Summertime: A Good Travelogue and a Bad Hepburn Film

SUMMERTIME (1955)

Directed by David Lean

United Artists, 100 minutes, Not-rated.

★ ½

 

 

 

If you live in New England, sometime around mid-February you will probably start to get itchy for longer, warmer days with more sunshine. The seed catalogues will come out and even though spring has not yet arrived, no one will blame you for dreaming of summertime. Just don't dream of the 1955 film of that name!

 

If you've ever wondered if Katharine Hepburn has ever made a really bad movie, this one holds the answer. Hepburn. Romance. Venice. What could go wrong? Quite a lot, beginning with a very lame script. It’s hard to imagine that a director the likes of David Lean could serve up such rotten calamari, or that this movie actually garnered a few Oscar nominations. (The voters must have broken into the wine cellar and left no bottles uncorked.)

 

As a travelogue, Summertime is worth viewing, but with your favorite method of fast forwarding a movie close at hand. Summertime begins on the train crossing the Venice lagoon with Jane Hudson (Hepburn) hanging out the window of the train, movie camera in hand, and burning through filmstock like a crazed director determined not to miss a second of light. She is enthusiastic, but alone and forlorn, the film's major theme. She checks into the spectacular pensione run by Signora Fiorini (Isa Miranda) with views to die for. (Side note: Don't believe anyone who tells you that Venice is overrated, too smelly, or too touristy. It was then as it is today one of the most one of the Western world’s truly unique and spectacular cities.) But it's a place you want to share not make a documentary film no one but you will view.

 

Jane is a late 40s open (47 at the time) gal from Akron OH who has been unlucky at love her entire life. Not much has said about why this is the case, but we sense that she is a good girl who'd love to be a naughty one, or at least give it a try. She adores Venice, Signora Fiorini, and the pensione, though it’s also occupied by boorish, chauvinistic types once dubbed “ugly Americans.” There's Eddie Yeager (Darren McGavin) and his wife Phyl (Mari Aldon) two jet setters who aren't nearly as glamorous as they appear. But at least they're better than the insufferable Lloyd and Edith  McIllhenny (McDonald Parke and Jane Rose), she a motor mouth who sees Italy as a shopping mall; he a portly lout unafraid to blurt out that he doesn't like “wop food.”  Neither knows the first thing about Italy, though Edith is at least willing to be surprised and loudly tell everyone about those surprises.

 

Jane’s solo vigil gets an unexpected jolt when she spies a red goblet in a window shop, buys it, and is attracted to its owner, who she noticed staring at her in the Piazza San Marco.  Hitherto, her only male companion was Mauro (Gaetano Auticro), a seven-year-old street urchin who's a combination charmer and hustler. But as she begins to practically stalk the store owner Renato De Rossi (Rossano Brazzi), you know what's coming next. It’s just a matter of time until her goo-goo eyes lead to liaisons at the piazza. Jane tries to play Ohio good girl, but Renato convinces her that in Italy, pleasure is embraced and she should allow herself to indulge in it. Prego; a torrid affair. Prego; unexpected obstacles, like the fact that he's married. Que sera, sera. He says he and his wife don't live together and that's good enough for her. Cue the bittersweet ending.

 

Rossano Brazzi was in high demand when this film was made having just starred in English language films such as Three Coins in a Fountain and The Barefoot Contessa. He is indeed dashing as a middle-aged suitor/Lothario. Alas, Hepburn is grating. She plays her part like a 50-year-old going on 16. I wondered if she was having trouble finding roles. She was no longer young enough to play the brainy gal with killer legs, yet not yet old enough to take on the fearless matron roles that breathes new life into her career. See Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, The Lion in Winter, and The Trojan Women.

 

I reiterate that summertime is a sumptuous look at Venice, a place everyone should visit before they shuffle off this mortal coil. But it doesn't commend the film to say that its major virtue is that it will prompt you to visit your travel agent.

 

Rob Weir

The Midcoast Exposes Maine's Contradictions

 

THE MIDCOAST (2022)

By Adam White

Hogarth Publications, 329 pages.

★★★★

 

 

 

Andrew, the narrator of The Midcoast observes, “The vast majority of humans … never get all that close to the center of anything.” He grew up in Damariscotta, Maine, and dreamed of getting away as soon as he could. Though his father was the only orthopedic surgeon in the county, his parents’ divorce, an unrequited love, and processing lobsters for Ed Thatch reinforced his desire to leave and not look back. That's precisely what Andrew tried to do. He went to a fancy prep school, graduated from Amherst College (where he played lacrosse), married, moved to Boston, and fathered two children.

 

Then, he and his family found themselves in the center of something: the 2013 Boston Marathon bombing. They vacated the area mere minutes before the bombs exploded. This prompted Andrew to move his family back to the safety of Damariscotta, a decided scaling back of big dreams. Instead of making big bucks, Andrew is an underpaid teacher at Lincoln High school. Ed, whom he considered to be raw-boned and dull-witted, has gone from lobstering to contracting and financial success. But the biggest shock was to find Ed married to Stephanie LeClair, the object of Andrew’s teenaged desire.

 

The Thatches have two children: EJ, a town policeman, and Allie, an ebullient lacrosse fanatic who hopes to enter Amherst. Ed doesn't know much about the sport or colleges and is keen to pick Andrew's brain on those subjects. He has fancy associates among the summer people but retains the social mindset of a lobsterman. Ed also fears that Stephanie is out of his league and scrambles to keep her in the manner in which he believes she prefers. She, in turn, obtained her bachelor's degree and became a later-in-life major player in local politics. In her heart of hearts, though, Allie’s plan is the life Steph thought should have been hers. Plus, she’s suspicious of Allie’s boyfriend. Oh dear! Do we think that a cast of people in roles they either didn't desire or don’t fit them will end well?

 

Damariscotta is often cited as the most beautiful town in Maine. If you know that area of Maine, you’re probably aware of the region’s stark contrasts. In his debut novel, author Adam White incisively captures this. Damariscotta lies on a tidal river and is 12 miles from the ocean. The further one gets from the coast, though, the more Vacationland–the slogan on Maine license plates–looks like a wood pulp version of the Southern Appalachians. It’s the world about which Carolyn Chute writes. Nearby Lewiston, where few people with higher aspirations wish to live, is just 41 miles from the ocean. Unlike Damariscotta, it’s a played-out manufacturing city with sketchy areas. Were it not its medical facilities and Bates College, Lewiston might have crumbled into scale by now.

 

 

White’s novel is a study in character contrasts as well as lifestyle departures. This is revealed through plot devices such as arrogance, failure to execute a promised task, looted yachts, drugs, crooked local officials, and a lobster bake gone terribly wrong. The Midcoast morphs into a crime novel, a good thing from a reader's perspective. The themes I've laid out might sound depressing, but the story is a compelling one made more so through the depth of those who populate it. Many detective and mystery novels employ stock figures who serve as foils for a protagonist we know will make things right. Those in The Midcoast affect us to a greater degree because they seem so real.

 

If you have paid attention to recent news, you know that well-to-do parents cut corners to obtain special privileges for their children. Of course, we also learn that ambition can motivate or destroy. Or, if you will, it’s a validation of the Tenth Commandment: Thou shalt not covet. White hooks us through other age-old scenarios. Did you ever wonder how life would have turned out had you taken Path B instead of Path A? On a less weighty and metaphorical note, the novel asks: How are you going to keep ‘em down on the lobster farm once they've seen the bright lights of Amherst and wealth?

 

Rob Weir

 

 

 

The Last Chairlift: John Irving's Farewell

 

 

THE LAST CHAIRLIFT (2022)

By John Irving

Simon & Schuster, 889 pages

★★★★

 

John Irving insists that The Last Chairlift, his 15th novel, will be his last. I have mixed feelings. Few writers have given me as much pleasure, but it’s objectively true that he recycles. A bear is one of few props he doesn’t reprise in The Last Chairlift. It is set in familiar places: New Hampshire, Vermont, Toronto, and (indirectly) Austria. You will also find Phillips Exeter Academy and wrestling, both Irving standards.

 

You need not have read previous works to enjoy Last Chairlift, but if you’re pondering how Irving gets away with repeated tropes, it’s because he’s a spellbinding storyteller rightly mentioned in the same breath as Dickens and Hawthorne. Irving did not know his father and neither does Adam Brewster, the son of ski instructor and former competitor Rachel, known as Ray or “Little” Ray, the latter why she never finished close to the podium in races. Little people are omnipresent: Ray, Adam, and 4'9” Phillips Exeter English instructor Elliot Barlow, whom Ray impulsively weds. All are spin-offs from Irving's A Prayer for Owen Meany.

 

The Brewsters are an odd family. Ray has two older sisters, Abigail and Martha, for whom the term harridan applies. Luckily their respective husbands Martin and Johan are guffawing good-time boys with the sense not to pay serious attention to them. The putative head of the Brewster clan is Lewis—his wife actually orchestrated matters—was said to have headed Phillips Exeter. He’s now mute and in such a diminished state he is nicknamed “diaper man.” The Brewsters, including Abigail's lesbian daughter Nora, also see ghosts. Last Chairlift is indeed partly a ghost novel, one linked to Aspen's Hotel Jerome. It also has numerous gay and transgender characters, themes Irving explored in works such as The World According to Garp and In One Person.

 

Quirkiness abounds. Adam sleeps with his mother long after the age in which that's socially acceptable. Like Jenny in Garp, Ray is a protective mother not an incestuous predator. Her marriage notwithstanding, Ray is in a long-term relationship with ski patroller Molly–who is analogous to Roberta in Garp–and both Adam and Elliot are fine with that. Elliot loves Dickens (!), shares Adam’s disdain for skiing, and is dubbed “the snowshoer.” He instructs Adam in that art and is also a wrestling coach. That sounds absurd, but Elliot has hands so strong he can disable bullies many times his size. Adam views him as the best “dad” he could ever have, one who encourages him to become a writer. (Writer main characters are found in many Irving novels, from early works like Garp through A Widow for One Year and Twisted River.)

 

Unusual characters proliferate in Last Chairlift: crossdressers, a psychotic wannabe Marine, a B-movie actor who becomes A-list, Nora's miming girlfriend and comedy partner Em, a paraplegic former ski champ, fanatics similar to the Ellen Jamesians in Garp, and a string of Adam’s inappropriate girlfriends with nicknames like “the strong one on crutches,” “the tall one with her arm in a cast,” and “the bleeder.”

 

Even death is unorthodox, as we see in the demise of Lewis Brewster, Adam's uncles, the actor's wife, Elliot’s parents, and others. Of course, in a ghost novel, not all of them disappear. The Hotel Jerome has many, including miners from an old photograph, a cowboy, and a Mexican-born woman who once lived there.

 

Finding one’s identity and voice, literally and figuratively, is another theme in Last Chairlift. In a roundabout way, it’s also the story of Adam’s voice as he grows up, marries badly, becomes a father, finds his soulmate in a truly odd relationship, and moves to Toronto. Happy endings aren’t Irving’s forte, so let's call it compromised contentment.

 

It depends on your perspective whether you call The Last Chairlift masterful, self-plagiarizing, creative autobiography, or a big mess. It runs 889 pages and I can't in good conscience say it needs to be that long. There is a lot of repetition, sometimes using exactly the same language. Several of Adam’s screenplays appear within the novel. They link to the narrative, but are limp enough to be called filler. The book could use a stiff edit, but a writer of Irving's stature can call his shots. Does the novel need to be as scatological as it is? Does it need to have such twisted views of sex? Are digs at reviewers and interviewers gratuitous?

 

These are again individual calls. John Irving has given me enough reading pleasure that I'll call The Last Chairlift the culmination of his career. Should he find another novel in him, though, he needs to ski (a theme first broached in The Water-Method Man) ungroomed trails.

 

 

Rob Weir

 

 

February 2023 Music: Lorraine Klaasen Catrin Finch Marc Timon and More

 

 

 

There’s no contest for the February Artist of the Month. Lorraine Klaasen is a South African-born singer who now lives in Ontario. Her idol was Miriam Makeba, but Ms. Klaasen is rapidly becoming a legend in her own right. Her latest work, Ukubonga/Gratitude is a collaboration with another South African, guitarist Mongezi Ntaka. You might see it listed as jazz, but that’s because it’s hard to find a category for music grounded in African soil but enriched with Caribbean and Quebecois nutrients. Watch her dominate the song “Amampondo.” Ntaka lays down sunny riffs with dollops of Caribbean influence but when Klaasen takes the stage, there’s no question of who’s in charge. Her voice snaps you to attention through its power, trills, and range. “La Reine” is French for queen and she is indeed commanding in a mix enriched with some Celtic-influenced flute. There are even a few songs in English, including the charmingly accented “Meet Me at the River” and the good-time “Can’t Cross Over,” which sounds like African music via Jamaica. Want some moxie? How about a semi-bohemian treatment to “Thanayi,” a song popularized by Hugh Masekela?

 

Catrin Finch has been making records that long to be made. She’s a Welsh harper–the official one to the Prince of Wales no less—but on ECHO [sic] she collaborates with Senegalese kora player Seckou Keita “for the fourth time. Harp and kora? What could be more compatible or contemplative? “Gobaith” has a New Age feel but listen to the crystalline sprays of notes and you’ll know it’s more than fern bar music. Keita takes the lead on “Chaminuka,” though the mood is equally dreamlike. Keita adroitly mixes his runs with drone-like effects when Finch takes over the melody. “Jula Kuta” is the most ambitious offering, an 8 ½ minute piece with elements of classical music that add to an exploration that’s partly experimental and partly rooted in numerous other styles. Overall this is a perfect record for a quiet winter’s night with the lights down low and a warming drink in hand.

 

Barcelona’s Marc Timón is a composer, pianist, and orchestra director who splits his time in Los Angeles doing film and symphonic music.  His album Amalia is a pop-laced departure from his usual large ensemble work. “La quinta medianoche” has big production values and some electronica evocative of dub step, but it always dances away from the brink of slathering too much butter on the musical palette. I led with this one, as much of the album is quieter. “Tot És Perfecte” is a pop love song, even though one doesn’t usually hear whistling accompaniment on the radio. “I Just Wanna Be With You” takes an indie folk rock approach with colors enriched by warm brass. “Cold” is frosted with longing and has a memorable dominant melody line. “Perfums de nit” showcases Timon’s emotive voice at its tenderest best. Hey, how can we not admire a guy who names an album after his grandmother?

 

Stacy Antonel titled her debut album Always the Outsider and it’s easy to understand why. How many classically trained pianists decide to learn flatpicking to become a throwback country singer? She is fond of old Patsy Cline records and one of her first country gigs was as a June Carter Cash soundalike. The title track is a bit of honky tonk with some backdoor critique of the industry: Always the outsider/thought I could move forward in this town alone/without playing the game…. “Karmic Cord” is a breakup song, but it has delightfully weird vibe that shows she’s neither cookie-cutter singer, nor someone who can kicked around. Note her defiance when she sings, I’m not coming back…. “Heartbroken Tomorrow” has a road song feel, but it’s really about working her way past a bad relationship. She’s not afraid to ask blunt questions, as she does in “Better Late Than Never:” Are you awkward or just an asshole? Patsy wouldn’t have put it that way, but you can bet she thought it!

 

 

Short Cuts

 

Dario Acosta Teich is a guitarist from Argentina who likes jazz fusion, in this case taking Argentinian folk melodies and turning them inside out to leave a lot of musical space for his quintet to do its thing. To be honest, fusion jazz isn’t really my thing, but all you have to do is observe a clip or two– ”Como Antes” and ”Encurentro” are two good ones–to appreciate the talent. Give him a try and see why you think.

 

 

Vigüella is a folkloric ensemble based in Spain’s Castilla-La Mancha region. a la manera artesana intrigues, though it’s mostly for those whose interest is as much anthropological as musical. This quintet plays old songs in old ways on old and/or improvised instruments. Think village music that emphasizes participation, not slickness. “Estrellas matutinas” is exuberant, but the vocals are rough. “Ara y olà” features percussion. The unusual drum through which a rod is inserted is the zambona and you’ll also hear a fry pan, spoons, a soda bottle…. The women singers are better than the men, so you might wish to sample “Tonada, ronda.” It’s followed by a jota, a folk dance.

 

                                                                                                                                              

Tracy Sirés Neal is a mom who writes songs. Her Haiku Love EPis a cool concept: eight songs, all of which are around 3 minutes in length. She’ blends minimalist jazz, folk, and pop fusion. The title track is playful and not just in the way that she and the on-screen kids get covered in paint. “New Song” is more serious in facing the challenges of modern life, but it and most of the rest of the project call for a new imagining of how to live. Titles such as “Don’t Give Up Now,” “I Know You Can,” and “Everything is Going to be Ok” alert us she thinks that’s possible.

 

 

I don’t know much about Isaac Watters other than he’s based in LA. His EP Extended Play 001 has its heart in the right place. “Sadness” is a riff on nuclear testing; “Child in the Rain” a plea for a world where kids can find joy. At least, that’s what I think! Watters sings with a pained voice that’s gruff and often hard to understand. You could call it Tom Waits-like, or perhaps just not very good. Listen and take your pick.

 

 

Rob Weir

The Rose Code: Friendship, Love, and Duty in a Time of War

 

 

 

THE ROSE CODE (2021)

By Kate Quinn

William Morrow, 624 pages.

★★★★

 

There have been so many takes on Britain’s Bletchley Park (BP) World War II codebreakers that one wonders what more can be said. Kudos to Kate Quinn, a Yank no less, for finding unique angles in her novel The Rose Code.

 

Quinn begins in 1939, two years before the United States entered the fray. Germany rolled over most of Europe and with the evacuation of Dunkirk in June 1940, it looked a matter of time until Britain fell as well. The British intercepted German messages, but Germany’s Enigma machines made that information unintelligible. Breaking German codes, which changed daily, was the charge of the men and women of BP in rural Buckinghamshire. Secrecy ran so high that none were allowed to mention what they did, even to loved ones. In a departure from the norm, young men venturing outside the BP compound suffered more discrimination than women; they were scorned as shirkers.

 

Quinn focuses on three women who, to use an English expression, were as different as chalk and cheese. Olsa Kendall came from a well-bred Canadian family that squandered its money. In the class system of the day, Osla was a good catch but unlikely to marry into her nickname: “Princess.” She did have a prospect, though; she is a lightly fictionalized Osla Benning, the wartime girlfriend of Prince Philip of Greece, the future husband of Queen Elizabeth. Mabel Churt, a composite character, was a working-class lass from Shoreditch so tall she was called Queen Mab. Bethan Finch, also a composite, was a local assumed to be dull-witted because she was bullied by her mother, a religious zealot who used her a servant. Beth is actually brilliant. For good and ill, her BP experience transforms her.

 

Quinn introduces us to others inside BP and we come to know them. Wars make strange bedfellows. Osla, Mab, and Beth become colleagues and unlikely friends. The Rose Code is a beat-the-clock novel on all levels. Teams of women worked with paper and pencil trying to break the Enigma code until bombe cryptology machines made the job a little bit easier, but we’re talking 12-16 hours per day of headache-producing concentration. One wonders where they found the energy to create a literary discussion group, write a BP humor/gossip sheet, or go dancing. 

 

Quinn does a wonderful job of placing her characters inside a work hard/play hard environment where relationships unfold fast because they often don’t last long. One character has a marriage of just months. Olsa parties inside a London club one moment and the head of a dance partner is blown off by an air raid the next. She finds solace in Philip, then frets over his fate when he returns to war. (Most of the relationships were relatively chaste because of a prevailing norms and a sense of duty that would have made pregnancy appear a selfish act.)

 

As was often the case, an unbearable weight lay with those who broke codes and couldn’t reveal information of upcoming raids that jeopardized family members or boyfriends of other BP coders. Quinn expertly weaves this into the novel to show how close friendships strained and broke. We follow Osla, Mab, and Beth through the war with occasional flashes to 1947, when several new beat-the-clock scenarios arise that require cooperation among the now-estranged trio. It unfolds in the shadow of the upcoming Royal wedding between Philip and Elizabeth, which provides a bit of cover.

 

Without giving too much away, The Rose Code delves into many things: an open marriage, the death of a beloved section head, personal secrets that slip out, racism, Alan Turing, dollops of male chauvinism, a traitor, Beth’s awakening, duty over love, lobotomy, and the difficulties of rebuilding lives after the war. As paradoxical as it sounds, war sometimes provides a rush that’s more thrilling than peace.

 

This is a novel, so there are things that are overly dramatized, others too neatly resolved, and a view of Philp that won’t please his critics. Ironically, some of the least likely things are true and vice versa. To reveal just one, Kate Middleton’s grandmother was a BP decoder. To sort fact from fiction, make sure you read Quinn’s revelations of how she shaped her book. This is a long novel, but Quinn’s expert character development will make you feel like you’ve polished off a mini-series you didn’t wish to end.

 

Rob Weir

Amsterdam an Amazing Film: Ignore the Critics

 

 

 

AMSTERDAM (2022)

Directed by David O. Russell

20^th Century Studios, 134 minutes, R (language, mild violence)

★★★★★

 

Amsterdam was one of the biggest bombs of 2022. Critics called it inconsistent, overly ambitious, and confusing. My response is that those critics were lazy, overly simplistic, and historically ignorant. I guess director David O. Russell is on the outs and Wes Anderson is in, though his films are often everything levelled against Russell’s.

To be certain, Amsterdam has a sprawling cast, that includes cameos from Mike Myers, Chris Rock, Michael Shannon, and Matthias Schoenaerts.  Actually, there are just three major characters: Burt Berendson (Christian Bale), Valerie Vozel (Margaret Robbie), and Harold Woodman (John David Washington). Amsterdam begins in World War One, when a black regiment seeks redress for unfair treatment. It helps that Burt and white unit commander Bill Meekin (Ed Begley, Jr.) back them. Burt and Harold become best buddies, are wounded in battle—Burt loses an eye—and are nursed by the unorthodox Valerie.

After the war, Burt and Harold join Valerie in Amsterdam, hence the movie's title. That city was one of the few where black people, white people, disillusioned young people, and socialists associates freely. There, our trio live as lefty1920s-style bohemians.. Valerie is an avantgarde artist whose work is perplexing, but they get by on very little money and love one another. Alas, Burt feels the need to return to New York City to see if he can salvage his marriage to Beatrice Vandenheuvel. Harold soon follows and becomes a lawyer.  

Racial situations were more difficult in America, though New York City was more relaxed. Burt is a doctor despite his glass eye and his prolific drug use, and is called upon to sign the death certificate for Meekins. Burt, however, doubts Meekins died a natural death and over howling protests has the body taken to medical examiner Irma Sinclair (Zoe Saldana). Sure enough, Meekins was poisoned a fate that Burt and Harold deliver to his daughter Elizabeth (Taylor Swift). When Elizabeth is killed, Burt and Harold become prime suspects.

Woodman pulls out the legal stops, but two interracial lefties know investigators will nail them unless they enlist the help of powerful help. When they visit Tom Vose (Rami Malek) and Libby (Anna Taylor-Joy), his parrot of a wife, they are stunned to find Valerie living in their mansion. Tom is her brother, but an overly protective one who believes she needs to be purified of her bohemianism. Tom makes vague promises, but he and Valerie occupy different worlds. Soon, she, Burt, and Harold are immersed in a wacky caper.

Up to now, Russell's film looks a lot like something Anderson would do. If anything, Russell's comedic and surrealistic touches are sharper because he avoids juvenile humor. What Russell has that Anderson does not is a script that eventually wends its way onto historical turf. You will find newsreel footage threaded into the action and it serves a purpose. Burt and Harold turn their trust to veterans like themselves. With the help of Valerie, who drops her prestigious family name, they gain an audience with war hero General Smedley Butler (Robert DeNiro). Suddenly, Tom and Libby are very interested; they can't wait to meet the general!

They also want the general to meet the Committee of Five before he gives the keynote speech at a veterans reunion. They ask him to denounce President Franklin Roosevelt and his “unsound” financial policies and hint of the possibility of deposing Roosevelt. Perhaps someone like Butler could head a reorganized American government. Butler is non-committal, but he’s a patriot. Widespread mayhem ensues, as will an unexpected romance. 

Russell tells us something that not many Americans know. The so-called “Wall Street Putsch” tried to recruit the real General Butler, who testified before Congress that he was indeed approached by wealthy investors. It was dismissed as an elaborate hoax, but many historians disagree.

Now consider of the attempt to overthrow the 2020 election. Perhaps Donald Trump had historical precedent! Are there parallels in that no rich people were charged in 1934, and that mostly only disgruntled rednecks have been jailed for the Capitol riot? Is it conspiratorial to wonder why such a fine film as Amsterdam made only a fraction of its budget back at the box office? You decide. But whatever you do, ignore those who slammed Amsterdam. Its humor is offbeat, it raises thought-provoking scenarios, and it’s one of the few in which African Americans, whites, and women have equal roles on the screen.

 

Rob Weir

Still Life a Beautiful Novel

 

STILL LIFE (2021)

By Sarah Widman

G. P. Putnam's Sons, 450 pages.

★★★★★

 

 

 

The Odyssey tells of the struggles of Ulysses to return home after the Trojan War. Sarah Widman puts a different spin on this in her moving, brilliant Still Life. Pay attention; hers is a novel in which very little is wasted. Observe also that “home” is a moving target.

 

We meet protagonist Ulysses (“Uly”) Temper in Florence in 1944 during the waning but still dangerous days of Italian liberation during World War II. Uly and his commander Captain Darnley, whom Uly admires above all other men, meet Evelyn Skinner, an art historian with the Monuments, Fine Arts, and Archives program charged with recovering treasures looted by the Nazis. She is one of numerous memorable characters Uly encounters, including cafe owner Michele, an elderly Contessa, and Arturo Bernadini, a globe maker and pensione (guest house) owner, whom he saves from a suicide attempt.

 

The war's end finds Uly back home in London, where he reunites with other unorthodox types, including his decades-older friend Alfred Creswell (“Cressy”); pianist/actor Pete Fine; Des, a surface-deep Cockney hooligan; Col, the tough-talking owner of the Stoat and Parrot pub; Claude, the pub's wise and wise-cracking namesake parrot; Peggy Temper, a superb singer and Uly's ex-wife; and Peg's young daughter Alys (“the Kid”), who isn't Uly's offspring. Uly and Cressy begin taking the Kid to see Fellini and other art films when she's just eight. Uly and Peg remain nuts about each other and often go at it like rabbits, but Peg has trouble being a one-man woman.

 

Uly is adrift, but his life takes a turn in 1953, when Arturo dies and wills his home and pensione to Uly. Can a guy from London's East End with almost no Italian make a new life in Florence? What's he got to lose? With the help of Massimo, a sometime real estate agent with superb English skills, Uly becomes an innkeeper/globe maker. Soon, his small hotel and large house are the center of Uly's life and the repository for visiting London pals, especially Cressy who becomes a semi-permanent resident, and Alys, who Peg gave over to Uly's care since she's not cut out for parenthood either.

 

Still Life follows the lives, loves, triumphs, and tragedies of all these characters. Not surprisingly, as Alys grows up, she's bohemian and smart as a whip. Uly's pensione is the setting for the tears and joys of its principals, but it also parallels the evolution of Florence from its backwater postwar status to the artistic centerpiece with which we now associate it. Not all the city’s changes are positive, nor is the transition smooth. Winman overlays real-life events, chief among them the 1966 flood of the Arno that killed 101 Florentines, made 5,000 homeless, wrecked 6,000 shops, left the city without electricity, strained food and water supplies, damaged millions of artworks and books, and destroyed scores of masterpieces. Were it not for international relief efforts and the tireless efforts of hundreds of art-rescuing “mud angels,” the loss of life and cultural riches would have been even more devastating.

 

I mentioned that Winman doesn't put much filler in her book. One of the mud angels is volunteer Jem Gunnerslake, the connection that (eventually) brings Evelyn back into the novel. What a role she will play, even as she totters into her late 80s and 90s. As Winman drops in more world events, including the wave of U. S. assassinations in 1968, we realize that the title Still Life has several meanings, the usual one associated with art, a reminder that old people still breathe, and the search of each of the characters for tranquility, a “still” life.

 

I adored this book. The phrase “it will make you laugh; it will make you cry” applies like a solid gold frame to Still Life. It is ultimately about finding “home” and love in guises unbound by birth origins, geography, or traditional morality. It's so affecting that it's easy to overlook some of the book's shortcomings, such as openly gay and lesbian relationships at a time in which such things were generally closeted. Winman might also be prematurely modern in presenting an interracial affair between a Cockney and an Indian widow. Some might also view the novel’s final section as overly pat and forced, though one could also argue that it completes Uly's search for stillness. In a book this good, I cast my vote in favor of any and all liberties taken.

 

Rob Weir