Well, dear readers, Christmas is creeping upon us, like a gazelle in bunny slippers. I’m not sure it feels like Christmas yet, and I must admit that given the horrid traffic and inane behavior of those in automobiles, I don’t exactly have the Christmas spirit yet. I have to say that the driving I’ve witnessed in the last week really is some of the worst and most dangerous I’ve ever seen. Not purposely dangerous, but danger based on stupidity, mostly cell phone stupidity. But even those who are not on their cells seem to have their collective heads in the collective clouds or the collective nether regions of their own anatomy. The Collective Nether Regions Of Their Own Anatomy – that’s the title of my next novel. Just the other day, there was some gang-banger type driving a car on my street. I had the misfortune of being behind him. He pulled up to a stop sign a block from my home. And there he sat. And sat. And sat. At no time was there any cross traffic at the other stop sign. I didn’t feel like honking, so I just gestured that he should move along. Well, this cretin lurched forward while giving me the finger through his sunroof. I don’t believe I’ve ever been given the finger through anyone’s sunroof before. He then decided he was going to be “tough” and he swerved his car around quickly, so that it was then facing northwest rather than east. He got out of his car. I looked at him like the large fetid wart he was, smiled my most disingenuous smile (which is pretty disingenuous), and drove on. He shook his fist at me but by then I was on my merry way, turning onto another street, safely out of his eyesight. What a jerk. May he be visited by a ski cap-wearing gang-banger of Christmas past, and may said gang-banger hit him upside the head. And that’s just one example, and there are fifty million stories in the naked city. Speaking of the naked city, yesterday was an interesting day. For example, I got up. That was interesting. I then had to hit the road, Jack, for she of the Evil Eye had arrived. I went to the post office, which was quite crowded at nine-thirty on a Saturday morning, and naturally not one of these nincompoops was prepared, and we all had to stand there while they figured out which box was best, which mode of shipping was best, and then they’d have to fill out paperwork while the clerk helped another person, but then they’d have to go right back to the clerk. In any case, I got everything shipped. I then drove over to the Farmer’s Market, and it, too, was very crowded, much more so than usual. I hung out there for a while, then drove to a bookstore I hadn’t visited in ages. I looked around but there really wasn’t much of interest. I then went over to Amoeba and used up my credit balance on a couple of CDs. I then drove over to the DGA and parked, but I was an hour early, so I walked over to Virgin and looked around, but I really do think they’re on their last legs, and their selection isn’t very interesting. Finally, I went back to the DGA. There was a screening prior to the one I was attending, and as the doors opened and people came out I could hear it was Sweeney Todd. The music sounded loud and full. They emptied the theater and then I got my BK seat, got comfy, and waited for the motion picture to begin.
Yesterday, I saw a motion picture entitled Enchanted. I knew the basic story and, of course, we’d premiered A Happy Working Song in our fundraiser. I’d heard all sorts of comments about the film from great to mediocre and given what I feel about films these days, I assumed it would sadly fall into the latter category. But, I’m happy to say that it didn’t – in fact, of all the films I’ve seen this year (admittedly not many) it’s the best of the year. Just about everything works, which is amazing in today’s world. The opening animation sequence is done very well, and then once Amy Adams comes up through the manhole, the film proper begins. While I never really found it hugely funny, I was smiling from start to finish, and there were a couple of big laughs. Amy Adams is wonderful as Giselle – lovable, funny, charming, and with a lovely singing voice. She never hits a false note and she’s a joy to watch. Patrick Dempsey is also terrific, taking what could be a clichéd role and making it into something more. James Marsden is perfect as the Prince, and it was fun to see Jodi Benson, Paige O’Hara, and Judy Kuhn in cameo roles – of course, I’ve worked with all three and did solo albums with Paige and Judy. Best of all were the songs by Alan Menken and Stephen Schwartz – how much fun it was to hear Menken doing what he does best. The Central Park number was really fun, with good choreography, and it was so nice to see something that wasn’t too over-edited. And how much fun was it to see Harvey Evans and Bert Michaels among the elderly dancers, still kicking it up in high style! The only single criticism I had of the entire film was the sort of pop-sounding last song, which irked me, because everything else in the film was so true to the spirit of Disney classics of old, and that seemed like pandering. But that’s a true nitpick, and Enchanted gets my pick of the year – unless I see something better between now and the end of the year.
I then stayed for the next screening, which was a motion picture entitled The Walker. The one print ad or blurb I read for the film had led me to believe it was some sort of “wicked” comedy, but it’s not at all that. What it is is yet another completely fussy Paul Schrader film, starring Woody Harrelson as a gay “walker” – someone who escorts wealthy wives to Washington social events. It was grand fun to see Lauren Bacall in a substantial role, along with Lily Tomlin and Mary Beth Hurt. Mr. Harrelson, who’s on screen almost the entire time, is quite good in the film, but the film itself is so leaden and filled with arch dialogue (its trappings are those of a thriller, but it’s really not) that one tires of it at about the twenty minute mark. I do believe this may be my last benefit of the doubt for Mr. Schrader.
Well, why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button below because there are even more stories in the naked city.
After The Walker, I stopped at Gelson’s and got some food to nibble on, and then I sat on my couch like so much fish and finally watched the motion picture on DVD entitled Hairspray. I really enjoyed the Broadway production of Hairspray – no, it wasn’t the greatest musical I’d ever seen, but it moved right along, told its story reasonably well, and had a lot of perky and tuneful musical numbers by Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman. The cast was really fun (I saw all the original cast members), and I liked some of the choreography of Jerry Mitchell. Again, I’d heard about the film, with comments ranging from great to blechhh. Given what I feel about films these days, I was hoping I’d feel something other than blechhh, and since I’d already lucked out with Enchanted, hopes were higher than lower. Well, I won’t say Hairspray achieved blechhh, but I really didn’t care for it. I found it loud, frequently obnoxious in its heavy-handedness (something the show never was – but they really hit the race stuff hard in the film), with completely uninspired direction and choreography by Adam Shankman. I’d read lots of comments from the yay-sayers, saying that the dance numbers were great because they weren’t over-cut like those in Chicago and Rent, etc. These people must be out of their minds, because there is no dance number in this film where there isn’t a cut literally every two to three seconds – I clocked it, baby. It’s the old let’s set up twelve cameras and make the number in the editing room, instead of actually designing the number for the camera. I liked Nikki Blonsky as Tracy very much, and I liked Amanda Bynes as Penny, although she never quite erased the memory of Kerry Butler. I enjoyed James Marsden as Corny, Queen Latifah was fine, and so were most of the supporting cast (and I liked Mr. Waters’ cameo). Christopher Walken is just strange as Wilbur, and I’m afraid that from my point of view, Mr. Travolta is a complete disaster as Edna. I don’t know what the voice or accent is, but it’s dreadful, unfunny, and it kills any chance the film had. Equally bad are all the changes from the show version – all of them are for the worse, and none necessary. Tracy almost takes a back seat during the last ten minutes of the film, and it’s a mistake. I certainly thought there were a few entertaining moments, and perhaps with a better director and Mr. Mitchell’s original choreography, this could have been something more than the mildly entertaining thing it is. For me, a major disappointment.
What am I, Ebert and Roeper all of a sudden? These notes are LONG, aren’t they? There are just too too many stories in the naked city today.
Speaking of today, today I shall just relax and smell the roses or the coffee or yesterday’s socks. Oh, perhaps I’ll take a drive, and I’ll certainly listen to CDs and perhaps watch a DVD or three, and maybe even do a spot of work at the piano, but mostly it will be a relaxing day.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, do not very much and do it well. Plus, I’ve just received four count them four calling birds from my true love. These birds haven’t been off their cell phones since I got them, and one of them even has an iPhone. All they do is call people and have bird conversations. I gotta tell you. Today’s topic of discussion: It’s free-for-all day, the day in which you dear readers get to make with the topics and we all get to post about them. So, let’s have loads of lovely topics and loads of lovely postings, shall we, whilst I save the other forty-nine million stories in the naked city for another day.