You might remember from my March 30 post (Hoop Dreams At St. Joe's) that I moved from Illinois to Iowa in January, 1961, in the middle of my eighth grade. My school in Illinois, St. Joe's, had two rooms of eighth graders, about twenty boys and twenty girls in each room. My new school in Iowa, Our Lady Of Lourdes, also had two rooms of eighth graders, but the guys were in one room and the girls were in the other. Just my luck! Things did not improve on the social front when I started my high school career at Assumption High in Davenport. Assumption was neither co-ed nor all-guys; it was "co-institutional," a term which was foreign to me. That meant that both boys and girls attended the school, but the sexes were physically separated within the building. Woe was the male student who was caught by the nuns in the girls' wing! The upshot of all this was that from January 1961 until September 1963, I did not have a girl in any of my classes. I decided to do something about that.
At Assumption there were only a couple of courses which, due to the small enrollment therein, were offered on a co-ed basis. Those classes were held in a room off the hallway which ran between the boys and girls wings. One such class was journalism. You would think that the guys would be elbowing each other out of the way to register for journalism, if for no other reason than having the pleasure of being in the company of the fairer sex. In reality, such was not the case. For one thing, journalism was offered only to juniors, and those who applied for admission into the class needed to have achieved at least a B in freshman and sophomore English. The second reason was that the teacher, Father Wiebler, was one tough hombre, maybe the toughest teacher in the school. But I took a chance, applied and was admitted. I had no delusions of grandeur to become the next Grantland Rice or Edward R. Murrow. (I would have written "Woodward" or "Bernstein," but of course no one knew who they were until the 1972 Watergate break-in.) Journalism was simply going to be a step up in my moribund social life, a means to an end.
Almost every priest at Assumption had a nickname conferred upon him by the students. Wiebler's was "Wilma." I don't know the genesis of that nickname, but I do know we never had the guts to call him that to his face. Wilma was pretty much a celebrity, at least in the state of Iowa. Assumption did not have a yearbook. Instead, the student newspaper, The Knight Beacon, was published eight times throughout the school year, and the eight issues were kept in a faux leather binder - - red one year, white the next - - which the students could buy in the fall. When completed, the eight issues of The Knight Beacon were deemed to be "a book of the year." Not a yearbook, mind you. A book of the year. That was not a misnomer mistake you'd make in front of Wilma. The Knight Beacon was his baby, and rare was the year when Assumption did not win some award for having one of the best student newspapers in the state, if not the entire Midwest. This made Wilma a legend in his own time. It also resulted in his standards for excellence remaining in place. The pressure on the newspaper staff was palpable. No student wanted to be responsible for a poor showing by The Knight Beacon.
The journalism class was taught with one goal in mind, viz., that the juniors would learn how to help the seniors (the previous year's journalism students) put out The Knight Beacon in the highly professional and accomplished manner that had become an Assumption tradition. Almost all of the articles appearing in the paper would be written by seniors, but on a rare occasion Wilma might bestow upon a junior the honor of submitting a story for publication. I was the recipient of such an honor, but it almost cost me my teeth.
In October, my assignment was to do an article on how the freshmen ("freddies") were getting along at AHS, now that they'd been high schoolers for a month. I needed an angle or a hook for the story - - I did not just want to interview a dozen random freddies - - so I found out the names of some Latin I students and gave them a call. At the time I was taking Latin III from Father Mulligan, aka "Chrome Dome," a thirty-something Irish tough guy who looked and talked like a longshoreman. He was not big on pleasantries, and assumed that because we were third year students our mastery of Latin was at hand. I knew Chrome Dome taught a couple of periods of Latin I in addition to his Latin III duties. Since the point of my assigned newspaper article was focusing on how freshmen were adjusting to high school life, their ability to fare well in Latin, a language they probably hadn't studied before in grade school, seemed like a good take-off point.
I conducted my interviews by phone. After intoducing myself, I should have begun the conversation with a general softball question. Instead, for many of the phone interviews, I started off the conversation with something like this: "So, how are you and Father Mulligan getting along?" What I meant to ask was "How are you getting along with your Latin studies?" but unfortunately my phrasing left a little to be desired. As luck would have it, word got back to Chrome Dome the next morning that The Knight Beacon was going to run an expose on unloved teachers, and that I was the reporter! Chrome Dome was waiting for me when I showed up for his class that afternoon.
He stuck his head in the door and called me out into the hallway. At that point I had no idea why he wanted me outside the classroom. He grabbed a large chunk of my upper shirt with his clenched fist, brought it up to my chin, and slammed my shoulder blades into the metal locker behind me. The veins were popping through his neck as he got right in my face. "I hear you've been trying to stir things up against me with the freshmen!" It wasn't until then that I realized how my phone conversations from the night before could have been interpreted. My mind was racing, weighing whether I should plead ignorance, innocence or stupidity. The thought of insanity never crossed my mind, but in retrospect that might have been a good choice. Amazingly, I also quickly pondered if I would be able to block a punch, in case he decided to throw one. I would not have been his first human punching bag.
I stammered a few unintelligible sentences and then thankfully heard a shout from a familiar voice. It was the voice of Father Charles Mann, the principal of the school and, coincidentally, the teacher I had for Latin I and II my freshman and sophomore years. Surely my guardian angel must have prompted him to walk down the hallway at that precise moment. Father Mann, who of course was nicknamed "Charlemagne" (get it?), may have kept Chrome Dome from killing me right outside the classroom. The crisis subsided long enough for both Chrome Dome and I to tell our sides of the story. I apologized to Chrome Dome and went back in to the classroom. After a few minutes, Charlemagne went on his way and Chrome Dome, still seething but not to the boiling point he had been moments earlier, returned to the classroom and conducted class without so much as a sideways glance in my direction. Yes, he had calmed down a little, but I was persona non grata. For the rest of that semester, things in Latin III returned to normal. It must have killed Chrome Dome to give me the "A" that I deserved.
My journalism career ended before it started, kind of like the glory days of my basketball exploits at St. Joe's. Wilma had a senior write the story about the freshmen, and I was assigned a less glamorous task which has escaped my memory. Less than three months later, my family moved from Iowa to Minot, North Dakota. My new high school, Bishop Ryan, did not offer journalism, so I was never put in the position of having to lie about my newspaper experience.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Movie Review: "Hope Springs"
"Hope Springs": C+. I hate to say it, but the best part of "Hope Springs" was a short dialogue between Kay (Meryl Streep) and Karen (Elisabeth Shue), a bartender in a small Maine tavern, as Kay bellies up to the bar.
Kay: Do you have wine?
Karen: Yes. Do you like white or red?
Kay: Red.
Karen: Then I'd go with the white.
Kay and Arnold (Tommy Lee Jones) are empty nesters living in a comfortably modest house in Omaha. They've been married thirty-one years, but their relationship resembles that of housemates rather than spouses. As omniscient observers we quickly realize that the problem lies entirely with Arnold. It isn't just his lack of warmth. It's his cluelessness at the unsubtle hints that Kay throws his way when she wants to rekindle the spark. From the time he sits down to breakfast until the end of the day when he falls asleep in his chair while watching golf lessons on TV, he barely acknowledges Kay's existence. Kay cries herself to sleep.
According to Eileen (Jean Smart, ooo-la-lah!), Kay's fellow clerk in the Coldwater Creek store, there's no sense trying to get her husband to change. "A marriage is what it is," advises Eileen. Unconvinced, Kay soon learns of a week-long marriage counseling class offered by author/practitioner Dr. Feld in a quaint Maine tourist town. The cost is a hefty $4000, but Kay signs up herself and Arnold, and buys the plane tickets. Of course Arnold puts up a fight, insisting that he's not going, but we already know from having seen the trailers that, indeed, he does end up making the trip with his wife.
A very large portion of the movie is spent in the counseling sessions conducted by Dr. Feld. As a viewer I found the sessions to be painfully long, repetitive, too scientifically technical and too verbally graphic. Is there an editor on board? Comedian Steve Carell is cast as the doctor. I kept waiting for him to break into a comedy soliloquy but it didn't happen; he plays it straight, which makes me wonder why he was chosen for the part.
Every session ends with an assignment given to the couple by the doctor. The first night's homework is simply to put their arms around each other. The assignments get more intimate with each passing day, but I would just as soon have been spared the details. Some of the scenes, particularly one in a darkened movie theater, are enough to make the moviegoer want to yell, "Get a room!" What's puzzling is that Arnold and Kay did have a room at the Econolodge. I wrote above that I was surprised Carell was chosen to play the counselor. I am equally surprised that Streep and Jones, two great actors who do not need the work, accepted the producer's offer to play these parts.
Streep is wonderful, as always. Some of her best acting moments occur without her speaking a word, such as when she's embarrassed by some of the self-help book titles she examines in a Barnes & Noble, or when she is visibly hurt by her husband's cold shoulder right after she got herself all dolled up before bedtime. Jones, on the other hand, let me down. (I never thought I'd ever write or say that.) He demonstrates his oafishness and his selfishness in scene after scene, both before and after the couple arrives in Maine. There is no range. We get that Arnold is a curmudgeon, but it keeps getting pounded into our heads. Surely there must be more depth to the man. Maybe his plus is that he doesn't physically abuse his wife, but he is guilty time and again of emotional abuse. I missed the self-assuredness and wit Jones usually gives us. Perhaps I should blame the script writer, but then again, nobody put a gun to Jones' head to take the part. Maybe he simply wanted to work with Meryl.
Kay: Do you have wine?
Karen: Yes. Do you like white or red?
Kay: Red.
Karen: Then I'd go with the white.
Kay and Arnold (Tommy Lee Jones) are empty nesters living in a comfortably modest house in Omaha. They've been married thirty-one years, but their relationship resembles that of housemates rather than spouses. As omniscient observers we quickly realize that the problem lies entirely with Arnold. It isn't just his lack of warmth. It's his cluelessness at the unsubtle hints that Kay throws his way when she wants to rekindle the spark. From the time he sits down to breakfast until the end of the day when he falls asleep in his chair while watching golf lessons on TV, he barely acknowledges Kay's existence. Kay cries herself to sleep.
According to Eileen (Jean Smart, ooo-la-lah!), Kay's fellow clerk in the Coldwater Creek store, there's no sense trying to get her husband to change. "A marriage is what it is," advises Eileen. Unconvinced, Kay soon learns of a week-long marriage counseling class offered by author/practitioner Dr. Feld in a quaint Maine tourist town. The cost is a hefty $4000, but Kay signs up herself and Arnold, and buys the plane tickets. Of course Arnold puts up a fight, insisting that he's not going, but we already know from having seen the trailers that, indeed, he does end up making the trip with his wife.
A very large portion of the movie is spent in the counseling sessions conducted by Dr. Feld. As a viewer I found the sessions to be painfully long, repetitive, too scientifically technical and too verbally graphic. Is there an editor on board? Comedian Steve Carell is cast as the doctor. I kept waiting for him to break into a comedy soliloquy but it didn't happen; he plays it straight, which makes me wonder why he was chosen for the part.
Every session ends with an assignment given to the couple by the doctor. The first night's homework is simply to put their arms around each other. The assignments get more intimate with each passing day, but I would just as soon have been spared the details. Some of the scenes, particularly one in a darkened movie theater, are enough to make the moviegoer want to yell, "Get a room!" What's puzzling is that Arnold and Kay did have a room at the Econolodge. I wrote above that I was surprised Carell was chosen to play the counselor. I am equally surprised that Streep and Jones, two great actors who do not need the work, accepted the producer's offer to play these parts.
Streep is wonderful, as always. Some of her best acting moments occur without her speaking a word, such as when she's embarrassed by some of the self-help book titles she examines in a Barnes & Noble, or when she is visibly hurt by her husband's cold shoulder right after she got herself all dolled up before bedtime. Jones, on the other hand, let me down. (I never thought I'd ever write or say that.) He demonstrates his oafishness and his selfishness in scene after scene, both before and after the couple arrives in Maine. There is no range. We get that Arnold is a curmudgeon, but it keeps getting pounded into our heads. Surely there must be more depth to the man. Maybe his plus is that he doesn't physically abuse his wife, but he is guilty time and again of emotional abuse. I missed the self-assuredness and wit Jones usually gives us. Perhaps I should blame the script writer, but then again, nobody put a gun to Jones' head to take the part. Maybe he simply wanted to work with Meryl.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Final Thoughts On London Olympics
I'm wondering if it's too late to write about the Olympics. The Closing Ceremony was a week ago tonight. For guidance I consulted USA Today. Last Thursday that newspaper ran a sports page "cover story" on Joe Paterno, who has been dead - - may God have mercy on his soul - - since January. I guess that, by comparison, one week after the fact isn't so bad.
I watched more Olympics coverage this year than I ever had before. This year marked the first time for the Summer Games that I was retired and in the country. Obviously I did not watch everything, but still managed to vegetate in front of the tube for many hours during those two-plus weeks. I will leave it to the experts to opine on what moments were the most significant or important. What I offer here is simply a list, in random order, of ten observations or moments that I've thought about more than once since the games ended.
1. Missy Franklin, the gold medal swimmer, is seventeen years old, and swims for her Denver area high school, Regis Jesuit. When you think of all the high school athletes who forsake their high school teams so they can compete for elite national programs, such as the developmental hockey league in Ann Arbor, Michigan, or Oak Hill Academy in Virginia for hoopsters, it's amazing that one of the best swimmers in the world remained loyal to her high school. She will swim for them as a senior this fall. As a bonus, she seems like a great kid.
2. In the women's gold medal soccer game, US vs. Japan, all eyes were on Abby Wambach, the most prolific scorer on the US team. The game winning goal was scored on a header by midfielder Carli Lloyd, but it was such a bang-bang play that announcer Arlo White originally thought Wambach had kicked it in. Even after the replay confirmed that although Wambach was nearby she never came in contact with the ball, apparently White wanted so desperately to credit Wambach with something that he exclaimed, "Once again Abby Wambach was involved!" Ah, not really, buddy. The only other team member who was directly involved was Alex Morgan, who was accurately credited with an assist for kicking the ball into the path of Lloyd's forehead. I always love it when a play-by-play guy won't believe what the replay clearly shows. To make matters worse, in the evening NBC recap, Bob Costas compounded the same mistake that White made. In conclusion, Wambach might be the best offensive player on the team, but let's not sacrifice accuracy in reporting. She doesn't need it, and it's a disservive to the television viewers.
3. After watching Sue Bird's (semi-final) post-game interview with sideline reporter Craig Sager, I can see why she was the captain of the US women's basketball team. She gave quick, yet thoughtful, answers to some excellent questions, avoided cliches, emanated enthusiasm for the victory, all the while maintaining eye contact with Sager. Even though she is an Olympic and WNBA veteran, we could tell that she was jacked up for the chance to win another gold medal two days hence. She had an excellent tournament as the starting point guard. My only complaint about this bright athlete is that she's a UConn alumna.
4. I loved the interview with Jon Drummond, the coach of the US women's track relay team, before the 4 X 100 meter race. The four women who ran for him have a reputation of being nothing short of divas, each with her own agenda. How does a guy coach a group with that make-up, especially when team chemistry, smoothly passing the baton three times, is probably the key ingredient for that particular event? Here is Drummond's quote: "I don't need them to love each other. I just need them to like each other for 37 seconds."
5. Perhaps the most interesting Olympic battles take place in table tennis, a sport in which a handful of Asian countries excel. The players stand far from a table that, on TV, looks to be the size of a postage stamp. When they play doubles, where the rules require partners to hit alternate shots, how do they manage not to crash into each other or bop their teammate in the noggin with their paddle? The best part for me is that they yell vociferously after every volley, regardless of whether they won the point. Since I don't understand Chinese or Korean, I can't tell if they are angry, frustrated or exuberant. By the way, all of that disappears once the game is finished. Without fail, they show good sportsmanship congratulating their opponent, and almost appear to be reserved. They don't need much of a cool down period.
6. One of the peculiarities of Olympic swimming rules for relays is that the four swimmers who compete in the finals do not have to be the same swimmers who competed in the qualifying heats. (The same rule applies in track.) Thus, a coach has to decide if she wants to save one or more of her best swimmers, keeping them out of the qualifying heats so that the stars are more rested for the finals. As a coach, you would have to have the utmost confidence in the swimmers you use for the qualifiers. If they fail to post a qualifying time, the best swimmer(s) on your team may never get into the pool for a medal. It seems to me that, given the relevant rules, there is actually more pressure on the individual qualifiers than there is on those swimming in the finals. On a local note, Eden Prairie backstroker Rachel Bootsma won a gold medal in the 4 x 100 medley relay, because even though she did not swim in the finals, she was the backstroker on the four member relay team which qualified the US for the finals.
7. The games were televised on NBC and several of its affiliates. In an example of the "race to be first" mantra of journalism, the television networks and radio stations not affiliated with NBC seemed to take repeated delight in spoiling the results for viewers and listeners who planned to watch the Games that evening. During the day, ESPN constantly showed results on a crawl at the bottom of the screen. Afternoon radio shows were likewise guilty, even laughing sometimes that they were ruining the suspense for their listeners. Maybe it's expecting too much, given the five hour difference between London and New York, but a spoiler alert preceding the announcement of results would have been nice. The 2016 games are in Rio de Janeiro, so the spoilers should not be an issue then. Rio is just one hour ahead of New York.
8. I hereby admit that I was wrong about beach volleyball. My initial and long-held opinion was that any activity which is commonplace at family picnics or frat parties (e.g., lawn darts, whiffle ball) does not merit being an Olympic sport. But after watching beach volleyball played at Horse Guards Parade, one of the coolest venues in London, I can see why it was the toughest ticket for the public to obtain. How can two players per team cover all that ground? It would be hard enough if they were moving across a hardwood floor. But thick sand?
9. The cameras at the soccer matches often showed the coaches with their arms draped over the back of their seats. Yes, they were sitting in the lower stands during the action! I wish basketball coaches would take note. If your players are prepared, they know what to do. You don't have to micromanage every move. I realize that soccer rules limit the number of substitutions a coach can make, but the soccer coaches have figured it out. Your team needs to focus on the opponent without being distracted by you!
10. It was no surprise that the US men's basketball team won the gold medal. There simply was too much disparity in talent between the Americans and their opponents, even those opponents like silver medal winner Spain, with its own healthy share of NBA players. What I'll mostly remember about watching the guys' games was how brilliant an analyst Doug Collins is. Since I am not what you'd call a true NBA fan, I probably had never watched an entire NBA game for which Collins provided the commentary. But during the Olympics, that changed. Collins explained things that would have gone unnoticed by many commentators, and was spot-on with his predictions of the strategies that the teams would employ. As an example, in the final game when Spain tried to cool off hot shooter Kevin Durant by using a rarely seen "box and one" defense (i.e., a four-square zone plus man-to-man coverage on Durant), not only did Collins quickly point that strategy out but he also observed that it was undoubtedly the first time in their lives when superstars Kobe Bryant and LaBron James were in a game when the opponent used a box and one defense with man-to-man coverage on someone else! Immediately after the game ended, many of the US players climbed over a barrier to shake Collins' hand. How many times do you see players making a special effort to shake hands with a media member? I'm sure they know that in the 1972 Munich Olympics, Collins was a member of the US team team which was deprived of a gold medal when the fraudulent officials unfairly kept the game going until the Soviets took the lead. To this day, the players on that US team have refused to accept their silver medals. Those discs remain in a vault in Lausanne, Switzerland.
I watched more Olympics coverage this year than I ever had before. This year marked the first time for the Summer Games that I was retired and in the country. Obviously I did not watch everything, but still managed to vegetate in front of the tube for many hours during those two-plus weeks. I will leave it to the experts to opine on what moments were the most significant or important. What I offer here is simply a list, in random order, of ten observations or moments that I've thought about more than once since the games ended.
1. Missy Franklin, the gold medal swimmer, is seventeen years old, and swims for her Denver area high school, Regis Jesuit. When you think of all the high school athletes who forsake their high school teams so they can compete for elite national programs, such as the developmental hockey league in Ann Arbor, Michigan, or Oak Hill Academy in Virginia for hoopsters, it's amazing that one of the best swimmers in the world remained loyal to her high school. She will swim for them as a senior this fall. As a bonus, she seems like a great kid.
2. In the women's gold medal soccer game, US vs. Japan, all eyes were on Abby Wambach, the most prolific scorer on the US team. The game winning goal was scored on a header by midfielder Carli Lloyd, but it was such a bang-bang play that announcer Arlo White originally thought Wambach had kicked it in. Even after the replay confirmed that although Wambach was nearby she never came in contact with the ball, apparently White wanted so desperately to credit Wambach with something that he exclaimed, "Once again Abby Wambach was involved!" Ah, not really, buddy. The only other team member who was directly involved was Alex Morgan, who was accurately credited with an assist for kicking the ball into the path of Lloyd's forehead. I always love it when a play-by-play guy won't believe what the replay clearly shows. To make matters worse, in the evening NBC recap, Bob Costas compounded the same mistake that White made. In conclusion, Wambach might be the best offensive player on the team, but let's not sacrifice accuracy in reporting. She doesn't need it, and it's a disservive to the television viewers.
3. After watching Sue Bird's (semi-final) post-game interview with sideline reporter Craig Sager, I can see why she was the captain of the US women's basketball team. She gave quick, yet thoughtful, answers to some excellent questions, avoided cliches, emanated enthusiasm for the victory, all the while maintaining eye contact with Sager. Even though she is an Olympic and WNBA veteran, we could tell that she was jacked up for the chance to win another gold medal two days hence. She had an excellent tournament as the starting point guard. My only complaint about this bright athlete is that she's a UConn alumna.
4. I loved the interview with Jon Drummond, the coach of the US women's track relay team, before the 4 X 100 meter race. The four women who ran for him have a reputation of being nothing short of divas, each with her own agenda. How does a guy coach a group with that make-up, especially when team chemistry, smoothly passing the baton three times, is probably the key ingredient for that particular event? Here is Drummond's quote: "I don't need them to love each other. I just need them to like each other for 37 seconds."
5. Perhaps the most interesting Olympic battles take place in table tennis, a sport in which a handful of Asian countries excel. The players stand far from a table that, on TV, looks to be the size of a postage stamp. When they play doubles, where the rules require partners to hit alternate shots, how do they manage not to crash into each other or bop their teammate in the noggin with their paddle? The best part for me is that they yell vociferously after every volley, regardless of whether they won the point. Since I don't understand Chinese or Korean, I can't tell if they are angry, frustrated or exuberant. By the way, all of that disappears once the game is finished. Without fail, they show good sportsmanship congratulating their opponent, and almost appear to be reserved. They don't need much of a cool down period.
6. One of the peculiarities of Olympic swimming rules for relays is that the four swimmers who compete in the finals do not have to be the same swimmers who competed in the qualifying heats. (The same rule applies in track.) Thus, a coach has to decide if she wants to save one or more of her best swimmers, keeping them out of the qualifying heats so that the stars are more rested for the finals. As a coach, you would have to have the utmost confidence in the swimmers you use for the qualifiers. If they fail to post a qualifying time, the best swimmer(s) on your team may never get into the pool for a medal. It seems to me that, given the relevant rules, there is actually more pressure on the individual qualifiers than there is on those swimming in the finals. On a local note, Eden Prairie backstroker Rachel Bootsma won a gold medal in the 4 x 100 medley relay, because even though she did not swim in the finals, she was the backstroker on the four member relay team which qualified the US for the finals.
7. The games were televised on NBC and several of its affiliates. In an example of the "race to be first" mantra of journalism, the television networks and radio stations not affiliated with NBC seemed to take repeated delight in spoiling the results for viewers and listeners who planned to watch the Games that evening. During the day, ESPN constantly showed results on a crawl at the bottom of the screen. Afternoon radio shows were likewise guilty, even laughing sometimes that they were ruining the suspense for their listeners. Maybe it's expecting too much, given the five hour difference between London and New York, but a spoiler alert preceding the announcement of results would have been nice. The 2016 games are in Rio de Janeiro, so the spoilers should not be an issue then. Rio is just one hour ahead of New York.
8. I hereby admit that I was wrong about beach volleyball. My initial and long-held opinion was that any activity which is commonplace at family picnics or frat parties (e.g., lawn darts, whiffle ball) does not merit being an Olympic sport. But after watching beach volleyball played at Horse Guards Parade, one of the coolest venues in London, I can see why it was the toughest ticket for the public to obtain. How can two players per team cover all that ground? It would be hard enough if they were moving across a hardwood floor. But thick sand?
9. The cameras at the soccer matches often showed the coaches with their arms draped over the back of their seats. Yes, they were sitting in the lower stands during the action! I wish basketball coaches would take note. If your players are prepared, they know what to do. You don't have to micromanage every move. I realize that soccer rules limit the number of substitutions a coach can make, but the soccer coaches have figured it out. Your team needs to focus on the opponent without being distracted by you!
10. It was no surprise that the US men's basketball team won the gold medal. There simply was too much disparity in talent between the Americans and their opponents, even those opponents like silver medal winner Spain, with its own healthy share of NBA players. What I'll mostly remember about watching the guys' games was how brilliant an analyst Doug Collins is. Since I am not what you'd call a true NBA fan, I probably had never watched an entire NBA game for which Collins provided the commentary. But during the Olympics, that changed. Collins explained things that would have gone unnoticed by many commentators, and was spot-on with his predictions of the strategies that the teams would employ. As an example, in the final game when Spain tried to cool off hot shooter Kevin Durant by using a rarely seen "box and one" defense (i.e., a four-square zone plus man-to-man coverage on Durant), not only did Collins quickly point that strategy out but he also observed that it was undoubtedly the first time in their lives when superstars Kobe Bryant and LaBron James were in a game when the opponent used a box and one defense with man-to-man coverage on someone else! Immediately after the game ended, many of the US players climbed over a barrier to shake Collins' hand. How many times do you see players making a special effort to shake hands with a media member? I'm sure they know that in the 1972 Munich Olympics, Collins was a member of the US team team which was deprived of a gold medal when the fraudulent officials unfairly kept the game going until the Soviets took the lead. To this day, the players on that US team have refused to accept their silver medals. Those discs remain in a vault in Lausanne, Switzerland.
Friday, August 17, 2012
Movie Review: "People Like Us"
"People Like Us": B-. Our first impressions of Sam (Chris Pine), a fast-talking East Coast slick salesman, are unfavorable. He borders on unethical behavior as he tries to convince manufacturing companies to sell their overstock to him. He constantly works under the gun, and favors taking shortcuts if it means putting a few extra coins in his pocket. This behavior gets him into trouble not only with his boss but also with the Federal Trade Commission. Just as the Feds are threatening him with a subpoena, he learns that his father, Jerry Harper, has passed away at the age of 63. Jerry was a famous record producer who consciously chose to sacrifice being a family man in favor of his career. Throughout his life, Sam detested his father, but Sam's girlfriend, Hannah (Olivia Wilde), manipulates things at the airport to get them a flight to Los Angeles for the funeral.
Sam's widowed mother, Lillian (Michelle Pfeiffer), is not happy with Sam. Just as Jerry paid little attention to the family when Sam was growing up, Sam has rarely visited his parents as an adult. After the funeral, Sam learns through his father's attorney that Jerry has verbally instructed the attorney to pass along to Sam an old shaving kit, which the attorney claims he hasn't opened. Inside the shaving kit Sam finds $150,000 cash and written instructions from Jerry for Sam to deliver the kit and caboodle to the mother of an eleven year old boy who also lives in LA. Shortly thereafter, Sam realizes that the mother is his half-sister, whom he never knew existed, and the boy, therefore, is Sam's nephew. These newly discovered relationships of Sam constitute the Big Secret which Sam looks for the right moment to reveal.
Baberaham Elizabeth Banks plays Frankie, the estranged half-sister. She, too, looked upon her father (the late Jerry) with disdain. Her childhood memories of him are mostly bad. He made no time for her or her mother, who was Jerry's mistress. Frankie knew that Jerry had a family; she and her mother were merely players in his clandestine life. Frankie is a single mom herself, an alcoholic who has her hands full with her delinquent (but cute) eleven year old, Josh (Michael Hall D'Addario), while she works a night job in a bar and attends AA meetings.
The circumstances under which Sam and Frankie first meet are not all that convincing, nor is the amount of time that Sam spends alone with Josh, as he takes him under his wing. Just when will Sam tell Frankie the Big Secret? Without spoiling the film, I will simply say he keeps it to himself a lot longer than I thought he would. Is Sam seriously contemplating keeping the inheritance for himself? Meanwhile, as happens in the movies, Josh's troubles at school seem to be getting better, thanks to the mentoring furnished to him from time to time by Sam. How many movies have we seen where a smitten guy finds that the quickest way to a single mom's heart is to become a father figure for her kid? Only here, the hot single mom is the guy's sister!
If you don't buy into the circumstances under which Sam keeps the Big Secret, it's hard to see this movie as anything other than a well acted story with an interesting set-up that doesn't play out in sensible fashion. By the way, evening admission to the Hopkins Theater is now up to $3.00. If their policy was value pricing, that would be just about right for "People Like Us." Of course, I'd be willing to pay three bucks to watch any flick with Michelle Pfeiffer, even if she is on the screen for just a couple of scenes.
Sam's widowed mother, Lillian (Michelle Pfeiffer), is not happy with Sam. Just as Jerry paid little attention to the family when Sam was growing up, Sam has rarely visited his parents as an adult. After the funeral, Sam learns through his father's attorney that Jerry has verbally instructed the attorney to pass along to Sam an old shaving kit, which the attorney claims he hasn't opened. Inside the shaving kit Sam finds $150,000 cash and written instructions from Jerry for Sam to deliver the kit and caboodle to the mother of an eleven year old boy who also lives in LA. Shortly thereafter, Sam realizes that the mother is his half-sister, whom he never knew existed, and the boy, therefore, is Sam's nephew. These newly discovered relationships of Sam constitute the Big Secret which Sam looks for the right moment to reveal.
Baberaham Elizabeth Banks plays Frankie, the estranged half-sister. She, too, looked upon her father (the late Jerry) with disdain. Her childhood memories of him are mostly bad. He made no time for her or her mother, who was Jerry's mistress. Frankie knew that Jerry had a family; she and her mother were merely players in his clandestine life. Frankie is a single mom herself, an alcoholic who has her hands full with her delinquent (but cute) eleven year old, Josh (Michael Hall D'Addario), while she works a night job in a bar and attends AA meetings.
The circumstances under which Sam and Frankie first meet are not all that convincing, nor is the amount of time that Sam spends alone with Josh, as he takes him under his wing. Just when will Sam tell Frankie the Big Secret? Without spoiling the film, I will simply say he keeps it to himself a lot longer than I thought he would. Is Sam seriously contemplating keeping the inheritance for himself? Meanwhile, as happens in the movies, Josh's troubles at school seem to be getting better, thanks to the mentoring furnished to him from time to time by Sam. How many movies have we seen where a smitten guy finds that the quickest way to a single mom's heart is to become a father figure for her kid? Only here, the hot single mom is the guy's sister!
If you don't buy into the circumstances under which Sam keeps the Big Secret, it's hard to see this movie as anything other than a well acted story with an interesting set-up that doesn't play out in sensible fashion. By the way, evening admission to the Hopkins Theater is now up to $3.00. If their policy was value pricing, that would be just about right for "People Like Us." Of course, I'd be willing to pay three bucks to watch any flick with Michelle Pfeiffer, even if she is on the screen for just a couple of scenes.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Album Review: "Handwritten" - The Gaslight Anthem
"Handwritten": B. When my daughter Gina was planning her wedding two years ago, she asked me to put together a music mix to play during the reception dinner. Her instructions were to find the kind of music they play on Cities 97. I created three discs (Munching On The Mississippi, Volumes 1-3), each containing twenty songs by different artists, for her to choose from. All but one of the sixty artists was, and probably still is, on that radio station's playlist. The one exception was the Gaslight Anthem. I just had to put Here's Looking At You, Kid on one of the three discs. That was my favorite song from the band's 2008 album, The '59 Sound, and I was confident the guests would like it as well.
Except for that one song, I wasn't entirely crazy about The '59 Sound, so I passed on the band's next effort, American Slang from 2010. However, I decided on a whim to give Handwritten, released two Tuesdays ago, a try, hoping that maybe I'd find at least one song on there which I might enjoy to the same extent as Here's Looking At You, Kid. I am sorry to report, I did not. But, the good news is that, as a whole, I like Handwritten much more than The '59 Sound.
The Gaslight Anthem is a four man punk rock band out of New Brunswick, New Jersey. Paraphrasing the famous line written by former US Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart about porn, I am not totally certain how to define punk rock, but I know it when I hear it. Although there are a few derivations and subsets of punk rock, the main ingredients are short, loud songs, sung with passionate urgency and featuring simple, frenetic and incessant drum beats with basic guitar accompaniment, albeit not uncommonly manufactured via a distortion pedal. You usually will not hear keyboards, acoustic instruments, percussion other than drums, guitar solos, long fade-outs, or any heavy production tricks which other forms of rock might employ. (It is commonly believed that punk rock evolved as a protest to the direction which the classic rock music of the seventies was heading.) Punk rock is not my favorite genre. I find it to be ill-suited for many themes, although it does work particularly nicely for songs which address romance gone wrong. There are several of that ilk on Handwritten. Because punk rock is generally not melodic, it is difficult to pick out great musicianship. But, having said all that, punk rock certainly has its moments.
Some of the buzz surrounding the release of Handwritten is that the songs evidence the band moving from punk rock to more traditional rock. I am in that camp; that is my take as well. The eleven songs on the core album - - more on that below - - run the gamut from punk rock to traditional. It is almost as if Handwritten is comprised of two EPs, one for each style. I would place three of the songs in the punk rock category, with the best of that small bunch being the album opener, "45." The singer laments that the girl to whom he's singing is giving him the brush-off, while his friends are urging him to cut the cord. Using a 45 rpm record as a metaphor for the failing relationship, they recommend that he "turn the record over" and tell her that he'll see her "on the flip side." They urge him to "let somebody else lay at her feet." Another punk song worthy of praise, although to a lesser extent, is the title track, Handwritten. Once again we have the singer ready to throw up his hands at his inability to connect with his love interest. "I've been holding my breath," he sings, but he and his woman have "waited for sirens that never come." A fourth song (Desire) seems a hybrid, bridging the transition from punk to rock.
Among the seven more traditional rock songs, Here Comes My Man, Mulholland Drive and Mae are the cornerstones. On Mae lead singer Brian Fallon evokes fellow New Jersy native Bruce Springsteen's deep semi-grovely voice, with a touch of pain a la Pearl Jam's Eddie Vedder. Is it merely a coincidence that Handwritten was produced by Brendan O'Brien, who made his mark as a producer for Springsteen and Pearl Jam recordings? Mulholland Drive, my favorite track on the album, combines thought provoking lyrics and a solid rock arrangement. The singer is talking to a former love, wondering if she shares the same memories of their past, memories which haunt him. After repeated listenings I'm still not positive of the meaning of Here Comes My Man. The song makes the most sense if it's viewed as the expressions of a girl to a guy. This concept is complicated by the fact that the song is being sung by a guy, viz., Fallon. Whatever the meaning, this complex song has a great beat.
The core album closes with a beautiful folk ballad called National Anthem. As is the case with several tracks on this album, the singer is addressing a former girl friend. He tells her that he'll never forget her, but that "the place where you were in my heart is now closed."
I mentioned above that the first eleven songs constitute the core album. The Electric Fetus offered the core album for sale, but alternatively offered a deluxe edition containing three additional songs for an extra two bucks, a deal I could not refuse. My theory was, what if the best song on the CD is one of the bonus tracks? That theory did not exactly hold up here, but there is a dynamite cover of Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers' You Got Lucky as the grand finale.
Except for that one song, I wasn't entirely crazy about The '59 Sound, so I passed on the band's next effort, American Slang from 2010. However, I decided on a whim to give Handwritten, released two Tuesdays ago, a try, hoping that maybe I'd find at least one song on there which I might enjoy to the same extent as Here's Looking At You, Kid. I am sorry to report, I did not. But, the good news is that, as a whole, I like Handwritten much more than The '59 Sound.
The Gaslight Anthem is a four man punk rock band out of New Brunswick, New Jersey. Paraphrasing the famous line written by former US Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart about porn, I am not totally certain how to define punk rock, but I know it when I hear it. Although there are a few derivations and subsets of punk rock, the main ingredients are short, loud songs, sung with passionate urgency and featuring simple, frenetic and incessant drum beats with basic guitar accompaniment, albeit not uncommonly manufactured via a distortion pedal. You usually will not hear keyboards, acoustic instruments, percussion other than drums, guitar solos, long fade-outs, or any heavy production tricks which other forms of rock might employ. (It is commonly believed that punk rock evolved as a protest to the direction which the classic rock music of the seventies was heading.) Punk rock is not my favorite genre. I find it to be ill-suited for many themes, although it does work particularly nicely for songs which address romance gone wrong. There are several of that ilk on Handwritten. Because punk rock is generally not melodic, it is difficult to pick out great musicianship. But, having said all that, punk rock certainly has its moments.
Some of the buzz surrounding the release of Handwritten is that the songs evidence the band moving from punk rock to more traditional rock. I am in that camp; that is my take as well. The eleven songs on the core album - - more on that below - - run the gamut from punk rock to traditional. It is almost as if Handwritten is comprised of two EPs, one for each style. I would place three of the songs in the punk rock category, with the best of that small bunch being the album opener, "45." The singer laments that the girl to whom he's singing is giving him the brush-off, while his friends are urging him to cut the cord. Using a 45 rpm record as a metaphor for the failing relationship, they recommend that he "turn the record over" and tell her that he'll see her "on the flip side." They urge him to "let somebody else lay at her feet." Another punk song worthy of praise, although to a lesser extent, is the title track, Handwritten. Once again we have the singer ready to throw up his hands at his inability to connect with his love interest. "I've been holding my breath," he sings, but he and his woman have "waited for sirens that never come." A fourth song (Desire) seems a hybrid, bridging the transition from punk to rock.
Among the seven more traditional rock songs, Here Comes My Man, Mulholland Drive and Mae are the cornerstones. On Mae lead singer Brian Fallon evokes fellow New Jersy native Bruce Springsteen's deep semi-grovely voice, with a touch of pain a la Pearl Jam's Eddie Vedder. Is it merely a coincidence that Handwritten was produced by Brendan O'Brien, who made his mark as a producer for Springsteen and Pearl Jam recordings? Mulholland Drive, my favorite track on the album, combines thought provoking lyrics and a solid rock arrangement. The singer is talking to a former love, wondering if she shares the same memories of their past, memories which haunt him. After repeated listenings I'm still not positive of the meaning of Here Comes My Man. The song makes the most sense if it's viewed as the expressions of a girl to a guy. This concept is complicated by the fact that the song is being sung by a guy, viz., Fallon. Whatever the meaning, this complex song has a great beat.
The core album closes with a beautiful folk ballad called National Anthem. As is the case with several tracks on this album, the singer is addressing a former girl friend. He tells her that he'll never forget her, but that "the place where you were in my heart is now closed."
I mentioned above that the first eleven songs constitute the core album. The Electric Fetus offered the core album for sale, but alternatively offered a deluxe edition containing three additional songs for an extra two bucks, a deal I could not refuse. My theory was, what if the best song on the CD is one of the bonus tracks? That theory did not exactly hold up here, but there is a dynamite cover of Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers' You Got Lucky as the grand finale.
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Movie Review: "The Bourne Legacy"
"The Bourne Legacy": B+. Matt Damon is no longer the face of the famous Bourne movie franchise, but have no fear. Jeremy Renner, whose first big headliner was in the 2008 Academy Award Best Picture movie The Hurt Locker, is more than an able replacement. Renner plays Aaron Cross, one of nine special espionage agents in a CIA program which the government has decided to shut down due to a breach of security. By "shut down" I mean eradicate all traces that the program ever existed, including knocking off the nine agents. Watch out for those little yellow triangular pills!
Rachel Weisz is Dr. Marta Shearing, a scientist in the DC area lab where the Agency produces and monitors the meds that that the special agents need to ingest on a regular basis. This reliance on the meds is one of the means by which the Agency controls their field operators. The little greenies are for nutrition; the blue ones give them a mental edge. When we first meet Cross he's in the Alaskan wilderness and his supply of meds is running thin. Good thing he is an expert marksman who can bag his own meal occasionally by knocking off a wolf from 200 yards away.
In addition to the lab and the wilderness, a third action point to which the camera regularly takes us is the Agency headquarters, where Retired USAF Colonel Eric Byer (Edward Norton) methodically masterminds the eradication of the nine agents. This is a global effort, but none of them is that hard to bump off - - that is, except for Aaron Cross. Norton is great (as usual) as the cold-blooded schemer who rationalizes that his dastardly deeds are actually acts of patriotism on his part.
Everyone whom Cross encounters is, in his mind, untrustworthy. I guess I would feel the same way once I figured out that my own employer, which just happens to be my country, is trying to kill me. Cross is fighting a deadline, as he desperately needs those blues and greenies not just to stay alive but also to have the mental acuteness to stay one step ahead of his high tech pursuers. As you might guess, this self-preservation urge leads him to Dr. Shearing. Maybe he shouldn't trust her either, but he figures she's his best bet to scoring a stash of the desperately needed meds. It is not the first time they've met, but before it was strictly on a doctor/patient basis. She knows him as "Number Five."
In its simplest terms this is a chase movie. Will the CIA succeed in bumping off Cross? This is a different kind of chase, however, as the action takes us all over the planet. The cinematography is spectacular, yet the great shots do not get in the way of the story. There are special effects, as there are in every Bourne movie, but most of them are believable, at least until we get to the last several minutes of the film.
The movie is not without its flaws, mostly in the Failure Of Logic Category. For example, the Manilla Police Department is made to look like the Three Stooges. Cross always seems to have a gun at his disposal, notwithstanding the fact that he has to clear airline security and customs several times. And what's up with the tall Asian tough guy who is late to the party? Isn't it bad enough that Cross has to evade both the CIA and the Manilla police while simultaneously trying to keep his female companion safe?
Finally, I must comment on this movie's connection with current events. In the past year or so we have read in the news about how the US uses unmanned drones to kill al-Qaida terrorists in the lawless northwestern provinces of Pakistan, among other hot spots. We have also, sadly, seen a number of murders by gunmen who go berserk in enclosed spaces, the most recent examples being the killing and injuring of many people in a theater in Aurora, Colorado and in a Sikh temple in Oak Creek, Wisconsin. The Bourne Legacy gives a riveting depiction of how being on the receiving end of a drone attack or of a gunman gone wild might play out. Bone chilling action, and food for thought.
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