RadioLab

Radiolab, from WNYC, has the subtitle "Curiosity on a Bender". I discovered it from listening to This American Life, and it's really, really wonderful. It takes a general idea and then investigates it. Or, as they put it:

"Radiolab believes your ears are a portal to another world. Where sound illuminates ideas, and the boundaries blur between science, philosophy, and human experience. Big questions are investigated, tinkered with, and encouraged to grow. Bring your curiosity, and we'll feed it with possibility."

So far, I've listened to the "Numbers" podcast, which explores how we learn numbers and the human construction of math. Fascinating.

And now, I'm listening to "Placebo", which explores just that, placebos, and then moves into how we feel and experience pain. And, as one of the hosts said "that's when my mind blew out of my face".
I'm only twenty minutes in, and they've already talked about the effectiveness of placebos in things as difficult to treat as Parkinson's, and then on to how the narrative that we construct around a moment of pain or injury can actually effect how we experience that pain. They talk about a doctor during WWI, who found that soldiers injured had less pain and asked for less morphine than people suffering the same injury at home - precisely because the soldier sees being hit in a positive way - awards, honor, glory, survival, and possibly being sent home - while the person shot in his store, for instance, sees it as loss of income, difficulty, pain...and therefore asks for more morphine. Mind-blowing!

There's so much more in that one, and both of them, to go into, but they're just two of the many. So excellent.

! Really, just !!

Smackdown '09

The Supporting Actress Smackdown for this year's Oscar nominees is up. Yours truly participating. Check it out!

Children are Bored on Sunday

I podcast in my car, and it kind of makes up for the loss of subway reading time now that I'm in LA. I have a few faves, and two short story podcasts. This is kind of funny to me, since I don't really love reading short stories. But I really love hearing them read.

If you have an extra 36:44, then take a listen to Jean Stafford's story "Children are Bored on Sunday", which touched me deeply last night when I was listening to it. Hilton Als, the New Yorker theater critic, picked it to discuss on the New Yorker fiction podcast, a monthly series where a writer chooses a story from the magazine's archive and reads it, then discusses the story and the writer. There have been some great ones. I even like the title of this episode, "Invalid Souls", which can play on either pronunciation of invalid, which that word always does. The story was first published in 1948, and I'm surprised how deeply it hit me. You can also read it in the online archive if you subscribe, but it's wonderful listening.

The action is a woman looking at art while avoiding a man she sees, but it's really about her mental state, her drinking, her collapse, and her fragility. I guess since I love the Met, where it's set, and Stafford beautifully catches these moments and the action of her mind drifting from where it should be. Also an incredible picture of mid-century New York intellectuals and what it must have felt like in that demi-monde. There's a great description of never-ending cocktail parties which weren't work, but weren't for fun, either. There was great competition, and conversation about art and ideas, people creating themselves and judging others. It's fascinating. Something about the way she was thinking really got to me. It's a beautiful story. It makes me want to read more of her stuff.

Hats

I've been wanting to write, but I've just been a mite busy. I'm assistant directing a production of Side by Side by Sondheim, which has been a great learning experience. So every workday but Friday I get up, go to work, go to rehearsal, and go home to bed. And there's rehearsal on weekends as well. So, needless to say, a few things have fallen by the wayside, writing being one of them. And cleaning my apartment. And laundry.

But I have not missed a day on my promise to write on War and Peace a chapter a day, though I have to say when I get home at 10:30 I'm not so keen on reading about a war on Napolean and blogging on it. But I am doing it. If I managed during surgery, I'm not about to stop now. And I'm not kvetching - it's enjoyable and a nice wind-down. Certainly a whole 'nother world

Anyhow, now I'm keying up to make a couple of hats. I suggested that we have a couple of large hats for the women to wear while "Beautiful Girls" from Follies is playing. And then I said "I'll make them!". Huh. So I'm skipping from rehearsals this weekend and shopping for hat supplies. I sketched them and the look something like this:



Each of the little squares will be a poster for a Sondheim show - one will have spikes coming from a large glittery white orb. I was thinking the other should be on a pagoda, but now I'm going to see if I can perhaps get a small, portable lamp and do a couple of lamp shades, and then cards will hang on fishing line from the wires. Then just spray it all in translucent glitter. Comedy. There will be pieces of fabric attached to rhinestone (if we can afford it) cuffs that will easily clip on and off the wrist. And, of course, a chin strap.

I do love a great, big hat.

For All You Writers Out There

Elizabeth posted a link to Magpie Tales, who posts a photo to prompt fiction/poems, etc. Each Friday there will be a photo, and each Tuesday you link to this link site with your piece.

Sounds like it could be fun? If it does, then link away!

Oh!Oh!Oh!

A short paean to the weather. I took a couple of cell phone pictures at work (above), which do nothing to describe the spectacular weather this morning.

LA is stunning after a rain. At least this part of LA - near the hills and the break between valley and valley. Yesterday, as it started to clear, we had three rainbows over the hill behind the lot, and the valley around had specials coming through the clouds. One building would be lit up as if glowing from inside, while next to it would be shadow. It really looked like Hollywood, as if some lighting man might step up and adjust the beam, and the whole picture would shift.

Today, it was unusually brisk as well, so it was clear, and crisp. I love these days. The Hollywood hills are a vibrant green, and the clear air makes the hills and grass look so voluptuous you want to reach out and touch them. Houses are tucked in between the trees, feeling cozy. The light is a bruise of gray with piercing sun, clouds are floating like stretched cotton on a blue, blue watercolor. Everything looks so close up it’s hard to judge distance.

Behind the studio, the hill dazzles, light changing seemingly by the moments as the clouds rush by heading west. There is a little tree that stands at the top, or that's what I think it is. When the hillside burned a couple of years ago, and transformers popped and exploded, the next day a lone tree was still on the top of the hill. It's always looked to me like a pig on a stick, so I call it the pig tree. I guess I could climb up there one day to see it up close, but I'm sure it would transform.

I am a mountain person. I love them. Take your oceans – they’re nice to visit, but from the Green Mountains in Vermont to the Hollywood Hills, I love the plush covered crags and the solidity. And it breaks up the eye. I lived on the plains until I was 12, endless corn and sky that seemed to stop at the end of every field. Mountains let me know how big everything is, but don’t overwhelm me with the impossible infinity of seas. I feel protected by mountains. Always have.

Then you look at the Valley. The mountains in front are desert hills; rocky, craggy, with bits of brush and brown as sand. Behind them, all the peaks are covered in snow, and since the snow level was down to 500 feet the whole mountain is dusted. Majestic. Your face feels just this side of numb, to remind you that you’re human, warm inside, and able to sense the elements with thermometer-like sensitivity. Outside and in your body.

365 degrees and scenes from desert to snow to tropical. It’s on these days I am ecstatic to live here. I used to hate pineapple. I had only ever had canned, so I thought it was nasty - syrupy and strange-tasting. Then my parents went to Hawaii and brought back a fresh pineapple. It was so sweet that I couldn’t believe I had ever mistrusted its gifts. And now, I can eat canned pineapple, since I know the platonic ideal of pineapple. It makes the other stuff more palatable. That’s the way I feel about LA – I know it will be brown and hot, possibly soon, and some days I won’t even see the mountains. But I’ve seen the platonic ideal, I know what’s hiding there. I want to tug on everyone’s sleeve on days like today and say “oh!oh!oh! Look at how beautiful it is! Today! Don’t miss it!”

On days like this it’s hard for me to feel anything but glee. I sit in my car and applaud.

Surgery, part deux

So, I'm still going to write about it at some point. I'm thinking it might be too early to head back to work tomorrow. I haven't tried to drive. I think I pushed it a bit yesterday. I developed a bruise, which I hear is normal, but it freaked me out. Really not loving abdominal pain, I have to say.

So today I sat home after a friend took me to buy fresh veggies at the farmer's market, took a nap, watched Antiques Roadshow, and six episodes of 30 Rock that I needed to catch up on. The other day I watched Reefer Madness, the musical (okay, not great), and Bernstein's Trouble in Tahiti from the BBC about a difficult marriage.

I have to say, when you're couch-bound, the serious stuff isn't the best to watch. A friend was going to see Fish Tank, which is supposed to be great, but I just didn't think I could stomach it - no pun intended. Tanya picked me up and brought me over ther for chili and tea, and to chat during the second half of the Super Bowl. So glad they live close, and really grateful to have such wonderful friends, cuz I can get a little stir crazy.

But I did read my chapter each day - so I've done 13 so far. Only 352 to go!

Peter and the Wolf

While I was writing today's entry for A Year of War and Peace I thought for an instant that the name of the cat in "Peter and the Wolf" is Sonya. It's not--it's the name of the duck.

But that reminded me of this really special Oscar-winning short of "Peter and the Wolf". If you haven't seen it, do yourself a favor and watch.


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The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks

This book looks fascinating - the first paragraph from this Times article:

Fifty years after Henrietta Lacks died of cervical cancer in the “colored” ward at Johns Hopkins Hospital, her daughter finally got a chance to see the legacy she had unknowingly left to science. A researcher in a lab at Hopkins swung open a freezer door and showed the daughter, Deborah Lacks-Pullum, thousands of vials, each holding millions of cells descended from a bit of tissue that doctors had snipped from her mother’s cervix.

The book is about the story, the incredible things that have been done with what turned out to be "immortal" cancer cells, and what rights, if any, the family has to the billions of dollars that have been made from the use of the cells.

It sounds like this is becoming more and more of an issue, and mixing in that with class, race, and the last 50 years in the US, this looks like it could be an amazing book.

Fondue!

Elizabeth over at a moon, worn as if it had been a shell is giving away a cast iron Rachel Ray fondue pot.

You do not fondue Rachel Ray, she is the celebrity spokesperson.

My favorite fondue memory, aside from the sweet taste of the meat when I was a kid (ah, the 70's), was going to see Aida in the park for one of the Met's free concert. The woman who organized said she'd bring a little something, and brought a fondue pot with fruit and chocolate and a sterno. Wow. So we ate dessert fondue while watching Sharon Sweet in Aida. Pretty great.

So go visit over there and leave a comment to enter. And if you haven't visited, check out a really great blog while you're at it!

Tarot

I have a little link to a tarot card in my facebook, and here was what it said today:

Not the right time to be alone. Seek out others and be social. More interaction with world and loved ones is needed. Fill your social calendar. Need to get out and have fun. Good time to seek out relationships. Reconnection with others possible now. Find the light inside and share it with the world. Bring your talents into focus and allow others to see them. Stop being so serious and live a little.

Italics mine.

Sometimes, just good to be reminded. It's probably all hoo-ey, especially since it's electronic, but nice to be reminded that being can be light, and worn lightly.

Now, to read more Russians. Hee.

Last Station and a new direction

I went to see The Last Station with a friend yesterday and loved it. It's thoughtful, romantic, and grounded with some great performances, mostly, as noted already everywhere, Helen Mirren. It's rare to get such a sweeping romance with an underpinning of great themes and creeping revolution. Christopher Plummer was wonderful as well, and so too was Paul Giamatti and James McEvoy (who is basically adorable - there, I've said it - shallow, I know, but true). I don't know who Kerry Condon is, but great job as well. And I am a sucker for birch trees and beautiful forest scenes. I really was tense at one point about what was going to happen, so much so my palms were sweating. Avatar, I was a little nervous. This one, waiting to know if Tolstoy was really going to sign away the rights to his life's work and go against the wishes of his wife - pulse quickening.

Anyhow, aside from the majority of Anna Karenina, which I read in high school and then wrote a paper on (I had a habit of picking books and then writing on characters who die half-way through, or themes I could pick up and extrapolate - what a slacker), I haven't read a lot of Tolstoy. In September, I met a man at a retreat who was a Sufi and also taught Tolstoy. He loves War and Peace, and said teaching it actually makes him cry. That's quite a recommendation. And I've heard about the beauty and majesty of this book before.

So seeing The Last Station, I thought maybe I could read it. Then I had the idea of reading it and blogging about it at the same time. Then I looked at a version online and saw that it has many chapters. In fact, after looking at an online version, it's 15 books and 2 epilogues (although the wikipedia entry says it's 4 books and two epilogues), divided into 365 chapters. 365. One for each day of the year. Accident? I think not.

I looked around, and found several blogs where people were planning on doing this--

Reading war and peace, where a woman blogs about a trip around the world with her husband and two young sons. It was started in 2003, ended in 2005, and all I could find about the book was one of the last entries "Someone asked me just recently if it was worth the effort and I would certainly say it was. My only criticism would be that there were too many battles in it." So, not really a simultaneous blog kind of thing.

Then there is war and peace project, which is a good name, but sadly an anemic blog. Only three entries, the last one being in 2008, about chapters 1 -3.

Then there's the simple war and peace, by the promisingly named blogger "Anastasia" which will be about her feelings, tortured or otherwise (her words), started in 2000. There are no entries.

I also stumbled across reading Middlemarch, which is something I've always wanted to do as well. It looks like an online book group, and they read War and Peace as well. Interesting idea, online bookgroup, but reading is so solitary already. I guess it's a step in connecting about it, and views from people all over. I still need to read Middlemarch. And the rest of Magic Mountain, which I loved, and then got mired down during one of Settembrini's speeches about the meaning of life. In 1999.

So I entertained a bunch of names, including "war and peace 365", which sounds too much like a hip bistro, or "reading war and peace 365", which is clumsy, and I finally settled on "a year of war and peace", but sadly, it's registered, but doesn't show as a blog (!). So, the blog will be titled "A Year of War and Peace" even though it's really http://yearofwarandpeace.blogspot.com/. I'm looking for the Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky translation since everyone flipped for their "Brothers Karamazov", speaking of other books I've started on not finished.

Before you get all finger-pointy, it's long. Really long. And remember it was serialized in the 19th century. And there was no television. And long nights. Especially in Russia.

So, I'm not sure when I'll officially start (I have surgery on the 4th of February, so I may start after that), but check back. I'll post over here once I do, for the ones of you reading here. I suppose, in solidarity with Tolstoy's views, I can look upon this as a spiritual practice. At least a practice that I will do every day. Didn't work with meditation, but hey, one can dream.

And for all you that read the blog, maybe you'll be able to feel like you've read it, or be interested in picking it up yourself. More conversation is more good.

Onward!

Or, Вперед, as the Russian translation engine on the web tells me.

Now, to buy the book....

Famous Blue Raincoat

This song just came up when I was resynching my iTunes. My late friend Lisa used to listen to Jennifer Warnes album "Famous Blue Raincoat" over and over. Right before we moved in together, in 1988, she said she had it on the turntable for 6 months straight.

Remember turntables?

Everyone thought we looked like brother and sister - similar coloring. We lost touch, but talked every few years, and then she moved back to Albuquerque and passed away from a freak illness. I'm blessed to have known her.

I can't hear this song, or any of Jennifer Warnes versions of Leonard Cohen (so almost any of his songs), without thinking of her.

Not maudlin feeling, but just remembering. I have no idea what the song's about, which is why it's so intriguing. It's the taste of story on your tongue, but you can't fully name it. It's probably about Dylan or something, since it seems like all the songs of this period are about him or Mick Jagger. Whatever it's about, it's a beautiful song. And I'm posting in memory of a beautiful woman. Very missed.

Thoughts on NINE

**{SPOLIER ALERT}**

If you haven't seen it, skip the below, unless you love reading things like this before you see movies. If not, then skip it!

This is probably the most incendiary I've been, and I know I shouldn't apologize for not being nice, but I hope this doesn't come across as only snarky. There's a reason for all of it.

I'm writing a little about NINE, which I'm sure some people enjoyed, but to me was the most disappointing movie of the last decade. I'm sure that has to do a bit with my expectations, being a fan of the musical for over two decades, and also of 8 1/2. But even though I tried to scrub that from my brain and be open to a new experience, the movie that was made did nothing interesting or original, and only managed to pale in comparison to any of the pieces it might be compared to. There are many. And on any measure it fails. I know the filmmakers didn't want it compared to the originals, but since it's not succeeding as a piece on its own either, I'm going to compare away.

NINE is based on the Fellini movie 8 1/2. 8 1/2 concerns a director, Guido Contini, and his difficulty in figuring out what his next movie will be. The movie was Fellini's ninth, so 8 1/2 refers to his feeling of it being half a movie. There are the women, the critics, the church, sexuality, self-doubt. Nine, the musical, positions Contini's struggle to make a movie against the background of his philandering and refusal to grow up. From what I can see, Rob Marshall took out any of the songs that give the musical heart, and replaced everything with flash. Seemingly mis-understanding the theme of the musical, and scared to make one, he just made a boring film recycyling what he did in Chicago. And that's what makes me angry/annoyed. There are some amazing talents on the screen. They do the best they can do, but with a misguided director more interested in surface than telling story, they were sunk. I'm just going to break this down in headings, since I can't really figure out any other way to do this.

It's a musical, so let it be a musical

Marshall's modus operandi seems to be directing "unfilmable musicals" like Chicago (if one can generalize from one film). Yes, he came up with a gimmick for Chicago - a narcissist who struggles with reality and escapes into fantasy musical numbers in her head. This worked for Chicago, along with strong, heavily borrowed choreography from Fosse, and a design aesthetic from the revival. It doesn't work for NINE. It comes of as false and gimmicky. Unlike the vaudeville numbers in Chicago, NINE's numbers are actual musical pieces that move along the action and contain the real emotion of the piece. Stinkylulu pointed out when we saw it that each person's number in the first act, when it's fun for everyone, is matched by a second number in the second act when Guido's world he's juggling is falling apart. Marshall took out several of those songs, most notably "Be On Your Own", where Luisa leaves Guido (Go find some restaurant attendant/go show her how independent/you have grown; go off and live your petty fictions/full of blatant contradictions/you can't see); "Simple", where both Carla and Claudia say goodbye (Simple are the ways we come apart/simple are the ways of love...simple enough for anyone to understand/but you); and "Getting Tall", where young Guido tells older Guido that he has to grow up (Knowing you'll have no one/ if you try to have them all...is part of getting tall). I don't begrudge him for taking them out, or at least I wouldn't have if he would have replaced them with anything besides a strip tease number from Luisa. This takes away her power and agency, and frankly, doesn't work. Cottilard is fantastic, but the number is intercut with her leaving him and telling him she can never forgive him. Both the speech and the song lose their power. I saw a Q & A with Marshall, who said he didn't think people would "buy" a standard musical so he had to figure out a way to make it believable. What he did was stifle all the songs by putting them on a soundstage, take away the imagination of the director by restricting it to one location, and cut any song that seemed a problem. I mean, in the original movie Marcello Mastraonni is wearing a sheet holding a whip and a chair "taming" all the women in his life. And you think people can't take singing? High School Musical just made billions and Glee won a golden globe for best new show. Really? If you don't want to make a musical don't make one, but don't f-ing apologize for it the entire time if you do.

Marshall isn't an auteur

This is presumptuous, but I think from what I've seen so far, it's true. Even though the musical NINE is an adaptation of movie, as a musical it's a pretty straightforward story. 8 1/2 isn't. Neither is Stardust Memories, or All That Jazz, two other movies about directors and their relationships with women, the latter a musical. Or, I would argue, another version of the director looking over his creation movies this year, Broken Embraces. Almodovar also has Bad Education, which might fit here as well. What these four directors have in common, though, is that their first impulse is film/creation. Fellini, Almodovar, Fosse, Allen all seem to work out their problems in their work. Fellini is brilliant that way. He lets his imagination have free range. He uses the camera like a telecsope, a microscope and a scalpel on himself, as well as a paintbrush and a hammer. Fosse does as well - All That Jazz is merciless.Stardust Memories I have in my head having seen it recently, and Allen references other directors and himself constantly. At the end of the film you're unsure if it's a send up of other directors, himself, or a fuck-you to the audience. What is clear, though, is that he is challenging himself formally to find something new in how he tells a story and indeed why he does. He's working it out in front of us. Nothing in NINE matches the 1:30 of quick cuts of Charlotte Rampling staring directly into the camera saying the same things in different ways. All That Jazz, which NINE has most often been compared to, is an act of a man judging himself and figuring out who he is and what his life has been. It's a mind-blowing movie, and Fosse brings all his talents to bear on it. He's merciless. And yes, there are musical numbers, which sometimes are part of the action, sometimes commenting. No one breaks into song (perhaps excepting "Everything Old is New Again"), but each song is part of the action, and nothing feels extraneous. When I was thinking about this, I figured that Almodovar is doing the same thing a bit in Broken Embraces, perhaps not working as obviously, but telling the tale of a blind director attempting to forget a lost love. It's convoluted, but within it Almodovar manages to re-film portions of Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown with actors who were in the original. It's self-referential, of course, but you get the sense he's playing with the audience and our knowledge of his ouevre. With the last line, though, "The thing about a film is that you have to finish it", one wonders if he was just trying to find his way to the end of this movie and put whatever he had out there. Similarly, in Bad Education, the director within the film works in a style close to Almodovar and attempts to reconcile his past and his current work. Although some of it feels like a guessing game with him (what's true, what's not?), what's becoming clear is that any issue or emotional struggle he's having he works it out with a camera. Similar to Isherwood, he writes characters who are quite close to him, yet we're unsure what he's brought to bear from his own life and what's fictional. My point is that all the above me work out their issues in their art. The films are immediate, unsettling, entertaining, at times embarassing. And this is why they're brilliant. Why people love them. Marshall? Not taking any chances. Not working anything out. Seemingly more interested in how to make money in this genre than working anything out on film. Without that struggle, or at least the fearless spirit to try something new and out there, the story falls flat. What makes the films above work is that the filmmakers are auteurs with a point of view. I don't know that Marshall was doing anything but adapting and worrying about people seeing a musical. And that everything is as pretty as possible.
Speaking of that, where are any interesting faces? If you're going to do away with the all women gimmick of the musical, which makes it kind of wild and fascinating, then have something that reminds us of Fellini's fascination with interesting people. Or at least have fascination with something besides beauty. Was that Contini's point in this? Who he is as a filmmaker? I'm not sure they know who he is. He certainly is trying to figure that out in the film, but without using the actual medium of film to do it, the directors lost the major tool with which to make their point.

And what was that point? We're supposed to be happy that Contini can make a film again though he seems unable to have any personal relationship of any meaning? It seems a hollow story to tell. And better told and more poignant Sunday in the Park with George, if that's what they were trying to do. At least in that he's aware of what he's losing and how he can't connect and why.

I've said this before, but I had a professor say the difference between tragedy and pathos is that in a tragedy the person sees what's about to happen and is powerless to stop it. In this version, Marshall et al made Guido pathetic.

Casting

All of these people are game. I can't fault Daniel Day-Lewis. He's a great actor and he creates a character. Sadly, I can't see why any of these women would be obsessed with him. There's no spark. No warmth. He looks like a week away from rehab. And I really do like him as an actor. I just didn't get it. "Guido's Song" usually has some glee and excitement in it. Here it's all torture.

Cotillard is fantastic, but she's 15 or 20 years to young for it. We're supposed to believe that they have a long-standing relationship? First, they made him ten years older than the musical (50 instead of 40), and then cast someone who is so young they never could have shared a life together. She's great, but compare this to Roy Scheider and Leland Palmer's relationship in All That Jazz. No comparison. They were two equals who had grown up together, and knew each other's tricks. Luisa should be that for Guido. She sees him and know who he is. It gives the piece emotional depth. Why do we care if it feels like they've been married for three years and she's another starlet he married? She's brilliant at the end, but the number, as I mentioned above, feels chopped. She's great in "My Husband Makes Movies", but still didn't like the gimmick.

Hudson was good - I actually thought she did a great job, but what's this role? I thought if there was a point of view of this director and this whole piece, this character is what showed it. The whole song is about surface and clothes, and I think it's what Marshall was more interested in than the story. In the musical, Stephanie Necrophorous is critical of Contini (the trouble with Contini/He's the king of mediocrities/ a second-rate director who believes that he is Socrates....a typical Italian with his auto and biography/ a mixture of Catholocism, pasta and pornography... a superficial, womanizing, moderately charming Latin fraud....thanks to him we have boredom at the movies) to say the least. The song is intercut with Folies Bergeres. What do we have instead? Surprise! A woman who wants to have sex with him and loves Italian fashion. There are a few lines about Contini's flops in the movie, but no one is critical in a way that feels threatening, that would have brought on the crisis he's having. Especially not another woman who sees through it. Hudson was good, but it's emblematic of the miss on this.

Penelope Cruz was great--funny, sad, ridiculous in the right measure. I wish that she would have been matched by DDL. I know it's not fair to compare to the original, but just watch Sandra Milo and Marcello Mastroanni. It's brilliant. And how great would it have been, like the musical, to give Cruz a song like "Simple" to say goodbye to him? I really do love her, and she's totally game. Watch this at 7:48 for the original:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Y5q3MFwctw

Judi Dench - great, and her number is great, but annoyingly edited, like most of the numbers. Sudden changes in the frame that are jarring. Her character is Guido's confidante, but the number feels shoe-horned, no matter how much they explain she learned her trade in Paris. It feels contrived. She's great, as always.

Nicole Kidman - I liked her. What she comes in and does is a little too easy. The relationship is unclear, and it would've been nice to see more of her. Not a singer, but done no favors by that editing job. During the most emotional moment of the song, she's being shot full body from the back in a long shot, and there's a cut right at the end to head and shoulders in profile. What? Is it possible to have a tin ear and a tin heart?

Fergie - sounds great, but why the bentwood chairs - just reminded me of Cabaret. Like the sand, but why not on the beach. And why cut "Ti Voglio Bene"? It would have been great to establish character. Another thing of being fine if you change something, but please make it better or at least as good. And give her something to do besides glower. Edited within an inch of its life, again.

I felt overall that I wanted him to create something new, and what happened instead was a pale version of both the musical and the film, so all I could do was compare. The story was uninteresting, and it felt airless overall. Sad, really. It's based on a couple of pieces I really, really love. To be fair, it's a hard musical to pull off, but he didn't do any favors by seemingly missing the point. I would have loved to see someone who had a real point of view that's not about "beauty sexy", which just gets boring. I'm officially over that in all forms.

I'm sure Rob Marshall's a nice guy, but really, really dropped the ball on this one. If I could've picked something that took some chances and made no money, or something that felt this lifeless and pandering than made no money, I would've chosen the former. Sounds harsh, but I could just feel the fear in this movie. The fear of offending or the need to please. I mean, if you're making a film you're looking to please on some level, but you're still looking for the best way to tell that story, right? Makes me appreciate All That Jazz even more.

I just keep coming back to the only way to tell this story on film is to have the filmmaker making it really working through something. Or someone adept at faking that. That's how it would work.

I so, so wanted to like this film. I think this is the biggest disappointment I've had film-wise in about ten years.

Well, maybe somebody will tackle it again. I'm not holding my breath.

And by way of apology, it's not the most awful movie ever made. I'm sure the above is a result of my expectations. There were parts I enjoyed, and individual people--I don't think it's possible for me to hate Cruz, Cotillard, Dench, and company. I just didn't expect flat. A woman I met who liked it said "well, I just like musicals." I said "Well, I do, too, I love them, actually, and that has nothing to do with my not liking this." And I have no problem with glitzy and fun. It's just upsetting to see something with depth have the depth removed, and to no worthwhile effect. IMHO.

Saw it twice by the way.

Okay, now that that's done, I can move on.

Swish

I just finished one of the books I wrote about on my book list a few posts ago - Swish, by Joel Derfner. The subtitle is "My quest to become the gayest person ever and what ended up happening instead." And that, suprisingly, is what happens and gives the book depth.

Derfner, a musical theater composer, Harvard grad (as he reminds you), and too smart for his own good, has a great voice. I'm impressed with his ability to tell on himself; he's at times dangerously close to unlikeable. His honesty, though, and his great sense of humour, endear him to you. Or to me at least. He's human. Funny, smart, self-hating and self-aggrandizing in the same breath, he'd make a great friend.

What this collection shows more of, though, is his bravery and compassion. The essays are funny (I found myself laughing out loud a few times), and thought-provoking. The premise is that every time he does something that's super-gay, e.g. knitting, teaching aerobics, go-go dancing, casual sex, going to a gay camp, writing musical theater, he ends writing about something else, like his mother's death, his need to fit in, his anxiety and obsessive compulsive disorder, mental illness, why he makes art, body issues, his relationship with his partner, and more. The honesty of his writing manages to skirt the traps of facile quips and maudlin self-searching, resulting in humorous, honest, heartfelt and intelligent stories. And funny.

I was most struck by the longest, last story, in which he visits an ex-gay conference. It's probably some of the best writing I've read on it, giving both sides of the story, and leaving all intact with their humanity. He is honest about his own anger and confusion, as well as the true deep connections he feels with some of the men who are struggling with their sexuality. He's very smart about his own feelings, and how complicated the issue is, ultimately being able to love the people while acknowledging they may never agree. The man aren't cartoons, and he tells their sides exactly as they would, working out his own religious beliefs and feelings about his sexuality as well. It's sad that the majority (if not all) of the ex-gays seem like they will always be struggling, but Derfner evolves to the place where he is not condesceding or juding, and brings us along step by step on that journey.

Elton John is blurbed on the front of the book quoted that this is the best book about being gay he has ever read, and more than that it's a book about being human. I would concur in saying that the book (and the author's) heart is enormous, and through this search and its unexpected emotional journeys there is a great deal of compassion and humanity to be experienced.

Loved it.

Station Identification

I've really wanted to blog, but I've just been a busy bee lately, frankly.

I need to find the time to do this regularly, and I'm figuring out exactly what my point is here and what I'm communicating.

So, I'm pausing for a moment for station identification. I'll be back in a short bit, I'm sure....not like I don't have many ideas.

Reading List 2010

I was blessed with a bunch of books for Christmas, in addition to 3 gift cards for bookstores, so I'm happy about all the books I have to read. So, though, I'm not making a to-do list for 2010 (post below), here's my to-read list, in no particular order:

Illustrated Genesis by R. Crumb. This was a gift I was happy to get, as I had looked at it and was compelled, but unsure if I ever would have bought it for myself. I love gifts like that.

Swish: My quest to become the gayest person ever by Joel Derfner. I saw this on a table and it looked like it might be diverting. Or hilarious. Or both.

Born Round: The secret history of a full-time eater by Frank Bruni. This is by the NYT food critic and journalist. He talks about being heavy his whole life, body issues, gayness, etc. And the blurbs on the back are by Anne LaMott, Augusten Burroughs, Elizabeth Gilbert, and several others that read like a memoir who's who. So I figure hopefully that means it's written well.

Changing My Mind: Occasional Essays by Zadie Smith. Another gift that I don't know if it would have been on my radar. But I loved On Beauty very much, and I love essays, so this is a perfect fit. In fact since the New Yorker is about the only thing I read on any steady diet, you could say it's becoming my favorite genre. Very excited to read this one.

Motherless Brooklyn by Jonathan Lethem. This won the National Book Award, so I'm hoping that's an indication, though it's not always. I love NY tales, though not a huge detective freak. I just love this title, though. It's such a great title it makes me want to read it.

Sugarless by James MacGruder. I didn't know about this one, but one of my oldest and dearest gave me this since we did speech in high school together and that's the background for the book. Looks like a romp, and the idea makes me laugh.

Losing Mum & Pup by Christopher Buckley. My boss loaned me this. It's about losing both his parents in the same year. Can't say I'm a Buckley fan, and it seems WASP-y, but looks like it could be good. So far I'm not as engaged as I was with Joan Didion's, but any look at this subject I think is difficult and commendable. Don't know that I'd have the courage.

When You are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris - I got this a while ago and have been picking my way through it. I like his voice. Not in first gear with it, but fun to pick up.

High on Arrival by Mackenzie Phillips. A colleague at work gave me this who loved it. It's lurid at points, and harrowing. I'm amazed she can even write with all the stuff she's gone through. There's been so much chatter about it it's nice to read and form my own opinion.

Dishwasher: One man's quest to wash dishes in all fifty states by Pete Jordan. I've started it but not particularly hooked. It's kind of a "how I became a slacker" memoir, but also someone who grew up in tough circumstances and turned that in to a not-so-typical way of life. He's a good writer, so I'll be interested to see what he comes to on the journey.

Waiter Rant: Thanks for the tip--Confessions of a cynical waiter by Steve Dublanica. Just what it sounds like. I've heard about this, and a friend gave it to me after he read it and said it was enjoyable. I've waited tables, so needless to say I'm sure I'll laugh.

Whew. That's a lot, it looks like. Well, nice to have some stuff on the docket. Above's what's first in my conciousness, but I'm sure something else will pop in. I'm a bit of an omnivore with books. I'm really hoping to read Mansfield Park as well this year. That and Motherless Brooklyn are the only two fiction pieces, except a collection by Lydia Davis, Varieties of Disturbance, that I've read about half of that I like. Speaking of, I saw her novel (meta-novel) The End of the Story at the store the other day, and that looks good, too. I guess there's always more....

2010

I just read over at Elizabeth's blog that not only is it a full moon, but it's a lunar eclipse and the end of the decade. I haven't sat down to write any lists this year, and wishes for the decade even, so maybe this will be a gentle version of that.

I had a huge epiphany that most of my "to do" next year lists only end up making me feel like a bit of a loser come January when I haven't exercised, written a book, cooked organically, saved the world, what have you. And it occurred to me that it's only the need to do everything perfectly that's keeping me from doing any of it. So, at the risk of sounding like a Nike commercial, if I have any wish for myself, it's to just do it and forget about the outcome. And see what happens then.

Make mistakes.

And learn from them.

That's my wish for 2010 and beyond.

Wouldn't that be fun.

So I have a list of books to read, as usual, and things to do. But overall, I'm just going to take a stab.

I hear the best time to cut your hair (according to folk wisdom) is a new moon. It grows faster that way. I'm hoping the best time for hopes is a full moon, as they're fuller that way.

I get to start mine off by making food for friends in dear friends' house with an amazing kitchen. That's a great and warm way to start the new year.

Okay, one to-do. Cook more for people I love. That's never a bad thing.

Silhouette's 2009

I used to hate script analysis. I had this teacher in undergrad who had an entire class that you had to take for the degree based on Harold Clurman’s teaching. The end of the seminar was crowned, like a Christmas tree star, or a giving birth, actually, by a 50-page paper filling in the outline of the script analysis. It was the only all-nighter I did in college. I had to find the spine, polar attitudes, yadayadayada. I think I got one of the worst grades I ever got on anything, and knew less about “Three Sisters” than when I started. I do think it’s useful—I heard a great interview with Carol Channing saying she couldn’t figure out Dolly Levi until she found the spine, so it does work, I just wasn't getting it at the time.

Flash forward another couple of years, and I’m studying with a professor, Carol Rosen, on the other side of the country. She has us look at plays from what Peter Brook calls “silhouette, or that image that stays in your mind once the play is done. That thing you experience, reading or seeing a play, that will be burned into your mind. For many, that’s something like Ophelia’s death in Hamlet—you never see it, but everyone remembers it. I think I was looking at "The Seagull", and caught on to Masha’s dancing to the sound of Constantin’s violin as she’s talking about loving him and how she’s going to “tear this love out of my heart, tear it out by the roots” while dancing to his music. I’ve never forgotten that image. It gave me a way into the play. Now, after doing that with other plays, I know “Three Sisters” pretty darn well, too. I’ll always thank her for that. It opened up how I experienced something – start with the image you won’t forget, and that’s the candle flame that will light the rest of the way for you.

I was thinking about silhouettes the other day, and thinking about what images were burned into my mind this year from movies. And, I think, I’ll expand it to theater. Here are a few, in no particular order**:


**If you haven’t seen some of these things, more than likely there are SPOILERS**

La Danse - Medea

Angelin Preljocaj coaches Delphin Moussin in a scene from Medea in Frederick Wiseman’s doc. We see her working her way into it, rehearsing with him and by herself. He coaches her in a gesture Medea makes to end the ballet, after she has killed her children. She just opens her hand as if she’s blowing away a dandelion. He says it’s not explicable, it’s ineffable, and she’ll have to know what it means and trust the audience. The moment she performs it is spine chilling. I don’t have an order to this list, but to have a moment that feels like performance and those feelings on film is rare. So thrilling.

Helen Mirren – Phedre

Great performance broadcast on screens by the National Theater. Although I kind of giggle now at all the British calling her what sounds like “fedge”, hee, the performance was astounding. The grimace on her face as she stopped what she was doing, lifted her arms, looked at herself and said “I stink of incest” was mind-boggling. Tour-de-force.

Fantastic Mr. Fox

I loved this movie. There are a few things I remember, but it felt like a gust of air entered the theatre the moment the three bandits stop on the road to talk to a wolf. The wolf’s austere silence was riveting, in marked contrast to the hi-jinks before. Even more, the movie became expansive and resonant unexpectedly, as shocking for me as if he would have walked into the theater. All at once there was doom, fear, possibility, sadness, gratitude all at one moment. I have no idea why that moment hit me that way, but it did. The scene in front of the waterfall was pretty fab, too.


Julie and Julia – Meryl Streep

Another wonderful performance by Meryl Streep, of the she who can do no wrong category (and I still kind of think that even after seeing “It’s Complicated” last night-eesh). There was so much about this perf that I loved, and I really hope she gets a deserved 3rd Oscar for it—only 2nd lead for those who are keeping score. The moment for me was at the train station, when she finally meets her friend Avis (Deborah Rush) with whom she has only corresponded. Julia walks up to Avis and simply takes her head in her hands and says “It’s you”. Streep makes this moment so beautiful, with the layers in the line from “how wonderful” to “how could it not have been” to “why has it been so long” and mostly, “of course”. It’s surprising, delightful, and rich, which is what she specializes in. That moment just got me, right…here….

Precious – Mo’Nique

Mo’Nique is surprising in this movie. Not only does she show herself extremely gifted as a serious actress in a role that could have been easily overdone, she does it in a way you’re simultaneously empathetic and disgusted. What I’ll remember is her sitting in the social worker’s office (another surprise – Mariah Carey—who knew?), giving the aria of a lifetime. To start it’s probably one of the most disturbing monologues I’ve ever seen. On top of that, she just keeps that engine running, discovering with us as the character is voicing, more than likely for the first time, what heinous ideas have forced her to ruin her life and those around her. She is a beast, but it’s the richness of the performance that she is discovering this along with us. I was gobsmacked. Truly.

Lydia – Octavio Solis

I wish more people saw this. I was floored by this play. I was emotionally brought low. Beautifully performed, including a skilled, superb performance by Stephanie Beatriz as Lydia. I won’t go into too much of the plot, but there’s a girl who’s been in an accident right before her quincinera, and her mother brings home a young illegal girl to take care of her. It’s set in El Paso in the 70’s. There’s a lot of drama, including an older brother who turns out to be gay and is gay-bashing for thrills. The tragedy in the center of the play is revealed through flashback and, um, possession, really, but I won’t ruin it for you. That aspect is like a reverse “Suddenly, Last Summer”, where the gays aren’t destroyed physically, but the act of hatred at the center causes damage to those who don’t accept the love of the two men. I don’t want to ruin it so I’m being vague-ish, but what I won’t forget is the girl downstage center, Ceci, played by Onahoua Rodriguez, writhing on her mattress through most of the action of the play. She does get up and talk, but watching her succumb again to her physical state after narrating to us is heart-breaking. It wasn’t my favorite performance in the play, but her physical work was excellent. I’m running out of superlatives here, but suffice it to say it was a pang each time she went back. Her physicality throughout the play to be basically a large spastic infant was precise, fierce and committed. I wish wish wish more people had seen it.

There may be more, but those come to mind right now. Feel free to share your year-end silhouettes and link away.

Word of the Day

I was just reading my friend Patrick's blog Man.Hat in. about the subway, vertigo, and running into people. I love his blog because it does remind me of what I loved about New York (as opposed to all the other stuff that got to me), and what I still do.

Anyhow, as I finished reading it the word flâneur popped into my head. I was thinking I liked the word vertigo and was thinking of others. I don't know that I even could tell you what it means. In fact, it conjured up pictures of copper bottom cookware, blue flames, and caramel desert. Flâneur, n., a French person who makes flan.

Actually, from the link above, you'll see that it means someone who strolls the city leisurely, aesthetically observing and enjoying. I have been a flâneur in NY and in Seattle, and now in LA. I love exploring the places I live (although in LA you drive, which is not nearly as rewarding). People seem to think I've lived places longer than I have, and it's only because I'm curious about cities I live in and their history.

There are two French verbs "to know" - connaître and savoir. One is for things you know absolutely (savoir), like a math problem; the other for things you can never know completely but be familiar with (connaître), like a person or a city. How excellent is that? You can never know completely a city. Like Steve Martin said, "Those French - they have a different word for everything!"

And Patrick, as you'll note from his blog is King Flâneur, in the best way. It says there's no English word equivalent, so we'll use the French. And I love the weird synchronicity of that word popping into my head. I am enamored of a word that desribes someone savoring the place they live, with no other aim than to enjoy it and pass that on. C'est magnifique!

Opinions

I have so many opinions.

I went to see NINE last night, and I just have so many opinions. I love 8 1/2 and I love the B'way musical, so I know I'm biased, but I still have opinions. Which I will share once it's open and guard against spoilers.

I also have opinions about Inglorious Basterds, A Serious Man, and some others. They've all been knocking on my door lately.

So has busy, busy time at work, rehearsal and opening a play. Tonight, though, I have a little free time, so perhaps I will work on getting some of them down here. I'd actually like that.

In the meantime, enjoy this



If anyone can find "La Dolce Gilda" from Saturday Night Live, I'd love to know where that lives on the web. It should. Too brilliant.

Rain

It's raining here in LA. It's so lovely when it does, and unlike anywhere else I've lived it also comes with the anticipation of lovely days following. The rain here clears all the air, smoke, smog, fog, clouds away, and usually the next day is pristine. It's then I love driving by the hills and seeing all the houses tucked in their greenery; seeing the ring of mountains looking out over Glendale from the Hyperion bridge. Everything feels at once close and expansive and so clear. I love those days.

But for today, it's this beautiful rain. The hills get very green and misty the longer it rains, and it feels like you're in Costa Rica. Last winter, they were so green it was like Ireland (but only for a moment). The grass is so vibrant, though, and it reminds me of why I love rain so much.

In honor of that (and to negate my earlier poetry rejection post when I was slightly crabby about free verse), I'm posting my favorite poem with rain in it. I heard it first in "Hannah and her Sisters", and at one point started cutting out letters to make a collage of it on my home wall in college (like the previous word wall post). That never happened. I do love the poem, though.

Here it is in the Woody Allen movie.



You can skip to 6:16, but this clip has some great stuff, including the best line (I hate April. She's pushy.) and the old Pagaent book shop which is sadly now a restaurant. It's a beautiful, gray New York. Durn, I love this movie.

Anyhow, I digress. For now, the truly luscious e.e. cummings poem:


somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, misteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

Uncommon Cabin

Pursuant to my post before last about wall decals, I was leafing through a Summer 2008 issue of Metropolitan Home at my doctor's office, and saw this picture of a Yeats poem painted on to a cosy library wallin a family cabin in Texas.



How wonderful is that?

So I thought I'd share.

Some day. ;)

Anna Deavere Smith

I was podcasting Science Friday on NPR, and they were interviewing Anna Deavere-Smith about her one-woman show at 2nd Stage called "Let Me Down Easy", which is about health care. I kind of love when you're being geeky and then something like an amazing theater artist who you truly admire surprises you. You can listen to the interview on the link.

The show, which hopefully will travel, is culled from over 300 interviews, whittled to 20 to make an evening of theater. It's great to hear her talk about her process, and also to hear a few of the characters. One of my favorites is a bull rider who talks about having emergency surgery. You can see her do him here as well by selecting Bull Rider of the four characters she does. This is an earlier story, but the same guy. If you have time, you can watch them all.

I had the pleasure of seeing her do some characters at a benefit. Some people have criticized her as mimicry, but it feels deeper than that. She has an interest in being both transformational shaping an evening of theater. She never comments on her characters while she's playing them, and though any editing will shape a piece to lead the audience to a desired experience, she's about as documentary as it gets for theater. I find her work thrilling. When I saw her, she was followed by Jessye Norman singing "Balm in Gilead" and I had to hold the railing of the church balcony in front of me to not completely break down. It's transformational work for the audience as well. Here website links to a site under construction called "arts and civil dialogue". I think that's it.

And she's in Nurse Jackie and teaches at NYU. I love how she can do all of that.

I hope we get a chance to see her out here.

Dali Decals

I'm loving this site. I do not have these immaculate spaces augmented and clarified by graphics. But if I did, I would get some. I like the trees and shapes. I'm getting the decal above to put above my stove. Seems like a good place for it.

Play

So this show I'm in opens tomorrow night. Tonight is invited dress. It's been fun to rehearse, fun to see how this all works again. I haven't done a run of a play in about 4 years. Certainly nothing where I played a character that has to be sustained. I've forgotten how much of a fun, constant challenge it is.

On the challenging side, we've had three people with cold or flus, one who had the swine flu, one who was feeling nauseated and sick last night, one recovering from a bout in the hospital from bad diabetes medication and bacterial infection. And one cast member was fired yesterday for not being able to make the character work. So it's been quite a lot of mishegoss. Last night was the first time all the characters have been together for a run, and some of the costumes still aren't finished.

But, if memory serves from the last time, when I was working on light cues 5 hour before the show and then we had a brownout, it's par for the course. Did I mention the artistic director lives in DC, so he flies out here once a month but runs the company from 3000 miles away? It's built in for drama.

It's good to be with funny people and have a good time. It's a play.

I suggested it would be fun to have caricatures instead of headshots in the lobby, since the play was based on a Christmas card that my friend Ray sent out (Sean Abley wrote a very fun, funny play that he's directed as well). He's done them, and they're all fun. I'd love the set. Below is me. I told him I look like I have bags under my eyes, and he said no, I just have prominent underlids. HA! That made me laugh out loud. So prominent underlids and all, here's the caricature. Great job.

Beatles!

Tonight I went to see the Beatles show at the Laserium on Hollywood with some friends. It was quite a show. The nine of us made up 3/4 of the audience in this huge old movie theater. I left thinking I had visited 1985, and reminded of how great the Beatles are. They really are. You take that for granted, and then you're forced to sit in an auditorium and listen to their music for 45 minutes and you muse about how they straddled pop and experiment brilliantly. Wow.

On the way there we realized it was the Hollywood Christmas parade, so the streets were closed off and packed with people. When we left the theater, we were in time to see a giant Sam balloon from Dr. Suess, and Dog the Bounty Hunter, who was a crowd favorite. It's truly an odd parade. There were a couple of backpackers who looked like homeless teens walking past, with a black cat tied on top of the bundle. From the front it looked like the cat was balancing of her own volition, but from the back you realized she was tied down. And cats love that--being tied to things, and crowds.

I also saw the Globe's production of Love's Labor's Lost this weekend as well, but I'm hoping to write something more substantial about it. I will say it's quite a wacky show.

I woke up this morning sad that it was Sunday and that I have to go to work tomorrow, but I'm grateful for employment. And I did a lot of clearing this weekend--a friend suggested that I could put a lot of my books in the garage and clean up book clutter. That was revolutionary. My living room feels much larger. I still have a lot of books out, but there's a little more breathing space. More room to read, and more room for more books - ha.

And we're back...

SO, after a brief stomach flu and Thanksgiving, we're back.

I went to see La Danse last weekend, as promised. It's wonderful, though I wouldn't go so far as to say it's the best dance movie ever made, as some have said. If you like watching dancers rehearse, then it probably is. If not, your patience might be tried.

Me, I love watching any artistic process, from weaving to acrobatics, so I was totally into it. Frederick Wiseman followed the dancers around, concentrating mostly on rehearsal and performance of several pieces, including “Genus,” by Wayne McGregor; “Paquita,” by Pierre Lacotte; “The Nutcracker,” by Rudolph Nureyev; “Medea,” by Angelin Preljocaj; “The House of Bernarda Alba,” by Mats Ek; “Romeo and Juliet,” by Sasha Waltz; and “Orpheus and Eurydyce,” by Pina Bausch.

Wiseman follows the dancers around in every aspect of rehearsal, capturing solo time as well, especially of Delphine Moussin as she prepares to dance Medea. We watch her mark her performance, working out details painstakingly as she figures out the character. The choreographer works with her on a final moment, and we seem the discussing a particular gesture, the final gesture in the piece. Later in the film, we watch her dance the role in performance, ending in a the gesture spoken of. It doesn't strike a chord in the rehearsal, but seen in context with a fully committed performer, the moment is spine-tingling.

Also incredible are things like watching Marie Agnes Gillot in a crazy challenging pas de deux as part of this piece, Genus, By Wayne McGregor (not her, but this is the ballet--her portion was full of really close partnering, unbelievably quick isolations, and what looked to me like ballet hip-hop ending with her being lowered to the ground):



And then watching her do this insane number of pirouettes, seemingly endlessly, in Paquita (I think). Even the people watching in rehearsal stop to say how incredible she is. It's astounding to watch what they can do. Here below is the style and the dncer, but not the clip:




What's brilliant about it as well is that Wiseman explores every corner. Silent hallways, building exteriors. And, of course, the artistic director Brigitte LeFevre, who is a force of nature. We watch her talking to dancers, counseling on the phone, in marketing meetings, talking to choreographers. In one session she speaks to a choreographer about the heirarchical nature of the company, and the importance of using an "etoile" (star) in a ballet if you have them, rather than just as part of an ensemble. That, she says, would be like buying a sports car and driving it 6 miles per hour. She's riveting to watch as well.

Wiseman also films the costumers, the cafeteria workers, the janitors, the laborers, and the man who cleans the auditorium. And, without saying anything explicit, you might realize for yourself that the only people of any color are the painters, cleaners, the concierge, and the cashier in the cafeteria. The dancers are all European. As are the choreographers. It's not explicit, but it became noticeable to me, especially considering the young man vacuuming the auditorium had the same build as many of the male dancers. Wiseman shows everything--the water in the basement, and the beekeeper on the roof (what a surprise that was). It's a true documentary--documenting. No narration, no interviews, fly on the wall.

The most enjoyable thing for me to watch was the capture of that difficult work to make something good great. All the dancers in the film are great, though some are obviously better (you begin to discern that as well). The stars are stars for a reason. But it's thrilling to watch an incredibly gifted performer work to make it even better. I can't remember that ever being captured on film, or at least this well. It's wonderful when two older cantankerous dancer/coaches are arguing about what they like and what they don't, all the while coaching an exquisite dancer about what needs improvement while she's rehearsing.

These dancers are incredible athletes and artists. It's funny--I've been watching So You Think You Can Dance, which I enjoy a lot. After watching the dancers in this film, though, I can see the difference in that rigorous training and work. Not to say the SYTYCD dancers don't work hard, but what an incredible difference having a company that challenges a corps of artists to stretch every muscle and work at their best. I wish we had something like that in this country. It's truly a gem.

Weekend

So excited - off to see La Danse tonight, so I'll report back. More plumbing mishaps and my own rehearsals and business have stopped some of my writing momentum, but there's going to be much on the horizon, including A Single Man and Nine. Also, really intersted in Jews on film this year--that's accounted for a great deal of my most emotional reactions to a couple of pieces, so I hope to blog about that. As long as the plumbing holds as it's supposed to.

A note about the above--Leonid Andreyev, Russian Writer and photographer. He wrote "He Who Gets Slapped", which I was actually in in grad school (yikes on that one, really), and also developed a color process for film in the 1910s, which is why that color photo is from the early part of the century. I have always wanted that book, but I don't think it's available. Should've bought it in 1989 when we got it in the bookstore where I was working. Ah well, missed chances. Below is a portrait by Repin, who was responsible for another striking painting I blogged about earlier. I guess I have a thing about bearded Russians.

Fantastic Mr. Fox

This was quite a weekend. Friday, my toilet backed up, not from anything I did, but sewage back up from the pipes below. Saturday, the plumbers came over, and stayed for five hours.I found out that my apartment is the end of the line for the sewage system, and that all the tributaries had been blocked. The plumbers were great and conscientious, but still my kitchen and bathroom floors were covered in black sludge, and it was tracked through on the floors.

On the bright side, I was at home cleaning for five hours on Saturday, did some sorting and pitching I've been meaning to do, went to Target and got shelf paper and lysol, and went to town on everything. Today I washed my rugs, I put shelf paper on some cabinets I've been meaning to, and I've mopped my floors and treated them with antibacterial spray about 4 times. So everything is sparkling. IN the midst of the plumbers being here, I was looking for something to do and I peeled a pomegranate, putting the seeds in the refrigerator for use on yogurt, and I also pulled brussel sprouts of the stalk I had bought and sauteed them in a wok with ghee and a little salt.

From this, I found out once again I like to be busy. Again.

And I also learned that sometimes something that seems like a mishap can actually turn out to be a good thing--I have cleaner pipes, cleaner shelves, food for the week, and clean floors.

Work even did that for me--what was a week of anxiety, no sleep, soul-searching turned out to give me a new focus and vision as well as clarity on why I am where I am and if
I am interested in that moving forward. And that I needed.

I suppose I'm trying to relate this to "Fantastic Mr. Fox", the wonder-ful new movie from Wes Anderson--mostly about one supposedly bad experience leading to new clarity. I loved this movie. I didn't know the book, which is surprising since "James and the Giant Peach" was in my top three growing up of repeat reads. And I imagine, if I had read it, FMF might have been the same. I heard an interview with Wes Anderson this weekend, who said that this book was the first piece of property he owned, and that is the copy he kept going back to while making this film. And that's not surprising to hear. The film itself feels well-loved, and I don't think that would have been possible without a deep affection for the source.

It's beautifully shot, imaginatively directed, with a great sense of whimsy, but also of relationships. It feels simultaneously grounded and ridiculous, which for me is the best kind of "kids" movie. The voice talent is spectacular, rooted in the central relationship of Mr. and Mrs. Fox voiced by George Clooney and Meryl Streep. I don't know of two other actors who could have pulled this off. He has to be charming enough to lead an entire brigade, and she has to be charmed enough, but also aware of all his failings. I'm making it sound much more mundane than it plays. He's a reporter; she's a landscape painter. Anderson also has fun with the son, Ash, voiced by Jason Schwartzmann, and his perfect cousin Kristofferson, voiced by Eric Anderson. Also along are Bill Murray, Owen Wilson, Willem Dafoe and Michael Gambon as a the most terrifying of the trio of villians. It's a can't-lose with the voices, really.

The story concerns Mr. Fox who can't help, well, being a fox. And his existential crisis sets off the action of the film:

"Why a fox? Why not a horse, or a beetle, or a bald eagle? I'm saying this more as, like, existentialism, you know? Who am I? And how can a fox ever be happy without, you'll forgive the expression, a chicken in its teeth?"

He creates all the situations that he has to get out of himself, because that's who he is. If he's not wily, he has nothing to do. So an act of theft, which for him is a thrill ride and in his nature, sets of a chain of revenge that effects everyone around him. In the end, everyone probably would have been better off if he hadn't done what he did, but who's to say? Through the actions of Mr. Fox and the events they set off, everyone finds out that the best thing that these animals can do is be the animals they are--that no matter how civilized they are, they'll always revert back to their basic natures. It could be looked at as bleak, but I saw it more that it was necessary for each of them to what they do best when put to the test; by being who they were, they were able to adapt and find a way out of the situation. Those natures are never far. In a brilliant bit, the animals never eat food, even at a table with a suit on, they devour it. By coming back to their animal natures and strengths, they are able to come back to some kind of status quo. And, of course learn something in the process. Of course, you could probably get something else out of it, too.

The animation is careful, hysterical, and meticulous. I can't wait to see it again to just see the details that I missed. The beginning just made me giddy, with a weasel real estate agent, fast-talking squirrel movers, and an adolescent, tooth-brushing fox. But it's the richness of the relationships that will keep me coming back - The chemistry classroom scene alone with a poor Ash realizing he's losing the interest of his lab partner to his perfect cousin is worth the price of admission. It reminds me of what Rankin/Bass did mixed with the sensibility of a Wes Anderson film and Wallace and Gromit. Near the end, in the climax, there's a moment where the film stops and you realize there's more in the world, and that threats lurk - I won't ruin it by telling what it is, since then you'll wait for it, but it's just another great layer in a suprisingly layered, satisfying film. I hope a lot of kids see it.

In the words of Mrs. Fox, "You know, you really are...fantastic."

DV8

I had the pleasure of seeing "To Be Straight With You", a piece by the UK based dance theater group DV8. The piece is about homosexual oppression, across the world, but mainly centered in Islamic and fundamentalist Christian countries. It’s true documentary theater; all text came from interviews. It was beautifully done, though I had a couple of moments where I wanted a little more.

The movement was fantastic. One actor did a monologue as a 15 year old muslim boy who was kicked out of his home for being gay. He did the entire thing while jumping rope. The same actor did a monologue of a man explaining his dual life, with a wife and a male lover, while doing intense Bollywood style dance to Shakira –and at one point joined by a man doing the same dance behind him, mirroring him. Not without humor. What blows me away is the acting skill of all the performers while dancing. It is movement, but some of it is just straight out dance. The more static moments of straight theater actually felt a little less effective to me.

It feels odd being critical of this at all, since the subject matter is so serious and pressing. It’s apparent there is a growing Muslim community in the UK, as well as a Jamaican and native Christian community that can be very violent. They address the Buju Banton “murder music”, projecting translations of the lyrics calling for gay men to be burned and killed. Those are heart-stopping. The stories of violence, oppression, and death seem endless, coupled with never-ending hate speech. One segment that sticks with me is a performer speaking the words of an imam talking about reconciling his religion and sexuality and the community difficulties while reacting suddenly from invisible forces bearing down on him and surprising him from all sides. Fear.

The projections used are incredible. There is a spinning globe which a performer uses to highlight different countries and modes of punishment. One man explains his many lives as father, husband, imam, and gay man while walking through borders of a comic book. Two women tell there stories, completely drawn and illustrated but for hands and faces.

The performers are beyond skilled, the movement is wonderful. There were a lot of moments, with the movement itself, where I was astounded they were doing what they were doing.

I would say, as a US viewer, some of the dialects were challenging to understand. And from where we were some of the sound was muddy, but that's probably the hall we were in.

One of the criticisms I have is that the women were underutilized (one astounding sequence had a woman with her arms bent at the elbows, spinning and doing Chaîné turns in an oval shape for about two minutes while speaking the words of a 70-year old rabbi saying “I’m very tired”). The women I was with mentioned it often felt like this in pieces generated by gay men, and I imagine it’s that and just the invisibility in general—in some ways it speaks even more to the oppression.

The other thing I felt was that it was a documentary without a form - I didn’t know what the point or the focus was. It had segments, but no overall form, and was an exploration of issues only by accident, not by shape. There were a lot of issues raised from the breadth of the interviews, but since this touched on so many (violence, rape, misogyny, religion) it almost felt diffuse. You could do an entire show about the murder music in Jamaica and men being stoned to death; on women in Africa and sexual oppression; on the double lives of Muslim men; on the growing Muslim community in the UK and intolerance; on closeted gay men beating other gay men out of self hatred (in one heartbreaking scene a man has gone to prison for 4 ½ years for assault on gay men and only once out of prison can he admit he’s gay). So I know it’s probably an impossibility to focus it, but it felt a little like one awful injustice after another. Yes, people were safer in the UK and had asylum, but there is still the brokenness and disappointment. It’s quite intense. The focus, if there was one, was on religious persecution being the base.

I also wanted more physical connection. The women held hands, the men barely touched. Perhaps they’re known for that and wanted to depart? I don’t know, but I do know it would have added a level to have actual physical intimacy on stage. Not only to affirm gay/lesbian desire/affection/eroticism, but perhaps to point out the audience’s own discomfort (if they had it) to gay/lesbian affection and desire. And for a production that had no problem illustrating violence, it seemed squeamish about desire. Maybe like our culture--violence is fine, sex is to a point, but affection is odd and threatening.

Which leads me to the big question— what is this for and will people see this who need to? At least in LA, in a theater that was nowhere near close to sold out, it felt like preaching to the converted. I hope that when it toured in the UK it was seen in schools. The other thing that might have helped would have been more information on how to help. What to do. One prominent activist is interviewed speaking about how he has been harassed and threatened with death. It’s obvious this is life-threatening. I would have thought there would have been a website or instructions on what action could be taken. Maybe that’s just me, but if we’re just watching it, and doing nothing about it, while clucking our tongues, who does that help?

For me, I realized that the company I work for does business with countries where I would be jailed, imprisoned, or put to death. That was disturbing for me to think about. I need my job. I’m sure much of this is coming about now that we are a global culture. Like it or not, we are all connected. And some of this is finding out maybe you don’t necessarily want to be connected. I haven’t figured it out.

I guess I got gratitude for the freedoms we have here, and knowledge of just how precious they are, and how different it is in the UK right now. We’re protected from a lot, I think. And I was reminded of the power of theatre, and why I fell in love with doing it in the first place.

I hope to hell we can keep our freedoms. If nothing else this reminds me of all we have, and why we fight so hard.

Here’s a trailer for the show:



I couldn’t find sequences online, but I did find Dead Dreams of Monochrome Men a film DV8 did from the late eighties. I guess the whole film is loaded on youbtube. Handy

La Danse

One of my favorite movies of recent years is Tout près des étoiles: Les danseurs de l'Opéra de Paris, a wonderful 2001 documentary about the Paris Opera Ballet. I love it. I saw it twice in the theatre (the dinky Cinema Village in NY), and have seen it on DVD several times. I have a wierd obsession with dance movies, most specifically ballet. I don't know why, and really, why analyze it? The movement is spectacular, and I probably like the military regimen in the service of art. And, frankly, it's astounding what these people can do. And, I do love the Red Shoes - here you can read my hero-worship.

So, I'm basically completely stoked about the new three hour documentary on the Opera Ballet, Frederick Wiseman'sLa Danse, The Paris Opera Ballet. 3 solid hours of watching technically accomplished performers do what they love and talk about it. Heaven.

Here's the trailer

Poetry

Feel like posting something, so I'll share that I submitted 4 poems to Poetry Magazine. Not expecting much--I don't read a lot of contemporary poetry and much of what I read I don't find interesting--but just the action was nice. Once they're (or I should say if) they're rejected, I'll post them.

It's so easy to submit things on line now. Crazy.

Smackdown '56

Check me out over at the 1956 Supporting Actress Smackdown. Really interesting year, and some movies I'd never seen, like The Bad Seed.

Just saw Michael Jackson's This is It. Not sure I needed to, now that I've seen it. I was told by a lot of people how great it was, and it is, to watch the rehearsals--but I've never been a huge fan. It's clear how talented he is, and how many people are devoted to him, but it's more interesting for me as a look at a talented artist, hero worship, and just how sad the whole thing is. I'm sad for him and his family, but also for all the dancers and musicians who were living out this dream and never got to perform it. It was a rehearsal of the concert, and you realize how thrilling it would have been for all involved. It also struck me how much he lived in fantasy seemingly, even his final song was about a love that saves him and how wonderful it is. By all accounts, though, it was something he never found. Sad story.

I've seem some other stuff, but between play rehearsals and work, I've not been finding the time to write. So, I'll make a point to do that. The one thing I have in my head is sadly getting larger and larger. I'll see if I can get it down and trim it a bit.

Happy reading!