The Adjustment Bureau is the latest in the long line of movies based on stories by Philip K. Dick (this one, very loosely indeed, taking not much more than the basic concept and building an entirely new story around it). It's got the common Dickian theme of the paranoid guy who really is being chased by mysterious powerful forces, but this one also has a romance story that you'd be unlikely to find in Dick.
Matt Damon stars as David, a young politician who has just suffered his worst defeat when he meets Elise (Emily Blunt); there is an instant attraction between them, but they are separated before they can swap contact info. They meet by chance a few years later, but separated again; in the process, David stumbles upon the existence of the Adjustment Bureau, an army of men in fedoras whose job is to make sure that everyone's life goes according to The Plan.
David and Elise are not supposed to be together, but David refuses to give up hope, and when the two cross paths again, he decides to fight the Bureau and stay with her. (Y'know, it occurs to me that while David has no way of contacting Elise during their separations -- doesn't know her last name or phone number -- she could certainly contact him easily enough. He just ran for Senate, for god's sake, so she certainly knows his full name.)
Damon and Blunt are a very appealing couple, with strong romantic chemistry, and their relationship is the best part of the movie; I was rooting for them to survive as a couple so strongly that it carried me through some of the clunkier aspects of the plot.
Anthony Mackie, who plays the Bureau member assigned to David's case, and John Slattery as Mackie's supervisor, are also very good; Slattery has a nice dry sense of humor. (And in the suits and hats, it's almost like watching Mad Men's Roger Sterling away from the office.) The ending doesn't live up to the rest of the movie, and there is a fair amount of predictability here, but Damon and Blunt are a strong enough couple to make the movie worth seeing.
March 08, 2011
MOVIES: Rango (Gore Verbinski, 2011)
I had been skeptical of this one, if only because the characters were so visually unappealing in the posters and ads. But the movie turns out to be a terrific riff on old-fashioned westerns, and not, I think, a movie for kids, who won't get most of the jokes and movie references.
Johnny Depp provides the voice for our hero, a chameleon who winds up abandoned in the desert and wanders into the small town of Dirt. Dirt is in need of a new sheriff, and the chameleon (who is something of a drama enthusiast) takes on the job, adopting a tough-guy persona and calling himself Rango.
Dirt is in the midst of a serious drought, and no one can figure out why the water's stopped flowing. The story turns into a wacko riff on Chinatown, with Ned Beatty's corrupt mayor in the John Huston role, and Rango follows the expected path of the pretend hero who is forced to dig deep and find the real hero within.
There's a marvelous voice cast here. We've got Alfred Molina as Roadkill, an armadillo who offers mystic advice to Rango; Isla Fisher as Beans, a tomboy lizard who becomes Rango's romantic interest; Timothy Olyphant as the Spirit of the West; and (best of all) Bill Nighy as the sinister Rattlesnake Jake.
Hans Zimmer's score is great fun, largely built around a mariachi band of owls who serve as combination narrators/Greek chorus. But he also uses existing music in wonderful ways -- an aerial assault set to a banjo-flavored version of "Ride of the Valkyries," a strange ritual line dance to the tune of "Cool Water." Some of the animation set pieces are spectacular; the first confrontation between Rango and Rattlesnake Jake is amazing, and Jake is a genuinely frightening villain.
Very much recommended, and worth seeing on the big screen.
Johnny Depp provides the voice for our hero, a chameleon who winds up abandoned in the desert and wanders into the small town of Dirt. Dirt is in need of a new sheriff, and the chameleon (who is something of a drama enthusiast) takes on the job, adopting a tough-guy persona and calling himself Rango.
Dirt is in the midst of a serious drought, and no one can figure out why the water's stopped flowing. The story turns into a wacko riff on Chinatown, with Ned Beatty's corrupt mayor in the John Huston role, and Rango follows the expected path of the pretend hero who is forced to dig deep and find the real hero within.
There's a marvelous voice cast here. We've got Alfred Molina as Roadkill, an armadillo who offers mystic advice to Rango; Isla Fisher as Beans, a tomboy lizard who becomes Rango's romantic interest; Timothy Olyphant as the Spirit of the West; and (best of all) Bill Nighy as the sinister Rattlesnake Jake.
Hans Zimmer's score is great fun, largely built around a mariachi band of owls who serve as combination narrators/Greek chorus. But he also uses existing music in wonderful ways -- an aerial assault set to a banjo-flavored version of "Ride of the Valkyries," a strange ritual line dance to the tune of "Cool Water." Some of the animation set pieces are spectacular; the first confrontation between Rango and Rattlesnake Jake is amazing, and Jake is a genuinely frightening villain.
Very much recommended, and worth seeing on the big screen.
March 07, 2011
MOVIES: Heartbeats (Xavier Dolan, 2010 / US 2011)
(Original French title: Les Amours Imaginaires.)
French-Canadian wunderkind Xavier Dolan will turn 22 in two weeks, and Heartbeats is already his second full-length movie. In addition to directing, he wrote the script, stars in it, and gets credits for "conceiving" the costumes and sets (though he apparently didn't actually make them himself). He is also incredibly attractive. You could hate a guy like that, if he wasn't so damned talented.
In Heartbeats, Dolan plays Francis, who is at a party with his friend Marie (Monia Chokri) when both are taken by a handsome newcomer, Nicolas (Niels Schneider). Neither Francis nor Marie is brave enough to confess their attraction, and Nico is one of those guys who perpetually walks the line between being really friendly and being outright flirtatious, and seems utterly clueless to the idea that his inscrutability is driving his friends nuts. The three start hanging out together, theoretically as platonic friends, though both Francis and Marie are -- to the extent that their timidity allows -- flirting, each clinging to every little sign that he/she might be the one Nico's really interested in.
That is the extent of the plot, but Heartbeats really isn't about plot, anyway. It's a mood piece; it's about the frustration you feel when your beloved refuses to notice your interest, an indifference that only makes him more desirable. It's about the desperation of young people in love, and the way that a girl in just the right dress, a boy in just the right suit, can take your breath away.
Dolan is in love with moviemaking, with the beauty of images, and he pulls out every trick in the book here -- slow-motion pans over a perfect face, dancers moving jerkily in a strobe-lit room, bedroom scenes shot through candy-colored filters. The movie has no score, but Dolan uses existing music to set mood nearly as well as Tarantino; everything from Bach cello suites to a French-language version of "Bang Bang" shows up here.
It's often a mark of a young filmmaker that you can easily tell what he's most recently been influenced by, and that's sometimes true here. We get intermittent documentary-style scenes of young men and women talking about their own romantic disappointment that feel like a downer version of similar interludes in When Harry Met Sally; the long lingering shots of Francis and Marie, with emphasis on their brightly colored clothes, are like a Montreal version of Wong Kar-Wai's In the Mood for Love. But as visible as his influences are, Dolan is clearly well on his way to synthesizing them into something uniquely his own. I'm really looking forward to seeing what he does next.
French-Canadian wunderkind Xavier Dolan will turn 22 in two weeks, and Heartbeats is already his second full-length movie. In addition to directing, he wrote the script, stars in it, and gets credits for "conceiving" the costumes and sets (though he apparently didn't actually make them himself). He is also incredibly attractive. You could hate a guy like that, if he wasn't so damned talented.
In Heartbeats, Dolan plays Francis, who is at a party with his friend Marie (Monia Chokri) when both are taken by a handsome newcomer, Nicolas (Niels Schneider). Neither Francis nor Marie is brave enough to confess their attraction, and Nico is one of those guys who perpetually walks the line between being really friendly and being outright flirtatious, and seems utterly clueless to the idea that his inscrutability is driving his friends nuts. The three start hanging out together, theoretically as platonic friends, though both Francis and Marie are -- to the extent that their timidity allows -- flirting, each clinging to every little sign that he/she might be the one Nico's really interested in.
That is the extent of the plot, but Heartbeats really isn't about plot, anyway. It's a mood piece; it's about the frustration you feel when your beloved refuses to notice your interest, an indifference that only makes him more desirable. It's about the desperation of young people in love, and the way that a girl in just the right dress, a boy in just the right suit, can take your breath away.
Dolan is in love with moviemaking, with the beauty of images, and he pulls out every trick in the book here -- slow-motion pans over a perfect face, dancers moving jerkily in a strobe-lit room, bedroom scenes shot through candy-colored filters. The movie has no score, but Dolan uses existing music to set mood nearly as well as Tarantino; everything from Bach cello suites to a French-language version of "Bang Bang" shows up here.
It's often a mark of a young filmmaker that you can easily tell what he's most recently been influenced by, and that's sometimes true here. We get intermittent documentary-style scenes of young men and women talking about their own romantic disappointment that feel like a downer version of similar interludes in When Harry Met Sally; the long lingering shots of Francis and Marie, with emphasis on their brightly colored clothes, are like a Montreal version of Wong Kar-Wai's In the Mood for Love. But as visible as his influences are, Dolan is clearly well on his way to synthesizing them into something uniquely his own. I'm really looking forward to seeing what he does next.
March 04, 2011
MUSIC: American Idol 2011: wild card night
Well, had I known there would actually be a wild card competition with singing and everything, I'd have watched the show last night.
But before we get to that, let's look at how the voting went. Surprisingly well, as it happens. All seven of the singers who I thought were most deserving got through -- in order of performance, that would be James, Scotty, Jacob, Casey, Karen, Thia, and Pia -- and the three other singers who were voted in (Paul, Haley, and Lauren A) -- at least came from the better end of the mediocrity pool instead of the genuinely awful end.
And that left 14 singers, from whom the judges chose six to compete for the wild card spots. I don't think I've ever before watched a set of performances when I already know who was going to survive and who wasn't, but let's see if we can be relatively objective as we watch the wannabes sing for their lives, shall we?
The rundown:
Ashthon, "And I Am Telling You I Am Not Going" -- She's got volume, but there's not a lot of substance to her voice. This song requires a monstrously large personality -- she has to be able to stop that man from leaving through sheer willpwer -- and Ashthon doesn't have the volcanic force that's called for. Also, she needs to become more aware of where the camera is, because with that head of hair, we lose her face the second she turns away from it.
Stefano, "I Need You Now" -- When he can belt, he's very good, with a penetrating quality that reminds me a bit of Neil Sedaka. But when he gets quiet, his technique is crap; he's closing off his windpipe, forcing the notes out, which is why he can't sustain a quiet phrase for more than two or three notes.
Kendra, "Georgia On My Mind" -- She seems determined to use every tool in her box here. The attempt at sultry low notes, the belted high notes, the bluesy growl, the melismatic runs -- and it's just too much. She's throwing everything at the song except good taste. It's all frosting and no cake. Just because you can do something doesn't mean you are required to.
Jovany, "Angel" -- Very nice, perfectly fine performance, and utterly unmemorable. Nothing distinctive, nothing special, nothing interesting about it all.
Naima, "For All We Know" -- Well, it was certainly better than her "Summertime," but there's still something of the cheesy lounge act about her. And the way in which she approaches the song -- braying those big notes as if she's fighting to be heard above a dozen firetrucks -- is at odds with the romantic, slightly mournful nature of the lyrics.
Robbie, "Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word" -- Interesting. He's got a nice voice, but there's something weird going on emotionally that I can't quite pin down. Maybe he's overdoing it a bit? There's something insincere about it, almost as if he's making fun of the song. Still, in a rather weak bunch, this was one of the better sung efforts.
And the judges decide to take Ashthon, Stefano, and Naima. I'd have taken Robbie over Naima, but it's not as if there were any really great choices available in this bunch.
But before we get to that, let's look at how the voting went. Surprisingly well, as it happens. All seven of the singers who I thought were most deserving got through -- in order of performance, that would be James, Scotty, Jacob, Casey, Karen, Thia, and Pia -- and the three other singers who were voted in (Paul, Haley, and Lauren A) -- at least came from the better end of the mediocrity pool instead of the genuinely awful end.
And that left 14 singers, from whom the judges chose six to compete for the wild card spots. I don't think I've ever before watched a set of performances when I already know who was going to survive and who wasn't, but let's see if we can be relatively objective as we watch the wannabes sing for their lives, shall we?
The rundown:
Ashthon, "And I Am Telling You I Am Not Going" -- She's got volume, but there's not a lot of substance to her voice. This song requires a monstrously large personality -- she has to be able to stop that man from leaving through sheer willpwer -- and Ashthon doesn't have the volcanic force that's called for. Also, she needs to become more aware of where the camera is, because with that head of hair, we lose her face the second she turns away from it.
Stefano, "I Need You Now" -- When he can belt, he's very good, with a penetrating quality that reminds me a bit of Neil Sedaka. But when he gets quiet, his technique is crap; he's closing off his windpipe, forcing the notes out, which is why he can't sustain a quiet phrase for more than two or three notes.
Kendra, "Georgia On My Mind" -- She seems determined to use every tool in her box here. The attempt at sultry low notes, the belted high notes, the bluesy growl, the melismatic runs -- and it's just too much. She's throwing everything at the song except good taste. It's all frosting and no cake. Just because you can do something doesn't mean you are required to.
Jovany, "Angel" -- Very nice, perfectly fine performance, and utterly unmemorable. Nothing distinctive, nothing special, nothing interesting about it all.
Naima, "For All We Know" -- Well, it was certainly better than her "Summertime," but there's still something of the cheesy lounge act about her. And the way in which she approaches the song -- braying those big notes as if she's fighting to be heard above a dozen firetrucks -- is at odds with the romantic, slightly mournful nature of the lyrics.
Robbie, "Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word" -- Interesting. He's got a nice voice, but there's something weird going on emotionally that I can't quite pin down. Maybe he's overdoing it a bit? There's something insincere about it, almost as if he's making fun of the song. Still, in a rather weak bunch, this was one of the better sung efforts.
And the judges decide to take Ashthon, Stefano, and Naima. I'd have taken Robbie over Naima, but it's not as if there were any really great choices available in this bunch.
March 03, 2011
BOOKS: Shades of Milk and Honey, Mary Robinette Kowal
Here we have a Jane Austen pastiche with a touch of magic thrown in. There's just enough of it to qualify this as fantasy, and it is one of the nominees for the Nebula Award this year. It's not particularly impressive magic, mind you, but through "manipulating the glamour" -- playing with folds in space and light -- practitioners are able to create visual illusions.
The plot is standard Austen: Jane is a talented glamourist, a desirable skill in a lady, but alas, she is rather plain, and at the ripe old age of 28, has resigned herself to spinsterhood. Her only hope now for a comfortable life after her parents die is to see Melody (her younger, prettier sister) married well, hopefully to a man who will invite her into their home to serve as unpaid governess to Melody's children.
(A friend of fine points out that "Melody" is not exactly a run-of-the-mill Regency name. Given that the story isn't really set in our Regency, I give Kowal a bit more leeway for such anachronisms.)
There are, of course, several men on the scene as possible suitors for the sisters -- the charming Mr. Dunkirk, the dashing Captain Robertson, the taciturn Mr. Vincent (the most gifted glamourist Jane has ever encountered) -- and it should pose no serious challenge to the decidated Austenite to sort out which man Jane will wind up with. (You could almost do it from those character descriptions, I suspect.)
As such things go, this is nicely done. Kowal is particularly good at capturing the flavor of Austen's prose in a way that doesn't leave the modern reader feeling quite so bogged down as she might when facing the real thing. The opening paragraph gives you a good sense of her faux-Austen style:
The plot is standard Austen: Jane is a talented glamourist, a desirable skill in a lady, but alas, she is rather plain, and at the ripe old age of 28, has resigned herself to spinsterhood. Her only hope now for a comfortable life after her parents die is to see Melody (her younger, prettier sister) married well, hopefully to a man who will invite her into their home to serve as unpaid governess to Melody's children.
(A friend of fine points out that "Melody" is not exactly a run-of-the-mill Regency name. Given that the story isn't really set in our Regency, I give Kowal a bit more leeway for such anachronisms.)
There are, of course, several men on the scene as possible suitors for the sisters -- the charming Mr. Dunkirk, the dashing Captain Robertson, the taciturn Mr. Vincent (the most gifted glamourist Jane has ever encountered) -- and it should pose no serious challenge to the decidated Austenite to sort out which man Jane will wind up with. (You could almost do it from those character descriptions, I suspect.)
As such things go, this is nicely done. Kowal is particularly good at capturing the flavor of Austen's prose in a way that doesn't leave the modern reader feeling quite so bogged down as she might when facing the real thing. The opening paragraph gives you a good sense of her faux-Austen style:
The Ellsworths of Long Parkmead had the regard of their neighbours in every respect. The Honourable Charles Ellsworth, though a second son, through the generosity of his father had been entrusted with an estate in the neighbourhood of Dorchester. It was well appointed and used only enough glamour to enhance its natural grace, without overlaying so much illusion as to be tasteless. His only regret, for the estate was a fine one, was that it was entailed, and as he had only two daughters, his elder brother's son stood next in line to inherit it. Knowing that, he took pains to set aside some of his income each annum for the provision of his daughters.It's a pleasant lightweight read, and those who are fonder of Austen than I am may well find it to be more than that.
March 02, 2011
MUSIC: American Idol 2011: women's semi-finals
The ladies take their turn in the spotlight, and I'm left with the impression that this year is going to be all about the men. It's not a strong night overall, and even the best performances pale in comparison to the best of last night.
The rundown:
Ta-Tynisa, "Only Girl (in the World)" -- The adrenaline's getting to her, and she's just a bit sharp throughout. She's got a powerful voice, though, and if she makes it through and settles down a bit, there might be something there.
Naima, "Summertime" -- What are all those poor folks on the Lido Deck going to do for entertainment now that Naima has abandoned them for Idol? Oh well, I suspect she'll be back on the Pacific Princess by the end of the week. There may be talent there, but it's buried under so many layers of bad taste that it's not going to be worth digging for it.
Kendra, "Impossible" -- A bit heavy on the ruffles and flourishes for my liking, but it is a Christina Aguilera song, so I suppose that's not inappropriate. Nice voice, well sung. Very solid, though not hugely memorable. I worry a bit about how squinty and pained she looks on the highest notes; that suggests that her technique isn't as solid as it should be.
Rachel, "Criminal" -- Terrible song choice. She doesn't have the naughty sultriness that's called for, which makes her look like a little girl playing dress-up in mommy's closet. Musically, it feels like it's in the wrong key, and she's straining to hit the low notes.
Karen, "Hero" -- Lovely. I like her smooth silky tone a lot, and I really admire her high notes, which are perfectly in tune and (unlike a lot of Idol women) not remotely shrill or piercing. She's also very poised and comfortable on stage.
Lauren T, "Seven Day Fool" -- Strong powerful voice with a distinctive husky quality, though the words occasionally get buried in all that darkness. I'm not wildly enthusiastic yet, but she's interesting enough that I'd like to see more.
Ashthon, "Love All Over Me" -- It's like someone took every major black diva of the last 20 years into a lab and cross-bred them all. What's missing, though, is any sense of a personality to go with the voice; there's something a bit robotic and chilly about her performance.
Julie, "Breakaway" -- The song is bigger than she is, and she's pushing so hard to be big enough that she's gasping for breath by the end. The final note, which is clearly meant to be a big dramatic finish, just fizzles out into nothing.
Haley, "Fallin'" -- I like her playfulness, and the ease with which she bounces from one register of her voice to another. She overdoes the growly thing a bit, but that's a relatively small flaw in an otherwise solid piece of work.
Thia, "Out Here On My Own" -- Some of the high notes are a touch flat, but I like that she had the nerve to do something relatively quiet and intimate. Love that she can get quiet without the voice disappearing entirely; there's still a solid core of sound there. Very promising.
Lauren A, "Turn On the Radio" -- The song calls for assertive and powerful, which Lauren translates as loud and shouty. It's a grownup's song, and Lauren isn't old enough to give it the right emotional layers.
Pia, "I'll Stand By You" -- Very good. I like the simple clarity of her voice, though like so many Idol women, she doesn't have any power in her lower register.
The choices are much harder to make among the women than they were among the men, because the women are (a) not as good and (b) far more evenly grouped. Where the men ran the range of talent from A to Z, the women are more tightly bunched from, oh, H to P.
So who deserves to stay? Well, I'd say that Karen, Thia, and Pia are the best of the bunch, and certainly deserve to move on. Beyond that, it's just a big bunch of OK. Pick any two from Haley, Kendra, Ashthon, and the Laurens.
The rundown:
Ta-Tynisa, "Only Girl (in the World)" -- The adrenaline's getting to her, and she's just a bit sharp throughout. She's got a powerful voice, though, and if she makes it through and settles down a bit, there might be something there.
Naima, "Summertime" -- What are all those poor folks on the Lido Deck going to do for entertainment now that Naima has abandoned them for Idol? Oh well, I suspect she'll be back on the Pacific Princess by the end of the week. There may be talent there, but it's buried under so many layers of bad taste that it's not going to be worth digging for it.
Kendra, "Impossible" -- A bit heavy on the ruffles and flourishes for my liking, but it is a Christina Aguilera song, so I suppose that's not inappropriate. Nice voice, well sung. Very solid, though not hugely memorable. I worry a bit about how squinty and pained she looks on the highest notes; that suggests that her technique isn't as solid as it should be.
Rachel, "Criminal" -- Terrible song choice. She doesn't have the naughty sultriness that's called for, which makes her look like a little girl playing dress-up in mommy's closet. Musically, it feels like it's in the wrong key, and she's straining to hit the low notes.
Karen, "Hero" -- Lovely. I like her smooth silky tone a lot, and I really admire her high notes, which are perfectly in tune and (unlike a lot of Idol women) not remotely shrill or piercing. She's also very poised and comfortable on stage.
Lauren T, "Seven Day Fool" -- Strong powerful voice with a distinctive husky quality, though the words occasionally get buried in all that darkness. I'm not wildly enthusiastic yet, but she's interesting enough that I'd like to see more.
Ashthon, "Love All Over Me" -- It's like someone took every major black diva of the last 20 years into a lab and cross-bred them all. What's missing, though, is any sense of a personality to go with the voice; there's something a bit robotic and chilly about her performance.
Julie, "Breakaway" -- The song is bigger than she is, and she's pushing so hard to be big enough that she's gasping for breath by the end. The final note, which is clearly meant to be a big dramatic finish, just fizzles out into nothing.
Haley, "Fallin'" -- I like her playfulness, and the ease with which she bounces from one register of her voice to another. She overdoes the growly thing a bit, but that's a relatively small flaw in an otherwise solid piece of work.
Thia, "Out Here On My Own" -- Some of the high notes are a touch flat, but I like that she had the nerve to do something relatively quiet and intimate. Love that she can get quiet without the voice disappearing entirely; there's still a solid core of sound there. Very promising.
Lauren A, "Turn On the Radio" -- The song calls for assertive and powerful, which Lauren translates as loud and shouty. It's a grownup's song, and Lauren isn't old enough to give it the right emotional layers.
Pia, "I'll Stand By You" -- Very good. I like the simple clarity of her voice, though like so many Idol women, she doesn't have any power in her lower register.
The choices are much harder to make among the women than they were among the men, because the women are (a) not as good and (b) far more evenly grouped. Where the men ran the range of talent from A to Z, the women are more tightly bunched from, oh, H to P.
So who deserves to stay? Well, I'd say that Karen, Thia, and Pia are the best of the bunch, and certainly deserve to move on. Beyond that, it's just a big bunch of OK. Pick any two from Haley, Kendra, Ashthon, and the Laurens.
BOOKS: Echo, Jack McDevitt (2010)
Fifth in the Alex Benedict series.
Set in the relatively distant future -- at least two thousand years or so -- this series features Alex Benedict, an antique dealer. And when one is dealing with interstellar travel, antiques can be very old indeed.
In this case, the central artifact isn't all that old, but it's certainly intriguing. It's a stone tablet with inscriptions that aren't in any known human language, and it's found at the former home of an explorer who devoted his career to the search for non-human life. Only one alien species has ever been discovered, so Alex is quite excited at the possibility that this tablet could lead to a second.
There are mysteries, though. Sunset Tuttle, the explorer in question, was something of a publicity hound, and if he had found alien life, it seems unlikely that he would have kept it a secret. The tablet's current owner, who was once Sunset's lover, gets very nervous when Alex starts asking questions, and does all she can to keep him from getting a good look at the tablet.
Alex and his assistant, Chase Kolpath (who narrates the story; she's sort of a Dr. Watson to Alex's Sherlock Holmes), set out to unravel the secrets of the tablet, a quest that will interstellar sightseeing trips, retired spaceship pilots turned hermits, and a menacing woman known as the Mortician.
McDevitt's style isn't flashy; it's comfortably old-fashioned. His future is not a particularly high-tech place, and it feels much like our own might if we took space travel for granted. Alex and Chase aren't the deepest or most complicated characters, but they're likable, and it's pleasant to spend some time in their company. They mystery of the tablet is well plotted, and comes to a reasonable and believable solution. Echo doesn't break any new ground in the genre, but it's a solid story, well told, and sometimes that's more than enough.
Set in the relatively distant future -- at least two thousand years or so -- this series features Alex Benedict, an antique dealer. And when one is dealing with interstellar travel, antiques can be very old indeed.
In this case, the central artifact isn't all that old, but it's certainly intriguing. It's a stone tablet with inscriptions that aren't in any known human language, and it's found at the former home of an explorer who devoted his career to the search for non-human life. Only one alien species has ever been discovered, so Alex is quite excited at the possibility that this tablet could lead to a second.
There are mysteries, though. Sunset Tuttle, the explorer in question, was something of a publicity hound, and if he had found alien life, it seems unlikely that he would have kept it a secret. The tablet's current owner, who was once Sunset's lover, gets very nervous when Alex starts asking questions, and does all she can to keep him from getting a good look at the tablet.
Alex and his assistant, Chase Kolpath (who narrates the story; she's sort of a Dr. Watson to Alex's Sherlock Holmes), set out to unravel the secrets of the tablet, a quest that will interstellar sightseeing trips, retired spaceship pilots turned hermits, and a menacing woman known as the Mortician.
McDevitt's style isn't flashy; it's comfortably old-fashioned. His future is not a particularly high-tech place, and it feels much like our own might if we took space travel for granted. Alex and Chase aren't the deepest or most complicated characters, but they're likable, and it's pleasant to spend some time in their company. They mystery of the tablet is well plotted, and comes to a reasonable and believable solution. Echo doesn't break any new ground in the genre, but it's a solid story, well told, and sometimes that's more than enough.
March 01, 2011
MUSIC: American Idol 2011: men's semi-finals
And we're off!
It's a new season, with new judges, of whom I've not seen much yet, since I don't join the show until Hollywood week. Based on Hollywood/Vegas week, I'm tentatively pleased with both Steven Tyler and Jennifer Lopez, though I don't think we'll really know how they'll be as judges until we see them in live episodes. (The semi-final shows that air tonight and tomorrow were taped in advance.)
We've also got a new set and a new condensed semi-final format, in which 24 singers will be hacked down to a field of ten voter-chosen finalists (plus some wild-card picks from the judges) in only two nights. First up, the men, who will all struggle with the band being mixed just a little too loud.
The rundown:
Clint, "Superstition" -- Not bad, though it's not a particularly challenging song and the performance is too hyper for my taste, and on the longer notes, his vibrato gets a bit wide and wobbly, making him sound rather like a bleating goat.
Jovany, "I'll Be" -- Goodness, it's an old-fashioned truckdriver's modulation! We don't get many of those on Idol. Sadly, that was the most memorable thing about the performance, which was blandly competent. Jovany tends to swallow the low notes, so the chorus, which should begin with "and I'll be...," consistently begins instead with "dial be...".
Jordan, "OMG" -- He lacks power, especially in the lower register; the stuff we can hear is often out of tune, especially the falsetto. And it's not a good sign when a singer feels compelled to start peeling off clothing on the first night; it suggests that even he thinks that's all he's really got going for him.
Tim, "Streetcorner Symphony" -- I'm typing this less than 20 seconds after Tim finishes singing, and I can already barely remember any of it. Duller than a Joe Lieberman standup routine.
Brett, "Light My Fire" -- I have the feeling that this will be the guy whose appeal I struggle all season long to understand. I find him shrill and terribly mannered, with oddly affected pronunciation, especially at the beginning, where "fire" seems to be spelled with 18 Rs.
James, "You've Got Another Think Comin'" -- Not my type of music, but he's the first guy to choose a song that really plays to his strengths. The shrieking sounds natural and appropriate to the genre, instead of forced and pained as it often does with would-be Idol rockers.
Robbie, "Angel" -- I have the hunch that he might have a nice voice when he sings full out, but in this hushed quiet mode, he's only got a very narrow useful range. His high notes get pinched and whiny, and some of those falsetto runs are just ugly.
Scotty, "Letters from Home" -- I fear to think what will happen to him when he's forced outside his country niche, but within that niche, he's delightful. He has a surprisingly well developed ability to play to the audience (and the camera); the timing and inflection on that "y'all" was impeccable.
Stefano, "Just the Way You Are" -- He's pushing way too hard, and there's a strangled quality to his voice, which may have something to do with the broad smile that's plastered on his face throughout. The high notes at the very end are painfully out of tune.
Paul, "Maggie May" -- Not a horrible performance, really, but he's so self-consciously quirky and eccentric that it creeps me out a little. I'm also not sure it was a good idea for someonewith so naturally raspy a voice to choose a Rod Stewart song; might have been wiser to choose someone you can't be so obviously compared to, and suffer for the comparison.
Jacob, "A House Is Not a Home" -- Spectacularly wide range, and absolutely in control of it from top to bottom. He doesn't communicate a lot of emotion, and that will hurt him in the long run; cool and elegant don't last long on Idol. But the pyrotechnics will be enjoyable while they last.
Casey, "I Put a Spell on You" -- No serious technical flaws, and wildly entertaining; he commands the stage better than anyone else in the group.
What's interesting about the night is that the best singers are completely outside the usual Idol mold, and the most traditionally Idol-esque singers aren't very good. Only one question to be asked tonight: Which five deserve to stay? The first four are easy: James, Scotty, Jacob, and Casey. Beyond that, I'm not particularly enthusiastic about anyone, but if you forced me to pick a fifth, I guess I'd go with Clint.
It's a new season, with new judges, of whom I've not seen much yet, since I don't join the show until Hollywood week. Based on Hollywood/Vegas week, I'm tentatively pleased with both Steven Tyler and Jennifer Lopez, though I don't think we'll really know how they'll be as judges until we see them in live episodes. (The semi-final shows that air tonight and tomorrow were taped in advance.)
We've also got a new set and a new condensed semi-final format, in which 24 singers will be hacked down to a field of ten voter-chosen finalists (plus some wild-card picks from the judges) in only two nights. First up, the men, who will all struggle with the band being mixed just a little too loud.
The rundown:
Clint, "Superstition" -- Not bad, though it's not a particularly challenging song and the performance is too hyper for my taste, and on the longer notes, his vibrato gets a bit wide and wobbly, making him sound rather like a bleating goat.
Jovany, "I'll Be" -- Goodness, it's an old-fashioned truckdriver's modulation! We don't get many of those on Idol. Sadly, that was the most memorable thing about the performance, which was blandly competent. Jovany tends to swallow the low notes, so the chorus, which should begin with "and I'll be...," consistently begins instead with "dial be...".
Jordan, "OMG" -- He lacks power, especially in the lower register; the stuff we can hear is often out of tune, especially the falsetto. And it's not a good sign when a singer feels compelled to start peeling off clothing on the first night; it suggests that even he thinks that's all he's really got going for him.
Tim, "Streetcorner Symphony" -- I'm typing this less than 20 seconds after Tim finishes singing, and I can already barely remember any of it. Duller than a Joe Lieberman standup routine.
Brett, "Light My Fire" -- I have the feeling that this will be the guy whose appeal I struggle all season long to understand. I find him shrill and terribly mannered, with oddly affected pronunciation, especially at the beginning, where "fire" seems to be spelled with 18 Rs.
James, "You've Got Another Think Comin'" -- Not my type of music, but he's the first guy to choose a song that really plays to his strengths. The shrieking sounds natural and appropriate to the genre, instead of forced and pained as it often does with would-be Idol rockers.
Robbie, "Angel" -- I have the hunch that he might have a nice voice when he sings full out, but in this hushed quiet mode, he's only got a very narrow useful range. His high notes get pinched and whiny, and some of those falsetto runs are just ugly.
Scotty, "Letters from Home" -- I fear to think what will happen to him when he's forced outside his country niche, but within that niche, he's delightful. He has a surprisingly well developed ability to play to the audience (and the camera); the timing and inflection on that "y'all" was impeccable.
Stefano, "Just the Way You Are" -- He's pushing way too hard, and there's a strangled quality to his voice, which may have something to do with the broad smile that's plastered on his face throughout. The high notes at the very end are painfully out of tune.
Paul, "Maggie May" -- Not a horrible performance, really, but he's so self-consciously quirky and eccentric that it creeps me out a little. I'm also not sure it was a good idea for someonewith so naturally raspy a voice to choose a Rod Stewart song; might have been wiser to choose someone you can't be so obviously compared to, and suffer for the comparison.
Jacob, "A House Is Not a Home" -- Spectacularly wide range, and absolutely in control of it from top to bottom. He doesn't communicate a lot of emotion, and that will hurt him in the long run; cool and elegant don't last long on Idol. But the pyrotechnics will be enjoyable while they last.
Casey, "I Put a Spell on You" -- No serious technical flaws, and wildly entertaining; he commands the stage better than anyone else in the group.
What's interesting about the night is that the best singers are completely outside the usual Idol mold, and the most traditionally Idol-esque singers aren't very good. Only one question to be asked tonight: Which five deserve to stay? The first four are easy: James, Scotty, Jacob, and Casey. Beyond that, I'm not particularly enthusiastic about anyone, but if you forced me to pick a fifth, I guess I'd go with Clint.
BOOKS: Annabel, Kathleen Winter (2010)
Winter's novel opens as Jacinta Blake gives birth at home, surrounded by her friends and local midwives. Her friend Thomasina is the only one to see that this child is unusual, born with both a penis and a vagina. Her doctors determine that the baby should be raised as a boy, which pleases her husband, Treadway, but Jacinta senses that something is being lost in the decision.
There is no doubt that Jacinta and Treadway love their son Wayne very much, but rural Canada in the 1970s is not an easy place for a child who is different, especially when he's never been told the truth about himself. Treadway finds it particularly difficult to adapt to a son who's less interested in trapping and fishing than he is in watching synchronized swimming, and who makes friends with girls more easily than with boys.
It would be very easy for this story to give in to sensationalism, but Winter never allows it to. She simply tells Wayne's story, allowing us to live for a while in the mind of someone struggling to make sense of the most basic aspects of his identity. The writing is graceful and insightful, and Winter has a gift for finding the telling detail that makes a scene come to life. Her characters are vividly realized, and even the background characters feel completely real. Here's how Winter introduces us to one of Wayne's childhood classmates:
But on the whole, this is a lovely and sensitive story about the need for acceptance, and the pain of those moments when it seems that we may never find it, least of all from ourselves.
There is no doubt that Jacinta and Treadway love their son Wayne very much, but rural Canada in the 1970s is not an easy place for a child who is different, especially when he's never been told the truth about himself. Treadway finds it particularly difficult to adapt to a son who's less interested in trapping and fishing than he is in watching synchronized swimming, and who makes friends with girls more easily than with boys.
It would be very easy for this story to give in to sensationalism, but Winter never allows it to. She simply tells Wayne's story, allowing us to live for a while in the mind of someone struggling to make sense of the most basic aspects of his identity. The writing is graceful and insightful, and Winter has a gift for finding the telling detail that makes a scene come to life. Her characters are vividly realized, and even the background characters feel completely real. Here's how Winter introduces us to one of Wayne's childhood classmates:
Donna Palliser came to the school in the middle of grade five. She took one look around her and decided who had to be taken out and who could stay. She had a slow way of turning her head and giving a poisonous look to anyone she was taking out. Sometimes the look alone took the person out and that person retreated to the background, and sometimes Donna Palliser had to take action, which she did in the playground when none of the teachers was looking. She did not have a strong body; she bullied mentally, not physically, and the first and most important person she wanted to take down was Wally Michelin, who had been queen before Donna got there, and whom Donna could see was the kind of queen who ruled by natural nobility and not by cunning or cruelty or clever resolve. Wally was easy to take down because she did not care if she was queen or not. Wally was not going to move. The other girls would move. The other girls would swear allegiance to the new queen, and there would be a ranking order, and no one would care about Wally's green dragon or orange flare, which they had genuinely admired. They would care about Hush Puppies crepe-soled Mary Jone shoes instead, and angora boleros, and having a ballpoint pen with pink ink, and Sweet Honesty perfume ordered from the Avon catalogue.If there's a weakness here, it's that Winter draws the dividing lines between the sides of Wayne's nature in very traditional ways. The fact that Wayne isn't an outdoors-y kid is a sign that he's not a "real" boy, for instance; there's no room for the possibility that some boys prefer the arts to nature, or that some girls enjoy hunting and fishing.
But on the whole, this is a lovely and sensitive story about the need for acceptance, and the pain of those moments when it seems that we may never find it, least of all from ourselves.
February 27, 2011
what's so funny 'bout peace, link, and understanding
A short list this week:
At NPR, Andy Trudeau gives his annual overview of this year's Oscar-nominated film scores.
Slate's Timothy Noah reports on a recent study which seems to prove that independent films are more likely to be rated R than studio films, which are more likely to get the audience-friendly PG-13.
Shady Characters is an interesting new blog devoted to the history of punctuation marks.
Love this tote bag.
At NPR, Andy Trudeau gives his annual overview of this year's Oscar-nominated film scores.
Slate's Timothy Noah reports on a recent study which seems to prove that independent films are more likely to be rated R than studio films, which are more likely to get the audience-friendly PG-13.
Shady Characters is an interesting new blog devoted to the history of punctuation marks.
Love this tote bag.
February 26, 2011
MOVIES: 2010 Oscar-nominated animated shorts
This is a slightly stronger field than the live-action group, but even here, there's nothing really dazzling.
The one you've probably seen is "Day & Night," the Pixar short that played with Toy Story 3. It doesn't seem quite as substantial on second viewing, but it's still a charmer, and I admire the clever mix of UPA-style character animation and very modern digital work.
"Madagascar, carnet de voyage" (Madagascar: Travel Journal) is an impressionistic voyage through Madagascar, with each scene presented as a page from a scrapbook coming to life. There are multiple animation styles and media, and it's quite lovely to look at.
"The Gruffalo" is the longest of the bunch -- almost half an hour -- and it wears out its welcome long before it's done. The hero is a mouse, outsmarting the animals who want to eat him. The impressive voice cast (Helena Bonham Carter, Robbie Coltrane, John Hurt) can't hide the fact that the story's very repetitious, or that the hero mouse is such a smug little bastard that I was rooting for him to just get eaten already.
"Let's Pollute" is done in the style of 60s educational filmstrips -- perky music, overly enthusiastic narrator, etc. -- and tells the story of how Americans have become the excellent polluters we are today, while reminding us that we can do even better. It's only got the one joke, but it doesn't milk it for too long (it's only six minutes), and some of the punchlines are terrific.
"The Lost Thing" comes from Australia, and tells of a young boy who finds a mysterious thing (creature? machine?) on the beach, then helps it find its home. It's got a sweet melancholy, and it nails its ending better than any of the other entries, with final lines of narration that capture just the right mood.
Because the animated films are relatively brief, the program was padded out with a pair of non-nominated shorts. The German film "Urs" has a distinctive visual style, something like 3D woodcuts come to life, and some striking mountain landscapes. But the story is a muddled mess, and the visuals weren't enough to hold my interest for ten minutes.
"The Cow Who Wanted to Be a Hamburger" is instantly recognizable as a Bill Plympton film, and it's a hilarious look at a calf who's desperate to be accepted by the Happy Burger plant. There's a great parody of the action-movie training montage, and the moment when the cow realizes that he has perhaps not thought through all the implications of his career choice is magnificently done. I'd have rather had this in the final five than "The Gruffalo," and might have even dumped "Day & Night" or "Madagascar" for it.
But since "The Cow" isn't among the actual nominees, I'd cast my ballot for "The Lost Thing." I'd bet on either "The Gruffalo" or "Madagascar" to win it, though.
The one you've probably seen is "Day & Night," the Pixar short that played with Toy Story 3. It doesn't seem quite as substantial on second viewing, but it's still a charmer, and I admire the clever mix of UPA-style character animation and very modern digital work.
"Madagascar, carnet de voyage" (Madagascar: Travel Journal) is an impressionistic voyage through Madagascar, with each scene presented as a page from a scrapbook coming to life. There are multiple animation styles and media, and it's quite lovely to look at.
"The Gruffalo" is the longest of the bunch -- almost half an hour -- and it wears out its welcome long before it's done. The hero is a mouse, outsmarting the animals who want to eat him. The impressive voice cast (Helena Bonham Carter, Robbie Coltrane, John Hurt) can't hide the fact that the story's very repetitious, or that the hero mouse is such a smug little bastard that I was rooting for him to just get eaten already.
"Let's Pollute" is done in the style of 60s educational filmstrips -- perky music, overly enthusiastic narrator, etc. -- and tells the story of how Americans have become the excellent polluters we are today, while reminding us that we can do even better. It's only got the one joke, but it doesn't milk it for too long (it's only six minutes), and some of the punchlines are terrific.
"The Lost Thing" comes from Australia, and tells of a young boy who finds a mysterious thing (creature? machine?) on the beach, then helps it find its home. It's got a sweet melancholy, and it nails its ending better than any of the other entries, with final lines of narration that capture just the right mood.
Because the animated films are relatively brief, the program was padded out with a pair of non-nominated shorts. The German film "Urs" has a distinctive visual style, something like 3D woodcuts come to life, and some striking mountain landscapes. But the story is a muddled mess, and the visuals weren't enough to hold my interest for ten minutes.
"The Cow Who Wanted to Be a Hamburger" is instantly recognizable as a Bill Plympton film, and it's a hilarious look at a calf who's desperate to be accepted by the Happy Burger plant. There's a great parody of the action-movie training montage, and the moment when the cow realizes that he has perhaps not thought through all the implications of his career choice is magnificently done. I'd have rather had this in the final five than "The Gruffalo," and might have even dumped "Day & Night" or "Madagascar" for it.
But since "The Cow" isn't among the actual nominees, I'd cast my ballot for "The Lost Thing." I'd bet on either "The Gruffalo" or "Madagascar" to win it, though.
MOVIES: 2010 Oscar-nominated live-action shorts
This struck me as a rather lackluster field compared to previous years, with only one real standout. Most of the shorts had serious problems either establishing or maintaning a consistent tone.
The show opened with "The Confession," in which we meet Sam, who is so nice a boy that he's worried he won't have anything to tell the priest at his upcoming first confession. Sam's friend comes up with a plan for Sam to do something confession-worthy, and things inevitably spiral out of control. The movie is walking the boundaries of dark comedy all the way, but I think the series of tragic errors goes one step too far, tipping it from dark comedy to tragedy.
"Wish 143" is about a 16-year-old with terminal cancer who is visited by one of those foundations that makes dying kids' last wishes come true. They aren't quite sure how to cope, though, when his last wish is to lose his virginity. Like "The Confession," the tone is a bit wobbly, but the final scene, in which the boy does wind up in bed with a woman, is very nicely played.
"The Crush" gives us a 10-year-old suffering from intense jealousy when he learns that his teacher is engaged to be married. Here, the problem is that the movie doesn't go far enough at the end; it gets right to the edge of a fabulous dark comic ending, and goes all mushy instead.
"Na Wewe" means "you too" in Kirundi, one of the languages spoken in Burundi, where a pair of Belgian diplomats find themselves caught up in the war between the Tutsis and the Hutus in the '90s. This one is a total mess, trying to milk comedy out of guerrilla warfare and child soldiers, and its punchline is a weak bilingual pun.
"God of Love" is the clear class of the field. It's a black-and-white film with something of a mid-period Woody Allen vibe, and tells the story of Raymond, a nebbishy dart-throwing jazz singer. Raymond is in love with his drummer, but she only has eyes for their guitarist (who happens to be Raymond's best friend). It's very funny and charming, and Raymond's awkward attempts at courtship are delightful. ("Would you like to hear a poem I wrote for you? It's nine pages long, and it's in Portuguese...")
This is always a hard category in which to pick a winner, and none of the five would surprise me. Force me to bet, and I'd probably go with "The Crush," but "God of Love" deserves it.
The show opened with "The Confession," in which we meet Sam, who is so nice a boy that he's worried he won't have anything to tell the priest at his upcoming first confession. Sam's friend comes up with a plan for Sam to do something confession-worthy, and things inevitably spiral out of control. The movie is walking the boundaries of dark comedy all the way, but I think the series of tragic errors goes one step too far, tipping it from dark comedy to tragedy.
"Wish 143" is about a 16-year-old with terminal cancer who is visited by one of those foundations that makes dying kids' last wishes come true. They aren't quite sure how to cope, though, when his last wish is to lose his virginity. Like "The Confession," the tone is a bit wobbly, but the final scene, in which the boy does wind up in bed with a woman, is very nicely played.
"The Crush" gives us a 10-year-old suffering from intense jealousy when he learns that his teacher is engaged to be married. Here, the problem is that the movie doesn't go far enough at the end; it gets right to the edge of a fabulous dark comic ending, and goes all mushy instead.
"Na Wewe" means "you too" in Kirundi, one of the languages spoken in Burundi, where a pair of Belgian diplomats find themselves caught up in the war between the Tutsis and the Hutus in the '90s. This one is a total mess, trying to milk comedy out of guerrilla warfare and child soldiers, and its punchline is a weak bilingual pun.
"God of Love" is the clear class of the field. It's a black-and-white film with something of a mid-period Woody Allen vibe, and tells the story of Raymond, a nebbishy dart-throwing jazz singer. Raymond is in love with his drummer, but she only has eyes for their guitarist (who happens to be Raymond's best friend). It's very funny and charming, and Raymond's awkward attempts at courtship are delightful. ("Would you like to hear a poem I wrote for you? It's nine pages long, and it's in Portuguese...")
This is always a hard category in which to pick a winner, and none of the five would surprise me. Force me to bet, and I'd probably go with "The Crush," but "God of Love" deserves it.
February 20, 2011
you always hurt the one you link
A terrific series of articles and blog posts on the current state of online TV criticism began at Slate with Josh Levin's article on Alan Sepinwall and the role of the fan-critic. The conversation continued with responses from James Poniewozik at Time, Myles McNutt at Cultural Learnings, and Sepinwall himself. And critics Maureen Ryan and Ryan McGee continue the discussion in the latest episode of their Talking TV podcast, joined by McNutt, and Noel Murray of The AV Club.
At Salon, Matt Zoller Seitz wonders if Glee can be saved.
Annie Lowrey at Slate explains federal deficit and debt by reducing the numbers to the scale of a typical household budget.
How old is Ikea, anyway?
Clark Whelton on the newest dialect of English: Vagueness.
And we close with a look at the perils of computer-generated captioning:
At Salon, Matt Zoller Seitz wonders if Glee can be saved.
Annie Lowrey at Slate explains federal deficit and debt by reducing the numbers to the scale of a typical household budget.
How old is Ikea, anyway?
Clark Whelton on the newest dialect of English: Vagueness.
And we close with a look at the perils of computer-generated captioning:
MUSIC: LA Philharmonic, February 20 (Smetana/Schumann/Dvořák)
Lionel Bringuier, conductor; Gautier Capuçon, cello
The program:
It was a concert led by very young men. The cello soloist, Gautier Capuçon, is 29, and conductor Lionel Bringuier is only 24 (and already in his 4th season as the Philharmonic's Associate Conductor).
Watching Bringuier conduct is a very different experience from watching Gustavo Dudamel. Dudamel is a larger than life figure, exploding so powerfully with energy that it seems the podium can barely contain him. His gestures are large and sweeping; you feel as if he's trying to physically push the emotion into the musicians. Bringuier, is more understated; his gestures are more compact and efficient, no bigger than necessary. He moves with supple grace; his arms have such fluidity that he sometimes seems to have no elbows.
To be sure, part of the difference is in the repertoire I've seen each man conduct; today's program doesn't call for the sort of overheated passion that the Turangalila requires. And Bringuier's calmer style doesn't keep him from getting thrilling moments out of the orchestra; the passage in The Moldau that's meant to depict the Rapids of St. John was tremendously exciting, and the Dvořák finale was a rousing crowd-pleaser.
This was certainly the warhorsiest concert I've attended in a long time, and that in itself was interesting; it helped me to clarify why it is that I enjoy more unusual and contemporary music.
I don't specifically remember hearing any of the specific pieces on today's program before, but the harmonic and musical language is very familiar to me. I enjoyed the music, but was rarely surprised by it. Its pleasures are, for me at least, smaller -- a delightful melody, an unexpected moment in the spotlight for the clarinets, a thrilling climax. That has its own appeal, and I find it very comforting.
But newer music is more likely to surprise me with novel combinations of instruments, surprising harmonic progressions, unusual timbres, and given the choice between comfort and surprise, I'll usually prefer surprise.
The program:
- Smetana, The Moldau
- Schumann, Cello Concerto
- Dvořák, Symphony #5
It was a concert led by very young men. The cello soloist, Gautier Capuçon, is 29, and conductor Lionel Bringuier is only 24 (and already in his 4th season as the Philharmonic's Associate Conductor).
Watching Bringuier conduct is a very different experience from watching Gustavo Dudamel. Dudamel is a larger than life figure, exploding so powerfully with energy that it seems the podium can barely contain him. His gestures are large and sweeping; you feel as if he's trying to physically push the emotion into the musicians. Bringuier, is more understated; his gestures are more compact and efficient, no bigger than necessary. He moves with supple grace; his arms have such fluidity that he sometimes seems to have no elbows.
To be sure, part of the difference is in the repertoire I've seen each man conduct; today's program doesn't call for the sort of overheated passion that the Turangalila requires. And Bringuier's calmer style doesn't keep him from getting thrilling moments out of the orchestra; the passage in The Moldau that's meant to depict the Rapids of St. John was tremendously exciting, and the Dvořák finale was a rousing crowd-pleaser.
This was certainly the warhorsiest concert I've attended in a long time, and that in itself was interesting; it helped me to clarify why it is that I enjoy more unusual and contemporary music.
I don't specifically remember hearing any of the specific pieces on today's program before, but the harmonic and musical language is very familiar to me. I enjoyed the music, but was rarely surprised by it. Its pleasures are, for me at least, smaller -- a delightful melody, an unexpected moment in the spotlight for the clarinets, a thrilling climax. That has its own appeal, and I find it very comforting.
But newer music is more likely to surprise me with novel combinations of instruments, surprising harmonic progressions, unusual timbres, and given the choice between comfort and surprise, I'll usually prefer surprise.
MOVIES: 2010 Oscar-nominated documentary shorts
Well, what a gloomy bunch of films this is! Long, too; each of the five films comes in just under the 40-minute time limit, so we were given a ten-minute intermission after the third film.
"Killing in the Name" is the story of a Jordanian man whose wedding reception was underway when a suicide bomber hit the hotel. He has since become an anti-terrorism activist, attempting to persuade other Muslims to renounce violence.
"Sun Come Up" is about some of the world's first environmental refugees. Carteret Island, in Papua New Guinea, is being lost to the rising seas; the tides come in so far now that land once used for crops is now a salty desert. Their government lacks either the ability or the interest to help the Carterets relocate, so they send a delegation to the nearest island, begging for land on which they can relocate before they starve to death.
The environment is also the subject of "The Warriors of Quigang," about a small Chinese village whose residents struggle against government indifference and corruption to close down the chemical plant that has been dumping toxic chemicals for the last 30 years.
"Poster Girl" is a profile of an American woman whose service in Iraq has left her with severe post-traumatic stress disorder. The biggest problem with the film is that we never get a good sense of what she was like before her service, so we're tempted to assume that the angry, fearful, hostile woman we're seeing is who she's always been, and it's sometimes difficult to empathize with her.
"Strangers No More" is the only moment of uplift in the collection, and unfortunately, it's a festival of cliche. It's the story of a Tel Aviv school for children of refugees; there are students from 48 different countries. The movie pounds on all of the predictable points -- brotherhood, the inherent saintliness and lack of prejudice found in children, the "we must help them, so that they can make a better world" idealism.
After the intermission, as a way to make sure that no one missed any of the documentaries because they were in the restroom or grabbing snacks, we got to see the animated short "Sensology." It's abstract black-and-white animation timed to a group of even more abstract jazz pieces for piano and bass. It's not very interesting animation, and it's even less interesting music; it was a waste of six minutes.
If I were voting, I'd go with "Sun Comes Up," but if I were betting, I'd put my money on "Strangers No More" to win; it's the most optimistic film of the bunch, which usually helps, and it's filled with adorable children. Hard to bet against that.
"Killing in the Name" is the story of a Jordanian man whose wedding reception was underway when a suicide bomber hit the hotel. He has since become an anti-terrorism activist, attempting to persuade other Muslims to renounce violence.
"Sun Come Up" is about some of the world's first environmental refugees. Carteret Island, in Papua New Guinea, is being lost to the rising seas; the tides come in so far now that land once used for crops is now a salty desert. Their government lacks either the ability or the interest to help the Carterets relocate, so they send a delegation to the nearest island, begging for land on which they can relocate before they starve to death.
The environment is also the subject of "The Warriors of Quigang," about a small Chinese village whose residents struggle against government indifference and corruption to close down the chemical plant that has been dumping toxic chemicals for the last 30 years.
"Poster Girl" is a profile of an American woman whose service in Iraq has left her with severe post-traumatic stress disorder. The biggest problem with the film is that we never get a good sense of what she was like before her service, so we're tempted to assume that the angry, fearful, hostile woman we're seeing is who she's always been, and it's sometimes difficult to empathize with her.
"Strangers No More" is the only moment of uplift in the collection, and unfortunately, it's a festival of cliche. It's the story of a Tel Aviv school for children of refugees; there are students from 48 different countries. The movie pounds on all of the predictable points -- brotherhood, the inherent saintliness and lack of prejudice found in children, the "we must help them, so that they can make a better world" idealism.
After the intermission, as a way to make sure that no one missed any of the documentaries because they were in the restroom or grabbing snacks, we got to see the animated short "Sensology." It's abstract black-and-white animation timed to a group of even more abstract jazz pieces for piano and bass. It's not very interesting animation, and it's even less interesting music; it was a waste of six minutes.
If I were voting, I'd go with "Sun Comes Up," but if I were betting, I'd put my money on "Strangers No More" to win; it's the most optimistic film of the bunch, which usually helps, and it's filled with adorable children. Hard to bet against that.
February 16, 2011
BOOKS: Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter, Tom Franklin (2010)
As boys, Larry and Silas were friends. For a short time, anyway. That friendship ended abruptly in a fury caused by bad parenting, teenage naivete, and the unavoidable complications of race in 1970s Mississippi (Larry is white; Silas is black).
Now the men are in their early 40s, both still living in the same small town. Silas has become a member of the local police force. Larry has spent 20 years under the suspicion that he killed a young woman, though her body was never found and he has always maintained his innocence. He is a social pariah. So when another young woman disappears, Larry is the obvious suspect, and the two men find their lives intersecting again.
The strength of Franklin's novel is his setting. His small-town Mississippi is vividly described, and the sense of just how much race still matters is overwhelming. The characters, especially Silas, are sharply developed. The story is less successful; one of the big plot twists is rather hackneyed, and it's telegraphed far too early.
The strengths outweigh the weaknesses, though, and this is a very entertaining novel. It's one of this year's Edgar nominees in the Best Novel category; I've read four of the six, and I'd place this a respectable second behind Tana French's Faithful Place.
Now the men are in their early 40s, both still living in the same small town. Silas has become a member of the local police force. Larry has spent 20 years under the suspicion that he killed a young woman, though her body was never found and he has always maintained his innocence. He is a social pariah. So when another young woman disappears, Larry is the obvious suspect, and the two men find their lives intersecting again.
The strength of Franklin's novel is his setting. His small-town Mississippi is vividly described, and the sense of just how much race still matters is overwhelming. The characters, especially Silas, are sharply developed. The story is less successful; one of the big plot twists is rather hackneyed, and it's telegraphed far too early.
The strengths outweigh the weaknesses, though, and this is a very entertaining novel. It's one of this year's Edgar nominees in the Best Novel category; I've read four of the six, and I'd place this a respectable second behind Tana French's Faithful Place.
February 14, 2011
TV: a quick catching up
So, a variety of new shows last week, and I don't have a lot to say about any of them, so let's just do a quick zip through them:
THE CHICAGO CODE (Fox, Mon 9)
Jennifer Beals is the new police commissioner in Chicago, and is determined to use her power to bring down the city's corrupt politicians, chief among them city councilman Delroy Lindo. Jason Clarke, who was Beals' partner during her days on the street, is appointed to head up her unofficial task force (because the council won't support an official one) to do just that. The principals are all very appealing, as is Matt Lauria as Clarke's eager young partner. (One does wonder who's naming these characters, though; the three principal men are named Jarek (Clake), Ronin (Lindo), and Caleb (Lauria), none of which are your run-of-the-mill first names for men their age.)
The ongoing battle against the evil councilman will, it seems, be balanced against police case-of-the-week stories, and that serialized element might be interesting enough to keep me watching even though I'm not a huge fan of cop shows.
TRAFFIC LIGHT (Fox, Tue 9:30)
Yet another sitcom about three guys and their relationships. One's a single horndog; one's just moved in with his girlfriend; one's been married for six years. (And yes, there is an awkward monologue at the end of the pilot comparing these statuses to green/yellow/red traffic lights.) None of the characters are particularly likable or loathsome, and the show never generates more than a mild chuckle. It is a show that will inspire, at most, mild enthusiasm or mild distaste; there's not enough substance to it to inspire a more vigorous response in either direction.
BAR KARMA (Current, Fri 10)
I believe this is the first attempt at scripted programming from Current, the Al Gore-owned channel that's better known for news and current affairs programming (and as the newly announced home for Keith Olbermann). The gimmick here is that the show's creators have outsourced the writing; you can go to a website and propose story lines and plot twists, or you can vote yes or no on other people's suggestions; the writing staff will create the episodes based on the winning ideas.
The show is set in a mysterious bar, a karmic way station where the bartender and waitress are responsible for helping people make the right choices at crucial turning points. The pilot was filled with too much new-age-y mumbo jumbo for my taste, but perhaps once the setup's out of the way, that will take a back seat to actual storytelling.
Best thing about the show is William Sanderson as the bartender; even if you don't recognize the name, you probably know the face (maybe from True Blood, Deadwood, or Newhart), and he's always a welcome presence. Can't say I'm wildly enthusiastic about the show, but The Roommate liked it a lot, so I'll probably watch another episode or two to see where it goes.
THE CHICAGO CODE (Fox, Mon 9)
Jennifer Beals is the new police commissioner in Chicago, and is determined to use her power to bring down the city's corrupt politicians, chief among them city councilman Delroy Lindo. Jason Clarke, who was Beals' partner during her days on the street, is appointed to head up her unofficial task force (because the council won't support an official one) to do just that. The principals are all very appealing, as is Matt Lauria as Clarke's eager young partner. (One does wonder who's naming these characters, though; the three principal men are named Jarek (Clake), Ronin (Lindo), and Caleb (Lauria), none of which are your run-of-the-mill first names for men their age.)
The ongoing battle against the evil councilman will, it seems, be balanced against police case-of-the-week stories, and that serialized element might be interesting enough to keep me watching even though I'm not a huge fan of cop shows.
TRAFFIC LIGHT (Fox, Tue 9:30)
Yet another sitcom about three guys and their relationships. One's a single horndog; one's just moved in with his girlfriend; one's been married for six years. (And yes, there is an awkward monologue at the end of the pilot comparing these statuses to green/yellow/red traffic lights.) None of the characters are particularly likable or loathsome, and the show never generates more than a mild chuckle. It is a show that will inspire, at most, mild enthusiasm or mild distaste; there's not enough substance to it to inspire a more vigorous response in either direction.
BAR KARMA (Current, Fri 10)
I believe this is the first attempt at scripted programming from Current, the Al Gore-owned channel that's better known for news and current affairs programming (and as the newly announced home for Keith Olbermann). The gimmick here is that the show's creators have outsourced the writing; you can go to a website and propose story lines and plot twists, or you can vote yes or no on other people's suggestions; the writing staff will create the episodes based on the winning ideas.
The show is set in a mysterious bar, a karmic way station where the bartender and waitress are responsible for helping people make the right choices at crucial turning points. The pilot was filled with too much new-age-y mumbo jumbo for my taste, but perhaps once the setup's out of the way, that will take a back seat to actual storytelling.
Best thing about the show is William Sanderson as the bartender; even if you don't recognize the name, you probably know the face (maybe from True Blood, Deadwood, or Newhart), and he's always a welcome presence. Can't say I'm wildly enthusiastic about the show, but The Roommate liked it a lot, so I'll probably watch another episode or two to see where it goes.
BOOKS: World's Greatest Sleuth!, Steve Hockensmith (2010)
Fifth volume in the Holmes on the Range mystery series.
Gustav ("Old Red") and Otto ("Big Red") Amlingmeyer find themselves in Chicago this time, for the1893 Columbian Exposition. With the recent publication of the final Sherlock Holmes story, in which Dr. Watson reports the death of Holmes, several magazine publishers have come together for a "World's Greatest Sleuth" contest; each has a detective whose exploits they publish, and each wants his detective to be given the de facto title of successor to Holmes.
The big city is alien territory to the brothers, but they agree to take part in the competition, which consists of a series of daily scavenger hunts with riddles for clues. This isn't real sleuthing, Gustav grumbles, but when one of the publishers turns up dead, the Amlingmeyers and their rivals suddenly have a real mystery on their hands.
The other detectives Hockensmith has created are a delightful assortment of characters. There's a stuffy Brit who naturally considers himself the only true heir to Holmes, an eccentric Frenchman who comes across as sort of a precursor to Hercule Poirot (yes, I know, Poirot was Belgian, not French), a street-smart New York private eye, and (returning from earlier volumes) the lovely Diana Corvus, working with a partner whom Gustav and Otto are not so happy to see.
As always in this series, Hockensmith does a marvelous job of giving us interesting historical details, and Big Red's narrative voice has just enough hint of the period to feel accurate without being so archaic as to be impenetrable. The style is light and breezy, with an entertaining mix of suspense and humor. The mystery is compelling, and the red herrings are cleverly deployed. This is another solid entry in an absolutely charming series.
Gustav ("Old Red") and Otto ("Big Red") Amlingmeyer find themselves in Chicago this time, for the1893 Columbian Exposition. With the recent publication of the final Sherlock Holmes story, in which Dr. Watson reports the death of Holmes, several magazine publishers have come together for a "World's Greatest Sleuth" contest; each has a detective whose exploits they publish, and each wants his detective to be given the de facto title of successor to Holmes.
The big city is alien territory to the brothers, but they agree to take part in the competition, which consists of a series of daily scavenger hunts with riddles for clues. This isn't real sleuthing, Gustav grumbles, but when one of the publishers turns up dead, the Amlingmeyers and their rivals suddenly have a real mystery on their hands.
The other detectives Hockensmith has created are a delightful assortment of characters. There's a stuffy Brit who naturally considers himself the only true heir to Holmes, an eccentric Frenchman who comes across as sort of a precursor to Hercule Poirot (yes, I know, Poirot was Belgian, not French), a street-smart New York private eye, and (returning from earlier volumes) the lovely Diana Corvus, working with a partner whom Gustav and Otto are not so happy to see.
As always in this series, Hockensmith does a marvelous job of giving us interesting historical details, and Big Red's narrative voice has just enough hint of the period to feel accurate without being so archaic as to be impenetrable. The style is light and breezy, with an entertaining mix of suspense and humor. The mystery is compelling, and the red herrings are cleverly deployed. This is another solid entry in an absolutely charming series.
February 06, 2011
a groovy kind of link
Slant's "The House Next Door" brings us Jason Bellamy and Ed Howard in a terrific, lengthy discussion of True Grit.
At Refinery29, Kristian Laliberte points us to a Valentine's gift that will, perhaps, not be appropriate for every couple.
The Los Angeles Philharmonic announces its 2011-12 season, featuring a complete cycle of Mahler's symphonies. (I'm sure that'll thrill some, but as for me, yuck.)
At The Washington Post, Hank Steuver on The Good Wife and the dying art (at least on network TV) on long-term storytelling.
And let's close with Steve Reich's minimalist landmark "Clapping Music," as interpreted by Miss Angie Dickinson and Mr. Lee Marvin:
At Refinery29, Kristian Laliberte points us to a Valentine's gift that will, perhaps, not be appropriate for every couple.
The Los Angeles Philharmonic announces its 2011-12 season, featuring a complete cycle of Mahler's symphonies. (I'm sure that'll thrill some, but as for me, yuck.)
At The Washington Post, Hank Steuver on The Good Wife and the dying art (at least on network TV) on long-term storytelling.
And let's close with Steve Reich's minimalist landmark "Clapping Music," as interpreted by Miss Angie Dickinson and Mr. Lee Marvin:
February 03, 2011
BOOKS: In Search of Mercy, Michael Ayoob (2010)
For 25 years, the Private Eye Writers of America and St. Martin's Press have sponsored the Best First Private Eye Novel competition. The PWA's interest is obvious; I assume that St. Martin's gets first crack at publishing the winners, as they've done with this, the 2009 winner.
The novel has some of the feel of a traditional hard-boiled, noir-esque private eye, though its hero is younger than usual for the genre. Dexter Bolzjak is 25, and is still recovering from the two events that have come to dominate his life. As a high school senior, Dexter was a star hockey player, until the night he choked and lost his team the state championship; later that night, he was kidnapped and tortured by four particularly demented fans. Those events have not only destroyed Dexter's confidence, but he's also dealing with some serious post-traumatic stress. As a resort, he's never accomplished much, and scrapes by on his job at a produce warehouse.
All of which would make him a fairly unlikely candidate to take on a missing-persons search, but that's what he's asked to do by Lou Kashon, an elderly drunk who's rapidly dying of cancer, and longs to see the love of his life once more before he dies. She won't be easy to find; she vanished imore than 40 years ago and hasn't been seen since. And it's not as if people haven't been looking, because Lou's vanished love is Mercy Carnahan, who had been a huge star in the late 40s and early 50s, and continues to have a loyal cult of worshippers.
Ayoob does a nice job of capturing his working-class Pittsburgh setting, and his descriptions of Mercy's career and her glamorous appeal are good enough that I found myself wanting to see her movies. The resolution of the mystery wasn't quite satisfying, but Dexter and Lou are appealing characters, and I'd be happy to see Dexter return in another book.
I was bothered, though, by the chapter in which Ayoob takes us back to the night of Dexter's capture and torture, which he describes in excessive detail. We've already gotten the gist of what happened, certainly enough to understand Dexter's reaction to it; the blow-by-blow is gratuitous and out of place. And I'm not normally particularly disturbed by such things, so I would guess that those who are more sensitive will find it very tough going.
The novel has some of the feel of a traditional hard-boiled, noir-esque private eye, though its hero is younger than usual for the genre. Dexter Bolzjak is 25, and is still recovering from the two events that have come to dominate his life. As a high school senior, Dexter was a star hockey player, until the night he choked and lost his team the state championship; later that night, he was kidnapped and tortured by four particularly demented fans. Those events have not only destroyed Dexter's confidence, but he's also dealing with some serious post-traumatic stress. As a resort, he's never accomplished much, and scrapes by on his job at a produce warehouse.
All of which would make him a fairly unlikely candidate to take on a missing-persons search, but that's what he's asked to do by Lou Kashon, an elderly drunk who's rapidly dying of cancer, and longs to see the love of his life once more before he dies. She won't be easy to find; she vanished imore than 40 years ago and hasn't been seen since. And it's not as if people haven't been looking, because Lou's vanished love is Mercy Carnahan, who had been a huge star in the late 40s and early 50s, and continues to have a loyal cult of worshippers.
Ayoob does a nice job of capturing his working-class Pittsburgh setting, and his descriptions of Mercy's career and her glamorous appeal are good enough that I found myself wanting to see her movies. The resolution of the mystery wasn't quite satisfying, but Dexter and Lou are appealing characters, and I'd be happy to see Dexter return in another book.
I was bothered, though, by the chapter in which Ayoob takes us back to the night of Dexter's capture and torture, which he describes in excessive detail. We've already gotten the gist of what happened, certainly enough to understand Dexter's reaction to it; the blow-by-blow is gratuitous and out of place. And I'm not normally particularly disturbed by such things, so I would guess that those who are more sensitive will find it very tough going.
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