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DECEMBER06

ROBERT ALTMAN

February 20, 1925 – November 20, 2006

“Filmmaking is a chance to live many lifetimes.”

“To play it safe is not to play.”

“It's all just one film to me. Just different chapters.”

“Wisdom and love have nothing to do with each other. Wisdom is staying alive, survival. You’re wise if you don’t stick your finger in the light plug. Love—you’ll stick your finger in anything.”

-Courtesy of the wit and wisdom of Robert Altman.

When I first learned that Robert Altman had made a film version of several of Raymond Carver’s short stories (and poetry), I was both thrilled and apprehensive. I had started reading Raymond Carver’s work about two years after the film was released theatrically and the man had quite literally blown my mind. I had absolutely no idea as to how his stories would translate on film nor how they would be altered and sacrificed, but I also knew that if ever there were a filmmaker to take on the challenge, it would be Altman. I was not let down.

Shortcuts, along with Nashville, MASH, The Player, Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean, Kansas City, Gosford Park and Dr. T & The Women are the only Altman film’s that I have seen thus far and they are all unforgettable, unique and surprising in every way. Dr. T & The Women especially is a prime example of a film that, in any other director’s hands, would have been diluted to the status of a trite “Lifetime”-esque dramedy, but with Altman at the helm, it is a charming, relevant and moving film, and also one of my absolute favorites.

Robert Altman was an experienced director and writer, a man who worked with the likes of Alfred Hitchcock and fashioned a career that spanned decades on the notion of true independence. But, much like Carver, who broke the literary mold in more ways than one, what I will always remember Altman for is his storytelling. He loved to tell stories, and he did so with incomparable ease. He may no longer be with us, but thanks to the power of film, he will never be too far away.

Lily Percy - Editor

DECEMBER06

The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Volume I and II

By Alan Moore and Kevin O’Neill

“The British Empire has always encountered difficulty in distinguishing between its heroes and its monsters.”

Serving as further proof that comic book film adaptations are almost never as good as their original literary sources, Alan Moore and Kevin O’Neill’s The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen series is a wonder to read: terrifying and horrific at times (especially the alien art in Volume II); funny and sarcastic throughout; but most of all, unique in its story and subsequent telling.

Volume I is my favorite of the two, mostly because it didn’t scare me nearly as much as the second one. For those of you who have seen Stephen Norrington’s 2003 film of the same name, much like myself, the comic will come as a complete surprise. The plot is similar (sort of…not really) as the gang here is searching for a creepy war lord who is trying to take over and destroy England through a cavorite that would allow him to control powered flight thus serving as an aerial war machine.

Every single character in The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen is based on and named after (with some exceptions due to strict copyright laws) famous literary characters, most often from the Victorian period (every lit major’s dream/nightmare). Unlike the film however, where the characters of Tom Sawyer and Dorian Gray were added (why I don’t know), the graphic novels are led by Wilhelmina’s league, which consists of Miss Wilhelmina Murray of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Captain Nemo of Jules Verne fame, Allan Quatermain of King Solomon’s Mines, Dr. Jekyll/Hyde, and H.G. Wells’ Hawley Griffin, better known as “The Invisible Man.”

It is so much fun to read about the gang’s adventures and watch them interact, and all of their literary backstory’s frequently come into play, making each arc in the novels all the more interesting. Volume II, written and released a couple of years after the first series, deals with space aliens from Mars, and while the art is often downright shocking (I seriously had to look away on several occasions) and the relationship that develops between Mina and Allan is, well, dirty and age-defying to say the least (even I, unabashed lover of Sam Waterston and Clint Eastwood, took a step back and said, “Ewww”), the second set feels far more predictable and all-together less exciting than the first. It did, however, still make me long for another Volume of exciting adventures to read and that, as well all know, is the mark of any good work of fiction.

Lily Percy - Editor

NOVEMBER06

Fur: An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus

Directed by: Steven Shainberg

Written by: Erin Cressida Wilson

Starring: Nicole Kidman, Robert Downey, Jr. and Ty Burrell

Since 2002’s Secretary, Steven Shainberg and screenwriter Erin Cressida Wilson have held a high place in my heart. They both have the rare ability to make universal love stories out of atypical characters and themes (hooray for James Spader as a heartthrob!), a gift that they have graciously brought to the big screen once again with their latest film, Fur: An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus.

At the center of the film is Diane Arbus, played by Nicole Kidman, a woman whose photographs are quite familiar but whose story is not, something that will further enhance the film’s powerful effect. Fur is not a biopic—yes, there are elements of Arbus’ real life in the film, such as a glimpse of her upbringing, her family and such—rather, it is the story behind the story, or what Shainberg and Wilson imagine the story, and the inspiration, of Arbus’ life to be. 

In the film, that inspiration comes in the form of Lionel Sweeney, played by the ever-brilliant Robert Downey Jr., a mysterious new tenant who moves into Arbus’ building. I knew nothing about Fur going into the screening and therefore I hesitate to say any more about the story or the characters in the film because the surprises that it holds won’t resonate as strongly if you are privy to them beforehand. That being said, Kidman and Downey Jr. (whose eyes have never been so radiant) light up the screen in their respective parts. I have never understood why Kidman is so underrated as an actress, especially considering the challenging roles that she has taken on with aplomb the past couple of years, but she always uses this to her credit, making us both appreciate and fall in love with her in every frame. These two actors are what make Fur an indescribable and unforgettable love story, and definitely one of the best films of the year.

Lily Percy - Editor

NOVEMBER06

Babel

Directed by: Alejandro González Iñárritu

Written by: Guillermo Arriaga

Starring: Brad Pitt, Cate Blanchett, Gael García Bernal, Koji Yakusho, Adriana Barraza and Rinko Kikuchi.

Pick any scene from Amores Perros or 21 Grams and you’ll be able to clearly see the fingerprints of Alejandro González Iñárritu, Guillermo Arriaga and Gustavo Santaolalla. Babel is the third collaboration that the threesome has embarked upon and it is no different from their earlier work: gripping, emotionally charged and devastating. But unlike Amores Perros, which connected all of the stories onscreen with ease, and 21 Grams, which did the same, Babel suffers from a lack of connection—something that may seem fitting when you consider the origin of the film’s title.

Guillermo Arriaga is an incredible writer; the stories and ideas that this man weaves are nothing short of astounding. When you look at his career, Babel seems like the logical next step—a story about a variety of countries, languages and cultures, all trying to communicate with one another, and often failing. But the grand scope of Babel—we go from California to Mexico to Morroco to Tokyo all throughout the film—often spreads the stories and characters thin. I found myself wishing that Arriaga had focused only on one particular storyline rather than four, something that, having taken place in the same location, I never found to be a distraction nor a problem with any of his previous screenplays.

Regardless, Babel is still an astonishing achievement that should be celebrated for what it attempts to accomplish. The actors in the film are superb (I have never been more shocked by an actor than I was by Brad Pitt in this film. The subtlety that he brings to his role is breathtaking) and the cinematography matches the grandeur of their performances perfectly. DP Rodrigo Prieto and Iñárritu pepper each of their films with shots of locals—of their faces, expressions, daily lives—and their surroundings, something which always adds yet another layer of realism to the story unfolding onscreen. When I watch an Iñárritu film I know that I am going to be riveted for the next couple of hours, and that I will come out of the film having learned something new about myself and the world around me. There aren’t many directors out there that I can say that about, and that is enough to warrant repeat viewings of Babel.

Lily Percy - Editor

NOVEMBER06

The Namesake

Directed by: Mira Nair

Written by: Sooni Taraporevala

Starring: Tabu, Irfan Khan, Kal Penn and Zuleikha Robinson

Even though it is only November and there are still a slew of films waiting to be seen, I am going to go ahead and say it: Mira Nair’s The Namesake is my favorite film of 2006. I could argue endlessly about whether it is the best film of the year, and there will be plenty of time to argue when our Top 5 lists come around, but I know that it is the most powerful, and the only film to leave me sobbing days after its screening.

For those of you who have not read Jhumpa Lahiri’s wonderful novel, on which the film is based upon, The Namesake tells the story of Ashoke and Ashima Ganguli and their journey to America from Calcutta. More than just another immigrant story, the power of the film lies in the recognizable nature of the Ganguli family’s struggle to survive amidst new surroundings, to assimilate and also raise their children, who are by birthright Americans, to respect and care for their own culture. Their firstborn, Gogol, is the central focus in the film, but he is not in any way the central character. One of the many things that I loved about The Namesake is the way that Ashoke and Ashima’s individual stories are brought to life in the film. It is through them that we come to fully appreciate Gogol, just as it is through Gogol’s eyes that we come to see another side of his parents.

Years ago when Monsoon Wedding was released on DVD, I remember renting it for my parents and I to watch. Although my family is Colombian, my parents were able to laugh, relate and understand every joke, storyline and dilemma that unfolded onscreen. I’m not underestimating my parents, by all accounts they are two very cultured people, but I know that the reason that they loved Monsoon Wedding so much lies in the way in which it was presented to them.

Nair is more than a director, she is a skilled storyteller who truly knows her characters and tells their stories as if they were her own. Because of this, every word and image in her films rings true, and The Namesake is no exception. The core of the film lies in the never-ending struggle of parents and their children—their need to be understood by their children, and our need as children to understand them. The journey to do so is a long and strenuous one, often ridden with painful mistakes and regrets, but when we finally come to appreciate our parents and their story, really embrace them as Gogol does, we in turn understand ourselves, and can at last accept the namesake that they have left behind.

Lily Percy - Editor

OCTOBER06

The Departed

Directed by: Martin Scorsese

Written by: William Monahan

Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Matt Damon, Jack Nicholson, Martin Sheen, Mark Wahlberg and Vera Farmiga.

Martin Scorsese’s The Departed is the kind of film that makes me want to scream, in a fit of testosterone rage, “Bad Ass.” Now, it’s not that I don’t normally go around saying these words but in the context of a review, having them be the only words on the page would be kind of stupid (not that that’s ever stopped me) so I thought that I would try my best to back up this assertion and explain exactly why the film is so brilliant.

If you’ve seen Infernal Affairs, with the wonderful Tony Leung, then you’re already familiar with the story that drives Scorsese’s film, as it is an adaptation of the good-cop/bad-cop original. Even so, The Departed is just as thrilling and suspenseful as it’s Hong Kong predecessor—the movie grabs you right from the very beginning and doesn’t let go until the end credits roll. William Monahan has written a script that is witty and heartfelt (there’s many a classic quotable line held within it), is realistic and actually makes sense, something that makes it even easier for the talented group of actors assembled onscreen to really shine.

The film takes place in Boston and, as you know, Boston accents are not the easiest to imitate but everyone does an incredible job of subtle fitting in to their characters and their settings. Martin Sheen, Matt Damon, Jack Nicholson and Mark Wahlberg, the latter whom really stands out in the film, are all terrific in their roles, but they are all really just supporting characters in the film when alongside the acting talent of Leonardo DiCaprio.

Ever since the publicity storm that was Titanic, DiCaprio has been wisely molding a career for himself that is both challenging and enviable, taking on roles that open rather than limit him as an actor. He averages about one film a year, something that is quite unheard of in Hollywood if you want to “build a successful career,” and it is clear that this is solely because he only works when he thinks it is worthwhile, rather than when his pocketbook feels lighter. Matt Damon’s role in the film required him to be stoic and unfeeling, to maintain a sort of poker face throughout the movie, but DiCaprio had to be all of these and more. He had to essentially play two different roles that required entirely different things, and play them both with an underlying sense of vulnerability, something that isn’t exactly easy when you’re a tough Irish cop from Boston.

Many film critics and historians have remarked that DiCaprio is the modern day De Niro in the classic Scorsese/De Niro onscreen pairing. All of the films that Scorsese has made in the past couple of years have starred DiCaprio and are the better for it. If The Departed is even a glimpse of what’s in store for this team (and their audience) for the next couple of years, I for one am running to the ticket line.

Lily Percy - Editor

OCTOBER06

The Science of Sleep

Written and Directed by: Michel Gondry

Starring: Gael García Bernal, Charlotte Gainsbourg and Alain Chabat.

Michel Gondry has called his latest film, The Science of Sleep, his most personal work yet and it is easy to see why. The film is filled with all of the quirky and unique characters, sets and visual tricks that we’ve come to expect from the man who brought us The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, one of the greatest love stories ever put to film. But unlike Eternal Sunshine, which had the amazing Charlie Kaufman as its screenwriting genius, The Science of Sleep is lacking a concrete plot, something that, well, tends to matter to most seasoned movie audiences.

In a recent interview with “Studio 360,” Gondry explained that he uses creativity as a way to seduce women, and that he has been doing so since he was a pre-pubescent teenager in France. In that same interview, Gondry also went on to say that he equates “dream making with filmmaking” and it is these two central ideas that pretty much drive The Science of Sleep. Gael García Bernal is adorable as Stéphane, and so is Charlotte Gainsbourg as Stéphanie, and the same can be said for the entire movie. There is no great lesson to be learned with Gondry’s film, no deeper truth will manifest or resolve itself by the end of the film; as long as you understand this and go into the movie simply seeking to be entertained you will actually be entertained. Plus, getting to stare at Bernal for two hours is always an added bonus, well worth your $10.50.

Lily Percy - Editor

OCTOBER06

Until I Find You – John Irving

“That day in Femke’s room on the Bergstraat, Jack started looking for William Burns. In a way, Jack had looked for him ever since—and on such slim evidence! That a woman he thought was a prostitute, who may have been lying—who was unquestionably cruel—told him that his dad had seen him.

Alice had contradicted Femke on the spot: “She’s lying, Jack.”

You’re the one who’s lying, to yourself,” Femke replied. “It’s a lie to think that William still loves you—it’s a joke to assume he ever did!”

“I know he loved me once,” Alice said.

“If William ever loved you, he couldn’t bear to see you prostitute yourself,” Femke said. “It would kill him to see you in a window or a doorway, wouldn’t it? That is, if he cared about you.”

“Of course he cares about me!” Alice cried.

Imagine that you are four, and your mother is in a shouting match with a stranger. Do you really hear the argument? Aren’t you trying so hard to understand the last thing that was said—to interpret it—that you miss the next thing that is said, and the thing after that? Isn’t that how a four-year-old hears, or doesn’t hear, an adult argument?”

--An excerpt from, Until I Find You, by John Irving.

Until I Find You is John Irving’s eleventh novel, something that, considering his long career and plethora of classic stories, seems like an understatement of sorts in retrospect. Like many of Irving’s other books, this one is set in both Canada and New England, both places where Jack Burns, the central character of the novel, grows up.

Jack is raised by his mother Alice, a tattoo artist who has never quite gotten over the fact that Jack’s father, William, left them and never came back. The first half of the novel is dedicated to searching for William, and in many ways, so is the rest of the book, as his disappearance and absence will haunt Jack for the rest of his life. 

Jack will go on to become a well-known actor and philanderer, but it is his childhood years that serve as the training ground for Jack’s future ambitions. At a private all-girls school in Canada, where only a handful of boys, grades 1-4 are allowed to attend, Jack is schooled in the ways of the world by girls nearly twice his age, many of whom are eager to get ‘first crack’ at Jack based on his father’s legendary sexual exploits and reputation. In any other hands, this kind of sexual exploitation (Jack is all of 6 years old when a lot of this stuff happens) would come as lewd and disgusting, and while it is indeed both of those things, the situations that Jack finds himself in, sexual or otherwise, are also heartfelt and humorous, and that is due entirely to Irving’s skilled storytelling abilities.

A Prayer for Owen Meany and A Widow for One Year are still my favorite John Irving novels, but like every one of his books, Until I Find You is an engrossing and unforgettable read. Irving writes characters that are so perfectly flawed and human that you feel as if you’ve known them for years; you recognize yourself in them and in their situations. Irving is quite possibly the greatest American writer living today.

Lily Percy – Editor

OCTOBER06

John Mayer – Continuum

“No, I’m not the man I used to be lately/See, you met me an interesting time/And if my past is any sign of your future/You should be warned before I left you inside.” (“I don’t Trust Myself (With Loving You)”)

John Mayer has described his new record, Continuum, as the album that best represents him. He has said that if you don’t like it, you can go ahead and write him off completely. He’s right.

Continuum is the album that John Mayer fans have been waiting for. I hate to use the word ‘adult’ in reference to music as it conjures up horrifying, boring images but it really is Mayer’s most grown up record, both lyrically and musically. If you’ve been following his career from the beginning then this album will be the next logical step after last year’s Try! the live John Mayer Trio CD, and 2003’s wonderful Heavier Things. If this is the first album that you pick up, I can’t think of a better place to start and work your way from.

I am a sucker for any man who knows how to really play an instrument and Mayer’s guitar-slinger prowess is the stuff that legends are made of. But backed by Steve Jordan on drums and Pino Palladino on bass, Mayer’s Trio band, there is a rich, full, textured sound (god, an expanded vocabulary would really help right about now) to each song on Continuum. The guitar hook and chorus in “Belief” are still in my head, even after countless appeasing repeat plays, and the endearing simplicity of “The Heart of Life” continuously bowls me over. Not to mention the sheer rockin’ joy encompassed in “Vultures,” first heard on last year’s live album, and “Bold As Love,” a terrific cover of the Hendrix classic. And then there are the lyrics.

“Had a talk with my old man/Said “help me understand”/He said “turn sixty-eight”/”You’ll renegotiate”/”Don’t stop this train/Don’t for a minute change the place you’re in/And don’t think I couldn’t ever understand/I tried my hand/John, honestly we’ll never stop this train.” (“Stop This Train”)

Myself a girl in her mid-twenties, Mayer’s lyrics have always been in direct correlation to whatever new growth and learning process I was undergoing and this time is no different. Taking a cue from Lucy’s angst-filled “Stop the world, I want to get off!” in the unforgettable Charles Schulz cartoons, “Stop This Train” is filled with the kind of thoughts and ideas that start to unravel when you finally begin to realize that time is indeed fleeting, your parents are not super heroes, and that there really is no day but today. The fact that Mayer continues to ask these questions, and demands so much of himself and his listeners, is a testament to his skill as an artist and his sincere love of music. As Cameron Crowe would probably say, it takes a true fan to be a great artist and John Mayer, lucky for us, is both.

Lily Percy – Editor

SEPTEMBER06

Hollywoodland

Directed by: Allen Coulter

Written by:  Paul Bernbaum

Starring: Ben Affleck, Adrien Brody, Molly Parker, Robin Tunney, Dash Mihok and Caroline Dhavernas.

Ben Affleck, Ben Affleck, Ben Affleck. I don’t know what crazy voodoo you pulled on me when I first saw you as Holden McNeil but it did the trick—I’m in it for the long haul. Though many of the naysayers who rhymed your name with myriad stupid nicknames and bad acting puns have now come around with the release of your new film, Hollywoodland, let me be the first to say what all true Affleckians are thinking (in my best Smith-esque impersonation): “See, there ain’t nothing that this guy can’t do.”

All joking aside, first-time feature director Allen Coulter’s Hollywoodland, while a well-told, intricate mystery film overall, is really only worth plunking down your hard-earned $10.50 for one reason: Ben Affleck. Admittedly, the performances by Adrian Brody and Diane Lane are great, but that should come as no great surprise to any avid moviegoer. What is surprising, however, is the fact that Affleck has never played a role like this before—and that no one thought he could pull it off. There are many similarities between George Reeves, the actor whom Affleck portrays in the film, and Ben Affleck, but the most striking is how quickly they were both typecast as actors in Hollywood. Reeves hated playing Superman, hated the acting limitations that it brought with it, and was never really given a chance to portray anything other than ‘the man of steel.’ In the public’s mind, he was Superman, nothing else.

In much the same way, Affleck has been pigeonholed (often times due to his own dubious choices) as an actor as well. In most critic circles, he is seen as incapable of pulling off a dramatic role—and yet when you look at films like Chasing Amy, Shakespeare in Love, Bounce, Changing Lanes, and yes, even Jersey Girl, the reality is quite different. The reason that Affleck embodies the role of George Reeves so well is that, much like Reeves, he is capable of being charming, funny and moving, which are all also qualities that make for a movie star, and that in itself is limiting. At the end of the film, you come away knowing more than just the cause of  George Reeves’ death; you also learn the truth about the cruel and often fickle nature of Hollywoodland.

Lily Percy - Editor

SEPTEMBER06

Sebadoh – Sebadoh III - Reissue

Lou Barlow is probably best known for the song “Natural One,” his collaboration with John Davis on side-band Folk Implosion (one of many Barlow side-acts) and the song that made the KIDS soundtrack such a bestseller. But if you were a fan of “low-fi” music (anything that sounds/or actually was recorded on a four/eight track) in the early 90s, then chances are Barlow’s name is synonymous with indie-rock band Sebadoh.

I first heard of Sebadoh in 1996 when a friend of mine excitedly put on Harmacy, declaring it to be the best album he’d heard in years. At the time it really was. This passionate introduction led me to backtrack through their catalogue to earlier recordings, such as 1994’s Bake Sale and 1992’s Sebadoh III.  Much like Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska, which was recorded in the privacy of Springsteen’s kitchen on a simple four-track cassette deck, Sebadoh III sounds intimate and naked, and songs such as “Kath,” “Supernatural Force” and “Hassle” are a mixture of the best that folk and indie-rock fused guitar noise has to offer.

The new reissue of the album includes a 2^nd CD full of rarities and B-sides, and includes an essay detailing the  “Making of Sebadoh III” in the liner notes, a must-read for Sebadoh fans. When I put this album on again (for the first time in years), I was automatically transported to the 90s of my youth, a time when music and the world seemed to be abundantly filled with promise. They say that you can’t ever really go home again, but albums such as Sebadoh III prove otherwise.

Lily Percy – Editor

AUGUST06

The Good Life by Jay McInerney

“For some reason, I couldn’t make myself leave, feeling like it should’ve been me in there, that I’d never done anything in my life to justify my surviving. And maybe this was the first time in my life I had a chance to do something important. So I went back to the pile and joined a line, and pretty soon a body was found twenty feet away from me. Work stopped as we passed up a body bag and it started to come back. When it got to me, I grabbed it and the zipper broke open and I was looking at a face burned beyond recognition. It was black. I’m not sure how I knew it was a woman, but I was sure that it was. And I started shaking. A fireman from Long Island who was behind me in the line kind of moved up to comfort me, try to get me to let go. Because I was holding on to it. For some reason, I couldn’t let go. Finally, I passed the bag on, and ten minutes later I found myself standing in a puddle of blood…

After the fumes from the broken gas lines knocked me out, I finally staggered out. I didn’t know which way I was going. I felt dizzy and nauseated. I hadn’t slept. I could hardly see at that point, from the dust. St. Vincent’s had a station set up to wash eyes, and after that I started walking uptown. All of a sudden, this beautiful woman appeared out of the dust and the smoke. And it was you. Whenever I’d closed my eyes, I’d seen that woman without a face. But there you were, giving the world a new face.”

-An excerpt from Jay McInerney’s The Good Life

Since 9/11, there have been a lot of writers who have tackled the subject of terrorism, patriotism, fear and what it means to be a New Yorker in the wake of this unshakeable tragedy (Jonathan Safran Foer readily comes to mind as he was one of the first writers who bravely tackled the subject). Jay McInerney’s latest novel, The Good Life, released earlier this year, tells a different kind of story altogether, a familiar one in that it is ultimately a love story, but one that takes place in the weeks after the day the towers fell.

McInerney could easily have exploited this event for his own purposes, made a sentimental mess out of his characters’ lives or arcs, but because he is such a skilled writer (the man can actually make a run-on sentence sound like poetry) and because he also happens to be a native New Yorker, every word, scene and plot twist held within his 353-page novel feels true—and consequently, heartbreaking.

Corrine and Luke, the former a mother/screenwriter, the latter a retired stock broker, two people whose lives have meaning only on the surface, meet in the aftermath of the WTC tragedy. Although they are both already married, they embark on a journey together that ultimately mirrors the one that their own city is also undergoing. McInerney has long been a master at adding depth and emotion to a world that is anything but, writing at length about the rich and their constant drug-induced social climbing ways. What makes this novel different, however, is the incredible undercurrent of hope and faith that subtle runs through it—Corrine and Luke were both two people that, before 9/11, had given up on the idea that their lives had any meaning or purpose, that they could ever really be happy, and yet it is through this tragedy that they come to find a new beginning where there had previously only been an ending.

Lily Percy - Editor

AUGUST06

Sufjan Stevens – The Avalanche

Every review that I’ve read of Sufjan Stevens latest release, The Avalanche, a collection of b-sides and leftovers from last year’s Illinoise sessions, has contained the following line, expressed in a variety of ways: “How is he going to keep this shit up?”

The “shit” in question is his quest to write an album for each of the 50 states, a project that has thus far taken him (and us) to Michigan and Illinois. It appears that music critics and fans alike are skeptical of Stevens’ talents and abilities (Critics, skeptical? What a shock!), but if anything The Avalanche should serve as fair warning that this man’s talent runs deeper than any simple gimmick would have you believe.

Stevens has apologized for what he worried might be an album full of songs not even worth releasing, but just one listen to the 21-tracks on The Avalanche proves otherwise. The title track serves as a great starting point for the album, and songs such as “Adlai Stevenson” (my personal favorite), “The Henney Buggy Band,” “Saul Bellow” and “Springfield, or Bobby Got a Shadfly Caught in his Hair” will soon become additions to your long list of beloved Sufjan Stevens songs.

I for one do not often stop to wonder if he will be able to carry this through another 48 states—I’m too busy enjoying his music, and waiting patiently for his next release, to really care.  

Lily Percy - Editor

AUGUST06

Johnny Cash – American V: A Hundred Highways

The very idea of cover songs was created for the sole purpose of re-invention, allowing the artist covering the other artist’s song the opportunity to add his own unique and indelible mark upon the familiar lyrics and music. That is unless you’re Johnny Cash, in which case you take a song, any song, and make it solely your own.

American V: A Hundred Highways, produced by the legendary Rick Rubin, a frequent collaborator in the past few years, was Cash’s last album recorded before his death in September 2003. While Cash did not write most of the songs included on the album, they all seem to have been written specifically for him. From his tender phrasing on Gordon Lightfoot’s “If You Could Read My Mind” to his sullen, ominous and yet altogether hopeful rendition of Springsteen’s “Further On (Up the Road),” the songs included on American V are moving and unforgettable—the perfect eulogy for a man who lived a life of faith, sin, hope and love as a walking contradiction who will never be pinned down nor fully understood.

Lily Percy - Editor

JULY06

Bruce Springsteen – We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions

After a particularly crappy month, filled with more than a dozen of life’s cruel idiosyncratic jokes, I found myself considering, albeit briefly, each of the following options:

1) Killing Myself

2) Going to the self-improvement isle at Barnes & Noble, picking up a book at random, reading it, and then killing myself.

3) Seeking counseling or some other form of therapy worthy of at least five Woody Allen storylines.  

Instead of pursuing any of these obviously fruitful paths, I loaded up the new Bruce Springsteen album into my iPOD, hit repeat and never looked back. To say that one album saved my life would be ridiculous, but if you’ve ever heard a Springsteen album you know that ain't too far from the truth.

The Seeger Sessions is, quite frankly, the sound of being alive. Every song on the album is a potent mix of gospel, hope, folk, bluegrass, idealism and patriotism all loaded into one hell of a good time. From the raucous “Old Dan Tucker” to the righteous “Jacob’s Ladder,” from the hopeful “Oh Mary Don’t You Weep” to the killer “Eyes on the Prize,” Springsteen and his 18-piece Seeger Sessions band bring a lust and passion to these songs that should, by all intensive purposes, be illegal.

The songs on this album were recorded in one take—you can hear Springsteen leading his army on as the record unfolds—and after seeing the Seeger Sessions band in concert at Madison Square Garden late last month I understand why. Bringing thousands of clapping, shouting and weeping New Yorkers to their feet is no small feat; there is simply a spirit of joy and promise that fills the room when these songs are played—I dare you to listen and not be moved.

Artist Link: www.brucespringsteen.net.

-Lily Percy, Editor

JULY06

Elizabethtown: Volumes I & II

In attempt to be “financially responsible,” whatever the hell that means, I resisted every urge to buy the two volume Elizabethtown soundtracks when they were initially released. But on a recent trip to D.C., and a four hour long car ride through the countryside on a particularly sketchy Chinatown bus, I gave in to the urge that consumed me and bought the soundtracks to one of my favorite film’s last year.

Cameron Crowe is the keeper of my heart, this much is true. If Spike Lee is indeed my favorite director, then Crowe is without a doubt my favorite writer. The man knows how, when and why to pull the tender heartstrings that bind me, and better yet, he knows what songs to play while doing gently doing so. Every image in his films is coupled with an equally perfect song, and Elizabethtown is certainly no exception: From Elton John’s heartbreaking “My Father’s Gun” and the Hollies’ “Jesus was a Cross maker” to Wheat’s “Don’t I Hold You” and Patty Griffin’s haunting version of “Moon River,” these two CD’s encompass enough nostalgia, romance and wanderlust to make even the most ardent homebody want to pack up, plug in and wander the country, Kerouac-style.

-Lily Percy, Editor

JUNE06

KEANE

I don’t think that Keane would have left such a mark on me were it not for the fact that I now reside in New York City; that I now ride trains daily and walk streets that are filled with people just like William Keane (especially at Port Authority). I’ve seen them shake and cry and yell and mutter to themselves and this film, deeply anchored by Damien Lewis’ jarring one-man performance, hits closer to home than I’d like to really admit. It makes me ask uncomfortable questions, the kind that usually leads to equally unsatisfying answers.

I know, even as I write this, that it will probably not be the last time that I think the following words: this film disturbed, shocked and kept me awake at night. (Just this week I saw Michael Winterbottom’s new film Road to Guantanamo and it did the same.) But I do think that regardless of the countless times that I use these words, they still hold undeniable weight and feeling. One thing is for sure: After watching Keane, I cannot look away.

- Lily Percy, Editor

JUNE06

Groucho and Me, The Essential Groucho and The Groucho Letters: Letters to and from Groucho Marx

Letter to Peter Lorre

Dear Peter:

It was very thoughtful of you to send me a book explaining James Joyce’s Ulysses. All I need now is another book explaining this study by Stuart Gilbert who, if memory serves, painted the celebrated picture of George Washington which hangs in the Metropolitan Museum. I realize that there is some two hundred years’ difference in their ages, but any man who can explain Joyce must be very old and very wise.

You disappeared rather mysteriously the other night, but I attribute this to your life of crime in the movies.

Best to you both.

Regards,

Groucho

An exchange from Duck Soup:

Mrs. Teasdale: “I was with my husband to the very end.”

Groucho: “Huh! No wonder her passed away.”

Mrs. Teasdale: “I held him in my arms and kissed him.”

Groucho: “Oh, I see. Then it was murder.”

I can count the names on both hands—the names of the people who shaped me as a child and ultimately formed the person that I am today. There are the writers—Alcott, Lewis, Salinger, Cleary, Shakespeare; the actors—Jimmy Stewart, Humphrey Bogart, Paul Newman, River Phoenix, Winona Ryder, Bette Davis, the two Hepburns. And then there’s Groucho.

Born Julius Henry Marx on October 2, 1890, Groucho is one of the first solid memories of father-daughter bonding that I remember to this day. Going to the local video store every Saturday night right after church and renting the familiar titles, over and over again. Duck Soup, A Day at the Races, The Cocoanuts, A Night at the Opera, Animal Crackers—we rented them because my dad loved them, and because each time that he would pick-up one of their VHS tape covers he would nod his head in approval and say, “Esta es buena.”

Even as a kid, with my rather limited vocabulary, I grew to love them to. At first, simply because my father clearly did, but as I grew older I came to recognize a part of myself in Groucho, saw myself reflected in his greasepaint mustache, in every one of his puns, sarcastic wisecracks and unstoppable wordplays. I related to his love of language, of words, and his passion for spinning them around, chewing them over and then releasing them onto unsuspecting but willing ears.

Reading these three books that are brimming with Groucho’s humor, intelligence, heart, wit, humanity, bawdy perverseness and painful sadness, is like taking a trip through time via my own personal Delorean. There are jokes that I never got at the age of six, nine or 13 that now make me cry with laughter. But no matter how much time passes, I am amazed at how little my love for this man has changed.

-Lily Percy, Editor

JUNE06

Snow Patrol – Eyes Open

“If I lay here/If I just lay here/would you just lie with me and just forget the world.”

It’s like singer Gary Lightbody knew exactly the kind of images that his lyrics would evoke, like he knew that his words, accompanied by melodies that both lift, console and break the heart, would make any listener want to lie in bed all day or sit on the F train waiting for forever to come, begin and then come again.

I was caught completely off-guard by this album. To be perfectly honest, before Eyes Open, I had never even heard one Snow Patrol song. I knew that they had opened for U2 in Europe, knew that they were Irish…and that’s about it. Now there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t hum a line or sing a lyric off of  “Headlights on Dark Roads” or “It’s beginning to get to me.” Their songs are infectious—begging to be played on radio stations and MP3 players all across the world, and if I’m not mistaken, if my head is not too far up my ass, I believe that they already are.

-Lily Percy, Editor

MAY06

Danielson: A Family Movie or Make a Joyful Noise HERE ***1/2

Directed by: JL Aronson

Starring: The Danielson Famille (with a very special appearance by Sufjan Stevens)

It takes a lot of courage to be a true individual these days, to stand up for what you believe—especially when what you believe in is looked down upon by a vast majority of your peers.

I went in to Danielson: A Family Movie or Make a Joyful Noise HERE, a documentary by JL Aronson that centers around musician Daniel Smith, his music, his Christian faith and his band, which is literally comprised of his brothers and sisters (and the occasional guest star, Sufjan Stevens, thrown in for good measure), not knowing much about Smith or his family history. The film chronicles the Famille’s early beginnings, playing at church services, and also tells the story behind their start as a band: Daniel Smith had a thesis to write and the Danielson Famille became his thesis.

The documentary shows the Famille as they travel across the world, spreading their unique music and gospel into places where they are, often more than not, well received, but also shows the realities that marriage, college and jobs bring to each Smith brother and sister as the years progress. What makes the documentary work, and ultimately extremely compelling, however, is Daniel Smith, the head of the Danielson Famille. Always sincere and honest, seemingly unafraid of the perceptions or judgments of the crowds that come to see him in concert, Smith is both a good person and a good musician, without a hint of pretense or egotistical noise.

I saw Danielson: A Family Movie at this year’s New York Underground Film Festival—the film was preceded by shorts that featured, among other things, cat’s licking dildos—and the audience was a melting pot of New York’s finest punks, rebels, hipsters and goths. Despite what the red state/blue state mentality might have you believe, everyone really seemed to love the film, and I get the sense, after listening to Daniel Smith’s music and message, that that is exactly the crowd of followers he intended to lead all along.

- Lily Percy, Editor

APRIL06

Some Kind of Monster *****

Directed by: Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky

Starring: James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich, Kirk Hammett and Bob Rock.

See Metallica run. See Metallica hide. See Metallica fight the macho stereotype by doing the unthinkable: undertaking group counseling. Filmmakers Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky had plenty of ideas in mind when they followed über heavy metal band Metallica as they recorded their album “St. Anger,” an album three years in the making (the doc was filmed from 2001-2003), but they could never have anticipated that their “Making of” doc would turn into the definitive music documentary.

I have never been a Metallica fan—I once had a crush on Dave Mustaine (of Megadeath fame) who was part of the original line-up of the band but that’s pretty much where my allegiance ends. I have always grouped them with their fans (you know exactly what I mean) and I have to admit that I never really gave them much credit as musicians let alone as people. But Some Kind of Monster shut me up, and then proceeded to slap me around for a couple more rounds.

The film chronicles the brutal realities of drug abuse, addiction, materialism, egocentricity—all of the foundations of rock n’ roll some might argue—in ways that have never seemed so obvious, raw or naked. When lead singer James Hetfield tells Lars Ulrich that he can’t talk to him, that he can’t stand him nor Metallica, you not only see his frustration, you feel it. And, the kicker is, you actually care. I never thought I would be endorsing anything related to a band that I gravely feared and loathed as a child but I’ll be damned if Some Kind of Monster doesn’t almost make me want to go out and buy their entire back catalogue. Almost.

- Lily Percy, Editor

APRIL06

“We sat on the couch in an almost-dark living room and started kissing. I was shy, but I didn't want Seema to know how shy I really was, so I put on an act as if I were used to all this kissing in the dark with no one around. I thought that she was probably more experienced than I was and I decided that it was about time for me to feel a girl's breast. Well, I can't say, "I decided" — I was just going on what I'd heard from all the other boys my age, especially my cousin Buddy, who was nine months older than me.

It took me about eight minutes to get my hand near the start of Seema's breast — the hairs of her new angora sweater kept coming off in my fingers, which certainly didn't help any. After another three or four minutes, I finally put my hand on about one-third of her breast. As soon as I did, she jerked away. My mouth went dry. She looked at me with such disappointment in her eyes and said, "You're just like all the other boys, aren't you?" I flushed so hot I thought I'd burst. I couldn't understand why she didn't say anything during all the kissing and creeping up the fake angora. Why didn't she just say, "No," or, "I don't want you to do that," or anything but what she did say. I wanted to tell her that I wasn't at all like all the other boys, that I thought she would like what I was doing, that I thought she was waiting for me to do it. But I was too embarrassed to say any of those things. I just said, "I'm sorry, Seema," and then wished her happy birthday and got out of there as fast as I could.”

- Gene Wilder, “Kiss Me Like a Stranger: My Search for Love and Art”

Gene Wilder begins the second chapter of his memoir, “Kiss Me Like a Stranger: My Search for Love and Art“ by asking the following question: “Can a few words change your life?” Throughout this wonderful memoir we are shown that the answer to this question is almost always a resounding yes, as words have served Mr. Wilder well time and again.

Having been raised on the brilliance of Mel Brooks, I was familiar with Gene Wilder for his frequent collaborations with Brooks—Young Frankenstein, Blazing Saddles, The Producers; these were what Gene Wilder was most famous for in my book. Always funny, whether using slapstick or his obvious sharp tongue, and yet, nevertheless, the image that I have engrained in my cinematic memory is that of Gene Wilder’s face, tragic and endearing, as the tortured Dr. Frederick Frankenstein. There has always been something about Wilder’s face, some underlying pain and mystery that permeated his every expression and ultimately drew me in, closer and closer.

Reading “Kiss Me Like a Stranger” reads like a page out of Gene Wilder’s private journals. Wilder writes so candidly, seemingly without a second thought, that everything he shares with us subsequently feels like an intimate secret. He talks at length about his four marriages, his struggle to control the demons that often paralyzed him emotionally, his battle with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, and, most rewardingly for the reader, he shares with us his life as both an actor and a man. Although I learned numerous new Wilder facts by reading his memoir (who knew he had written so many films?), the greatest joy undoubtedly came in uncovering what I had somehow known all along: it takes a great man to be funny. And Gene Wilder is as funny as they come.

- Lily Percy, Editor

MARCH06

Thank You For Smoking ***1/2

Written and directed by: Jason Reitman

Starring: Aaron Eckhart, Katie Holmes, Maria Bello, William H. Macy. Rob Lowe, Sam Elliott, Cameron Bright and Robert Duvall.

If only every film were this easy to review. Jason Reitman’s feature film debut, Thank Your For Smoking, is smart, funny, intelligent, relevant and oh-so entertaining. Reitman, who has been quietly penning the screen adaptation of Christopher Buckley’s acclaimed novel, has been winning awards for years for his ingenious and hilarious short films (check out some of them, including my personal favorite, “Consent,” on www.atomfilms.com), all of which seem to have provided him with the experience (not to mention the sense of humor) necessary to helm his first film. 

Thank You For Smoking is a satirical look at the tobacco industry and the lobbyists who work day in and day out to make sure that more and more people light up a cigarette than eat at McDonalds. At the center of the film is Nick Naylor, played with effortless charm by Aaron Eckhart, Big Tobacco’s chief spokesperson. Eckhart plays Naylor in such a way that we never stop liking nor empathizing with him, no matter how low or dirty the deeds that he does may be (dude, he represents the Cancer Merchants!), and that is indeed an incredible feat.

While Naylor’s charm can easily be credited to Eckhart, as is the case with the level of top-notch acting that lies with the exceptional caliber and nature of the all-around cast (particularly Sam Elliott as “The Marlboro Man” and Cameron Bright as Naylor’s inquisitive son Joey), the film’s success lies solely with Reitman. He never underestimates his audience, never panders nor manipulates nor goes for the easy laugh, but most of all, he always entertains (even as he preaches), and that is what makes Thank You For Smoking truly worth watching.

- Lily Percy, Editor

MARCH06

SUFJAN STEVENS – SEVEN SWANS

When a friend of mine gave me Sufjan Stevens’ Seven Swans for my birthday this time last year, he said as he handed it to me, in his best Almost Famous impersonation, “This CD will change your life.” He wasn’t kidding. It really did change my life.

As a music lover, and more importantly, as the daughter of a Pastor, I have always been, say, skeptical of “Christian Music.”  I would even go as far as saying that, with the exception of U2, I made it a point to avoid any artist who fell under that maligned category. Partly because of my own prejudice and preconceptions, but mostly because the music that was often delegated to said category really really sucked. That was, of course, until Sufjan Stevens chose to come into my life.

I say “chose” because that’s exactly the way that it feels, like this particular man, with his honesty and poetry and musical compositions that defy all notions of comprehension, chose to give me the gift of his music at precisely the moment in my life when I needed it and could truly understand it. Songs such as “All the trees of the Field,” “In the Devil’s Territory,” “Abraham,” “Size too Small” and one of my favorites, “He Woke Me Up Again,” all of these songs feel like songs that could have served as the accompaniment to so many moments and experiences throughout my life.

And then there’s “To be Alone with you” and “Seven Swans,” two songs that perfectly describe and embody my beliefs and my spirituality in ways that I would never be able to mouth publicly nor with any fathomable language. “I am Lord, I am Lord, I am Lord, he said,” Stevens whispers into my ear. So much of what I love about music—the barely audible breaths taken by a singer, the sliding and strumming of a guitar, of a piano’s foot pedal being gently pressed, the cries of a violin (or in this case, a banjo)—all of these small but penetrating noises that we are not meant to notice but still hear, it is as if Stevens fills all of his music with them, prides himself on their inclusion. And that is exactly how I would describe his music: As songs that are filled with all of the beauty and wonder and spirit of the world that we rarely notice but were undoubtedly meant to hear.

- Lily Percy, Editor

MARCH06

BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN & THE E STREET BAND – Hammersmith Odeon, London ‘75

"I saw rock and roll's future, and its name is Bruce Springsteen.”

- Jon Landau, May 22, 1974

Ever since I first heard Bruce Springsteen’s “Rosalita (Come Out Tonight)” in concert I’ve been trying my hardest to put into words just how the song makes me feel, secretly hoping that my rather limited vocabulary would somehow catch up to Max Weinberg’s pulsating drum beat and Clarence ‘The Big Man’ Clemmons unstoppable saxophone. Just recently, while listening to Bruce’s latest release, the 1975 Hammersmith Odeon concert, an image of Snoopy dancing dawned upon me. Remember how quickly Snoopy’s feet would shuffle when our beloved beagle was dancing along to Vince Guaraldi’s piano tunes? That’s exactly what listening to “Rosalita” does to me.

If I could bottle up the raw energy, passion, sex and youth that exudes from the Hammersmith CD (and the subsequent DVD of the concert that was included on last year’s re-release of Born to Run), I think I would wake up each morning feeling completely intoxicated by the sheer joy and wonder encompassed on this album. Bruce’s music makes me feel alive in ways that I never even knew possible, and that is precisely how his fans, and music critics, have described his music and live performances for years.

The Hammersmith Odeon concert was Springsteen’s first trip to the UK and marked the beginning of the legendary performer’s climb to the top of the critical charts. He was touring in support of the album that would eventually break him, both stateside and across the world, and was already beginning to have his now-famous moniker as “The Boss” follow him around, much to his chagrin. Listen closely to the Hammersmith concert, to staple Springsteen concert songs such as “Jungleland,” “Tenth Avenue Freeze Out,” “Spirit in the Night” and “Backstreets,” and I swear you can hear the sound of a legend being born.

- Lily Percy, Editor

FEBRUARY06

The White Countess **1/2

Directed by: James Ivory

Written by: Kazuo Ishiguro

Starring: Ralph Fiennes, Natasha Richardson, Vanessa Redgrave, Lynn Redgrave.

There is a sad weight attached to The White Countess, as with all of the grand Merchant/Ivory films; the fact that this will be the last of their collaborations only heightens this permeating feeling.

That being said, The White Countess does not stray far from the Merchant/Ivory formula, and that is not always necessarily a good thing. It feels like nearly every other literary adaptation that they have put to film, and while nobody does the tragic love story better than they do, this carbon-copy-esque approach tends to lessen the emotional impact of the story that unfolds on-screen.

Written by novelist Kazuo Ishiguro (of The Remains of the Day fame, another Merchant/Ivory production), The White Countess tells the story of Jackson (Ralph Fiennes), an American Diplomat living in Shanghai who befriends Sofia (Natasha Richardson), a Russian refugee (and former Countess) who supports her family through prostitution. The weepy romance is saved solely by the fine acting of its two leads, Fiennes and Richardson, who add a depth to characters that would otherwise be completely one-dimensional caricatures. But unfortunately even their supreme combined talents are not enough to save the film from its sad but inevitable fate: that of Netflix menstrual-inspired viewings by Fiennes fans (and romance novel readers) the world over.

- Lily Percy, Editor

FEBRUARY06

Caché **

Written and directed by: Michael Haneke

Starring: Daniel Auteuil, Juliette Binoche and Maurice Bénichou

There’s nothing that I hate more than a film that doesn’t deliver. The kind of film that has potential—that you find yourself thoroughly engrossed in throughout only to find that, as the credits roll on screen, there is no resolution to be had. Anywhere.

Unfortunately, Caché is this kind of film. Every review that I read leading up to watching it threw out words such as “Hitchcockian suspense” and “terrifying,” all of which made me want to run to the theater in anticipation, but while it is indeed both of these things, the last five minutes of the film kill any semblance of admiration or good will towards Michael Haneke and his film.

I normally hate it when film critics (the holy Roger Ebert included) divulge the entire plot line of a film but in this case Caché truly warrants it (if only to save you some hard-earned cash). The film itself is about a family who finds themselves being videotaped, constantly. The tapes have a surveillance quality to them but the great mystery lies in the random and obscured positioning of the camera not to mention the identity of the person making the tapes.

Suffice to say that this great mystery, the one thing that has been driving the film, is never revealed. Instead you get an ending shot that resolves nothing and only succeeds in pissing you off. Which, after reading countless theories and reviews on the film, seems to be Haneke’s point all along. He may have his reasons, political or otherwise, but either way the result is a crap ending for a film that had the potential to be anything but.

- Lily Percy, Editor

FEBRUARY06

West Wing (Season One)

A good TV show is like coming home—except better. For unlike your home, which changes and shape shifts into a myriad of locations, landlords, buildings and states as time goes by, your favorite television show, the best kind of television show, is always constant, always home. That’s what “The West Wing” is to me.

With his sharp and biting sense of humor, his innate understanding and love for the English language, not to mention his seemingly unshakeable idealism, creator Aaron Sorkin fashioned a show that set out to be about The White House Staff and somehow become a show about America—what we stand for, what we hold true and what we want more than anything to believe.

Season One is a joy to watch over and over again. With episodes such as “Let Bartlett be Bartlett,” which will forever be my election night catchphrase, “Take this Sabbath Day” and “What Kind of Day has it been,” (a “Sports Night” reference there for all of you CSC fans), Season One paves the way for what will ultimately be the best—and smartest—show on television for years to come.  Jed Bartlett, Charlie Young, Leo McGarry, CJ Craig, Sam Seaborne, Josh Lyman, Donna Moss and Toby Ziegler—if these names aren't ' t engrained in your psyche then you just haven’t been doing much breathing these past 7 years.

- Lily Percy, Editor

Sam: About a week ago I accidentally slept with a prostitute.

Toby: Really?

Sam: Yes.

Toby: You accidentally slept with a prostitute.

Sam: Call girl.

Toby: Accidentally.

Sam: Yes.

Toby: I don't understand, did you trip over something?

(Post Hoc Ergo Propter Hoc)

FEBRUARY06

Crossing California and The Washington Story

Written by: Adam Langer

“Shortly after her mother died, Jill had asked her father if the family could get a dog. Charlie Wasserstrom, his brow furrowed, his nervous, guilty smile on his face, told her they had two choices; either they could get a dog or go to Disney World on a family vacation, one they had originally planned to take with Becky. Jill said she didn’t need much time to think about that; she wanted the dog. Charlie came back after work the next day with three plane tickets to Orlando, and when Jill protested, he said the tickets were nonrefundable and he guessed he’d misunderstood her and he was sorry. He told Jill that they’d discuss “the dog question” after they got back from Florida, but Charlie never brought it up again, and whenever Jill did, he looked so worried and depressed that Jill eventually stopped mentioning it.

In a way, Jill hoped that her meeting with Muley that night had been accidental, that he had no intention of bringing her the dog. That would have made Muley’s act seem so much more like destiny, something in which Jill was just beginning to believe—that on the day her father had betrayed her for the second time, Muley had emerged out of nowhere, through some act of fate, to compensate. But in neither scenario—intentional or accidental—could Jill imagine that she was not supposed to be with Muley Scott Wills forever and ever. Or at least until they graduated from high school. Or at least for a little while.”

*An excerpt from Adam Langer’s, Crossing California

As anyone who knows me can attest to, I am a big fan of the Jews. For the life of me I cannot tell you why or where exactly this fascination began (although all roads lead to my father and his Passover Seders) but it has been a part of me for as long as I can remember. And in this heady and nostalgic obsession with remembrance of all things past, Adam Langer and I are united.

With Crossing California and its sequel, The Washington Story, Langer tells the story of a community of people, all connected to one another by two simple things: Judaism and their shared Chicago West Rogers Park neighborhood. This neighborhood contains Orthodox, Reformed and Conservative Jews, and while Langer deals almost exclusively with the latter, his detailed account of the delicate intricacies at play within these three branches is wry, delightful and eye opening.

The fact that he sets his story within the span of 1979 (beginning with the Iran Hostage crisis and ending with the election of Ronald Reagan; the sequel continues through the mid 80s) and the years that follow, years that obviously both shaped Langer and this country, and the fact that he does all of this while giving us a glimpse of the inner lives of four different families, all at the same time, is a prime example of Langer’s gift as a storyteller. His voice has been compared to Philip Roth’s and it is easy to see why—they both devour and divulge the secrets of their characters (and cultures) in ways that seem impossible, and often even a little too indiscreet.

But what makes Langer’s writing uniquely his own lies in its contemporary feel. Every reference that he makes, from Elliott Gould (who he defines, in the terrifically sly “Glossary of Selected Terms” included at the end of the book, as ‘1970s actor and Semitic sex symbol’) to Al Capone to Cheap Trick to The Clash, is felt and understood and ultimately shapes the novel, allowing it to become what it Langer must have always intended it to be: the definitive coming of age tale of America (not just Jewish America) in the late 1970s.

- Lily Percy, Editor

FEBRUARY06

ROBBIE WILLIAMS – INTENSIVE CARE

The fact is, you could literally pack up a pile of shit in saran wrap, tell me that it’s Robbie Williams' shit, stamp “IMPORT” on it and I would buy it in a second. That’s how blind my love for this British entertainer is. Because of this deep and sincere LUST for all things Robbie Williams, I was torn as to whether or not I should review his new album, Intensive Care.

Because as of right now, I don’t really feel anything for it or against it. I hear lyrics such as “Here I stand victorious, the only man who made you come,” from the album’s opening track “Ghosts” and I chuckle; “Tripping” has an addictive chorus that hooks you in and never lets up and sure, “Your Gay Friend” is funny, in that wonderfully self-deprecating tongue-in-cheek English way, all of the things that I’ve come to expect from the best-selling formula that is Mr. Robbie Williams.

So why the hesitation? Because it hasn’t grown on me yet, I guess. Williams’ last album (his Greatest Hits collection withstanding) Escapology took a long time for me to really love let alone “get” so maybe “Intensive Care” will be the same. There are albums that you love the moment that you pop them into the stereo and then there are albums that grow on you with time (many of my favorite artists, Rufus Wainwright for example, have been like this). The only thing that I can be sure of as I write this is that while Intensive Care may not necessarily make my iPod playlist, I will always follow Robbie Williams, wherever he chooses to go. That’s the pact that I made oh-so-long ago, when I first heard about his breath ‘smelling of a thousand fags’ and consequently proceeded to swoon. I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

- Lily Percy, Editor

Munich ****

Directed by: Steven Spielberg

Written by: Tony Kushner

Starring: Eric Bana, Matthew Kassovitz, Daniel Craig, Ciaran Hinds and Geoffrey Rush.

Much has been made over what Steven Spielberg is trying to say with his latest masterpiece, Munich, the story of what happened after the kidnapping and eventual slaughter of 11 Israeli athletes at the 1972 Olympic games at the hands of the Palestinian terrorist group Black September. Is Munich pro-Israel or pro-Palestinian? Which side is Spielberg on? If only it really were that simple.

Author Simon Reeve writes in his book One Day in September: the story of the 1972 Munich Olympics massacre and Israeli revenge operation, that the Munich massacre “thrust the Palestinian cause into the world spotlight, set the tone for decades of conflict in the Middle East, and launched a new era of international terrorism.” Reeve’s belief is essentially the driving force behind Munich, and was the film to have a particular “message” it would have to be this one.

The film begins with images of the kidnapping, providing the backdrop for the events that will unfold while also acting as emotional touchstones for the viewers, reminding us of where we began, what happened and is happening, and where we are going. We follow the lives of four men, members of the Israeli Intelligence Agency Mossad, as they travel throughout Europe, on a mission (known as the Operation Wrath of God) to murder 11 key members of Black September who were involved in the Munich Massacre (or so they are told).

The film maintains a heightened level of suspense, which later develops into paranoia, throughout and we see the world and the lives of these four men slowly begin to come undone. I cannot say that I was surprised at the tension that Spielberg was able to weave throughout his film, after all, this is the man who brought us Jaws and Jurassic Park, but I have to admit that I was shocked to find violence and sex (let alone nudity) in Munich. I can’t remember the last Spielberg film that contained either one (save for Schindler’s List, which was also his last film to have an R-rating) and Munich feels unlike any film that he has ever done. Sex and violence are juxtaposed in one particular scene and these two intertwined animalistic acts serve as a reminder of both what drives us and what we are capable of as human beings, and just how close to animals we really are.

As I write this I am still completely bowled over by Munich, and although it may seem rather silly to say, I find myself growing prouder and prouder by the day of Spielberg and what he has accomplished with this film. Ghandi once famously said (a million bumper stickers can’t be wrong), “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” It goes without saying that if history has shown us only one thing with any constancy it is that violence always begets violence. Spielberg’s film ends with a shot of the WTC Towers looming in the background. Munich is undoubtedly Spielberg’s “Imagine.”

- Lily Percy, Editor

JANUARY06

Capote ****

Directed by: Bennett Miller

Written by: Dan Futterman

Starring: Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Catherine Keener, Clifton Collins, Jr., Chris Cooper

The buzz surrounding Capote has been almost entirely about Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s Golden-Globe nominated (soon to be Oscar nominated) performance as the legendary writer. While it is well-deserved, Hoffman’s Capote is indeed mesmerizing and perfect, little has been made about just how good the film actually is, how suspenseful and true to the spirit and mood of Capote’s In Cold Blood, and that is truly a crime.

Director Bennett Miller and screenwriter Dan Futterman weave a tail that is both unnerving and beautiful, ripe with scenes that explode with emotional intensity, particularly those between Hoffman and Collins, Jr., all the while creating a tension on-screen that is best served by the ill-used phrase “edge-of-your-seat.”

Murder, lies, fame, love, betrayal, these are all at play in the film and in the lives of the main characters that we see. But what makes the film brilliant (one could argue the same for Capote himself) is its naked portrayal of both Capote and Perry: as in Capote’s novel, there are no clearly defined heroes nor villains in this story, all are guilty, all are to blame in one manipulation or another, and this makes for an often uncomfortable albeit entirely electric unfolding of events.

“More tears are shed over answered prayers than unanswered ones,” Capote once famously wrote. This is a phrase that undoubtedly marked his life, just as the murder of both Perry Smith and his victims, the Clutter family, haunted him as well. Capote was never the same after writing his masterpiece and the film does an excellent job of portraying the madness and pain that this American genius carried inside.

- Lily Percy, Editor

Walk the Line ***1/2

Directed by: James Mangold

Written by: Gil Dennis and James Mangold

Starring: Joaquin Phoenix, Reese Witherspoon, Ginnifer Goodwin, Dallas Roberts

A friend of mine recently remarked, upon seeing Walk the Line, “Once you’ve seen one Biopic, you’ve seen them all.” They all tend to take two routes, he pointed out, either choosing to show a depressing portrait of their subject (and then calling it “realistic”) or an inspirational one. I can’t say that I disagree. It’s rare that these types of films ever really break new ground, and I have to admit that I too was struck by the countless similarities that this Johnny Cash portrait had in common with a certain Oscar-winning film released in 2004.

That being said, Mangold’s Walk the Line is no Ray. Not just because Johnny Cash is, well, Johnny Cash, but rather because Mangold’s depiction of “the man in black,” (which, unlike Taylor Hackford’s Ray, includes a cast of actors who were actually allowed to sing on screen thus adding a level of intensity to the film that wouldn’t be there were they simply lip-synching,) is blistering and sad and funny in all of the ways that Hackford’s film isn’t.

Joaquin Phoenix and his uncanny portrayal of Johnny Cash undoubtedly drive Walk the Line. If you’ve ever heard Cash sing then you know just how low his voice can go; it is therefore all the more remarkable that Phoenix was able to not only match Cash’s timbres, but also to capture the essence that made Cash the legend, singer, sinner, believer, and husband that he was. It is no small feat and I for one am glad that people everywhere are finally starting to take note of an actor whose career has been filled with interesting and challenging roles, time and time again.

Although many will argue that this film is essentially ‘the Joaquin Phoenix show,’ I have to say that it is Reese Witherspoon who provides the only true breakout performance. Comedy is without a doubt one of the most difficult genres for any actor to convincingly accomplish, more so than drama; the fact that an actress known mostly for her roles in romantic comedies such as Legally Blonde and Sweet Home Alabama (and the terrific Freeway), has the ability to portray June Carter Cash with such tenderness and grace demonstrates a range that is both surprising and seemingly limitless.

Unless you were a fan of Johnny Cash when you came into the theater you probably weren’t aware that he would never have been “Johnny Cash” were it not for June. Mangold obviously understood this and he does a brilliant job of telling this astonishing love story—one that is unmatched in its power and ability to heal. In this way, Mangold raises Walk the Line out of the standard trappings of the Biopic genre. It is the ultimate tribute to a man and woman who marked our world, and music, forever.

- Lily Percy, Editor

JANUARY06

Long Way Round ****

Directed by: David Alexanian and Russ Malkin

Starring: Ewan McGregor & Charlie Boorman

I’ll never forget how I felt last year, the first time that I saw Walter Salles’ stirring The Motorcycle Diaries or the time soon after that when I read Che’s own account of his travels through our beloved South America. It was more than just excitement or a rousing sense of understanding; it was jealousy, plain and simple.

So when I first heard that one of my favorite actors, Ewan ‘the schlong-is-long’ McGregor was traveling across the world on his motorcycle with one of his best friends, actor Charlie Boorman, I was bursting with envy for the countless adventures and cultures that they would encounter along the way. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the massive scope that the trip entailed and was even more baffled by the prospect of a documentary series that chronicled their three-½ month journey across the world.

And yet they managed to do the impossible, filming every second of their journey, keeping a daily video diary and journal (there is a companion book out as well), and consequently letting us, the viewers, in on their travels. It is exhilarating and ultimately unifying, watching these two explorers test themselves both physically, mentally and emotionally, and more importantly, watching as they discover that the world, and the various cultures that inhabit it, share more in common than any one of us could have ever imagined.

- Lily Percy, Editor

JANUARY06

Legally Blonde ***

Directed by: Robert Kinetic

Written by: Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith

Starring: Reese Witherspoon, Luke Wilson, Selma Blair, Mathew Davis, Victor Garber and Jennifer Coolidge.

There are some movies that you casually dismiss upon that initial viewing—then you catch them playing (on a seemingly never ending loop) on a basic cable channel, say TBS for example, and all of a sudden you find yourself enthralled, reconsidering what could have very well been a hasty first judgment.

Yes, I am talking about the film Legally Blonde, whose tagline was the deeply inspiring and thought provoking, “This summer go blonde!” Ever since I saw Walk the Line I have been carrying around this baggage of guilt on my shoulders over my previous dismissive relationship with the actress whom some have been known to call “Greasy Resse.” I say guilt because I underestimated her, often cruelly, and in Walk the Line, my sins were forced to the surface, as she is brilliant and dazzling and completely deserving of every line of praise that has been written and said about her.

This guilt led me to watch Legally Blonde four times in a row this past weekend, but I dare not say that it is guilt that makes me write this. For somewhere between that last third and fourth viewing, I came across a true gem: the ultimate feminist film. The idea of the “smart” sorority girl or even blonde for that matter is a stereotype that I have admittedly often fought for and against, and that is indeed the greatest thing about this film: its belief that no one is as simple as they look. It should come as no surprise then that it took Reese Witherspoon, whose Elle Woods’ is endearing, hilarious and inspired, a brief moment to realize what has taken me several years of failed female relationships and four TBS viewings to understand. For this bravery and wisdom, I applaud her.

- Lily Percy, Editor

JANUARY06

John Mayer Trio - TRY! John Mayer Trio Live in Concert

If imitation really is the sincerest form of flattery then, somewhere in guitar-god heaven stand a beaming Jimi Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vauhn. John Mayer’s latest foray into the world of blues, something that, as any Mayer fan (and concert-goer) can attest to, is a natural progression from his last album, the Grammy award-winning Heavier Things (indeed, two of the albums tracks, “Something’s Missing” and “Daughters,” appear here live).

Along with seasoned musicians Steve Jordan (who also served as Springsteen’s drummer on Devils & Dust) and Pino Palladino, a former bassist for The Who, Mayer cooks up a sound that is unmistakable. The albums opener, “Who do you think I was,” along with covers of Hendrix’s classic “Wait Until Tomorrow” and the latest Kanye West hit, Ray Charles “I got a Woman,” set the mood for the album, as do the pitch-perfect wailing guitar solos on “Out of my mind” and “Try.”

“Gravity is working against me,” Mayer croons in the soulful “Gravity.” While this may definitely be the case by some critic circles (not to mention hipster tribes’) standards, there is nothing but good old-fashioned blues to back Mayer’s lyric here. You really get a sense of just how deep his love affair with the blues reaches on this live album (as if his infamous guitar-faces weren’t already enough of an indication); lets hope, for our sake, that the flame never dies down.

- Lily Percy, Editor

JANUARY06

“I dream for a living…”
 

Steven Spielberg

“The most expensive habit in the world is celluloid, not heroin, and I need a fix every few years.” – Steven Spielberg


There aren’t many directors who, 30+ years into an extremely successful, both commercially and often more than not, critically, career, can throw a filmmaking curve ball your way. But then again, there aren’t many directors like Steven Spielberg.

Along with the Marx Brothers, Hitchcock, Capra and Biblical epics, Spielberg films were the most common rentals in my house growing up. He was also the only director who warranted an outing to the movie theater in my father’s book—I can’t remember there being a single Spielberg film that the Percy clan didn’t see in the theater (save Schindler’s List, the latter I wasn’t allowed to see, being all of 11 at the time). That’s how highly regarded he was to all of us.

And still is. This past Christmas the four of us went to see Munich together, 5 days after it opened. I still get chills when I think of the film, and I cannot seem to get over how devastating and effective a story it tells. This is the first Spielberg film in years that critics have wholly embraced, deeming it to be ‘un-Spielberg-esque indeed, and while I see their point completely, I also have to disagree. They have branded it as ‘something entirely new’ from an old overly sensitive director, when the truth is, it is exactly what Spielberg always delivers: innovation, masterful storytelling and humanity.

He has the capacity to terrify us (he is the closest thing that we have to Hitchcock), as is the case with Jaws, the film that invented the summer blockbuster, and Jurassic Park; win us over, as he does so elegantly in Catch Me if You Can and The Terminal; entertain us and take us on adventures, as he does in the Indy trilogy. But what Spielberg does best is remind us of our humanity.  Schindler’s List, Empire of the Sun, Saving Private Ryan, and now, Munich, all serve as reminders of the importance of life, and of peace.

Hitchcock may always be synonymous with suspense, but Spielberg will always be the Master of the human heart.

- Lily Percy, Editor

FILMS

Munich (2005)
War of the Worlds (2005)
The Terminal (20004)
Catch me if you can (2002)
Minority Report (2002)
Artificial Intelligence (2001)
Saving Private Ryan (1998)
Amistad (1997)
The Lost World: Jurassic Park (1997)
Schindler’s List (1993)
Jurassic Park (1993)
Hook (1991)
Always (1989)
Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989)
Empire of the Sun (1987)
The Color Purple (1985)
Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984)
E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982)
Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)
1941 (1979)
Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977)
Jaws (19756)
The Sugarland Express (1974)

 2009 - 2008 - 2007 - 2005