Shakey Graves, Steve Forbert, Peach Kings, Darlingside, David Ramirez

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Is Shakey Graves a great name for a country singer or what? The Austin-bred Graves was actually born Alejandro Rose-Garcia, but the stage handle fits like a glove. Check out his most recent release, And the War Came (Dualtone Music). These days about the only difference between country music and rock is the twang, but Graves further obliterates that blurry line. There are a surprising number of stylistic shifts on the record. "Pansy Waltz" unfolds with clipped vocals akin to a poetry slam tempo; "Only Son" has the dreamy sonic feel of acid folk; and "Perfect Parts" has a buzzy grunge vibe. Some singers are smooth with hard edges, but Graves is the opposite. His voice is robust and husky, yet capable of delicacy when the mood strikes—which is only occasionally. Most of the songs on this album are about doomed relationships and pain, but of the variety tempered by passion, hope, and a refusal to let set-backs turn into beat-me-downs. The morning after in "Hard Wired," for instance, reveals a doomed relationship in full light: Well you are as you came/Mostly blessin' cocaine/Just a match begging for fire, but it was still a helluva night! In keeping with the themes of attract/retreat, many of the songs are duets with Esme Patterson, whose lovely voice provides grace to Graves' grit. When you hear lines like, Well, I've never seen life as a chore/Or a treasure to find/I've read the news, abused the booze/And often wondered why you are hearing what country music does best: offering a velvet fist. Take a listen and you'll know why the mayor of Austin once declared a Shakey Graves Day.  {Noted: The link on "Perfect Parts" is acoustic, not electric.}

Steve Forbert is a certified road warrior that lots of people remember for his 1980 hit "Romeo." That one was something of a fluke; Forbert writes a lot of songs with solid hooks, but he isn't really a pop charts kind of guy. His voice is too unusual for the gleam and generic sparkle of Top 40­–too much smoke, quaver, and growly bottom, especially now that he's turned 60. His new record, Compromised (Rock Ridge Music) is his 16^th studio release to go along with a passel of compilations and website-only recordings. Despite the title, most of the songs are about change as a natural life progression rather than something with which one must settle. The record reunites Forbert with John Simon, who produced his second record back in 1979. It also places Forbert at the front of a band, which allows for bigger arrangements. "Big Comeuppance" has very cool brassy blues horn from Kami Lyle that makes the song reminiscent of Dr. John back when he tempered his jazz-soaked offerings with accessible pop hooks. Another winner is "Rollin Home to Someone You Love," whose memorable bass lines perfectly supplement the song's working-class feel. Joey Spampinato's bass also anchors "Devil (Here She Comes)," a classic tale of moving deliberately toward the Siren's flame knowing full well that you're going to get scorched. This is a fine release from Forbert, with a few reservations. The wear and tear on his voice is starting to show, so don't expect it to be 1980 all over again. On a more substantive note, three of the songs are labeled as "Americana" versions of earlier tracks. Forbert's version of Americana is mainly to slow the bass and tempo, which I found more gimmicky than effective. That's also what I thought of the speeded up cover of "Send in the Clowns," and Forbert's thinly veiled appropriation of the hook from The Who's "Baba Riley" on "Whatever Man."

The Peach Kings are the LA-Based duo of Paige Wood and Steven Dies. Their most recent release, Mojo Thunder (Mophonics), is probably illegal in the Bible Belt. It's a heavy breathing rock and roll EP that blends Wood's sultry voice with Dies' hard-edged guitar. The half-sung/half-spoken word "Hold On" is like Barry White on acid and the title track uses a surf guitar meets swamp rock arrangement to front vocals such as Fell you coming on harder now sugar/Puttin' on your push/Push…. Somehow I don't think Wood is singing about her partner's brilliant defense of Schopenhauer's critique of Kant's view of the noumenal. Sexy, dark, and slightly ominous—think dashes of the Velvet Underground and P.J. Harvey.  

Darlingside has just released a new CD titled Birds Say (!KZ Records) that demonstrates the quartet's evolution from a group of Williams College students messing with folk, rock, and bluegrass into one featuring a complex interweaving of melodic, ambient, and transcendent sounds. Check out "The Ancestor," which invokes the drenched sounds quality of a band such as Snow Patrol. Its gorgeous harmonies and tight instrumentation make it sound at once sunny and enigmatic.

Austin singer/songwriter David Ramirez has a new release, Fables (Sweetworld), which is great news. By his own admission, Ramirez smacked into writers' block after his 2013 EP The Rooster. "Rock and a Hard Place," a featured video from Fables is reason enough for cheer. Ramirez tends not to be fancy—just thoughtful songs, solid guitar, and a soulful voice that exudes an honesty embedded in simplicity.

Rob Weir

Blythe Danner and Alice Hoffman Let Me Down!

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Here are  reviews of a film and a book that let me down. Sigh!

I'LL SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS (2015)

Directed by Brett Haley

Bleeker Street Films, 92 minutes, PG-13

*

I'm a huge Blythe Danner fan. I think she's a way better actress than her more famous daughter, Gwyneth Paltrow, and in her youth she was more attractive. I was excited to see what sort of role she would play now that she's 72 (and still striking). Alas, there's very little that's as embarrassing as presenting elderly people as if they are twenty-somethings with wrinkles, which is what is done in I'll See You in My Dreams.  It centers on Carol Petersen (Danner), who has been widowed for twenty years and is bored out of her mind in sunny California. Her BFFs—Georgina (June Squibb), Sally (Rhea Perlman), and Rona (Mary Kay Place)—try to convince her to leave her house and move to their retirement community, but she can't imagine being in such a place. The death of her beloved dog, Hazel, is the tipping point. Something—anything—has to happen. She's so desperate that she even goes to a karaoke bar with Lloyd (Martin Starr) the young, lost guy who cleans her pool, where she dazzles patrons by reviving her youthful past as a singer. Will this be a December-April romance? There are creepy suggestions that might happen, but she begins a new relationship with a man her own age, Bill (the always delightful Sam Elliott). No spoilers here, but I will say that it doesn't go where you might expect.

The film is tagged with the line "life can begin at any age," but that's as deceptive as the film's vague title. Elliott and Banner have real chemistry together and Danner also has a few poignant scenes with her daughter Kath (Malin Akerman). These prevent the film from being a total train wreck, but more cars are derailed than remain on track. There are scenes of smoking pot, snide cougar jokes, a cringe-worthy speed dating setup, and giggly pleas to kiss-and-tell. I detest films that infantilize older people by treating them like post-menopausal teens, and this one gets added to that list. Not even Ms. Danner can redeem such offensive material.

THE MARRIAGE OF OPPOSITES (2015)

By Alice Hoffman

Simon & Schuster, 369 pages, #145169393591

*

I'm also a fan of Alice Hoffman's novels. By all indications, I should have loved this one. Its subject matter is a fictionalized look at Rachel Pomie, the mother of my very favorite Impressionist painter: Camille Pissaro. Rachel had a very unorthodox life, the early part of which reminded me of a Judy Collins song with the line, "My father always promised me/That we would live in France/We'd go boating by the Seine/And I would learn to dance." Rachel was born and raised on the Danish West Antilles island of St. Thomas—now one of the US Virgin Islands––and her Jewish merchant father indulged her dream to one day go to Paris. Life, as they say, had other plans. Her father's financial troubles led her to become the wife of Isaac Petit, a much older widower, while she was still in her early twenties. The marriage came with three young children and in the six years before Isaac died, Rachel bore three children of her own. She was a widow with six children under her care by the time she was 29!

The novel delves into marriages of convenience and passion, as her next connection was a lusty one to Isaac's nephew, Frédéric Manzano. Many islanders viewed the relationship as scandalous, but she bore four more children, the next to last of which was Camille. Toss in island experiences such as having a mixed race best friend and claiming Jewish European heritage (though she was probably Creole and her own children, including Camille, were forced to attend all-black schools) in a land full of dark-skinned descendants of slaves, and you have the elements of high drama.

Alas, I found Hoffman's treatment so dull that I managed to read just a third of the book before giving up. Hoffman's usual magical prose disappears in passages that are prosaically descriptive rather than illuminating. Perhaps the pace quickens when Rachel takes up with Frédéric but I bailed around page 120. The Marriage of Opposites has been compared to the works of Gabriel García Marquez, but from where I sit, such praise is badly misplaced.  But hey, not every Camille Pissaro painting was a masterpiece.

Rob Weir

Liberals Face Unpleasant Choices on Terrorism Question

Exactly the sort of idiotic thinking that can elect Trump!

Remember the Rolling Stones line: You can't always get what you want? Liberals face the possibility of inadvertently electing a Republican president in 2016 through out-of-touch thinking on terrorism. The GOP has called for a “lockout” on Syrian refugees in the light of the bloody terrorist attack on Paris and information that some of the planners slipped into Europe by posing as humanitarian refugees. The French and the Russians have declared war on ISIS. A call for a broader international coalition against Muslim jihadists is sure to follow. These things will happen and liberals really have just two choices: formulate viable (and realistic) alternative policy, or enjoy irrelevance as the world passes them by.

It goes by a German name, folks: realpolitik–that which is deemed practical and realistic (in power and material terms). It is often the antonym of idealistic. Principles are rooted in idealism, actions in realpolitik. I hear all the liberal concerns: nervousness over religious profiling, fear that harsh actions will breed terrorists, the need for the equivalent of a Marshall Plan for developing nations, and suspicion that Western policies are largely to blame for terrorism. Better go easy on the last of these; nothing justifies the slaughter of innocents and such a pitch abrogates the moral high ground. The other three principled concerns need to be aired, but not today and probably not until retribution runs its course.

Here’s the reality: today's cries for restraint are analogous to those in the days following 9/11. In political terms it is simply inconceivable for France not to retaliate for its 130 terror victims, or for Russia simply to mourn the 219 who died in October when ISIS planted a bomb on a plane. Retribution is happening now and will continue. Democrats need to get on board with this and they'd better articulate plans for better screening of refugees instead of foisting them upon unwilling states. It doesn't matter if liberals don't like it. Check out the numbers: 56% of the American public finds Islam "at odds" with American values, 67% of the working-class feels that way, 40% of Americans think Muslims want to impose Sharia law on America, and almost no one is comfortable with accepting Syrian refugees. Ignore this data and it becomes thinkable we will sing "Hail to the Chief" to Donald Trump in January of 2017.

Liberals need to do some soul-searching on the question of when they became such knee-jerk softies and defeatists. Dialogue is the preferred option for mediating disputes, but a minimum requirement is that that both sides must be willing to talk. NPR, the New York Times, and President Obama have all argued persuasively that ISIS and other jihadist groups are "death cults," not negotiating teams. If they are correct, dialogue is off the table. There is a strain of oft-aired thought that claims the war on terror cannot be won. Really? I wonder what the world would be like now if the Western world had taken a similar position on fascism. We should not confuse what makes us uncomfortable with what cannot be done. 

There may a case to be made for isolation over war, but let's see the plans and let's be willing to make some hard choices–those grounded in realpolitik rather than abstractions. A good start would be a moratorium on bad analogies. Those on the left have been quick to make comparisons between today's close-the-borders call and past hysteria toward European immigrants, Jews, and Asians. I understand the reluctance to profile, but let's get some history straight. What made acts such as the Chinese Exclusion Act, the 1924 National Origins Act, Japanese internment, Jewish quotas, and current fear over Latino immigration–yes, lots of egg on GOP faces too­–such miscarriages of justice is that they were directed against those who did no and posed no harm. This is categorically not the case when applied to radical jihadists. Have we forgotten Lockerbie, 9/11, the Boston Marathon bombing, and the beheading of Daniel Pearl and at least five other Americans? The website Fusion tells us that homegrown terrorists have killed more Americans than jihadists since 9/11, but is anyone feeling good about that narrow 28 to 26 victory? More to the point, do you think voters are keeping score?  Want to make liberals seem like total jerks? Mock those who fear Muslim terrorists. Do you think voters haven't heard about shopping mall bombings in Kenya, bombings in Beirut, hotel slaughters in Mali, and travel bans to Belgium? Take this tack and it's you who plays the Fool.

Here's another vote-loser: blame-the-West. Whatever the root causes of terrorism might be, it's at best an eye-for-an-eye response and attempts to excuse it are morally repugnant. In plain terms, it's hard to cast victimizers as victims. Each year thousands die at the hands of jihadists, a global perspective that needs to be considered. In a world of 1.6 billion Muslims those thousands might seem a small number, and the argument that other religious fanatics have blood on their hands is certainly true. Tell that to voters who recognize groups such as these: al-Qaeda, al-Shabaad, Abu Sayyaf, Boko Haram, Fatah-al-Intifada, Hamas, Harkat-il-Jihad-Islami, Hezbollah, ISIS, Islamic Jihad, Jaish-e-Mohammed, Jamaat-ul-Mujahedeen, Lashkar-e-Taiba, and the Taliban. And this is the short list! 

Everyone should welcome a frank discussion on the root causes of all terrorism–once the death cults are neutralized. The first discussion, though, is what role the United States will play in neutralization. Look at pictures from the Paris bombings and the above list again. Now ask how hard it will be to use fear of another 9/11 for political gain. You can make any argument you wish about how marginal these groups are vis-à-vis the world’s Muslim population and be correct, but ask also if the globe would be better if the above list were shorter. Until it is, a lot of people will worry about Muslim immigrants and calling them bigots isn't going to make them feel more charitable.

I do not welcome the war on Islamic terrorism, but it’s coming. The only real question is whether you want the commander-in-chief to be a right-wing Crusader or someone (at least slightly) more rational. There is no third option.

Grounds for a Crisis in Faith?

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Heathen cup vs. Christian cup?

About the time you think life can't get any weirder, it does. A new battle rages across the land, my friends—one, I'm told, that threatens the survival of Western society as we know it. Go ahead and blame me if society crumbles like a stale muffin, because after this essay I intend to sit on the sidelines. I just can't get all that frothed over images of Christmas as seen from the side of a Starbuck's coffee cup.

If you've been on another planet and missed all of this, let me first tell you how much I envy you. To bring you up to speed, Starbuck's riled Christians of (little) faith by unveiling the paper cup in which December beverages will be served. Shockingly, it's red. Even worse, it has the Starbuck's logo on it! Imagine the nerve of putting the corporate logo of the corporation selling you corporate coffee directly onto the side of a corporate cup. But this isn't all that stirred the sludgy minds of evangelical caffeine addicts. Even worse, that's all that's on the cup­–no Christmas symbols like reindeer, holly, or Santa. If memory serves, didn't Starbuck's have a blue snowflake cup last year? Did that escape comment because it evoked Elvis's "Blue Christmas?" (Maybe the War on Christmas crowd confused Elvis and Elves. That could happen.)  

By contrast, Chris Davis, the head of a North Carolina-based group calling itself Faith Driven Consumer–you can't make it up–has praised Dunkin' Donuts seasonal cup, a pink, green, and orange vegetative design that appears to be half pine and half tarragon, encircling the word "Joy." Well praise the Lord and pass the Half and Half. And thank you for informing me that orange is now a holiday color, that joy is a Christian word, and that consumerism is now officially faith-based. Apparently a new lost text of Matthew 21 reveals that Jesus drove the money-changers from the Temple and then, after a quick stop to get a cup of Dunkin', toddled over to Walmart to do a little Christmas shopping. On the way he regaled the disciples with warm family stories about the manger and how the forgotten fourth Magi, Milkyor, came bearing a thermos full of Joe for his infant self.

Can we just stop with all this War on Christmas nonsense? If one measures Christmas according to a Faith Driven Consumer standard, the war has been won. Last year more than $616 billion was spent during the official holiday season that begins the day after Thanksgiving. That's up a trifling $584 billion over what it was ten years earlier!

Do you want to talk about Christmas outside of the consumer realm? Good luck with that. Adbusters promotes a Buy Nothing Day for Black Friday, but CNN won't run their ads. Did I mention that CNN is owned by a bunch of one-percenters (and I don't mean a coffee additive)? Want to bring back the true spirit of Christmas? Tell Chris Davis that he and his ilk need to stop rendering unto Caesar. And to all whose faith is shaken by a plain red coffee cup I say, "Your faith is weaker than Dunkin' Donuts' coffee."

I'm done now. Go ahead and blame me if the red cup really is the tipping point that leads to Christmas being outlawed. You'd have grounds.  

Yale II: Can Commuity Standards Work?

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Community standards worked in Williamsburg, MA

In the midst of the Yale kerfuffle detailed on Monday, several Yale students hurled a potent rhetorical challenge that was more thoughtful than the parodic sinkholes into the debate degenerated. What, they wondered, would have happened to a student who transgressed sensitivity lines? Wouldn't Yale students have dealt with that issue themselves though peer pressure, ostracism, and protest?

Excellent question–one, I hasten to add, almost all college professors would encourage (though possibly not many negative-PR-averse college administrators). The question got lost, possibly because some students allowed their anguish to degenerate into behaviors more resembling pitchfork vigilantism than a principled stand. It is interesting to consider, though, that this question is a defense of the First Amendment, not rationale for limiting it.

Are community sanctions workable? They can be. In the 1990s, Harvard fielded outrage involving students flying Confederate flags in their dorm windows. Intriguingly, Harvard both condemned the symbol and defended the First Amendment right of students to fly the flag. Peer pressure brought down the flags, not a den of deans. Harvard did not publicly identify the students, though two self-identified–one of whom finished at Harvard, and the other of whom transferred.

One wonders if Yale leaders might have had Smith College in mind, not Harvard, when it issued its Halloween costume guidelines.  In 2007, a Smith student and her male date attended a Halloween party in black-face. Then-President Carol Christ fielded the student's apology, but went on to denounce "the corrosive heritage of racism" in America, and to demand that Smith raise " hard questions about a campus culture that seems to license anonymous, ignorant, prejudiced, and hurtful comments of this sort." It may have been her finest hour as president—not her most comfortable, but her finest.

The First Amendment is often messy because it's also a double-edged sword. How does one define "ignorant," "prejudiced," or "hurtful?" The only constant is that when courts intervene, their decisions delight some communities and outrage others.  A case that springs to mind involved the Cincinnati Museum of Art's 1990 decision to display Robert Mapplethorpe photographs. Most of the images were benign, but several were explicitly gay and a few showed sadomasochist acts. Although the exhibit came with what we'd today call "trigger warnings," community standards were invoked and museum director Dennis Barrie was arrested on obscenity charges. He was acquitted, but I doubt he much enjoyed doing his bit for the First Amendment.

No one should pretend that there are any easy one-size-fits-all answers floating around. One of the drawbacks of living in a free society is that the issue Erika Christakis raised at Yale is true; sometimes people behave in ways that are "a little bit obnoxious." Sometimes they're horribly obnoxious, and sometimes one person's "obnoxious" is another's definition of "art" or "freedom." All the more reason to hold the kinds of dialogue Christakis advocated.

But here's some hope. Community standards and peer pressure can advance social justice. At the very least, they refuse to allow obnoxious behaviors to be swept out of sight. Think of the principled stands taken by (some) 19^th century abolitionists, by Gandhi, or by Dr. Martin Luther King. Did they topple injustice on their own? History tells us that it took the Civil War to end slavery, that World War II eroded colonialism, and that individuals more radical than Dr. King also played key roles in advancing civil rights. Often, progress is slow, confusing, and (alas!) sometimes violent. But it doesn't have to be.

You will recall that South Carolina removed the Confederate flag in July in response to Dylan Roof's murderous racist rampage. It didn't take that sort of horror in Williamsburg, Massachusetts, where a local sheet-metal shop owner fabricated a painted tin Confederate flag to protest South Carolina's decision. The reaction against him was so swift and strong that his tune changed quickly and repeatedly–from a defense of "free speech" to complaints over the "PC police" to a feeble "It's only a decoration." Nobody denied his right to display the flag; they simply let the owner know they found him uncivil, insensitive, and ignorant. Neighbors applied peer pressure, the local paper was filled with condemnatory letters to the editor, petitions flew, and online chat boards lit up like a welder's torch. The clincher came in the form of a call to boycott the business; the flag came down after the owner's face-saving claim to have made his point. Was the result one of psychological extortion, or community standards at their moral best? The latter, I think. I'm absolutely certain, though, that it's a great argument for increased dialogue. If, for no other reason, when we talk about issues, we put our energy into problem-solving rather than destructiveness. 

Yale versus the First Amendment?

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Rejecting Nick Christakis' call for dialogue at Yale

The Atlantic headline is damning: "The New Intolerance of Student Activism." It's wrong to tar all student activism with such a label, but journalist Conor Friedersdorf is right to worry about the implications of recent student protest at Yale. Call it a reverse 1960s—Yale students sided with university administration against a professor who supported their right to free speech. Yalies need to take a course that teaches them that close reading is, generally speaking, a more intelligent way to form moral positions than knee-jerk reactions. Then they should sign up for a US history class.

The truly sad part is that both sides in the dispute were (sort of) right. It unfolded just before Halloween, when 13 Yale administrators sent a letter to students with guidelines on Halloween costumes. I can see that. There's not a college communications office in the land that wants to field queries from the press about idiotic white kids who thought it would be "cool" or "funny" to slather on burnt cork and pretend to be African-American rappers. Ditto those who might dress as campesinos or Native Americans. If the letter had taken the tone of an advisory rather than official guidelines, it might have been viewed as sagacious. It would also have helped if the audience consisted of minors, not young adults.

Enter Erika Christakis, a lecturer in early childhood education, who noted that Yale students are supposed to be viewed as adults. In an email that could hardly have been more respectful in tone, Christakis raised a question of utmost importance: free speech. She began by asserting she had no desire to "trivialize" the issues raised by the administration or its desire to avoid "hurt and offense." She clearly stated, "I applaud those goals," but she went on to ponder the implications of "an institutional (bureaucratic and administrative) exercise of implied control over college students."

Christakis' mistake was to frame her well-considered question in the language of her field of childhood development. She raised questions about when "the statute of limitations" expires on the boundaries between fantasy and provocation. She admitted she did not know; hence she was uncomfortable imposing standards on others. She correctly, but impoliticly suggested that the maturation process occasionally involved young people being "a little bit obnoxious." (Is there anyone who has been around college students who has not observed that from time to time?) At several junctures she reiterated that she was not condoning bigotry; the point was free speech.

One might have thought that Christakis was advocating that Yale students don Ku Klux Klan robes given what happened next. She found herself viciously assaulted verbally, with students demanding her firing. When her husband/professor, Nicholas, defended her, he too became a target. His attempts to open dialogue with students were dismissed with churlish and–I'll say it, childish–temper tantrums and demands that he too reign. That despite the fact that he magnanimously asked the public not to judge students whose anger was captured on video. Instead, both Christakises have been the object of obscenities, protests, and libelous associations with contributing to racism and genocide. One student went so far as to say, "I don't want to debate. I want to talk about my pain." I'm sorry, but as President Obama noted, we don't "learn" when we retreat behind our sensitivity.

I support Erika and Nicholas Christakis because I was once part of campus battles that overthrew the very structures of university control they fear are being reestablished. Do you like irony? In an earlier time, student protestors would have been severely disciplined for their incivility and disrespect. Today's students are only able to condemn their professors because, once upon a time, a bunch of us fought for the very free speech Yalies want to restrict!

In 1992, Noam Chomsky observed, "If you believe in freedom of speech, you believe in freedom of speech for views you don't like. Stalin and Hitler, for example, were dictators in favor of freedom of speech for views they liked only. If you're in favor of freedom of speech, that means you're in favor of freedom of speech precisely for views you despise.” Yale students should heed those words. While they're at it, take in a little Latin: in loco parentis. It means "in the place of the parents" and it's how college administrations saw themselves (and were supported legally) until the 1960s New Left kicked out the jams.

That battle first attracted wide notice at UCal Berkeley. A little delving into the 1964 "Free Speech Movement" reveals that UCal students who had taken part in Mississippi Freedom Summer had to fight for the right to set up tables on campus to dispense information about it. Think upon that the next time you see a flyer on any campus anywhere about any issue whatsoever. Try this one: Look up the word parietal and tell me when Yale eliminated them. No, I'll tell you: 1968. That too happened because of students who valued freedom of expression over someone else's idea of propriety. Do you want to talk about how campuses became forums for social justice issues in the first place? Want to talk about non-sanctioned teach-ins, sit-ins, and marches? Should we discuss why colleges set up women's studies programs, Afro-Am departments, gay rights organizations, and ethnic studies programs of all sorts? Do you want to talk about the walls that had to come down in order to make campuses more diverse, or do you just want to talk about your pain? Guess what? Without free speech, nobody's listening.

And here's the really pernicious thing. The Hard-shell Right loves what you're doing. You give it ammo to dismiss you as intolerant thralls to Political Correctness whose collective butt needs to be spanked. It too has ideas about what values you should hold and how you should conduct yourselves. But you won't like them.   

Next: Yale II: Can community standards address oppression?

The Martian a Good Adaptation of Andy Weir Novel

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THE MARTIAN (2015)

Directed by Ridley Scott

20^th Century Fox, 141 minutes, PG-13 (language)

* * * *

When it comes to recreating futuristic landscapes, few directors can match the visual style of Ridley Scott (Alien, Blade Runner, Prometheus). He's done it again in The Martian, which presents the red planet as you might have imagined it: red sand, imposing bluffs, pocked craters, dust storms, and flying debris. Okay, Scott gets some of the details wrong—the distant sun would probably cast a blue tint rather than full spectrum light, for instance—but after all, he did shoot in Jordan, not the fourth rock from the sun.

The Martian is the film version of Andy Weir's eponymous novel and it's probably as good an adaptation as is possible for a Hollywood film. Fans of the novel know that science was discussed in great detail on the printed page; on the screen we hear lots of references to science and observe people doing lots of fancy things, but let's just say you won't need a degree in astrophysics to follow any of it. Like most Hollywood movies, The Martian opts for drama over intellectual musing. The time frame is sometime in the 2030s, and the seven-member ground team of Ares III mission is collecting samples, when a sudden violent storm forces them back to their capsule to make an emergency launch before powerful winds topple their vessel. As they hasten back, a broken communications antenna impales botanist Mark Watney (Matt Damon), depressurizes his suit, and kills him. Or so his comrades think when they reluctantly leave him behind. Actually, the broken end of an anchoring clip and Watney's own congealed blood sealed his suit breech and he revives to find himself marooned on the red planet. Task one is to do self-surgery and dress his wound. Task two is to figure out how to survive until Ares IV lands four years hence.

The Martian is essentially Robison Crusoe with no Friday as companion. All Watney has to do is figure out how to create enough water and oxygen to survive and then grow food on a planet whose temperature varies from -80 to -200 degrees Fahrenheit and has no soil. (His solution is unique, gross, and possible.) Did I mention that the Ares IV site is several thousand kilometers away and that his land rover has a 15 mph top speed and that he has to charge batteries every few hours? Or that his bio-habitat is made of Mylar? Watney must, as he puts it, "do the science" for every problem thrown his way and bet his life that his calculations are correct, that he makes no careless mistakes, and that he avoids debilitating accidents. Plus, he has to let Earth know that he is alive, something discovered for him by observant NASA monitor Mindy Park (Mackenzie Davis). But how to speak to Earth when it was the destruction of the communications array that impaled him? Science (and conveniently discarded material) to the rescue!

Most of the film is a rush against time, with Martian and earthly complications. As NASA chief Teddy Sanders (Jeff Daniels), reminds, NASA is about politics as much as science or morality. This, of course, pits him against those who are all about morality, including project director Mitch Henderson (Sean Bean) and mission director Vincent Kapoor (Chiwetel Ejofor). Then there is the simple matter of whether a resupply rocket can be built in time, a question raised by payload specialist Bruce Ng (Benedict Wong). Should Watney's crew even be told that he survived? Could they even attempt a rescue that would add over a year to their mission and might mean no one could get home? (There's a nice role for Donald Glover as math whiz Rich Pernell that deals with this question.)

At heart The Martian is a standard Hollywood race-against-the-clock flick, but it's a good one—not a great one, but a cut above the usual fare. Damon delivers a solid performance as Mark Watney, even though his part is underwritten. We see the steely determination and the humor that sustained him during his lonely vigil. Weir's novel also delved into the loneliness and despair of an individual stranded in a situation in which death was much more likely than rescue. We don't get very much of that in the film, but that's a script issue, not a failing on Damon's part. If you've been avoiding this film because you thought it might creep you out, rest assured that most of it plays to the Hollywood trope of triumph-against-all-odds. There's plenty of tension, though, and Ridley Scott builds it well and shows it in spectacular form. The best way to enjoy The Martian is to suspend disbelief, ignore the hyperbolic PR surrounding it, and just let it be escapist fare. It's not Tarkovsky's Solaris, but there's no reason why it has to be.  Call it a summer film that just happened to have a fall release.  

Rob Weir

Postscript: If we ever need to send an actor into space, Matt Damon might be our go-to guy. He was also lost in space in Interstellar (2011), traveled off world in Elysium (2013), and appeared in a short film of what it would be like to be on the moon. Guess it gives no meaning to the phrase, "You go, Matt!"