Saturday Night: Why Was This Film Ignored?

 

 

 

Saturday Night (2024)

Directed by Jason Reitman

Sony Pictures Releasing, 109 minutes, R (language, sexuality, drug use)

★★★★

 

An odd thing happened as Saturday Night Live prepared for its 50^th anniversary this year. A pretty decent film was made to pay homage to its first broadcast on October 11, 1975, or perhaps more accurately, the miracle that it happened at all. The film won numerous awards at film festivals, was reviewed favorably by 75% of the critics who previewed it, and assembled a convincing ensemble of actors to step into the now-legendary shoes of producer Lorne Michaels (Gabriel LaBelle), Dan Aykroyd (Dylan O’Brien), John Belushi (Matt Wood), Chevy Chase (Cory Michael Smith), Jane Curtin (Kim Matula), Garrett Morris (Lamorne Morris), Laraine Newman (Emily Fairn), Michael O’Donohue (Tommy Dewey), and Gilda Radner (Ella Hunt). Then the nearly $30 million film opened in theaters and tanked! It returned less than $10 million at the box office, went to video, and disappeared amidst some very harsh reviews.

 

It's back and that’s a good thing. It has been labelled a biography-comedy-drama. As readers know, I’m often critical of neither fish-nor-fowl hybrids, but Saturday Night is a very entertaining movie. Please note that it’s decidedly not a documentary. Co-writer and director Jason Reitman mixed things that happened, numerous situations that did not, and quite a few that are mongrelized versions of truth, near-truth, and complete fiction. In my estimation, Reitman did this to draw in viewers so they would not spend 109 minutes fixated on whether or not the actors looked or acted like the real McCoys. They mostly do, but Reitman’s aim was to capture the vibe of opening night chaos. From what I am able to determine, NBC executive Dick Ebersole (Cooper Hoffman) actually believed the show was unready for prime time and came close to pulling the plug. Reitman enhanced the pandemonium through exaggeration, well-placed slapstick, and obstacles from people who weren’t actually there (like Milton Berle). Did TV/theatre executive Dave Tebet (Willem Dafoe) play good cop/bad cop on the set? Maybe. Was Michaels’ wife Rosie Shuster (Rachel Sennott) really enamored with Aykroyd’s virility? Doubtful. Did Belushi come to opening night having not signed his contract? Yep.

 

What we know Reitman got right was that the original cast was often fueled by cocaine and lesser drugs, that Aykroyd, Belushi, and Chase brought petulance and enormous egos with them, that Morris–a Julliard trained singer­–was often frustrated by his roles and the perceived tokenism of being the only black cast member, and that the female cast members knew testosterone poisoning when they saw it. All except Radner originally saw the gig as just a paycheck. (Radner was too full of energy and matched Belushi’s maniacal spontaneity with her own.) As we later learned, more guest hosts liked the idea of being on SNL better than the actual experience. In the film, George Carlin (Matthew Rhys) presaged those who didn’t like the very idea of winging things in sketches. Others, such as Billy Preston (Jon Batiste), simply rolled with the punches.

 

In the past 50 years SNL has changed casts countless times, sometimes hitting the jackpot (Billy Crystal, Dana Carney, Rachel Dratch, Tina Fey, Jimmy Fallon, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Dennis Miller, Eddie Murphy, Bill Murray, Any Poehler, Joe Piscopo, Cecily Strong), duds (Jim Belushi, Ellen Cleghorne, Anthony Michael, Horatio Sanz, the entire cast of 1995), and­–I await your wrath–those whose allure eludes me (Chris Farley, Will Ferrell, Bobby Moynihan, Molly Shannon). And let’s give as shout out to brilliant occasional actors such as Don Novello, whose Father Guido Sarducci sketches remain hysterical. If you want more, Rolling Stone has its own ratings of all 145 actors who have appeared on SNL.

 

SNL has become part of American culture, though after watching Saturday Night you might wonder how in the blazes it made it out of year one. To take a potshot at a myth, it’s just not true that nothing like SNL had ever hit the airwaves. What was the Carol Burnet Show, Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In and dozens of British comedies if not SNL precursors? Old  Laugh-In episodes look pretty goofy from our current POV, but it’s the culture that has changed, not the zany intent of comedians. Nearly all forms of comedy are by nature subversive. All that constrains comics is how far they can go before censors, cops, and zealots shut them down.

 

Rob Weir

 

MLB Central Time

 

 

 

It’s been a while since MLB Central teams have generated much excitement. The Cubs won the World Series in 2016 and the Royals in 2015, but the Cubs might have been an outlier. Could 2025 see some Central Division team go deep in the postseason? I rather doubt it.

 

AL Central

 

1. Detroit Tigers. KC is the safer pick, but I’m playing a hunch with Detroit. Unlike the Tigers of the 1980s/90s, they won’t slug their way to a title. Aside from (Riley) Greene, the hope that Keith will develop fast, and the frustrating Torres coming over from New York, Detroit’s lineup seems a bit thin. But they might not need to score in bunches with a staff anchored Skubal, Mize, Flaherty (good pickup), and hot prospect Jobe. I’m going with the great-pitching-wins theory.

 

2. Kansas City Royals. They have the best hitting in the Central: Witt, Renfroe, Pasquantino, India, Perez… The pitching is also decent: Lugo, Ragan, Wacha, Lorenzen. They also have two big question marks in the outfield and one in the closer role. They are good enough to win if the Tigers falter.

 

3. Minnesota Twins. A team that constantly disappoints. It’s a collection of hitters with one star, Correa, and others that are merely okay. That list includes Buxton, who has a terrific glove but overall is one of the most overhyped players in MLB. Lopez is a good pitcher and (Joe) Ryan occasionally turns in a nice performance, but there’s a reason why the Twins were 21^st in ERA last year.

 

4. Cleveland Guardians. Vogt is a smart young skipper and he’ll need to be to prevent Cleveland from taking a big step backward this year. It’s hard to see a repeat of last year’s 92-win season with a lineup whose only pop is Ramirez, now that (Josh) Naylor is in Phoenix–unless they think 42 year-old Santana will revert to his 2019 self. Kwan gets on base, but who else now that Gimenez is a Blue Jay? Lots of young pitchers in the pipeline but aside from Lively, no projected starter won more than 8 games last year.

 

5. Chicago White Sox. Call it a successful year it the ChiSox lose only 100 games. They have a strong minor league system but a lot of future talent will need to mature overnight to prevent a repeat of last year’s nightmare 121-loss season. What does it tell you when Benintendi led the team in two offensive categories and their best pitcher is now in a Red Sox uniform? Expect more roster turnover than wins.

 

 

 

NL Central:

 

1. Milwaukee Brewers: The only decent team in the Central, which is far from saying the Brew Crew is great. They will get production out of Hoskins, Chourio, Contreras, and Yelich. Peralta, Cortes, and Woodruff are decent if the latter has put his injuries behind him. Quintana will soak up innings. The aptly named Close is one of the best relievers in baseball.

2. Pittsburgh Pirates are another hunch team. Skenes is one of the best pitchers in baseball, Chandler and (Jared) Jones are highly regarded rookies, and Keller has yet to find his groove. If and two of the three clikc, the Bucs can make some noise. If they have to lean on Heaney, the Pirates will head for Davy Jones Locker. Reynolds is a pro hitter; (Oneail) Cruz, Kiner-Falefa, and Bart are decent players, and McCutcheon and Pham are seasoned vets. Finishing above .500 would be a major step forward. They may have to jettison Yankee castoffs in the bullpen to get there.

 

3. Chicago Cubs look like a reverse copy of the Pirates. The Cubs will hit with Happ, Hoerner, Suzuki, Swanson, (Justin) Turner, and newly acquired Tucker in the lineup. How far they go will depend on how well they pitch. Taillon seems to have found a home on the North Side. If Boyd can find the same level of comfort and touted rookie Horton becomes half the pitcher Skenes is, the Cubs could pass the Bucs and possibly grab a Wild Card. Pressly is an excellent closer.

 

4. Cincinnati Reds are the team I’m least certain of in all of baseball. On one hand, they have  a strong farm system; on the other, three youngsters they hoped would be starting pitchers are on the IL. This makes (Hunter) Greene or (Nick) Martinez the de facto ace and neither is a sure thing, nor is Singer a surefire #3. Luckily, in Stephenson and Trivino they have excellent catchers. De La Cruz is as fast as greased lightning but his bat cooled last year. Lux coming over from LA should help, as will Hays (from Baltimore) when he gets off the IL. Right now, the #2 bat is Candelario and that’s not ideal. The closer? Who knows? The wild card is the Francona factor. He excels in tough situations and his teams are always entertaining.

 

5. St. Louis Cardinals. They sure went from contenders to pretenders in a hurry. They are the opposite of what you’d think by looking at them on paper. They have proven pitchers like (Sonny) Gray, Mikolas, Matz, and closer Helsley yet were 16^th in ERA last year. The lineup doesn’t seem very strong once one gets past the scrappy Donovan, (Willson) Contreras, and disgruntled (and allegedly declining) Arenado, yet were 8^th in batting average. Most, including me, see them as repeating 2024’s 5^th place finish, yet… if they rebounded and were in contention, I’d be only mildly surprised. That could happen if a few pitchers (Mathews and Hence) make the jump from the minors to the majors.

 

Rob Weir

Big Chief: All is Not Well on the Reservation

 

 

 

Big Chief  (Coming April 2025)

By Jon Hickey

Simon and Schuster, 320 pages.

★★★★

 

Big Chief is about Native Americans, though the title refers to a fortress-like Ford Super-Duty F-350 truck designed to impress and intimidate. Jon Hickey's novel takes place on the Passage Rouge reservation in Wisconsin, which sports a contentious community of Anishinaabe (Chippewa) people. It's Thanksgiving time and an election for tribal chief looms.

 

Non-native peoples often valorize all things Native American. Hickey–like writers such as Sherman Alexie, Louise Erdrich, Tommy Orange, Leslie Marmon Silko, and Morgan Talty–reminds us that homegrown discontent runs rampant in indigenous communities. Mack Beck, who drives Big Chief, is the incumbent Passage Rouge chief but faces stiff opposition from Gloria Hawkins. His advisor, 30-year-old Mitch Caddo, is the book’s centerpiece. Mitch is native and the youngest operations director in tribal history, yet an outsider. His mother grew up in Old Village, the original Passage Rouge Settlement, but his white father’s shortcomings led mother and son to flee to Milwaukee. Upon her death Mitch was raised by grandparents before Joe and Maureen Beck, who are white,  brought him back to Passage Rouge and provided him opportunities. 

 

The Becks live on a nicer property than most of their Native neighbors, and raised Mack–and later, Mitch–alongside their biological daughter Layla. Joe knows tribal history and rituals better than most Anishinaabeg, passes on his knowledge, and has done numerous good things for the reservation. For Mitch that’s a mixed blessing. He loves Joe and Maureen, but his mixed blood status, polished manners, Ivy League education, years off the reservation, and law degree make him an outlier.

 

In many ways, Mitchell, Gloria, and Joe are living embodiments of central dilemmas in the novel. Who is a native? If it's solely a matter of blood, how much? Being “red” is up for grabs in Passage Rouge, a place filled with HUD  houses, rivalries, an increasingly militarized tribal police force, and a casino that attracts outsiders when it's not being used as makeshift community center. Mack fancies himself a reformer, but has fallen into some negative old-school ways. Mitch can’t get Mack to realize that Gloria is a serious candidate and that he can’t count on winning by handing out allotment checks, cigarettes, and selective favors or getting heavy-handed when needed. Mitch holds progressive views, but these often clash with running Mack’s campaign. How hard can he push Mack if he wants to remain a political player?  

 

You might wonder why anyone would want to be a player at Passage Rouge. Its politics are like a casino game rigged so that no one wins. You name it and there's a faction for it on the reservation: modernizers, an old boys network, do-gooders, grafters, those who wish to revive old tribal customs, city Indians, reservation Indians…. Not to mention romantic rivalries, some of which revolve around the independent and opinionated Layla. She has moved on from her marriage to Chief of Police Bobby Lone Eagle, who remains territorial and acts like Little Big Man. The reservation is so riven that many speak openly of weaponizing tactics of un-enrolling those who don’t measure up to their particular definition of “Indian” and of exiling non-natives.

 

About the only thing resembling consensus is that few on the reservation trust the government–though many tout their military service and rely upon those allotment checks–and don't want the Department of Justice poking into tribal matters. In such a volatile moment of stress, all that's needed is for someone to light a fuse. Protests, kidnapping, a fatal accident, threats, and a shooting raise different questions about what is meant by Indian blood.

 

Hickey's novel is multilayered. It grapples with very serious identity issues, yet is also shot through with humor. It is about justice in a place in which injustices of all sorts swirl about. It's a romance, but not a conventional one, a murder mystery, and a heroic tale filled with flawed and questionable candidates for said status.

 

One might say that Hickey overdoes rushing from crisis-to-crisis scenarios, but he keeps the pace moving, and presents modern Anishinaabeg life stripped of stereotypes. This is Hickey's first novel and if Big Chief is any indication, the first of many fine books to come.

 

Rob Weir

 

Thanks to Simon & Schuster and NetGalley for an advance copy of this book.

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

Twist: A Fine Novel from Fine Threads

 

 

 

Twist  (2025 Releases Today)

By Colum McCann

Random House, 256 pages

★★★★

 

“Everything gets fixed. And we remain broken.”

 

Colum McCann is rapidly becoming one of my favorite authors. If I were to ask you if you had any interest in reading about underwater fiber optic cables, I suspect that you would think I was joking. Nope! McCann’s latest novel Twist is indeed about cables and it takes some mighty good writing to stoke interest in such things. But, like the communication cables hugging the ocean floor, Twist is also about hidden things lurking within the human psyche.

 

Twist centers on two men who, in very different ways, are broken. Our narrator is Irish journalist Anthony Fennell. He has been a respected writer, but has grown bored and stale. Few know what a mess his personal life is. His ex-wife and son live in South America and he hides his pain in insularity and perhaps too much booze. As much out of escapism as burning interest, Fennell takes an assignment to write about crews that repair cables by dragging the ocean floor with a grappling hook to find broken cables, repair them, and lower them back to the ocean floor.

 

Where better for a broken man to go than the ends of the earth? Fennell’s journey begins in South Africa where he boards a ship captained by another Irishman, John Conway. But if you think Fennell and Conway will bond, you’re wrong. Conway is suspicious, taciturn, avoids the limelight, and projects a get-it-done attitude toward a job he seems neither to like nor hate. About all Fennell learns for quite some time is that Conway is dating Zanelle, a South African actress who is fast becoming a famous celebrity. Fennell has connection issues of his own, but he can’t help but wonder why Conway has chosen to leave “Zee” and sail away for an indeterminate time along Africa’s west coast. Why indeterminate? The ship can’t leave one spot until it actually finds all of the broken cables. It is a task akin to finding a needle in a haystack. Currents are strong in many parts of the ocean floor, cables get snagged on bottom formations, and all the crew knows are the approximate coordinates of where the cable was originally laid. Undershoot and you miss it; overshoot and you miss it. Either way, you must turn about and try again until you snag something not much larger in diameter than a heavy-duty garden hose.   

 

Readers of McCann’s Let the Great World Spin (2009) will recall that tightrope daredevil Philipe Petit is used as a metaphor. If you think of fiber optics as a bundle of thread-like wires, you can infer that McCann has a thing about life on the thin edge. Petit hovered over 1360 feet into the air surrounded by empty space; Conway searched for a cable in the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean. Sometimes he even free dives to fix a cable, a skill requiring extraordinary breath control. Precarious odds doesn’t even begin to get it. Conway has an exacting job to do and Fennell has a lot of time to think. He is like the elusive cable in that much of the time WiFi is unavailable, unreliable, or access is tightly controlled. But Fennell does get enough online time to make inquiries about Captain Conway and learn that he's not who he says he is.

 

The ship makes its way slowly up the coast fixing cables that could literally leave much of Africa, the world’s least-wired continent, cut off from the world. The mission continues, though Fennell leaves the boat to pursue a bigger mystery that consumes him as he dives deeper and drifts further away from discovery.

 

The title Twist takes on various meanings, cable kinks,  disconnections, unexpected revelations, twisted minds…. The novel has been compared to various other dark mysteries but to my mind, McCann has given us a new take on Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. Fiber optics as high-falutin’ literary fiction? Bet on it. Cables can be fixed once you find them, but can lost men be repaired?

 

Rob Weir

 

#Twist #NetGalley

Thumbs Up for Williams and Duval in a Movie Mess

 

 

 

Popeye (1980)

Directed by Robert Altman

Paramount, 114 minutes, PG

★★

 

Have you ever viewed an awful film that you continued to watch simply because a few of the actors are so good that you didn’t want to abandon them to their fate? Few American directors have blown so hot and cold in their role as Robert Altman; in Popeye he was so cold that all the remaining copies of the film could be sent into orbit to cure global warming. And yet…

 

…it's as if Robin Williams was born to play squint-eyed, pronucskiation-challenged Popeye, and no actress on earth could have played Olive Oyl with the knock-kneed, permanently flustered, clumsiness aplomb as Shelley Duvall. Ray Walston was also brilliant as Poopdeck Pappy and a few others such as Paul Dooley (Wimpy), Paul L. Smith (Bluto)  and Linda Hunt (Mrs. Oxheart) turned in solid performances.

 

That’s the good news. The bad? Pretty much everything else. Popeye was excoriated when it came out in 1980 and there’s no reason to assert that it was misunderstood. Granted it’s hard to make a cartoon into a flesh-and-blood musical comedy, though it is fair to ask who thought it was a good idea to try. The job was handed to Harry Nilsson, who was highly respected in his day. Alas, Harry made a hash of it with numbers too terrible to be music, and too fluffy to be camp. Even more baffling, the talented Jules Feiffer wrote the script. I’d like to believe that he was mortally ill at the time, but he didn’t pass away until January of 2025, so that won’t work. Maybe they made him live in the set of Sweethaven while writing it and Jules rushed the assignment as he could only take so much living in a landfill. Actually, Sweethaven is kind of interesting in a grungy sort of way. It reminded me somewhat of Esgaroth/Lake-view in The Hobbit. So maybe the wicked bad score put me in too surly a mood to appreciate Sweethaven in the moment.

 

The narrative, such as it is, finds Popeye rowing his dinghy in high seas and tying up in Sweethaven. He’s in search of his Pappy, but no sooner comes ashore than he is hit up by the local Taxman who collects all manner of tariffs on behalf of the mysterious Commodore. (Take a guess who he is.) If the Commodore needs muscle to collect his graft, he sends his flunky Captain Bluto, who is allegedly affianced to Olive Oyl. Her justification for an impending wedding to the bully is, “he’s large.”(Take that however you wish!)  Paul Smith's Bluto is indeed a large guy. He is also, as Popeye would say, muskully. Popeye, being a stranger, finds all doors closed to him and only finds lodging at the Oyls because of a misunderstanding. Popeye does get to show off the power of his muskully rotating forearms by punching out a gaggle of local jerks who make fun of him and push him around.

 

If you’ve ever read a Popeye comic book by his creator E. C. Segar, you know that Olive will soon find Popeye preferable to Bluto. Popeye and Olive are also enamored of Swee’Pea who is left in a basket by his “mudder” who can’t afford to keep him. Bluto takes a temper tantrum when Olive is a no-show for their “engagement” party and destroys much of the Oyl’s house. Later he beats the snot out of Popeye when he sees Olive and Popeye with Swee’Pea. Apparently Bluto believes in both immaculate conception and instantaneous birth. Hey, it’s a no sex in comic books, please, situation.

 

Spinach is central to the plot­ –such as it is– but in about the only twist there is, Popeye initially hates spinach. From there it degenerates into a fanciful promise of treasure, Popeye’s discovery of his Pappy, a Swee'Pea kidnapping, a boat race rescue attempt around Scab Island, an octopus that looks like one of those blowup advertising come-ons, and a spinach-fueled resolution.

 

Full confession: I devoured more Popeye comics in my wasted youth than Joey Chestnut has eaten hotdogs. That said, Popeye the movie is capital D Dumb. Were it not for Williams and Duvall, there would be no reason to see it. But if you’re really bored some night,  get a free stream from Kanopy to see how perfect casting raises a terrible movie from bilge water to watchable lower case putrid.

 

Rob Weir