Photo Courtesy © Warner Bros.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Directed by: David Yates

Written by: Michael Goldenberg

Starring: Daniel Radcliffe, Ralph Fiennes, Gary Oldman, Rupert Grint, Emma Watson, Matthew Lewis, Bonnie Wright, Michael Gambon, Evanna Lynch, Emma Thompson, Maggie Smith, David Thewlis, Jason Isaacs, Imelda Staunton, Robbie Coltrane, Helena Bonham Carter, Brendan Gleeson and Alan Rickman.

In its many passages from one set of directorial hands to the other, the cinematic interpretations of J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter have twisted one way and then the other, at alternating points revealing and hardening the hearts of the helming visionaries. Christopher Columbus offered a quiet albeit pat imagination; Alfonso Cuarón a heartbreaking sense of lyricism; Mike Newell an abounding sense of adventure, and now, with Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, set to open July 11^th, director David Yates entreats his audience to the expanse, London landscapes spreading out for miles in frame, the halls of Ministry looming. In an appropriate thematic nod to the novel, the film is seen entirely through wide shots—the real world for the first time troubling in on the insular fantasy of Hogwarts.

As he readies himself for defense against blood enemy Lord Voldemort (while at the same time battling a tyrannical new headmaster from the Ministry of Magic), Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe) falls into and out of utter self-indulgence. Feeling alone in his struggles, he constantly tries to evade his own sadness, unsuccessfully shielding it from everyone around him. His saving grace is the support and dedication of his friends, all who gather to form a Defensive Against the Dark Arts club that Harry teaches. The film, like the book, cumulates in a face-to-face confrontation that proves to everyone in the wizarding world that the Dark Lord has indeed returned. Like all strong yarns, it’s a classical battle of good and evil with its necessary bits of melodrama tagged along the way. 

Despite a slow beginning, a narrative ambivalence that leaves a bland but bitter aftertaste, Order of the Phoenix flourishes into on-target poignant moments, honest and sweet interactions and fist-pumping action, all marked by acting that’s finally hit home. Radcliffe shines in his emotional silence and turbulence; always unselfish, Rupert Grint (Ron Weasley) stands in the background, his constant support the necessary buoy to foil Harry’s self-indulgence; and, the youngest of the trio, Emma Watson (Hermione Granger), while still a bit studied in her performance, pulls off an emotional ease and maturity. Among the newcomers, Imelda Staunton’s portrayal of headmaster Dolores Umbridge builds a layer of eerie subtlety—a sense of fanaticism and quiet triumph enveloped in hesitant smiles, comical coughs and flares of pink. Likewise, Evanna Lynch’s Luna Lovegood mirrors the literary character without flaw, her awkwardness as endearing and eccentric as the lovable outsider from the book.

Notably absent from reflection however in this film is the belabored moodiness of the book. Michael Goldenberg’s screenplay moves fluidly cut to cut, snipping the epic into a coherent, gripping and manageable whole. There’s not a sense here as in the prior films that something is missing, not even, astoundingly, the always-controversial Quidditch matches. The pieces and minor alterations to story fit so well together that the puzzle feels complete, the ending landscape shot even circling back to encompass the expansive feel Yates’ establishes at the beginning of the film.

Simply put, of all the directors to date, Yates’ vision is the most clear, and frankly, most tonally accurate to the books. He’s unafraid to let his actors play, to let go of certain moments and take up others whole-heartedly. Fittingly, Yates, following in the footsteps of Columbus, will helm his sophomore film of the series Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, a film, which by all the looks of it, should be even better than this one.

Noralil@picturesandframesmagazine.com

Photo Courtesy © idealterna

Sicko (2007)

Written and directed By: Michael Moore

So here we are three years after Michael Moore’s powerful film Fahrenheit 9/11 and things are exactly the same. One can say that change just happens if given enough time, but does it really? Or are we the only ones that can influence a change? I can honestly say that Sicko has opened my eyes, not that I wasn’t aware that the heath care system in this country is a disgrace but it’s the extent of the corruption that will leave you speechless. First, here are some facts on our health care system that you should know. “The United States is ranked #37 as a health system by the World Health Organization.” “There are nearly 50 million Americans without health insurance.” “18,000 Americans will die this year simply because they're uninsured.” (Visit www.michaelmoore.com for more information on the state of our health care system.)

Sicko is a collection of interviews and testimonials from individuals across the nation that have been ignored and taken advantage of by the health insurance companies. Among the people interviewed for the film are hardworking Americans that can’t afford or do not qualify for health insurance, 9/11 rescue workers that can’t get any money for medical attention for complications brought on by their heroic efforts at the World Trade Center, and people who currently live in countries with universal health care. You will also see shocking confessions from people inside the health insurance industry as well as refreshing views from doctors in countries with universal health care. The facts cannot be ignored: this is your health in the hands of corrupt corporations. Both the pharmaceutical and health care industries have a monopoly on how you, your kids and your parents will deal with sickness.

I myself have dealt with the shocking blows of getting sick in this country, to the tune of ($10,000) Incidentally, that’s how much it will cost you to pass a kidney stone in America. Let me break that down for you: One CAT scan, 2 shots of morphine and 3 hours of waiting in a hospital hallway. All I needed was some pain killers but as you can guess I didn’t have too many options since I wasn’t insured. Back in Colombia (where I’m from) you can just go to any pharmacy, get a shot and end of story, total cost U.S. $.50 fucking cents. This film highlights the price we are paying for not having universal health care. In my opinion, Sicko is the most important film that Michael Moore has made to date.

Juanmarcos@picturesandframesmagazine.com

Photo Courtesy © Lions Gate Films

Away from Her

Written and directed by: Sarah Polley

Starring: Julie Christie, Gordon Pinsent, Olympia Dukakis, Michael Murphy.

Sarah Polley’s directorial debut Away from Her opens in the bleak expanse of rural Ontario, a region perpetually covered in snow. The empty backdrop is wholly appropriate to the film, a story about love and abandonment, and the cruelty of memory as it ages over time.

The story centers on Fiona, a vivacious woman who is slowly losing her mind to Alzheimer’s. As her condition worsens, her husband Grant faces a terrible choice – to put her in a nursing home and lose her to the disease, or to risk losing her to traffic, to backcountry trails, or to the vast expanse of wilderness at home. He opts for the former, but the plan quickly backfires – after a mandatory month-long absence, he returns to find that Fiona has begun to lose her mind, and in the process has fallen for Aubrey, a fellow patient.

In reconstructing Fiona’s transition to the nursing home, Sarah Polley has captured something very real about the efficacy of the elderly care system – not only the vaguely fascist rule system, but also the chipper, maniacal tone of people who deal constantly with death. As attendants wheel patients from room to room evaluating progress or deterioration, Grant finds himself face to face with families like himself—mothers, brothers, and nieces facing the guilt of putting their loved ones in a long-term holding pen. He befriends a young attendant, who gently informs him, as Fiona’s condition worsens, that they might have to move her to the “second floor” – that is, the place where people go to die.

Gordon Pinsent is excellent as Grant, capturing both the truculence of the aging academic and the quiet desperation of a husband whose situation is quickly spiraling out of control. Frustrated with his wife’s failure to recognize him, Grant brings flowers, adds books to Fiona’s library, and tries desperately to reconstruct the life that they used to have. As the relationship begins to tumble into disarray, he adopts the rituals of the spurned lover – sulking in the corner, while his wife of fifty years plays Bingo with another man. It’s touching, and cruel, and occasionally humorous, but as Grant humiliates himself over and over again to win Fiona back, his effort becomes almost heroic in its dogged persistence.

In speaking about the film, Julie Christie has noted her own experience with Alzheimer’s patients, and the tragic experience of watching friends and relatives vanish over time. Anyone who has seen a loved one “vanish” – who has had parents or grandparents forget their names or speak with people who simply aren’t there – can sympathize with this jarring loss of connection. Watching the inchoate Aubrey and his wife Marion (deftly played by Olympia Dukakis) gives a grim picture of what might be in store for Fiona and Grant, as cherished memories give way to the cold realities of long-term patient care.

Polley doesn’t sentimentalize this – she treats it as fact. But she also insists that there is room for growth. There is something joyful, almost adolescent in Fiona’s relationship with Aubrey – the thrill of sharing a book, or trading a sweater, which reminds us that Fiona is still vibrant in the face of her deterioration. Likewise, it is tremendous to see Grant’s relationship with his wife deepen, even as its material vestiges begin to fade away. Books and flowers are the stuff of romantic drama, but Grant embodies something more, the simple importance of just showing up. In sixty years, we should all be so lucky.

Katie Gradowski – Temp Jockey

Photo Courtesy © Universal Pictures

Evan Almighty

Directed by: Tom Shadyac

Written by: Steve Oedekerk

Starring: Steve Carell, Lauren Graham, Morgan Freeman, Wanda Sykes, Molly Shannon, Ed Helms.

The conservative Christian movement left its mark once again this week – first in a series of tortuous 5-4 decisions at the Supreme Court, and then at the weekend box office, where Evan Almighty proved (equally grimly) that God has finally gone mainstream.

The sequel to 2005’s Bruce Almighty, Evan Almighty follows Evan Baxter – now a Congressman – as he struggles to carry out God’s divine mandate, to build an ark and save the world’s wildlife from the impending disaster. It’s an updated version of the Noah story, with Evan / Noah (Steve Carell) as a bumbling politico, God as a mild-mannered guy who can boogie with the best of them, and the sinners of the world as the snobbish, career-minded politicians along the Baltimore / Washington beltway. The flood is no longer an act of divine retribution – instead, it’s a highly localized affair, designed to stop Congress from building luxury housing in a national park.

This is fucked up on a number of levels. Morgan Freeman’s limp aphorism – that “ARK” stands for “acts of random kindness” – skips over a fairly important point in the Noah story: that is, it’s a story where everyone dies. There is no forgiveness. There are no acts of random kindness. There is certainly no hugging of trees. It’s a story about the worst of the worst – total annihilation as a result flouting God’s will. Evan Almighty deftly steps around this uncomfortable denouement. The flood, when it comes, spans approximately one city block. No one is killed or even remotely injured. Passersby could take photos if they wanted, as both the laws of gravity and fluid dynamics appear to be momentarily suspended.

Instead, the flood becomes a fairly mellow affair – the ark cruises down K street, coming to rest at the foot of the Capitol building, where Steve Carell confronts his fellow Congressmen and urges them (rather weakly) to “Repent!” It’s a weird moment—God, it seems, has implanted a divine operative in a Republican congress…to push for environmental legislation…to keep Congress from plowing under the Appalachian forest? The film shoots deliberately low in this regard – who doesn’t love trees? – but it leaves the ending feeling a bit off, as the movie leaves the religious right behind and starts pandering to the environmental movement instead, while missing the major points for all parties involved. What we get instead is a flood where nobody dies; a prophet who is a bumbling idiot, and who only prays to get himself out of trouble; and a watered-down parable about saving the trees, halting urban development, and enjoying the texture of a finely woven lamb-skin cloak.

All in all, this movie is an identity crisis in the making – Hollywood has discovered a hot new demographic, but can’t quite figure out how to translate faith, spirituality, and Christian sacrifice into a marketable summer package. Instead, we get a film that blends the worst parts of Hollywood schmaltz with the lowest forms of secularized Christian values – the “church is fun” attitude that turns faith into a rock concert, that encourages us to “love each other” while remaining mute on the very real sins of poverty, war, and domestic violence. This criminally maudlin tone is exemplified by a sadly underused Lauren Graham, who notes early in the film, “The kids did something really cute today, Evan. They said they wanted to pray.” Never mind that Noah’s Ark isn’t about being cute. This is Hollywood at its finest – conservative, cute, mind-bogglingly vacuous. And as always, perfectly willing to sell out its demographic for a PG-rating.

Katie Gradowski – Temp Jockey

Photo Courtesy © Fox Searchlight Pictures

Once

Written and directed by: John Carney

Starring: Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová.

It is damn near impossible to talk about John Carney’s Once without discussing the music and the songs that are featured within it. The film is easily categorized as a musical as the songs are as integral to the storyline as the characters and dialogue themselves, and yet unlike your standard musical, when the characters in this film burst into song it feels absolutely natural—a logical extension of the thoughts and ideas that they were expressing just a minute ago in prose.

Shot entirely on digital film, with that wonderful grainy and low-budget look to prove it, and coming in at a little over an hour and a half, Once tells the story of a street musician and a lovely house-cleaner/street peddler of magazines and flowers who are drawn to one another through their songs. The story is simple and literally involves just a guy and a girl—their names are never revealed and thus they are even credited as such—who meet and fall in love with each other, but what transforms their story into a remarkable one is the music that they make together.

Glen Hansard, front man for Irish band The Frames, and Markéta Irglová, a singer-songwriter in her own right, play the guy and girl, respectively, and their chemistry on-screen is both completely sincere and beguiling. (The two of them are actually dating in real life and have also formed a band called The Swell Season which is currently touring.)

The songs that they sing through the course of the movie are equal parts heart-breaking, stunning and addictive and you’ll find yourself humming them unconsciously as soon as one ends and the other begins. (Landmark Sunshine, the theater where I saw the film, even goes so far as to sell its soundtrack in the lobby, which I, along with several others, purchased immediately after seeing the film.)

Had Once been released when I was 14 rather than 25, I would have seen it at least six times by now. As I write this article I have seen the film only twice, something that given the cost of movie tickets these days is almost unheard of and is a downright luxury. Yet I can’t help but want to see it again simply to lose myself in its beauty—to remember just how good a film can be (and feel) when it proudly wears its heart on its sleeve.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

Photo Courtesy © Paramount Vantage

A Mighty Heart

Directed by: Michael Winterbottom

Written by: John Orloff

Starring: Angelina Jolie, Dan Futterman, Archie Panjabi, Will Patton and Irfan Khan.

I must be completely honest: I went into A Mighty Heart fully prepared to blithely tear apart Angelina Jolie’s performance, based almost entirely on what I thought I had witnessed in the trailer. Very few people in cinema can do what Meryl Streep does with grace and ease—inhabit a person and an accent so that you no longer see the American actor before you but rather are fully engrossed in the person that they say they are. When I saw the trailer for A Mighty Heart I quickly dismissed the hair, the accent, even the skin color, simply because it wasn’t the Jolie that I was used to seeing, meaning, she isn’t French, and I stupidly judged a performance without watching a single scene from the film. But after seeing the movie there is little doubt in my mind as to why Jolie was cast—even over other French actors—and I cannot imagine another actress in the role of journalist Mariane Pearl. With this performance, Jolie harkens back to a time in her career (namely Gia) when she was brimming with promise—a time when her ability to tap into emotions in a way that no other actress could made you tremble in anticipation for her next role. Suffice to say that the Oscar buzz is indeed well-deserved.

From 2006’s documentary Road to Guantanamo to chronicling the 80s Manchester music scene in 24 Hour Party People to his raw exploration of music and sex in 9 Songs, director Michael Winterbottom is known for tackling his subjects head on. A Mighty Heart is no exception. From the film’s opening scenes, Winterbottom throws you into the middle of a story that has already unfolded and you spend the rest of the film in complete disarray, trying to piece together the puzzle right along with Mariane, the FBI, the Pakistani police and the rest of the characters onscreen. The result is exhausting but effective and to deem the film, its subject matter and even Winterbottom himself as “socially conscious” seems trite and flippant and fails to fully do justice to the rare feat that he pulls off in telling a story of such disturbing proportions without resorting to hackneyed or manipulative techniques.

A Mighty Heart’s cast is pitch-perfect, and the research that the filmmakers put into capturing every detail of Mariane and Daniel’s story onscreen only serves to pull you further into the pain and despair that gradually unfolds. The Namesake’s Irfan Khan shines as the stalwart Pakistani Captain leading the search for Daniel Pearl, and Dan Futterman, whose talents are seemingly endless, not only eerily resembles the real Daniel Pearl physically, but brings emotional weight to a role that is the film’s most challenging by any standard. Where Jolie’s Mariane becomes a fully realized character with different sides and dimensions over the course of the movie, Futterman’s Daniel isn’t given the same opportunity—and yet somehow it is his performance that tethers the entire film.

The first thing that I did when I walked out of the theater after watching the film, oddly enough, was call my Dad. I dialed the number instinctively as I walked through the dimly lit square, hoping against all odds that somehow my father would know the answers to the questions that beat against my brain ceaselessly.

They were naïve questions, as was my childish notion that “Daddy” could fix this, that somehow he would have the solution and know what to do. But these are questions that cannot be answered with words or even with one film: How do you defeat an enemy that cannot be defeated? How do you fight a hatred that is seemingly insurmountable and that is built on a well of deeply-rooted emotions that outrun logic and humanity? The film’s answer (and Mariane Pearl’s): By continuing to live. In spite of the hatred, in spite of the violence, responding always with hope and love rather than fear.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

DVD'S:

The. O.C. – The Complete Series

(“THE ESCAPE” – Season 1)

Summer: Come on. Get off the bed!

Seth: Nope.

Summer: Be, like, a gentleman?

Seth: Chivalry's dead, sugar.

Summer got onto the bed.

Summer: You make a move, I rip out your jugular.

Seth: Hey, pillow talk.

(“THE DISTANCE” – Season 2)

Ryan: How'd you make it all the way from Newport on that little catamaran?

Seth: Hm. Well, Ryan, sit down, my son. (Motions for him to sit down.) It was a long and torturous journey, and I'm not gonna, I'm not gonna sugar coat any details with you—

Ryan: Please don't.

Seth: —'cause we're friends. First, I sailed to Catalina. Then, I sailed to Santa Barbara. Santa Barbara, I ran out of snacks. Freaked out a little bit, pawned my boat for cash, took a Greyhound to Portland.

Ryan: You took a bus.

Seth: Yeah. But don't say it like that, cause it was a local. Okay, have you ever been in one of those? Okay, not for the faint of heart.

Ryan: I can't believe after all that you took a bus.

Seth: Yeah. I think we're definitely going to have to come up with a better story for school though, that'd be good.

Ryan: I don't know, I like the bus idea. It's cool.

Seth: Okay, what about maybe... boat sank, saved by whales? It's very Whale Rider.

Ryan: What else you' got?

Seth: I took a boat, boat sank, saved by a mermaid? Boat sank, stranded on a desert island...

(“THE ROAD WARRIOR” – Season 3)

Seth: Dude, where are you?

Ryan: Indio. How much trouble am I in?

Seth: Ah, none yet. Mom and Dad think you're helping inner city kids paint an overpass mural. I'm rolling around in your bed right now. So it looks slept in.

Ryan: You probably do that anyway.

(“THE SUMMER BUMMER” – Season 4)

Ryan: What are you doing paying your gay friend Roger to pretend he's in love with you?

Taylor: Well, what if I did? Hm? What if I did rent a homosexual for the evening and pay him with rare collectibles from Asian cinema? What difference does it make to you?

Ryan: Well, it's a little strange.

Taylor: Well, so am I. Which is why you ran away from me last night.

Ryan: No, it wasn't 'cause you're strange.

Taylor: What, you don't find me strange?

Ryan: No, I do. But it's not why I took off.

Hi. My name is Lily Percy. I am 25 years old and I love “The O.C.”

Much like every great addiction, with its prerequisite gateway drug and greasy foul-mouthed pusher, my obsession began after listening to an episode of “This American Life.” The pusher in question: Ira Glass. It was earlier this year when TAL was making the touring rounds, bringing their live show to cities all across the country. The aforementioned episode featured the following theme, “What I Learned from Television,” in which Sarah Vowell, Dan Savage, David Rakoff and Sir Glass himself spoke at length about what they learned/love most about T.V.

Sarah Vowell spoke about thanksgiving and the pilgrims as seen through the eyes of “Happy Days;” Dan Savage spoke about the most disturbing Disney show he’d ever seen but most memorably, simply because he broke out into the show’s theme song, Ira Glass talked about a program that was very dear to his heart, “The O.C.” whose recent cancellation/series finale had really left him thinking about many interesting things, among them how much love he felt for his wife when they watched the show together. If you are familiar with Glass then you know that one of the reasons why he (and TAL) have gained so much success and rabid acclaim is that, unlike many public radio hosts, he is not afraid to let his emotions hang i.e. to occasionally sound like a passionate and obsessed teenage boy. So when I heard him gushing about Seth and Summer and this Fox T.V. show that I had always dismissed as vapid, I, being the loyal, easily-persuadable addict that I am, immediately put the first season at the very top of my Netflix queue. And man, I’ll be damned if I didn’t sing along to the theme song every single episode

The thing is—it is a soap opera. I have no qualms about admitting this. But isn’t nearly every show, no matter how well-written or witty, essentially this as well? What makes “The O.C.” rise about the tawdry genre conventions however is the show’s core heart and storyline: The Cohen family. The premise is this: D.A. Sandy Cohen, played brilliantly by Peter Gallagher in quite frankly, the best role that I’ve seen him in years, is assigned to the case of a young teenage boy named Ryan Atwood (Ben McKenzie). Originally from the Bronx and something of a misfit himself, Sandy sees something in Ryan that softens his heart and makes him reach out to him in the most unlikely of ways—by having him come live with him and his family, and ultimately, adopting Ryan.

On paper this sounds oddly like an all-white version of “Different Strokes” but I assure you that it’s not and their intentions come off as nothing but sincere, noble and, unlikely as it may seem, completely logical considering the circumstances. You never question why the Cohens would do this, nor why their relationship with Ryan is cemented so quickly, and that is due entirely to the strength of the characters as envisioned by creator and writer Josh Schwartz.

That’s not to say that every character works—case in point, Marissa Cooper as played by Mischa Barton. My favorite season of “the O.C.” was the last one and this was due largely in part to the fact that they killed off Marissa in the third season. It isn’t that Barton is that terrible an actress—she’s not that bad—but rather that the character of Marissa embodied all of the stupid drama and angst that made the show lean dangerously close to being branded a full-on soap. Whenever her character was featured onscreen I found myself sighing, longing for the moment when the show’s real stars, Adam Brody’s Seth and Rachel Bilson’s Summer, would come back to save the day with their His Girl Friday-esque relationship.

But the main reason why I love the last season of “the O.C.” above all others is the Ryan and Taylor dynamic. After Marissa’s death, Ryan goes through a series of “personal growths” which ultimately lead him to fall in love again, this time with his complete polar opposite—the eccentric, sassy intellectual dork Taylor Townsend (played by the adorable Autumn Reeser). This is your typical case of opposites attracting but these two are such polar extremes and such complete emotional wrecks, that their budding relationship is absolutely intoxicating to watch. It is as if, say, James Dean and Tina Fey had dated each other—crazy on paper and in theory, but entertaining as hell. Ultimately, that is what makes “the O.C.” worth watching—I can’t remember the last time a show aimed at teenagers defied so many stereotypes (not to mention introduced as many bands to the mainstream public—Death Cab for Cutie, The Killers, Bright Eyes, just to name a few) when it came to its characters, with the notable exception of “Veronica Mars.” There are no standard one-dimensional jocks, nerds or sluts to be found anywhere on the show but rather complicated and complex characters that are as likable, funny and smart as you would hope your friends and family to be were your life a Fox T.V. show based out of Orange County.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

Photo Courtesy © Columbia Pictures

Ghost Rider

Night Interior: The Brooklyn Gang has joined together this evening to pay homage to the man that started it all…Nicolas Cage. Oh, Nic, your hairpiece precedes you. Tonight we’re going to enjoy Nic’s unintentionally comic stylings in, Ghost Rider. Will it be worse than Daredevil? Could anything be worse than Daredevil?

Jeanne: God this is gonna suck.

Richard: This is gonna be suckalicious! We should call this review, “Ghost Rider gave me pink eye.”

Jeanne: That’d be pretty funny although I don’t think that you can get pink eye from a movie.

The Columbia Pictures logo plays and Richard claims that the woman holding the torch is Annette Bening. Sadly, Chris asks, “Really?” He forgets that Richard is a bad, bad man.

Jeanne: He’s lying.

Richard: It’s totally Annette Bening.

Chris: It doesn’t look much like her.

Richard: You don’t look much like her.

Chris: No, I never claimed that I did.

Richard: You should be feeling bad about that, I mean, she’s a beautiful woman.

Jeanne: (Oblivious to everything) Look, it’s based on a comic!

Richard: As are a lot of movies that suck ass.

Chris: This is gonna be so awesome. (Much like Déjà vu, Chris is again the only one here who actually believes that this movie isn’t going to make us want to gouge our eyes out and run into the wilderness to die of exposure. Considering that Richard and Lily only lasted for about 10 minutes of Déjà vu I’ve got my doubts about his plucky optimism.)

The movie begins with Sam Elliott’s gruff voice narrating an opening scene set in the old west.

Richard: (Getting his gruff voiced sidekicks confused) Is this Blade?

Chris: That’s not Kris Kristofferson.

Sam Elliott, like the older, salt and peppered teacher that you harbor a giant, sixteen-year olds crush on….hmmm, AP History…oh, um. Maybe that was just me. Sorry. Anyway, he explains that every generation there’s a “Ghost Rider,” someone who has sold their soul to the devil and is cursed to go around collecting on the devils debts until he’s dead. Sometime in the Old West the Ghost Rider at that time was sent to collect on this whole evil town. The contract was for a thousand souls but the contract would have provided so much power to the devil that the Ghost Rider couldn’t give it over so he out ran the devil.

Richard: Granted, the devil doesn’t really look like he’s trying, considering that he’s standing still.

The opening credits roll. It’s some lame CGI concoction with lots of fake flames. Chris is especially unimpressed.

Richard: (Having put a lot of thought into the concept of the Ghost Rider) So it’s like the slayer: there’s always one. (Dude, does everything we watch have to come back to Buffy?! God, we’re losers.) Until she dies and they make Kendra the slayer but then she comes back to life and there are two…and Faith is somehow in there, too.

Jeanne: Dude, if we keep referencing “Buffy” in all of our reviews people are going to think that we’re dorks. (Right. It’s the “Buffy.” I’m sure that the fact that we all spend our Saturday nights on a broken futon watching movies like Just My Luck isn’t dorky at all.)

Now, to present day-ish. It’s like the 70s. Well, it’s more present day than the old west. Don’t hassle me, all right, you’d be all fucked up if you had to watch Ghost Rider, too! So we’re at a carnival and there’s a father and son doing daredevil motorcycle stunts like jumping through flaming hoops and stuff. Eh, it’s no Flying Wallendas.

Chris: (Referring to the son) Is that supposed to be Nicolas Cage?!

Jeanne: I hope not ‘cause that looks nothing like him.

A young girl watches from the stands. We take this to be a young Eva Mendes. By the time we get to the end of this movie we’ll wish that the teenage actress had just done the entire movie ‘cause, dude, Eva Mendes can’t fucking act. You’d think that next to all of the other terrible performances in this film that it would be easy to at least not suck worse but, no, she does. Well, worse than everyone except Wes Bentley. Wow, I never realized what a fluke American Beauty was. You’d think I would have realized that after watching Soul Survivors but I guess not. Note: Do not Watch Soul Survivors…EVER.

The young Nic Cage does some dumb ass stunt at the end of their show to show off for Eva Mendes and gets berated by his dad for being reckless. He then tells him that Eva Mendes is too good for him and that she won’t stay with him if he ends up a cripple for showing off. Dude, they’re both carnies. I don’t think the standards are that high when your dating base is a bearded woman and lobster boys.

Jeanne: (Already disgusted by the first five lines of dialogue) Who wrote this!?

Richard: This movie sucks ass.

Jeanne: Is that Wes Bentley?

Chris: No, he plays Black…Black…Blackthorn. No, Blackheart. He’s a bad guy.

Jeanne: Is that like a bad Care Bear?

The father retires to their carnie trailer and starts coughing uncontrollably. Richard decides to call it and say that the dad is going to die of cancer.

Chris: (To the coughing dad) Yeah, reach for your smokes. That’ll help your cough.

Richard: The Brooklyn Gang says NO to smoking!

Jeanne: Smoking’s bad folks.

Richard: You deserve your lung cancer! (pauses to contemplate his statement) Was that harsh? Was that like stepping over a boundary or something?

Jeanne: No, cancer’s always funny.

Young Nic Cage and his dad are putting up their bikes and talking. The young Nic Cage asks to take out “Grace” for a ride. Before you start thinking dirty thoughts, “Grace” is a motorcycle.

Richard: Grace is a really gay name for a bike, by the way.

Jeanne: Your mom’s a gay name for a bike.

Chris: Your mom. (laughs) You want to take a ride on your mom! Hey, let’s take a ride around the block on your mom!

Young Nic Cage meets up with young Eva Mendes at a photogenic tree on a hill in the middle of nowhere. They carve their initials, “J&R,” into the tree.

Richard: (Manically) Already I want to throw up. Look at what she’s wearing. What is up with this? This movie’s awful.

Chris: This is supposed to be a flashback.

Richard: It’s still bad, Chris.

Chris: Is she a carnie? Maybe she’s a hermaphrodite.

Richard: (Referring to young Nic Cage) This guy’s kind of a bad actor like Nic Cage so now this makes sense. (To Chris) Oh wait, you like Nic Cage.

Jeanne: Is Nic Cage gonna have a southern accent in this?

Chris: I don’t think that Nic Cage is like a world-class actor.

Richard: But you’d do him.

Chris: I never said that, either.

Jeanne: Only while he’s wearing that hairpiece he wears in this movie.

The father opens a letter as he sits in his trailer smoking a cigarette.

Richard: Oh no! That cough and the smoking equals a letter that says your cancer has spread. Dude, it’s just like fucking Beaches. Bette Midler could totally play Ghost Rider.

Jeanne: Does that mean that Eva Mendes is Bette Midler and this guy’s that other chick?

Richard: No, his father’s the other chick. I don’t really know what it means. I don’t really remember Beaches. All I know is that I had to see it because…

Chris: …to get back your gay license?

Richard: When I was in junior high school we tried to sneak into Pet Cemetery by buying tickets for Beaches and we got caught and we had to see Beaches. I guess that was our punishment.

Jeanne: (Laughing) That’s awesome.

Chris: Maybe that incident is what made you gay.

Richard: Really, you think? No, I think the fact that I wanted to be one of Charlie’s Angels when I was ten years old is probably what made me gay.

Jeanne: (As some spooky old white guy…I mean, Peter Fonda…walks down the empty streets of the carnival at night) Ooh…the devil’s come to town. (All of the streetlamp’s bulbs burst as he passes) And he hates light bulbs.

Richard: So if Jane Fonda is the devil’s sister…

Chris: As many Vietnam veterans would have you believe.

The devil walks up to Johnny Blaze in the garage with his motorcycles. He says, “Far out” which sounds super lame coming from the devil. But, as Jeanne points out, it is the seventies, we think, so I guess he’s just eternally like everyone’s clueless parents trying to sound hip with each new generation.

The devil: “Johnny Blaze, I wanted to tell you know how much I enjoyed watching you ride...”

Jeanne: Your mom!

Richard snorts a little.

Richard: (About the young Nic Cage) He should have been in The Covenant.

Jeanne: He looks like he could have been. Maybe he was!

Richard: He has that scent of gay witch about him.

Jeanne: He could have been in The Covenant and we wouldn’t recognize him.

The devil tells Johnny Blaze, in a very husky, old man phone sex operator voice, that his father is very sick. He explains how long cancer takes to kill a person and how painful it can be…but he can help him…

Richard: Don’t sell your soul to the devil to save your dad.

Chris: He’s pretty old anyways. He’s already half way out the door.

Richard: (Unimpressed by Peter Fonda’s old man looks) Shouldn’t the devil be like stronger and more virile?

The devil convinces young Nic Cage to sell his soul in exchange for his father’s health. The devil promises that by the morning, young Nic Cage’s father will be healthy as a horse. Did they not know in the 70s that the devil’s a tricky bastard. I think it would rock if he woke up and his dad had turned into an actual horse. Or maybe a talking horse like Mr. Ed. Either way it’s comedy gold!

Chris: I’ve never understood that. Are horses especially healthy creatures?

Jeanne: I didn’t think so ‘cause they’re always having to shoot them.

Chris: Exactly.

Richard: And make them into glue. In some places they eat them.

Chris: Like France.

Jeanne: They eat anything in France.

Chris: Always read what you sign…even if it’s in Aramaic.

It’s the next day and young Nic Cage wakes up to find his dad in the kitchen cooking and seeming extra perky.

Richard: I feel twenty years younger and cancer-free!

Chris: I’m as healthy as a horse today!

Richard neighs loudly. Chris cracks up.

Then, because of the two hundred monkeys that they must have locked in a room to write this crap, the father actually does start off by saying that he feels healthy as a horse today.

Chris: Oh my god.

Richard: You wrote this movie, didn’t you Chris...I fucking hate you.

Jeanne: This is worse than when I wrote Just My Luck.

Richard: What’s sad is that it’s barely even begun. We’re still on the fucking prologue. Prologue. Prologue. Prologue. That sounds funny.

Young Nic Cage and his father walk out to the garage and start talking about today’s carnie jump. His father tells him that his great dream was always to jump over a line of helicopters. Um… sure.

Richard: And then his dad dies in a motorcycle accident anyway.

Jeanne: He probably will. The devil is tricky.

Young Nic Cage tells his father that he doesn’t want to do the jump today or ever. He wants to run away with Young Eva Mendes before her dad sends her away and…um…I don’t know. Prostitute themselves to ranch hands or something ‘cause those two have no practical skills. Young Nic Cage goes so far as to tell his dad that he’d rather risk being a crack whore with Young Eva Mendes rather than waste his whole life jumping bikes in a carnival. Oh, snap!

Jeanne: You just insulted his whole life! Hey, why’d you keep him alive just to fight with him?

Chris: (Who obviously has a fucked up sense of humor) It’d be even funnier if his dad kills himself now out of loneliness. It would be even more twisted and ironic.

Jeanne: I prefer to think it’ll be like Final Destination and he’s gonna die in some really bizarre way like a penny will fall from somebody’s pocket and that’s gonna roll and tap something that’s gonna fall over and put a nick in the butane tank and that’s gonna cause a big explosion.

Young Nic Cage starts to head out of town on his motorcycle as his father heads into the tent to do his flaming bike jump alone. The feeling is ominous. Dude’s totally gonna die.

Richard: He’s gonna be like, “Oh, I forgot to drive through the fire and instead I ended up braking.”

Moments later exactly what Richard said actually happens. No, you say? Believe me, man. The guy who’s been jumping through this fucking flaming hoop for like forty years actually somehow manages to break and skid as he’s heading toward the hoop and lands directly over the flame. Okay, if you’re that bad at this maybe you deserve to die ‘cause you suck ass.

Jeanne: You wrote this movie! Dude, your dad would have lived a hell of a lot longer if you’d just left him with cancer.

Richard: If this was a Simpsons’ episode do you know what you’d hear right now?

Jeanne: Doh?

Richard: (In the voice of Nelson) Haaa Ha!

Next scene is a funeral that totally doesn’t live up to my carnie standards. No snake men or bearded ladies? No giantess or mermaids? What the fuck lame ass carnival is this?! Richard and Chris, the heartless bastards that they are, begin to mock Young Nic Cage’s mediocre crying skills. The boy’s like 15…cut him some slack. This movie didn’t have the kind of budget for a Fanning-level child actor.

Richard: Good crying, good crying. You brave little soldier.

Chris: It’s very Brad Pitt in Seven.

The movie moves to present day over a fade out with the devil’s maniacal laughter. We now see Old Nic Cage…I’ll just call him Nic from now on so as to not piss off his ass when he inevitably reads our review. Oh, you didn’t know that my friend Nic is an avid Pictures and Frames Magazine reader? Well, he is. Nic is now a professional daredevil. We come in as his bike races up the platform ready to jump an arena lined with trucks. He seems to be making it when his tire hits wrong on the landing and his ass goes flying off the bike and face first into the ground. If only this were the end of the movie. Instead, he careens to the end of the landing platform, the face plate of his helmet smashed and broken, and is rushed by paramedics but, dun dun dun, he’s completely unharmed! Fuck! Why don’t these movies end after ten minutes like we always pray they will?

Jeanne: He doesn’t even have like a gravel scratch?!

Chris: I think the devil…um…(this is where Chris begins to realize that this movie that he was so excited about will actually fucking suck) healed him.

Jeanne: This is so fucking cheesy.

Richard: This is the cheesiest thing I’ve seen.

Chris: (Suddenly remembering who the director of the film is. Something that Richard asked him before the movie started. He’s a little slow. It’s a good thing he’s so hot to make up for it.) Oh, Mark Steven Johnson. The guy from Daredevil.

Richard: (Mutters obscenities) Oh, Jesus Fucking Christ, CHRIS!

Jeanne: Richard, if you had known that before…

Richard: If I had know that I would have been like ‘NO, let’s review…um…Junebug or something.’

Jeanne: Junebug? The movie about abortion?

Richard snorts.

Jeanne: ‘Cause he thinks abortion’s fucking hysterical.

Richard starts laughing.

Chris: He just laughed! Laughter means it’s true.

Richard: True! That was my favorite episode ever of Sex and the City. That’s actually a lie. I don’t actually remember that episode.

Jeanne: I like vaguely remember it.

Richard: (Thinking back to the director or the film) Never trust a guy with three stupid names. Daredevil sucked my ass dry! This is retarded.

Jeanne: How come the entire audience is like half naked women? Is that really the audience for this?

Chris: This is Texas.

Jeanne: I know that this isn’t real ‘cause there was a black guy in the audience and, come on now…in Texas?

Richard: I hope he at least uses the same accent that he used in Captain Corelli’s Mandolin ‘cause that would be entertaining.

Chris: No, you know what’s a good accent, the one that he used in Con Air. Did you ever see Con Air?

Richard: I just blocked it out the way I do most of Nicolas Cage’s movies.

Donal Logue enters the scene playing the Steve Zahn of this movie. He’s Nic’s friend and comedy sidekick and, fuck, could this movie use some comedy…I mean, aside from the inherent funniness of Nic Cage’s hairpiece.

Jeanne: Donal Logue…what the fuck’s wrong with you? You do this…you do Blade Trinity.

Chris and Richard: He was only in the first Blade.

Jeanne: I thought he did Blade Trinity.

Chris: No, he was only in Blade.

Jeanne: Are you sure?

Chris: I know he was in the first one. I know he wasn’t in the second one.

Jeanne: I swear he was in the third one. (I’d like to take a moment to point out that Jeanne’s memory is sort of like the memory of a goldfish with Alzheimer’s and a concussion.) I remember him being in it with Parker Posey ‘cause I remember going, “I can’t believe Parker Posey’s in this…I can’t believe that guy’s in this either.”

Chris: Maybe it was a different “That Guy.”

Jeanne: Somebody needs to IMDB that shit. Richard? (For anyone who cares, Jeanne’s totally wrong, as if there was any doubt. Donal Logue was only in the first Blade. Jeanne’s memory = 0, real life = 6,000,003.)

Richard: (to Jeanne) You’re pretty.

Jeanne: Richard’s freaking me out.

After the daring, near-death motorcycle jump, Nic Cage relaxes on his bus with Donal Logue while drinking a martini glass filled with jellybeans. What? you say. Impossible? you say. I wish but it’s true. The badass, soul collecting, flaming skulled, Ghost Rider DRINKS JELLY BEANS FROM A MARTINI GLASS. We don’t even have to put in any effort to make fun of this movie ‘cause obviously it’s making fun of itself. As if the jellybeans weren’t enough, he’s also watching a howler monkey special on TV very intently.

Richard: I sort of wish that we were watching a howler monkey special. (But perhaps, metaphorically, we already are.)

The scene shifts to Wes Bentley. He’s playing the son of the devil or something like that. Eh, he wears a lot of black and too much mime makeup and when he opens his mouth it looks like Jaws.

Jeanne: Wow.

Richard: He looks so different from American Beauty.

Jeanne: He looks like ass now! Is that what happens when you get pink eye?

Richard: I used to think he was really attractive.

Jeanne: Jesus. I wouldn’t want to make out with that.

Richard: No.

Chris: Especially ‘cause you’re engaged.

Jeanne: That and also ‘cause he had like a piranha mouth.

Chris: No, see your first…

Jeanne: Okay, first ‘cause I’m engaged. Second, because I think that he would eat my face.

Chris: Priorities, though.

Wes Bentley speaks his first line, “Angels…reeaaallly?”

Jeanne: Oh, no.

Richard: Oh, Jesus Christ…

Jeanne: Did you ever see Soul Survivors?

Richard: No.

Jeanne: He was in it and he looked a lot like that.

Richard: He looks like Casey Affleck.

Chris: He looks a little bit like Tobey Maguire. He’s got that dumbfounded gaze.

Richard: Are you saying he looks gay?

Chris: I said, “gaze.”

Richard: Are you saying he looks like several gays?

Chris: Yes.

Richard: Well, you did say Tobey Maguire. (Richard then begins to laugh like a crazy person…well, like the crazy person that he is.) Vagina! [Richard’s note: Sarah Silverman made me do it.]

Jeanne: You’re weird.

We’re back at Nic Cage’s apartment where he’s gotten himself another martini glass of jellybeans. I guess just in case we’d convinced ourselves that we’d hallucinated it the first time since no one could be stupid enough to make their characters suck jelly beans up out of a martini glass.

Richard: He’s listening to the Carpenters.

Chris: He’s very sensitive.

Jeanne: And he’s gay.

After turning on the Carpenters, Nic Cage then goes on to turn on his TV.

Richard: (Giving voice to what we all were thinking) Why would he turn on the Carpenters and then turn on the television?

The answer: monkeys. He’s turned the TV to more monkey nature footage. Dude, this movie’s fucking retarded. Daredevil may have been lame but at least he wasn’t a buffoon.

Richard: He loves monkeys.

Jeanne: And he likes to watch it to the Carpenters.

Richard: And why is he drinking jellybeans out of a glass?

Jeanne: Is this in the comic? Is he this retarded in the comic?!

Chris: No.

Richard: I wish that this was the movie that Chris was like, “Shut up, guys. I want to watch.” So that I could be like, ‘Okay, I’m going.’

Chris: No.

Jeanne: You can never leave.

Richard: How long is the extended version of this?

Jeanne: Six hours. It’s like Lord of the Rings.

Richard: You licked me and I’m never going to forget it. I’m traumatized now.

Jeanne: Ha Ha! You deserved it and I hope you like it when you develop a rash.

Chris: (Just catching on) Why is he eating jellybeans out of a martini glass?

Jeanne: ‘Cause he’s fucking retarded!

Chris: Who thought that up?

Jeanne: Maybe the hairpiece is hurting his brain. He looks a little bit like Ben Stiller.

Richard: No he doesn’t!

Jeanne: In like a monkey kind of way.

Richard: Chris, do you remember when you first saw the trailer and you heard that this movie was happening—you were really excited.

Chris: No, I was sure it was gonna be bad but then I saw the trailer and I was like, this is gonna be awesomely bad.

Jeanne: No, it’s just gonna be awful and a really painful two hours of watching him suck jelly beans out of a martini glass.

Back to Wes Bentley. He’s in a bar in the middle of nowhere. He’s started some crazy killing spree and used some weird psychic evil power to suck the lives out of the bar patrons but there’s a waitress hiding behind the counter and trying not to make a sound. Unfortunately, Wes finds her and says, “I knew you were here. I can smell your fear.”

Richard: That’s not her fear that you’re smelling. (I can only assume that this is a vagina reference, which is funny ‘cause Richard has the least experience with vagina of anyone in the house.)

Jeanne: He’s so retarded looking. No wonder his career has fucking tanked!

Wes then summons some demons that hide in the elements. It’s stupid. There’s a guy in the wind, a guy who looks like he’s covered in mucus that I think is supposed to be water and some guy that’s dirty like the kid in Peanuts who’s earth.

Chris: They’re like the four elements.

Richard: Where’s fire?

Chris: Maybe Ghost Rider’s fire?

Richard: These effects are awful.

It turns out that Wes Bentley has called these demons to help him find that contract with a thousand souls that they talked about at the start of the movie. He wants to use that to gain enough power to overthrow his dad, the devil.

Chris: (Mocking Wes Bentley) You never let me have any fun, Daaaaad.

Jeanne: (Completing the devil’s sentence, “I may not have power…”) But at least I have a fucking tan.

Richard: I hate this movie SO much.

Chris: We’ve seen much worse movies though.

Richard: I don't think that can be.

Chris: Just My Luck was worse.

Richard: I think this movie was like #1 for like weeks when it came out. Um... I have to go help Lily write reviews.

Chris: You're going to sit this one out like a man.

New scene and we're back to Nic Cage jumping shit on his bike. This is like the most boring movie ever. I do wish that we were watching howler monkeys instead.

Richard: (After the camera pans the audience) That guy was at the other one.

Chris: He has very devoted fans.

Richard: Inbred devoted fans.

We go backstage to where Nic Cage is waiting before jumping shit on his bike and he's listening to the Carpenters...AGAIN.

Jeanne: He really loves the Carpenters.

Richard: Karen Carpenter is like spinning in her grave.

Chris: (Laughing) You know why? Because she has a lot of room. (Dude is totally going to hell.)

Jeanne: You guys are going to hell and this is what they play there...this is the only thing that they play there!

Richard: (Quietly) I like the Carpenters.

Jeanne: No, not the Carpenters. This movie.

Richard: Oh!

Jeanne: (Referring to Nic Cage as Johnny Blaze...or maybe just Nic Cage in general, it's hard to tell) I don't know why they made him, like, retarded. I understand making him eccentric but...

Richard: Oh my god, if I were to run into Nicolas Cage on the street I would spit on him!

As Johnny Blaze, aka Nic Cage, walks out he's bombarded by press but then, suddenly, the crowd parts, heavenly music begins to play, and Eva Mendes walks forward...no, really...that's exactly what happens. Cheesy? Fucking right!

Jeanne: And all of a sudden everything stops...the photographers stop...

Richard: (In a high pitched, husky voice that he imagines sounds like Eva Mendes) I'm that girl you left so many years ago...look at how hot I am now!

Chris: He's like, "You've developed a mole since I knew you last. You should probably get that checked out."

Richard: I think they actually had a fake mole on the chick from before.

Chris: I didn't notice it.

Richard: I totally noticed it.

Chris: (Whispers) Your mom has a fake mole.

Richard: What?

Chris: Huh?

Richard: Huh?

Chris: What?

Richard: Huh?

Chris: Huh?

Turns out that Eva Mendes is now a reporter and his long harbored crush is getting her an exclusive backstage interview with him, during which he does everything short of drool on himself and start throwing feces.

Richard: It's like Forrest Gump as super hero.

Jeanne: Forrest Gump was sort of a super hero. He could run really fast and he was wise...

Richard: Is Eva Mendes like a bad actress or is she just in a bad movie? His pants are way too...far too tight.

Jeanne: So's her dress.

Richard: Yeah, I know. It looks like it's actually claustrophobic.

Jeanne: It looks...'cause the thing is she has a good figure but somehow it's just too much and it's making her look weird.

Richard: I wonder if Donal Logue ever had to say a line and like inside feel like he's dying a little every time 'cause I feel like I'm dying a little for him. We should write a movie for Donal Logue.

As Nic Cage emerges into the arena we see that he's not jumping buses like he'd told everyone but is, in fact, jumping helicopters. We're treated to a ghostly flashback to Nic's conversation with his dad when his dad said his dream had always been to jump helicopters. Seriously, that scene was like ten fucking minutes ago. We get it, jackass. You don't need to flashback it.

Jeanne: Richard, are you dying a little inside still?

Donal Logue apparently wasn't in on the copters either so he's freaking the fuck out thinking that Nic Cage is crazy. We all agree. He starts spouting advice to him about throttle and brake and stuff but I don't think Nic Cage is listening and neither are we.

Richard: (Trying to call it) I bet that he jumps over them all and then keeps on driving out of the arena and then catches up with Eva Mendes in her van.

Jeanne: I think you're right actually which is so fucking sad.

As Nic Cage jumps the arena of helicopters we see flashbacks of young Nic and young Eva in black and white in the rain...it's so...so...cheesy. And then after the jump Nic Cage totally does everything that Richard said. If I find out that Richard wrote this movie I'll smother him in his sleep. He gets to the news van where she tries to ignore Nic Cage but he's persistent and finally manages to get the cameraman that's driving to stop the car. They proceed to have some lame fight about him running out on her when they were young.

Jeanne: I think she's a bad actress.

Richard: Oh my god! I think she is.

They fight and fight until Eva Mendes finally shuts the fuck up and agrees to dinner. This next scene is almost too fucking bizarre to explain. So Eva Mendes gets to the restaurant, sits down and orders a glass of wine while she waits for Nic Cage. Picture it, she's all dressed up in some glittery, too tight, fancy frock seated at some five star restaurant and she reaches into her purse for...for what? Her compact? Lipstick? A cell phone, maybe.... No, all of that is something that a sane person carries. She pulls out a fucking magic 8 ball. Not some tiny new compact version but a big, plastic magic 8 ball and she shakes it and she looks at the bottom. You know, I wonder if perhaps the tape was just left rolling after the end of a scene and this is actually something that Eva Mendes herself and not her character carries around. She seems a bit daft. I could see it. But anyway, I would just like to reiterate that she pulls out a Magic 8 Ball! At dinner to, I guess, divine from the heavens whether or not the evening will be successful. I so hope it said “try again later” or something. Coupled with the jelly beans in the martini glass and the howler monkey special I'm tempted to think that director Mark Steven Johnson is actually a pigeon with a little hat that someone found on set.

Jeanne: (Outraged) She has a magic 8 ball at dinner!?

Chris: She just carries it around with her.

Richard: Does she have an iPhone? I want an iPhone.

Chris: I don't think that those were even announced when this was filmed.

Richard: I hope that our biggest fans and most wealthy fans online will send the Brooklyn Gang iPhones.

Chris: Yes, I'm in agreement.

Richard: For all that we have done for people.

Jeanne: Richard, that was nice and all, but seriously she brought an 8 ball to dinner!

Chris: Maybe she carries it around all the time.

Jeanne: (Releasing her years of repressed anger at the magic 8 ball that used to tease her in school) She seriously looks for advice in a fucking 8 ball?! She's like, "He's late for dinner...let me check my 8 ball. Oh...Oh, it says maybe he'll come later."

Richard: I know. It's a stupid movie, isn't it?

Jeanne: Your mom's a stupid movie.

Richard: My mom's the best movie ever!

To the bat cave...I mean, Nic Cage's apartment. He's just sort of being slow and stupid and mumbling to himself in front of the mirror.

Richard: He's running late…why exactly?

Chris: Because he's crazy.

Jeanne: Because he keeps talking to himself in the mirror.

Back to the restaurant where Eva Mendes waits and drinks and drinks and waits and probably hugs her 8 ball and cries to herself a little.

Richard: She already looks busted.

Jeanne: She already looks drunk.

Richard: (Referring to the hot waiter) Date that guy! He's hotter than Nic Cage.

Jeanne: Yeah, she's a bad actress.

Chris: (Referring to Nic Cage with the lamest joke ever on a Brooklyn Gang review) But he's an old flame! (He begins to laugh maniacally.)

Richard: Jeanne, can I go sit next to you.

Jeanne: Okay.

Richard: Chris is scaring me.

Jeanne: (Still hating on Eva Mendes. Why can't girls just get along?) Why is she drinking wine like that? She made him pour her a huge glass of wine and then she drank it like a sippy cup.

Richard: Because everyone who made this movie is retarded.

Jeanne: Everyone down to like the last grip?

Richard: It's lit well.

Jeanne: (Laughing) Thank you to the lighting people on Ghost Rider. You made it suck that much less. Not much though.

As Nic Cage becomes later and later for his hot date he suddenly finds himself face to face with the devil! He's back. And he's here to collect. Nic Cage, being retarded and all, sees the devil, raises his arm, pauses for about 60 fucking seconds which feels like for fucking ever and then says, "You." Wow. Epic.

Richard: This is so fucking awful. I think I would have rather watched Just My Luck again.

Jeanne: Me too.

Chris: No.

Jeanne: Is he gonna make out with him?

Richard: (Unimpressed by the thought of Nic Cage and Peter Fonda making out.) That is the grossest thing ever and usually I'm all about the man-on-man action.

Richard texts Lily, "Help Me." and then checks the envelope to find out how much time he's already committed to this terrible movie.

Richard: It's two hours and seven minutes long. We still have like an hour and a half or something.

The devil morphs Nic Cage's motorcycle into this sleeker fiery bike with chains and Nic Cage's head goes all flaming skull on him. So I guess, after forty-five minutes of setup, the real movie’s actually begun.

Richard: You're now officially a tool of the devil.

Jeanne: He was always a tool.

Richard texts Lily, "Worst movie EVER."

Chris: This is not the worst movie ever. It's not good. I'm not defending it but it's not the worst movie ever.

Jeanne: To be fair, I think Daredevil was worse.

Chris: I think it was worse.

Jeanne: Although the same guy made it so it's not a good sign.

To add to the predictable cheesy scenes, as Nic Cage speeds away on his flaming motorcycle he passes a cop hiding behind a billboard with a radar gun. He stares with a stunned expression as his gun records like 200 mph. Lame.

Cut to Wes Bentley over at some building that used to be the graveyard with the contract that he's looking for. He interrogates some guy who tells him that a nearby church moved all of the graves. Then Wes Bentley sucks out his soul and kills him. Moments later, which sucks for the dead dude, the Ghost Rider shows to kick some ass. Wes Bentley runs but tells the dirt demon to stay behind and fight the Ghost Rider.

Richard: (Pointing out an upside to the CGI flaming skull head) At least we don't have to worry about seeing Nic Cage's stupid haircut anymore.

Jeanne: This was directed by the worst director ever. It's so fucking stupid.

Chris: At least it's not Kenny Luby stupid.

Jeanne: 'Cause Kenny Luby's stuff doesn't even look like a fucking movie but it's not much better. It's like "Meet the Finkelsteins." (Some insight, Kenny Luby is one of the guys on "On The Lot." I know, it's hard to believe that we're part of the 17 people across the nation who bothers to watch that show and every time I do watch it I feel like a small piece of me has died. Note: The host needs to put on adult sized clothes and surgically remove her voice box. If I met her I'd be tempted to punch her in the face. Anyway, Kenny Luby has, thus far, made a short called “Wacky Taxi” that was like a bad acid trip while watching House of the Dead and playing Crazy Taxi on Playstation. It was awful. His next short looked like a pretentious music video from some pseudo Goth band named something like Dark Moon or BloodReign or something else you'd find scribbled on a fifteen-year olds copy of Interview with the Vampire. Note: DO NOT WATCH "ON THE LOT."

Nic Cage as Ghost Rider starts kicking some ass and spouting one lame-ass clichéd phrase after another. "Hey, dirt bag," "Sorry, all out of mercy," etc. Weirdly, it's no longer Nic Cage's voice.

Jeanne: This is like Iceman in Batman and Robin. Like "Chill out." [Richard Note: ICEMAN is an X-Men Character… Mr. Freeze is the villain from Batman and Robin. Girls!]

Chris: It's kind of funny that they decided that Nic Cage couldn't voice him.

Richard: It's better to have him sound like the killer in Scream.

Chris: He just whistled and his motorcycle drove to him!

The scene cuts to Eva Mendes STILL waiting at the restaurant and drinking. What does your magic 8 ball say now, bitch!

Richard: This dumbass...woman is still at the restaurant!

Chris: No, use the word you were going to use.

Richard: No.

Chris: Use the word. Use the word.

Jeanne: What was he going to say?

Chris: He totally was going to say bitch.

Jeanne: I think bitch is appropriate 'cause bitch be retarded.

Along the way home, Ghost Rider saves a woman who was going to be mugged and does this weird soul stare with the mugger to show him all of his past evils and make him understand the horrors or some such nonsense.

Chris: The thing is this is actually one of Ghost Rider's powers. This isn't something that they made up for the movie.

Jeanne: (Thinking way too deeply about this film) I would think that that would be a really big problem for the city, that his motorcycle keeps setting all of the asphalt on fire.

Richard: His bike transforms when he's not Ghost Rider.

The sun's risen and Ghost Rider transforms back into his Nic Cage self in a cemetery. We see that he's standing right in front of his father's grave. Aww...that's sweet and all but he's not going to fuck you so maybe you should have used that last sprint to pick up a heavily inebriated Eva Mendes. Sam Elliott, conveniently, is the groundskeeper of the cemetery and strolls up to chat with Nic Cage.

Chris: There's your narrator.

Richard: (Way late to the game on this) Oh, it's Sam Elliott not Kris Kristofferson.

Jeanne: That guy's in The Golden Compass.

Richard: I can't wait for The Golden Compass!

Jeanne: (To Richard) I thought that you were going to give me a high-five but now I realize that you weren't. Go away. Get away from my man.

Richard: I was just...

Jeanne: Rubbing his head?

Richard: It's fun.

Chris: For luck.

Sam Elliott reveals that he's in on the Ghost Rider secret but we don't know if he's some kind of angel or demon or what. He let's Nic Cage rest, he talks to him about Wes Bentley's evil plan and the epic struggle of good and evil. The casting of Sam Elliott is the first good move so far. I could listen to his voice for days, it doesn't matter what he says. If they could have dubbed him as the voice for every character it would have been an improvement.

Chris: Is that gonna be God or something?

Richard: Sam Elliott is God. I think he was like an older Ghost Rider who got his soul back and is like immortal.

Cut to Eva Mendes...no, not at the restaurant. Not anymore. She's at the site of the fight between Ghost Rider and the dirt demon trying to get an interview from the police.

Richard: I like it when they cast people for being pretty instead of being actors.

At the crime scene, one of the police brings the autopsy report to the Captain. It turns out that sulpher poisoning caused the deaths. Eva Mendes is somehow within earshot of this private conversation and throws in her retarded two cents. She says that the poisoning could be from a religious nut imitating Brimstone. Shockingly, the Captain seems intrigued by her Brimstone theory...or her ass. One of the two.

Richard sneaks out his iPod thinking that no one will notice if he zones out but before he even gets an ear bud in, Chris is on to him and takes it away. We must all suffer equally for our art.

Richard: You're mean. I would like it noted for the record that Chris just took away my iPod.

Chris: Richard was trying to watch Clue instead of watching the movie.

Jeanne: I don't want to be here any more than you want to be here but this is what we do. We do this so people don't have to watch these.

Richard: I'm going to braid your hair.

Jeanne: Ow.

Richard: Huh?

Jeanne: You're hurting me.

Richard: Suck it in. Be a trooper.

Jeanne: Stop braiding my hair and watch the fucking movie! You be a trooper.

Eva Mendes and Nic Cage finally see each other but since he's not willing to confess that sometimes his head bursts into flames she thinks he's just some dick who stood her up to watch howler monkeys on TV. She even goes so far as to say that, at his core, he's still just a carnie. Ouch. Is there anything worse that you can call someone?

Jeanne: I seriously think that they were like, "play the character retarded."

Richard: For every movie that he's in?

Jeanne: Maybe that's just the way he really is.

Chris and Richard: He did name his kid Kal-el.

Jeanne: Which is really retarded.

Richard: I hope it ends with them doing it and him suddenly turning into Ghost Rider.

Jeanne: And him setting her on fire. That would rock. And all to the songs of Karen Carpenter.

Eva Mendes shows up at Ghost Rider's apartment to tell him that she's leaving town. They end up making out. I don't really know how that happened. Maybe she's a big Elvis fan.

Jeanne: This is kind of repulsive. Or is that just me.

Chris: I think she's pretty.

Jeanne: No, no, no... I mean them making out.

Richard: I think she's really pretty.

Jeanne: I think she's pretty too. I just think that she's a shitty actress.

Chris: I thought you meant...

Jeanne: No. Mostly it's him. Him and anyone.

Eva Mendes confronts him about why he seems to like her but then pushes her away. He answers by coming totally clean and telling her that in the presence of evil his head bursts into flames and he rides a magical motorcycle through the streets collecting souls for Satan while also showing the wicked the evils of their ways. Um, so yeah she thinks he's fucking nuts and leaves.

Jeanne: He looks sort of like if he wanted to play Zoolander.

Richard: His face looks really weird. Sort of elongated and horse-like. I could be watching The Pretender right now...with a much hotter guy.

Jeanne: He seems very Elvis right now.

Chris: He worships Elvis. It's like how he wanted to fuck his daughter.

Richard: I thought it was 'cause he wanted Michael Jackson's sloppy seconds. High Five! And gross.

Jeanne: Totally gross.

Richard: Michael Jackson's sloppy seconds...that should be my new MySpace name. (As Eva Mendes walks out and sad music starts to play) This is where we're supposed to be sad 'cause he's not getting the girl.

Jeanne: He'll get her in the end.

Richard: He'll get her in the end...yeah! Backdoor action. Right, Jeanne?

Moments after Eva Mendes leaves, Nic Cage's apartment is raided by the cops who take him in for questioning because his license plate and tire tracks were found at the scene. Nic Cage is pretty unconvincing at being a normal person so no one believes him but he keeps saying that he didn't kill anyone.

Richard: 53 more minutes.

The interrogation continues.

Richard: Nic Cage walks into a bar. The bartender says, "Why the long face?"

The cops throw Nic Cage into a holding cell with a dozen other guys to let him stew. Unfortunately, all but one of them (one is like a 14-year-old kid) looks pretty evil so he starts to wig out.

Jeanne: (calling it) He's gonna kill everybody but that kid.

Richard: This movie's awful.

Jeanne: This is such a stupid movie.

Nic Cage goes all-Ghost Rider and takes down all but the one young kid. Jeanne called it. He also steals a jacket from one of the guys. I don't know why. It's dumb.

Jeanne: We've still got like an hour.

Richard: (Saddened) I'm going to get my iPod.

Jeanne: I'll lick you.

Richard: How much does that cost?

Jeanne: What?

Nic Cage escapes jail and hunts down Wes Bentley as he searches for the contract of souls.

Richard: I think that this is worse than X-Men 3.

Jeanne and Chris: Yeah.

Jeanne: I think that this is worse than Daredevil.

Chris: It's not worse. Daredevil was worse.

Richard: I don't know.

As Ghost Rider confronts Wes Bentley again he's attacked by the demon of air while Wes makes a getaway. He drives his motorcycle up the side of a skyscraper (We all saw it coming from the commercials) and stops at the helipad on top. At this point he's being swarmed by police for breaking out of the holding cell.

Jeanne: Why are the cops chasing him?

Chris: 'Cause 's he's a fucking skeleton on fire! What else are they gonna do?

Jeanne: No, but you think they'd be like, "fuck, he's a skeleton on fire. Let's let this one slide. I don't think that we're going to do much good here."

Chris: You'd be a terrible police commissioner.

Jeanne: Dude, there's some things that you just don't fucking go chasing.

Ghost Rider fights the air demon that taunts him by saying that nothing can hurt him 'cause he's air. Ghost Rider throws out some witty cracks before using his chains to create a fiery tornado around the air demon that consumes him. It doesn't really make sense but I'll take it. While battling, Ghost Rider is besieged by police at the same time. He grabs onto a helicopter with a chain and drags it down toward the helipad before pushing it out away from the building, all, apparently, without sending the helicopter into the death spiral that you would have imagined would happen.

Richard: Is Mark Stephen Johnson like a retarded 14-year-old boy?

Jeanne: Flaming tornado!

Chris: That's so lame.

Richard: I would have actually rather watched Crash again.

Jeanne: (yawns) Wow.

Chris: But would you rather have watched Just My Luck?

Richard: Yes.

Chris: No.

Richard: Yes.

Chris: No.

Richard: Yeah.

Jeanne: I'm gonna take a nap.

Chris: You've just forgotten how bad that movie was.

Jeanne: I think you're not realizing how bad this movie is.

Chris: It's bad but it's not as bad as some of the movies that we've reviewed.

Jeanne: I don't know. I'm bored.

Chris: No, Just My Luck was torture. And there have been others, too, I've just blocked them out somehow.

Jeanne: Well, Nightwatch.

Chris; Yeah! Nightwatch.

Richard: Yeah, Nightwatch was pretty bad.

Jeanne: I bet Eva Mendes feels bad now for not believing him.

Nic Cage rides out to the cemetery where Sam Elliott is looking for answers.

Richard: 40 more minutes, guys!

Jeanne: That's too long.

Sam Elliott begins to tell Nic Cage the story of the Ghost Rider that was sent to collect the contract of 1000 souls and how he saw that the power was too much to hand over so he fled with it and it's never been found since. He warns Nic Cage that anyone that he cares about will be used to get to him. He suddenly remembers Eva Mendes and races away.

Eva Mendes has arrives at Nic Cage's apartment and runs into Donal Logue. They're trying to figure out what's going on with Nic Cage.

Chris: (To Jeanne) Stay awake.

Jeanne: I'm trying. It's really hard.

Chris: Sit up.

Jeanne: I don't want to watch anymore.

Chris: Sit up.

Jeanne: Can I go to bed?

Chris: No, sit up.

Richard: If I can't watch Clue then you can't go to bed.

Jeanne: I'm up.

Chris: Sit up.

Jeanne: I was so comfortable. I'm totally with you, Richard.

Chris: No! We have to stick it through.

Richard: That's what she said.

Jeanne: A fucking monkey could write this movie.

Richard: A fucking monkey directed it.

Jeanne: I think I might have to break and get something to eat.

Chris: We've only got a half an hour.

Jeanne: Really?

Richard: Starve, bitch, starve!

Wes Bentley gets to Nic Cages apartment, kills Donal Logue (we like to think of it as a mercy killing) and then grabs a hold of Eva Mendes. When Nic Cage arrives he finds that she's on the floor, poisoned but alive. He tried to do his stare thing but Wes is immune 'cause he doesn't have a soul. Wes Bentley tells him that he'll kill Eva Mendes unless Nic gets the contract of souls from Sam Elliott and brings it to Wes. We can’t believe that they’re going to let this guy direct PREACHER, a comic beloved by all of us.

Richard: Who at Vertigo would like, see this movie and go, "He's perfect for Preacher?"

Chris: I think it's just the production company that bought the rights to it. For the longest time it was going to be the woman who did Tank Girl.

Richard: I know and that would have been fine with me.

Chris: No!

Jeanne: He hates Tank Girl like he hates Toys.

Chris: No Toys was much worse.

Nic Cage does what Wes tells him to and goes to Sam Elliott. It turns out that Sam Elliott had hidden the contract in the handle of his shovel all this time. It also turns out that Sam Elliott is the Ghost Rider that took that contract and ran from the devil all those years ago. Um… okay. He also said that because Nic Cage sold his soul for love it puts God on his side and makes him powerful. I didn't know God condoned soul selling of any kind but I'll keep that in mind. Sam Elliott calls his flaming horse and they ride together toward the old west town where Nic Cage is meeting Wes Bentley for the final showdown.

Jeanne: I like the music.

Chris: (Sounding unimpressed) A rock version of Ghost Rider's theme song.

Richard: I really hope that wasn't the Concrete Blonde version of that song.

Sam Elliott stops and gives his last words of wisdom at the outskirts of the town. Nic Cage takes the contract and continues into the city. Wes Bentley decides to try and stall Nic Cage from reaching him until the sun's up 'cause that weakens his power. I think. I'm not too clear on this. So Wes sends his last demon, the water demon, to basically serve as a sacrifice and stall him. He goes but he doesn't really last very long before he gets evaporated. Nic Cage gets into town and hands over the contract but turns into Ghost Rider at the same time. He tries to kick some Bentley ass but the sun comes up and he turns back into a pumpkin. Wes calls up the souls from the contract and there's a prolonged scene of his like swallowing all of the souls as they arrive. It looks bad and now Wes Bentley is talking all retarded. Or retardeder I should say. "My name is Legion for we are maaaaaaaaaaaaany."

Richard: Oh my god. Oh, Preacher.

Although the sun is up, Nic Cage appears to still be able to turn into the Ghost Rider when he's out of direct sunlight.

Jeanne: He's like Angel where only direct sunlight makes him not be able to be the Ghost Rider, not necessarily daytime. (Again with the Buffy references.)

Wes and Nic fight. It's pretty lame. Most of the time is spent with Nic Cage trying to get into the shadows so that he can be Ghost Rider. After all of his attempts at explosions or dismemberment fail, Nic gets an idea and gives him the Penance Stare so he has to see the evil deeds done by everyone of the evil ghosts inside of him and it fries him. I watched 2 hours and 7 minutes for this???

Richard: Oh, Jeanne.

Chris: (Trying to perk up Richard and Jeanne at least enough so that they don't quit the gang) You know what's going to be awesome? National Treasure 2.

Jeanne: It'll be better than this.

Eva Mendes goes up to Nic Cage’s flaming skull after the battle and tells him that she's not afraid. Aww… love. The devil shows up now that all the fighting's done. Peter Fonda's a pussy. He tells Nic Cage that now that he's held up his side of the bargain by keeping the contract out of the hands of his son, he's willing to remove the Ghost Rider curse and give Nic his normal life back but Nic Cage refuses. He says that he'll own the curse and use it to fight the devil. The devil angrily says that he'll find a way to make Nic Cage pay for this. Okay, he's the devil. Shouldn't he be able to do more than shake his fist angrily at the young whippersnapper. He's like someone's crazy old uncle that collects Elvis plates or something. He's not that intimidating.

Jeanne: The devil couldn't just take it back?

Chris: The devil can't do jack shit, apparently. What are people so afraid of?

Richard: He's just an old hippie.

Nic Cage (as Johnny Blaze talking to Eva Mendes): "My daddy once said if you don't make a choice, the choice makes you."

Chris: That's stupid. No wonder your dad died.

Richard: We should have watched Happy Feet.

Chris: Jeanne didn't want to watch Happy Feet

Jeanne: I didn't.

Chris: You refused.

Jeanne: I just didn't really want to watch it. Something about Robin Williams and Cuban penguins. (After confirming that there are no special scenes at the end of the credits) Final thoughts?

Richard: I want to fucking die.

Chris: It's better then Daredevil.

Richard: I wish that we had watched Crash again instead.

THE END

The Saturday Night Itinerant Brooklyn Gang is:

Jeanne Lopez, Cookie Monster

Rick Sayre, Pop-Culture Critic

Christopher Wilson, Vampire Hunter.

BrooklynGang@picturesandframesmagazine.com

MUSIC:

Interview with Joanne Juskus by Noralil Ryan-Fores

Although Baltimore-based singer-songwriter Joanne Juskus was named one of Amtrak’s Arrive Magazine top unsigned bands in 2006 and is continually compared to greats including Joni Mitchell and Natalie Merchant, her life as an independent musician remains rocky. “I don’t know any musicians who aren’t doing something else too, either teaching or working a job,” she says. “Unless you are in the top percentage commercially, you’re working very hard and making very little.”

Despite this, however, Juskus holds a place as one of the most influential new artists coming out of the area, working not only on her solo project but also collaborating with the bands Telesma and Pillowbook, and contributing time to Sound Foundation, an organization which Juskus founded in 2001 that raises both awareness for the arts community as well as money for charitable causes, particularly ones to help with the rampant homelessness in the Baltimore area.

Working professionally as both a graphic artist and singing teacher, Juskus fell into rather than sought after the spotlight. While producing a group of songs as a birthday present for a longtime friend, she received unprecedented support to push the songs just a bit further. By 2001, the release of her self-titled debut album, critically heralded by The Washington Post, owed thanks to all of that early support and the burgeoning online community of musicians. In constant thanks for the ease of the Internet, Juskus here talks about the personal nature of songwriting, her sophomore album See Your Face and the spirituality inherent in her tunes.

Pictures & Frames Magazine (P&F): Several critics have likened you to artists like Sandy Denny, Kate Bush, Joni Mitchell, Suzanne Vega, Natalie Merchant, the list goes on and on. You’ve said in the past that you didn’t necessarily take as much influence from Tori Amos or Natalie Merchant, even though you find yourself in their carass. So, where do you find yourself pulling your songs from, pulling the lyrics and melodies you craft?

Joanne Juskus (JJ): My father had a vast collection of folk albums, so my first influence was definitely Joni Mitchell as well as Joan Baez, Judy Collins, Sandy Denny. When I was a little girl, I was listening to those, and I think those kinds of influences stick with you. As I’ve gotten older, I listen to a lot less music now than I used to. I find that I don’t want to be as effected or influenced…I try to stay as original as I can, which is not easy because music is everywhere.

P&F: I know you started playing piano when you were four years old, and your parents actually purchased you a piano when you were nine. I was hoping that you could talk to me about the relationship that you have with the piano.

JJ: When I was very little, I would see one and just be drawn to it; I’d want to bang on it. My grandfather was a pianist and an orchestra leader. He died long before I was born, but it really makes me wonder about genetic predispositions toward things.

Because my parents didn’t have a lot of money and really wanted me to demonstrate that I was serious before they went out and bought me a piano, I think it made me want it even more rather than if they had pushed it on me like some parents do. So, it began with a yearning to go to play, and once I started playing, I was classically trained. I really enjoyed playing classical music and started writing very early, just simple things and then a lot of melancholy, dreary things when I was a teenager.

The piano is where I write mostly, even if it turns out that it’s not the primary instrument (for a song.) I sit down, start playing and things come out, so it’s an important component for my songwriting.

P&F: Now, the songwriting process itself, is it much more organic and unconscious, or do you actively set out with the idea of, “This is what I want the song to feel like?”

JJ: With most of my songwriting experiences, I don’t really remember writing my songs. I don’t remember how they started although sometimes since I write poetry, a poem will become song lyrics. Or, I’ll write a melody, and then I’ll need words. It happens both ways.

Sometimes I literally sit down at the piano and just start playing a song and singing. Then I refine it. I’ve done experiments with playing the piano and then letting my mouth, mouth words, mouth sounds. “Gravity” was written like that actually. I just let it come out with whatever formed on my mouth. I would jot it down, and then after I read what I had written, I saw a theme in there so then I went back and maybe added something, took something out or made something rhyme. It was very cool to write like that; it was like it was coming out of me as if by a medium.

P&F: I’m glad you mentioned “Gravity” because that song along with “Wish” are two of my favorites from both CDs. I was hoping you could speak to the ideas behind “Wish.” There’s a lot of joy in many of your songs…but there’s also a sense of melancholy, like you’d said before. That’s what in “Wish” I am so drawn to, this very sweet, innocent melancholy.

JJ: I don’t know why I write like that. I don’t know why people resonate with that. I think we really need to feel sometimes, and so music, art, books or poetry can really allow us to feel.

For “Wish” I was working with Brad Allen, who was my producer at that time. He was an old friend, and the two of us were really close; we were romantically involved, and we were working on this CD for about a year and half. One of the first songs we did was “Meet You There,” which was based on a poem by the Sufi poet Rumi, and so it was playing on that because (“Meet You There”) was all about, in a spiritual sense or a romantic sense, there’s a place that we’re together and we meet, like the still point. By the time I wrote “Wish,” it was clear that (the relationship) was not going to be able to happen…So, I wrote that song out of that sentiment, that longing of wanting to be with somebody but not being able to be with them.

Now, see “Gravity” was written when I was still working with Brad, although we stopped working together before it was produced…Like I said, I didn’t plan what the song was about. It was just coming out, but it became clear that there was a theme within me that was trying to come out. That was a belief that it just seemed like we’re all just thrown together by fate, karma or whatever, and you’re just living your life, and you seem to be drawn to particular people. You’re meant to meet; you’re meant to be in a relationship. And, it felt as strong as the pull of gravity; beyond time, beyond reason, it was just a strong pull, the pull of love.

P&F: It’s great that you talked about time and not necessarily having grounding in time. There’s a sense with all your songs that they defy time itself. With a lot of music that’s produced nowadays, it’s grounded in a culture or generation, and your music seems to transcend that in a really interesting manner. Along with that, because of the ethereal nature of the vocals, there’s a sense that what you’re imparting has less to do with the moment and more to do with a sense of spirituality. I didn’t know if I was reading into that, and I was hoping that you could speak to it.

JJ: When I was a teenager, I was with a boy who was really interested in spirituality, and I had been raised in a household—my father was an atheist, and he kind of shielded me from any kind of religious experience. So, you know, of course I was curious. When I got together with this boy, I was fourteen, and he took me to his church. I didn’t know what to think of it, but I had a real hunger for spirituality at that time.

He ended up moving 300 miles away, and I ended up graduating from high school when I was 16 just to be with him. I skipped a year of high school, and by the time we got back together, we were living in Washington, DC, and he had moved from Christianity to hallucinogens and Eastern mysticism. He was dragging me everywhere Scientology, the Divine Light Mission, the Hare Krisnas, all these different groups, and I was really bewildered.

He settled on the Hare Krisnas; he thought that was the best thing to do. I was vehemently against it, but at some point, I started reading ancient Indian texts. I got very interested in the philosophy, so I ended up moving into the Hare Krisnas with him, but he was kidnapped a couple of weeks later and deprogrammed. I didn’t see him again for six years, so I spent ten years studying Vahdic literature and chanting.

I left that, and in the subsequent years, I’ve been integrating what I learned there as well as Buddihism and Christianity. I have had a thirst for that, although at this point of my life, I’m more in a mood of embracing life, instead of trying to find a belief system that I can fit within.

For more information on Joanne Juskus and her music, visit www.joannejuskusmusic.com, or visit the MySpace page at www.myspace.com/joannejuskus. While on MySpace, also check out Telesma at www.myspace.com/telesma and Pillowbook at www.myspace.com/pillowbookmusic.

Noralil@picturesandframesmagazine.com

Instant Karma: The Amnesty International Campaign to Save Darfur

Here’s something that sounds great and just happens to be good for the world. Instant Karma: The Amnesty International Campaign to Save Darfur is the latest John Lennon tribute album. The most notable difference between this collection and others in the past is that this record has a great cause in mind, something that John Lennon would have been proud to be part of. “Saving Darfur” is the important cause that has united such a talented group of musicians to record a tribute double-album in honor of the man responsible for a musical revolution.

This is one of the best benefit albums that I’ve heard in a long time. Usually benefit albums are collections of leftover songs that artists, for one reason or another, didn’t end up putting on their own albums. Or weird collaborations between artists that should never be put in the same room together let alone in a recording studio. But of course we let all that slide because they’re doing it for a good cause. The only thing I ever ask of a tribute album is that the artists take the time to re-envision the songs—not just re-record them. This gives us a whole new perspective without —hopefully—compromising what we liked about the original song in the first place.

Which brings me to this latest effort to open people’s hearts, ears and wallets to the desperate situation in Darfur. There are a couple of disappointing tracks: “Instant Karma” performed by U2, “Cold Turkey” performed by Lenny Kravitz and “Power to The People” performed by Black Eyed Peas. But overall I give this tribute benefit album a B+, and that means you should definitely go out and get it. Plus, if you decide to get it on iTunes, and are willing to spend a couple of extra bucks, you can splurge for the special edition with 11 additional tracks.

Here is my breakdown of the good and not so good songs. (I’m using the (LAME) and (SWEET) scale to rate them.)

DISC ONE

1. “Instant Karma” -- U2 (LAME)

2. “#9 Dream” -- R.E.M. (SWEET)

3. “Mother” -- Christina Aguilera (SWEET)

4. “Give Peace A Chance” -- Aerosmith with Sierra Leone Refuge All-Stars (SWEET)

5. “Cold Turkey” -- Lenny Kravitz (LAME)

6. “Whatever Gets You Through the Night” -- Los Lonely Boys (SWEET)

7. “I'm Losing You” -- Corinne Bailey Rae (SWEET)

8. “Gimme Some Truth” -- Jakob Dylan Feat. Dhani Harrison (VERY SWEET)

9. “Oh, My Love” -- Jackson Browne (SWEET)

10. “Imagine” -- Avril Lavigne (REALLY REALLY LAME)

11. “Nobody Told Me” -- Big & Rich (LAME, because I’m not a fan of Country)

12. “Jealous Guy” -- Youssou N'Dour (SWEET)

DISC TWO

1. “Working Class Hero” -- Green Day (SWEET)

2. “Power to the People” -- Black Eyed Peas (MAJORLY LAME)

3. “Imagine” -- Jack Johnson (SWEET)

4. “Beautiful Boy” -- Ben Harper (SWEET)

5. “Isolation” -- Snow Patrol (SWEET)

6. “Watching the Wheels” – Matisyahu (SWEET)

7. “Grow Old With Me” -- Postal Service (LAME)

8. “Gimme Me Some Truth” – Jaguares (LAME)

9. “(Just Like) Starting Over” -- The Flaming Lips (SWEET)

10. “God” -- Jack's Mannequin feat. Mick Fleetwood (LAME)

11. “Real Love” -- Regina Spektor (SWEET)

Juanmarcos@picturesandframesmagazine.com

Songs for Tuesday – Holly Palmer

I suppose that it’s a rare thing for a reviewer to live with an album for over a year before writing about it, but Holly Palmer’s genre-defying new disc, Songs for Tuesday, has already become indelibly linked to this past year of my life. (In fact, I’ve already adopted her as my very own diva. I’m gay, and according to the rulebook, I have to have at least one. You boys can keep Madonna, Xtina and Britney for yourselves. Have fun with that.)

Originally planned for release late last year, the album is finally available through Palmer’s own Bombshell Records. Bad luck with record labels isn’t a new story, as any critically praised artist from Aimee Mann to Patty Griffin can attest to. After her self-titled debut was released on Reprise records almost a decade ago, Palmer’s sophomore release, Tender Hooks, a collection of cool-blue alternative torch songs never saw its release. A few years (and one duet with Michael Bublé) later, Reprise released the single “Just So You Know” as the first single off of the incredibly funky, eclectic and “forthcoming” I Confess. The disc however never came, at least not from Reprise. Thankfully, Palmer held onto the recordings and released both albums on her own. (They are available through website CDBABY and iTunes.) All three of these albums are essential listening in my book, particularly I Confess, which features some of the best of Palmer’s witty wordplay, which can be either poetic (“Just So You Know”) or hysterical (“Did Your Mama?”), as well as some ass-shaking moments provided by Dr. Dre and others, and my very favorite, the girl-group-esque, “You Help Me.”

Now on to the matter at hand: Songs for Tuesday is an album that manages to take risks and play with styles without feeling schizophrenic, performed by an artist who is self-assured, sophisticated and let’s face it, sexy. When the music biz is overflowing with pop princesses selling themselves with sex, it’s refreshing to remember that you’re at your sexiest when you aren’t trying so damn hard. “Girl in Lust” may start off as a low-key ballad but by the halfway mark, you’ll have to wipe the steam off of your iPod. Oh, and did I mention soulful? Her cover of Donny Hathaway’s “I Love You More Than You’ll Ever Know” is bluesy and raw, channeling one of my personal favorites, Etta James, circa Tell Mama. It’s not the first time that Palmer has taken an established song and raised the roof with it (Check out her outstanding cover of “Down So Low” on I Confess).

Another thing she makes seem so effortless is her amazing vocal range, awe-inspiring without any ridiculously showy melismas. Lyrically, Palmer is a wonderful storyteller—from the late-night phone call of “That’s Why They Call It Rome” to the girl-proposes-to-boy of “I Will”—each song is a performance, a story in itself. In a perfect world, an album that’s this catchy, wildly romantic and fun ought to be the album of the summer. Sadly, we’re talking about the crazy mixed-up world of the music business where baby-doll voiced girls singing about their lumps and London Bridge become giant stars, and even Paris Hilton can find airplay, while someone far more substantial and immensely talented has to struggle to be heard. Do yourselves (and the future of music as we know it!) a favor. Go to iTunes now, sample a track and experience this great artist for yourself. Then catch her live if you can and prepare to be blown away even more.

Songs for Tuesday by Holly Palmer will be available through ITunes and at http://www.cdbaby.com on July 11^th.

Rick@picturesandframesmagazine.com

BOOKS:

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

Like so many bestselling novels, Khaled Hosseini's heartbreaking debut The Kite Runner is now finding its way to film. In the hands of director Marc Forster (Monster's Ball, Finding Neverland, Stranger Than Fiction) and screenwriter David Benioff (25th Hour, Troy), the classic tale of two friends, the privileged Amir and his servant Hassan, should stretch out as one of moral and political uncertainty, injustice and finally, redemption.

Set in a pre-war torn Afghanistan, the story is told through the eyes of adult Amir as he recounts the cruelty and cowardice of his childhood—how one action, or rather inaction, shapes the course of his life. In telling this first part of the story, the betrayal of one friend by the other, Hosseini crafts his prose starkly, keeping time to the rhythm of desire and fear, his images imprinting in clear strokes on the imagination. The passages are all as active verbs, pressing the movement on and on, and at times, there are beats at which the book asks to be put down, dog-eared, turned away for a few minutes…so intensely sad and true are the ideas expressed on its pages.

Yet the same cannot be said for the latter part of the novel. In an unexpected twist, the book flips from graceful and moving to cliché and mass market. In soap operatics, the story grabs in circularity to hackneyed plot points, losing along the way its universal emotional relevance. It's not enough that the actions run in quiet streams here. No, each is distinct, explicit and utterly expected. In this sense, the book may indeed benefit from its screen adaptation by allowing the drama to take shape with an actor's guidance.

However, while also examining its screen version, set for premiere on November 2, I hesitate about Forster's decision to work with longtime collaborator, cinematographer Roberto Schaefer. A veteran Christopher Guest (Waiting for Guffman, Best in Show, For Your Consideration) cinematographer as well, Schaefer's work has always lent itself to the theatrical in nature. In shooting The Kite Runner however, I can only hope that his stylistic formula evolves into one much less stagey, and much more in fact inspired by the works of modern, naturalistic greats like Rodrigo Prieto (Amores Perros, Frida, Brokeback Mountain.)

The film, I can only hope, will live up to at least the beginning beauty of the novel—that space where the heart races without stopping, where it feels as if, "Yes, I knew what that was like, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry about that all too."

Noralil@picturesandframesmagazine.com

FICTION:

Photo Courtesy © tomhe

“Social Services are in our house.”

By Charlie Ortiz

Social Services are in our house. My mom is standing against the wall with arms crossed. My stepfather is being interrogated by the SS for allegations of child abuse. “Do you or do you not have a metal chain in the house?” they ask him. His jaw drops and his eyes bulge, and he shoots me a glance as if I were a three-foot-tall Judas in Kmart clothing.

Social Services asks me to leave the room. I am relieved to do so, and I run to bedroom and get under the covers. I start to cry. How did this happen? How did it get to this point?

Debbie and I were comparing notes on our parents’ punishment styles. Hers restricted television and Nintendo. Mine spanked me from time to time and sent me to my room. “Really?” Debbie asked me incredulously. “Yeah, don’t yours?” I asked her.  The kid sitting next to me chimed in, “Yeah, mine do too.” The kid sitting next to Debbie offered her two cents, “My parents say that hitting is wrong.” Before I knew it, the whole table of third-graders was discussing whether or not they got spanked. I felt the glares from the kids who didn’t get spanked. They looked at us like we were being raised by monkeys. Although I didn’t appreciate being spanked, I never felt it was terribly wrong. I saw it as punishment. It was brief, and then it was over. To have a bunch of kids look at us like there was something wrong with our families, with our mothers, with us, made me very angry. So I spoke up.  And they listened to me. All their faces looked at me intently and were listening to my story.  The more I talked, the more they listened and leaned in, fascinated and appalled. I felt like a war hero, a survivor. So I told stories. And I may have exaggerated. A little. But for those last minutes in the cafeteria I had everyone’s eyes on me. It felt good.

Outside the cafeteria, the kids were all lined up in a single file, ready to head back to our classroom and crayons. I overheard some of the kids talking. “We should do something,” they said. “We should tell our teacher,” they said. Oh no. No, no, no. I confronted them. “What are you planning on doing?” I asked them. “Look, Charlie, this just isn’t right. Your step-dad shouldn’t be throwing you across the room because you don’t do your homework. We are gonna tell on him,” one of the girls said. “NO! YOU CAN’T! MY MOM WILL KILL ME!”  I freaked out. “Look, guys, I was only kidding! Look at me, do you see any bruises? I was making it up! Serious!” They looked at me quizzically. Debbie especially (a week ago I told her I had seen real-life monsters come out of my television; she subsequently threw up all over the classroom). Another girl spoke up, “No…no, you wouldn’t have reason to lie about that.”

Social Services paid us a visit that day. They asked me, “Is it true your step-father whips you while he has you mow the lawn?” I swallowed. I stared up at the woman, but didn’t respond. My stepfather had to suppress a laugh. My mom looked mortified. “Sir,” they turned to my stepfather, “He’s reporting that you also tie him with metal chains. Is that true?”

The SS finally left, but not before recommending that I join an after school care program. I peek my head out from my room. My mom says, “Don’t bother coming out of your room. You’re grounded.”

Photo Courtesy © thepioneerwoman.com

 RACE CARS

Bridget E. Fitzgerald

She was standing in the kitchen holding the baby on her left hip, her arm too tired, but it always felt strange on the other side, like her right arm wasn’t capable of baby-holding even though it was capable of everything else, and she knew anyway that her arm would get so tired it would go beyond tired, pass it on a train clanking fast fast fast past the station, the name of the town blinking by the windows like a flipbook, and if she closed her eyes a little it felt slower, as though she could see each page before it flipped to the next, G-G-G – G-R-E-E –G-R-E-E – GREENWICH and then it was gone, and her arm would be so far past T-T-T-TIRED that she wouldn’t feel it anymore, and Baby would stay happy on her hip and she could keep helping Baby’s Brother with his homework.

Baby opened his mouth into a little heart-shaped oh! and tasted a bit of her shoulder, cotton t-shirt, perfume borrowed from her sister’s dresser top during naptime. Baby’s Brother said I hate writing and she said me too, what do you have to write about and he said It doesn’t matter and then he sat and she stood and Baby bounced, umm umm umming on her shoulder. She said write about your mom and dad and he said I did already, and she said write about your friend Eric and he said Ohhhhh hhh hhh I don’t know and she said well can you make up a story and he said, I don’t like doing that, and she said well, I’m sure you’ll think of something, how about you write about your beautiful aunt Sarah, which was her of course and then he let her see that freckles-stretching smile and she grinned back and then he started writing, verrr rrrry slowly, and she knew it probably wasn’t about her. Baby ummed and stopped, and Baby’s Brother stopped. She waited and watched him and started putting little itty bitty dishes in the sink, and then when he lifted his pencil again, holding onto it for dear life with his pink fingers wrapped all the way around, she said writing’s like a sport, you know, sometimes there are commentators for it, you know commentators? and they’d say – and now she was talking to Baby, because Baby was getting fed up with all this umm umm umm and Brother Brother Brother – and she said, they’d say

OH! there he goes he’s got the pencil there’s no turning back now You know I hear this guy's rather accomplished Clint Oh you bet he is Phil this is no rookie here you know I wrote with Brian Collins way back in the day Did you Clint? I did Phil and we knew he was a champion even then.

Now Brother knew what she was up to and he laughed, freckles freckles freckles, and then he started writing, lots of words, all those words printed with such care and then she said

OH HERE HE GOES PHIL HE’S OFF TO A GREAT start –

and Baby was so taken aback that he became very still, a little rabbit suddenly confronted, still and quiet and without crying, just a doll, a very heavy doll, blinking all those millions of dark dark eyelashes, and Sarah would have sworn she felt a breeze against her neck – one blink and WOOOOOSSSHHHHHHH, all Brother’s flyers from school and Jewish Jamboree! Hebrew school done right schedules and every page in his enormous-ruled notebook gone flip flip flash flash flying off the kitchen table and into the sink filled with tiny baby spoons and bowls and cups with the Tasmanian Devil printed across the side, too faded, so many runs through the dishwasher, all with just one blink of tiny baby eyelashes.

Sarah rinsed cartoon mugs and reminded herself to wash them later, and Baby ummed and woooshed and Baby’s Brother said, Aunt Sarah? and she said,

Collins is thinking hard Phil you can see the concentration there on his face can’t you You sure can Clint I recognize that expression from the old days you know he once said he didn’t like writing NO It’s true! Look at him go now It’s a sight to see Clint that’s for sure WAIT WHAT'S HE DOING NOW

and Brother laughed, because he was only sharpening his pencil, the little squitch-squitch of the plastic blade swooping around and around.

There’s a radical move right there Clint you know they’ve got confidence when they can take the time to sharpen! I haven't seen a maneuver like that so early in the game since my days at the Triple – Tri -

And Sarah faltered,

-- TriUmverite Cup United! You know Brian here learned all his tricks from his mom and dad You don’t say! Absolutely Clint he learned it all from them and boy but they must be proud now.

Sarah babbled something about aunts and uncles and grandparents being proud, too, and betting high stakes on all his matches, and then: are you excited about your new brother or sister, she asked, and Brian nodded into his notebook the way kids do when they’re too polite to ignore a question asked a thousand times already, and then Sarah was quiet. She unfussed Baby and tried to open the detested high chair tray with one hand, the high chair that had taken her months to figure out, to realize that the tray slid outward and Brian was a skinny boy but he’d been a fat baby and putting him in the chair had been like putting toothpaste back in the tube and she’d never felt so incompetent as she did the moment her sister saw her struggling and whipped out the tray with one camera flash of her wrist, bracelets and rings glinting, just like that, and all of a sudden the toothpaste was in the tube like it had never left, sucked back in like a film clip sped in reverse, flpttthhh, and Brian had banged his little pink toothpaste hands on the tray and demanded Cheerios.

Baby’s Brother said, can you do that thing again Aunt Sarah? Oh! because she hadn’t even remembered stopping, and Rabbit Baby was back, about to become Rabies Baby because why why why was he in this electric torture chair again? Sarah said,

OH he’s back in action thanks so much for staying with us don’t you hate those commercial breaks Phil? I do Clint but here we are again at the Transitory Field Cup Second Grade Writing Championship Semifinal League Series with Brian Collins in a clear lead look at him go

Baby said grrrrrrrrrrrrrraaahhhhhhh and Sarah said

OH the crowd’s going wild just listen to them scream

and she plucked Baby up

That’s Collins’s family there in the VIP box seats isn’t it Phil? That it is Clint

and her arm clicked past T-T-T-TIRED, and she told Baby:

That’s his younger brother right there Clint and that’s Collins’s aunt Sarah she’s a beauty ain’t she She sure is Phil — Okay okay,

because Brother was now trying to give her his best impression of a scathing look, his eyes going side to side instead of rolling upward and she laughed, and Baby squealed, merry because they were. Sarah said, so what did you wind up writing about oops I mean:

What do you suppose he’s writing about Phil? Let’s see if we can get the PencilCam in on Collins’s work

and now she leaned in, Baby leaning too, clinging with two cereal-and-spit wet hands on her floral-and-lace-scented neck,

OH looks like he’s got a Type Three-Bee piece going there Clint, looking good I’ll tell you that much and here he goes again he’s writing and writing and writing

and she was running out of things to say so fast so fast, but for the sake of all the freckles she’d never tell.

The phone rang.

Baby’s Brother abandoned his work so fast that Sarah didn’t have time to catch the flying rolling falling pencil. Hello, he said, and Hi Daddy, holding the phone like a pillow, two hands to embrace the voice on the other end, one foot playing with a stray tupperware lid on the floor. He said: good, yes, fine, yup, okay; Here, and Sarah took the receiver, Hi Sarah it’s Mark I hope everything’s fine? Oh yes, just perfect, she said. Our night’s taken something of a turn, he said, and Sarah thought of the way phone calls are sometimes dire and sometimes useless, and how the trill of the ring sounds the same either way. Everyone’s fine, he said, though that obviously wasn’t true, and I’m not telling Brian yet but we’re at the hospital Linda took a bit of a fall, and his word collapsed in on itself with the shift of cold anxiety. Sarah said, Okay, and held Baby a little closer. She’s stable now but it looks like the boys might be getting their brother or sister a bit sooner than we’d planned. Sarah nodded for a few moments before translating: Okay. He said: I called Jean next door and she’ll come relieve you when she gets back with her boys in a few hours but she might be late if you don’t mind staying? OH no not at all I can stay as long as you need me Jean doesn’t need to relieve me I’m really fine here don’t worry about us if you want me to stay with the boys here and they can get to bed on time and it’s really fine I can stay the night whatever you need. She took a breath and looked at Baby, concentrating with naive glory on the crushing shimmer of the window blinds beneath his pink hands, and Brother, diligently daydreaming over his dropped pencil, and she didn’t ask what happened what happened what happened. Are you sure, he was saying, his hope raw and rich, Absolutely absolutely, don’t worry about us, we’ll have a sleepover, and Brian glanced her way upon that critical, magical word, and his dad was saying thank you thank you baby monitor bath toys bedtimes at the latest and she said nine p.m., got it, good luck, send my love, and he said I’ll call when we know more click.

Baby’s Brother’s looked at her with wounded freckles and enormous eyes as she set down the phone, don’t worry he’s going to call back in a little while and you can say goodnight, how’s your writing coming? Well, he began, and she said:

We’ve got the PencilCam in here again Chuck

Clint! said Brother.

Clint! Of course Clint sorry about that old boy we’ve got that view up on Screen Five and WHOA he’s going to be done pretty soon I’d say!

Aunt Sarah, he said, as she took a breath and shifted Baby, limp and heavy and victorious over the window blinds for now, how do you spell Organize? And she said:

Hold up Phil it looks like Collins is calling for a time-out consultation with his manager I love these old fashioned tactics -

You only have two letters off, she said, and they ZZZed together and pretended to fall asleep amidst all the zzzing and when he got it right she just placed a cool finger beneath his speckled chin, lifting his head until he was nodding. Brother wrote and Sarah said:

And we’re back! It looks like he’s finishing up he’s almost done he’s about to SET A WORLD RECORD THE CROWD IS GOING WILD AND HE’S--

Done! said Brian, and they cheered, Baby umm umming, a sleeping giant about to tumble.

The phone rang.

I got it, Sarah stalled, That was fantastic work Brian, put your notebook back in your backpack, okay? Hello, Collins residence?

HelloSarah ThisIsJeanNextDoor, said a voice worn with the unceasing effort of blocking out the jungle of background noises, a rainforest of domesticity threatening to overtake her. I’mAfraidI’mRunningALittleLate  AndMarkCalledtoSay YouDon’tNeedMeToComeOverBut IfYouNeedAnything  YouKnowYouCanCallAnytimeOkay?

Yes, yes, thank you so much I see your number on the list on the fridge here

YesMyNumberMightBeOnTheFridgeThereIThink   I’mNotHomeNowButIWillBeSoon SoIfYou NeedAnythingAtAll  JustGiveUsARing  MichaelDon’tGoInThereMichael! SoEverything IsFineThere

Yes, just fine, thank you again, I’ll let you know if we need anyth-

AnythingAtAllOkaySarahHaveALovelyNight click.

Sarah wondered how long ago Jean’s exhaustion had chugged past T-T-Tired, and switched Baby to her right hip, Brian? I’m putting on my pajamas, and his voice traveled downstairs the way he himself would, tumble and step and float, and That sounds like a great idea, she said to Baby. But he’s already in his, said Brother, meeting them at the landing. Yes, but he needs a new pajama diaper, don’t you think. Oh, said Brother, so done with diapers diapers diapers but there were just more more more yet to come.

The evening turned into a blur of pajamas on and pajamas off, oops you guys were supposed to take a bath, and then the tub was full of bright spongey plastic and pink-tinted blocks of soap and freckled limbs and hills of bubbles with enough height to sled down, down down down into fuzzy colored water and sudsy red hair turning dark in the dampness, and everything in the room was foggy when they finished, mirror and makeup compacts and the sparkling chrome of the faucet.  Baby was too sleepy, all those eyelashes much too heavy for him to protest the second coming of feetie pajamas, and Brian carefully rebuttoned his flannel set with race cars zooming across the sleeves.  He buttoned it wrong, of course, but Sarah liked the asymmetry and left him unfixed and unfussed. Baby was a mountain of unfreckled flesh and clean, slippery, sleepy pudge as Sarah traded changing table for crib. Did you get all the soap off you, she asked spying Brother, whose nose just grazed the end of Baby’s crib, and she leaned over to grab a swatch of curly hair -- it squeaked under her touch -- guess so, she said, and his smile turned into a yawn. How about a little dessert before bed, she said, and he was downstairs before she’d double-checked the sliding wall of the crib, and she said I guess SO then, and they ice creamed their way through the freezer while Sarah hoped the phone would ring, ring ring ring because she’d promised, and she’d been promised, and she knew Brian would go to bed without his goodnight but she didn’t want to be the one to send him.

The phone rang in the final, finest moments of dessert and Sarah was briefly horrified that it would be JeanAndHerJungle once again.

Sarah it’s Mark, said the voice, and Sarah was relieved because he sounded tired, he sounded awful, but he was there. Are the boys still up? You called just in time to catch Brian on his way, she said, and her brain said what happened what happened what happened and she said Everything’s all right? and he said Yes, we think so, even if he didn’t quite mean it. Here you go, Bri–Hi Daddy, he said, the phone enormous against his cheek, Uh-huh, uh-huh, we used the pink soap, yep, hmm, yes, only a little, and then he looked at Sarah and said, okay, and she knew it had been the sleepover question, and she recognized how against all forces it might still be a disappointment to hear that your child doesn’t need you right at that very moment. Here, Brian was saying now, and Sarah took the receiver. I’ll know more soon, her brother-in-law was saying, and Sarah said uh-huh, okay, no problem at all, click, Okay Brian, time for bed.

Sleep was too easy, Sarah knew, and she turned up the static on the baby monitor to listen to the crackle over the rush of the kitchen sink. Little spoons with thick handles, alphabet cups with tiny holes in the lids, cartoons and a World’s Best Mom mug surfaced from the storm of orange-scented dish soap and Sarah noticed a tiny glass dish by the sink, full of rings and watches and the occasional missing earring. The hospital bag wasn’t even packed yet; she’d seen it in the hallway outside the bathroom, a visual to-do that’ll never now get done, and she wondered what bracelets and gold and silver princess-cut blue stones her older oldest only sister was wearing to dinner tonight, and whether or not she’d had time to de-jewelry, and whether or not, in fact, she’d needed to. Eyeing the gems within the glass, Sarah slammed off the water and slipped a gold band onto her left ring finger, admiring it for a moment, wondering what it felt like to be given such a ring, such a mug, when the loud crackle of static snapped and popped and paused, and the wail began.

The world was abruptly a still-standing siren, a firehouse with the blaring alarm of tears and trauma and Sarah sliding down the fire pole as she hurtled upstairs, jumping into her gear – pants and suspenders and boots and helmet in the form of quilts and binkies and toys and music. She was armed but Baby wasn’t comforted, and soon Baby’s Brother wandered blearily into the bedroom, his fists digging trenches of his eyes, and distress proved contagious, for he’d caught on in some way long ago, and his age was suddenly diminished by a night of worrying sky and phone calls. Sarah sang and patted and jostled and babbled but there was no umming, no oohing or bouncing or appeasing, just the wail of the alarm and the panic of the villagers. Sarah talked, then, to the both of them, and said They’ll be home tomorrow or maybe we’ll even get to go see them and I know you’re worried it’s easy to be worried but that’s what happens, right? we worry sometimes and you know so do I and so do your mom and dad, it’s part of being so incredibly grown up, which you are, Brian, and you know everyone has nightmares now and again but you just remember that I’m here and your brother’s here – and she jogged her knees beneath Baby’s back, Baby who was still upset but the wail was slowing fading – and nightmares are all imaginary, they’re full of the kind of stuff you could get a whole entire notebook full of writing journal entries out of, right? And then – because now she was thinking, thinking in front of her worry with Baby calming into a dissatisfied quiet, and she tugged a satin-bordered blanket around Brother’s shoulders – then the commentators would have to talk in creepy voices, like on a Halloween show, right, the-e-ere go-o-oes Brian Co-oll-ins, she shivered out the words and shook them off, letting them fall away into the shadows of the nursery: wri-i-i-iting up a sto-o-orm ooooooo-eeeee-oooo and as she oooeeed her breath into Baby’s face and spiderwalked a hand across Brother’s blanket, she earned a stiller rest and a small, freckley smile, and the firm clutch around her heart relaxed its anxious grip.

The phone rang.

It rang four times before Sarah had repositioned Baby to be carried without tripping his so-sensitive alarm system. Brother had tears still on his cheeks and in his voice and Sarah said sit tight, I’ll get the one in your mom and dad’s room, and she pinched the portable rectangle between ear and shoulder, the only place where there were any freckles of her own to be found, and sat down with Brother leaning his blanketed form against her knees.

Hey Sarah Anne, said the voice, though she’d barely even said Hello, and Sarah’s relief blossomed and spread outward, from freckles to wrists to knees, and there was a cry on the other end and the discussion of blood pressures and names and specifics, and after Brother had said his final goodnight and was falling asleep on top of the receiver, Sarah’s whole body clicked back into T-T-T-Tired and Brian turned to his brother and murmured, See, Patrick, I told you it was going to be a boy.

Bridget Fitzgerald is a recent graduate of Syracuse University. Published for the first time here, her featured short "Race Cars" won the undergraduate fiction award in SU's 2007 Creative Writing contest. She lives, breathes, and writes in New York, occasionally all at the same time.

SPOTLIGHT:

Don Cheadle

1964 -

            Some actors are known for creating outstanding characters. Some are known for starring in socially relevant roles. Others are recognized for a string of entertaining box-office successes. Some lose themselves deep in the parts they play; some master a variety of accents, make us laugh or move us with profound sincerity. Don Cheadle is unquestionably known for all of the above.

            Born on November 29, 1964 in Kansas City, Missouri, Don Cheadle grew up in a constantly moving household that went from one town to another. As a young man, he received his Bachelor of Arts degree in Fine Arts from the California Institute of the Arts. Some of his earliest work came through television in the series “Fame,” and a few years later he was among the young talented cast of the film Hamburger Hill (1987). Starting in 1993, Cheadle played a recurring role on the popular, critically acclaimed series “Picket Fences.” After two years on the show, Cheadle had a breakthrough performance on film in 1995’s Devil in a Blue Dress. As Mouse, Denzel Washington’s sociopath friend, Don Cheadle plays a heartless killer lacking a conscience, without making him scary. Mouse has an itchy trigger finger and a taste for killing; the trouble is he’s uncontrollable. Where Cheadle takes this character in the right direction is by playing up his simplicity, rather than turning him into an oversized caricature.

            1997 was a big year for Cheadle. He starred in two excellent yet remotely different pictures. In John Singleton’s Rosewood, Cheadle is the strongest part of an ensemble cast that re-creates a Florida massacre centered on racism and oppression. Also that year, Cheadle stood out in another ensemble, that of Paul Thomas Anderson’s Boogie Nights. Cheadle’s character is a porn star trying to find “legitimate” work. Cheadle’s direct honesty in his portrayal helps to create some of the most interesting moments of the picture, and often the most moving. What becomes increasingly obvious about Cheadle’s acting the more one sees his work is that he has great passion for truthfully dealing with his character’s conflict, no matter what it may be.

            Two of my personal favorite Don Cheadle performances came about in 1998. The better known of these films not only provided Cheadle with yet another interesting character to play, but also cast him alongside George Clooney for the first time as well as placed him under the direction of Steven Soderbergh; the film of course was Out of Sight. A clever crime thriller/comedy/romance in a genre dominated by intellectually devoid action films, this is a crime film that takes smart and cool to a new era. “Snoopy” Miller is a criminal that has tried his hand at everything from robbery to murder, but thinks of himself more as a businessman of the streets, improvising wherever he needs in order to get his next score. At the heart of the character is Don Cheadle’s charming, yet cunning performance. Often the best kind of movie-bad guys are those who attract you with their wit and humor, making you forget they are dangerous just long enough to surprise you when their true nature emerges. In this kind of role, Don Cheadle never disappoints.

            Though Out of Sight was certainly the more popular film that year for Don Cheadle, far and away his best performance in 1998 was in the HBO film The Rat Pack. Cheadle plays legendary entertainer Sammy Davis, Jr. His performance is so extraordinary in that he actually embodies Sammy. For me it is on a par with Anthony Hopkins’ Nixon, Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s Capote and Will Smith’s Ali; the performance is just that uncanny. What amazes me about the portrayal is that he not only speaks and moves like Sammy (down to the laugh and the mannerisms), but Cheadle also does his own singing, which sounds a lot like Sammy. The most impressive part however is that Cheadle learned to tap dance for several on-stage performances in the film. To watch the movie is to see Sammy reincarnated in the form of a brilliant and dedicated actor who must have put countless hours of work into the character. Deservedly, Cheadle won the Golden Globe for Best Supporting Actor in a Made for Television Movie for his performance of the late Rat Pack star.

            His ability to continually shine in an ensemble cast would further be displayed in two of his next films, both reuniting him with director Steven Soderbergh. In Traffic (2000), Cheadle plays a federal agent strenuously investigating a drug kingpin. Giving a hard-nosed performance, Cheadle infuses the movie with the passion that drives his character’s dogged pursuit. The following year Cheadle played Basher in the stylish remake Ocean’s Eleven (2001). Not only is his performance charming and witty, and again he stands out in a formidable crowd, but we are also introduced to his incredible ability to perfect an accent. Basher is British and speaks with a cockney accent. Cheadle pulled it off so well that friends of mine, who were not previously familiar with his work, thought he was an English actor. Although Ocean’s Eleven was indeed a fun, entertaining movie, Cheadle also likes to make films that have something to say. That year he made two.

            Manic (2001) is a film about manic-depressive teenagers in a reformatory facility. Cheadle plays the head counselor who has had to overcome his own past of dealing with uncontrollable anger and now does whatever he can to help kids going through the same thing. Like many of Don Cheadle’s films, it is not about him or his character; it is about the bigger picture—the story and what’s meant to be said by it. Also in 2001, he co-starred in Allison Anders’ Things Behind the Sun. Don Cheadle plays the manager, and essentially, the soul mate of a musician living with the tragedy of a childhood rape. Cheadle’s performance is deeply affecting, exhibiting the incredibly admirable qualities of patience and love. Though it is nearly impossible to love Kim Dickens’ character without being in a perpetual state of pain, Cheadle sticks with it amidst all the hurt because he knows she needs him. But more importantly, he knows how beautiful she really is. The film is clearly about Dickens’ character, but Cheadle is unforgettable, setting a wonderful example of manhood.

            Arguably the most powerful and heart-breaking performance of Don Cheadle’s career came in 2004 as Paul Rusesabagina in Hotel Rwanda. For this role Cheadle called upon all of his abilities featured in previous works. His charm and wit are evident, his deep-rooted honesty, and the uncanny accent (for this film a flawless regional African accent). The atrocities of the film are seen through Cheadle’s eyes and every ounce of his wisdom and love are felt through each moment of the picture. The movie is touching and poignant, but would be lost without the passionate performance given by its lead actor. He is the heart and soul of the piece and only Cheadle’s true belief in the importance of the story can inspire such brilliant acting. His participation in Hotel Rwanda lead to Don Cheadle’s involvement as an activist, working to help bring awareness to the genocide in Darfur. He even reported on a trip to the Sudan with members of Congress for ABC’s “Nightline” in 2005.

            Additionally, Don Cheadle tackled socially relevant material as part of the ensemble cast of Crash (2005). Earlier this year, he starred in the critically acclaimed Reign Over Me (2007) and later this month he can be seen as legendary D.C. disc jockey Petey Green in Kasi Lemmons’ Talk to Me, co-starring Chiwetel Ejiofor and Martin Sheen.

            Whether referred to as an actor’s actor, a scene stealer or a character actor, Don Cheadle is simply one of the best. A big reason why so many directors like Steven Soderbergh, Allison Anders and Paul Haggis seek Don Cheadle out is rather obvious: As a filmmaker, you want to put your movie in the hands of a certain kind of actor… the kind that can do no wrong. For that they need look no further than Don Cheadle.

David@picturesandframesmagazine.com

SELECT DON CHEADLE FILMOGRAPHY

Hamburger Hill (1987)

“Picket Fences” (television, 1993-1995)

Devil in a Blue Dress (1995)

Rosewood (1997)

Boogie Nights (1997)

Out of Sight (1998)

The Rat Pack (1998)

Traffic (2000)

Manic (2001)

Things behind the Sun (2001)

Ocean’s Eleven (2001)

”E.R.” (television, 2002)

The Assassination of Richard Nixon (2004)

Hotel Rwanda (2004)

After the Sunset (2004)

Crash (2005)

Reign Over Me (2007)

Talk to Me (2007)