Photo Courtesy © Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures

WALL-E

Written and directed by: Andrew Stanton

Starring: Ben Burtt, Elissa Knight, Jeff Garlin, Fred Willard, John Ratzenberger, Kathy Najimy, Sigourney Weaver.

It’s hard to believe that it has been almost 13 years since Pixar’s animation team first caught our attention and collective imaginations with the landmark Toy Story. Since that film Pixar has become the standard in animation—a brand name that is as recognizable (and successful) as, say, Starbucks or even Apple (the latter is no coincidence considering Jobs’ still owns shares in Pixar). What is particularly remarkable about the company is how they manage to raise the bar consistently with nearly every film that they release (the underwhelming Cars not included). When you saw Monsters. Inc. or Finding Nemo or The Incredibles, you marveled at the moving story, at the realistic characters, and at the level of animation technology being put to use on the screen. Film after film, it was a given that Pixar would deliver on all of these fronts, but with their latest release, WALL-E, they have surpassed even my wildest expectations.

WALL-E is a joy to watch from beginning to end. From the very first moments when you glimpse our beloved robot walking through trash heaps, collecting knick-knacks for his private collection, and squeaking and miming adoringly…well, let’s just say that WALL-E “had me at hello.” Equal parts E.T. and Number 5 (“Number 5 is alive!), WALL-E may just be the cutest Pixar creation ever. Every moment that he is onscreen you are beguiled and enthralled by what he will do and discover next. It is as if you are seeing the world for the very first time, experiencing the joy of falling in love and being loved back, all through the heart and eyes of a Charlie Chaplin-esque robot.

WALL-E features all of the wit and humor that we’ve come to expect from Pixar—the sound of WALL-E powering up never got old—but what steals your heart (and in my case, makes you sob) is the touching story of one lonely robot’s search for someone’s hand to hold. (Yeah, there’s also a whole underlining we-human-beings-are-destroying-our-environment-thing, but that’s neither here nor there.) It may seem ridiculous to some but WALL-E’s search is THE universal search—I can’t even begin to tell you the number of days that I’ve spent watching movies (not quite Hello Dolly! but…), honing in on the love story and longing for it to mirror my own. The sight of a trash-compressing robot like WALL-E finally finding love with EVE is the animated-equivalent of Hanks and Ryan finally meeting each other at the top of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day in Sleepless in Seattle.  

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

Photo Courtesy © Overture Films

The Visitor

Written and directed by Thomas McCarthy

Starring Richard Jenkins, Haaz Sleiman, Hiam Abbass, Danai Gurira.

“In a world of six billion people, it only takes one to change your life.” The tagline for the follow-up to Thomas McCarthy's The Station Agent best sums up the surprising and humbly glorious power within each soul to save another's.

Walter Vale (Jenkins, a.k.a. the father on “Six Feet Under”) is a kind-eyed, sixty-two-year-old Connecticut economics professor who's been blankly going through the motions of teaching and writing each day. In order to fill the void of his beloved wife's passing, he attempts to learn classical piano. He's somewhat put off by his instructor offering to buy his piano after their first lesson together.

Just when he was resorting to white-out a three-year old course syllabus, he's asked to present a paper at a large conference in Manhattan. Arriving at his small apartment in the city late one evening, he notices a fresh vase of flowers and soon after, the young couple who have made a home in his apartment. Scammed in real estate, Syrian drummer Tarek (Sleiman) and his beautiful Senegalese jewelry-making girlfriend, Zainab (Gurira), have nowhere to go. After they've gathered their belongings and headed to find shelter, Walter finds a colorful yarn framed photo of the two together and rescues them, letting them stay with him until they've arranged plans.

Tarek is a passionate musician and his heart is alive and open to resurrecting Walter's in their current circumstance. He offers to teach Walter how to play the African drum, an essential part of home for Tarek. Told that Tarek grew up drumming in his underpants, viewers find Jenkins preciously doing the same on his own one afternoon. In time, the incredibly soulful, simple rhythms bring Walter out of his solitude to visit local jazz clubs and join Central Park drum circles. Witnessing this academic find a new life in change is both funny and sincerely heartwarming. You will love Jenkins' head-nods and pizza eating in the park, conference nametag and all. Go, Walter!

One afternoon on their way to the drum circle, Tarek is stopped by the police in the subway. An undocumented citizen, he is held for deportation at a detention center in the Bronx. Walter summons his personal courage and fire to do everything he can to rescue his friend. Tarek's lovely worried widowed mother Mouna (Abbass), in the know at least every three days, arrives from Michigan to find her son. Walter offers Mouna Tarek's room while she waits for answers; the two have much in common and share a slice of Paris together on Broadway after seeing The Phantom of the Opera.

While I was expecting a happy resolution at the end of the film, there wasn't one, and I felt the two hours ended suddenly. But then I realized that the beauty of each of the film's moments were the treasures: Tarek's gift of a Fela Kuti CD to Walter during a lunch of schwarma; Walter selling jewelry at Zainab's table while she gushed nervously over coffee with Mouna at a nearby cafe; Zainab sharing her and Tarek's unique love for the Statue of Liberty and Long Island ferry rides; Walter so honestly confessing to Mouna that he hadn't been doing anything for a very long time (so golden); and Mouna seeking comfort in Walter's arms their last evening together. And that's really what's it's all about. As the Dalai Lama said, "Compassion is the radicalism of our time."

Jehan@picturesandframesmagazine.com

Photo Courtesy © Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures

The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian

Directed by: Andrew Adamson

Written by: Andrew Adamson, Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely.

Starring: Ben Barnes, Georgie Henley, Skandar Keynes, William Moseley, Anna Popplewell, Peter Dinklage, Eddie Izzard and Liam Neeson.

For years many talented filmmakers tried to bring C.S. Lewis’ famous fantasy series The Chronicles of Narnia to the big screen. Although it already existed in the form of a terrific four-part television mini-series produced by the BBC in the late 1980s and early 90s, the true scope of Lewis’ imagination and his Narnia had yet to really be seen. It wasn’t until the success of Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings film adaptations that I think producers were finally able to envision, and invest in, the beloved fantasy film, and with the success of 2005’s The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, it seems that Disney and Walden Media are forging on with big-screen adaptations of all seven novels.

The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian is the second in the series and it does not disappoint. It is moving and engrossing, with action sequences that feature interesting hand held shots (pay close attention to a particularly incredible sword-fight toward the end of the film) and close-ups that were not only not seen in the first film, but aren’t really characteristic of most children’s films (with the possible of exception of the more recent Harry Potter films). Although Andrew Adamson directed both films, Caspian feels so vibrant, action-packed and yet equally gruesome and dark that you would swear that an entirely different director was at the helm.

It is a given that some children’s books translate to film better than others, and while I enjoyed The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, as a reader and as a 20-something year-old woman rather than a 7-year-old-girl, it still felt like just a kid’s film. It lacked the depth that I so fondly remembered of the Pevensie family’s stories. That is certainly not the case with Prince Caspian. This film takes its time in developing the many story arcs and plot points, and it also fleshes out the character of Susan in particular (although they do odd and almost hooker-esque things with her make-up throughout the film), a character that I always loved growing up and one that serves as a really great role-model for girls.

The battles scenes are riveting, the special effects are flawless, and the introduction of Peter Dinklage (if you haven’t seen the Station Agent go out and buy it now!) as Trumpkin is absolutely delightful. Caspian is also a lot funnier than it’s previous counterpart, thanks largely in part to Trumpkin’s sarcastic wit, but also (intentionally or unintentially, it remains to be seen) due to the rather Inigo Montoya-esque accent that the English actor Ben Barnes purports throughout as the title character. (The Telmarine’s were supposed to be descendents from an area that I always assumed to be Spain so I guess it makes sense.) As a second in a series, Prince Caspian defies the sophomore slump of Indiana Jones and Back to the Future-fame and leaves me hungrily anticipating my next trip through Narnia with 2010’s The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

DVD'S:

The Furies: The Criterion Collection DVD

“Do you mind if I take the reins? I like to know where I’m going.” It’s this line from Anthony Mann’s Old West drama The Furies that best sums up the character of Vance Jeffords, played by Barbara Stanwyck. Vance is the daughter of T.C. Jeffords (Walter Huston), the owner of a grand stretch of land in New Mexico called The Furies. These two characters are determined to stay on top and rule over The Furies—so much so that when a ranch hand calls a particularly tough bull “the king of The Furies,” T.C. hops on his horse and ropes the bull, bringing it down and making sure that everyone knows he’s still the reigning king. Vance has her eye on keeping The Furies, especially after being rejected by Jeffords rival Rip Darrow. She’s also feeling threatened by her dad’s new belle, Flo Burnett (Judith “Mrs. Danvers” Anderson), who has her own plans for The Furies and her own ideas about what Vance ought to be doing rather than running things.

Twice in the film, Stanwyck says the line, “You think you’re top man on God’s green earth, don’t you?” to two different men. Both moments are fantastic, because what she manages to convey in an utterly Stanwyck way is: You think you’re top man, but boy have I got news for you… Despite getting her heart broken at the end of all three acts, she emerges stronger and more self-assured than before. It’s the type of role that Stanwyck excels at, a strong woman with all the aces up her sleeve. Huston, in his last performance, is great as the headstrong, arrogant father, but for me the second best thing to Stanwyck is the film’s gorgeous black and white cinematography, which garnered an Oscar-nomination for Victor Milner. (Look out for the scene of a hanging at dawn and the beautiful, painterly style it’s shot in.)

It’s a gorgeous picture, made even better by the fine folks at the Criterion Collection, who always give us something special. In this case, aside from a disc chock-full of features and their fabulous packaging, there’s a new edition of the Niven Busch novel the film is based on. The Furies is one of those old films I’d never really heard about, but after watching it, I can’t believe that it’s not a widely-known classic. Fantastic.

Rick@picturesandframesmagazine.com

The Red Balloon

Although not strictly a Criterion Collection disc, Albert Lamorisse’s classic short, The Red Balloon, has been released for the first time on DVD by Janus Films with breathtaking style. The film, which you may have seen back in your elementary school days, is an almost wordless tale of a young boy who is befriended by a red balloon that he’s freed from an entanglement to a lamppost. The balloon follows the boy through the streets of town, waits outside his school and even plays games of hide and seek. Of course once some bullies get a hold of the balloon, our young hero tries to save his friend.

The word “whimsical” was probably invented just to help describe this lovely little film. The disc itself contains only a trailer, but nothing else is really needed when the film itself is 35 minutes of perfection and frankly, it would destroy some of the magic if we knew who controlled the balloon and how it managed to be so special.

Rick@picturesandframesmagazine.com

National Treasure 2

Night Interior: Chris, Jeanne and Richard watch the awesomeness that is the National Treasure 2 DVD menu. It seems to heavily feature the Statue of Liberty. Could this be a clue?!

Jeanne: National Treasure 2!

Richard: I like the menu.

Jeanne: I like the menu, too.

Chris: I bet the climax is at the Statue of Liberty…or else it starts there.

Richard: Just like the climax of Saboteur.

Chris: I bet something happens there.

Richard: I bet the Statue of Liberty’s head gets blown off by some giant alien and lands in New York City.

Jeanne: I think you’re talking about a different movie.

Richard: That movie was way better than this movie’s going to be.

Jeanne: I don’t know—this movie has Nicolas Cage.

Richard: It has Helen Mirren.

Jeanne: She was also in Chronicles of Riddick…Oh wait, that was Dame Judy Dench. Either way…respectable old woman and terrible movie.

Chris: Old Limey Broads!

Jeanne: Terrible movies.

The movie begins.

Jeanne: I think that this is olde timey times.

Richard: You’re right. (Reading the date off the screen) It’s 1865. Washington, DC. Five days after the end of the Civil War.

Chris: Is that Nicolas Cage in prosthetics?

A man who looks all-up-to-no-good walks into a tavern and meets with Thomas Gates, the olde timey, great, great grandfather of Ben Gates (Nic Cage’s character). The up-to-no-good man is accompanied by…GASP…John Wilkes Booth. This confirms the up-to-no-good suspicion. They ask Thomas Gates to decode something in a diary they’ve brought. He’s all about puzzles and stuff since that’s genetic and must run in the bloodline so he accepts. As he’s decoding, John Wilkes Booth runs off to catch a show at the theater and maybe kill the president while he’s there.

Chris: Lincoln died five days after the civil war ended?

Jeanne: Maybe. I wouldn’t trust the historical accuracy of this.

*In case anyone is interested, April 9, 1865 was when General Robert E. Lee surrendered to Lieutenant General Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox Court House. Although the last confederate general didn’t actually surrender until June 23, 1865 the surrender of Robert E. Lee could totally be seen as the symbolic end to the war.

Richard: This is a Bruckheimer movie. They’re always historically accurate or didn’t you see Pearl Harbor.

Chris: (Laughing) I did not see Pearl Harbor.

Booth shoots Lincoln, jumps on stage, shouts “Sic semper tyrannis” and runs away.

Richard: Does he die?

Jeanne: He does.

Chris: (As Booth rides his horse away into the night) Not in this version!

Jeanne: Doesn’t he burn to death in a barn or something?

*For those historical freaks out there, he does not burn to death in a barn. He stays on the run until April 26 when he is cornered in a barn by Union soldiers. When Booth refuses to surrender, the soldiers set the barn on fire although what actually kills him is when a soldier shoots him in the neck, severing his spine. His body is dragged out of the barn before there’s any chance for him to burn. He died three hours after the gunshot.

Back in the tavern, Thomas Gates deciphers the code in the diary and it says something about temples and gold. Somehow this clues him in to the fact that these are bad guys. He freaks out and tears a few pages from the diary and tosses them into the fire to keep the cracked code from them. The bad guy does what bad guys do and shoots Thomas Gates. As he’s dying his young son runs in and goes to his side. Thomas Gates tells the bad guy shooter that the war is over but the bad guy clearly disagrees and tells him that it’s only just begun.

Chris: Not really. Someone get that guy a newspaper.

In the midst of their fight someone runs in and announces that Lincoln’s been shot. Chaos erupts. The bad guy grabs what’s left of the pages from the fire and runs out. Thomas Gates tells his son, “The debt that all men pay” and then dies. So sad.

Chris: And that little boy grows up to be John Voight. (He doesn’t. John Voight may be old but I seriously doubt that he was like 10 during the Civil War. Now Willem Dafoe…that I’d believe.)

Back to present day and the awesomeness that is Nic Cage.

Jeanne: His hair’s fantastic.

Nic Cage is a professor at a University giving a presentation on…what a shock…the Civil War. Way to rip off Indiana Jones and the whole Professor/Adventurer thing.

After his presentation, a man in the back of the room shouts out questions about what happened to the missing pages of the Booth diary that were taken from the fire. That man is Ed Harris. He makes a claim that Thomas Gates wasn’t the hero that Nic Cage keeps saying he is but was, in fact, the ringleader of the Lincoln Assassination plot. He produces a piece of one of the missing pages (waay convenient) that lists Thomas Gates name along with all of the other known people associated with the assassination plot. Next to Thomas’ name is “Mastermind” in Latin.

Richard: Ed Harris should have taken this opportunity to kill Nic Cage.

John Voight and Ed Harris get into a bitch fight about who’s calling whose Great Granddaddy a liar. They all take Ed Harris’ page and go compare it to the diary and it totally fits! The mission, should you choose to accept it, is to do ridiculous and crazy things in order to avenge the name of your great, great granddaddy.

Chris: I’m gonna go get proof!

Jeanne: Proof is in my hairpiece.

Apparently, proof is actually at Borders where the next scene opens. I always knew there was a reason that I like Borders more than Barnes & Noble.

Actually, all that’s at Border’s is that not-Steve Zahn sidekick from the first film. He’s there to sell his book about his adventure with Nic Cage but every hot chick that stumbles across his little table gets excited because they think that he’s Nic Cage and walk away all disappointed when they find out who he is. No one likes a sidekick and, apparently, everyone likes a hairpiece.

Sidekick and Nic Cage get together to talk over their woes. Sidekick tells Nic Cage about how his accountant set up his money in some illegal off shore account and how he got audited and lost everything because of tax evasion charges and then to top it all off his Ferrari was impounded. Nic Cage then tells sidekick that his girlfriend (hot, German chick from #1) kicked him out and his family assassinated Lincoln. So he totally tops sidekick’s bad day.

Sidekick and Nic Cage then go to the house Nic Cage was kicked out of and break in. Sidekick is a whiz with house alarms. Not surprisingly, she comes home with her date just a few minutes after they’ve broken in and catches them inside. It’s way awkward. The date leaves and then the German and Nic bicker like old ladies.

Jeanne: Is anyone else bored?

Nic Cage wants the Booth diary page scanned in Infrared and he uses furniture that they’ve been disputing about to bargain with. She gets the Boston tea tables. After hours of scanning the page nothing has shown up and everyone’s annoyed at this lame adventure. Sidekick tries to calm Nic Cage down by telling him that no one will ever remember that anyone other than Booth was involved in the Lincoln assassination. Nic Cage launches into the history of the phrase “his name is mud” and how it’s based on Dr. Mudd who was accused of being a conspirator in the Lincoln assassination.

*HA! National Treasure is wrong and Wikipedia calls them out on it:

“Samuel Mudd is sometimes mistakenly given as the origin of the phrase "your name is mud,” as in, for example, the 2007 film National Treasure: Book of Secrets. However, this phrase has its earliest known recorded instance in 1823, 10 years before his birth, and is in fact based on an obsolete sense of the word 'mud' meaning 'a stupid twaddling fellow'.

Take that Nic Cage and your stupid hair piece!

After the eight thousand hours of staring at the page all of a sudden writing comes to their attention that they’d totally overlooked all this time. They find a cipher and Nic Cage needs a five letter word to decode it. I wonder if that cryptic phrase that Thomas Gates mumbled before he died will come in to play…

Nic Cage makes John Voight retell the story of Thomas Gates again in a creepy dramatic way in order to figure out what they’re missing. John Voight suddenly remembers the phrase, “The debt that all men pay.” You’d think a man’s dying words would clearly be the most important part to remember. Jeanne suggests that the key to the cipher is taxes but since there are totally people who evade taxes the answer is actually death. Way dark. The cipher steers them to the French man who designed the Statue of Liberty.

Jeanne: When does the action start?

Chris: (about Ed Harris) Has anyone ever noticed that he has two foreheads? He’s got one and then he’s got a second one jutting out over the first one.

Nic Cage, in his excitement, calls the German who happens to be meeting with evil Ed Harris and tells her about the cipher. Ed Harris totally overhears everything.

John Voight then breaks it to us that there are actually three Statues of Liberty. Weird. The cipher say’s that it’s the creator’s “lady” and that means it can only be the one in France. They all fly there and they use a remote controlled helicopter with a camera on it to fly around the statue looking for clues. In the middle of their search a couple of testy French bike cops come up to ask them why they’re being so fucking annoying but then they find out that they’re Americans and it all makes sense. But Nic Cage starts spouting about how the American constitution is largely influenced by the Frenchman Montesquieu. French cops, unlike American ones, are historians and political thinkers and are insanely impressed that this American isn’t just hooting and throwing feces. They all start talking about history and the whole flying-a-helicopter-in-the-middle-of-a-public-area-thing is forgiven. In the U.S. someone flying a helicopter near the Statue of Liberty would be shot as a terrorist.

Jeanne: I have a feeling that those bike cops wouldn’t really be historians.

Richard: I have a feeling that Nic Cage wouldn’t really be a historian.

Since they’re all BFF now Nic Cage asks the bike cops to help them translate some writing that they’ve spotted on the statue. It translates to “From the sea these twins stand resolute to preserve what we are looking for.” Nic Cage then does that awesome free flow thing where he’s like, “cigar…smoking…smoked…salmon…salmon swim…swimmers wear suits…suit of armor…armor all…all for one…three musketeers…3 musketeers bar…Nougat! The answer is Nougat!” He starts with “resolute twins.” Jeanne suggests the Statue of Liberty’s boobs but he doesn’t go that route.

“Nic Cage: Resolute twins…resolute…and then twins…Siamese twins…Siam…trade routes between France and Thailand…HMS Resolute!”

The HMS Resolute was a British ship that got lost in the Arctic that was salvaged by the US and returned to England where two desks were made out of it. One is in Buckingham Palace so they set out to storm the place. John Voight didn’t accompany Nic Cage and the sidekick on their journey because he’s too old. As John Voight comes home he’s knocked out by Ed Harris’ evil henchmen who make a copy of his phone so that they can listen in to his calls with Nic Cage and trail them to the treasure. John Voight being old and senile doesn’t think anything of the fact that, in the midst of this treasure hunt, someone broke into the house, knocked him out, but didn’t seem to steal anything. These guys aren’t that bright. They talk freely about where they’re going and why so Ed Harris tails them.

Richard: Does Helen Mirren play the queen in this?

Jeanne: That would rock.

In the middle of Buckingham Palace when Nic Cage and the sidekick are about to launch into their plan to get to the desk the German chick shows up saying that John Voight called her and told her to help out. Since Nic Cage’s plan to get to the desk was to make a scene and get arrested since the desk is in a room near the security office he decides to just use this opportunity and starts a big domestic squabble in the middle of Buckingham Palace. When the Buckingham guards approach them Nic Cage launches into some crazy, offensive British impersonation and starts shouting out things like haggis and bangers and mash. It’s like Tourette’s. The German catches on at some point and they both get arrested and detained.

The sidekick starts in on his computer wizardry and opens the security door for them. Nic Cage and the German ride a dumb waiter up to the room where the resolute desk is. They discover that the desk drawers are really a combination lock and when all four are drawn out the date “1876” a secret compartment is revealed. Inside is an old plaque with ancient Aztec or Incan carvings. Nic Cage hides the plaque in, we think, his ass.

Richard: Nic Cage’s ass is somewhere nothing should ever be.

The sidekick triggers the fire alarm and they’re able to get out unnoticed in the ensuing chaos. However! Ed Harris tails them from the building. A car chase ensues. Nic Cage tries to get someone’s cell phone to photograph the plaque but somehow they have the technology with them to infiltrate Buckingham Palace but not a working camera phone among them. So Nic Cage’s brilliance leads him to run a red light while holding up the plaque so that it’s photographed by the traffic camera. The sidekick is then able to retrieve this photo from the London database later. It’s magically of a good enough quality to zoom in and read all of the little glyphs. He then throws it out of the car into the Thames. It’s wood though so it floats and Ed Harris makes a henchman jump into the Thames to get it.

Nic Cage reveals that the plaque must be a key to finding the lost city of gold! And then John Voight shakes his head and says, “Can you imagine if the Confederates get their hands on the lost city of gold?!”

Jeanne: What can they do? Can they suddenly make all black people slaves again? How much gold is there?

Apparently, one of the only few people on the planet able to decode the plaque is Nic Cage’s mom, a.k.a Helen Mirren. John Voight and Helen Mirren begin to bicker about lost toothbrushes from like three decades ago. She grudgingly translates it although she clearly shows disdain for treasure hunts. She also lets them know that the glyphs are partial and there must be another plaque. Nic surmises that the plaque must be in the other resolute desk which is in…DUN DUN DUN…the oval office. Good luck breaking in there. American’s don’t mess around with security. If you start a domestic dispute in the White House they’ll shoot first and plant evidence later.

They decide to infiltrate the White House under cover of the Annual Easter Egg Hunt. The German calls her date, who happens to work in the White House, and uses him to get a tour that stops in the oval office. Somehow he’s not creeped out that she also wants her ex-boyfriend to join them on this tour.

Jeanne: I like how she’s in love with two men with horrible hair.

Chris: (referring to the German’s date) You don’t remember him from The Hulk?

Jeanne: Did he play a vampire in something?

Chris: In The Hulk…he was Liv Tyler’s new boyfriend.

Richard: You guys saw The Hulk? When did you guys see The Hulk?

Chris: In North Carolina.

Jeanne: (To Richard) Why do you keep hitting me?

Richard: I missed Iron Man and The Hulk.

Jeanne: We were in North Carolina. We saw it at this place called Cinebarre. It serves you food.

Chris: He plays Doc. Sampson but he’s not Doc. Sampson yet.

While in the oval office, the German pretends to lose an earring and under the guise of searching Nic Cage opens up the puzzle box desk but GASP there’s no plaque in the hidden compartment. Instead there’s a symbol stamped on the wood that turns out to be the symbol for the “Book of Secrets” which is a book passed down from president to president. The next logical conclusion is, of course, to kidnap the president.

They manage this by leaking a rumor that the location where the president is having a party was used for Klan meetings. They then book up all of the alternate hotels except for Mount Vernon, forcing the President’s party to be moved there. Nic Cage then sneaks into the hotel and gets the president, also a big history buff, to follow him into these little known catacombs under the building. Once trapped in there he confronts the President about the book. The President’s pretty good-natured about the whole thing and gives him the location in the Library of Congress where he can find the book but warns him that what Nic’s just done will be interpreted as kidnapping so he’ll be on the run for the rest of his quest. The President also tells Nic Cage to read page 47 in addition to the info on the resolute desk. Could this be the setup for National Treasure 3??

Nic Cage and company storm the Library of Congress and find the book but the police are on their tail. Nic takes a camera phone photo of the plaque and reads that President Coolidge ordered the plaque destroyed. Bastard. He also looks at Page 47 but we aren’t let in on what’s there. Totally a setup for National Treasure 3. He then does a dumb thing and sends the photo to his dad whose cell phone is still copied by Ed Harris. He also calls his dad and tells him that they need to take the photo to his mom leading Ed Harris to get there first and intimidate Helen Mirren into lying to Nic and John Voight about the meaning of the plaque, but she fits in some inside code about Hummingbirds that John Voight gets so Nic Cage and team totally show up at Mt. Rushmore where the next clue is. Of course, Ed Harris is there, too, being his crazy ass self. Ed has dragged Helen Mirren with him to the mountain to help him figure out the puzzle. When the two groups meet Nic Cage and company convince Ed Harris that they should all just go in on this together. Ed Harris agrees to leave his henchmen and guns in exchange for getting full credit for having discovered the city of gold. This seems like a shitty exchange. He’s got the guns.

So the clue at Mount Rushmore involves finding a bird in the rocks during a cloudless rain. Jeanne suggests they all just start peeing on the rocks but instead everyone begins emptying out their water bottles. So like four water bottles compared to a hundred feet of rocks. Yeah, this won’t take forever. What am I talking about? This is a Nic Cage movie. They find an eagle in a rock in about thirty seconds. Strangely, it looks like an eagle with a vagina. There’s a hole in the rock in a sort of compromising-looking spot. And, of course, the clue tells them that they must stick their hand in the bird’s rock vagina. Nic Cage totally goes for it. He’s all about bird vagina.

So Nic Cage pulls some lever in the bird vagina that opens up a passage into an awesome catacomb of relics but after they get inside the entrance caves in leaving them trapped. The sidekick notices the one little gold statue in the whole room and starts walking toward it saying, “It’s a little golden man...”

Jeanne: That’s totally a trap.

He reaches it and it’s totally a trap.

Jeanne: I called it! It’s the only piece of gold. Of course it’s a trap.

So the room starts disintegrating and becomes just one giant square slab balancing on a pillar. Nic, sidekick, German and Ed Harris are all trapped on it. Helen Mirren and John Voight were far enough back to avoid getting stuck on the square so they try to find another way around. Nic Cage starts getting everyone to move around in order to tilt one corner of the platform up to reach a ladder on the wall. This all seems pretty pointless. Ed Harris starts fucking with the balance when Nic Cage tries to get to the ladder first because he wants to go first.

Jeanne: They should just push him off.

Richard: Nic Cage is no murderer.

Jeanne: Unless you consider murdering the genre of film…then maybe.

Anyway, everyone makes it off the balance cube of death. They all walk into a giant chamber where, much like the first movie, they use a torch to light a ditch filled with oil so that the flame snakes through the whole room providing enough illumination to ooh and aah to.

Chris: This is from the fucking last movie.

Jeanne: Yeah, where they lit the one thing and it lit the whole room. I guess that was common among Incas and Masons alike.

They follow a path down into a giant water-filled room.

Jeanne: They’ve got to shut off the water. I bet there are ways to shut off the water.

Chris: It’s like a video game.

Jeanne: It’s like Lara Croft.

Richard: Helen Mirren’s like Lara Croft.

The scene shifts over to John Voight and Helen Mirren who were separated from the group before the cube of death. So since they’re pretty old they get to face way easier challenges. Instead of having to balance on a thousand year old cube of rock teetering on a crumbling pillar they just have to grab a rope together and swing across a three foot wide gap in the path. That’s it. So sad. They manage to get across, both falling to the ground. Jeanne worries for the safety of their hips.

Jeanne: We’re old but we did it! Let’s have sex. Did you bring your Viagra?

Richard begins to laugh uncontrollably. There’s nothing funnier than old people doing it.

So back in the water room, Nic Cage finds a giant wheel. They all help turn it and the water totally starts to drain away revealing a giant golden city. Madness!

We also find out that Ed Harris is fucking crazy and he slandered the good Gates family name just to con them into searching for the golden city just so he could harass and follow them so that once it was found he could claim to have found it himself and make famous the Wilkinson family name. Dude, just fuck Britney Spears. That’s how everyone else seems to make a name for themselves.

Unfortunately, in this moment of weirdness while everyone is awed by the pretty gold city, the mechanism that drained the city breaks. Fucking Incas and their shitty carpentry. So the city begins to flood. The only exit that they find involves a lever that must be held open by someone while the others exit into a tunnel. This means one person must stay behind and drown. Ed Harris freaks the fuck out and demands he be able to go first. Everyone concedes to this but when Nic Cage goes to hold open the door for Ed Harris to leave first everyone else is swept through by the force of the current and Ed Harris struggles to get to the door because of the rising water. He ends up being pushed back to the lever. Nic Cage tries his best to save Ed Harris but it ends up being impossible and Ed Harris accepts that he will have to stay. He asks Nic Cage to give him credit for discovering the golden city in exchange for him drowning and everything in order to let Nic Cage out.

Nic Cage and company emerge from the tunnel and are greeted by the FBI who are still pissed about that whole kidnapping-the-president-thing. Now that Nic Cage has stumbled upon the symbol of gold and all, the president tells his troops that Nic Cage didn’t kidnap him but actually saved him when they became accidentally trapped in a tunnel. He’s a total dick for not having told them that before. The president announces that Nic Cage’s family name has been cleared and Nic Cage makes sure that Ed Harris will be credited along with them with the discovery of the city. Aww…how nice. The next scene involves all of them down in a now emptied city of gold excavating and cataloguing everything.

Richard: It’s even kind of funny watching Nic Cage drink out of a cup with a straw.

Jeanne: He does do everything like an alien.

Richard: He’s like Starman.

Jeanne: Is this what KPax was like?

The president asks Nic Cage about the mysterious Page 47 which Nic Cage claims will blow your mind. I guess we will have to wait for the sequel, National Treasure 3: This Time We Steal Your Mom! Nic Cage and the German reconcile and fireworks go off and everyone’s happy…except Ed Harris.

Jeanne: Gay.

Richard: There’s more Jeanne. It’s not even over yet.

The sidekick walks outside and sees his Ferrari. The President was nice enough to un-impound it for him. He then goes speeding off into the credits. I hope his ass got pulled over.

The Saturday Night Itinerant Brooklyn Gang is:

Jeanne Lopez, Cookie Monster

Rick Sayre, Pop-Culture Critic

Christopher Wilson, Vampire Hunter

BrooklynGang@picturesandframesmagazine.com

MUSIC:

Craig David – Trust Me

Craig David is an artist who hasn’t been seen or heard from much on this side of the Atlantic in several years. Except for hearing his 2002 single “What’s Your Flavor” in a few recent commercials, some may think that he disappeared or stopped making music altogether. David made quite a name for himself with his first two releases 2001’s Born to Do It and 2002’s Slicker Than Your Average. His third release was 2005’s R&B and ballad driven The Story Goes… which his record label decided not to release in the U.S. After a three-year hiatus, U.S. fans can rejoice with the release of his fourth studio album Trust Me.

Trust Me is an 11-track set of eclectic tunes. David showcases a versatility that was only hinted at on previous releases. He moves easily from dance (“Hot Stuff”), to reggae (“She’s On Fire”), to R&B (“Just A Reminder”), to hip-hop (“This Is The Girl”), to pop/rock (“Top of the Hill”), and to ballads (“Officially Yours”). Like most of David’s music, this album has an upbeat, jubilant flavor. But the difference this time around is the sound. The music has more of an organic feel. It’s definitely more dynamic in range. This is due in large part to relying more on live instrumentation as heard on “Friday Night,” the brassy “6 Of 1 Thing,” and the Latin-tinged “Don’t Play With Our Love.”

It’s obvious that David wants to party, dance, and have a good time. He could easily get the dance floor jumping with songs like “Hot Stuff” and “Friday Night.” But on Trust Me, he also wants to showcase a softer, more mature side. Songs like “Top of the Hill,” “Awkward,” and “Kinda Girl For Me” express his feelings about life, love and relationships. David’s versatility, emotional expression, ability to flow, and smooth vocal delivery all combine to make this album his best to date.

Trust Me is David in top-notch form. He has the ability to get the party hype with upbeat numbers as well as take it down a few notches with hot slow jams. His desire to keep the music fresh as well as be candid with lyrical content not only makes him more interesting but that much more appealing than your average performer. Trust Me is a vivid portrait of how David has matured as a man and as an artist. Hopefully, the U.S. music market will get back on board. It’ll be nice to see and hear what musical ride David will take us on with his next release.

Markell@picturesandframesmagazine.com

Coldplay – Viva la Vida or Death and All his Friends

“Viva la Vida” literally means, “Here’s to life.” Although the title might seem a bit Ricky Martin-esque. you should feel a great sense of relief to know that there are no “Vida Loca” inspired tracks anywhere on the album. What you will find when you listen to Coldplay’s fourth studio release is a surprisingly grand achievement that will have you singing and dancing from beginning to end.

A tribute to life brushed on a musical canvas with sounds and colors from Madrid, Tokyo, Paris and London, the title song from the album Viva la Vida has been playing over and over on my computer for the past week. Yes, the song is that good, but so is the album. Produced by the prolific Brian Eno, Viva la Vida takes us on a new direction away from the traditional sounds of Coldplay’s previous three albums. With challenging vocals from Chris Martin, dirtier guitar riffs, great hooks, plenty of orchestration and an overall larger than life feel, the album possesses a musical maturity that can easily be compared to the groundbreaking achievements of U2’s Achtung Baby, Radiohead’s Ok Computer and Smashing Pumpkins’ Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness.

I can honestly say that this album has changed the way I feel about Coldplay. For years I’ve thought of them as an extremely overrated band. I liked their music but I just couldn’t justify the hype that they were given here in the U.S. I also remember being very disappointed when I saw them in concert during the Parachutes tour. I admit that over the years they have started to grow on me but it has taken a couple of albums and several hit singles for me to acknowledge that Coldplay has matured into an impressive band. This album is their crown jewel, their greatest achievement in my book. Here’s to life or death and all his friends.

Juanmarcos@picturesandframesmagazine.com

Coldplay - Viva La Vida

I just love Chris Martin. There are few men who make me feel life-cup-overflowing like he does (see also: Fran Healy and Glen Hansard). Merely hearing him talk makes me feel utterly ashamed for occupying my existence in less than amazing fulfillment. "Life is a gift, honor it!" he oozes. Hallelujah!

So it's really no surprise that Coldplay's fourth and latest album, Viva La Vida, is complete muscular, triumphant gorgeousness. Lord knows we need internal resurgences, especially in our current times and in that department, Coldplay is king. Listen to any of these tracks and try to hold back your heart from leaping in front of you and offering a basket of muffins to your neighbor, office mate, or local barista, no matter what state you're in. Coldplay's magic lies in consistently throwing you a life raft, a heavenly wash of waves from our true universal ocean. Barack should consider them for a campaign anthem; they may just be my U2.

From pure instrumental track, "Life in Technicolor," global rhythms of Latin America and Africa in "Yes," and my personal fave, "Strawberry Swing," with album art graced by Frida Kahlo's genius, Viva La Vida is alive and more avant-garde than ever before. The production assistance of a man named Brian Eno can be seen all throughout the album and it’s many stand-out moments: "42's" thoughtful lullaby introduction ("Those who are dead are not dead/They're just living in my head/And since I fell for that spell/I am living there as well/Oh.../Time is so short and I'm sure/There must be something more...") to it's fantastic mad molecular dance breakdown (remix alert!), the daybreak bliss of "Lovers in Japan," and the champion for all witnesses to present day local and global confusion, "Lost!"

In a recent free concert at Brixton Academy in London, Martin simply proclaimed, "Singing is the way you feel empowered and good." There is a time for life and one for death. One for joy and one for sadness. This album is life; it is joy. No better song captures that than the title track.

It's your pura vida, chiquita. Should there be any other way? Do yourself a favor and see them live with special someones this summer. It's simply bewitching how beautiful you will feel and how much love your soul will expand to release.

“I took my love down to Violet Hill/There we sat in the snow/All that time she was silent still/So if you love me/Won't you let me know?/If you love me/Won't you let me know?” ("Violet Hill," Viva La Vida)

Jehan@picturesandframesmagazine.com

Cyndi Lauper – Bring Ya to the Brink

It’s been quite a while since Cyndi Lauper has released an album of new original material. There’s been her album of remakes, The Body Acoustic; her album of standards, At Last; the brilliant Shine EP out in 2001; and Merry Xmas Have a Nice Life since her 1996 disc Sisters of Avalon. So in a way, it’s nice to have Cyndi back and doing her thing: making really fun pop music.

From the singles “Into the nightlife” and “Same ol’ story” you can tell that Cyndi is courting the dance floor. The album finds her collaborating with several different producers and some make much stronger impressions than others. Mainly Basement Jaxx, who collaborate on the song “Rocking chair,” which grabs your attention right at the beginning and ends up being the track that’s hard to beat. “Same ol’ story” is fun, but after the impact of “Rocking chair” it seems a bit fluffy. There’s also a lack of ballads, which some people might like. I however think that I may love Cyndi best when she’s singing a ballad, so I was a bit disappointed.

I should note that my other favorite song on the album, the great “Got candy,” is only available as part of the Deluxe iTunes version (or, apparently, the Japanese edition of the album). Regardless of whether or not I really connected with the songs on Bring Ya to the Brink, I can’t stop listening to them and smiling. It’s ear candy worth sampling.

Rick@picturesandframesmagazine.com

Chante Moore – Love the Woman

It’s been eight years since singer-songwriter Chante Moore released her last solo album Exposed. Though her solo-output waned over the years, she released two critically acclaimed albums with her singer-songwriter husband Kenny Lattimore, 2002’s The Things Lovers Do and 2006’s Covered/Uncovered. Fans have probably been clamoring for her next solo album. Fans no longer have to wait with the release of Love the Woman.

Love the Woman, executive produced by Moore, is an 11-track set that re-unites her with the legendary George Duke, along with producers Raphael Saadiq, Warryn “Baby Dubb” Campbell, Shelea Frazier, Jan “ODubbG” Fairchild, Antonio Dixon & Eric Dawkins, and Jamey Jaz. Moore, who’s known to write or co-write much of her material, co-wrote two songs with producer Jamey Jaz (“Love Action” and the title track). Even with minimal lyrical input, the overall subject matter of the songs (the ups and downs of love) fit quite well into her respectable repertoire. Songs like “Always Gonna Be Somethin’,” “Can’t Do It,” and “It Ain’t Supposed to Be This Way” all address relationship difficulties, working through those difficulties, and commitment (particularly knowing when to stay and when to leave). Songs like “Do For You,” “First Kiss,” “Love Action,” and the title track all focus on the softer, sensual side of love. Moore addresses infidelity on her remake of the Nancy Wilson classic “Guess Who I Saw Today.” And “Special,” is a hypnotic, inspirational track encouraging women to love themselves and to cherish their self-worth.

Vocally, Moore couldn’t be better. She’s one of the best contemporary vocalists in the game. She knows her voice and knows how to use it effectively. Moore can effortlessly change its color or tonal quality to get the right feeling(s) out of each song. Though she can sing several genres of music with ease, listeners may find that she’s at her best on the jazzier tunes like “It Ain’t Supposed to Be This Way,” “First Kiss,” “Guess Who I Saw Today,” and her beautiful, passionate remake of Minnie Riperton’s “Give Me Time.” After hearing these tunes, fans (and critics alike) will hope that Moore releases a jazz album sometime in the future.

At a little over 45 minutes, Love the Woman is probably Moore’s most concise release. With eight years between this and her last solo album, fans will probably yearn for more. Overall, it’s a solid release – lyrically, vocally, and musically. It may not break any new ground in terms of lyrical content or production but the overall quality and Moore’s consummate delivery makes it that much sweeter. Hopefully, it won’t be another eight years for her next solo album.

Markell@picturesandframesmagazine.com

Cassandra Wilson – Loverly

In 2001, Time Magazine called jazz vocalist Cassandra Wilson, “America’s Best Singer.” Things like that are always debatable (I know that our editor would vehemently disagree) but what made me fall in love with Wilson is the way that she truly gives each song her own unique spin. You may have heard the songs she sings, but you’ll never hear them like this, with Wilson’s smoky molasses vocals and phrasing… It’s exciting as a fan to hear this new album, Loverly, as it finds Wilson playing with standards.

I admit that when it comes to music, I love romance. Nothing is more romantic than an album of standards. Of course, nothing can be more awful sometimes than an album of standards. (See: Rod Stewart’s American Song Book series.) But when you add classics like “Lover come back to me,” “Spring can really hang you up the most” and “’Til there was you” with a performer like Wilson, you can really do no wrong*. This album is all good, but my standout favorite is her take on “Wouldn’t it be loverly?” from My Fair Lady. All in all, Loverly is another outstanding addition to her gorgeous body of work.

*Except when it comes to the album’s cover art.

Rick@picturesandframesmagazine.com

BOOKS:

The (Not So) Tripe Times of Dorothy Parker

Mrs. Dorothy Parker, as she always insisted on being called, had a habit. Her friends could ignore the heavy drinking which always ended in terrible hangovers “fit to be put under glass at the Smithsonian Institute.” They could ignore the flying rumors, many of which were true, about extramarital relationships and abortions. They could not, however, ignore the habit, which in the journalism world is the very worst a writer can have.

No matter how hard she tried to curb it, Parker always turned her stories and columns in late, often rewriting an article upwards to fifteen times before settling on a final draft. The weekly deadline dilemma went something like this:

On Friday afternoon Parker would miss her copy deadline for her anonymously written column The Constant Reader. By Sunday morning, Harold Ross, the founder of The New Yorker, would assign someone from the magazine to call Parker and ask her about the status of the column. She would airily reply that she only had the last paragraph to polish and then the story would be done. After a great number of calls and an even greater number of revisions, Parker would have the column completed in the late afternoon. She’d pick up a new book to review for the next week, and the cycle would begin all over again.

Despite her habit, Parker’s friends and more importantly her audience embraced her for the wit, sarcasm and personal nature of her writing. As a woman working in the 1920s, Parker was an anomaly not only in the immediate society but also in the world of journalism. With a mix of humor and first-person narrative structure, her work made points not only about the arts she reviewed but about society as a whole, Parker along the way establishing a unique and more importantly sellable voice in male-dominated journalism.

At the same time, Parker set herself up as one of the most influential short story writers of the generation with successes like “Big Blonde” which won her an O.Henry Award in 1929. As a founding member of the elite Algonquin Round Table writers’ group, which included literati such as Robert Benchley, Harold Ross, Robert Sherwood and Aleck Woollcott, Parker played not only the voice of wit but also the voice of the sole female—until that is Tallulah Bankhead, Edna Ferber and Helen Hayes joined the group later on.

Noted for her on-the-spot comments about sexuality and her inability to carry money to pay for taxis, Parker was at best a lovable intellectual eccentric and at worst a socially awkward depressive alcoholic. She was everything a woman of her time shouldn’t be, but it’s little wonder in light of her turbulent childhood.

Born on the New Jersey shore in 1893 into a well-to-do family, Parker, born Dorothy Rothschild, was the youngest of four children and separated in age from the others just enough to feel alienated from them all. Her mother Eliza died when Parker was just 5-years-old, a death that throughout her adult life Parker would partially blame on herself. When her father Henry remarried a retired Christian schoolteacher, Eleanor Francis Lewis, Parker did everything in her power to estrange and belittle the stepmother intruder. When Eleanor fell down dead of an acute cerebral hemorrhage in 1903, the 10-year-old Parker would never again know a mother’s affection. Consequently, her short stories and articles are often missing the loving mother figure. The women of her imagination are portrayed either as apathetic or actively abusive to their children. Additionally, Parker displaces her affection to pets, notably dogs, which in her Constant Reader columns acts a recurring theme.

These two deaths were later followed by the death of Parker’s Uncle Martin, who drowned in the sinking of the Titanic in 1912, and then the next year her father Henry followed in passing. At age 20, Parker had very little family left to call her own and set to work in the city, picking up a job teaching at a dance school while writing verse to submit to magazines at the same time.

In 1916, Parker’s verse Any Porch caught the eye of Vanity Fair editor Frank Crowninshield who paid the young writer 12 dollars to publish the piece. Impressed with Parker’s gusto and ballsy-ness, Crowninshield offered Parker a job as a copy editor over at Vanity Fair’s sister magazine Vogue a few months later. Writing captions for the fashion section, Parker began to define her witty style on advertisements for lingerie and boxer briefs. A notable caption from this time is the ever-quoted wittisism: “Brevity is the soul of lingerie.”

Rubbing Edna Woolman Chase, the editor of Vogue, the wrong way with her sarcasm and tendency to mock classic concepts of the perfect woman, Parker left the magazine in 1917 to take up work at Vanity Fair. Within just a few months, Parker landed the job as the theater critic and for three years worked writing progressively acerbic and mocking reviews. It was here that Parker met both her best friend and writing collaborator Robert Benchley and Round Table pal Robert Sherwood. When Parker was asked to leave Vanity Fair because of a series of reviews that infuriated the magazine’s advertisers, Benchley and Sherwood supported her, Benchley leaving his managing editor position in protest.

Starting in 1920, Parker began more serious work in her short stories and creative writing. During this time she wrote subtitles for the D.W. Griffith film Remodeling Her Husband and wrote stringer verse for Life and drama reviews for Ainslee’s. In 1924, when Round Table member Harold Ross cooked up the plan to start a magazine about New York life, most of his friends were skeptical at best, afraid to attach their names to a magazine that would ultimately fail. Parker, not caring what happened to her name but not thinking that anything would come of Ross’ effort, agreed to work on the editorial board for the fledging run of The New Yorker. As it would turn out, Parker would work for Ross for thirty-two years and the highlights of that journey for her would be both published short stories and The Constant Reader column.

The column itself was journalistically innovative in several ways; it used a witty, sarcastic and blunt first-person narrative that had strong feminist undertones and that interjected corrections into the text itself. Parker did not look at literature academically as most of the “booksie-wooksies” at other papers and magazines did; she looked at literature intuitively, often feeling instead of thinking her way through the text. She adored clean active writing that allowed people to understand emotions and interactions; deplored writing just for the sake of writing; appreciated writers the most when they strayed not too far from reporting the events. As a journalist with a great skill for editing, Ernest Hemingway was one of Parker’s favorite short story writers though she did not, as others did, hold him up as the greatest novelist of the time.

With both her heartfelt and acerbic opinions, Parker either made or destroyed the success of novels and particular authors. In praise she was effusive penning, “Journal of Katherine Mansfield is a beautiful book and an invaluable one…” In her censure, she was equally passionate:

“Daddy, what’s an optimist?” said Pat to Mike while they were walking down the street together one day.

“One who thought that Margot Asquith wasn’t going to write any more,” replied the absent-minded professor, as he wound up the cat and put the clock out.” –Written as the introduction to a review of Margot Asquith’s autobiography.)

Parker’s columns were so popular, however, because they were also fair. While she would often tear a work down into pieces and attack the author along with it, Parker would point out both the good and bad things about a piece of literature. She always looked at an author’s work in the context of past works and often granted that although one piece was a flop that another was a great success. In this way she never lost perspective on the literary environment or gave way to the sensationalism of quips and witticisms. Her primary goal in this was to praise the praiseworthy and censure the undeserving.

Her columns were also so well read because Parker shared herself with the readers, in many cases even forgetting that she was writing a review and not a personal account. She would speak about playing bridge with Ernest Hemingway or going to social gatherings and feeling out of place. She spoke of trips to Switzerland and poked fun at her relationship failures. At the same time, she talked to the readers as if they were friends. She treated her columns like conversations instead of recommendations. “Recommendations seem to me always impudent; but perhaps I know you well enough to ask a favor of you. Please, will you put down whatever that thing is that you’re doing and read Savage Messiah?” she asked of her audience in one column.

Although she only wrote a series of 46 Constant Reader columns from the period between 1927-1933, Parker heavily influenced the personal approach to journalism that was later embraced and crystallized by Thomas Wolfe and Hunter S. Thompson. Moreover, her style directly affected the confessional tones of the Beat Generation writings. The style also allowed for the review tradition of heavy skepticism before approval and praise, a style now that is so cliché that reviewers can hardly escape from falling into its trap.

After giving up Constant Reader, Parker continued to write theater and literature reviews for Esquire and remained on staff at The New Yorker. She also continued to work on her short stories and worked on scripts for at least 15 Hollywood screenplays. She died in some obscurity in 1967, leaving behind her estate to the NAACP and the work of Martin Luther King, Jr. At 74 years of age, her death was perhaps the only deadline that she met right on time or perhaps even a bit before it. But, then again, even when Parker was frantically hitting the keys of her typewriter just hours before final deadline, she was always ahead of her time.          

Noralil@picturesandframesmagazine.com

FICTION:

Past, Present & Future

I often wonder if our ancestors are pleased

With our progress

Looking down on us – would they hold their heads

High in praise or hold them down

In shame?

Would that feel that everything they fought for

Was in vain?

Would they feel we are living up to the legacy they’ve left behind?

It’s a valid question

Considering the disparities

Within our community

There’s a disconnect between

Generations and classes

Between faith and moral values

Between the revolutionary and the righteous

Between traditional and unconventional

Between family and community

Sometimes it seems like we are ghosts

Of what we were before

The shades of greatness remain

But the people have yet to figure out

What or how to use it

All is not lost yet all is not

Fully realized

And I hope that our ancestors have not

Given up on us

The way we have given up on

Each other

I hope they believe that we

All can come together to believe

And dream and fight to win

Again

Because it’s there

It never left

We were born to survive

In even the bleakest situations

There’s still time

To mobilize

There’s still hope and faith

That we can get it together

And bring everyone to the same

Place again

We just can’t forget about

What was

We can’t forget about who fought the many battles and

Won

We can’t forget about our

Ancestors

We must think of them

Because they are why

We are here

And why we must go on

© 2008 Markell Williams

Markell@picturesandframesmagazine.com

SPOTLIGHT:

Sydney Pollack

(1934-2008)

            The first time I saw a movie directed by Sydney Pollack was during my initial fascination with the wonderful actress Faye Dunaway. The film was Three Days of the Condor, starring Pollack’s most frequent collaborator Robert Redford. I couldn’t quite articulate it at the time, but I knew enough to understand that there was something remarkably unique about Pollack’s film. Later I would realize that his entire body of work had that singularity to it as well, reflecting the confluence of cinematic expression that had a strong influence on the legendary director.

            Sydney Pollack was one of many in a fine class of American directors that emerged in the sixties and seventies, which included such names as Martin Scorsese, Francis Ford Coppola, Robert Altman, Steven Spielberg, Norman Jewison and Arthur Penn. These were men who grew up as children on the great American films of the studio era, but were ushered into adulthood being inspired by the European and Asian cinema of the 1950s and early 60s.

            “In the sixties and seventies every major college campus, and the area around, on Friday nights was full of kids going to foreign films,” Pollack remembered in the documentary A Decade Under the Influence. Citing the impact that filmmakers such as Jean-Luc Godard, Akira Kurosawa and Yasujiro Ozu had on him, Pollack further described how movies were evolving when he said, “Hollywood films hadn’t changed for a long time. You measured, in many ways, your pleasure at movies from the distance they lived from your own life. You’d watch Ingrid Bergman walking up a fog enshrouded ramp to a plane with Bogart waving goodbye… you know this was never going to happen to you, ever. That started to change, again, with these revolutions that happened in the sixties. People wanted something that they recognized, that was a part of them, and it wasn’t the distance from your life that was the appealing thing. In many ways it was the recognition that that was a part of your life.”

            That special quality that I was, perhaps, not analytical enough to decipher as a young man watching Three Days of the Condor was, in fact, the successful merging of two great influences: the character driven, personal film of the European cinema and the grandeur of classic Hollywood movies. This is what I would come to know as a staple of Sydney Pollack’s technique.

            Sydney Pollack was born July 1, 1934 in Lafayette, Indiana. Shortly after graduating high school in 1952 he moved to New York where he studied acting at The Neighborhood Playhouse School of the Theatre. After serving two years in the army, Pollack returned to The Neighborhood Playhouse and taught acting. He started an acting career on the stage, which led to his film debut in War Hunt (1962, alongside Robert Redford). Throughout much of the early sixties, Pollack worked steadily as a director on television.

            In 1965, Pollack had his first feature film directorial effort with The Slender Thread, a drama about a young volunteer for a crisis hotline helping a suicidal caller, starring Sidney Poitier and Anne Bancroft. However it was his second picture, This Property Is Condemned (1966) that gained Pollack some well-deserved notice.

            Starring Robert Redford and Natalie Wood, This Property Is Condemned is adapted from a play by Tennessee Williams. It takes place in a depression era Mississippi town where Robert Redford has been assigned to lay off many of the railroad workers, thus weakening the town’s economy. Natalie Wood plays the daughter of the woman who runs the halfway house Redford is staying at. The two leads dance around each other beautifully, trying to avoid the inevitable fact that they will fall in love. Pollack’s direction is more than impressive. His ability to tell a personal story within a Hollywood set piece is evident even in his earliest works.

            Another key theme that runs throughout Pollack’s films is present in this drama, which is an act of survival or desperation setting a person on a path they can’t back out of, and may not be able to correct before it is too late. Natalie Wood’s character constantly does things that seem necessary at the moment, but she needs them to survive. The repercussions, however, are disastrous.

            Pollack next made two genre pictures, The Scalphunters (1968) and