Here One Moment a Haunting Novel

 

 

 

 

Here One Moment (2024)

By Liane Moriarty

Crown, 495 pages.

★★★★★

 

Which of these would creep you out more, someone jumping out to scare you or someone who walked down an aisle telling you and everyone else the age at which they will die and how it will happen? I’m solidly in the second camp; I don’t want  to know! I’m also here to tell you that if you are not already familiar with novelist Liane Moriarty, you should fix that.

 

Moriarty really knows how to spin a yarn. Plus, if you’re sick of novels about rich people, know that Moriarty generally favors prosaic folks. Speaking for myself, I’m really bored with novels about privileged 30s-something Manhattanites whining about their First World problems. If you’re with me, no worries, mate; Moriarty is an Aussie. But let’s return to my opening.

 

Passengers are in the air for a short flight from Hobart, Tasmania to Sydney. Flight attendant Allegra loves her job, but she isn’t having a great day. One member of the crew is arrogant, another is a lazy slacker, and Allegra has just rushed to the loo to clean the vomit a passenger has deposited on her uniform. She doesn’t have a spare and no one is taking up the slack. In other words, there’s no one readily available to keep order when a woman so nondescript that few can remember what she looks like when they reach Sydney stands up from her aisle seat as if she’s frozen in place.

 

Passengers ask her if she’s okay but she says nothing until she begins to walk around the plane delivering a message. She looks at each passenger and says, “I expect” and proclaims the age at which they will shuffle off this mortal coil and their cause of death. You’d probably feel okay about things if she tells you that you will die at age 95 from a cardiac arrest. But what if you’re Leo and she tells you that you will pass at 43 from a workplace accident and you’re just about to turn 43? What if you’re a young mom like Paula who is told she will die at 84? You might be fine with that and perhaps delirious to consider that your daughter Willow will live to 103. But when told that four-year-old Timothy will drown at age seven, Paula goes ballistic and screams, “How can you say that to a mother?”

 

Okay, that’s seriously creepy isn’t it? When the zoned out soothsayer is challenged she calmly replies, “Fate won’t be fought.” So here are a few questions? Do you believe in clairvoyance? Most people reflexively say no. But if you were Leo or Paula, how much consolation would you take from those who tell you that the prognosticator is nuts and that clairvoyance is fake? Could you walk off the plane and live your life as if you never heard the forecast? How about the newlyweds told that the wife’s death will come in four years via domestic violence? Such is the setup for a more serious look at free will versus determinism, though Moriarty doesn’t expect us to enroll in a philosophy class and makes no statement more complicated than. “If free will doesn’t exist… all your decisions and actions are inevitable….”

 

Here One Moment would be a heck of a book if Moriarty ended the book at the Sydney airport, but Moriarty ups the ante. Imagine the potential panic when several of the more immediate predictions come true. Coincidence or an oracle? Moriarty follows how those on the plane adjust their lives or don’t based upon where they come down on the free will versus determinism question. For most, it’s in the back of their minds even if they profess not to believe in predictions. Moriarty also reveals the identity of the erstwhile Sibyl, her backstory, how she feels about what she did, and how she handles notoriety.

 

Don’t be put off by the book’s 495-page length. Many of those pages are just a few lines. It’s a proverbial page turner that you will zip through. And, yes, I will take responsibility if you go on a Liane Moriarty kick after reading Here One Moment.

 

Rob Weir 

Baseball on the East Coast

 

Most of my readers are on the East Coast, so I thought I’d do a 2025 baseball preview by regions this year.

 

Let me start with this: The days of the American League fearing the Best of the East are questionable these days. If you are an overall sports fan, I suspect that the women’s NCAA championship and the NBA (in that order) will be more exciting than spring baseball. I don’t see a dominant team racing ahead of the pack. Here are my picks, with the codicil that that, on paper, three teams have a decent chance in the AL East.

 

1.  Boston Red Sox. They can win because of starting pitching headed by Crochet,  Buehler, and Bello. Duran looks to be a budding star, they stole a nice catcher (Narvaez) from the Yankees, and Bregman is likely to lead them in all offensive categories. They are young, speedy, and hungry.

 

            They could lose because Bello might be a fluke, Hendriks flunks as closer, Giolito is damaged goods, and neither Houck nor Crawford are legit. They could also lose because Casas is a lazy waste and it was a bad idea to make Devers angry. They could lose if the kids are not alright and if the bullpen explodes like the bovines busting out of Pamplona.

 

2. Baltimore Orioles. Normally they’d be the top pick but losing Corbin for 41 year-old Morton is a bad exchange, Henderson is on the IL, and heaven help them if the un-coachable Gary Sanchez catches more than a handful of games. Plucking O’Neill from the Red Sox was a good move. They have a good lineup, but not necessarily a fearful one. They could win with a good tailwind.

 

3. Toronto Blue Jays. I’m almost embarrassed to rank them this high as few teams in baseball disappoint as badly as the Jays. How can a team with Gausman, Berios, and Manoah rank 22^nd in ERA? At age 41, Scherzer should shut it down and wait for the Hall of Fame to call. Will Bichette, Varsho, or Springer produce? If not, the fabulous Guerrero will be wearing a different uniform next year.

 

4. New York Yankees. Any team that starts the year by losing MLB’s best pitcher (Cole) for the season and has Stroman as their #3 starter, the maddeningly inconsistent Rodon as # 1 is clearly in trouble. This core is old, slow, and poorly conditioned. Fried was a good signing but in short, the Yankees are a mess.

 

5. Tampa Bay Rays. They are a bigger mess still, though it’s not inconceivable that their solid pitching (9^th in ERA) could vault them over the Yankees. Except they were 27^th in batting and 29^th in runs scored. Other than (Brandon) Lowe I can’t think of any hitter you’d want from the Rays. To add insult to injury, they are homeless after a hurricane blew the top off of the Trop. They will play home games in the Yankees 11,000-seat minor league park and probably won’t fill it. Every year I say this: Move the Jays to Montreal; summer baseball in Florida is a flop.

 

 

National League East

 

 

 

Based on signing Juan Soto, the Mets are the sexy pick. I say the Mets might have trouble grabbing a Wild Card.

 

1. Philadelphia Phillies. They are clearly the strongest team in the East and are seeking redemption for being dumped in the first round of the playoffs. They have Harper, (Trea) Turner, Schwarber, Realmuto, Bohm, and Marsh to mash, and Wheeler, Nola, and Saurez to head the staff.

 

            They could lose if they don’t find a top closer or if Nola pulls another disappearing act, or if the…

 

2. Atlanta Braves knock them off. If Acuna has put his injuries and problems behind him, that’s a huge plus to go with Olson, Albies, Ozuna, and Profar. Other than Sale you might not be familiar with Braves pitching and losing Fried to the Yankees will hurt, but every year they seem to come up with great arms. That’s why they are #1 in MLB in ERA. Iglesias might be the most underrated closer in the game. Superior pitching is what takes you deep in the offseason. That’s why I’m not sold on the…

 

3. New York Mets. Soto, Alonso, Lindor, Nimmo, and company will produce lots of runs, but Holmes as a starter? No!  Montas? His initials should be IL. Diaz is a heart attack closer. This leaves the very serviceable Peterson and Manea to carry the pitching staff. Each is good, but do you fear them? If the Mets have any catching, it hasn’t announced itself yet.

 

4-5. Miami Marlins and Washington Nationals. Flip the order anyway you wish. The Nats were 23^rd in ERA last year and the Fish were 29^th. Miami was 14^th in average but 27^th in runs scored. Washington was 15^th in average and 25^th in runs. You probably only know 2-3 players from either roster. I tossed a coin and it came up with the Nationals finishing 4^th. I’m going with that  out of fear a second toss would come up Miami. But if Alcantara comes back from injury it could go that way. And who cares?

 

 

March 2025: Laura Stewart, Claire Keegan, Archer Mayor, Rick Lenz, Jamie Harrison

 

Time for some more book clean outs. I’m beginning to think of these as a regular thing.

 

 

 

Laura Stewart is a self-proclaimed fan of Agatha Christie. Her novel Deer Lodge: Death at the Hunting Lodge (Bloodhound Books, 2024, 319 pages) deliberately echoes both a Christie title and falls into the cozy mystery category that Christie practically invented. Stewart’s tale is set in a Scottish village around the holiday of Beltane (May Day) and involves subplots of archaeology, Tarot cards, Celtic mythology, a hillside mansion, numerous eccentrics, several murders, and enough red herrings to hold a fish fry. This is # 3 in Stewart’s Amelia Adams series, each a standalone not in need of previous reading. A group of younger diggers wants to excavate near an old abbey on a farm owned by a very odd man in hope of unearthing a Pictish site. Adams is our amateur sleuth who inherits Stone Manor, but local murders aren’t very good for the Beltane tourist trade. Moira, a white witch, isn’t dissuaded but she and everyone else is a suspect, except maybe Gideon a whiny young man milking a minor injury as if his head were cut off. Stewart deftly balances history, prehistory, the occult, creepy atmosphere, and fine pacing. ★★★★

 

 

 

Irish writer Claire Keegan excels at novellas filled with small details that define place and time. In Small Things Like These  (Grove Press, 2021, 116 pages), Bill Furlong grew up in a wee village somewhere near Waterford in the Republic of Ireland. His mother was a widow pregnant with him, and a servant in the home of Mrs. Wilson a relatively well-to-do widow in her own right. The Furlongs are Catholic, but Mrs. Wilson is a Protestant. Furlough was literally spat upon as a lad because his father was unknown and he lived with a Protestant. He is now married to Eileen, has five daughters, and owns a coal business. Bill is liked by most, is considered kind, and couldn’t care less that his offspring are all girls. He is restless, though, works too hard, and would like to know who is da’ is. This book take place during the Christmas season and is often evocative of the spirit of A Christmas Carol. One of Furlough’s clients is the local abbey, where he accidentally meets Sarah, who is locked in the coal shed after giving birth 14 weeks earlier. She would like to get out to throw herself into the River Barrow. Furlong’s life is altered by two revelations, one about his ancestry and the second the Catholic Church’s squalid and inhumane Magdalene Laundries, the last of which closed in 1996. If you don’t know about them, educate yourself. ★★★★

 

 

 

If you live in Vermont and don’t know the writer Archer Mayor, rectify this immediately. There is no such thing as the Vermont Bureau of Investigation (VBI), but detective Joe Gunther is as Vermont as it gets. How could I possibly resist a free copy of Mayor’s Paradise City (Minotaur Books, 2012, 306 pages), which is set in southern Vermont ski territory, Boston, and my town of Northampton, Massachusetts, whose nickname is the same as the book title? A torched McMansion in ski country owned by a rich out-of-stater, an old woman on Beacon Hill killed by thieves, a jewelry chop shop, arrogance, a family feud, a human smuggling operation, a depressed VBI agent, a meddlesome granddaughter, bad guys eliminated by worse thugs, a body left in Holyoke, and Governor Gail Zigman who was once Joe’s lover–who needs more? Plus, if you’ve lived in Northampton for more than a decade there are enough clues to keep you busy guessing who Mayor’s role models were. Likewise, if you know Vermont, there’s plenty to unravel. Gunther sees things others overlook, but can he crack his personal mysteries?  ★★★★★

 

 

 

Mit Out Sound (Chromodroid Press, 2024, 346 pages). The German word mit  means “with.” As a movie term it references parts of a movie recorded with-out-sound. In the novel from Rick Lenz it makes an appearance as a possible way to salvage a film project. Like too much of Mit Out Sound it’s also Lenz showing off his Hollywood insider knowledge. Emily Bennett is so obsessed with movies that it’s unclear if her face blindness is legit or a reflection of her fixation on celebrities. Though still young, she has been an assistant for Richard Boone. He accidentally mentions the existence of a partial reel for Showdown, an abandoned project that would have co-starred John Wayne (1907-79) and James Dean (1931-55). Emily is sworn to secrecy but proceeds to recruit two impersonators–Tom Manfredo (Wayne) and Jimmy Riley (Dean)­–a director/script writer, film editor, and backers to finish the film. Even her troubled brother gets a role. Emily  worships Wayne and discovers that he called off the film because he distrusted Dean. The novel’s best moments reveal how hard it is to make a movie. It does that so well that it’s difficult to believe that Lenz’s characters got anything off the ground. For what it’s worth, Wayne and Dean were in one film, Trouble Along the Way, though Donna Reed was Wayne’s costar, and Dean had a tiny role. An unconfirmed rumor held that a Wayne/Dean film really was underway. You can reuse movie titles, but neither of the two Showdown IMDB titles (1963/19773) have either Wayne or Dean in them. ★★★

 

 

If you poke around in the American West you’ll discover that “ghost” towns are quite real. There are entire settlements that simply outlive their purpose and disappear from maps. In a way, that’s the centerpiece of The River View (Counterpoint, 2024, 335 pages), a new mystery from Montana writer Jamie Harrison. This is part of Harrison’s Jules Clement series, but The River View is a standalone work. Clement is an interesting central character, an ex-sheriff who is an archaeologist/private investigator/new father. Like many in the Big Sky country, Clement lives close to the margin, but he and his wife Caroline, who works in the county sheriff’s office, are about to build their dream house (with considerable sweat equity). That is if they can ever get Divvy to dig the foundation. In the interim Jules is hired to make sure a new road doesn’t disturb a lost-to-time paupers’ graveyard allegedly just outside the hamlet of Blue Deer. The River View is an unusual book in that it’s part farce and part serious. As the first, it’s quite funny, as in a flasher with an odd penis; a soon-to-be-neighbor who’d like to buy out the Clements who are too close, all manner of building nightmares, and Russians floating about as muscle for unknown outsiders. They could be straight out of The Russians Are Coming, were it not for their serious guns. Of course, it’s never funny when people get killed and your neighbor might be either ridiculous, psycho, or both. And where in the heck is Doris, MT? The book suffers from too many characters and too many mysteries crammed into one book, including Jules’ search for his father’s murderer, which happened many years earlier. But I’ll take too much over too little. ★★★ ½

It Ends with Us: Non-matching Halves

 

 

 

It Ends with Us (2023)

Directed by Justin Baldoni

Sony Pictures Releasing, 131 minutes, PG-13 (Domestic violence)

★★★

 

I suspect most of you are quite aware of the controversy/counter lawsuits swirling around It Ends with Us. In fact, I imagine most of you know more about than I. Squabbles, scandals, and outlandish accusations are so common in Hollywood that I stopped paying much attention to them years ago. I will concentrate on the movie, though I am aware of the unresolved sexual harassment charge leveled against director/lead actor Justin Baldoni by leading lady Blake Lively.

 

I found the movie worthwhile, but very uneven. It’s billed as a romantic drama, but that’s not quite correct. It’s actually a  two-halves film, the first of which is a romance and the second half a drama. We meet young Lily Bloom (Isabela Ferrer) in Maine at her father’s funeral. She is supposed to say five good things about her father but can’t think of even one and walks away. We later learn that he routinely beat his wife Jenny (Amy Morton) and almost killed her homeless boyfriend Atlas Corrigan (Alex Neustaedter as young Atlas) when he caught them in bed. Yes, I said homeless. She used to sneak food and her father’s castoff clothes to him and they became sweethearts, despite the humiliation thrown her way by her high school classmates.

 

Years later, Lily (then played by Blake Lively) is living in New York City and seeking to follow her dream of opening a flower shop. We find her sitting on a rooftop ledge when a young man arrives and begins kicking the patio furniture. He is Ryle Kincaid (Baldoni), a neurosurgeon who has just lost a six-year-old patient. He and Lily D flirt before Lily abruptly lowers the temperature and leaves without giving out her contact info. As she is cleaning out the building where her shop will be, Lily meets and hires Allysa (Jenny Slate). Later she meets Allysa’s husband, Marshall (Hasan Minhaj) and later still, his brother, Ryle. What are the odds? 1:8.5 million actually, but why quibble? Eventually Lily and Ryle become an item and elope. What could go wrong? Though he has a perpetual five o’clock shadow that miraculously remains the same, they seem to be simpatico, have oodles of money, and hang out with Allysa and Marshall. All is well until they book a table at a “hot” restaurant named Roots. The owner is none other than Atlas (Brandon Skelnar), all grown up and with a neat beard.

 

This part of the film is kissy-kissy, occasionally funny, and plants seeds for trouble as Lily has never really gotten over Atlas. It must be said that the dialogue is on the clunky side, It’s sort of like When Harry Met Sally stripped of sharp writing and cleverness. It opens the door for jealousy, misplaced machoism, and psychological unraveling. We know that Ryle is wound pretty tightly and is prone to egoism. Atlas is protective and kind, but also has a fuse that’s not hard to light. In such situations, innocent things can be akin to igniting a candle with a blowtorch. Call this the serious part of the movie.

 

This becomes a problem. Baldoni and Lively are good when the movie is frothy and cute. Alas, though the movie is stronger when it turns serious–and Christy Hall’s screenplay becomes sharper­–the actors lack gravitas. Skelnar is like a dog unsure who he is supposed to protect, Slate loses her sass to play the role of best friend, Baldoni is a one-dimensional jerk, and Lively is unconvincing as a woman torn in two directions. What we have is a first half so cliched that I almost turned it off and a second half that seems duct-taped onto the first. Likewise, though the lighter part of the film is more poorly written it’s better for the principals (and vice versa).

 

It Ends with Us was based on a novel by Colleen Hoover who writes for mass audiences. The film is much the same way. It got mixed reviews but pulled in big bucks at the box office. Add my mixed review to the pile. Hoover wrote a sequel titled It Begins with Us. You have to wonder how outraged Baldoni and Lively are, as they are considering a sequel with Lively directing. I’m pretty sure we don’t need such a film.

 

Rob Weir   

Frigg: From Finland to You

 

Frigg

Dreamscapes

 

For many years I wrote Celtic and folk music reviews for SingOut! Magazine. I don’t recall exactly when it was, but the editor asked me what I knew about Scandinavian music. It wasn’t much, but I put myself on a crash course and before long I was one of the go-to reviewers for all things Norwegian, Swedish, Danish, and Finnish. One of the bands I wrote about was Frigg from Finland. 

 

Frigg

 

The band’s name pays homage to Norse goddess of marriage, prophecy, and motherhood. In some old Germanic languages her name is spelled Fría or Frí, which gives us the word Friday. As for the band, in their earliest days they played lots of reworked folk songs and traditional tunes. They still play some, but they are now in their 25^th year and, after expected lineup changes, they’ve spread their wings, write a lot of their own material, and have picked up influences from Americana and bluegrass music–not that you’d necessarily recognize them filtered through a Finnish lens. I liked Frigg back then and I like them now. A few weeks ago they played a show I caught in Whately, which is where I picked up Dreamscapes, the band’s tenth album. It is, as its title suggests, a concept album, a series of day dreams, musings on Finnish culture, and a splash of mysticism analogous to Shakespeare’s Midsummer’s Night Dream.  

 

“Troll’s Twilight” is an example of Scandinavian mythology. The liner notes advise, “When trolls take the lead in the waltz, you can never be certain what’s real and what’s mere illusion.” In Finnish folklore, troll can sometimes appear in human form, but mostly they are big, dumb, and ugly, but also magical, mean, and definitely not Christian. The live in isolated places, but the best advice is avoid them at all costs. Like vampires they do their worst when the sun sets; sunlight can turn them into stone, hence many land  and features are said to be petrified trolls. No wonder that the tune is a combination of ominous and wild dance.

 

By contrast, “Valsette” embodies the promise of spring, with three fiddles and bass invoking the flight of honeybees returning. It also showcases the band’s balance and timing on a tune that could otherwise drift into cacophony. A lot of Frigg’s music is danceable, but look out for correct spelling. A polksa isn’t the same as a polka. The latter is a Czech and Polish dance in 2/4 where a polska is in ¾ time and often has pauses. “Alarm Polska” is an example of how Scandinavians (and Scots) often prefer things in ¾ timing. The structure might seem similar to Irish jigs, except the latter are generally in 6/8 timing. Notice, though, the lighter middle section and coda of “Alarm Polska.” Most of the selections on Dreamscapes have a link to dance. “Vastkusten Twist” borrows from an old minuet, “Vittra” is a square dance, and there is another polska and a different waltz. The best way to appreciate Frigg is see them live. Here's a clip of “Norrsken” (not on the current album) that captures their energy and freewheeling innovation on the stage. Not all of the current members of Frigg are on the current tour, but as you can see from the picture I took in Whately, there’s no shortage of talent that can step in when needed. 

 

Frigg on Stage in Whately, MA

 

 

Rob Weir

 

 

 

 

The Taste of Things a Visual Delight

 

 

 

The Taste of Things  (2023)

Directed by Trân Anh Hùng

Gaumont, 134 minutes, PG-13 (brief nudity)

★★★

 

Is The Taste of Things a drama, a romance, or food porn? It is certainly channels the latter and, if you’re patient, has quiet aspects of drama and passion. If you hit the fridge while watching–and your tastebuds will undoubtedly kick into overdrive– make sure you have a better class of munchies on hand. This a film akin to Babette’s Feast or Big Night in that its major theme is food beyond your wildest dreams. As for the story, I wish director Trân Anh Hùng had offered more sauce to marinate his characters in a richer narrative broth.

 

The year is 1889* and we see Eugénie (Juliette Binoche) and Dodin Bouffant (Benoît Magimel) at work in a country kitchen amidst a farrago of copper pots, flames, steam, and comestibles in various states of preparation. They are joined by Eugénie’s young assistant Violette and a visiting child prodigy Pauline, who can taste a complex a complex sauce and identify each of its ingredients. It is nearly impossible to describe all of the delicacies the four fry, bake, boil, sauté, and marinate. I will say that they use enough butter, cream, and fatty ingredients to make your cholesterol levels double just by watching.

 

It takes time and context to infer the relationships. Dodin is the owner of an estate and a gourmand; Eugénie is his personal chef and longtime lover. It helps a bit to know that Dodin’s surname, though mostly used to describe a hairstyle, can also mean fullness or chowing down. Does the trim Dodin eat like this every day? Not quite. As we discover, he holds periodic gatherings for a group of friends who come to praise Eugénie’s culinary magic, discuss food, and engage in manly gossip. Several of his guests have recently dined with an unnamed visiting prince, an eight-hour ordeal of many courses, each accompanied by pairing alcoholic beverages. Dodin is anxious to hear their impression and takes delight in learning that it was ostentatious and “clashing.” In other words, Eugénie’s reputation is safe; so much so that Dodin plans to invite the prince for a meal of pot au feu. This is a bold and risky idea; a pot au feu is a simple stew of meat and vegetables usually considered peasant food. Dodin is certain that Eugénie’s unpretentious fare will surpass the elaborate efforts of the prince’s chef.  

 

A Taste of Things shifts its focus to more domestic things such as picnics by the lake, walks in the woods, and Dodin’s proposals to Eugénie. He is clearly in love with her and she with him; they’ve been sleeping together for years–always with Eugénie in control of when. She has also turned down his proposals many times, as she doesn’t particularly wish to marry. These are the most beautiful shots of the film, courtesy of the dappled light cinematography of Jonathan Ricquebourg. Equally touching and lambent are scenes in which Dodin demonstrates his devotion to Eugénie by cooking for her when she develops a mysterious illness. Forget the prince; Dodin prepares a multi-course meal fit for a queen served on fine china and with wine in crystal goblets. In an act of submissive role reversal, Dodin waits on her, a white towel draped across his sleeve. Within the logic of the film, his is the ultimate expression of love that melts Eugénie’s resistance to give up her independence.

 

There is more, but I will leave those revelations for you to discover. The Taste of Things is a visual stunner, but Trân Anh Hùng is an enigmatic director. Perhaps his best known film was 1993’s A Scent of Green Papaya. Like The Taste of Things it was a slow-paced movie that was praised more by critics than the viewing public. The Vietnam-born, French resident Hùng won several best director awards in Europe for Taste, including a Palme d’or at Cannes. His influences include such auteurs as Bergman, Kurosawa, and Tarkovsky. If you are familiar with their films you know that each emphasizes style and leaves it to the audience to make sense of actors immersed in ambience. Is this a flattering trust in viewers or perverse stubbornness on  Hùng’s part? I can only assure you that A Taste of Things will more than satisfy your visual appetite.

 

Rob Weir

 

* Why 1889? That was the year that Paris hosted the World’s Fair in which the Eiffel Tower debuted. It and the 1893 exposition in Chicago are sometimes used to symbolize the waning of traditional ways and the coming of modernism.

Ball of Fire and Red Hot Barbara Stanwyck

 

 

 

 

Ball of Fire (1941)

Directed by Howard Hawks

RKO Radio Pictures, 111 minutes, Not rated

★★★

 

A bad film can be great entertainment. Ball of Fire is a silly movie that tempts you to turn if off to go read cereal boxes. Yet, director Howard Hawks and co-script writer Billy Wilder managed to keep me watching. I’m not sure if that was a good or bad thing! If you decide to try it, it might appear as The Professor and the Burlesque Queen.

 

Ball of Fire is an oddity. It could be considered as a rewrite of Bringing Up Baby, the 1938 screwball comedy starring Cary Grant as a nebbish paleontologist and Katharine Hepburn as his scatterbrained pursuer. Casting Grant as a glasses-wearing nerd assembling a brontosaurus was risky for an actor known for being handsome and suave. But why would RKO reshape it three years later when Bringing Up Baby was originally a box office bomb? (It’s now considered a classic.) If making Grant into a dweeb failed, why would it work for Gary Cooper, another Hollywood hunk? Or for Barbara Stanwyck as the femme fatale/Hepburn substitute? Ball of Fire also riffs on Snow White and the Seven Dwarves with Cooper a surprise prince and eight eccentric professors–one is even named Oddly–as the dwarves.

 

It opens with Professor Bertram Potts (Cooper) leading eight geezer professors for their morning walk before retiring to a fusty Victorian house filled with dusty books and papers. Officially it is the Toten Institute, a bequest of the deceased father of the unmarried Miss Toten (Mary Field). She drops in occasionally with her lawyer to try to hurry the professors along. They’ve worked on an encyclopedia project for nearly seven years and haven’t yet finished the letter S. Potts, a grammarian and the youngest by far, has just about concluded an entry on slang, when his garbage collector lets loose with a spray of colorful idioms Potts has never heard. So do others he encounters on the street, including nightclub performer Sugarpuss O’Shea (Stanwyck). She is a singer for a big band wearing so little that it’s amazing she got past the Hollywood Code censors. Percussion legend Gene Krupa bangs the drums so hard the stage shakes. Potts, though, is so focused on research that he hardly notices Sugarpuss’ costume (or lack thereof).

 

Sugarpuss is actually the main squeeze of gangster Joe Lilac (Dana Andrews) whose pink pajamas, a gift from Sugarpuss, links him to a murder. The cops can’t quite prove it, but O’Shea’s name is mentioned and the cops want her brought in toute de suite. She has to sneak out of a window and find a place to lie low until Joe and his henchmen Duke Pastrami (Dan Duryea) and Asthma Anderson can smuggle her to New Jersey. Joe plans to marry her because a wife can’t testify against her husband. Tough gal Sugarpuss fast talks her way into staying with Potts under the guise of feeding him research. His housekeeper, the Teutonic Miss Bragg (Kathleen Howard) doesn’t like it one bit and the Institute forbids women from staying in the lodging house of the dwarfs/professors. To keep from getting thrown out, Sugarpuss pretends to be attracted to Potts.

 

Before these maters resolve we have to come to grips with the fact that all but one of the professors is a bachelor. (One was a widower before the 20^th century dawned!) There’s also the case of two rings, teaching fidgety “Pottsy” how to kiss, the fawning seven, an “engagement” party in suits appropriate for the Garfield  administration, henchmen holding hostages, and a decidedly drifted Snow White having a change of heart. Got all that?

 

This unexpected hit got five Oscar nominations and has been preserved by the National Film Registry. If this sounds strange, add to your list the fact that it made and lost money at the same time. It was an RKO film to distribute, and nearly doubled its costs yet its deal with Samuel Goldwyn Productions was so one-sided it paid out even more. 

 

 

 

Ball of Fire (sort of) works because it’s absurd enough to be a cross between camp and surrealism. The professors really were like the Seven Dwarfs at a time in which Walt Disney was thought a bold innovator among the avantgarde. It didn’t hurt that Stanwyck was hotter than burning pants and Cooper went from dork to dashing. Is it a great film? No, but I kept watching!

 

Rob Weir