I confess that of the 1988 Smackdown movies, this is the one I approached with the most trepidation. I had not much cared for it on its initial release, finding it to be little more than a celebration of cruelty and emotional torture. While I still can't say that I love the movie, I enjoyed it more than I had expected to; I found myself more in tune with the comic elements this time around.
And make no mistake -- this is most definitely a comedy. A comedy that ends tragically for almost everyone, to be sure, but a comedy nevertheless. The scenes in which Glenn Close and John Malkovich plot their revenge on those who have wronged them are viciously funny, and there are moments of near-discovery that could come from contemporary bedroom farce. The actors who do the best in the movie -- Close, Malkovich, Uma Thurman -- are the ones who understand those comic elements.
Sadly, Michelle Pfeiffer is not among them. Not only does she fail to convey the humor, she fails to convey -- well, pretty much anything. It's a performance of blank facial expressions, which work only when the actor manages to communicate her inner life and thoughts. Watch, for instance, Glenn Close in the final scene of the movie; her expression is quite blank as she removes her makeup, but we can read her every thought. Pfeiffer's Madame de Tourvel, on the other hand, has no discernible inner life, and presents to us nothing but vacant dullness.
It's not as if there aren't marvelous opportunities in the role to do something more. Consider the scene in which Malkovich's Valmont comes to her bedroom for the first time. Tourvel should be in torment, torn between her natural virtue and the desire that Valmont has so skillfully nurtured; on some level, she wants to be a bad girl, to understand how being naughty makes Valmont so interesting and appealing. But in Pfeiffer's hands, the scene is nothing but phony weeping and overwrought gasping sighs. "I've never been so unhappy," she says, with all the emotion of someone returning a library book two days late.
It is unfortunate for Pfeiffer that she's sharing the movie with Glenn Close; it makes direct comparisons so easy. Watch the scene in which Valmont breaks off his relationship with Tourvel; then, just a few minutes later, watch the scene in which Close's Marquise de Merteuil learns of Valmont's death. Close is enacting grief; Pfeiffer, by comparison, is suffering from a bad case of indigestion.
Unfair, you say, to compare Pfeiffer with one of our great actresses? OK, let's compare her to Uma Thurman, twelve years her junior, and by far the less experienced actress at this point in their careers. Look at the first opera scene, when Cecile meets Danceny for the first time, and see the little giggle and fleeting expression of joy when the Marquise suggests to Madame Volanges that she hire him as Cecile's music tutor. Look at how beautifully Thurman plays her first bedroom scene with Malkovich -- a dozen emotions flash across her face in just a few seconds -- and at the joy and delight she brings to their later bedroom scenes.
There's not a moment of such emotional clarity or honesty anywhere in Pfeiffer's performance, which is the stiffest and least interesting in the movie. (And I remind you that Keanu Reeves is in this movie, which sets the bar pretty damn low.) Out-acted by Thurman, out-prettied by Reeves -- and this was an Oscar nominee? One can only assume that she was swept along in a mad burst of enthusiasm for the movie, because the performance isn't worthy of such recognition.
July 07, 2007
July 05, 2007
Smackdown 1988: Sigourney Weaver, Working Girl
Sigourney Weaver does her damnedest in Working Girl, but Katharine Parker is such a stock character that it's almost impossible to make her interesting. We're told that she's a Boss From Hell with her very entrance, which silences the chattering secretaries and sends them scattering to their various desks. We know that she's a liar (and clearly, Tess does not) from her first lines of dialogue, when she claims to be a few weeks younger than Tess. (I know, you can't assume that characters are the same relative ages as the actors playing them, but Weaver's eight years older than Melanie Griffith, and looks it -- which isn't to say that she's not fabulous -- and they are so obviously not the same age that I can only interpret that dialogue as an early cue to the audience that Katharine is duplicitous and Tess naive.)
The role breaks neatly into two halves. In her early scenes, Weaver gives Katharine a certain ambiguity; we're fairly sure she's not to be trusted, but then, maybe she really is the "team player" and supportive boss that she claims to be. She's a slippery beast, impossible to get a grasp on, and every line seems to spin both ways.
She disappears for a long chunk of the movie, recuperating from her skiing accident while the movie focuses on Tess and Jack, and when she returns, we now know that she's a conniving bitch out to steal Tess's ideas, allowing Weaver to abandon subtlety entirely. Katharine becomes pure ogre, practically a cartoon character. "I'll need help bathing and dressing," she tells Tess, with no question in her voice that this ludicrously inappropriate demand could ever be refused. It's not that an ogre is necessarily the wrong thing here -- it is a fairy tale, after all -- but Weaver goes a bit too broad, a bit too large for my taste, and she's out of step with the movie's tone.
She's clearly having great fun in the climactic boardroom scene, storming in on her crutches, waving them about as weapons of accusation, and she gets a fine laugh when she swoons into a chair, realizing that she can play her injury for sympathy. And in the final confrontation with Trask, when she's unable to explain where she came up with the radio idea, she dials it back down a bit and does some lovely, subtle work as Katharine struggles to maintain some shred of dignity and credibility.
It's a competent performance, and Weaver gets the laughs that she's asked to get. But she's too over the top in the second half of the movie, and she never gives me any of those surprising moments that tell me I'm watching something special.
(Originally posted Thursday evening; a few small edits were made early Friday morning.)
The role breaks neatly into two halves. In her early scenes, Weaver gives Katharine a certain ambiguity; we're fairly sure she's not to be trusted, but then, maybe she really is the "team player" and supportive boss that she claims to be. She's a slippery beast, impossible to get a grasp on, and every line seems to spin both ways.
She disappears for a long chunk of the movie, recuperating from her skiing accident while the movie focuses on Tess and Jack, and when she returns, we now know that she's a conniving bitch out to steal Tess's ideas, allowing Weaver to abandon subtlety entirely. Katharine becomes pure ogre, practically a cartoon character. "I'll need help bathing and dressing," she tells Tess, with no question in her voice that this ludicrously inappropriate demand could ever be refused. It's not that an ogre is necessarily the wrong thing here -- it is a fairy tale, after all -- but Weaver goes a bit too broad, a bit too large for my taste, and she's out of step with the movie's tone.
She's clearly having great fun in the climactic boardroom scene, storming in on her crutches, waving them about as weapons of accusation, and she gets a fine laugh when she swoons into a chair, realizing that she can play her injury for sympathy. And in the final confrontation with Trask, when she's unable to explain where she came up with the radio idea, she dials it back down a bit and does some lovely, subtle work as Katharine struggles to maintain some shred of dignity and credibility.
It's a competent performance, and Weaver gets the laughs that she's asked to get. But she's too over the top in the second half of the movie, and she never gives me any of those surprising moments that tell me I'm watching something special.
(Originally posted Thursday evening; a few small edits were made early Friday morning.)
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Movies
Smackdown 1988: Joan Cusack, Working Girl
More often than not, acting is about change. What did this character learn? How did that character grow? Joan Cusack's performance in Working Girl, on the other hand, is all about stasis. Cusack's Cyn is our lodestar, a fixed point of reference against which we measure the transformation of Melanie Griffith's Tess. Director Mike Nichols and screenwriter Kevin Wade use Cusack strategically, bringing her into the story whenever they want to emphasize Tess's change.
The movie opens with Cyn and Tess on the Staten Island Ferry, en route to their jobs in the city, and they are essentially the same person: big accent, big makeup, big jewelry, big hair -- and I do mean big hair. There's a four-inch halo of hair surrounding Cyn's face; it's practically a feat of engineering.
By the next time we see Cyn (aside from a quick glimpse at a surprise party), Tess's transformation has begun. She's nearly lost the accent, toned down her makeup and jewelry; she's putting on a glamorous dress, and Cyn is (with great reluctance) cutting off most of her hair. Cusack's makeup in this scene is, if anything, even more flamboyant than in the opening sequence.
When Cyn visits Tess's office, the transformation is complete. The accent is gone and the voice is pitched in a lower register; the haircut is stylish and short (and makes Griffith look eerily like her mother, Tippi Hedren).
To further emphasize Tess's transformation, Cyn is pressed into service as her temporary secretary. "Be me," pleads Tess, and as she awkwardly tries to put on the proper air of professional sophistication, we realize the difference between pretending to fit in to the world of business -- which is all that Cyn can do, and not very well at that -- and geniunely belonging there, as Tess does.
This is Cusack's best moment in the movie, and you can almost feel how relieved she is at getting to do something other than just be the supportive sidekick. Cyn wants so much to say and do the right things, not to embarass her friend, and the desperation is palpable as she searches for the right words.
Cyn is also called upon to point out what she sees as unfortunate changes in Tess's personality and behavior -- "that's not like you," she says about Tess's treatment of her loutish boyfriend, Mick -- and to suggest that Tess will ultimately fail. "Sometimes I sing and dance around the house in my underwear," she says. "Doesn't make me Madonna, never will." It's a cruel moment, motivated by fear and anger -- Cyn knows that Tess does belong here, and she's terrified that she'll be abandoned completely, that her friendship will be inadequate to Tess's new life -- it's an impeccable line reading.
Sidekick roles are a bitch, especially roles like this one, where your character's sole purpose for being is to not change, to not grow, to be a one-dimensional backdrop. It's a limited part, but Cusack brings great warmth and humor to the role, and when she's finally called on to do something a little deeper in the office scene, she packs a wallop. There's a long friendship packed into a few lines, and an entire history in a few facial expressions.
The movie opens with Cyn and Tess on the Staten Island Ferry, en route to their jobs in the city, and they are essentially the same person: big accent, big makeup, big jewelry, big hair -- and I do mean big hair. There's a four-inch halo of hair surrounding Cyn's face; it's practically a feat of engineering.
By the next time we see Cyn (aside from a quick glimpse at a surprise party), Tess's transformation has begun. She's nearly lost the accent, toned down her makeup and jewelry; she's putting on a glamorous dress, and Cyn is (with great reluctance) cutting off most of her hair. Cusack's makeup in this scene is, if anything, even more flamboyant than in the opening sequence.
When Cyn visits Tess's office, the transformation is complete. The accent is gone and the voice is pitched in a lower register; the haircut is stylish and short (and makes Griffith look eerily like her mother, Tippi Hedren).
To further emphasize Tess's transformation, Cyn is pressed into service as her temporary secretary. "Be me," pleads Tess, and as she awkwardly tries to put on the proper air of professional sophistication, we realize the difference between pretending to fit in to the world of business -- which is all that Cyn can do, and not very well at that -- and geniunely belonging there, as Tess does.
This is Cusack's best moment in the movie, and you can almost feel how relieved she is at getting to do something other than just be the supportive sidekick. Cyn wants so much to say and do the right things, not to embarass her friend, and the desperation is palpable as she searches for the right words.
Cyn is also called upon to point out what she sees as unfortunate changes in Tess's personality and behavior -- "that's not like you," she says about Tess's treatment of her loutish boyfriend, Mick -- and to suggest that Tess will ultimately fail. "Sometimes I sing and dance around the house in my underwear," she says. "Doesn't make me Madonna, never will." It's a cruel moment, motivated by fear and anger -- Cyn knows that Tess does belong here, and she's terrified that she'll be abandoned completely, that her friendship will be inadequate to Tess's new life -- it's an impeccable line reading.
Sidekick roles are a bitch, especially roles like this one, where your character's sole purpose for being is to not change, to not grow, to be a one-dimensional backdrop. It's a limited part, but Cusack brings great warmth and humor to the role, and when she's finally called on to do something a little deeper in the office scene, she packs a wallop. There's a long friendship packed into a few lines, and an entire history in a few facial expressions.
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Movies
July 02, 2007
BOOKS: The Woods, Harlan Coben (2007)
Coben's thrillers in recent years fall into a narrow pattern: Nice guy discovers that a loved one who has been presumed dead for some years may still be alive. This time around, our nice guy is New Jersey prosecutor Paul Copeland, and the loved one is his sister, believed to have been murdered at summer camp twenty years ago. Four teens disappeared that night, and though only two bodies were found, the other two -- Camille Copeland was one of them -- were assumed to have killed as well. But now the body of the other disappeared teen has turned up, freshly murdered, and if he's actually been alive all this time, then Paul has to wonder if Camille is still alive.
The Woods is a perfectly serviceable thriller, but this is the fourth or fifth time that Coben has gone to this same general plot, and the law of diminishing returns is beginning to set in; the fewer of his previous novels you've read, the more you'll probably enjoy this one. He's a talented writer, but it really is time for Coben to come up with a new story.
The Woods is a perfectly serviceable thriller, but this is the fourth or fifth time that Coben has gone to this same general plot, and the law of diminishing returns is beginning to set in; the fewer of his previous novels you've read, the more you'll probably enjoy this one. He's a talented writer, but it really is time for Coben to come up with a new story.
Labels:
Books
MOVIES: Ocean's Thirteen (Steven Soderbergh, 2007)
Danny Ocean (George Clooney) and the gang are out to pull off another elaborate heist, and this time? Yup, you got it: It's personal. Reuben Tishkoff (Elliot Gould) has been swindled by Vegas tycoon Willie Bank (Al Pacino), cheated out of his interest in Bank's new casino (modestly named The Bank), and the stress has given him a heart attack. Danny has no choice but to reassemble the gang to get back at Willie.
The plot isn't necessarily to steal any money for themselves this time, but to make sure that everyone who comes to The Bank on opening night leaves a winner by rigging all of the casino games in the players' favor. This means defeating the high-tech security system, which their hired expert (a cameo from Eddie Izzard) thinks is impossible; "you're analog players in a digital world," he tells Danny.
The idea that the world has taken a turn for the worse haunts this movie. Reuben takes Willie's betrayal so personally because "we both shook Sinatra's hand," and he cannot believe that anyone would violate that code of honor; Danny and Rusty (Brad Pitt) wax nostalgic about the Sands, the Desert Inn, and the other casinos of the past.
The plot is absurdly intricate, and a few of its details lead us down some uninteresting byways; watching the Malloy brothers (Scott Caan and Casey Affleck) as labor organizers at a Mexican dice factory never really takes off, and Ellen Barkin (as Willie Bank's assistant) is forced to play an unsavalgable, embarrassing seduction scene with Matt Damon.
But there's a terrific subplot featuring David Paymer as the hotel critic whose visit to The Bank is turned into the visit from hell, and it is fun to watch all of the pieces of the intricate plot fall into place at the end. Besides, the Ocean's movies are never about plot as much as they are about good old-fashioned movie star glamour, and Clooney, Pitt, and Pacino provide enough of that to keep us entertained.
The plot isn't necessarily to steal any money for themselves this time, but to make sure that everyone who comes to The Bank on opening night leaves a winner by rigging all of the casino games in the players' favor. This means defeating the high-tech security system, which their hired expert (a cameo from Eddie Izzard) thinks is impossible; "you're analog players in a digital world," he tells Danny.
The idea that the world has taken a turn for the worse haunts this movie. Reuben takes Willie's betrayal so personally because "we both shook Sinatra's hand," and he cannot believe that anyone would violate that code of honor; Danny and Rusty (Brad Pitt) wax nostalgic about the Sands, the Desert Inn, and the other casinos of the past.
The plot is absurdly intricate, and a few of its details lead us down some uninteresting byways; watching the Malloy brothers (Scott Caan and Casey Affleck) as labor organizers at a Mexican dice factory never really takes off, and Ellen Barkin (as Willie Bank's assistant) is forced to play an unsavalgable, embarrassing seduction scene with Matt Damon.
But there's a terrific subplot featuring David Paymer as the hotel critic whose visit to The Bank is turned into the visit from hell, and it is fun to watch all of the pieces of the intricate plot fall into place at the end. Besides, the Ocean's movies are never about plot as much as they are about good old-fashioned movie star glamour, and Clooney, Pitt, and Pacino provide enough of that to keep us entertained.
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Movies
July 01, 2007
BOOKS: The Yiddish Policemen's Union, Michael Chabon (2007)
In Chabon's alternate version of history, a piece of what was still the Alaska Territory was designated as a refuge for European Jews; the District of Sitka took in even more people in 1948, with the (fictional) failure of the nation of Israel. The novel is set in the present, as Sitka is about to revert to Alaskan control and its Jewish population is to be dispersed throughout the world. Many people aren't sure where they're going, since so many countries are still reluctant to admit Jewish immigrants.
Against this backdrop, police inspector Meyer Landsman finds his life falling apart. He has no real plans for life after Reversion; he's separated from his wife and living in a fleabag motel; he and his partner (who is also his cousin) have the highest rate of unsolved murders on the force. And now a bum has been found murdered in Landsman's hotel, the only clue to his identity his book of chess puzzles.
The setup is terrific, and Chabon's Sitka is a beautifully detailed creation. But around the midpoint of the book, the answers to the murder mystery begin to be revealed, and they just aren't that interesting. The last third of the book is heavy slogging indeed; the novel, which had gotten off to such a fine start, winds up a serious disappointment.
Against this backdrop, police inspector Meyer Landsman finds his life falling apart. He has no real plans for life after Reversion; he's separated from his wife and living in a fleabag motel; he and his partner (who is also his cousin) have the highest rate of unsolved murders on the force. And now a bum has been found murdered in Landsman's hotel, the only clue to his identity his book of chess puzzles.
The setup is terrific, and Chabon's Sitka is a beautifully detailed creation. But around the midpoint of the book, the answers to the murder mystery begin to be revealed, and they just aren't that interesting. The last third of the book is heavy slogging indeed; the novel, which had gotten off to such a fine start, winds up a serious disappointment.
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Books
MOVIES: Ratatouille (Brad Bird, 2007)
Brad Bird has two mighty impressive films to his credit already -- The Iron Giant and The Incredibles -- and he tops them both with Ratatouille, which is an absolute joy.
The hero is Remy (voiced by Patton Oswalt), a rat with a superb sense of taste and smell who dreams of dining on better dare than the garbage that his pack is content with. His culinary hero is the late, great Gusteau (Brad Garrett, in a performance with more warmth than I'd have thought him capable of), whose philosophy is "anyone can cook."
Remy gets the chance to prove himself as a cook in the kitchen of Gusteau's restaurant, working in partnership with Linguini (a charming performance by Pixar animator Lou Romano); Remy hides under Linguini's toque and controls him like a puppet by pulling his hair -- there's some beautifully timed slapstick comedy in these sequences -- creating dishes which just might bring Gusteau's back to prominence.
The animation here is spectacular. There are some stunning vistas of Paris; the food looks so appealing you'd swear you could smell it; the characters are vivid and fun to watch. Remy looks like a rat without being entirely repulsive, and the movie overcomes our visceral disgust at the thought of a rat in the kitchen with great charm. A few scenes involve water, a traditional challenge for animators, and they are thoroughly convincing. (Between Surf's Up and this movie, it appears that great strides are being made in water animation.)
Voice casting is also solid. Oswalt has a marvelous EveryRat quality as Remy, and the thrill of doing something that you love clearly comes through in his performance. There's also a magnificent supporting performance from Peter O'Toole, dropping his voice into its most sepulchral register as the dessicated food critic Anton Ego, who gets the most perfectly executed flashback sequence you'll see at the movies this year. The weak link in the cast is Janeane Garofalo as Colette, the romantic interest for Linguini; if she had simply dropped the bad French accent, it would have helped immensely.
But the story is charming, and the movie is beautifully crafted; particular kudos to Michael Giacchino for his lively score. The show I went to was packed, and everyone -- kids and parents -- was delighted throughout; there was great applause when the movie ended. This one will be on my "best of" list at the end of the year, for sure.
The hero is Remy (voiced by Patton Oswalt), a rat with a superb sense of taste and smell who dreams of dining on better dare than the garbage that his pack is content with. His culinary hero is the late, great Gusteau (Brad Garrett, in a performance with more warmth than I'd have thought him capable of), whose philosophy is "anyone can cook."
Remy gets the chance to prove himself as a cook in the kitchen of Gusteau's restaurant, working in partnership with Linguini (a charming performance by Pixar animator Lou Romano); Remy hides under Linguini's toque and controls him like a puppet by pulling his hair -- there's some beautifully timed slapstick comedy in these sequences -- creating dishes which just might bring Gusteau's back to prominence.
The animation here is spectacular. There are some stunning vistas of Paris; the food looks so appealing you'd swear you could smell it; the characters are vivid and fun to watch. Remy looks like a rat without being entirely repulsive, and the movie overcomes our visceral disgust at the thought of a rat in the kitchen with great charm. A few scenes involve water, a traditional challenge for animators, and they are thoroughly convincing. (Between Surf's Up and this movie, it appears that great strides are being made in water animation.)
Voice casting is also solid. Oswalt has a marvelous EveryRat quality as Remy, and the thrill of doing something that you love clearly comes through in his performance. There's also a magnificent supporting performance from Peter O'Toole, dropping his voice into its most sepulchral register as the dessicated food critic Anton Ego, who gets the most perfectly executed flashback sequence you'll see at the movies this year. The weak link in the cast is Janeane Garofalo as Colette, the romantic interest for Linguini; if she had simply dropped the bad French accent, it would have helped immensely.
But the story is charming, and the movie is beautifully crafted; particular kudos to Michael Giacchino for his lively score. The show I went to was packed, and everyone -- kids and parents -- was delighted throughout; there was great applause when the movie ended. This one will be on my "best of" list at the end of the year, for sure.
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Movies
TV: Burn Notice
Summer series from USA about Michael, a spy whose employer -- never specifically identified, but it's implied that it's some subunit of the CIA -- issues a burn notice, cutting him off completely (cancelled credit, frozen bank accounts, etc.). No one will tell him why this has been done, and he's stuck in Miami (because he's also been put on the no-fly lists, and is being watched by the FBI).
It looks as if each week will find him taking some sort of spy-ish odd job to support himself, using the skills he's learned in his 15-year career: technowizardry, con artistry, hand-to-hand combat, and general deviousness. It's like Alias meets MacGyver meets Hustle.
Good cast, too. Jeffery Donovan plays Michael with dry wit and cool competence; the supporting players are Gabrielle Anwar (tough and sexy as Fiona, the ex-IRA ex-girlfriend), Bruce Campbell (having fun and hamming it up as Sam, the boozy old pal/retired spy), and Sharon Gless (Madeline, the clingy hypochondriac mother). Michael provides voice-over narration in a style that mixes 40s noir with 90s snark -- call it Raymond Chandler Bing. The blend is occasionally a bit jarring, but I have a feeling that it'll improve as the writers get the hang of it.
On the whole, it's very entertaining fluff and I look forward to seeing where it goes. The pilot will be repeated a few more times over the next week, and the show airs regularly at 10 on Thursday nights.
It looks as if each week will find him taking some sort of spy-ish odd job to support himself, using the skills he's learned in his 15-year career: technowizardry, con artistry, hand-to-hand combat, and general deviousness. It's like Alias meets MacGyver meets Hustle.
Good cast, too. Jeffery Donovan plays Michael with dry wit and cool competence; the supporting players are Gabrielle Anwar (tough and sexy as Fiona, the ex-IRA ex-girlfriend), Bruce Campbell (having fun and hamming it up as Sam, the boozy old pal/retired spy), and Sharon Gless (Madeline, the clingy hypochondriac mother). Michael provides voice-over narration in a style that mixes 40s noir with 90s snark -- call it Raymond Chandler Bing. The blend is occasionally a bit jarring, but I have a feeling that it'll improve as the writers get the hang of it.
On the whole, it's very entertaining fluff and I look forward to seeing where it goes. The pilot will be repeated a few more times over the next week, and the show airs regularly at 10 on Thursday nights.
Labels:
TV
June 30, 2007
Smackdown: 1988
Speaking of StinkyLulu, it's now official that the July Smackdown will focus on the Supporting Actress nominees from 1988. So over the next few weeks, I'll be watching and commenting on the following performances:
- Joan Cusack and Sigourney Weaver, Working Girl
- Geena Davis, The Accidental Tourist
- Michelle Pfeiffer, Dangerous Liaisons
- Frances McDormand, Mississippi Burning
I saw all of these movies when they were released, but haven't seen any of them since; the only one that I have any strong memories of is Dangerous Liaisons, which I remember hating intensely.
This month's Smackdowners are:
- Ken, from Canadian Ken On...
- Nathaniel, from Film Experience Blog
- Nick, from Nick's Flick Picks
- Brad, from Criticlasm
- Newland, from As Bold as Brass
- our fabulous hostess, StinkyLulu
- and me -- Zippy, the Wonder Dog
I urge you to visit their blogs -- several of them are new to me, and I look forward to getting to know them -- and follow the Smackdown as it progresses, culminating in the final vote at StinkyLulu's on the 29th of July.
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Movies
8 Things
StinkyLulu has tagged me with the "8 things" meme that's currently sweeping the blogosphere, which goes as follows:
THE RULES
1. All right, here are the rules.
2. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
3. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
4. People who are tagged write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
5. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to tag and list their names. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
Now here's the thing: One of the reasons I don't do a lot of personal talking on this blog is that I'm a) very shy, and b) not very interesting. I'm always more than happy to express my opinions about other things, but I don't talk about myself much. Still, we'll see what we can come up with.
1. One of the chief perks of being gay is not having children. I don't actually hate the little critters as much as I sometimes pretend to, but I like them better when I can give them back to their parents.
2. I hate having my picture taken.
3. For a non-professional musician/actor -- and someone with limited talent in either area -- I have performed in some prestigious halls, having sung at Carnegie Hall (with a large chorus, but hey, it still counts), acted at the Mark Taper Forum (one of LA's major professional theaters), and performed at the Comedy Store.
4. I crashed into Ann Miller, nearly knocking her over, during a theatrical intermission. I started to apologize, but she held up her hand to stop me, bellowed, "Young man, it will take a lot more than that to knock me down!," and swept back into the theater.
5. I don't eat my vegetables. French fries and mashed potatoes, baked beans every now and then, but that's about it. (Do corn chips count as a vegetable?)
6. I believe that The Wizard of Oz is the most overrated movie in history, mostly because I hate Dorothy. Here's a girl who spends the first twenty minutes whining because she doesn't have any friends and nothing ever happens and life is so dull that it's in black and white, then along comes the hurricane and whisks her off to Oz where she makes lots of friends and has exciting adventures and the world is in color, and now it's "I wanna go back to Kaaaaansas!" Having gone from Kansas to Oz myself (well, Vermont to Los Angeles, but it's essentially the same thing), I can safely say that no one with a lick of sense ever wants to go back to Kansas.
7. When listening to classical music, I prefer large forces to small -- choruses to soloists, symphonies to string quartets. I do, however, have a weakness for percussion ensembles.
8. As a child, I always believed that I would die young, and am somewhat astonished to find myself still here at 43.
THE RULES
1. All right, here are the rules.
2. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
3. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
4. People who are tagged write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
5. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to tag and list their names. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
Now here's the thing: One of the reasons I don't do a lot of personal talking on this blog is that I'm a) very shy, and b) not very interesting. I'm always more than happy to express my opinions about other things, but I don't talk about myself much. Still, we'll see what we can come up with.
1. One of the chief perks of being gay is not having children. I don't actually hate the little critters as much as I sometimes pretend to, but I like them better when I can give them back to their parents.
2. I hate having my picture taken.
3. For a non-professional musician/actor -- and someone with limited talent in either area -- I have performed in some prestigious halls, having sung at Carnegie Hall (with a large chorus, but hey, it still counts), acted at the Mark Taper Forum (one of LA's major professional theaters), and performed at the Comedy Store.
4. I crashed into Ann Miller, nearly knocking her over, during a theatrical intermission. I started to apologize, but she held up her hand to stop me, bellowed, "Young man, it will take a lot more than that to knock me down!," and swept back into the theater.
5. I don't eat my vegetables. French fries and mashed potatoes, baked beans every now and then, but that's about it. (Do corn chips count as a vegetable?)
6. I believe that The Wizard of Oz is the most overrated movie in history, mostly because I hate Dorothy. Here's a girl who spends the first twenty minutes whining because she doesn't have any friends and nothing ever happens and life is so dull that it's in black and white, then along comes the hurricane and whisks her off to Oz where she makes lots of friends and has exciting adventures and the world is in color, and now it's "I wanna go back to Kaaaaansas!" Having gone from Kansas to Oz myself (well, Vermont to Los Angeles, but it's essentially the same thing), I can safely say that no one with a lick of sense ever wants to go back to Kansas.
7. When listening to classical music, I prefer large forces to small -- choruses to soloists, symphonies to string quartets. I do, however, have a weakness for percussion ensembles.
8. As a child, I always believed that I would die young, and am somewhat astonished to find myself still here at 43.
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June 19, 2007
Not that this place has been bustling with activity of late, but just wanted to let y'all know that I'll be out of town for the next few days -- without Internet access (gasp) -- so no posting until early next week. See you then!
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June 17, 2007
Get ready for the Smackdown!
Every month, StinkyLulu hosts the Supporting Actress Smackdown, inviting a few movie bloggers to join him in revisiting a Supporting Actress Oscar race from years past and deciding who really should have won. This month, StinkyLulu and the gang are evaluating the 1978 race, and he's already posted commentary on Penelope Mitford, Maggie Smith, and Maureen Stapleton, with Dyan Cannon and Meryl Streep still to come before he assembles this month's Smackdown team for the group evaluation on the last Sunday of the month.
I am delighted to have been invited to join the Smackdowners in July, and StinkyLulu has just opened the voting to decide which year's Supporting Actresses we'll be discussing. Please drop by and cast your vote; the choices are 1943, 1952, 1970, 1979, 1988, and 1997. Oddly enough, four of those six years ('52 and '97 are the exceptions) have pairs of actresses nominated for the same film.
I'm torn between 1970 and 1979 myself; I have the horrible fear that either 1988 or 1997 is going to win, forcing me to sit through Dangerous Liaisons (shudder) or Titanic (double shudder) again. But even if that should happen, I'm looking forward to my first Smackdown with great anticipation.
I am delighted to have been invited to join the Smackdowners in July, and StinkyLulu has just opened the voting to decide which year's Supporting Actresses we'll be discussing. Please drop by and cast your vote; the choices are 1943, 1952, 1970, 1979, 1988, and 1997. Oddly enough, four of those six years ('52 and '97 are the exceptions) have pairs of actresses nominated for the same film.
I'm torn between 1970 and 1979 myself; I have the horrible fear that either 1988 or 1997 is going to win, forcing me to sit through Dangerous Liaisons (shudder) or Titanic (double shudder) again. But even if that should happen, I'm looking forward to my first Smackdown with great anticipation.
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Movies
BOOKS: Seeker, Jack McDevitt (2005)
This year's winner of the Nebula Award, given by the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America.
The setting is some 10,000 years or so in the future, and Alex Benedict is an antiquities dealer, traveling through space in search of lost ships and derelicts from which he might gather valuable artifacts. His assistant, Chase Kolpath (she's the narrator of the book), gets a visit from a woman who wonders if there might be any value in an old cup she has.
Alex and Chase are stunned and thrilled to discover that the cup appears to be from the Seeker, a ship that left earth in the 27th century to found a colony called Margolia; neither the ship nor the colony were ever heard from, and over the ensuing millennia, Margolia has become the new Atlantis. The discovery of this artifact sets Alex and Chase on a mission to discover the provenance of the cup, so that they'll know their client has the legal right to sell it, and with any luck, to discover what happened to Margolia.
Seeker is a top-notch mystery, and there's great playfulness in the way that Alex and Chase track down the clues. Mystery and science fiction don't always mix well -- it can be too easy for an author to pull a mysterious gadget out of his pocket in the last chapter -- but McDevitt does a fine job of combining the two here. I was reminded of Isaac Asimov, who also wrote some clever science fiction/mystery hybrids; McDevitt has a similar writing style, very clean and straightforward.
The future that McDevitt creates is strikingly atypical for current science fiction; at a time when authors are generally imagining that in as little as fifty years, we will become more physically integrated with our machines and technology will come to dominate our lives, McDevitt leaps 10,000 into a future where people are still pretty much people, and where there's been some technological advance, but society looks much as it does today.
There are two earlier Benedict/Kolpath novels that I haven't read -- A Talent for War and Polaris -- but they're certainly on my To Be Read list now.
The setting is some 10,000 years or so in the future, and Alex Benedict is an antiquities dealer, traveling through space in search of lost ships and derelicts from which he might gather valuable artifacts. His assistant, Chase Kolpath (she's the narrator of the book), gets a visit from a woman who wonders if there might be any value in an old cup she has.
Alex and Chase are stunned and thrilled to discover that the cup appears to be from the Seeker, a ship that left earth in the 27th century to found a colony called Margolia; neither the ship nor the colony were ever heard from, and over the ensuing millennia, Margolia has become the new Atlantis. The discovery of this artifact sets Alex and Chase on a mission to discover the provenance of the cup, so that they'll know their client has the legal right to sell it, and with any luck, to discover what happened to Margolia.
Seeker is a top-notch mystery, and there's great playfulness in the way that Alex and Chase track down the clues. Mystery and science fiction don't always mix well -- it can be too easy for an author to pull a mysterious gadget out of his pocket in the last chapter -- but McDevitt does a fine job of combining the two here. I was reminded of Isaac Asimov, who also wrote some clever science fiction/mystery hybrids; McDevitt has a similar writing style, very clean and straightforward.
The future that McDevitt creates is strikingly atypical for current science fiction; at a time when authors are generally imagining that in as little as fifty years, we will become more physically integrated with our machines and technology will come to dominate our lives, McDevitt leaps 10,000 into a future where people are still pretty much people, and where there's been some technological advance, but society looks much as it does today.
There are two earlier Benedict/Kolpath novels that I haven't read -- A Talent for War and Polaris -- but they're certainly on my To Be Read list now.
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Books
June 11, 2007
June 10, 2007
MOVIES: Knocked Up (Judd Apatow, 2007)
So here's our heroine, Alison Scott (played by Katherine Heigl). She's in her mid-20s, and she's just landed a promotion to an on-air position at E! TV. While celebrating that promotion, she has a bit too much to drink and has a one-night stand with Ben (Seth Rogen), who she finds so unappealing that she cannot bring herself to touch him the next morning. Eight weeks later -- she has not seen or spoken to Ben in the meantime, or had even the slightest interest in doing so -- she discovers that she's pregnant.
So, the mystery: With that setup, how is it that we never, not once, hear the word "abortion" during this movie? Oh, one of Ben's stoner friends raises the subject, but can't bring himself to utter what he calls "the A word;" the idea is turned into a joking suggestion that Ben should encourage Alison to have a "schmaschmortion." And Alison's mother, who appears in one scene only and is clearly meant to be an unsympathetic bitch, tells Alison that she should "take care of" things. But that's all the lip service that's paid to the subject.
Now I get that a comedy about the consequences of unplanned pregnancy doesn't get very far if the woman chooses abortion, but we never even see Alison consider the idea seriously. How realistic is it that there wouldn't be some serious "hmmm.... guy I don't know and aren't attracted to, career starting to take off, I'm still young... maybe I shouldn't have this baby" thinking going on? And since we don't ever see that, Alison becomes a cipher, a mere device; she decides to have the baby solely because the plot requires her to.
And since I can't believe in Alison as an actual 21st-century woman, it's nearly impossible to care about whether she and Ben will make their relationship work. Rogen and Heigl have little chemistry, and I never once believed that they should be a couple. (Rogen loosens up considerably in his scenes with Paul Rudd, who plays Alison's brother-in-law; theirs is the most interesting relationship in the movie). Alison actually sums up her relationship with Ben at one point by saying (roughly), "I'm a nice person; you're a nice person; we're just trying to do the nice thing for each other," and she's absolutely right. They're not trying to make it work because they care about each other; they simply feel obliged to do so.
Even worse than the implausible story and the unconvincing central relationship is the fact that the movie isn't very funny. The jokes fall flat, and the secondary couple in the movie, played by Rudd and Leslie Mann, are a nasty, unhappy pair who are almost always at one another's throats. Ben's housemates are a tiresome collection of stoner cliches who exist only to be even less ambitious and responsible than Ben, providing an excuse for Alison to think, "Well, he's not that bad...".
After the tedium of The 40-Year-Old Virgin, I began to wonder if Judd Apatow was peddling the Emperor's New Clothes. I'm not wondering anymore.
So, the mystery: With that setup, how is it that we never, not once, hear the word "abortion" during this movie? Oh, one of Ben's stoner friends raises the subject, but can't bring himself to utter what he calls "the A word;" the idea is turned into a joking suggestion that Ben should encourage Alison to have a "schmaschmortion." And Alison's mother, who appears in one scene only and is clearly meant to be an unsympathetic bitch, tells Alison that she should "take care of" things. But that's all the lip service that's paid to the subject.
Now I get that a comedy about the consequences of unplanned pregnancy doesn't get very far if the woman chooses abortion, but we never even see Alison consider the idea seriously. How realistic is it that there wouldn't be some serious "hmmm.... guy I don't know and aren't attracted to, career starting to take off, I'm still young... maybe I shouldn't have this baby" thinking going on? And since we don't ever see that, Alison becomes a cipher, a mere device; she decides to have the baby solely because the plot requires her to.
And since I can't believe in Alison as an actual 21st-century woman, it's nearly impossible to care about whether she and Ben will make their relationship work. Rogen and Heigl have little chemistry, and I never once believed that they should be a couple. (Rogen loosens up considerably in his scenes with Paul Rudd, who plays Alison's brother-in-law; theirs is the most interesting relationship in the movie). Alison actually sums up her relationship with Ben at one point by saying (roughly), "I'm a nice person; you're a nice person; we're just trying to do the nice thing for each other," and she's absolutely right. They're not trying to make it work because they care about each other; they simply feel obliged to do so.
Even worse than the implausible story and the unconvincing central relationship is the fact that the movie isn't very funny. The jokes fall flat, and the secondary couple in the movie, played by Rudd and Leslie Mann, are a nasty, unhappy pair who are almost always at one another's throats. Ben's housemates are a tiresome collection of stoner cliches who exist only to be even less ambitious and responsible than Ben, providing an excuse for Alison to think, "Well, he's not that bad...".
After the tedium of The 40-Year-Old Virgin, I began to wonder if Judd Apatow was peddling the Emperor's New Clothes. I'm not wondering anymore.
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Movies
June 09, 2007
MOVIES: Surf's Up (Ash Brannon & Chris Buck, 2007)
Again with the penguins.
This time, they're surfers, gathered for the tenth annual "Big Z Memorial" tournament, in honor of the legendary penguin surfer. Among Big Z's devoted followers is 17-year-old Cody Maverick (voiced by Shia LaBeouf), who dreams of being the next big star on the penguin surfing circuit. Surf's Up is framed as a documentary that follows Cody from his home in Antarctica to the tournament; that device allows the movie to play a little with the storytelling -- nicely aged "archival" footage, the off-screen voice of the interviewers (directors Brannon and Buck) talking to the characters -- and it's not overplayed so much that it becomes tiresome.
Nothing about Surf's Up, in fact, reaches the level of manic energy or hyperactivity that is common in animated films; the movie's very much in line with the laidback surfer-dude philosophy of Big Z. It's not a hugely ambitious movie, but it meets its own modest goals nicely. The animation is quite good, and the water -- notoriously hard to animate realistically -- is the best I've yet seen in a computer-animated movie.
Smart voice casting sets the movie on the right track. James Woods is perfectly oily as the tournament promoter, and Mario Cantone precisely right as his put-upon assistant, whose spindly-legged walk is one of the movie's best running jokes; Diedrich Bader is full of pompous bluster as the reigning champ; Zooey Deschanel is sweet as Cody's romantic interest. (Only Jon Heder, as a surfing chicken, disappoints, which really isn't much of a surprise at this point in his inexplicable career.)
Best of all is Jeff Bridges, doing a penguin variation on The Dude from The Big Lebowski, all gruff charm and exasperation. Bridges and LaBeouf have terrific chemistry in their scenes together, aided immensely by the directors' decision to have their actors record their dialogue together, which is unusual for animation these days.
We're not going to remember Surf's Up as a classic in ten years, but it's a good-natured, sweetly charming little movie that'll keep you entertained.
This time, they're surfers, gathered for the tenth annual "Big Z Memorial" tournament, in honor of the legendary penguin surfer. Among Big Z's devoted followers is 17-year-old Cody Maverick (voiced by Shia LaBeouf), who dreams of being the next big star on the penguin surfing circuit. Surf's Up is framed as a documentary that follows Cody from his home in Antarctica to the tournament; that device allows the movie to play a little with the storytelling -- nicely aged "archival" footage, the off-screen voice of the interviewers (directors Brannon and Buck) talking to the characters -- and it's not overplayed so much that it becomes tiresome.
Nothing about Surf's Up, in fact, reaches the level of manic energy or hyperactivity that is common in animated films; the movie's very much in line with the laidback surfer-dude philosophy of Big Z. It's not a hugely ambitious movie, but it meets its own modest goals nicely. The animation is quite good, and the water -- notoriously hard to animate realistically -- is the best I've yet seen in a computer-animated movie.
Smart voice casting sets the movie on the right track. James Woods is perfectly oily as the tournament promoter, and Mario Cantone precisely right as his put-upon assistant, whose spindly-legged walk is one of the movie's best running jokes; Diedrich Bader is full of pompous bluster as the reigning champ; Zooey Deschanel is sweet as Cody's romantic interest. (Only Jon Heder, as a surfing chicken, disappoints, which really isn't much of a surprise at this point in his inexplicable career.)
Best of all is Jeff Bridges, doing a penguin variation on The Dude from The Big Lebowski, all gruff charm and exasperation. Bridges and LaBeouf have terrific chemistry in their scenes together, aided immensely by the directors' decision to have their actors record their dialogue together, which is unusual for animation these days.
We're not going to remember Surf's Up as a classic in ten years, but it's a good-natured, sweetly charming little movie that'll keep you entertained.
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Movies
June 07, 2007
BOOKS: What's So Funny?, Donald E. Westlake (2007)
13th in the John Dortmunder series of comic crime novels.
This time, Dortmunder is approached by an ex-cop who wants him to steal a chess set. Sounds easy enough, but the pieces are 4 inches high and made of solid gold; the set is too heavy for one (or even two) to carry, and it's located in a very secure underground bank vault. But not stealing the chess set isn't really an option, as the cop has some incriminating photos of an earlier Dortmunder heist.
Dortmunder's usual gang of associates is on hand, and it's always a pleasure to spend time with them. And as usual, Westlake's given us some marvelous new supporting characters to fill out the story -- ex-cop Johnny Eppick; his employer, the very elderly Mr. Hemlow, who wants that chess set; the imperious Livia Northwood Wheeler, its current owner -- and a plot with a terrific surprise twist every few chapters.
If you're a regular Dortmunder reader, you know precisely what to expect, and you won't be disappointed by this installment in the series. If you haven't read any of the Dortmunder books before, give them a shot; I'm particularly fond of The Hot Rock (the first in the series) and Drowned Hopes, but they're all good.
This time, Dortmunder is approached by an ex-cop who wants him to steal a chess set. Sounds easy enough, but the pieces are 4 inches high and made of solid gold; the set is too heavy for one (or even two) to carry, and it's located in a very secure underground bank vault. But not stealing the chess set isn't really an option, as the cop has some incriminating photos of an earlier Dortmunder heist.
Dortmunder's usual gang of associates is on hand, and it's always a pleasure to spend time with them. And as usual, Westlake's given us some marvelous new supporting characters to fill out the story -- ex-cop Johnny Eppick; his employer, the very elderly Mr. Hemlow, who wants that chess set; the imperious Livia Northwood Wheeler, its current owner -- and a plot with a terrific surprise twist every few chapters.
If you're a regular Dortmunder reader, you know precisely what to expect, and you won't be disappointed by this installment in the series. If you haven't read any of the Dortmunder books before, give them a shot; I'm particularly fond of The Hot Rock (the first in the series) and Drowned Hopes, but they're all good.
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Books
June 05, 2007
BOOKS: The Last Colony, John Scalzi (2007)
A lively return to the universe of Old Man's War and The Ghost Brigades. John Perry, the soldier-hero of Old Man's War, has retired and settled down with his family when his old military commanders ask him and his wife, Jane, to serve as the leaders of a new colony, to be called Roanoke. John and Jane both suspect that there's more to the request than meets the eye, but they agree, and with their adopted daughter Zoe (who is the biological daughter of Charles Boutin, one of the principal characters of The Ghost Brigades), they head off to Roanoke.
They are, of course, right to be suspicious, as nothing about Roanoke is quite what they'd been led to believe. There are plot twists and bombshells every few chapters here, none of which I plan to spoil for you; suffice it to say that every bit of conniving you think you're figured out will prove to be covering another scheme that you'd never expected.
John Perry is a genial and droll narrator, though Scalzi too often has Perry deliberately conceal knowledge from us solely for dramatic effect. Something happens that is surprising to the readers, then Perry explains that because of X -- which happened last week, but he hadn't bothered to tell us about yet -- it's not really surprising at all. That's OK once or twice, but Scalzi repeats that trick too often here.
That's a mild quibble, though, and the novel as a whole is great fun. The story is cleverly constructed, the characters are sharply defined, and for all the scheming and conniving aliens and space battles, there's a surprising warmth to the story. John and Jane are flat-out nice people; you can't help rooting for them, and smiling every time they triumph over ludicrous odds. Scalzi says this is the last novel to be set in this universe, and it's a most satisfying conclusion to the series.
They are, of course, right to be suspicious, as nothing about Roanoke is quite what they'd been led to believe. There are plot twists and bombshells every few chapters here, none of which I plan to spoil for you; suffice it to say that every bit of conniving you think you're figured out will prove to be covering another scheme that you'd never expected.
John Perry is a genial and droll narrator, though Scalzi too often has Perry deliberately conceal knowledge from us solely for dramatic effect. Something happens that is surprising to the readers, then Perry explains that because of X -- which happened last week, but he hadn't bothered to tell us about yet -- it's not really surprising at all. That's OK once or twice, but Scalzi repeats that trick too often here.
That's a mild quibble, though, and the novel as a whole is great fun. The story is cleverly constructed, the characters are sharply defined, and for all the scheming and conniving aliens and space battles, there's a surprising warmth to the story. John and Jane are flat-out nice people; you can't help rooting for them, and smiling every time they triumph over ludicrous odds. Scalzi says this is the last novel to be set in this universe, and it's a most satisfying conclusion to the series.
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Books
June 04, 2007
Department of GaGa: Women in Art
Who said GaGa always had to be music?
(via About Last Night)
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June 03, 2007
MOVIES: Show Business: The Road to Broadway (Dori Berinstein, 2007)
Berinstein follows four musicals of the 2003-04 Broadway season from rehearsals to the Tony Awards in this pleasant documentary. They're an eclectic assortment of shows. There's the big-budget Wicked, based on the novel about Oz from the Wicked Witch's point of view; the London import Taboo, a largely autobiographical show written by Boy George and produced by Rosie O'Donnell; the defiantly anti-commercial civil rights story Caroline, or Change; and the "Sesame Street for grownups" puppet musical Avenue Q.
Berinstein gets lucky, capturing some marvelous moments -- composer Jeanine Tesori and lyricist Tony Kushner struggling to get the final number of Caroline right; Boy George sneaking out of the theater for a cigarette on the opening of night of Taboo and meeting two long-time fans, who just happen to be the writers of Avenue Q, which is playing two theaters down the street; the cast of Wicked marveling at their first sight of Idina Menzel in her green makeup -- and some lovely Broadway traditions, such as the travels of the "gypsy robe."
Serving as a Greek chorus of sorts are several of New York's most prominent theater critics, who meet over dinner or cocktails several times during the year to chat about the season for Berinstein. They serve largely as a reminder that even the self-styled experts don't really have any clue about what the public wants; every one of their consensus opinions -- "There's no audience for Avenue Q!;" "Wicked is a mess that's doomed to fail;" (that one eventually replaced in their groupthink by "Wicked is sure to win the Best Musical Tony") -- proves to be wrong.
The critics are particularly interesting when analyzing the failure of Taboo, the biggest flop of the four; in retrospect, they seem to think that they may have been to hard on the show, and that it deserved a better chance than it got. (The lone exception here is Michael Riedel of the New York Post, who seems to have made it his personal mission to destroy Taboo and everyone associated with it.)
The movie's not ultimately terribly insightful, and I don't think it'll hold any real surprises for anyone who follows theater (or any other major form of showbiz, for that matter). But it's a sharply assembled piece of entertainment, and theater buffs will surely enjoy it.
Berinstein gets lucky, capturing some marvelous moments -- composer Jeanine Tesori and lyricist Tony Kushner struggling to get the final number of Caroline right; Boy George sneaking out of the theater for a cigarette on the opening of night of Taboo and meeting two long-time fans, who just happen to be the writers of Avenue Q, which is playing two theaters down the street; the cast of Wicked marveling at their first sight of Idina Menzel in her green makeup -- and some lovely Broadway traditions, such as the travels of the "gypsy robe."
Serving as a Greek chorus of sorts are several of New York's most prominent theater critics, who meet over dinner or cocktails several times during the year to chat about the season for Berinstein. They serve largely as a reminder that even the self-styled experts don't really have any clue about what the public wants; every one of their consensus opinions -- "There's no audience for Avenue Q!;" "Wicked is a mess that's doomed to fail;" (that one eventually replaced in their groupthink by "Wicked is sure to win the Best Musical Tony") -- proves to be wrong.
The critics are particularly interesting when analyzing the failure of Taboo, the biggest flop of the four; in retrospect, they seem to think that they may have been to hard on the show, and that it deserved a better chance than it got. (The lone exception here is Michael Riedel of the New York Post, who seems to have made it his personal mission to destroy Taboo and everyone associated with it.)
The movie's not ultimately terribly insightful, and I don't think it'll hold any real surprises for anyone who follows theater (or any other major form of showbiz, for that matter). But it's a sharply assembled piece of entertainment, and theater buffs will surely enjoy it.
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