The Words On Flicks Show: The Woman King In All Her Glory, with Tonya Pendleton

The Woman King
Directed by Gina Prince Bythewood
Starring Viola Davis, Thuso Mbedu, Lashana Lynch, John Boyega, Sheila Atim, and Jordan Bolger

Viola Davis as The Woman King

For this episode of The Words on Flicks Show, I was joined by Philadelphia-based journalist and broadcaster Tonya Pendleton, who had many thoughts and observations to share about why The Woman King is so significant, how the lens of history can be distorted even by those that are purportedly recording it for posterity, the power of imagery and iconography, and the enduring beauty of Black Girl Magic. 

Listen to the podcast on SoundCloud here. 

The podcast is set to return on the EWaterRadio Network on BlogTalkRadio in October 2022. 
To listen to previous episodes of The Words On Flicks Show podcast, please click HERE
and scroll through. 

 

All Buckle, No Swash: This "Cyrano" Disappoints

 Cyrano
directed by Joe Wright
starring Peter Dinklage, Kelvin Harrison Jr., Haley Bennett, Ben Mendelsohn 

I have said it before and I will say it again: I love musicals. I grew up on a steady diet of Lerner & Lowe, Rodgers & Hammerstein, Cole Porter and Frank Loesser. These were the standards set for the American style musical from the 1920s through the mid 1960s, and I am a product of my Baby Boom generation, and I swallowed them, hook, line and sinker. The next generation of musicals -- particularly the jukebox style and the rock opera -- have also gained my affection. The combination of storytelling with the emotion of clever lyrics wedded to powerful melodies, performed by incredible talents, has always been appealing to me.

Musicals have changed a lot over the last two decades -- they have grown into presentations with songs that incorporate rock, soul, blues, opera, hip-hop and today's pop music. Characters have more stream-of-consciousness thoughts set to music and songs don't always have memorable choruses. Today's musicals -- particularly in film -- don't always seem to require fabulous singing voices. Often to their detriment.

The story of Cyrano de Bergerac is a tale of unrequited love a nobleman with a physical deformity has for a young eligible woman, Roxane, who has fallen in love at first sight with Christian de Neuvillette, another soldier. Most of us know this story, or some form of it. First introduced via the 1897 play written by Frenchman Edmond Rostand, the original drama was inspired by a very real author, poet and duelist and written in rhyming couplets. According to this beloved tale, Cyrano believed that no woman could truly love him because of his deformity, his extra-large nose, so he agreed to ghost-write letters for his love-stricken but inarticulate fellow cadet, Christian, to make Roxane fall in love with him. This allows Cyrano to pour out his own feelings for her under the guise of being Christian. 

Cyrano The Musical

Jose Ferrer chews the scenery with gusto in his most famous stage role and on the screen in 1950's first English language version that earned him an Academy Award. A previous musical version, Cyrano, starring Christopher Plummer and directed by Michael Kidd, played just 94 performances on Broadway starting in 1973. Steve Martin translated the idea to a comedy set in Canada with a happy ending in 1987's Roxanne (a very cute and laugh-filled film for the rom-com crowd). A French-language screen version starring Gerard Depardieu did well in 1990. The original play has been restaged dozens of times, and the main themes have been adapted or satirized on the big screen, on stage, and on television. 

Jose Ferrer in the 1950 film

All this brings me to Cyrano, the musical film released by Disney and starring award-winning actor Peter Dinklage in the title role. I am a big fan of Peter Dinklage -- he is an amazing and handsome actor who just happens to have dwarfism. Throughout his career he has been successful at avoiding roles usually reserved for actors of his stature, like fantasy elves, leprechauns, trolls or freaks, and been able to showcase his humanity and range. This Cyrano was crafted especially for him by his wife, Erica Schmidt, who adapted the original material, adding music by the Grammy-winning rock group The National. It's a clever idea -- transferring Cyrano's stumbling block from a facial feature to his stature -- that at first glance works well. It's also nice that the film engages in diverse casting choices, making its young Christian a man of color, played by newcomer Kelvin Harrison Jr.  

Still -- This Cyrano is mopey and dopey. A lot of this Cyrano takes the audience for granted -- we have to take a lot of facts as a matter of course, just because the movie says they are so. I guess Roxanne is beautiful enough to fall in love with at first sight -- she needs a weekend in the sun and a sandwich. And I guess she's clever and intellectual -- her bucking her intended husband, the villainous Duke De Guiche, is evidence. The Cyrano character is supposed to inspire admiration: for his boldness, his brashness, his derring-do, his swordplay both with a sharpened bit of steel and with his tongue. He's supposed to be clever and funny and smart in addition to being secretly lovelorn. But Dinklage doesn't quite carry that off -- he's less swagger and more haggard. He seems bitter and mean instead of clever, hangdog instead of noble, his swordplay is questionable, he's shaggy in a world of foppery (powdered wigs, powdered faces, beauty marks, and high heels are worn by both sexes) and what's worse, his singing voice is ... less than compelling. It doesn't help that many of the songs in this musical are slow, sad, navel-gazing yearnings about love: wanting love, losing love, not being able to declare love, being in love. There's not enough upbeat, celebratory tunes here that make you leave the theater singing. 

Can this love be revealed? Bennett & Dinklage

There are some interesting dance numbers, such as when Christian reprises the song originally crooned by Roxanne (in a lyrical soprano by Haley Bennett) in an earlier scene, when his fellow French army cadets suddenly begin to gyrate, quadrille, and lift each other with deadpan earnestness behind him. Harrison's voice is also less than what a stage actor would muster, and the distracting swooshing of the costumes as the men dance behind him is so disconnected that I was laughing out loud. Again, no joy. Just ludicrousness.

Granted, Cyrano sticks fairly close to the original material. Therefore -- Spoiler -- the ending isn't exactly happy. In the original story, Roxanne and Christian wed but barely have a chance to consummate before Christian is killed in battle, and Cyrano keeps his love for Roxanne a secret until his last dying breath a few years later. So no, he doesn't really get the girl. 

Bennett & Harrison in Cyrano

I wanted to like this Cyrano. It's beautifully shot. The costuming and set design are impeccable. Peter Dinklage is acting and singing his heart out. But so much of this film is off-putting, weird, sad, and disjointed. I literally wanted to stand up in the middle of the movie theater and yell, Wake Up -- This Is A BAD Movie, people!!! But that's just snobbery on my part. Many people seem to love this film and have heaped it with accolades. 

But I have to put a red light on for this Roxanne. 

This "Cats" Could Have Been Saved

CATS
directed by Tom Hooper
starring James Corden, Judi Dench, Jason Derulo, Idris Elba, Jennifer Hudson, Ian McKellen, Taylor Swift, Rebel Wilson, and introducing Francesca Hayward

No surprises here: Cats is a bad kitty.

I've read many of the reviews excoriating the film as beyond bad, but as a fan of musicals I felt I had to see it for myself and form my own opinion. I also have the (questionable) advantage of having seen the original musical on Broadway, and of reading the source material, poet T.S. Eliot's whimsical "Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats." In truth, I wasn't a big fan of the musical (I thought the costumes were weird then), though I am fond of the original book, as it is a truly imaginative collection of poems that describe a variety of cats as having human traits, to humorous effect. However, the collected poems are very British and were first published in 1939 -- 80 years ago! Composer Andrew Lloyd Webber's NYC stage adaptation premiered in 1980, which is also quite a while back.

Why It's Bad
1. It's out of its time:
The time lapse is a large part of the problem. The material is significantly dated. Why the producers thought they could take this ancient monstrosity, which was an oddity in its time, and transfer it largely untouched to the screen is a mystery. In our high-tech, short-attention span, Disney-fied, action world, this kind of old-fashioned show fails miserably. Despite the efforts of an Oscar winning director, stunt casting, a couple of new songs, a lot of choreography, and CGI effects, the film is mostly dull, ugly and weird.

2. The cats are frightful:
I think of cats as elegant, attractive animals. These humans looked like something from the Island of Dr. Moreau, or from Dante's Inferno. They were mostly a repulsive-looking bunch other than the angelic young ballerina cat (Heyward) who wants to be a Jellicle. Jennifer Hudson looks like she'd been dragged over the streets on her face. Judi Dench seems to have been mummified. The venerable Ian McKellen appears to have been electrocuted. Idris Elba looks like the devil, both literally and figuratively, in a shiny dark leotard and tail, ice blue contact lenses, and ears set like horns -- in a way that skirts both taste and racial sensitivity. They don't really look like cats. There have been many musicals that cast humans as animal characters (The Wizard of Oz/The Wiz's Cowardly Lion, Johnny Depp as the Big Bad Wolf in Into The Woods, every other contestant on TV's "The Masked Singer"), and none of them looked this freakish.

3. The music is bad:
To me, the most unforgivable part of this film musical is the music itself. Other than "Memory," the songs are universally awful and what's worse, they are badly produced. Many a half-baked screen musical has been elevated in my mind because the soundtrack production was so fantastic (the Bee Gees' Beatles fantasia Sgt. Pepper, Andrew Lloyd Webber's superior Evita, even the recent The Greatest Showman). The minute I heard those cheesy synthesizers (unfortunately, synth is an apparent signature sound that imitates the mewling of the cats) and bubbling pseudo-disco basslines -- so emblematic of early 80s music -- my heart sank. Not-great songs can be updated, adapted, and produced to enhance their appeal and timeliness for modern audiences, but in Cats, nobody bothered. Andrew Lloyd Webber himself produced the music, and I can only imagine that he was either too married to the original arrangements, or he didn't have the time or money to reimagine them.

4. Bad songs/bad singing/ho-hum dancing:
Further, as a sung-through musical with literally no spoken dialogue, the singing is woefully second-rate. Rebel Wilson as Jennyanydots and James Corden as Bustopher Jones play it for laughs, and they seem to be in a completely different movie. The other characters should have taken a page from them. Taylor Swift does a sexy "Macavity," but it's unclear to me why Idris Elba's Macavity isn't singing his own song. Jennifer Hudson over-cries and over-sings her setpiece "Memory." Jason Derulo as Rum Tum Tugger tries to inject some soul into a corny uptempo number, but you can hardly understand his lyrics. Judi Dench doesn't even try to sing, nor does Ian McKellen, whose spotlight number is a snoozy dead spot. And speaking of Cats' lyrics, since they are adapted from poems, there are either too many words (as the Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat, Bustopher Jones, or Mungojerrie & Rumpleteazer) or simple phrases repeated ad infinitum (as with Mr. Mistoffelees). Specific references to London locales and British colloquialisms also go over the heads of most Americans. As for the dancing, its is ... unremarkable. A lot of cat writhing that is overwhelmed by the large-scale sets they take place in. There have been complaints that the dancing is oversexualized, but I didn't feel that. Have you ever watched cats move? They're slinky, sensual, seductive creatures. It never occurred to me that they were horny.

5. Not enough character development.
A lot of the cat characters aren't named in the film, but apparently they all have names and relationships. I didn't even know that the main tomcat's name was Munkustrap or that TaySwif was Bombalurina until the credits. Indeed, the plot is very thin; much like A Chorus Line, you meet all the characters in a kind of "I Hope I Get It" audition line, with the cats hoping to get picked to go to the Heaviside Layer, which I assume is the next life in their nine-lives cycle, though that is never explained.

I don't want to just pile on, though. I love musical theater. So could anything have been done to make it palatable for contemporary audiences? I think so.

How I Would Have Fixed It

How could Cats have been saved for 2019? Put it through a contemporary lens. Think of the framing of The Princess Bride, for example.

I would have made Judi Dench a kindly, modern-day grandma with a house full of cats that her young granddaughter comes to visit. Grandma keeps a copy of "Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats" and shares it with her granddaughter, telling her that every cat in her house and the neighborhood is a Jellicle cat with a story. They go to the market, passing the junkyard, the theater, the railway station, a garbage dump, and Grandma points out all the cats. The perspective could then shift to the cat-ified human personifications singing and acting out their theme songs. And if these characters are identified as cats, they don't have to be drowned in makeup and fake fur for us to understand they are cats!

Back in modern times, Grandma tells the girl that there will be a full moon, a Jellicle Moon, and that it's a special night for the cats. Then the movie can shift back to the cat characters and their Jellicle Ball, Dench can still show up as Old Deuteronomy, Macavity can still be evil, and Grizabella can still ascend. Back in real time, Grandma sings about how to address cats and treat them with respect. They hear meowing at the back door, and it's a tiny multicolored kitten. "Hello, Grizabella," says Grandma. "Welcome to the Heaviside Layer." THE END.

Yes, some of the cats' song and dance numbers would have to be trimmed quite a bit, but I don't think that would be a loss, since so much of the movie is a slog. So what do you think of my fix?

The Sun Is Also A Star: A Fairytale Teen Romance, A NYC Valentine

The Sun Is Also A Star
directed by Ry Russo-Young, starring Yara Shahidi, Charles Melton

The Sun Is Also A Star is a fairy tale, adapted from the popular YA novel by Nicola Yoon. It's a day in the life of Natasha Kingsley (grown-ish's Yara Shahidi), a high school senior from a Jamaican immigrant family in Brooklyn who makes a last-ditch effort to prevent them all from being deported the very next day. By pure chance, on the way to INS in Federal Plaza, she crosses paths with Daniel Bae (Riverdale's Charles Melton), a high school senior from a Korean immigrant family in Queens who, while on his way to a future he doesn't want as a Dartmouth medical school student, decides that Natasha is his destiny. All of this information is easily gleaned from the many TV promos and theater previews we've seen of the film. To add a twist, Natasha is presented as a smart, data-obsessed realist who doesn't believe in love while Daniel is willing to buck a medical career because of his obsession with poetry.

For reasons that I don't get, and only serve the film, the two are obsessed with the concept of Deus Ex Machina, which as I understand it is a term applied to narratives like this one where an unexplained and totally contrived miracle save the day. There are numerous coincidences in the film, first with Daniel spotting Natasha in Grand Central Station and trying to follow her (stalker), then in randomly seeing her again on the downtown subway and then snatching her back from being hit by a reckless driver on the street. And that's just for starters. For these two lovebirds, the term "Deus Ex Machina" (emblazoned on the back of Natasha's satin jacket) seems to simply mean fate and miracles. But for those who craft narratives, it's a cheap solution for wrapping up a plot that has become way too hairy to resolve in a realistic way. And that's exactly what we get here.

It's a fairy tale to think that love can be achieved in one single day. In this story, though Natasha states early on that she doesn't believe in love, after a few hours with this tall, handsome stranger she is eagerly making out with him (hormones, people.) It's also a distinctly female fantasy to have a gorgeous young man be completely dedicated to making love happen within a day, and Daniel is sexy and persistent without seeming creepy. And only in a fairy tale would a busy immigration lawyer (played by John Leguizamo) turn into a fairy godmother who takes on the case of a last-minute teenaged client. It would also take a fairy tale for a pair of teenagers to spend the night together sleeping outside in the park and not be a. mugged, b. arrested, or c. beaten within an inch of their lives by worried parents.

Like the walking-and-talking-across-the-city film tradition it follows, most notably the Ethan Hawke-Julie Delpy trilogy Before Sunrise/Before Sunset/Before Midnight and even the Chris Rock-Rosario Dawson comedy Top Five, The Sun Is Also A Star has the two leads pose leading questions that pull these two met-cute young folks into thoughtful discussion and instant intimacy while making the rounds of appointments and errands across the city. They encounter some hurdles, most notably when Natasha finally reveals that she's on the verge of leaving the country for good and that they have no viable future. Their only culture clash seems to come from his family; when Natasha comes along as Daniel delivers a bank deposit to his father's business, it turns out to be a black hair care emporium in Harlem (Daniel gives us a history of how Koreans cornered the black hair market). While there, his lunkhead brother makes a racist joke about her being a shoplifter and his father offers her the economy sized jar of relaxer to tame her natural hair. The scene is awkward and mortifying; out on the street again with Daniel, Natasha shrugs it off.

There is no denying the physical beauty and sex appeal of the film's two stars, and the camera lingers lovingly on their faces to make sure that we fall in love with them, too. What's more, they are given interesting and romantic backdrops from the big city in which to fall, adding to the spell the film attempts to weave. The idea of a romance that could occur in one day between two apparently thoughtful and aware young people seemed appealing to my middle-aged sensibilities. Even though I am old enough so that the pillow-lipped Shahidi and dimpled Melton could be my grandchildren. As I watched the film I became deeply and profoundly affected, yea, near tears with sentimental longing and romantic regret. Did my tears well up in response to the burgeoning and rather hasty and oh so unrealistic teen romance beign presented as the film's primary narrative? No. My emotions were pricked by my love of New York City.

Big Apple, I miss you so much! Though we had to break up our love affair, I still treasure our precious memories.

You see, New York City is the town where I was born and raised. I haven't lived there for a few decades now. But glimpsed lovingly through the lens of cinematographer Autumn Durald, as lead characters Natasha and Daniel spend a day wandering, the city today looked as appealing, challenging, beautiful and grimey as ever. In The Sun Is Also A Star, viewers ride the subway along elevated tracks from the boroughs, and underground from Wall Street to 125th Street, from Borough Hall to East 86th Street. We revisit Caffe Reggio, a landmark of Greenwich Village. We glide through the Hayden Planetarium on the upper East Side, watching the sky show. We stroll through Chinatown and SoHo and along the East River. We get to ride the tram to Roosevelt Island. We traverse 125th Street in Harlem. We cross Broadway and Lincoln Center and spend moments in the marble great room at Grand Central Station considering its zodiac-emblazoned ceiling. The camera pans over the city's bridges, Central Park, the Chrysler Building. And I'm swooning.

I was instantly brought back to the days of my teenage years, when I knew almost every corner and every neighborhood of Manhattan and felt lucky to be there. Because mine was an untraditional school, our gym classes were held in Central Park or Hunter College or at the 14th Street Bowl-Mor Lanes (now demolished) and we had to get ourselves there on time the best way we could, as though we were already in college. We frequented foreign films on East 68th street, and midnight showings at blockbuster cinemas in Times Square or on 96th Street, we went clubbing around the East Side, shopped bargains along Delancey and Canal Streets, went to the Jazzmobile shows outside by Grant's Tomb on Riverside Drive, went roller-skating indoors in the meatpacking district, took dance and music lessons in Harlem, rode the Staten Island ferry back and forth for fun. Living in the outer boroughs, as some of my friends and I did, meant that when we went into The City on the weekends or during the summers, we stayed for the day; we found ways to kill time in department stores, hotel lounge areas, park benches, the museums, the 42nd Street Fifth Avenue Library, neighborhood cafes and luncheonettes, and movie matinees. When carfare was an issue, we walked the city blocks from the east side to the west side, from uptown to midtown and back, particularly in the summers. The food we ate -- the bagels and street cart hotdogs and knishes and hot pretzels and toasted chestnuts and Jamaican meat patties and cuchifritos and Chinese dumplings and pizza -- oh the pizza! We didn't have cars, we didn't go to high school dances, we had no prom, our parents didn't belong to clubs. We were very independent big city kids. And that's what this movie reminded me of, the golden days when New York was my playground.

But I digress. As in most fairy tales, eventually there is a happy ending. Though things looked bleak for our modern-day Romeo and Juliet, and they were lost to one another, coincidence -- nay, Deus-ex-Machina aka an act of God -- puts the erstwhile lovers in the same place at the same time and the film ends with a kiss, as all good love stories should.

The story doesn't make a lot of earthly sense, but it's sweet and a great vehicle for its stars. In the meantime, I'm planning to head back to the Big Apple for a visit quite soon.

Black History Month: Looking Back at "The Brother From Another Planet"

As February is Black History Month, I thought it would be interesting to take a look back at some screen projects that have been overlooked, unsung, or considered also-rans in the canon of African America film.

Brother From Another Planet (1984)
Written, Directed and Edited by John Sayles
Starring Joe Morton

This film is a personal favorite of mine. Eight years after David Bowie was The Man Who Fell to Earth, and the very same year that Jeff Bridges portrayed an alien who just wants to get home in Starman, Joe Morton made his breakout performance in this John Sayles indie as a dreadlocked, goodhearted alien who crashlands on New York's Ellis Island and tries to understand what earthlings are all about. His journey is complicated by the fact that he is mute and can hear the voices of humans embedded in the objects they used. He appears mostly human, but his three-toed feet -- not to mention his extra-sensory perceptions -- mark him as different.

He manages to cross the Hudson and arrive at 125th Street in Harlem, where his skintone helps him blend in. But soon he is assaulted by the sounds of multiple languages, hip-hop, salsa, and video games, and confronted by images of a crucified Jesus, street crime, and drug use. Living by his wits and an alien ability to heal wounds and manipulate machinery, the Brother is helped by a local social worker (Tom Wright) and winds up with a job and a place to live with a chatty single mother (Caroline Aaron) and her young biracial son.

The brilliance of this film is that we see the complete absurdity, violence, variety, vice and mayhem of contemporary life through his eyes. What's more, in the presence of a man who doesn't speak, nearly every person he runs across becomes a virtual motormouth, giving sway to their beliefs, fears, prejudices, memories, and hopes as he listens, wide-eyed and agog.

As it turns out, the Brother is a fugitive from his planet's justice, and when white bounty hunters in black arrive (played by David Strathairn and Sayles himself) it becomes clear that on his planet, he was held as a slave.

Perhaps best known today as "Papa Pope" on TV's Scandal, Joe Morton is in nearly every scene and he is absolutely brilliant. His eyes say everything about the predicament he finds himself in, and his physicality communicates the sensory discomfort and surprise of being in unfamiliar surroundings.

He is surrounded by an ace troupe of reliable stage and screen character actors, including Broadway and recording legend Dee Dee Bridgewater as a local singer who turns on her love light; Carl Gordon (known as Charles Dutton's father on '90s sitcom Roc) as a romantic rival; busy character actor Bill Cobbs (seen on Greenleaf) as a barroom philosopher; funnyman Leonard Jackson (Carwash, Boomerang, The Color Purple) as another barroom pal; Caroline Aaron, who's appeared in dozens of films and plays the mother of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel; and Tom Wright, a stalwart from dozens of TV shows (including Punch from Ray Donovan) as a helpful social worker. Even Josh Mostel shows up for two minutes as a Casio keyboard vendor.

Sayles has made a career of making independent movies that look at the impact of race, sex, and class on the intersected lives of community members (his 1996 film about a Texas border town Lone Star and a southern Florida town in 2002's Sunshine State are other personal favorites). He also adds clever references to other films, including The Treasure of the Sierra Madre ("we don't need no stinkin' badges!"), the Invasion of the Body Snatchers, and other films. Here Sayles makes us consider just what we have wrought as a society.

While we have a long way to go in terms of a truly harmonious planet, freedom from bondage on Earth -- strange as it is -- looks like Heaven to this Brother.

Black History Month: Looking Back at "Paris Blues"

As February is Black History Month, I thought it would be interesting to take a look back at some films featuring African American actors and African American stories that have been overlooked, unsung, or also rans in the pantheon of favorite or important films about us.

Paris Blues (1961).
Directed by Martin Ritt
Starring Paul Newman, Sidney Poitier, Joanne Woodward, Diahann Carroll

A product of the post-civil rights sensibility, Paris Blues has to take place across the water to show us how we can really all get along.

The film is about two expatriate American jazz musicians, trombonist Ram Bowen (Paul Newman) who leads his own combo, and his saxophonist Eddie Cook (Sidney Poitier), who live in sophisticated, freewheeling, bohemian Paris. The pair sketch out new compositions by day and hold court nightly as the main attraction in a fashionable jazz club into the wee hours. What are they performing? Music by Duke Ellington, naturally, though it is credited to the Ram Bowen group.

Ram initially meets two pretty American tourists, Lillian (Joanne Woodward) and Connie (Diahann Carroll), when he goes to meet the train bringing in noted jazz player Wild Man Miller (played by Louis Armstrong) who will sit in with Ram (as if the great Armstrong could play second fiddle to anyone on a bandstand). After a flirtation with Connie, who introduces him to Lillian, Ram invites the ladies to show up at his gig, which they do.

After some initial bad behavior and crossed signals, romance ensues along "race-appropriate" lines. Lillian makes a calculated play for Ram, impressed by his commitment to his music. Eddie finds himself drawn to Connie. As feelings deepen, the two couples must decide what happens when the ladies' two-week vacation is up. Do the women stay in Paris? Or will the mad lads return to America?

Newman and Woodward, already married in real life, portray the primary story in this black and white film, and Ram and Lillian's struggle is purely about the artistic freedom (not to mention a dalliance with a world-weary French chanteuse) that Paris affords Ram in his career as a composer and performer. While Lillian presses for a commitment, Ram isn't interested and initially breaks it off.

After confessing their love, Eddie and Connie talk marriage but can't agree on a future. Connie has a teaching gig to return to that's she fought too hard to get. She's also deeply connected to her roots, her family, and her home; regardless of the problems back in the U.S. of A., she is committed to being part of the solution. Eddie has been in Paris five years, finally feels free, and has no interest in a return. In a painful scene, Eddie tells Connie that he will never go back to America, where racism, segregation, abuse, and disrespect await a black man. "I don't beg for anything anymore! I'm not interested in The Cause," he says, "I'm only interested in us." "No, you're only interested in you," Connie responds.

Meanwhile, music is the great harmonizer. The Ellington soundtrack is swoon worthy, and a scene where Wild Man enters the subterranean jazz club with his entire band blowing their hearts out in a challenge is totally jazzalicious. Resplendent in its hand-clapping abandon, the music percolates with Satchmo displaying all the trumpet skills he's known for. Both Newman and Poitier studied with noted players to make their performances look authentic.

In addition to being a great travelogue of Paris by foot, Paris Blues is supposed to be about the travails of love, but the romances are too easily tied with a bow. The flick is about the cost of freedom. Unfortunately, the issue of freedom for African Americans is relative: Stay in America and Love it, defend it, and fight to change it, or leave its shores for a country where tolerance for racial differences seems to be higher. Even today, Paris is filled with numerous African American expats who came to shake off the shackles of America's deeply ingrained racism.

Totally Underwater: "Aquaman"

Aquaman
directed by James Wan
starring Jason Momoa, Willem Dafoe, Amber Heard, Patrick Wilson, Nicole Kidman

Recommended? Only for serious superhero fanatics. Otherwise no.

I am not a staunch follower of superhero films, but I do enjoy a good adventure yarn as well as elements of fantasy and the ongoing struggle between good and evil. The best superhero stories follow the classic Hero's Journey plot, with some snappy dialogue, good pacing, a believable alternate universe, and a sympathetic hero. Sequels should be able to stand on their own as individual films. I was stoked to see Aquaman because this hero comes from a unique world, and because, let's face it, it's Jason Momoa.

What a letdown.

Aquaman is a cool bro named Arthur Curry, whose long-lost mom was queen of Atlantis. First of all, though this film is supposed to be the Aquaman Origin Story, it's less about how Aquaman became Aquaman and more about how he became King of Atlantis despite being half human. Second: Arthur is a terrible name for a superhero; apologies to all the Arthurs out there, but it just made me think of King Arthur and the Round Table, and the whole journey to find the ancient trident of a long-dead original king of Atlantis is straight Sword In The Stone, Excalibur stuff. Third, I didn't get a feel for the adult Arthur, though we do find out that he was raised with an awareness of his underwater royal heritage, developed some cool Atlantean skills, and loves his lighthouse-keeping dad. Basically, he's ... likeable, laidback Jason Momoa. He looks the same in the film as he does in his daily life: mane of flowing hair, tats, jewelry, Polynesian origins and boots intact.

Yes, Aquaman's origins are sketched out, but at the top of the film he is already established as Aquaman, and he even makes light of his celebrity by mugging with fans for pictures. We learn that Arthur can swim like the devil, breathe underwater, has incredible strength, can take a punch or two. We see him save a Russian submarine from pirates led by a very Angry Black Man whose father and mentor ends up dying in the fight. When Pirate Pop passes, Arthur feels bad. That's how we know he's just a goodhearted dude. But I still didn't get a sense of his hopes and dreams, fears or insecurities before a Princess from the Deep shows up to drag him into the undersea beef he knows nothing about. I guess my quibble is that I would have wanted to see more about how he first took on the mantle of being Aquaman -- not just a kid who can breathe underwater and commune with sea creatures, but become a bona fide superhero who decides to do good and ally himself with the Justice League. Not having seen many of the previous Justice League-related films, I'm probably at a disadvantage.

While the underwater scenes are mostly well done in terms of flowing hair and floating objects, they are busy. In fact, the backstory lore of how Atlantis fell and turned into seven different ocean kingdoms with different creatures of varying abilities, intelligence, and alliances was just hella hard to follow. The costumes for the Atlantis folks were also Arthurian, with a lot of medieval-style armor and helmets that looked totally out of place in the ocean and raised unintentional concerns, at least in my mind, about anchor weights, rust and corrosion. Perhaps this costuming scheme came directly from the original DC Comics visuals.

Playing a trusted palace advisor with perennially slicked-back hair, Willem Dafoe looked like he was in a samurai movie. Or maybe that was him behind the fish mask in The Shape of Water. Some of the marine creatures used as transportation were unintentionally hilarious. The whole romance plotline between Arthur and Princess Mera (Heard) is cheesy. His jealous half-brother Orm (Wilson), who was fighting to keep the crown of Atlantis -- is a cardboard villain. With the film hurtling along and cramming in so much information--most of it visual CGI wizardry--there was less time to develop a story that would really invoke some emotion.

Despite the fact that Aquaman was throwing a lot of story and special effects at me, I was waiting for it to end. Also, I found the Unintentional Hilarity Quotient to be quite high in this film, which meant I was laughing at stuff I was not supposed to be laughing at. I laughed at Aquaman swimming the depths in his jeans and motorcycle boots. I guffawed at the crazy crab creatures, goofy amphibians, and manic sharks battling in the final scenes. But when the Pirate turned up again toward the middle of the film to exact revenge on Aquaman in a hi-tech armored black suit topped by a giant head with glowing red eyes, I lost it. It's Roach Man! No, The Fly! It's a Barbecued Ninja Turtle! A Super-Pissed Power Ranger! Then the character mumbled his name. "He's from Atlanta?" my sister asked. The whole "Black Manta" identity thing got lost in the film's hectic storytelling and we were left in hysterics that totally undercut the intended drama and menace of his appearance.

The teens seated in front of me were clearly annoyed by our giggling, but we couldn't help it. (Side note: The kid in front of me was really pissed by my laughter; when the movie was over I accidentally grazed him in the noggin with my Slurpee cup as I was getting out of my seat. So not only did I insult his flick, I assaulted him as well. I'm lucky he didn't call Security.)

It really doesn't matter what I think of Aquaman. Jason Momoa and Warner Bros. Pictures are laughing all the way to the bank. Meanwhile, I was laughing until tears sprang from my eyes over the spectacle of Black Manta looking like Mothra's Play Cousin LeRoy.

Amusing, Astonishing, Sobering: "The Favourite"

The Favourite
directed by Yorgos Lanthimos
starring Olivia Colman, Rachel Weisz, Emma Stone

Recommended? Yes. But strictly for adults and Anglophiles.

Power. Everybody wants it. Some sacrifice much to get it, and those who attain it don't seem to hold onto it long. Because this has been true for centuries, driving plots from Macbeth to TV's Scandal, the eternal struggle for power remains a compelling storyline.

The history of the English monarchy is rife with tales of palace intrigue and power plays among those circling the throne. Women have played key roles in history, which has shown that the so-called fairer sex can be just as ruthless, manipulative and calculating as the men, and were often forced to live by their wits during centuries of legally sanctioned male dominance. With a trio of women at its center, The Favourite examines the historical relationship of early 18th century English monarch Queen Anne and her closest friend and advisor, Lady Sarah Churchill, and a young usurper, Abigail Masham.

While The Favourite takes place in England after the reign of King Charles and William and Mary, when fashion dictated elaborate powdered wigs, stick-on beauty marks, high heels and ribbons for men, this is no frilly, stuffy historical drama. Thanks to director Lanthimos, whose sharp sense of the absurd was brought to light in the weird 2015 absurdist drama The Lobster, The Favourite has a decidedly contemporary, and thus often hilarious, view of history. That perspective becomes clearest in a scene where a court dance turns into something more like Dancing With The Stars meets Electric Boogaloo, but in countless other small details, including the characters' language (Sarah refers to a woman's parts as her "vajuju").

Played with a flair for comedy and pathos by Olivia Colman, Queen Anne is something of a pathetic figure. Plagued by illness, confounded by the politics of the country's current war with France, childless after 17 pregnancies, and with a withering temper, Anne is given to fits and fallouts, childish tantrums and illogical pronouncements. Her political affairs and personal welfare are managed by her longtime friend Lady Sarah Churchill (Rachel Weisz), a no-nonsense powerhouse who both coddles and bullies Anne. Their relationship is threatened by the arrival of Abigail (Emma Stone), a distant cousin of Sarah's, a former aristocrat whose family has been taken down by the father's gambling, who is now seeking a position in the queen's household. As it turns out, Abigail is baldly ambitious herself, and after suffering through a few weeks as a scullery maid, she finagles herself into the Queen's chamber and good graces thanks to a facility for herbal healing and personal charm. When she learns that there is still more to Sarah's relationship with Anne -- an illicit love affair -- Abigail immediately plots to get herself between the Queen's sheets.

Sarah issues some veiled threats to Abigail on the shooting range, but once she learns that Abigail has replaced her as the Queen's lover she has her fired from the household. In retaliation, Abigail arranges to have Sarah's tea drugged to get her out of the way, resulting in a brutal riding accident for Sarah. With Sarah gone, Abigail doubles down in her relationship with the Queen, convincing the monarch to approve of her marriage to a willing young nobleman -- despite being of low birth -- and guaranteeing her standing as a lady in the court. When Sarah survives her injuries and returns to court to find Abigail firmly ensconced as Anne's confidante and lady in waiting, she swears revenge while Abigail gloats. But as the camera focuses on Abigail as she responds to Anne's whining request that her aching legs be rubbed, we the audience are reminded of the price of success.

There is more to the story, including some bizarre palace antics that include duck racing and pelting a naked man with fruit; the ambitious scheming of a young parliamentary politician named Robert Harley (Nicholas Hoult); and the Queen's 17 pet rabbits who hop around in her bedchamber. But at its core, this is a story about the path to power and all it entails -- good and bad.

The script offers some whiplash pacing, withering insults, hilarious quips, and -- as mentioned -- a decidedly modern view of history. As such, the film has been compared to Mean Girls, Heathers, All About Eve, and more. Adding to the movie's polish is its incredible cinematography, with wide shots to show off the castle grounds, the richness of its rooms, the costuming, and the English countryside; the intricate costumes, including breeches for Lady Sarah for riding and shooting, an elaborate set of braces for the Queen so she can sit upright on a horse, and of course the foppery of the male courtiers; and its music, which is an evocative and often foreboding score mined from classical themes. And while all three actresses are brilliant -- Weisz and Stone are already Oscar winners -- Coleman is an absolute standout for her portrayal of Anne.

The Favourite is a beautiful, strange, amusing and ultimately cautionary tale.

"The Wife" Wins Out In The End

The Wife
Directed by Bjorn Runge
Starring Glenn Close, Jonathan Pryce, Christian Slater, Max Irons

They say that in any relationship, there is the lover and the loved. While the standard scriptural wisdom about marriage idealizes a couple that is "equally yoked," somehow one person ends up pulling more of the weight than the other. In the traditional American marriage, up until the middle of the 20th Century, women were expected to be the "helpmeet" of their husbands: the mistress of the home, the tender of the hearth, the guardian of the children, and an endless source of support, wisdom, comfort and sustenance to their mate. Even in modern love partnerships, a large part of how relationships grow is how the partners shore each other up, keep each other's secrets, and safeguard their egos.

In the opening scenes of The Wife, which is set in the early 1990s, we meet long-married seniors Joan (Glenn Close) and Joe Castleman (Jonathan Pryce) as they turn in for the night in their Connecticut home. Insecure, self-absorbed and somewhat quixotic, Joe is a respected author, shortlisted for the Nobel prize in literature and hoping for a call from Sweden. Practical, even-tempered Joan manages him -- his expectations, his nighttime routine, and after initially resisting finally gives in to his boyish sexual advances. "Imagine me as I was then, young," he says, shimmying himself on top of her.

The next morning, when a call does come in bright and early from the Nobel Committee, Joe instantly asks for his wife to pick up the phone extension so they both can hear the news of his award. After the call he excitedly grabs Joan so they can jump on the mattress in jubilation, until Joan soberly calls the activity to a close and begins to orchestrate everything that must be done in terms of celebrating and getting the family to Sweden for the ceremony. This is her role. She is The Wife.

Joan has been managing every aspect of Joe since she first managed to wedge herself between him and his first wife, when Joe was a college writing professor and she a young student with writing potential, which we discover in flashback. Since then, she has basically managed his writing career: serving as his sounding board, editor, typist and more, even shutting out their young son as they worked on Joe's novels. Joan manages Joe's apparel, his comportment, his health maintenance, his relationships, and his meals, and he praises her and thanks her at every turn. But as the family prepares to go to Sweden for the Nobel festivities, Joan begins to reflect on everything she has sacrificed to support her husband's brilliant career. In doing so, her resentment slowly begins to bubble to the surface and then rapidly comes to a boil once they arrive in Stockholm.

Joan's feelings on the trip are pushed along by all of the pomp, circumstance, and lionizing of her husband; her husband's treatment of their adult son (Max Irons, son of Jeremy Irons), also an aspiring novelist who feels neglected by his parents and belittled by his father; by the probing and badgering of smugly persistent journalist Nathaniel Bone (Christian Slater) with a book contract to write a biography about Joe and who threatens to reveal juicy secrets that Joan denies; and finally, by her husband's dalliance with a young Swedish photographer assigned to him. Though Joan has excused and dismissed Joe's many affairs, and denied having a greater role in Joe's writing success than the public knows, in the face of Nathaniel's barbed comments and observances, Joan keeps up her unruffled façade though inside she begins to seethe.

The Wife is an excellent, in-depth study of a marriage, an often painful examination of everything it takes to keep two separate people together, and how after 40 years together the accumulated chinks in the armor of that marriage can bring the whole thing down. It is also about the cycle of pain, sacrifice, elation amd dejection that comes with being a professional writer.

Glenn Close is superb, as usual, playing a woman who on the surface is calm, cool, and collected at all times, and has fooled herself into believing that she has no ambitions of her own, that all of her motives have been selfless, and that her most important role has been to be The Wife. Jonathan Pryce is her equal, playing Joe as a charming but clueless cad who would literally be nothing without his wife and knows it, though he doesn't always show it.

The dramatic denouement may be a bit too tidy a plot turn for some, but Joe's fate is just another, perhaps unintended manifestation of Joan's ability to manage an outcome. Despite everything, Joan loves Joe. The truth is that love isn't easy or easily explainable. There are no perfect people. And no perfect movies, either, though this comes close.

Thoughts on "Baby It's Cold Outside": Let It Go, Let It Go, Let It Go

"Baby It's Cold Outside"
written by Frank Loesser, 1944



These are expanded comments I made about the song during the opening of the Dec. 6 "Words On Flicks" podcast.

There is a current controversy going on about the age-old ditty "Baby It's Cold Outside," a song associated with winter and the holidays because of its references to frosty weather. Many radio stations have decided to pull the song from their holiday broadcast playlists because of complaints that it condones date rape and is triggering to victims of sexual abuse. Others say, Get over it -- it's just a song. I can see both sides of this debate.

CBS This Morning's Gail King spoke out on the program Wednesday defending the song, as have many other newspaper opinion pieces, while the daughter of its writer, Frank Loesser, blamed the kerfuffle on convicted sexual predator Bill Cosby, whose habit of drugging victims brought new attention to the line "say, what's in this drink?"

Why it's pertinent to Words On Flicks is because "Baby It's Cold Outside" was popularized when it appeared in a movie, the 1949 romantic-comedy-with-music cream puff Neptune's Daughter. Starring the then-popular mermaid Esther Williams, an expert swimmer who inspired MGM to build giant tanks and stage elaborate water ballets around her, Neptune's Daughter is a fluffy mistaken-identity comedy with Ricardo Montalban as a smooth, polo-playing Latin lover.

The song "Baby It's Cold Outside" pops up as Montalban's character tries to convince Williams to stay a little longer for romance on a cold night. It's a cute and very clever duet about the cat and mouse romantic flirtation between a man and a woman. During the time it was written, the 1940s, it was a scandal for a woman to spend the whole night with a man, her "reputation" would be ruined. Men who wanted more than a few kisses or casual petting had to ramp up their persuasive techniques to get what they wanted. Women were supposed to draw the line at having sex unless there was a wedding first, or at least a ring on her finger.

According to the alternating lines of the song, the man is doing everything he can not merely to verbally convince but to physically coerce the woman to stay the night. Tp be fair, the movie Neptune's Daughter also shows the song being sung by a woman, Betty Garrett, in the pursuer's role, trying to interest Red Skelton in a romance. So the song shows both sexes as putting pressure on the other, to hilarious effect. But the song is more often heard in the classic style with the man as the aggressor.

If you listen to the whole song, at the end it seems that the woman gives in -- seemingly of her own free will -- or at least she gives up. But in a scenario like this, what could have happened if she said no? If, in fact, she insisted on leaving?

A gentleman would open the door, express regret, and graciously say goodnight. A sexual abuser would lock the door, block all exits, and attack. How do I know? Because it has happened, to me and to many others.

And that is what is triggering about this song for many. These are the same coercive lines and maneuvers that many sexual predators use to trap their targets physically and emotionally so that they cannot escape, and that place of isolation is where they feel emboldened to harass, grope and/or rape. It's all fun and games, lightness and flirtation -- until it isn't. Abusers count on the fact that women expect men to follow the rules of chivalry and courteousness in every situation; it's the benefit-of-the-doubt rule, the innocent-until-proven-guilty rule. Predators use this against victims. Their target often can't tell a good guy from a bad guy until it's too late.

Although the song ends on an upbeat note, with both parties making an informed choice, one could interpret this song as encouragement to men to press their advantage whenever and however and for as long as they can until they get the answer they want and feel entitled to.

"Baby It's Cold Outside" is a song strictly of its time, certainly a more innocent era with stricter societal mores, courtly traditions and lighthearted intent. The trouble is that the song continues to be recorded, year after year, by more contemporary artists. New generations are listening, generations for whom the year 1949 may as well be the Pleistocene Era and Esther Williams doesn't spark any glimmer of recognition, generations for whom the idea of a mother waiting by the door or a maiden aunt spreading gossip (as it says in the song) is laughable. The original intent and source of the song is lost, and all that is left are its words -- which today's listeners take on face value. And just as we know better now on other issues -- blackface and minstrelsy, stereotyping, gay bashing -- we should do better by letting questionable Hollywood fare fade into the background. To riff on another popular holiday weather tune: Let it go, let it go, let it go.

If radio stations are responding to the needs of listeners by taking this antiquated song off the air, I think that's a responsible response. And if there are people who can listen to "Baby It's Cold Outside" and hear only a playful teasing exchange between equals who are already fond of each other, then that's great too.

But I don't think those who find no problem with the song should shame or dismiss the concerns of those who do. That's just another way the very real experiences and concerns of #MeToo victims get pushed into the cold outside.

Thoughts on "Green Book": Dueling Tropes & Hijacked History, Well Executed

Green Book
directed by Peter Farrelly

These are expanded, but essentially the same comments I made about the film during the opening of Nov. 29's "Words On Flicks" podcast.

Over the Thanksgiving weekend I saw the Peter Farrelly-directed movie Green Book, starring Viggo Mortenson as Tony "Lip" Vallelonga, who finds himself employed as a driver by Mahershala Ali's Dr. Don Shirley, a noted concert pianist, on a tour through the deep south in 1960, four years before the Civil Rights Act was passed. The film is based on Vallelonga's reminiscences of their true-life friendship; however, the family of the late Don Shirley vehemently disputes its details.

Though Green Book has gotten mostly good reviews, its controversies made me a bit trepidatious about the movie before going in. I'm sure you've heard them, but I'll reiterate here:

First, the title hijacks history.

I would have preferred that a movie with this title be much more directly related to the history of this pivotal guidebook. "The Negro Motorist Green Book" was an actual publication used by African Americans during road trips across America, and particularly in the south, during segregation and Jim Crow. An African American mailman named Victor Hugo Green from New York City came up with the idea for the book in an attempt to make road travel safer for black people, and originally published it only in the NYC metro area until demand made it national.

It was published for 30 years, from 1936 to 1966. It was, unfortunately, much-needed. Though black folks were purchasing cars so they wouldn’t have to face discrimination on public transportation, they were still subjected to humiliations in terms of where they could stop, get gas, eat, get a hotel room, or even go to the bathroom – which is shown in the film. (I saw the movie Ragtime again recently, and the major conflict of the story turns on the vandalization of an automobile owned by a black piano player (Howard Rollins) by a group of white volunteer firemen in the early 1900s.)

Though Hollywood has attempted from time to time to tackle stories about key events in black history, too often the main character is a white person and the story is told through their perspective. And so it is with Green Book, a key piece of African American history reduced to an incidental part of the narrative.

Because of this history, titling the movie Green Book is misleading, as it is the story of an initially racist white man's view of one exceptional (magical) black man. Said white man has limited experience with the Green Book, makes offhand comments about its existence, and never questions its necessity with his passenger. However briefly, the Green Book itself, which is only shown a couple of times in the film that I can remember, is a symbol for the disparity between the lives of the two men. One white, with limited education, scuffling to make ends meet, but who can freely go anywhere, and the other, a multilingual, multitalented, educated black man who faces discrimination everywhere.

1 Magical Negro + 1 White Savior = ?
Secondly, the film has been criticized for being part of a long tradition in Hollywood of movies about Magical Negroes and White Saviors. (sorry if these terms offend people).

In movies about Magical Negroes, a black character selflessly helps a white person with aspects of their life out of the goodness of their hearts. Movies like The Green Mile where falsely imprisoned Michael Clarke Duncan can literally make magical miracles for everybody on Death Row but can't get himself out of prison. I saw the film once and while many people adore it, I can't stomach it. Or The Legend of Bagger Vance with Will Smith as a wise and mystical caddy to struggling golfer Matt Damon.

White Savior movies include many narratives about people of color whose circumstances can only improve by having a white person swoop in and rescue them: Avatar, The Blind Side, The Help, Dances with Wolves, Conrack, etc. "If you've been to the movies in the last half-century, you know the White Savior genre well," notes writer David Sirota in a 2013 Salon piece. "It's the catalog of films that features white people single-handedly rescuing people of color from their plight. These story lines insinuate that people of color have no ability to rescue themselves. This both makes white audiences feel good about themselves by portraying them as benevolent messiahs (rather than hegemonic conquerors), and also depicts people of color as helpless weaklings -- all while wrapping such tripe in the cinematic argot of liberation." In other words, whether ethnic tribespeople, urban dwellers, or inner-city students, these folks cannot help themselves. While many of these films are intended to show cross-cultural acceptance, what they actually portray is that only the superior ingenuity and resourcefulness of a white person -- abetted by white privilege -- can fix the problems of people of color.

In Green Book, these two tropes of Magical Negro Meets White Savior coexist -- but do they cancel each other out? Tony Lip is the White Savior: hired to be Dr. Shirley’s driver and muscle, to literally save him from any danger, but in this story Tony feels he has to teach Dr. Shirley how to be black, i.e. teaching him how to eat fried chicken, how to identify Chubby Checker and Aretha Franklin songs -- even how to throw trash onto the highway.

Meanwhile, Dr. Shirley is a Magical Negro – an amazing and highly trained pianist, able to speak multiple languages (including the Italian Tony thinks he doesn’t understand), a sensitive writer who helps Tony compose lush love letters to his wife, and ultimately – if this film is to be believed – helping Tony overcome his innate racism. Dr. Shirley's string players help Tony see that the pianist's tour through the South is not just a musical exchange, it is a crusade of courage against long-embedded racial hatred. He is not only an exceptional person of color, he's an exceptional person of ANY color. Unfortunately, movies about exceptional people of color perpetrate the idea that they are somehow not really a member of that race and exist in a universe unto themselves.

The Racialized Awkward Road Trip Movie
But movie tropes aside, I couldn't help but like the film. It falls easily into other much-beloved movie types -- the buddy film and the road picture combined, where two opposite numbers slowly come to grudging respect for the other over the course of the forced trip. As such, Green Book provides two juicy roles for these actors to dig into, and Viggo and Mahershala are fantastic. My resistance to the racial tropes of the movie began to fade in the face of their lived-in performances. I believed the situations and their growing relationship as the road trip progressed. Dr. Shirley's personal struggles in the face of racism and loneliness were palpable, thanks to Mahershala's regal portrayal; I couldn't stop thinking about the lithe, swashbuckling version of Viggo in The Lord of the Rings trilogy of a decade ago as compared to his embodiment of this beer-bellied Bronx bouncer. There was much about their journey via car across the country that felt true in both its beauty and its ugliness.

Green Book is a film with a flawed premise that is nonetheless well-executed. Your reaction to it will no doubt be related to how well you can swallow down another major movie about black history from the perspective of a non-black protagonist.

The Music Grounds It
The film has a strong sense of place and time about it – you really feel that you are back in 1960. One of the strongest elements that made the film feel so rooted in its time period is the music. Mahershala does a great job at tickling the ivories (or at least appearing to), performing unique arrangements of popular tunes like "Tea for Two" or "Happy Talk" (from South Pacific). But it’s the incidental music with great tracks from a range of artists that helped bring the flick alive, from Little Richard, Aretha Franklin and Chubby Checker to "One Mint Julep" by the Clovers, Professor Longhair’s "Go to the Mardi Gras," and many classic Christmas recordings. Toward the end of the film, when the duo are headed back to New York City, a track that I’d never heard before was played: called “Goodbye, My Lover, Goodbye” by Robert Mosely, that I instantly fell in love with and can't get out of my head. The soundtrack also has a version of the real Don Shirley playing “The Lonesome Road,” which I believe is played over the end credits.

Listen to this clip of the real Don Shirley performing "Lullaby of Birdland" and you will get a glimmer of how astounding a musician he actually was. Though the images are not of Shirley, it's the performance (starts classical, shifts to jazz) that wows.


What did you think of Green Book? Leave a comment below. And don't forget to subscribe for notifications when a new blog is posted.

Once Was Lost But Now We Can See: Aretha Franklin In "Amazing Grace"

Amazing Grace
produced by Alan Elliott
starring Aretha Franklin

If you love and appreciate true American "soul" and gospel music, not to mention one of the greatest to ever perform it -- Aretha Franklin -- then there is no better document than the long-hidden film treasure Amazing Grace, just making the rounds of film festivals now.

Originally shot in 1972, Amazing Grace is a film document of the live recording of the late Aretha Franklin's seminal 1972 album of the same name, a collection of gospel and gospel-inspired tunes that put on dazzling display its performer's prodigious vocal talents and went on to sell some 2 million copies and become the best-selling gospel album of all time. The two-night performance was originally shot by the late director Sydney Pollock for a Warner Bros. release, but problems with the footage and disagreement between the studio and its star left it unfinished for 46 years.

Thanks to a long overdue agreement between the Franklin estate and producer Alan Elliott, who was able to piece together Pollock's footage and complete the gargantuan job of synching the audio to the images, Amazing Grace is finally seeing the light of day. It is being show Nov. 12 at the DOC NYC Festival, has been shown in Los Angeles, and will likely get a theatrical release in early 2019. And thank goodness. Beyond its title being associated with the much beloved gospel hymn, its central performance is just that: Amazing.

The action takes place in Los Angeles at New Temple Missionary Baptist Church, with backing from a crack band of session musicians: Cornell Dupree on guitar, Bernard Purdie on drums, Chuck Rainey on bass, with Kenny Luper on church organ. The Southern California Community Choir, led ably by choir director Alexander Hamilton, in typically animated choir director form, provide requisite vocal support. Both nights are emceed by noted gospel eminence the Reverend James Cleveland, who alternates with Aretha on piano and lends his powerful vocal on several numbers.

Just 30 when this project was recorded, Aretha appeared to be in full possession of the soulful melodics, harmonics, dynamics, improvisation, and sheer inspirational fervor that have been her trademarks throughout a long career that spanned a broad range of musical styles. Watching Aretha in a church setting, throwing back her head and opening her golden throat, I couldn't help but imagine that the very angels themselves were being arrested by the glorious sounds that emerged. Whether standing at the podium or seated at the piano to accompany herself, Aretha is composed, confident, and in control. Beautiful in her flowing shifts, glorious afro, and vibrant eye makeup, she is in command of the music, the choir, and even the audience at every moment.

It seems strange that Aretha herself does not directly address the audience, instead demurring to Rev. Cleveland, who amiably introduces the tunes and instructs the audience to be lively in their responses (encouragement that wasn't really necessary). We only hear Aretha speak when asking for water, or to clarify the key for a tune. But somehow this distance only adds to her mystique as not only an artist but almost an oracle. Not a second-night appearance by her father, the renowned Rev. C.L. Franklin (who makes a speech of pride in his daughter's accomplishments), nor a flowery entrance by mink-coated gospel great Clara Ward, nor the enthusiasm of special guests like Rolling Stones frontman Mick Jagger in the back row, nor the hot lights, nor a steady stream of perspiration puddling her eyeliner can deter Aretha from the preternatural composure and skill with which she delivers beloved classics like "What A Friend we Have in Jesus," "How I Got Over," "Precious Memories," "Mary Don't You Weep," and the enduring title anthem "Amazing Grace."

Indeed, by the time Aretha arrives at the seminal title hymn, stretching its melody a cappella, and emphasizing the thankful fervor of its lyrics, members of the audience -- not to mention members of the backing choir and even the film production crew -- are enraptured, many of them visibly moved, some to tears, others seemingly to visitation by the Holy Ghost. Watching Aretha in her element, the Black Church, in what is universally acknowledged as her greatest recorded performance, the film dares you not to renew your own faith -- if not in a higher power, than certainly in the power of music to salve the soul.

Amazing Grace is a visual and aural baptism into the wellspring of African American gospel music by one of its most revered practitioners. In simple terms, this often rough-hewn film is nothing short of a blessing.



All photos are screenshots.

Skateboards, Hip-Hop and S**t: Growing Up "Mid90s"

Mid90s
written and directed by Jonah Hill
starring Sunny Suljic, Kate Waterston, Lucan Hedges, Na-Kel Smith, Olan Pranatt and others

Recommended? With reservations.

I wandered into Mid90s out of sheer curiosity. This coming-of-age tale was written and directed by Oscar nominee Jonah Hill, the onetime chubby comic relief in a number of comedies like SuperBad, Get Him To the Greek, This Is The End and Forgetting Sarah Marshall -- movies that I lowkey enjoyed -- who has since repositioned himself as a serious actor in Moneyball, The Wolf of Wall Street, and the Netflix stumper Maniac with a sleeker physique. Mid90s is his attempt at a cinema bildungsroman, but while he's wrangled some strong performances out of his young actors, the results are mixed.

Shot almost documentary style, Mid90s centers on diminutive 13-year-old Stevie (an astonishing Sunny Suljic), a middle schooler growing up in LA with a single mother (Katherine Waterston) and an emotionally stunted older brother (Lucas Hedges) who frequently beats and abuses him. Desperate to come out from under his brother's thumb, while simultaneously studying everything bout him, and grow up fast, Stevie insinuates himself into a group of teen skateboard enthusiasts at the local skate shop.

Spending hours on their skateboards perfecting tricks, often in prohibited enclaves of the city, and listening to hip-hop, these boys are seeking to escape whatever they feel is oppressing them (poverty, familial abuse, parental expectations, or neglect). This new crew gives Stevie -- dubbed Sunburn by the others -- a sense of family and belonging he doesn't get from his distracted mother and repressed older brother. Except that, other than dreadlocked ringleader and skateshop proprietor Ray (Na-Kel Smith), the rest of this crew are clueless, questing kids who engage in raunchy debates, give each other bad advice, and drink and drug at escalating rates. Ray's best friend and the charismatic center of the film is a character called Fuckshit (Olan Prenatt), so named for his favorite expletive, a blonde-ringleted slacker whom Stevie admires as being the ultimate in "cool." There's also Stevie's friend-turned-foe Ruben (Gio Galicia) and the laconic Fourth Grade (Ryder McLoughlin), named for his intellectual level, who dreams of being a filmmaker and carries his camera everywhere.

Stevie is ready to put himself out there, prove himself any way he can, and he's willing to risk life and limb to do it. Already the brunt of his brother's violence, Stevie cracks his head open falling off a rooftop in a skateboarding dare, a move that gains him the admiration of the crew, and privately engages in self-harm to toughen himself further. "You take the hardest hits of anyone I know," muses Ray toward the film's conclusion. "You know you don't have to do that, right?"

The film showers affection on the era before computers riveted teen culture: skateboards, party hip-hop, oversized jeans, and the kind of aimless angst that made "Smells Like Teen Spirit" a breakout hit for Curt Cobain and crew. Mixed by race and ethnic origin, the group likes to freely throw around the n-word. For a film about the mid 1990s, key scenes are driven by music outside of that era, as in a sequence as the crew skates down the median of a busy thoroughfare to strains of the Mamas & the Papas' "Dedicated To The One I Love" from 1967 and Herbie Hancock's version of "Watermelon Man" from 1974. Trent Reznor contributed original music, and there are a number of other 90s hip-hop tracks quoted.

The film casts a reminiscent glow on Stevie's pubescent milestones, like his first cigarette, first drink, first sexual encounter, and first drug experience. Viewing this as an adult who came of age two decades earlier, I had significant trouble watching the child-sized Suljic in a sexual encounter at a party with a girl who looked to be way over 16, ingesting drugs freely handed to him by Fuckshit while Ray merely shakes his head, and climbing into a car driven by an obviously too-high Fuckshit with predictable results. (My inner thoughts: This has got to be illegal, this is child abuse, where is this actor's mother, etc.)

The movie tries to tie everything up with a bow. Stevie's mother Dabney, alarmed by Stevie's behavior and this new group of friends, at first tries to prohibit her son from associating with them, but Stevie rebels and resists. Mom finally relents once she sees how devoted they are as Stevie lands in the hospital. Stevie's brother attempts a form of reconciliation with his sibling. And the mostly wordless Fourth Grade finally shares the video documentary he's been working on, appropriately titled "Mid90s."

Watching this I was reminded that every generation thinks its teen years were deeply poignant, significant, and unique. I certainly have felt that way about my own experience, but watching Mid90s, with which I couldn't really relate, I realized that it's a universally human conceit. But Mid90s did show me -- who grew up in a household of females -- how often boys are conditioned to masculinity through the idea that they must cultivate their ability to not only survive physical challenges and violence, but to seek them out.

Not bad for a first effort, but Hill should turn his directorial vision outward for his next project.