Cave of Forgotten Dreams would be Better without Herzog

You'll see a lot of this image in Herzog's doc.

Cave of Forgotten Dreams (2010)

Directed by Werner Herzog

IFC Films/History Channel

90 mins. PG (in 3D)

* * ½

In 1994 three spelunkers plunged into a cave in the Ardeche River Valley of southern France; little did they know what awaited them. When their headlamps hit the wall of a limestone chamber they saw things no one had seen for 25-30,000 years. The underground cavity now known as Chauvet (show-vAy) Cave--named for one of the spelunkers--is one of the most spectacular collections of prehistoric art ever found. Its glories surpass even those of Lascaux, also located in southern France. The art is so impressive that scholars have begun to speculate that more was at stake than ritual, that perhaps an artistic aesthetic was present in ancient humans.

Filmmaker Werner Herzog was one of the few individuals allowed to view the cave, which was preserved by a fluke landslide that sealed its entrance for many millennia. He and his three-member film crew reveal an enchanted world of horses, panthers, hyenas, handprints, and fanciful figures sketched in charcoal upon the limestone walls. Several of the figures are akin to ancient abstraction, and quite a few anticipate Picasso by tens of thousands of years. Even more remarkable, some of the drawings were rendered to take advantage of curves, indentations, and varying shapes of the rock. They seem to leap off the cliff face, a compelling reason to film--as Herzog did--in 3D. (I’m not a big fan of 3D, a technology that’s still far from perfection, but for once I applaud the decision to use it.) Cinematographer Peter Zeitlinger lovingly reveals the cave’s magic for those of us (nearly anyone who isn’t a French scientist) who will never venture beyond the cave’s locked steel vault doors.

If only Herzog had left the paintings speak for themselves. This is a so-so film that should have been a great one. Herzog is like Michael Moore in that he can’t keep himself out of his own films. The people who used the cavern appear to have venerated bears, another Herzog fascination (See Grizzly Man, 2005). I mention this because Herzog’s presence in this film is close to unbearable. He seems to fancy himself a modern-day philosopher, but it’s hard to suppress the gag reflex for some of New Age pap and nostrums he dispenses. Mostly, though, his comments are just intrusive, which is also how I’d characterize the original score from composer Ernst Reijseger. It’s loaded with Wagnerian drama and a lot of it is very interesting as music, but it’s simply inappropriately operatic for the subject matter. (And it’s made doubly so by Herzog’s insistence that we contemplate the images and their possible meanings with the hushed reverence he fails to heed.) Because Herzog insists on cluttering the film with extraneous material that is neither enlightening nor needed, this film clocks in at 90 minutes when it could have easily been half that length. There is, for example, a spectacular panel of four horses running astride each other; Herzog shows this ad infinitum as a backdrop for his own musings. He also tells us so much about the challenges of filming in the cave that I wanted to shout “Save it for the film festival Q & A.”

If you can find a 3D theater showing this, by all means go; the film deserves to be seen on a big screen and in the format it was made. If you rent it, though, you could do worse than turn off the sound. Herzog seems to think he’s a shaman; much of the time he’s just a sham. --LV

Carrie Rodriguez Teams with Ben Kyle

CARRIE RODRIQUEZ AND BEN KYLE

We Still Love Our Country

North Street Opus

* * *

Carrie Rodriguez bends the boundaries between country, folk, and rock. She also performs songs so sexy that they’re what Barry White would have done if he had worn a skirt and sang with a Texas twang. On her latest, though, she teams with Ben Kyle and returns to country music’s roots. This eight-song EP consists of old-style covers such as “If I Needed You,” My Baby’s Gone,” and “Love Hurts,” with a few vintage-sounding originals tossed in, including “Fire Alarm,” which could have been torn from the Ronettes’ backlist. The duo feature Kyle’s lead vocals a bit more than Rodriguez’s. I would have preferred the reverse, but the project is a sweet reminder of what country music was like before it got slicker than the waters of a Gulf Coast bayou.

Carrie Rodriguez is touring the East Coast this month; catch her if you can.

The GOP Thinks You're an Idiot!

To arms, citizens! Sarah Palin is coming!

From the mouths of babes--There was a charming letter from Sarah Burke in yesterday’s Boston Globe. Burke wondered how Sarah Palin could not know about Paul Revere’s ride, an event with which most elementary school students have familiarity. Burke remarked, “Paul Revere was letting the Minutemen know that the British were coming so they could get their guns. Revere was not letting the British know that the British were coming.” Sarah should know what’s taught in grade school; she’s nine. That’s Sarah Burke; Sarah Palin just acts like she’s nine, a talent she’s currently demonstrating on a cross-country freak show in which she insists she wasn’t wrong about Paul Revere, merely a victim of the “gotcha” media.

Sorry Sarah Palin--you were wrong. Paul Revere was not letting the British know, as she insisted, that they weren’t going to take our guns from us. She’s from Alaska and I’m sure that I could be stumped on an Alaska history question, but Paul Revere’s ride doesn’t exactly fall into the category of esoteric trivia; as Sarah Burke reminds us, it’s something that even nine-year-olds know. Sarah Burke probably has parents who told her it’s not nice to call people names. I forgot that lesson, so allow me: Sarah Palin is a first-class idiot. I’d laugh at her very existence save for one fact: she represents a political party that thinks it’s fine to be an idiot. The Republican Party cultivates morons and calls them office-ready. It banks on the hope that the electorate is dumber than nine-year-olds. The scariest part of all? The party might be right.

Think this is harsh? I wish I could dismiss Palin as an aberration, but the GOP also gave us Dan Quayle, George W. Bush, Christine O’Donnell, Scott Walker, and Paul LePage. To refresh your memory, they gave us--in chronological order of ignominy--the potatoe, weapons of mass destruction, the assertion that the U.S. Constitution does not call for separation of church and state, the belief that public employees shouldn’t have bargaining rights, and the claim that the first female Cabinet officer was a radical leftist. Put all of these subatomic brains together and you don’t crack triple digits on the IQ scale. When I look at today’s Republican Party I wonder if there has been this many dumb people in one place since free beer night at the lobotomy clinic.

Okay, I’m the kind of guy who thinks Bernie Sanders is too conservative, so granted I’m biased. I admit it. But does conservatism have to be so utterly stupid? Now that William Buckley has gone to the Big Tax Break in the Sky, who in the party--aside from George Will and David Brooks--could pass a urine test? Rick Santorum? Mike Huckabee? Michelle Bachman? Ron Paul? Not exactly Plotinus, Socrates, Plato and Aristotle, are they?

If you are a conservative voter, aren’t you insulted that the party thinks you have the intelligence of a brain-damaged mollusk? If you continue voting for such pandering fools, maybe you do! Just for the record, I’m not saying that the Democrats are much better. If you go back to the IQ scale, they score dull normal at best. I’m not telling anyone to vote for Democrats, but here’s what I do advocate: If a political figure has less intellectual heft than a nine-year-old, tell them to shut up and get lost. Insist that whatever party you support fields candidates who use their brains for something more substantial than preening, parroting nostrums, spreading fear, and playing cavalier with facts. At the end of Sarah Burke’s letter she mockingly suggested that maybe she’s more qualified to be president than Sarah Palin. Given a choice between the two, Burke has my vote!

Secretariat an Alternative View to the Belmont Stakes

Secretariat (2010)

Directed by Randall Wallace

Disney, 123 mins. PG

* * *

No horse has won racing’s Triple Crown since Affirmed in 1978 and it’s not going to happen in 2011. Who could blame a casual fan who decided to skip the June 11 Belmont Stakes and pop in the DVD of Secretariat instead? After months of being hard to secure as a rental, Secretariat is finally widely available. Is it a great movie? No, but Secretariat (1970-1989) is probably the greatest horse to ever munch oats. In 1973, Secretariat won the Triple Crown and set records in all three races. (A timekeeper’s error robbed the horse of his deserved record in the Preakness.) I can still recall watching Secretariat destroy the field in the Belmont in what may be the most thorough domination of a peer group in professional sports history. It was like Bob Feller facing Little League hitters.

Secretariat the movie tells the story of this remarkable animal and of the Cherney family that owned him, thanks to a bad choice by Ogden Phipps, who shared rights to the offspring of sire Bold Ruler. (Cherney and Phipps yearly tossed a coin for first choice; Phipps won and bet on the wrong horse!) This is a Disney movie, so you know that sentimentality and melodrama will reign, just as you also know that everyone will be straight-teethed, scrubbed, and airbrushed. You could eat off the floor of the horse barns in this film and even mud-covered jockeys look fresh as a daisy. Like most Disney films, it’s also predictable that the American Dream will triumph and that critiques of it will dissolve in the face of shucks-gee whiz wholesomeness. Check out this film’s needless and ridiculous subplot of Penny Cherney Tweedy’s counterculture-wannabe daughter (pop singer A. J. Michalka as a hippie designed by L’Oreal). It’s the worst depiction of the 1960s since Selling Woodstock. You may also have some trouble choking down the performance of Nelsan Ellis as black stable hand Eddie Sweat, who sashays around Penny with wide eyes and a broad smile that border on Stepin’ Fetchit territory. And a few of the scenes between Penny and Secretariat might make you think you’ve accidentally downloaded Dr. Doolittle.

Luckily the actors transcend the PG (for Perfectly Gentile) writing and add the illusion of script depth. Diane Lane plays Penny Tweedy and does a credible job as a woman recovering her girlhood feistiness, thanks to an emergent feminist movement, birth family trauma, and contact with enough chauvinist piggies to open a bacon factory. John Malkovich spouts execrable French as trainer Lucien Laurin, but he’s wicked fun as a swishy misanthrope with an unfortunate wardrobe. Also turning in good performances are Otto Thorwarth as jockey Ron Turcotte, and Margo Martindale as Cherney family secretary Miss Ham, who gave the big red horse his name.

But you can forget all the human actors, because that big red horse is definitely the star of the film. Disney has always excelled in big build-ups to crowning (literally in this case) moments. The horse racing sequences are excellent, even when they were exaggerated. (No horse could make up the deficit in which director Randall Wallace placed Secretariat in the Kentucky Derby.) Wallace puts us at the edge of out seats when the gates open, which is quite a feat because we already know that Secretariat is going to win. My vote for best actor goes to Trolley Boy, the horse discovered by Hollywood in a Secretariat look-alike contest. Call it the best doppelganger performance since Jamie Foxx morphed into Ray Charles.

This is a flawed and predictable film, but a fine way to wile away two hours. Those of you old enough to remember Secretariat will be transported back in time. And for those of you too young, t’is a shame; I doubt his likes will come again.

Jim Armenti and the Glories of Local Rock

JIM ARMENTI

The Herd

jamesarmenti@hotmail.com

***

What sustains rock and roll? It sure as hell isn’t record companies, promoters, or the band of thieves posing as consumer servants called iTunes. Radio does it part, but what it really boils down to is local musicians who get bitten by the bug at an early age, have no desire to take the cure, and keep cranking it out for the townies. In Western Massachusetts, Jim Armenti is among the rock and roll warrior caste. He’s in numerous bands, teaches music at local music stores, hires himself out as rock and roll “coach,” and though you may not know his name, he’s penned songs for those you probably do know: Pam Tillis, Dar Williams, and Cry, Cry, Cry to name a few. Every now and then he does some solo gigs and The Herd is his second solo recording (though it enlists the help of old sidekicks such as Ray Mason.)

Also found on Armenti’s resume is a twenty-three-year teaching music at the local prison, and many of The Herd’s eleven tracks are based on the reflections, stories, and conversations of inmates. Like that material, much of what Armenti plays is raw and, to those accustomed to slick studio production, unpolished. To be sure, there’s a lot of mileage on Armenti’s voice and it can now be best described as “earnest.” But back to the sound and vibe of the album. If you find this recording a bit on the ragged side, it’s probably because you’ve become too accustomed to “American Idol”-like hype. Another thing that has sustained rock and roll through the decades has been its willingness to point a middle digit at ideals of homogeneity and conformity. Listen hard to Armenti’s guitar and you’ll waltz through some styles once (and now) thought scandalous among many: rockabilly, acid rock, reggae, R & B….

Is this a breakthrough recording? Nope; Armenti has no desire to join the washed-and-scrubbed crowd. Is it “art?” Probably not. Is it a piece of local rock and roll that reminds us of rock’s branch and roots? Now you’re talking.

Here's one of Jim's online guitar lessons.

Mad Agnes Swan Song

MAD AGNES

hush

www.madagnes.com

***

The cover photo of the latest release from the trio Mad Agnes (Margo Hennebach, Adrienne Jones, Mark Saunders) features an empty room bathed in pastels and white light, its paint peeling and plaster falling. I regret to inform, that’s a metaphor for the group—as of June 4, Mad Agnes will disband. Those who have come to love their gorgeous harmonies and quiet music will surely greet this as bad news indeed, though you can purchase hush as a balm and enjoy it for years to come.

The group’s third and final CD includes all that was wondrous about Mad Agnes and, perhaps, a few of the reasons why they never quite broke through. The music is (mostly) cerebral and either overtly or latently spiritual, and it often stretches categories to lie somewhere between folk, musical theater, and light classical. This suggests an interesting mash up, but it also means that much of it is melodically ambiguous. What’s lacking are memorable hooks; Mad Agnes’ music makes you muse more than hum. As for the song content, adjectives such as “sweet” and “tranquil” come to mind. That’s not a bad thing by any means, but in my view hush could have benefitted from some contrasting grit. Instead, the trio tries to find balance through retro arrangements and humor. I liked the song “Running in England” quite a bit, though its arrangement was reminiscent of The Association circa 1969. The splashes of humor didn’t work for me, perhaps because their version runs toward wholesomeness and I prefer it with more edge. “Julia,” a collection of silly rhymes inspired by Julia Child, is clever, but felt more like a novelty song that works better on stage with a chuckling audience. And, sorry, but white folks trying to rap—the trio’s cover of “Mother’s Planet”—just doesn’t work for me.

My critique notwithstanding, in a world consumed by anger and screaming heads, Mad Agnes was a needed calm in the storm. There is honesty, decency, and goodness in their music, qualities also found in abundance on hush. I think they used the lower case deliberately and not because they were trying to piggyback on e. e. cummings. Buy their swan song CD and enjoy moments of bliss and Zen. Good luck to all—you will be missed.

Here's a Mad Agnes sampler.

Ana Moura Dazzles with Live Album

ANA MOURA

Coliseu

World Village 468103

****

Those who have heard one of fadista Ana Moura’s three studio albums already know that she has an amazing voice. Just how good is abundantly clear on her latest release, Coliseu, a live album that features Moura, bass player Filipe Larsen, and guitar wizards José Manuel Neto and José Elmiro Nunes. Larsen sets jazzy scaffolding and Neto and Nunes dazzle on Portuguese acoustic guitar—and their faster-paced playing is evocative of Spanish flamenco, but also highlights some of the regional differences (fewer arpeggios, more attention to pauses and, always, framing for song rather than dance).But there is no question who’s the star of the ensemble. The album’s fifteen tracks—culled from two sold-out performance, one in Porto and one in Lisbon—capture Moura’s magic. Hers is the sort of voice that can move on to tears one moment and dancing across the room the next. It also packs the power of an earthquake. She seeks to be faithful to the fado tradition of Portuguese idol Amália Rodrigues in spirit, but does not seek to be crowned as her heir. Fado purists will note that Moura takes liberties with fado, though I’d describe her as an interpreter seeking to bring the music to a new generation. She captures the flair of fado—with all its Jewish and Moorish influences—but filters it through the sensibilities of Euro-jazz and pop-fused classical music. Whatever she’s doing, it’s working. You will hear her audiences burst into applause at her throaty virtuosity and by the time you’re done listening, you’ll join them.

Check out this YouTube clip.