it Rained” and I am back on Iowa State's campus under the magnificent but fleeting magnolia trees headed to Geology 100 (Rocks for Jocks – killed it). Spend an
hour learning about plate tectonics and then fire up the iPod – remember the click wheel! -  for the walk back across campus.

Tapestry, Carole King – I’m studying at my campus issued desk, reading page after page of history and political science, highlighting so much of the text to make it a useless exercise, rewarding myself with a piece of candy after successfully conquering a page or two. Study breaks are conveniently built in because singing along to “Where You Lead” and “Will You Love Me Tomorrow?” is required.

The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter, Josh Ritter – A different desk, this one at my first grown up
job, completing applications faster and more accurately than my cohorts (I am not boasting here, I was insanely overqualified for the job). And please note that I use the term ‘grown up’ loosely since the adults I worked with were more akin to insufferable teenagers than grown ups. NPR had posted Ritter’s live show and, on a whim, I decided to give it a listen. Who knew that decision would change the course of my musical edification and make me a lifelong fan?

Wicked, Original Broadway Cast Recording – This one takes me back to…well, anywhere and everywhere after 2009. It’s easily my most listened album. I’ve often told people that in my car we only listen to Wicked. People may think I say it in jest, but when ‘One Short Day’ bursts from the speakers they realize the truth in my statement.

The power of music. It heals, it changes, it uplifts and acts as our personal Delorean. Of course, our sense of smell is similarly powerful. Unfortunately for me my most prominent scent memory, courtesy of Meyer’s hand soap, transports me to the oh so pleasant period immediately following a painful boil lancing when I was prescribed antibiotics to kill the rest of the infection that Sir Lancelot did not slice off of my person with sword and dagger. Okay, it was likely a small scalpel, but the pain was unlike anything I had felt up to that point in my life. Every dose of the antibiotic brought my freshly washed hands to my nose and inextricably tied soap to boil. On that note, play me a tune any day.

Wednesday, December 23, 2015

Found in '15

In this day and age, there are seemingly endless forms of entertainment competing for our attention in a multitude of constantly evolving mediums. Because I am part Luddite, I find most of the newer mediums abhorrent. I’ve never tweeted, don’t visit Instagram (that’s probably not the proper verb), and I haven’t logged onto Facebook in seven or eight months. Instead, I gravitate to classic forms of entertainment: books, music, movies, television and theater. I canceled cable last summer so my consumption of new television has drastically decreased, and I’ll take a Gilmore Girls marathon over most of the new shows out there. I can count on one hand the number of movies I saw in 2015. $7 for a matinee? In Des Moines? I’m not made of money. So movies and TV are out, but I discovered some fantastic books, music and theater this year. They were not necessarily created or published in 2015, but I found them this year and if you haven’t found them yet then I beg you to put them on your list for 2016.

As the saying goes, you can’t judge a book by its cover. But let’s be honest, sometimes that’s all we have to go on. I don’t have time to stand in the stacks reading the first fifty pages to decide whether to read the book or not. Cover art not withstanding, I discovered a lot of great books this year.  And as different as they are, these novels have one thing in common: superb writing. Each author has their own distinct style, but all write in such a way that there is never a wasted word.
Andrew Smith’s Grasshopper Jungle pulls you forward to a point when the end of the world is near. Told with humor, heart and just the right number of fornicating mutant grasshoppers, the book sparked my interest in Smith’s other books and, with only a couple of exceptions, I have devoured them. Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel also deals with the end of life as we know it. Yes, there is a theme here; I’ve found apocalyptic fiction fascinating since my ninth grade Alas, Babylon assignment. Mandel’s flowing prose belies the complications contained in the multiple plotlines. Finally, I’ll Give You the Sun, Jandy Nelson’s coming of age tale about two inseparable twins who grow apart and must find their way back to each other, is equal parts heartbreaking and life affirming. Nelson’s imagery is so rich that the characters and their surroundings seem to spring forth from the pages right before your eyes. Read them all, you won’t be disappointed.

There is not enough praise in the world to heap upon Josh Ritter. I have been a fan of everything he does for many years now, and cannot implore you enough to seek out his music. A true storyteller, Ritter’s lyrics are a mouthful in the best way possible. His fantastic new album, Sermon on the Rocks, came out in October. The style is not what we’ve come to expect from Ritter; Sermon on the Rocks is looser and rowdier than some of his previous work, but that style lends itself perfectly to the rollicking, pulsing feel of the songs. Luckily, Ritter's telltale wit and turns of phrase remain front and center. One of the standouts is “Getting Ready to Get Down,” a thumping anthem about a girl sent to Bible school only to learn “a little bit about every little thing they ever hoped you'd never figure out/Eve ate the apple cause the apple was sweet/What kinda God would ever keep a girl from getting what she needs?” Brilliant. Ritter’s live shows are epic - you’ve never seen someone enjoying himself so thoroughly - and he’s hitting the road this winter so check him out in a city near you. One complaint: no stops near Des Moines. Come back to Iowa Josh!

Last, but certainly not least, theater. Where else but in a theater do you get to see a story come to life before your eyes? Different than TV or movies, the story unfolds thanks to performers who are standing, singing or dancing right in front of you, taking you to another time and place. And nobody gets a second take. The performers have to be on. That kind of immediacy is impossible to replicate. This year I saw several shows that were new to me. One of the highlights was Kinky Boots, a show whose feisty music and positive message are impossible to resist. The Bridges of Madison County, a show I went into with rock-bottom expectations, snuck up on me and won me over with breathtakingly beautiful music and lyrics. And in the not new to me category, I was lucky enough to see Wicked for the 29th-32nd time. Wicked will always be my #1 and I am thrillified each and every time I see it. It’s live theater, people. Get on board.

Monday, December 7, 2015

Love is Always Better

Elizabeth Stanley and Andrew Samonsky
When The Bridges of Madison County opened on Broadway in 2014 it played a disappointing 137 performances. Despite critical acclaim, the show did not catch on with audiences. Luckily, the powers that be have given it another life on the road and, even luckier for me, when the show launched its’ national tour last week it was right in my backyard at the Des Moines Civic Center. When I set out to write this post, I told myself I would avoid gushing. But since these posts are written mostly for my own enjoyment (there are not a whole lot of eyes on them - Google gives me the numbers, thank you Google), why not gush? 

The Bridges of Madison County is brilliant. Even though I knew of the acclaim and Tony Awards the show had received, the title has been reduced to ‘Meryl Streep has an affair with Clint Eastwood,’ and that burden was difficult to shake, at least until the moment the show began. And while the plot does indeed revolve around an extramarital affair between a farmer’s wife and a photographer, the show is about so much more: the choices we face, the chances we take and the weight of the consequences. The strong book, music and cast make this show stand alone in a Broadway landscape riddled with copycats.

Set in Iowa in 1965, The Bridges of Madison County tells the story of Francesca Johnson, an Italian immigrant who came to the United States after World War II, and Robert Kincaid, a National Geographic photographer on assignment in Winterset, Iowa, to capture the famous covered bridges.  Their worlds unexpectedly collide as Francesca’s husband and kids head off to the fair and Robert approaches Francesca for directions to one of the bridges. The story could have easily veered towards pure treacle, but Marsha Norman’s book is nicely balanced with moments of quiet emotion and dry humor. 

What sets The Bridges of Madison County apart is the lush, layered and nuanced music from Jason Robert Brown, who received two well-deserved Tony Awards for the score and orchestrations. Brown has impeccably blended several musical styles: Americana, twangy bluegrass and soaring operatic passages. That may seem disjointed, but in Brown’s capable hands each style blends flawlessly with the story and the scenes in which they play out. Brown has infused each song with the emotions of the characters. “One Second and a Million Miles,” beats and pulses in time with Robert and Francesca’s rapidly entwining hearts. In addition to the emotion, the imagery in the lyrics paints a picture so rich that the audience finds themselves transported across the globe and back in time. A verse from “It All Fades Away" is a prime example, "There was something in a desert. There was some place wild and green, and a child in a village I passed through. There are places that I’ve traveled, and so many things I’ve seen, and it all fades away but you.” “It All Fades Away” is the show-stopping ballad, and how fantastic that instead of belonging to the female lead (in typical Broadway fashion) here it is belted by the male lead. It is impossible not to fall for the melodic strains of the guitar, piano and mandolin. It would be easy to expound on each and every song, but it will be to your benefit to discover the beauty for yourself.

Samonsky and Stanley
The entire cast of The Bridges of Madison County is superb. Mary Callanan and David Hess, the nosy neighbors, deliver the well-timed humor with their comedic timing and each has a strong set of pipes that they display during a couple of fantastic solo opportunities. Rounding out the core ensemble, Cullen R. Titmas, Dave Thomas Brown and Caitlin Houlahan as Francesca’s husband, son and daughter are also very strong. Elizabeth Stanley (Francesca) and Andrew Samonsky (Robert) carry the weight of the show on their shoulders and do not disappoint. Their rich, clear voices never reveal the complexity or difficulty of the music and they bring the songs to life with distinctive expression and tone. You can see the conflict in their eyes and feel the trepidation in their voice. Neither Robert nor Francesca had any expectation that a simple request for directions would go beyond just that and from the flicker of unexpected connection to the freedom of giving in, Samonsky and Stanley expertly portray the emotional journey. 

Frames, photographs and the stories that they tell is a theme woven throughout The Bridges of Madison County. The theme plays in obvious forms, such as the lyrics of “The World Inside a Frame” or “It All Fades Away,” which packs a unique emotional punch with the haunting images of fading photographs, but even the set expands on the theme. The Roseman bridge is simply presented as three framing beams and other interior and exterior sets are always partial, lacking walls and other structure. Practical for a touring show? Sure. But giving the audience only part of the whole emphasizes that no one other than Robert and Francesca will ever truly know or understand their story.

And if launching the national tour was not enough, Des Moines had the privilege of hosting Jason Robert Brown himself, who conducted the orchestra at each performance last week. What an amazing treat to watch the creator of the show bring it to life for new eyes. Alas, The Bridges of Madison County has moved on, out to LA. But it is set to swing back to the Midwest next spring, and you can bet I’m already making plans. To paraphrase Brown’s lyrics: The Bridges of Madison County surrounds you, it connects you and it simply won't let go.

Saturday, October 31, 2015

Jolly Good

You are likely unfamiliar with The Great British Baking Show, but you should make a point to seek it out. Following a group of amateur UK bakers competing to be named the best, TGBBS is unlike any other food-based competition show on the telly. Read: ridiculously charming and awesome.

Most food-based competition shows feature strict time limits, restricted ingredients, outrageous obstacles (cooking with no utensils, Top Chef?) and contestants that are often out for blood. TGBBS is the complete opposite. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love a hearty episode of Top Chef wherein every other word out of the chefs’ mouths is left to the imagination thanks to constant bleeping. However, it is enthralling to watch a group of people participating not with the goal of knocking out other contestants in order to ensure their ultimate glory, but rather to perform their best simply for the sake of being able to hold their head up high when it’s all said and done. Bakers, who convene in a pristine tent that appears to be smack in the middle of a beautiful English garden, are given the opportunity to practice their bakes ahead of the weekend’s round and an ample, if not quite luxurious, amount of time to complete the bake. Oh, and no insane surprises.

Hosts Mel and Sue are delightfully quirky; their witty encouragement and good-natured ribbing strikes just the right tone. Judges Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood (yes, those are their names) offer a perfect balance of praise and constructive criticism. Constructive is a keyword here; Paul and Mary do not judge by tearing the contestants down. Rather, they deliver criticism by simply pointing out the flaws in the bake and then they move on. That is not to say Mary and Paul are not tough, you can tell by the bakers’ reactions to praise from Paul that it is hugely satisfying when he affirms their efforts by complimenting the excellence of the bake.

A genuine group of folks, wouldn't you say?
What I love most about TGBBS is the fact that all those involved seem to genuinely wish the best for all the bakers. The bakers are happy for one another when the designation of Star Baker is granted and, in turn, are saddened when a fellow competitor must leave the tent. And Mel, Sue, Paul and Mary are thrilled when a baker who has had a difficult round bounces back with a successful bake. 

Quite a concept: presenting people being kind to one another. It’s not typical, but maybe it should be. The visuals of the scrumptious bakes are the icing on the cake. Jolly good indeed.

Sunday, October 4, 2015

Space Race

Barren. Dusty. Red. What’s not to love? Mars has long held a special orbit in the solar system of my life. It began in elementary school when our class was tasked with developing a travel brochure for one of the (at that time) nine planets, and I jumped at the chance to convince imaginary travelers to visit the Martian planet. Day trips to Phobos and Deimos were involved, quite sophisticated for a nine year old. Then came Rocketman, the sidesplitting (again, at that time) movie starring Harland Williams that boasted one of the funniest fart scenes in my young pop culture life. Search YouTube for proof.

Recently viewing The Martian reignited my fascination with our neighboring planet. The Martian, based on the novel by Andy Weir, might fall short of perfect but it is a lot of fun. Matt Damon is very strong as botanist/astronaut Mark Watney, presumed dead after a Martian storm and left behind by his crew. Utilizing his scientific aptitude to figure out how to grow crops, maintain appropriate levels of water, oxygen, and carbon dioxide and, oh yeah, communicate with Earth to let someone know he’s alive, Damon balances the alternating emotions that come along with devastating solitude and the raw desire for survival. And despite the fact that The Martian’s supporting actors, playing his crewmates and NASA officials, seem to have collectively decided to play it monotone and dry, it is impossible not to root for them and for Watney to figure out how to solve each seemingly insurmountable problem. Weir's novel, by nature of format, contains significantly greater detail around the science of Watney's survival and I prefer the book ending to the movie ending, but I will let that lie so as not to spoil anything here. The book and movie are both worthy of a recommendation.

After seeing The Martian, I was driven to rewatch its' space disaster film cousins Apollo 13 and Gravity. After spending the night lamenting the demise of Tang, it became abundantly clear why these types of scenarios make great fodder for film. The lens through which most of us view these films is fantasy as most of us will never experience space travel. Sorry SpaceX, I’m just not counting on it any time soon. But because of humanity’s trips to orbit, to the moon, and the fact that there are astronauts living on the International Space Station, there is enough foundation in reality that the key element to these films is entirely relatable: that despite best laid plans, we can find ourselves losing control. But despite those odds, it is possible to overcome them. Be it a solitary effort a la Gravity or a team effort in the vein of Apollo 13, these triumphs are affirming in the best way. We are reminded that when pushed beyond our limit not only can we come out the other side, but we can come out stronger.