Another relatively wide-open theme that leaves no excuse for anyone not to find an appropriate song. But as we all know, that's no guarantee of good times ahead. Cross your fingers, everyone!
The rundown:
Jacob, "Man in the Mirror" -- When he's restrained, as he is in the opening verse, I adore Jacob. But then we get to the chorus and for about 20 seconds, there's just too much of everything happening all at once. Including some pelvic moves that seemed a bit odd coming from someone who couldn't bring himself to sing "Let's Get It On." (And I think his comment about how if he didn't survive, it was because we weren't ready to look in the mirror could really hurt him.)
Haley, "Piece of My Heart" -- Well, that was enthusiastic. And I suppose that of all the personalities she's tried on this season, that was probably the most convincing of the bunch. But this is the third week in a row that she's tried to be sexy, and it's so not working; she simply doesn't come off as the libidinous libertine she wants to be. She's a girl playing dressup in her skanky aunt's clothes, and it's kind of icky.
Casey, "Have You Ever Seen the Rain" -- What is with Casey's compulsion to put unnecessary little vocal fillips at the very end of the song? That's twice in a row he's done that. When it's working, leave well enough alone; you don't want the audience's last memory to be of wincing at your cheesy "artistic" touches. Aside from that goofy glissando, a really solid performance.
Lauren, "(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman" -- Her best work yet. She's relaxed and confident, and her phrasing is beautifully comfortable and natural. This can be a very big song, and I like that she isn't pushing beyond her limits to make it that; she's molding the song to suit her abilities without distorting it beyond recognition. An unexpected pleasure.
James, 'While My Guitar Gently Weeps" -- The "oh, that's right, I'm a rocker" tag destroys the mood he's tried to establish in the rest of the song, but it's also the first moment that's sounded any good. His pitch is shaky throughout, and it gets worse the quieter he gets. There's also no connection to the words; I can understand them all, but they feel like just a chain of random words with no story or emotional throughline behind them.
Scotty, "That's All Right, Mama" -- To hear him talk about how "rock" he's going to be, you'd think he were tackling Black Sabbath instead of Elvis. This isn't rock (nor, despite that unfortunate little bit of deedle-dee-ing, is it scatted jazz), it's up-tempo country, and not a very interesting bit, I'm afraid. It's starting to look like Scotty really is the one trick pony some feared he might be, and when he doesn't get to relax, flirt, and hit those low notes, there's not much there.
Pia, "River Deep - Mountain High" -- She's got that in her, and she's been singing pretty little ballads all these weeks? That opening verse was spectacular. Maybe things flagged a bit when she hit the chorus, and there were one or two notes not quite in tune, but that had more life, more energy, more fun than anything we've seen all season. Damn.
Stefano, "When a Man Loves a Woman" -- An erratic little enigma, our Stefano. That full-on belt is gorgeous; it cuts through everything around it without being harsh or piercing. And he seems solidly connected to the song this week, too. But I continue to think that his technique isn't well developed, and that reveals itself when he gets quiet; there are a few closeups tonight where you can see the knot in his forehead right at the top of his nose. He's not going to be consistently good -- either from week to week, or from start to finish of a single song -- until he figures out what's wrong and fixes it, and that's a bigger project than Idol will give him time for.
Paul, "Folsom Prison Blues" -- That almost sort of worked, in a very weird way. Jimmy and Will.I.Am were right to tell him to go crazy with it, and channeling his manic energy into the voice instead of into his feet gave him a fuller tone than he usually has. There were only one or two moments when he slipped into the wispy breathiness that he's so often prone to. I still don't like his voice, but this was at least interesting.
And it was a night of surprises, with the best performances coming from unlikely quarters -- Pia and Lauren helped themselves tonight -- and some of the favorites falling short -- Scotty and James slipped badly.
For the night: Pia, Lauren, Casey, Jacob, Stefano, Paul, Scotty, Haley, James.
For the season: Pia, Casey, Jacob, James, Lauren, Scotty, Stefano, Haley, Paul.
Let's send home: Despite a better than usual effort tonight, Paul is still the most deserving. I would put my money on Haley or Jacob, though.
April 06, 2011
April 05, 2011
MOVIES: In a Better World (Susanne Bier, 2010/US 2011)
Here we have this year's winner of the Best Foreign Film Oscar. That's not surprising, because it is precisely the sort of well-made, bland, do-good movie that ofen wins that award. What is surprising is to see such a piece of claptrap from Bier, whose early movies have risen above their more melodramatic elements (I very much liked her Brothers and After the Wedding); this one wallows in them.
The principal characters are two 12-year-old boys. Elias (Markus Rygaard) is the sort of boy who would be bullied in any school -- small, frail, wears braces, vaguely pathetic -- but suddenly finds himself with a defender in the form of Christian (William Johnk Nielsen), who has recently moved to Denmark from London after the death of his mother.
Elias's parents are separated, probably on the way to divorcing, mostly because of the strain put on the relationship by Anton's (Mikael Persbrandt) frequent, long trips to Africa, where he provides medical service to small villages. Christian's father, Claus (Ulrich Thomsen), is struggling to cope with his son, whose typical adolescent sullenness is dangerously exacerbated by his grief.
Anton's work in Africa provides a subplot, and it's here that Bier lays on the symbolism and the parallels with a trowel. As the boys debate how best to deal with evil in their own world (or at least, what passes for evil when you're 12), Anton is faced with the decision of whether or not to treat the local warlord. The moral equivalence Bier draws between a man who slaughters pregnant women for sport and a playground bully is inappropriate enough that it left a sour taste in my mouth.
The Danish side of the movie isn't terrible, and Nielsen is remarkably good as Christian, caught up in the grip of emotions and compulsions that he can neither understand nor control. But the African story is condescending in the extreme, with the villagers and the landscape filmed as if they were completely alien. And the way that Bier uses the stories to comment on one another is heavy handed enough to be distasteful.
But everyone gets a comforting ending, and the audience is reassured that their Western pacifist values are always correct, so you get to walk away with a nice warm feeling in your heart. Bier is a talented director, and she's done far better work than this; it's rather a shame that she'd win the Oscar for a movie that's such a piece of sticky pablum.
The principal characters are two 12-year-old boys. Elias (Markus Rygaard) is the sort of boy who would be bullied in any school -- small, frail, wears braces, vaguely pathetic -- but suddenly finds himself with a defender in the form of Christian (William Johnk Nielsen), who has recently moved to Denmark from London after the death of his mother.
Elias's parents are separated, probably on the way to divorcing, mostly because of the strain put on the relationship by Anton's (Mikael Persbrandt) frequent, long trips to Africa, where he provides medical service to small villages. Christian's father, Claus (Ulrich Thomsen), is struggling to cope with his son, whose typical adolescent sullenness is dangerously exacerbated by his grief.
Anton's work in Africa provides a subplot, and it's here that Bier lays on the symbolism and the parallels with a trowel. As the boys debate how best to deal with evil in their own world (or at least, what passes for evil when you're 12), Anton is faced with the decision of whether or not to treat the local warlord. The moral equivalence Bier draws between a man who slaughters pregnant women for sport and a playground bully is inappropriate enough that it left a sour taste in my mouth.
The Danish side of the movie isn't terrible, and Nielsen is remarkably good as Christian, caught up in the grip of emotions and compulsions that he can neither understand nor control. But the African story is condescending in the extreme, with the villagers and the landscape filmed as if they were completely alien. And the way that Bier uses the stories to comment on one another is heavy handed enough to be distasteful.
But everyone gets a comforting ending, and the audience is reassured that their Western pacifist values are always correct, so you get to walk away with a nice warm feeling in your heart. Bier is a talented director, and she's done far better work than this; it's rather a shame that she'd win the Oscar for a movie that's such a piece of sticky pablum.
April 04, 2011
MOVIES: Source Code (Duncan Jones, 2011)
After the success of Moon, Jones gets the chance to work with a bigger budget and bigger stars, and turns out a smart popcorn thriller.
Jake Gyllenhaal stars as Coulter Stevens, who is fresh from the field in Afghanistan when he wakes on a Chicago commuter train. He's not sure how he got there, and he can't understand why Christina (Michelle Monaghan), the woman seated opposite him, keeps calling him "Sean." He's even more confused when he looks in the mirror and sees someone else's face. There's a sudden explosion and Coulter finds himself back in uniform, in a tiny bunker where an officer on a monitor (Vera Farmiga) is giving him orders.
Jones smartly lets the audience share in Coulter's disorientation at the beginning of the movie, but we -- and he -- gradually piece together that his mind is being sent back into the body of Sean Fentriss, a commuter who happened to be on a train that was blown up by a terrorist. There's nothing that can be done about that crime now, but the military has learned that the bomber has plans for a bigger explosion, and Coulter's mission is to find the bomber on the train so that the second bomb can be stopped. But since Coulter can only occupy Sean's mind for the last eight minutes of his life, it's going to take several trips back to that train to complete the mission.
It's Groundhog Day meets Quantum Leap (and the latter debt is nicely acknowledged with a small bit of casting), and Jones does a nice job of working within the limitations of his story. We make at least eight or nine trips back to that commuter train, and it's entertaining to see how each one plays out differently as Coulter carries the knowledge gained on each trip into successive ones.
As he did in Moon, Jones makes the most of a limited number of claustrophobic sets, and it's interesting that both movies raise questions of identity, and focus on men who've been assigned jobs under circumstances they don't entirely understand. Gyllenhaal is very good here, playing his train variations with charm and wit, and his bunker scenes with finely calibrated frustration and anger. The rest of the cast isn't asked to do much heavy lifting, though Jeffrey Wright has some nice moments as Farmiga's commanding officer, a sort of comic-military turn on the standard Mad Scientist.
This works very well as a simple action flick, but it's also a very intelligent movie, and more thoughtful than the advertising might suggest.
Jake Gyllenhaal stars as Coulter Stevens, who is fresh from the field in Afghanistan when he wakes on a Chicago commuter train. He's not sure how he got there, and he can't understand why Christina (Michelle Monaghan), the woman seated opposite him, keeps calling him "Sean." He's even more confused when he looks in the mirror and sees someone else's face. There's a sudden explosion and Coulter finds himself back in uniform, in a tiny bunker where an officer on a monitor (Vera Farmiga) is giving him orders.
Jones smartly lets the audience share in Coulter's disorientation at the beginning of the movie, but we -- and he -- gradually piece together that his mind is being sent back into the body of Sean Fentriss, a commuter who happened to be on a train that was blown up by a terrorist. There's nothing that can be done about that crime now, but the military has learned that the bomber has plans for a bigger explosion, and Coulter's mission is to find the bomber on the train so that the second bomb can be stopped. But since Coulter can only occupy Sean's mind for the last eight minutes of his life, it's going to take several trips back to that train to complete the mission.
It's Groundhog Day meets Quantum Leap (and the latter debt is nicely acknowledged with a small bit of casting), and Jones does a nice job of working within the limitations of his story. We make at least eight or nine trips back to that commuter train, and it's entertaining to see how each one plays out differently as Coulter carries the knowledge gained on each trip into successive ones.
As he did in Moon, Jones makes the most of a limited number of claustrophobic sets, and it's interesting that both movies raise questions of identity, and focus on men who've been assigned jobs under circumstances they don't entirely understand. Gyllenhaal is very good here, playing his train variations with charm and wit, and his bunker scenes with finely calibrated frustration and anger. The rest of the cast isn't asked to do much heavy lifting, though Jeffrey Wright has some nice moments as Farmiga's commanding officer, a sort of comic-military turn on the standard Mad Scientist.
This works very well as a simple action flick, but it's also a very intelligent movie, and more thoughtful than the advertising might suggest.
MOVIES: Potiche (Francois Ozon, 2010/US 2011)
In French, a potiche is a vase with purely decorative value, and the word is slang for (roughly) "trophy wife."
And that's the role Suzannne Pujol (Catherine Denueve) finds herself in as the movie opens. It's 1977, and her husband, Robert (Fabrice Luchini), is running the family umbrella factory (founded by her father) into the ground, angering the workers with his tyrannical ways and provoking strikes at every turn. (Do you suppose the umbrellas are an homage of sorts to Deneuve in The Umbrellas of Cherbourg?)
But when Robert is hospitalized, Suzanne is forced to step outside the home and take over. Her common sense and good nature make her a natural leader, and she resolves the union problems with surprising ease, setting up a power struggle when Robert returns.
Throw in Gerard Depardieu as the local mayor/member of Parliament (and Suzanne's former one-day fling), Judith Godreche as the Pujols' conservative daughter, and Jeremie Renier as their artistic son, and you've got all the makings for a breezy little comedy.
Unfortunately, the jokes barely reach even the limited depth that "breezy" would suggest. Ozon never goes beyond the broadest sitcom strokes, and he is content to skim the surface of what could be a more complicated and interesting story. The cast is fine; Deneuve is as lovely and charming as ever, and Luchini blusters and fumes effectively. There are a few amusing moments, but Potiche mostly feels like a series of missed opportunities.
And that's the role Suzannne Pujol (Catherine Denueve) finds herself in as the movie opens. It's 1977, and her husband, Robert (Fabrice Luchini), is running the family umbrella factory (founded by her father) into the ground, angering the workers with his tyrannical ways and provoking strikes at every turn. (Do you suppose the umbrellas are an homage of sorts to Deneuve in The Umbrellas of Cherbourg?)
But when Robert is hospitalized, Suzanne is forced to step outside the home and take over. Her common sense and good nature make her a natural leader, and she resolves the union problems with surprising ease, setting up a power struggle when Robert returns.
Throw in Gerard Depardieu as the local mayor/member of Parliament (and Suzanne's former one-day fling), Judith Godreche as the Pujols' conservative daughter, and Jeremie Renier as their artistic son, and you've got all the makings for a breezy little comedy.
Unfortunately, the jokes barely reach even the limited depth that "breezy" would suggest. Ozon never goes beyond the broadest sitcom strokes, and he is content to skim the surface of what could be a more complicated and interesting story. The cast is fine; Deneuve is as lovely and charming as ever, and Luchini blusters and fumes effectively. There are a few amusing moments, but Potiche mostly feels like a series of missed opportunities.
BOOKS: The Native Star, M. K. Hobson (2010)
Continuing my journey through this year's Nebula-nominated novels, we come to this odd hodgepodge of Harlequin romance, historical fiction, and fantasy. (I hasten to add that "Harlequin" is not meant to be pejorative, merely descriptive; it's a genre that isn't my cup of tea, but a lot of people enjoy it, and I try very hard not to be a genre snob.)
It's about a decade after the Civil War, and Emily Edwards is a witch in a small northern California town. Her business is slowly dwindling because people are buying newfangled patent magics instead of coming to her. There is another magician in town -- the arrogant warlock Dreadnought Stanton (yes, "Dreadnought"), who comes from New York and clearly looks down on Emily and her unsophisticated, untrained magic. But when Emily finds herself in possession of a mysterious magical artifact, she is forced to accept Stanton's company on a dangerous journey to find Professor Mirabilis, who may be the only one who can save her from the artifact's power.
Hobson's strong suit here is in her characters, who are admittedly marching through the standard romance plot -- they hate one another before realizing they're madly in love -- but are more fully rounded than we normally get in this sort of romance.
Where she falls short is in plotting, and she often falls into the obvious trap for tales of magic and fantasy; new magic tricks and new forms of wonder can be hauled onstage whenever the plot requires, whether or not there's been any mention of them before. When Emily and Stanton find themselves stranded in the midwest, for instance, unable to continue their journey to New York by train, what should turn up out of nowhere but a flying machine? It's awfully convenient, and we'd been given no earlier hint that such a thing existed. (And we're two-thirds of the way through the book at that point, so it's not as if Hobson hadn't had the chance to mention it somewhere along the way.)
There is an epilogue that exists primarily to let us know that there will be a sequel, and I hold out some hope that the second book could be much better than the first. If Hobson has now laid out all of her groundwork and magical rules, then the second book might have fewer annoying deus ex machina moments. Of course, it's possible that she'll just keep making shit up as she goes along, in which case the second book is likely to be precisely what The Native Star is -- a frustrating disappointment with occasional flashes of potential.
It's about a decade after the Civil War, and Emily Edwards is a witch in a small northern California town. Her business is slowly dwindling because people are buying newfangled patent magics instead of coming to her. There is another magician in town -- the arrogant warlock Dreadnought Stanton (yes, "Dreadnought"), who comes from New York and clearly looks down on Emily and her unsophisticated, untrained magic. But when Emily finds herself in possession of a mysterious magical artifact, she is forced to accept Stanton's company on a dangerous journey to find Professor Mirabilis, who may be the only one who can save her from the artifact's power.
Hobson's strong suit here is in her characters, who are admittedly marching through the standard romance plot -- they hate one another before realizing they're madly in love -- but are more fully rounded than we normally get in this sort of romance.
Where she falls short is in plotting, and she often falls into the obvious trap for tales of magic and fantasy; new magic tricks and new forms of wonder can be hauled onstage whenever the plot requires, whether or not there's been any mention of them before. When Emily and Stanton find themselves stranded in the midwest, for instance, unable to continue their journey to New York by train, what should turn up out of nowhere but a flying machine? It's awfully convenient, and we'd been given no earlier hint that such a thing existed. (And we're two-thirds of the way through the book at that point, so it's not as if Hobson hadn't had the chance to mention it somewhere along the way.)
There is an epilogue that exists primarily to let us know that there will be a sequel, and I hold out some hope that the second book could be much better than the first. If Hobson has now laid out all of her groundwork and magical rules, then the second book might have fewer annoying deus ex machina moments. Of course, it's possible that she'll just keep making shit up as she goes along, in which case the second book is likely to be precisely what The Native Star is -- a frustrating disappointment with occasional flashes of potential.
March 31, 2011
BOOKS: Read This Next, Sandra Newman & Howard Mittelmark (2010)
The failure mode of clever is "asshole." -- John ScalziAnd to prove it, we have Newman & Mittlemark's book. It's a recommendations list for book groups, and it could be very useful, were it not written in a tone so smirky and wiseass as to offend anyone who takes books seriously.
It's a well-organized book. Ten chapters are devoted to broad themes -- war, family, politics, humor -- and each chapter focuses on a dozen books, providing a short summary and some questions for discussion. Each chapter also includes three or four "Read These Too" lists, rapid-fire lists of a dozen books, usually on a theme triggered by a book from the chapter's main list. So, for instance, in the "Family" chapter, Alison Bechdel's Fun Home leads into a quick list of graphic novels; Dorothy Allison's Bastard Out of Carolina triggers a "misery lit" list; and Toni Morrison's Song of Solomon is the cue for a group of African American books.
And the range of books included is interesting. Newman & Mittlemark aren't snobs; they embrace a wide range of reading, and their categorizations aren't always the most expected, which could offer readers the opportunity to make interesting connections among disparate books. The chapter on death includes not only John Hersey's Hiroshima, Jessica Mitford's The American Way of Death, and James Agee's A Death in the Family -- all relatively safe choices, given the topic -- but also Kelly Link's Magic for Beginners, Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go, and Shirley Jackson's We Have Always Lived in the Castle, which might not be among the first books that leap to mind.
But the book goes horribly wrong almost every time Newman & Mittlemark speak. Their discussion questions sometimes start off well, but the authors can't resist the temptation to throw in a joke at the end of almost every single question. Take this, for instance, from their questions for Nancy Mitford's The Pursuit of Love:
Linda never cared for her daughter Moira, and never had much interest in her. Is this a writerly conceit, or does that happen in real life? Have you seen it in real life? Do you find the open discussion of this liberating? Would you like to admit to the group that you've never cared for your kids? Go ahead. Nobody will think badly of you.The question itself isn't bad, and could start some interesting conversation, but the smirky bit at the end grates, and the book is plagued with these smug attempts at humor. You may very well come away from Read This Next having found a few unfamiliar books you'd like to read, but you'll also come away from it hating the authors and wanting to smack that smirk right off their faces. The failure mode of clever is indeed asshole, and that's precisely how Newman and Mittelmark come across here.
March 30, 2011
MUSIC: American Idol 2011: Elton John
After the drama of the Judges' Save (and America, what the hell were y'all smoking last week? I mean, Casey? Really?), we're back for The Final Eleven 2: Electric Boogaloo, and two musical lives are on the line tonight. It's Elton John night, which provides a diverse enough songbook that everyone should be able to find something appropriate.
The rundown:
Scotty, "Country Comfort" -- The song feels like it's written by someone who's trying to throw in every country cliche he can think of. Grandma, farm, train, truck -- throw in a dog and some beer, and you've hit 'em all. And given a bad imitation of a country song, Scotty sounds like a bad imitation of a country singer. His pitch is off, especially in the verses, and the twang feels affected rather than natural. Even the low note at the end has the feeling of the punchline to a joke that wasn't very funny.
Naima, "I'm Still Standing" -- An unexpectedly mellow Naima, and it turns out that when she's not screaming at us, there's a lovely voice hiding in there after all. Not a perfect performance -- she bobbles the pitch badly on the entrance to the chorus, the old shouty Naima comes back a bit at the very end, and the accent was ill-advised -- but her best work to date.
Paul, "Rocket Man" -- As it did last week, the guitar helps him immensely. I'm always left, though, feeling not so much that Paul is naturally quirky as that he's decided to be quirky. The breathy voice, the strangely pronounced vowels, the weird fade to silence on the last three notes -- they feel like tics he's picked up from other singers, but they're not organic, and he's layered on so many of them that he -- whoever he is -- is buried beneath them.
Pia, "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me" -- If you came across that on the radio, you'd stop and listen. And you'd think, "she's got a really nice voice." And when it was over, you'd go on to something else, and it would never occur to you to wonder what her name was, or whether you could buy that on iTunes, or what else she'd recorded, because there's no personality behind that really nice voice. She's a Stepford singer.
Stefano, "Tiny Dancer" -- It's the standard Stefano performance. The louder and beltier he can get, the better he sounds, but when he's forced to be quiet and sensitive, the sound gets pinched. (Whatever technical flaws are producing that tone are also, I think, why he squints through every song; his facial muscles are tensed in ways they shouldn't be.) And even the big stuff wasn't all that impressive tonight.
Lauren, "Candle in the Wind" -- You can hear in the way her voice breaks that she's naturally a country singer, and her best moments here are when she gives in to that, when she lets those breaks and that little bit of twang happen instead of fighting them. She still doesn't project much personality, but there are hints here of a good singer struggling to break out.
James, "Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting" -- Excellent song choice for his style and his voice. The pitch on the big "yeah" at the end was a bit iffy, but otherwise very good; the first thing tonight that's gotten a smile out of me.
Thia, "Daniel" -- Pitch is all over the place, enunciation is sloppy, and that descending series of high notes at the end of the chorus ("Daniel, you're a star...") is inaudible. Not a good night for Thia, and with two people going home, you really don't want to have a noticably bad night.
Casey, "Your Song" -- That last note didn't need to be falsetto, but aside from that, this was lovely. There was a warmth that I haven't seen from Casey before, and he even managed to make one of Elton's clunkier lyrics ("If I were a sculptor/but then again, no") feel almost natural.
Jacob, "Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word" -- Impeccable.
Haley, "Bennie and the Jets" -- I like the fluidity of her voice, the ease with which she moves from high to low and back; the pop up to head voice on "magazine," for instance, is lovely. But this is a weird performance. It feels like a bad Vegas lounge act, one of those moments where an older performer trots out a recent hit to show how hip they are -- Steve and Eydie singing "Black Hole Sun," or Pat Boone's metal album.
A middling night, for the most part; Jacob and Casey help themselves the most, and Haley and Thia slip down the list.
For the night: Jacob, Casey, James, Naima, Pia, Lauren, Stefano, Paul, Scotty, Haley, Thia.
For the season: Jacob, James, Casey, Pia, Scotty, Stefano, Lauren, Thia, Haley, Paul, Naima.
Let's send home: Paul and Naima are clearly the bottom two of the pack; no one else is close.
The rundown:
Scotty, "Country Comfort" -- The song feels like it's written by someone who's trying to throw in every country cliche he can think of. Grandma, farm, train, truck -- throw in a dog and some beer, and you've hit 'em all. And given a bad imitation of a country song, Scotty sounds like a bad imitation of a country singer. His pitch is off, especially in the verses, and the twang feels affected rather than natural. Even the low note at the end has the feeling of the punchline to a joke that wasn't very funny.
Naima, "I'm Still Standing" -- An unexpectedly mellow Naima, and it turns out that when she's not screaming at us, there's a lovely voice hiding in there after all. Not a perfect performance -- she bobbles the pitch badly on the entrance to the chorus, the old shouty Naima comes back a bit at the very end, and the accent was ill-advised -- but her best work to date.
Paul, "Rocket Man" -- As it did last week, the guitar helps him immensely. I'm always left, though, feeling not so much that Paul is naturally quirky as that he's decided to be quirky. The breathy voice, the strangely pronounced vowels, the weird fade to silence on the last three notes -- they feel like tics he's picked up from other singers, but they're not organic, and he's layered on so many of them that he -- whoever he is -- is buried beneath them.
Pia, "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me" -- If you came across that on the radio, you'd stop and listen. And you'd think, "she's got a really nice voice." And when it was over, you'd go on to something else, and it would never occur to you to wonder what her name was, or whether you could buy that on iTunes, or what else she'd recorded, because there's no personality behind that really nice voice. She's a Stepford singer.
Stefano, "Tiny Dancer" -- It's the standard Stefano performance. The louder and beltier he can get, the better he sounds, but when he's forced to be quiet and sensitive, the sound gets pinched. (Whatever technical flaws are producing that tone are also, I think, why he squints through every song; his facial muscles are tensed in ways they shouldn't be.) And even the big stuff wasn't all that impressive tonight.
Lauren, "Candle in the Wind" -- You can hear in the way her voice breaks that she's naturally a country singer, and her best moments here are when she gives in to that, when she lets those breaks and that little bit of twang happen instead of fighting them. She still doesn't project much personality, but there are hints here of a good singer struggling to break out.
James, "Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting" -- Excellent song choice for his style and his voice. The pitch on the big "yeah" at the end was a bit iffy, but otherwise very good; the first thing tonight that's gotten a smile out of me.
Thia, "Daniel" -- Pitch is all over the place, enunciation is sloppy, and that descending series of high notes at the end of the chorus ("Daniel, you're a star...") is inaudible. Not a good night for Thia, and with two people going home, you really don't want to have a noticably bad night.
Casey, "Your Song" -- That last note didn't need to be falsetto, but aside from that, this was lovely. There was a warmth that I haven't seen from Casey before, and he even managed to make one of Elton's clunkier lyrics ("If I were a sculptor/but then again, no") feel almost natural.
Jacob, "Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word" -- Impeccable.
Haley, "Bennie and the Jets" -- I like the fluidity of her voice, the ease with which she moves from high to low and back; the pop up to head voice on "magazine," for instance, is lovely. But this is a weird performance. It feels like a bad Vegas lounge act, one of those moments where an older performer trots out a recent hit to show how hip they are -- Steve and Eydie singing "Black Hole Sun," or Pat Boone's metal album.
A middling night, for the most part; Jacob and Casey help themselves the most, and Haley and Thia slip down the list.
For the night: Jacob, Casey, James, Naima, Pia, Lauren, Stefano, Paul, Scotty, Haley, Thia.
For the season: Jacob, James, Casey, Pia, Scotty, Stefano, Lauren, Thia, Haley, Paul, Naima.
Let's send home: Paul and Naima are clearly the bottom two of the pack; no one else is close.
MOVIES: Certified Copy (Abbas Kiarostami, 2010/US 2011)
A bit more spoiler-y than usual, I think, but not about the plot -- not that plot's really the point in this one -- and it's hard to say anything much about the movie without discussing its central device to some extent.
James (opera singer William Shimell, making his film debut) is an English author whose latest book is a philosophical inquiry into the notions of originality and copy in art; the copy, he argues, is (if well made) no less valuable than the original, and there's no real reason to prefer the actual to the simulated.
He's in Tuscany, doing lectures in support of his book, and in attendance is a woman who is never named in the movie, but let's call her Juliette, since she's played by Juliette Binoche. Juliette whispers something to the host of the lecture and leaves her address; James comes to visit her at her antique shop, and the two set out for a Sunday drive through Tuscany. A waitress in a cafe mistakes them for husband and wife, and they do not correct her; even after leaving the cafe, they continue behaving as if they were married.
And here's where the movie gets odd on us. The relationship that James and Juliette create for themselves is unusually complete (and hostile); they seem to agree on surprisingly specific details without having to discuss them, and Kiarostami begins to drop hints that perhaps they really are married, and it was the meeting as strangers that was some sort of play-acting. Married or strangers? And given James' notions about the relative value of actual vs. imitation, does it really matter whether their squabbling is real or pretend?
I've very much enjoyed reading the reviews of this film since seeing it. Many of the critics are adamant that there's no ambiguity in the relationship, and that it's perfectly obvious what's really going on. Which would be swell if only they could agree; there seems to be a roughly even split between those who are convinced they're strangers playing at being married and those who know it's the other way around.
There are interesting philosophical notions at play here, and some of the conversations about those ideas are fascinating, playing somewhat as My Tuscan Road Trip With Andre. Binoche and Shimell are completely convincing from moment to moment, and they have terrific chemistry, regardless of what their relationship is supposed to be at any given instant.
The problem is that since we never do know which version of their relationship is real, we have no idea what's at stake, and no reason to care what happens to them. I enjoy a good puzzle movie, but this one is all ambiguity and no resolution, which left me floundering with nothing to grab on to. Good performances, and the movie isn't boring, but it's all style and very little substance, and rather a muddle in the end.
James (opera singer William Shimell, making his film debut) is an English author whose latest book is a philosophical inquiry into the notions of originality and copy in art; the copy, he argues, is (if well made) no less valuable than the original, and there's no real reason to prefer the actual to the simulated.
He's in Tuscany, doing lectures in support of his book, and in attendance is a woman who is never named in the movie, but let's call her Juliette, since she's played by Juliette Binoche. Juliette whispers something to the host of the lecture and leaves her address; James comes to visit her at her antique shop, and the two set out for a Sunday drive through Tuscany. A waitress in a cafe mistakes them for husband and wife, and they do not correct her; even after leaving the cafe, they continue behaving as if they were married.
And here's where the movie gets odd on us. The relationship that James and Juliette create for themselves is unusually complete (and hostile); they seem to agree on surprisingly specific details without having to discuss them, and Kiarostami begins to drop hints that perhaps they really are married, and it was the meeting as strangers that was some sort of play-acting. Married or strangers? And given James' notions about the relative value of actual vs. imitation, does it really matter whether their squabbling is real or pretend?
I've very much enjoyed reading the reviews of this film since seeing it. Many of the critics are adamant that there's no ambiguity in the relationship, and that it's perfectly obvious what's really going on. Which would be swell if only they could agree; there seems to be a roughly even split between those who are convinced they're strangers playing at being married and those who know it's the other way around.
There are interesting philosophical notions at play here, and some of the conversations about those ideas are fascinating, playing somewhat as My Tuscan Road Trip With Andre. Binoche and Shimell are completely convincing from moment to moment, and they have terrific chemistry, regardless of what their relationship is supposed to be at any given instant.
The problem is that since we never do know which version of their relationship is real, we have no idea what's at stake, and no reason to care what happens to them. I enjoy a good puzzle movie, but this one is all ambiguity and no resolution, which left me floundering with nothing to grab on to. Good performances, and the movie isn't boring, but it's all style and very little substance, and rather a muddle in the end.
BOOKS: Bad Science, Ben Goldacre (2008/US edition, 2010)
Since 2003, Goldacre has written the "Bad Science" column for The Guardian. Here, he expands on the frequent themes of that column in a spectacularly useful and informative book.
Goldacre's targets are, in the words of the book's subtitle, "quacks, hacks, and big pharma flacks." He explains, precisely and methodically, how drug companies and practitioners of alternative medicine are able to so easily befuddle and confuse the public, and how we can better recognize such trickery when it's happening.
The problem is, Goldacre argues, that we are not taught anything useful about the scientific method, so we have no idea how to interpret the results of studies. Most crucially, we fail to recognize when those results are being deliberately misrepresented, either by drug companies looking to make their products look better than they are, or by the media trying to stir up fear and controversy.
In straightforward terms -- nothing here is beyond the grasp of any high-school graduate -- Goldacre explains all the things that we need to know about medical research: What's a placebo? What's a double-blind study? How do I spot bias? He also takes the media to task, both for helping to perpetuate our ignorance and by playing into it for ratings.
And in a terrific final chapter, Goldacre goes after Andrew Wakefield and the other doctors who have spent the last decade perpetuating the myth of a relationship between childhood vaccinations and autism. Carefully and methodically, he explains how all of their research was at best flawed, and more likely outright fraudulent, and how and why the media were suckered into going along for the ride. (The vaccine/autism "link" was an even bigger scare in England than it's been here.)
I can't recommend this book highly enough. You'll never hear another "can eating pizza double your risk of spontaneous human combustion?" story again without immediately running through a mental checklist of all the things that are wrong with the reporting (and probably with the study in question). This should be required reading in American high schools.
Goldacre's targets are, in the words of the book's subtitle, "quacks, hacks, and big pharma flacks." He explains, precisely and methodically, how drug companies and practitioners of alternative medicine are able to so easily befuddle and confuse the public, and how we can better recognize such trickery when it's happening.
The problem is, Goldacre argues, that we are not taught anything useful about the scientific method, so we have no idea how to interpret the results of studies. Most crucially, we fail to recognize when those results are being deliberately misrepresented, either by drug companies looking to make their products look better than they are, or by the media trying to stir up fear and controversy.
In straightforward terms -- nothing here is beyond the grasp of any high-school graduate -- Goldacre explains all the things that we need to know about medical research: What's a placebo? What's a double-blind study? How do I spot bias? He also takes the media to task, both for helping to perpetuate our ignorance and by playing into it for ratings.
And in a terrific final chapter, Goldacre goes after Andrew Wakefield and the other doctors who have spent the last decade perpetuating the myth of a relationship between childhood vaccinations and autism. Carefully and methodically, he explains how all of their research was at best flawed, and more likely outright fraudulent, and how and why the media were suckered into going along for the ride. (The vaccine/autism "link" was an even bigger scare in England than it's been here.)
I can't recommend this book highly enough. You'll never hear another "can eating pizza double your risk of spontaneous human combustion?" story again without immediately running through a mental checklist of all the things that are wrong with the reporting (and probably with the study in question). This should be required reading in American high schools.
March 24, 2011
BOOKS: One of Our Thursdays Is Missing, Jasper Fforde (2011)
The adventures of Thursday Next, Jurisfiction agent, continue with the usual inventive wit, but Fforde makes two big changes here that shake things up a bit. First, he completely re-structures BookWorld with "the great rewriting." The Great Library is gone, and it's replaced by a geographically arranged BookWorld; we spend the most time on Fiction Island, which is broken down into Genres (Horror, Human Drama, Comedy, etc.) and further broken down into districts/neighborhoods. In Comedy, for instance, you might travel through Slapstick on the way to Knock-Knock (be careful not to get lost on the Dudley Moor).
The second big change is that this novel takes place almost entirely within BookWorld, and Thursday is not our narrator. Well, not the real Thursday, at any rate; the narrator here is the written Thursday, who's very much like, but (as a fictional version) not precisely the same as the real thing. She looks very much like the real Thursday, though -- far more so than most fictionalized versions -- so when the real Thursday goes missing, Jurisfiction calls on her to fill in at a crucial negotiation. (That nasty border skirmish between Racy Novel and Women's Fiction won't settle itself, you know.)
These changes give Fforde a lot of new ideas to play with. In particular, we get more insight into the daily life of a BookWorld character, largely through written Thursday's training of a new understudy. There are also the usual inspired riffs on classic literature -- there's a Dostoevsky bit in the first chapter that had me in giggles -- and the marvelous character names. Meet the gentleman who runs the Conspiracy district, for instance: Roswell Bilderberg.
If you haven't read any of the previous volumes, much of the preceding is probably rather confusing. They're all really good books, though, so start at the beginning with The Eyre Affair and work your way through.
March 23, 2011
MUSIC: American Idol: Motown
The singers face their most restrictive theme thus far, but it shouldn't present too many difficulties for anyone but Scotty, should it? Let's find out...
The rundown:
Casey, "I Heard It Through the Grapevine" -- He did a good job of following the producers' advice; that was a very restrained performance, and the better for it. Even so, I'm finding myself beginning to tire of a style that's starting to play as shtick, and wondering if he's slowly becoming this season's Taylor Hicks.
Thia, "Heat Wave" -- Words are vanishing in the low notes, and I don't think the words "heat wave" were ever in tune. And you can feel how much she'd rather be singing another goopy balad; she's singing with nervous, overly polite restraint, like someone trying not to step in a puddle after it's been raining.
Jacob, "You're All I Need To Get By" -- I've never seen anyone make quite so many strange faces while singing. Aside from that, the song is right in his wheelhouse and he does extremely well with it indeed. I'm still distracted by his vibrato, which is overdone for my taste, but that's more a question of style than of talent.
(On a side note, that bit with hugging the audience was very good for Jacob. There's a certain type of cool elegance and refinement that doesn't go over well with Idol voters, especially from African-American singers, and that moment of goofiness does a lot to humanize him.)
Lauren, "You Keep Me Hangin' On" -- Perfectly respectable performance. Not terribly memorable or interesting, but nothing glaringlly wrong with it. Probably enough to keep her around for another week, but not anything that's going to move her up in the ranks.
Stefano, "Hello" -- As always, he sounds lovely when he can belt, but when he can't, those quiet moments -- the first verse, for instance -- sound harsh and strangled, and that's entirely a matter of technique. Hard to build an entire career on nothing but big moments, though. (And he's still not always managing to keep his eyes open.)
Haley, "You've Really Got a Hold on Me" -- It's like one of those YouTube videos with the six-year-old girls doing stripper routines, and I feel vaguely dirty for having watched it. She isn't a sex kitten, and it's painful to see her trying to be. On a musical level, she doesn't find the right key until she reaches the bottom of the stairs, and she really needs to learn that growling is not a substitute for singing.
Scotty, "For Once In My Life" -- Quite nice, for the most part. The arrangement works pretty well, and there's some nice intensity in the second half of the song. That last little flourish comes off as precisely the sort of cheap lounge act that Jimmy warned him not to be, though.
Pia, "All In Love Is Fair" -- She may have the best voice in the competition. The high notes are never shrill; the low notes are relatively strong; the transitions from high to low and back are very smooth. But there's not always much personality behind it, and she can come off as very distant and chilly. If she can get the emotional force to match the vocal force, she'll be unstoppable.
Paul, "The Tracks of My Tears" -- The guitar helps. It anchors him to the stage, and when he's not hurling all that energy into the goofball dance moves, he can put it into the singing, and that makes this his strongest performance yet. I still can't stand his voice, but this is the first time that I've found him even remotely appealing.
Naima, "Dancing In the Street" -- That's Naima having fun? Damn, I'd hate to see her pissed off. She's bringing a scary intensity to the song, glaring at us as if we're not dancing hard enough. She wields the song as a weapon, and it's not a pleasant experience.
James, "Living for the City" -- The wordless wailing passages aren't quite in tune, but aside from that, this is terrific. The opening verse is especially good, with some serious emotional intensity behind it.
A pretty good night overall. No real goosebump moments, but a step up from the blandness of last week. Still a very closely bunched group (with the exception of the bottom two). James moves up a bit; Haley moves down a lot.
For the night: James, Jacob, Casey, Pia, Scotty, Lauren, Stefano, Paul, Thia, Naima, Haley.
For the season: James, Pia, Scotty, Jacob, Casey, Thia, Stefano, Lauren, Haley, Paul, Naima.
Let's send home: Paul was good enough tonight to earn himself a reprieve. Naima's been the most consistently awful, and deserves the boot this week, though a goodbye for Haley would not be unreasonable.
The rundown:
Casey, "I Heard It Through the Grapevine" -- He did a good job of following the producers' advice; that was a very restrained performance, and the better for it. Even so, I'm finding myself beginning to tire of a style that's starting to play as shtick, and wondering if he's slowly becoming this season's Taylor Hicks.
Thia, "Heat Wave" -- Words are vanishing in the low notes, and I don't think the words "heat wave" were ever in tune. And you can feel how much she'd rather be singing another goopy balad; she's singing with nervous, overly polite restraint, like someone trying not to step in a puddle after it's been raining.
Jacob, "You're All I Need To Get By" -- I've never seen anyone make quite so many strange faces while singing. Aside from that, the song is right in his wheelhouse and he does extremely well with it indeed. I'm still distracted by his vibrato, which is overdone for my taste, but that's more a question of style than of talent.
(On a side note, that bit with hugging the audience was very good for Jacob. There's a certain type of cool elegance and refinement that doesn't go over well with Idol voters, especially from African-American singers, and that moment of goofiness does a lot to humanize him.)
Lauren, "You Keep Me Hangin' On" -- Perfectly respectable performance. Not terribly memorable or interesting, but nothing glaringlly wrong with it. Probably enough to keep her around for another week, but not anything that's going to move her up in the ranks.
Stefano, "Hello" -- As always, he sounds lovely when he can belt, but when he can't, those quiet moments -- the first verse, for instance -- sound harsh and strangled, and that's entirely a matter of technique. Hard to build an entire career on nothing but big moments, though. (And he's still not always managing to keep his eyes open.)
Haley, "You've Really Got a Hold on Me" -- It's like one of those YouTube videos with the six-year-old girls doing stripper routines, and I feel vaguely dirty for having watched it. She isn't a sex kitten, and it's painful to see her trying to be. On a musical level, she doesn't find the right key until she reaches the bottom of the stairs, and she really needs to learn that growling is not a substitute for singing.
Scotty, "For Once In My Life" -- Quite nice, for the most part. The arrangement works pretty well, and there's some nice intensity in the second half of the song. That last little flourish comes off as precisely the sort of cheap lounge act that Jimmy warned him not to be, though.
Pia, "All In Love Is Fair" -- She may have the best voice in the competition. The high notes are never shrill; the low notes are relatively strong; the transitions from high to low and back are very smooth. But there's not always much personality behind it, and she can come off as very distant and chilly. If she can get the emotional force to match the vocal force, she'll be unstoppable.
Paul, "The Tracks of My Tears" -- The guitar helps. It anchors him to the stage, and when he's not hurling all that energy into the goofball dance moves, he can put it into the singing, and that makes this his strongest performance yet. I still can't stand his voice, but this is the first time that I've found him even remotely appealing.
Naima, "Dancing In the Street" -- That's Naima having fun? Damn, I'd hate to see her pissed off. She's bringing a scary intensity to the song, glaring at us as if we're not dancing hard enough. She wields the song as a weapon, and it's not a pleasant experience.
James, "Living for the City" -- The wordless wailing passages aren't quite in tune, but aside from that, this is terrific. The opening verse is especially good, with some serious emotional intensity behind it.
A pretty good night overall. No real goosebump moments, but a step up from the blandness of last week. Still a very closely bunched group (with the exception of the bottom two). James moves up a bit; Haley moves down a lot.
For the night: James, Jacob, Casey, Pia, Scotty, Lauren, Stefano, Paul, Thia, Naima, Haley.
For the season: James, Pia, Scotty, Jacob, Casey, Thia, Stefano, Lauren, Haley, Paul, Naima.
Let's send home: Paul was good enough tonight to earn himself a reprieve. Naima's been the most consistently awful, and deserves the boot this week, though a goodbye for Haley would not be unreasonable.
March 21, 2011
MOVIES: Win Win (Tom McCarthy, 2011)
McCarthy continues his fine record as a writer/director with his third terrific film (following The Station Agent and The Visitor), this one about a group of people coping with various forms of loss.
Paul Giamatti stars as a New Jersey lawyer with a struggling practice. He also coaches the local high-school wrestling team, which isn't doing very well, either. Desperate to make a few extra bucks, he takes on legal guardianship of an elderly client (Burt Young) who's in the early stages of dementia; things get complicated when the old man's grandson (newcomer Alex Shaffer) shows up, a grandson who happens to be a spectacularly good wrestler.
As usual with McCarthy, the casting is superb. In addition to Giamatti and Young, you've got Amy Ryan as Giamatti's wife, Jeffrey Tambor and Bobby Cannavale as his fellow coaches, Melanie Lynskey as the kid's mother, and the always welcome Margo Martindale as a rival attorney. Shaffer is the movie's weakest link, and his flat affect and monotone grate a bit by the time the movie's over, but the rest of the cast carries him very well.
As in McCarthy's other movies, the characters are rich and complicated, and they don't always make the most moral choices. But the writing and performances are so good that they (almost) always have your sympathy, and you have no problem understanding why they've done what they've done.
This is an excellent movie, definitely worth looking for.
Paul Giamatti stars as a New Jersey lawyer with a struggling practice. He also coaches the local high-school wrestling team, which isn't doing very well, either. Desperate to make a few extra bucks, he takes on legal guardianship of an elderly client (Burt Young) who's in the early stages of dementia; things get complicated when the old man's grandson (newcomer Alex Shaffer) shows up, a grandson who happens to be a spectacularly good wrestler.
As usual with McCarthy, the casting is superb. In addition to Giamatti and Young, you've got Amy Ryan as Giamatti's wife, Jeffrey Tambor and Bobby Cannavale as his fellow coaches, Melanie Lynskey as the kid's mother, and the always welcome Margo Martindale as a rival attorney. Shaffer is the movie's weakest link, and his flat affect and monotone grate a bit by the time the movie's over, but the rest of the cast carries him very well.
As in McCarthy's other movies, the characters are rich and complicated, and they don't always make the most moral choices. But the writing and performances are so good that they (almost) always have your sympathy, and you have no problem understanding why they've done what they've done.
This is an excellent movie, definitely worth looking for.
MOVIES: The Lincoln Lawyer (Brad Furman, 2011)
I've never read any of Michael Connelly's novels, so I can't speak to how faithful an adaptation The Lincoln Lawyer is. But as a movie, it's a reasonably good legal drama.
Matthew McConaughey stars as Mick Heller (yes, I know that in the books, it's Mickey), a Los Angeles lawyer who scrapes by with a few regular lowlife clients (a pot-growing gang of bikers chief among them). He's not the first lawyer that would come to mind for Los Angeles' upper crust, so it's rather a surprise when his services are requested by Louis Roulet (Ryan Philippe), son of a wealthy family who's been accused with the rape and beating of a prostitute. Louis claims he's innocent, and the police report would seem to back him up, but there is (surprise, surprise) more to the story than meets the eye.
There's a fine supporting cast -- William H. Macy as Mick's investigator, Marisa Tomei as his ex-wife (who is, of course, a prosecutor), Frances Fisher as Louis's mother, Michael Pena as a former client, Bob Gunton as Louis's snooty family lawyer. And in smaller roles, you've got John Leguizamo, Trace Adkins, Bryan Cranston, and Josh Lucas.
McConaughey's still not a great actor, but his natural cockiness serves him well in this role, and he's surrounded by actors who have the talent to make him look his best. The story goes through the obligatory twists and turns, some of which you'll see coming a mile away, but it moves along at a brisk pace and the cast is sharp enough to keep the predictability from getting too irritating.
Matthew McConaughey stars as Mick Heller (yes, I know that in the books, it's Mickey), a Los Angeles lawyer who scrapes by with a few regular lowlife clients (a pot-growing gang of bikers chief among them). He's not the first lawyer that would come to mind for Los Angeles' upper crust, so it's rather a surprise when his services are requested by Louis Roulet (Ryan Philippe), son of a wealthy family who's been accused with the rape and beating of a prostitute. Louis claims he's innocent, and the police report would seem to back him up, but there is (surprise, surprise) more to the story than meets the eye.
There's a fine supporting cast -- William H. Macy as Mick's investigator, Marisa Tomei as his ex-wife (who is, of course, a prosecutor), Frances Fisher as Louis's mother, Michael Pena as a former client, Bob Gunton as Louis's snooty family lawyer. And in smaller roles, you've got John Leguizamo, Trace Adkins, Bryan Cranston, and Josh Lucas.
McConaughey's still not a great actor, but his natural cockiness serves him well in this role, and he's surrounded by actors who have the talent to make him look his best. The story goes through the obligatory twists and turns, some of which you'll see coming a mile away, but it moves along at a brisk pace and the cast is sharp enough to keep the predictability from getting too irritating.
March 20, 2011
the things we do for links
Los Angeles Times, Richard Winton: Should the Los Angeles City Attorney be able to stop a prominent graffiti artist from profiting by selling his legal art signed with his tag?
Shady Characters, Keith Houston: Part three of the suprisingly interesting history of the pilcrow. (That's this thing: ¶)
Strange Horizons, Genevieve Valentine: Winter's Bone considered as a fairy tale.
Sad news from the Associated Press, where the stylebook is dropping "e-mail" in favor of "email." Horrible and wrong. It's not "tshirt," it's not "fstop", and it's not "email"
And in this video from Feminist Frequency, Anita Sarkeesian argues that True Grit's Mattie Ross is not a feminist character. I'm not entirely convinced, mostly because I think it's wrong to expect a 19th century character to live up to a 21st century conception of feminism, but it's an interesting argument, and Sarkeesian makes it well. (via The Film Experience)
Shady Characters, Keith Houston: Part three of the suprisingly interesting history of the pilcrow. (That's this thing: ¶)
Strange Horizons, Genevieve Valentine: Winter's Bone considered as a fairy tale.
Sad news from the Associated Press, where the stylebook is dropping "e-mail" in favor of "email." Horrible and wrong. It's not "tshirt," it's not "fstop", and it's not "email"
And in this video from Feminist Frequency, Anita Sarkeesian argues that True Grit's Mattie Ross is not a feminist character. I'm not entirely convinced, mostly because I think it's wrong to expect a 19th century character to live up to a 21st century conception of feminism, but it's an interesting argument, and Sarkeesian makes it well. (via The Film Experience)
March 16, 2011
MUSIC: American Idol 2011: Songs from birth years
The wannabes take us from the mid-80s to the mid-90s tonight, with one of the show's stranger recurring themes: Sing something from the year you were born, when you weren't paying a damn bit of attention to pop music. Because heaven forbid they should get to sing something that means something to them, or that they have an emotional connection to. Ah, well.
Anyway, the rundown:
Naima, "What's Love Got to Do With It" -- Hate the arrangement. The opening verse is the best she's ever been. It's restrained and understated, and she's actually got a pretty voice. But from the chorus on, there's an unpleasant aggressive quality; it's as if she's stalking the song (and us) instead of singing it. And that closing riff is just silly.
Paul, "I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues" -- Vocally, he's laid-back to the point of catatonia; physically, he's a bundle of nervous energy with the weird little squat step and the constantly swinging arm. The combination is very disconcerting, and it puts me on edge whenever he takes the stage. His voice is ugly, and the last ten seconds or so were wildly out of tune.
Thia, "Colors of the Wind" -- It's a flow of very pretty notes, and that's all it is. Her voice is overly smooth, to the point that the words are frequently lost in the flow. It's a bad song choice, because it's nearly impossible to make the song interesting; it's like singing the Greenpeace mission statement. Yay, birds.
James, "I'll Be There for You" -- Some rough going pitchwise at the beginning, but on the whole, not bad. But also not especially interesting or memorable. It's a spectacularly competent performance.
Haley, "I'm Your Baby Tonight" -- Alicia Keys to LeAnn Rimes to Whitney Houston: I don't think she knows who she is as a singer, and it shows; every song feels like a new personality being tried on for size, and none of them feel like her. (And I typed those words before hearing Randy say almost exactly the same thing.) This was pretty much the equivalent of James' performance -- technically proficient and instantly forgettable.
Stefano, "If You Don't Know Me By Now" -- Surprisingly good. He didn't quite make it all the way through the last big note without cracking, and he has the bad habit of pulling the microphone away from his mouth before the phrase is finished, but there was some genuine emotion coming across. His best work yet.
Pia, "Where Do Broken Hearts Go" -- Given how smooth she's been in previous weeks, there's something oddly clunky about her phrasing -- "where. do. broken. hearts. go" -- with each word pounced on separately. Her usual fluidity is missing, and she's got no sound at all in the lower register. Still, she's got a big old voice, and the money notes are impressive.
Scotty, "Can I Trust You With My Heart" -- OK, the voice is there, and he knows how to work an audience better than any of the other contestants. But I think he's coasting a little on the gorgeous voice, without making any emotional investment in what he's doing. And if there is one genre where fans demand real emotion (or at least the extremely skillful simulation thereof), it is country music.
Karen, "Love Will Lead You Back" -- There's something very beauty pageant about Karen's performances; they're all polish and not much substance. It's a very high grade of polish, to be sure, but I'd like to see a little more depth. And not that I mind the Spanish or anything, but if she doesn't want to be thought of as just the Spanish singer, she could maybe try a song or two without Spanish lyrics.
Casey, "Smells Like Teen Spirit" -- He's not singing, he's screaming. And he's screaming wildly out of tune. A ghastly mistake. Not the right song for him, and a performance so bad that it comes off as if he's trying to make fun of the song. (Love his parents, though.)
Lauren, "I'm the Only One" -- A few little odd breaks and cracks, most likely due to the flu, but on the whole, a very nice performance. Good enough to be relatively memorable on a night dominated by the adequate.
Jacob, "Alone" -- He just can't resist throwing in those gospel runs and riffs, can he? And they're the worst moments of the song. When he's just belting out the tune, it's surprisingly effective. His vibrato is way too wide and wobbly for my taste, though, and that's more noticable (and more inappropriate) on a song like this than on his usual R&B material.
On the whole, not a great night, with almost everyone delivering slightly bland and unmemorable performances. Stefano moves up a bit; Casey moves down a lot; everyone else stays pretty much where they were.
For the night: Stefano, Lauren, Pia, Jacob, Scotty, Thia, Naima, Karen, James, Haley, Paul, Casey.
For the season: Pia, Scotty, Haley, James, Thia, Jacob, Casey, Stefano, Lauren, Karen, Naima, Paul.
Let's send home: For consistently poor performances, Paul is the most deserving. I would not weep to see Naima leave, and while I don't expect him to leave, don't be surprised if Casey lands in the bottom three.
Anyway, the rundown:
Naima, "What's Love Got to Do With It" -- Hate the arrangement. The opening verse is the best she's ever been. It's restrained and understated, and she's actually got a pretty voice. But from the chorus on, there's an unpleasant aggressive quality; it's as if she's stalking the song (and us) instead of singing it. And that closing riff is just silly.
Paul, "I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues" -- Vocally, he's laid-back to the point of catatonia; physically, he's a bundle of nervous energy with the weird little squat step and the constantly swinging arm. The combination is very disconcerting, and it puts me on edge whenever he takes the stage. His voice is ugly, and the last ten seconds or so were wildly out of tune.
Thia, "Colors of the Wind" -- It's a flow of very pretty notes, and that's all it is. Her voice is overly smooth, to the point that the words are frequently lost in the flow. It's a bad song choice, because it's nearly impossible to make the song interesting; it's like singing the Greenpeace mission statement. Yay, birds.
James, "I'll Be There for You" -- Some rough going pitchwise at the beginning, but on the whole, not bad. But also not especially interesting or memorable. It's a spectacularly competent performance.
Haley, "I'm Your Baby Tonight" -- Alicia Keys to LeAnn Rimes to Whitney Houston: I don't think she knows who she is as a singer, and it shows; every song feels like a new personality being tried on for size, and none of them feel like her. (And I typed those words before hearing Randy say almost exactly the same thing.) This was pretty much the equivalent of James' performance -- technically proficient and instantly forgettable.
Stefano, "If You Don't Know Me By Now" -- Surprisingly good. He didn't quite make it all the way through the last big note without cracking, and he has the bad habit of pulling the microphone away from his mouth before the phrase is finished, but there was some genuine emotion coming across. His best work yet.
Pia, "Where Do Broken Hearts Go" -- Given how smooth she's been in previous weeks, there's something oddly clunky about her phrasing -- "where. do. broken. hearts. go" -- with each word pounced on separately. Her usual fluidity is missing, and she's got no sound at all in the lower register. Still, she's got a big old voice, and the money notes are impressive.
Scotty, "Can I Trust You With My Heart" -- OK, the voice is there, and he knows how to work an audience better than any of the other contestants. But I think he's coasting a little on the gorgeous voice, without making any emotional investment in what he's doing. And if there is one genre where fans demand real emotion (or at least the extremely skillful simulation thereof), it is country music.
Karen, "Love Will Lead You Back" -- There's something very beauty pageant about Karen's performances; they're all polish and not much substance. It's a very high grade of polish, to be sure, but I'd like to see a little more depth. And not that I mind the Spanish or anything, but if she doesn't want to be thought of as just the Spanish singer, she could maybe try a song or two without Spanish lyrics.
Casey, "Smells Like Teen Spirit" -- He's not singing, he's screaming. And he's screaming wildly out of tune. A ghastly mistake. Not the right song for him, and a performance so bad that it comes off as if he's trying to make fun of the song. (Love his parents, though.)
Lauren, "I'm the Only One" -- A few little odd breaks and cracks, most likely due to the flu, but on the whole, a very nice performance. Good enough to be relatively memorable on a night dominated by the adequate.
Jacob, "Alone" -- He just can't resist throwing in those gospel runs and riffs, can he? And they're the worst moments of the song. When he's just belting out the tune, it's surprisingly effective. His vibrato is way too wide and wobbly for my taste, though, and that's more noticable (and more inappropriate) on a song like this than on his usual R&B material.
On the whole, not a great night, with almost everyone delivering slightly bland and unmemorable performances. Stefano moves up a bit; Casey moves down a lot; everyone else stays pretty much where they were.
For the night: Stefano, Lauren, Pia, Jacob, Scotty, Thia, Naima, Karen, James, Haley, Paul, Casey.
For the season: Pia, Scotty, Haley, James, Thia, Jacob, Casey, Stefano, Lauren, Karen, Naima, Paul.
Let's send home: For consistently poor performances, Paul is the most deserving. I would not weep to see Naima leave, and while I don't expect him to leave, don't be surprised if Casey lands in the bottom three.
BOOKS: Who Fears Death, Nnedi Okorafor (2010)
We're somewhere in Africa, somewhere after an unspecified apocalypse, and human nature hasn't changed much. In this part of Africa, the Okeke and Nuru tribes have reached an unsteady, unsatisfactory state of co-existence. In some places, they mostly leave one another alone; where they live together, the Okeke are usually servants and slaves to the Nuru.
Into this world Onyesonwu is born, to an Okeke mother who'd been raped by a Nuru soldier. The tribes look different enough from one another that such children can usually be identified on sight, and these children (known as Ewu) are outcasts. It is believed that as the children of violence, they will grow up to be violent themselves, or at the very least, to bring violence down upon their community.
But Onye has powers that are rare among her people. Before she reaches her teens, she's begun shape-shifting, taking on the forms of various birds. The local sorcerer is reluctant to take her on as a pupil, both because she is a girl and because she is Ewu, but her power cannot be denied. As Onye grows to adulthood, news arrives of a new leader among the Nuru, who has decided to strictly follow the teachings of the Great Book and exterminate the Okeke for good. It becomes clear that it is Onye's destiny to challenge this general.
The story follows a relatively familiar pattern -- the coming-of-age of a child with special gifts and a difficult destiny -- but the African setting gives it a distinctive flavor. That setting can be a bit distancing at times; I often had the sense that I was reading a fairy tale from a culture so foreign to me that I was missing basic cultural references. There are parts of the story that I'm sure would carry more symbolic resonance if I were more familiar with African literature and mythology. (Try to imagine, for instance, what it would be like to read Cinderella without understanding any of the cultural associations that surround "prince," or "ball," or "stepmother.")
Okorafor's pacing often felt slow to me, but again, I wonder if this is a cultural difference; I'm wanting a hurry-up-and-get-to-the-point story from characters and a world that are tuned to a more leisurely pace.
Despite that slight sense of alienation from Okorafor's world, I did enjoy the book, and it's probably a good thing to experience that feeling of being on the outside looking in once in a while. (Certainly makes it easier to empathize with Onye, who spends most of the book feeling that way.) Onyesonwu is a marvelous character who can't always overcome her anger, and who sometimes gives in to her power without thinking first. Great strength and great impulsiveness can be a dangerous combination, and watching Onye navigate those tricky waters is fascinating.
Into this world Onyesonwu is born, to an Okeke mother who'd been raped by a Nuru soldier. The tribes look different enough from one another that such children can usually be identified on sight, and these children (known as Ewu) are outcasts. It is believed that as the children of violence, they will grow up to be violent themselves, or at the very least, to bring violence down upon their community.
But Onye has powers that are rare among her people. Before she reaches her teens, she's begun shape-shifting, taking on the forms of various birds. The local sorcerer is reluctant to take her on as a pupil, both because she is a girl and because she is Ewu, but her power cannot be denied. As Onye grows to adulthood, news arrives of a new leader among the Nuru, who has decided to strictly follow the teachings of the Great Book and exterminate the Okeke for good. It becomes clear that it is Onye's destiny to challenge this general.
The story follows a relatively familiar pattern -- the coming-of-age of a child with special gifts and a difficult destiny -- but the African setting gives it a distinctive flavor. That setting can be a bit distancing at times; I often had the sense that I was reading a fairy tale from a culture so foreign to me that I was missing basic cultural references. There are parts of the story that I'm sure would carry more symbolic resonance if I were more familiar with African literature and mythology. (Try to imagine, for instance, what it would be like to read Cinderella without understanding any of the cultural associations that surround "prince," or "ball," or "stepmother.")
Okorafor's pacing often felt slow to me, but again, I wonder if this is a cultural difference; I'm wanting a hurry-up-and-get-to-the-point story from characters and a world that are tuned to a more leisurely pace.
Despite that slight sense of alienation from Okorafor's world, I did enjoy the book, and it's probably a good thing to experience that feeling of being on the outside looking in once in a while. (Certainly makes it easier to empathize with Onye, who spends most of the book feeling that way.) Onyesonwu is a marvelous character who can't always overcome her anger, and who sometimes gives in to her power without thinking first. Great strength and great impulsiveness can be a dangerous combination, and watching Onye navigate those tricky waters is fascinating.
March 13, 2011
da da da I don't link you you don't link me aha aha aha
At The Washington Post, Gene Weingarten proposes a new national anthem: The Bill of Rights, set to a familiar tune. (And sung by none other than Christine Lavin!)
Salon's Matt Zoller Seitz wonders if today's sitcoms are so filled with pop culture references that they'll be too dated for future generations; Macleans' Jamie Weinman responds.
Nate Silver of FiveThirtyEight on the predictive value -- or lack thereof -- of Ohio in presidential elections.
And we close with The Living Sisters:
Salon's Matt Zoller Seitz wonders if today's sitcoms are so filled with pop culture references that they'll be too dated for future generations; Macleans' Jamie Weinman responds.
Nate Silver of FiveThirtyEight on the predictive value -- or lack thereof -- of Ohio in presidential elections.
And we close with The Living Sisters:
MOVIES: Jane Eyre (Cary Fukunaga, 2011)
First things first: I'm going to assume that I don't need to worry about spoilers for a movie based on a book that's more than 150 years old and a staple of high school/college literature classes.
And Fukunaga's version does stay fairlly close to Charlotte Bronte's story, though it shuffles a few things out of sequence, beginning with Jane's arrival at the Rivers home and telling the earlier parts of the story in flashback. That fidelity to Bronte, though, is one of the movie's problems.
By modern standards, the amount of torment that life dumps on Jane is absurdly melodramatic. I was summarizing the story last night for a friend who'd somehow never read the book, and even before I got around to Rochester, he thought I must surely be making this up. The first act -- Jane's childhood -- comes across as particularly overdone here. The abusive aunt (Sally Hawkins, on whom evil does not sit comfortably), the terrible boarding school, the cruel headmaster who forbids the other children to speak to Jane, the death of the one friend Jane does make (from consumption, which is here depicted as a mild cough) -- it provokes nothing so strongly as giggles.
Another problem the movie faces -- and this may be inherent to any attempt to tell this story in Hollywood, where one must have beauty at all cost -- is its insistence that Jane and Rochester are, as they are in Bronte, ugly ducklings. When you've got the very pretty Mia Wasikowska and the strikingly handsome Michael Fassbender playing the roles, you really can't get away with Rochester's famous line to Jane, "You are no more pretty than I am handsome."
The biggest problem, though, is that there's very little romantic chemistry between Wasikowska and Fassbender, and each is such an unlikable character that it's hard to imagine why either would be drawn to the other. She's a rude, insulting woman who (by the standards of her society) doesn't know her place; he's an arrogant, condescending jerk who looks down his nose at Jane before abruptly (and unconvincingly) declaring his love for her.
There are some nice supporting performances to be found here. Jamie Bell is appropriately prim and tightly wound as St. John Rivers, and Judi Dench is delightful as Mrs. Fairfax, giving the movie some much-needed jolts of warmth and wit. And Adriano Goldman's cinematography is lovely, particularly in the scenes of Jane running wildly across the countryside after leaving Thornhill.
And Fukunaga's version does stay fairlly close to Charlotte Bronte's story, though it shuffles a few things out of sequence, beginning with Jane's arrival at the Rivers home and telling the earlier parts of the story in flashback. That fidelity to Bronte, though, is one of the movie's problems.
By modern standards, the amount of torment that life dumps on Jane is absurdly melodramatic. I was summarizing the story last night for a friend who'd somehow never read the book, and even before I got around to Rochester, he thought I must surely be making this up. The first act -- Jane's childhood -- comes across as particularly overdone here. The abusive aunt (Sally Hawkins, on whom evil does not sit comfortably), the terrible boarding school, the cruel headmaster who forbids the other children to speak to Jane, the death of the one friend Jane does make (from consumption, which is here depicted as a mild cough) -- it provokes nothing so strongly as giggles.
Another problem the movie faces -- and this may be inherent to any attempt to tell this story in Hollywood, where one must have beauty at all cost -- is its insistence that Jane and Rochester are, as they are in Bronte, ugly ducklings. When you've got the very pretty Mia Wasikowska and the strikingly handsome Michael Fassbender playing the roles, you really can't get away with Rochester's famous line to Jane, "You are no more pretty than I am handsome."
The biggest problem, though, is that there's very little romantic chemistry between Wasikowska and Fassbender, and each is such an unlikable character that it's hard to imagine why either would be drawn to the other. She's a rude, insulting woman who (by the standards of her society) doesn't know her place; he's an arrogant, condescending jerk who looks down his nose at Jane before abruptly (and unconvincingly) declaring his love for her.
There are some nice supporting performances to be found here. Jamie Bell is appropriately prim and tightly wound as St. John Rivers, and Judi Dench is delightful as Mrs. Fairfax, giving the movie some much-needed jolts of warmth and wit. And Adriano Goldman's cinematography is lovely, particularly in the scenes of Jane running wildly across the countryside after leaving Thornhill.
MOVIES: Of Gods and Men (Xavier Beauvois, 2010/US 2011)
Based on actual events about a group of French monks murdered by terrorists in Algeria in the mid-1990s. It's worth noting that I only knew where and when the movie was set because I'd read articles about the movie. The events were apparently big enough news in France that the audience didn't need any explanation, but it would have been helpful for American audiences to include a simple "Algeria, 1996" subtitle at the beginning.
There are eight monks, and they have made a comfortable place for themselves in a mostly Muslim community. They support themselves by selling honey and other farm products at the local market, and Brother Luc (Michael Lonsdale) runs a medical clinic for the villagers.
But political turmoil has come to Algeria, and a group of extreme Islamic terrorists kills a group of Croatian guest workers. The monks realize that they may not be safe in the new political environment, and they debate whether or not they should stay. The leader of the group is Brother Christian (Lambert Wilson), who is determined to stay; gradually, the rest of the monks come around to his point of view.
The movie is rather flat dramatically. Lonsdale and Wilson are the only actors given real characters to play, and they're fine; Lonsdale makes the bigger impression as the sweetly avuncular doctor/monk. The other characters never rise above the level of Generic Monk #1 or Terrorist #3. There's no passion to the monks' debates about staying or leaving, and no real discussion of just how high the stakes might be.
Your reaction to the actual story, I think, will depend on your level of faith. If you are a believer, you may be moved by the monks' martyrdom and their devotion to their community. If you are, like me, not a believer, you are more likely to see these events as an illustration of the level of foolishness men will stoop to in pursuit of their superstitions. When you have one group of men willing to kill for their fairy tales, and another group willing to die for theirs, you're not going to have a happy ending.
There are eight monks, and they have made a comfortable place for themselves in a mostly Muslim community. They support themselves by selling honey and other farm products at the local market, and Brother Luc (Michael Lonsdale) runs a medical clinic for the villagers.
But political turmoil has come to Algeria, and a group of extreme Islamic terrorists kills a group of Croatian guest workers. The monks realize that they may not be safe in the new political environment, and they debate whether or not they should stay. The leader of the group is Brother Christian (Lambert Wilson), who is determined to stay; gradually, the rest of the monks come around to his point of view.
The movie is rather flat dramatically. Lonsdale and Wilson are the only actors given real characters to play, and they're fine; Lonsdale makes the bigger impression as the sweetly avuncular doctor/monk. The other characters never rise above the level of Generic Monk #1 or Terrorist #3. There's no passion to the monks' debates about staying or leaving, and no real discussion of just how high the stakes might be.
Your reaction to the actual story, I think, will depend on your level of faith. If you are a believer, you may be moved by the monks' martyrdom and their devotion to their community. If you are, like me, not a believer, you are more likely to see these events as an illustration of the level of foolishness men will stoop to in pursuit of their superstitions. When you have one group of men willing to kill for their fairy tales, and another group willing to die for theirs, you're not going to have a happy ending.
March 09, 2011
MUSIC: American Idol 2011: "Your Personal Idol"
The producers had promised us less restrictive themes this season, and here's our first example -- it's not so much a theme as it is a "oh, sing whatever you want" shrug. We also get our first real look at new permanent mentor Jimmy Iovine, who brings in a variety of the industry's best producers to work with the singers.
The rundown:
Lauren, "Any Man of Mine" -- If you don't have the lung power to get through long phrases, then maybe you shouldn't pick a song that requires you to sing long phrases. Aside from that, not bad, though rather devoid of personality and distinctive energy.
Casey, "With a Little Help From My Friends" -- Very distinctive and compelling. A few oddly mannered moments, perhaps, and those "hoo hoo hoo"s are a bit cuckoo-clock, but those are tiny quibbles.
Ashthon, "When You Tell Me That You Love Me" -- She's got the big notes and the runs, but that's about all she's got; there's no warmth, no charm, no joy in what she does. It's very chilly and impersonal. (And it took me about five seconds to decipher that she wasn't "shining like a Ken doll in the dark.")
Paul, "Come Pick Me Up" -- A few too many double espressos before the show, you think? He's bouncing across the stage with so much unfocused physical energy that there's not much left to go to the voice, which is a breathy, inarticulate mess. The pitches are there, I suppose, but there's no force to them, and the notes are faint wispy things that are blown away by the breeze caused by his manic hopping about.
Pia, "All By Myself" -- Very fine, and any complaints would be nitpicking. The big high notes are certainly impressive (and never shrill), but I really liked her in the verse, where her lower register has a strength (that she didn't seem to have last week) and a calm that remind me a bit of Karen Carpenter.
James, "Maybe I'm Amazed" -- Another terrific performance. The high notes are absolutely wailing, and every word is perfectly clear (a rare thing in this style, in my admittedly limited experience). He's completely connected to the material, and I like the arrangement. (On a shallow physical note, I would suggest that when you have Dumbo ears, straight up might not be the best choice in hairstyle.)
Haley, "Blue" -- She still loves the growl a little too much, but her joy and enthusiasm are contagious, and that yodel is spot on; the very last note is particularly nice. Yet another really good performance, in what is turning out to be a remarkably strong night for a first week.
Jacob, "I Believe I Can Fly" -- OK, he's got technique out the wazoo. Fine. We get that. Now let's work on restraint, subtlety, understatement. When everything is over-the-top fabulous, it begins to feel like an assault, and it stops being very interesting. One technical flaw: In that opening verse, the pitch tends to droop at the end of the notes. (And don't we usually have to wait for the finale before the gospel choir gets trotted out?)
Thia, "Smile" -- I believe I was speaking of subtlety and restraint? This is what I'm talking about. Absolutely lovely. The arrangement goes to pot a bit when the percussion kicks in (up to that point, I was thinking "I would buy this"), but Thia sounds marvelous throughout.
Stefano, "Lately" -- The big long notes are very pretty, but everything else? Meh. His enunciation is weirdly affected, and for someone who was so concerned about the song telling a story, there's zero emotional communication going on; it's just a string of notes.
Karen, "I Could Fall in Love" -- She's got a pretty voice, and her high notes are especially nice. But it's the sort of very competent performance you'd hear at any of your better theme parks, and in a year with this much talent and personality, that's not going to cut it.
Scotty, "The River" -- It's a song about persistence, determination; it should be a bit inspirational, even. And Scotty's just a bit too low-key to put that across tonight. The notes are all in place, and he's clearly comfortable in the style, but it's a rather lethargic effort.
Naima, "Umbrella" -- This is her best effort yet, but I really dislike her voice. It's harsh and grating, and long notes end with an unpleasant, wobbling vibrato. And what was that strange little 10-second interpretive dance break about?
Overall, a marvelous night. The strongest group of finalists the show's ever had, combined with the work of real producers, made for a show with only one or two really bad performances. There are at least five or six people who I could see winning this thing.
For the night: Pia, Haley, Casey, Thia, James, Scotty, Jacob, Lauren, Ashthon, Karen, Stefano, Naima, Paul.
For the season: Pia, Casey, Scotty, Haley, James, Thia, Jacob, Ashthon, Karen, Lauren, Stefano, Paul, Naima.
Let's send home: Paul was so bizarrely awful tonight that he really should go home, but I would not be disappointed with either Naima or Stefano.
The rundown:
Lauren, "Any Man of Mine" -- If you don't have the lung power to get through long phrases, then maybe you shouldn't pick a song that requires you to sing long phrases. Aside from that, not bad, though rather devoid of personality and distinctive energy.
Casey, "With a Little Help From My Friends" -- Very distinctive and compelling. A few oddly mannered moments, perhaps, and those "hoo hoo hoo"s are a bit cuckoo-clock, but those are tiny quibbles.
Ashthon, "When You Tell Me That You Love Me" -- She's got the big notes and the runs, but that's about all she's got; there's no warmth, no charm, no joy in what she does. It's very chilly and impersonal. (And it took me about five seconds to decipher that she wasn't "shining like a Ken doll in the dark.")
Paul, "Come Pick Me Up" -- A few too many double espressos before the show, you think? He's bouncing across the stage with so much unfocused physical energy that there's not much left to go to the voice, which is a breathy, inarticulate mess. The pitches are there, I suppose, but there's no force to them, and the notes are faint wispy things that are blown away by the breeze caused by his manic hopping about.
Pia, "All By Myself" -- Very fine, and any complaints would be nitpicking. The big high notes are certainly impressive (and never shrill), but I really liked her in the verse, where her lower register has a strength (that she didn't seem to have last week) and a calm that remind me a bit of Karen Carpenter.
James, "Maybe I'm Amazed" -- Another terrific performance. The high notes are absolutely wailing, and every word is perfectly clear (a rare thing in this style, in my admittedly limited experience). He's completely connected to the material, and I like the arrangement. (On a shallow physical note, I would suggest that when you have Dumbo ears, straight up might not be the best choice in hairstyle.)
Haley, "Blue" -- She still loves the growl a little too much, but her joy and enthusiasm are contagious, and that yodel is spot on; the very last note is particularly nice. Yet another really good performance, in what is turning out to be a remarkably strong night for a first week.
Jacob, "I Believe I Can Fly" -- OK, he's got technique out the wazoo. Fine. We get that. Now let's work on restraint, subtlety, understatement. When everything is over-the-top fabulous, it begins to feel like an assault, and it stops being very interesting. One technical flaw: In that opening verse, the pitch tends to droop at the end of the notes. (And don't we usually have to wait for the finale before the gospel choir gets trotted out?)
Thia, "Smile" -- I believe I was speaking of subtlety and restraint? This is what I'm talking about. Absolutely lovely. The arrangement goes to pot a bit when the percussion kicks in (up to that point, I was thinking "I would buy this"), but Thia sounds marvelous throughout.
Stefano, "Lately" -- The big long notes are very pretty, but everything else? Meh. His enunciation is weirdly affected, and for someone who was so concerned about the song telling a story, there's zero emotional communication going on; it's just a string of notes.
Karen, "I Could Fall in Love" -- She's got a pretty voice, and her high notes are especially nice. But it's the sort of very competent performance you'd hear at any of your better theme parks, and in a year with this much talent and personality, that's not going to cut it.
Scotty, "The River" -- It's a song about persistence, determination; it should be a bit inspirational, even. And Scotty's just a bit too low-key to put that across tonight. The notes are all in place, and he's clearly comfortable in the style, but it's a rather lethargic effort.
Naima, "Umbrella" -- This is her best effort yet, but I really dislike her voice. It's harsh and grating, and long notes end with an unpleasant, wobbling vibrato. And what was that strange little 10-second interpretive dance break about?
Overall, a marvelous night. The strongest group of finalists the show's ever had, combined with the work of real producers, made for a show with only one or two really bad performances. There are at least five or six people who I could see winning this thing.
For the night: Pia, Haley, Casey, Thia, James, Scotty, Jacob, Lauren, Ashthon, Karen, Stefano, Naima, Paul.
For the season: Pia, Casey, Scotty, Haley, James, Thia, Jacob, Ashthon, Karen, Lauren, Stefano, Paul, Naima.
Let's send home: Paul was so bizarrely awful tonight that he really should go home, but I would not be disappointed with either Naima or Stefano.
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