Movies

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After the requisite Thanksgiving feasting was over and the hubster and I could not fathom any sort of activity that required serious use of mind or body, we headed upstairs to watch a movie.  Something light, I thought.  Yes, that would be good.  After a search of our Netflix queue (I love streaming video!), we found what looked to be the perfect choice:  Phoebe in Wonderland.  The description says it is about a girl who starts to see the characters from Alice in Wonderland after she takes a role in the play.  Silliness and fun!  Let’s do it!

Though there is some silliness and fun, the film is hardly that, but in a good way.  Phoebe, superbly played by Elle Fanning, is a beautiful and slightly peculiar young girl, frustrated by sameness and rules that make no sense.  She lives with her parents, Peter (Bill Pullman) and Hillary (Felicity Huffman), and a rather precocious younger sister, Olivia (Bailee Madison).  On the outside, they have what seems to be the perfect life: happy and successful writers that live in a gorgeous home with two whip smart and lovely daughters.

Truth be told, Phoebe’s behavior is troubling, more and more so (obsessive hand washing, hopping, and uncontrollable spitting, among others).  Olivia wishes her sister weren’t such a weirdo while being a bit of an angry radical leftist herself.  Karl Marx as a Halloween costume, anyone?  Hillary is struggling to keep up with the increasingly difficult duty of being a mother to two such precocious children, is jealous of her husband’s success, and can’t seem to find a moment to write herself.   While Peter, happy for his own modest achievements, can’t disguise his hopelessness at his inability to help anyone in the family.  Things take a turn for the better and worse when Phoebe meets the lovely and equally eccentric Miss Dodger (Patricia Clarkson), tries out for the school play, Alice in Wonderland, and finds sanctuary, however small, whenever she jumps down the rabbit hole, so to speak.

It is a beautifully filmed story, filled with gorgeous locations, saturated colors and rich, complex characters.  At it’s heart, it is an earnest film about life.  It is scary, confusing, and unpredictable, and filled with rules, questions, cruelty and unreasonable expectations.  It is also filled with love, acceptance, imagination, infinite kindness, and honesty.  The best way to survive it is to embrace it (and yourself), just how it is, without shame, and forge headlong into the unknown.  Jump!

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Happy Tuesday, gentle readers.  How are you?  I am chilly-willy.  It is freezing here, quite literally.  Our thermometer has been hovering around twenty-two degrees since the sun came up, and I’ve got nearly enough layers to rival little Randy in A Christmas Story, yet my feet remain cold.  Blasted poor circulation!

All is not lost, however.  I am in good spirits and thinking fondly of our recent weekend getaway to Eugene and Depoe Bay.  We went two weekends ago and had a grand time exploring.  Eugene, if you don’t know, is the home of the University of Oregon (for my Colorado friends, think Boulder, circa the early 1990’s).  It’s two hours south in the valley, a lovely drive through verdant pastures with volcanic vents like massive mounds of granite scattered by the wind.  On the day of our drive, the skies were laden with heavy suitcase clouds, traveling alongside us, and the trees, oh the trees, a patchwork of emerald, gold, crimson, tangerine, and amber: the perfect portrait of Oregon in the fall.

Our home away from home was The Excelsior Inn, just west of campus.  It has a stellar and quite beautiful restaurant along with lovely, quaint rooms named after classical composers.  I chose Schubert, of course, and was very pleased.  There are also a myriad of watercolor paintings from local artists lining the halls, so it’s a feast for the eyes too.

In another feast for the eyes, we visited the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art on the U of O campus.  I have to say, it is probably the finest small museum I have ever seen, with an exquisite and well curated collection of art.  The building is pretty lovely, too, and precisely what I conjure when I think of an art museum: fine ironwork, high ceilings, gorgeous marble, and shining floors.  There’s also a nice cafe and a kids (of all ages) area with costumes and neat activities pertaining to current exhibits.  For $5, it is well worth the price of admission.

We also had the pleasure of spending the evening with my former student, Matt, and his sweet and adorable girlfriend, Kelly (no pictures – darn!).  We enjoyed their good company over dinner and drinks (still a bit odd to enjoy libations with someone I knew as a teenager!), along with a special screening of the Oregon gem One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.  It had been a long time since either the hubster or I had seen it, and it didn’t disappoint.

The next leg of our adventure didn’t disappoint either.  Though there was a thick blanket of fog and grave concerns on both our parts that we might not actually be able to see the ocean.  I grumbled and fretted, bemoaning our predicament, but was ultimately redeemed when I not only saw the whitecaps crashing but could smell their delightful scent.  There is nothing like sea air to buoy spirits!

As a perfect tie in to our Eugene adventure, our picture perfect Depoe Bay lodgings (The Channel House) were just adjacent to the bridge in the scene where Jack Nicholson’s character takes the gang fishing.  Though we didn’t fish, we ate plenty of local seafood (Yaquina Bay Oysters and smoked salmon, among others, oh my!) and saltwater taffy so fresh it was warm in our hands.  We also watched Oystercatchers, and a tenacious Cormorant catch its breakfast (very exciting!) while sipping hot tea and gorging on golden pastries, granola, and eggs.  I think it’s what could be described as the height of splendor.  Indeed.  Sometimes it is nice to get away.

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Oh, John Le Carre, you are good, very, very good.  I am terribly sorry that this program doesn’t let me make accent marks, for it is not a lack of caring that your name is unadorned.  You are a stellar writer, and I wish I could give you your due by spelling your name properly.  I should also add that I love making accent marks.  Besides, after twelve years of French, I know when they are necessary.  When to use the plus-que-parfait, well don’t ask.  I was always better at accents, by voice or a pen.

Anyhoo, to dear George Smiley, the ne-plus-ultra (more Francais!) spy of spies, you are the cat’s pajamas.  Another aside here, did you know that this has nothing to do with felines sporting flannel?  Rather, it was in reference to a tailor in the 1700s, named Katz who made the finest clothes in the land.  Fancy that!  As for George in Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, after being forced into early retirement, he is called back into service on an uber top secret mission to discover the identity of a very high ranking mole in the British service, one planted by his Russian counterpart Karla decades earlier.  In Smiley’s People, George is called reluctantly into service, yet again, with the murder of an old friend and a mystery that may lead him straight to his arch nemesis, Karla.  Beat of drums!

Rather unlike the films I associate with spies, even ones I like (Jason Bourne, anyone?), and the reason I hadn’t thought to read the books before, the story is utterly lacking in flash.  There are no violent car chases, spies with super powers, or romantic liaisons among the rock hard ab crowd.  Quite the contrary, they cough from too many cigarettes, have grey hair, paunches, and failing marriages.  Where they do not fail is in their utter brilliance, patience, and attention to detail.  These are the men and women I want on my side in a crisis.  They are extremely dedicated to the service (save one) and work long hours in hardly glamorous conditions to meet that end.

Not to say that the lack of glamor makes the writing any less engaging.  John Le Carre is a fine storyteller, and his characters feel as real as the cat sitting on my lap.  I could not put these books down, using any excuse to sit and read a page or two or thirty.  Highly recommended!

Should you decide to forgo reading the stories, the BBC versions are terrific and available on Netflix, though Smiley’s People is easier to follow than Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy (like the book, there are many details, characters, and time shifts – be patient and pay attention).  The hubster and I saw Smiley’s People a couple of years before I decided to read the novels, so even without the benefit of knowing the story, I found it no less exciting or interesting.  As well, it gave me the picture of Alec Guinness as George, for which I am ever so grateful.  Those glasses, that voice!

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Hello friends –

I’ve got a slightly spooky film just in time for Halloween.  I know, so very un-Colleen-like.  I’ll admit, too, that I was a tad worried when the hubster and I started watching this.  It was after dark, and my writer’s mind was darting hither and yon with what might happen, but, quite thankfully, I talked myself out of being frightened, save when called for, and thoroughly enjoyed the show.  I was rather proud of myself, indeed.  No scary dreams, either, double yum!

Anyway, to the film – Michael Farr (Ciaran Hinds) is a slightly lonely and depressed widower, living in a gorgeous home in a small seaside Irish town with his two children.  He also writes a little on the side and helps out at the annual writers festival.  As the festival gets in full swing, he finds himself aware of a frightening, yet familiar, presence in his home, accompanied by thuds in the dark, knocking on doors, and shadows where there shouldn’t be.

Rather serendipitously, one of the authors under his charge (Iben Hjejle) has written about the appearance of spirits and ghosts, and as their relationship grows more friendly, he decides to relate his increasingly disturbing experiences to her.  Unfortunately, he is perpetually interrupted by a rather boorish and hopelessly arrogant writer (Aidan Quinn) whose sole purpose for appearing at the festival is to declare his love for her. Drat!

Beautifully filmed in an utterly gorgeous setting, it is a great tale of loss, mourning, and hope.  There’s also occasion for laughter and fright, of course.  Truth be told, I screamed once – though, in my defense, it wasn’t terribly loud.  The soundtrack is rather fine, as well.

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As someone who nearly always has a song in my head (and in my heart, for that matter), it should come as no surprise that I thoroughly enjoyed this film.  It brings together, for the first time, three rather iconic guitar players (an understatement, to be sure) to play together, discuss their craft, or as Jack White says, “To trick them into sharing what they know.”

The result is a marvelous glimpse into the lives and creative processes of three very skilled musicians.  I loved learning about them as people (of course) and their vastly different ways to approaching the guitar.  Jack is very interested in the raw and bare bones.  The Edge is a tinkerer, with myriad gadgets to make myriad and often surprising variations in sound.  Jimmy, I’d say is the most straight ahead (if that’s the proper term).  What can this guitar do?

There’s also some great history and footage of each in earlier years and previous incarnations and hair cuts.  I found it all rather fascinating, and pretty touching, too.  Each has such reverence for music and sound.   Then there is the story of how each came to play.  Serendipity – a random poster on a school wall, a guitar left behind, another bartered for the use of a pick up truck.  It really makes me wonder if there are no coincidences in life.  Pretty darn cool!

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