"Quartet": A-. When we last saw Maggie Smith she was Muriel Donnelly, a bigoted hypochondriac in Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (reviewed here on May 31, 2012). One year later Smith plays another contrarian, Jean Horton, in Quartet. Jean was a diva songstress in her day, but her day was thirty years ago or more. Sad to say, she hasn't outgrown that nasty aura. Just as Muriel's personal circumstances steered her to take up residence in a strange place, Jean is faced with the same challenge, although instead of a run down hotel in a bustling Indian city it is Beecham House, a stately mansion for retired singers and musicians in rural England.
The fact that Jean is well past her prime does not stop her from displaying her diva-tude. She corrects people who short-change her on the number of curtain calls she received following a long-ago performance, she insists on taking her meals in her private room rather than with the other Beecham residents in the dining room, she mistakenly assumes that the residence director is a servant, and a smile only crosses her face when she is the center of attention. What she was not counting on is that her former husband, Reggie Paget (Tom Courtenay), is a Beecham resident too, and he has not buried the hatchet for Jean abandoning their extremely brief marriage years ago.
As you might expect from this movie's title, there are two other characters who figure prominently in the story, and they are the ones who supply a good chunk of the movie's humor. Wilf Bond (the dashing Billy Connolly) is the "naughty boy" who is always on the make, ready with a double entendre here or a slightly off-color remark there. The females who live and work at Beecham are on to him, but he is so lovable -- and probably harmless, given his age -- that they put up with his shenanigans. Director Dustin Hoffman keeps things snappy, not dwelling too long on any one shot or scene. This enhances Wilf's quips, as he often says them while on the move. Also, Pauline Collins turns in a stellar performance as Cissy Robson, who teeters on the edge of senility. When Cissy talks she comes across as loopy, yet just when we think she is dull she surprises with profound observations. The once-famous and titular "Quartet" is comprised of Reggie, Wilf, Cissy and Jean.
The central story line, other than the history between Jean and Reggie, is that Beecham House is in financial straights, and their sustainability depends on their annual gala recital being a smashing monetary success. It is up to the music director and fellow resident, Cedrick Livingston (Michael Gambon), to transform the multitude of talent at hand into a five star production. Gambon is over-the-top funny, putting down unworthy musical renditions and insisting that his name be pronounced "SEE-drick," not "Sed-drick." Cissy meekly obeys even Cedrick's most humiliating demands, such as requiring her to raise her hand and be called upon before speaking, but Wilf simply blows him off. He won't even give Cedrick the satisfaction of pronouncing his name correctly. The difference between the recital being an overwhelming success or a failure hinges on the potential reunion of the Quartet so that they can perform a selection from Verdi's Rigoletto, the opera which was the Quartet's signature piece. Will Cederick be able to convince each of the fab four to perform together one last time to save Beecham House? Or, will their egos, interpersonal baggage and fear of failure get in the way?
In a brilliant casting move by the producers, the roles of the peripheral residents of Beecham House are filled by real life singers, musicians and conductors. This includes Gambon, an accomplished actor in British theater, and Gwyneth Jones, a Welsh opera singer who plays Jean's arch rival, Anne Langley. The upshot of this casting is that the musical interludes we witness from time to time are first class. Even the rehearsals are stage-worthy.
If you are inclined to skip Quartet because (i) spending two hours watching old geezers is not your cup of tea, or (ii) you're afraid you'll be subjected to too much classical music, rest assured that your worries will be for naught. The old folks are (mostly) genuinely funny and young at heart, and (as noted above) Hoffman's quick pace averts the danger of having the high brow music bog things down.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Your Tax Dollars At Work
Was anyone really surprised late last month when the Washington Post reported that our federal government will spend $890,000 on literally -- there's that word again -- nothing? It seems that when federal agencies issue a grant, instead of simply writing a check to the grantee it first establishes a new account within a financial institution. The agency deposits the money into the account, and only then is the money available to the grantee, either in a lump sum or in a series of withdrawals, depending on the terms of the grant. If you were foolish enough to think that the government actually closes the account once the grant funds are depleted, you would be wrong. The bureaucrats are tied up doing other things. Instead, the empty account stays open, the financial institution continues to charge its account maintenance fee, and the government dutifully pays it, month after month. You read that right; our government pays account fees to maintain accounts with a zero balance, never to be replenished again. Where do you think the government gets the money to pay these account maintenance fees?
Exactly four days after the Post broke the news about the empty accounts, the Associated Press wrote a story about the disconnect between what the United States Army generals desire and what Congress decides to give them. The federal government plans to spend $436 million to manufacture upgraded versions of Abrams tanks, the seventy ton behemoths which, in their day, were powerful military weapons but which, in modern warfare, are looked upon as relics. Even the Army's Chief of Staff, General Ray Odierno, is on record saying that the military strategists would prefer that the money be spent on other types of resources which could be employed in combating today's non-traditional enemies. Apparently the Washington politicians believe that they know more than the generals about what our soldiers need. You don't suppose pork-barrel politics is rearing its ugly head here, do you? Where do you think the government gets the money to pay for these unwanted tanks?
If you don't think bad news come in threes, check this out. Two weeks ago the New York Times uncovered an ongoing policy whereby the CIA has covertly paid "tens of millions of dollars" to the office of Hamid Karzai, the venal President of Afghanistan. This has been going on at least since 2005, and maybe as far back as 2002. His former chief of staff, Khalil Roman, labelled it "ghost money," telling the Times that "it came in secret and it left in secret." Karzai has a reputation of running a corrupt regime, and the scoundrel unabashedly continues to thumb his nose at the country which is primarily responsible not only for his own position but for the freedom of his people from the yoke of the Taliban. You don't suppose any of the tens of millions of dollars ended up in the pockets of Karzai or his cronies, do you? Why was the delivery of CIA cash off the record, whereas conventional foreign aid expenditures are not? When the US finally withdraws our armed forces from Afghanistan, will the ghost money deliveries stop too, and if so, how will that affect the stability of that country? I am not the only one who thinks some of the money has gone to tribal warlords in return for their cooperation with the Afghan central government. When the bribery stops, one might predict that so will the cooperation. Where do you think the CIA gets the money to pay for these ghost bags of cash?
Why stop at three? In 2012, farmers in many parts of the US suffered through the worst drought in years. The federal government, through its taxpayer-subsidized national crop insurance program, paid out $12.7 billion in claims for lost corn and soybeans. No one who is thinking clearly believes that farmers should go without crop insurance, or that some subsidy from the federal government is unwarranted. But according to a recent study by the Environmental Working Group, a national advocacy group that studies health and environmental issues, the farmers were able to cash in on over $6.5 billion of insurance proceeds above and beyond what they should have been compensated. Some farmers realized incomes in excess of what they would have made had there been no drought. Citing a report by University of Iowa agricultural economist Bruce Babcock, the EWG pointed to a couple of factors that came into play, resulting in the largesse. For one, the farmers who benefitted the most had entered into price guarantee contracts which sheltered them from the effects of a poor yield. Second and more importantly, rather than buy merely what Babcock referred to as "plain Jane" crop insurance, the farmers used taxpayer-subsidized premiums for "Cadillac" crop coverage plans which insure against both poor yields and price drops. On May 2, 2013, Star Tribune reporter Jim Spencer quoted University of Minnesota ag economist Bill Lazarus as follows: Subsidizing the most generous [insurance] coverage at higher levels than basic coverage "doesn't make much sense." How did the federal government come up with the extra dough to pay insurance premiums resulting in the farmers receiving more than twice as much as what was needed to make them whole?
Apparently the state of Minnesota is following the federal government's lead when it comes to deciding how to use tax revenue. Earlier this month, the state Senate passed a bill that paves the way for illegal immigrants to receive in-state tuition and financial aid for college. The lead in Mark Brunswick's story which appeared on May 2 in the Star Tribune: "Minnesota would become one of the most generous states in the nation toward undocumented college students under a plan approved [May 1] by the state Senate." Silly me; I thought the state was in a deep hole, barely able to rub two nickels together. Doesn't the state currently owe millions of dollars ($860 million, to be exact) in deferred funding to the public schools, and isn't such deferment the reason for our state government being able to claim solvency? Do we not have roads and bridges in this state which are in disrepair due to lack of funding? Aren't legitimate non-profits and state agencies which help the poor unable to fulfill their mission, turning away citizens who need assistance? Some of our public schools have crowded more than forty students in a classroom. Programs like Early Childhood Development are being gutted. Maybe the state could use some of that dough earmarked for the undocumented to aid folks who are actual citizens. Fortunately for me, my own three kids are through with college, and the Bank of Dad has closed up shop. Yet I can't help but wonder what younger parents whose college-age kids receive no financial aid (other than loans which must be repaid) think about the Senate's actions. Not only are they sacrificing to put their own kids through school; they are paying for illegal immigrants' education too.
The Senate's vote is the latest in a relatively recent series of dubious decisions made by state decision makers. Two examples, both having to do with sports, come to mind. When the state legislature passed the stadium bill for the Vikings last year, it calculated that approximately $34 million could be expected to flow into the state coffers annually from electronic pull tabs in bars. Those funds would play an important role in the public subsidy contributed by the state to finance the construction. This year, after the electronic pull tabs have been in operation for several months, we learn after-the-fact that the now-expected annual "take" will only be in the neighborhood of $1.7 million, a far cry from the expected $34 million. How could the projections have been so far off? It turns out that the data relied upon by the finance committees of the legislature was provided by people in the gaming industry, or in other words, the entities which had the most to gain by the passage of the new law authorizing electronic pull tabs in the state. Have you ever met a car salesman who didn't think you needed a new car? I guess our fearless legislators have, or else they're extremely naive.
The second example was the decision by Gopher athletic director Norwood Teague to cave to football head coach Jerry Kill's request to pay $800,000 to North Carolina in return for canceling two future games against the very mediocre Tar Heels. Is the U's athletic department so flush with cash that they can burn that kind of money to chicken out of two games they should be playing to legitimize their otherwise pathetic out-of-conference schedule? Kill wanted to replace North Carolina with a patsie. What really knocked me over was when Teague, just a few months removed from his North Carolina decision, decided to schedule the Gophers to play Texas Christian University twice. TCU's program is much more accomplished than NC's. My long range prediction is that the Gophs will lose both games to the Horned Frogs, whereas they could have won both meetings against the Heels. You have to wonder if the Gopher boosters believe that their hard earned money is in good hands with Norwood.
Arguably, this all ends up in the age-old debate. Does the government (and in my last example, a state institution) need more tax revenue, or might it just be possible to take a harder look at how existing revenues are spent? Are our government (and institution) leaders already making good use of the money they extract from us? If the answer is not "yes," how can jacking up taxes be justified? How can the taxpayers have confidence that their money will be used wisely? Before we throw new money after problems, let's ask our leaders to do a better job.
Exactly four days after the Post broke the news about the empty accounts, the Associated Press wrote a story about the disconnect between what the United States Army generals desire and what Congress decides to give them. The federal government plans to spend $436 million to manufacture upgraded versions of Abrams tanks, the seventy ton behemoths which, in their day, were powerful military weapons but which, in modern warfare, are looked upon as relics. Even the Army's Chief of Staff, General Ray Odierno, is on record saying that the military strategists would prefer that the money be spent on other types of resources which could be employed in combating today's non-traditional enemies. Apparently the Washington politicians believe that they know more than the generals about what our soldiers need. You don't suppose pork-barrel politics is rearing its ugly head here, do you? Where do you think the government gets the money to pay for these unwanted tanks?
If you don't think bad news come in threes, check this out. Two weeks ago the New York Times uncovered an ongoing policy whereby the CIA has covertly paid "tens of millions of dollars" to the office of Hamid Karzai, the venal President of Afghanistan. This has been going on at least since 2005, and maybe as far back as 2002. His former chief of staff, Khalil Roman, labelled it "ghost money," telling the Times that "it came in secret and it left in secret." Karzai has a reputation of running a corrupt regime, and the scoundrel unabashedly continues to thumb his nose at the country which is primarily responsible not only for his own position but for the freedom of his people from the yoke of the Taliban. You don't suppose any of the tens of millions of dollars ended up in the pockets of Karzai or his cronies, do you? Why was the delivery of CIA cash off the record, whereas conventional foreign aid expenditures are not? When the US finally withdraws our armed forces from Afghanistan, will the ghost money deliveries stop too, and if so, how will that affect the stability of that country? I am not the only one who thinks some of the money has gone to tribal warlords in return for their cooperation with the Afghan central government. When the bribery stops, one might predict that so will the cooperation. Where do you think the CIA gets the money to pay for these ghost bags of cash?
Why stop at three? In 2012, farmers in many parts of the US suffered through the worst drought in years. The federal government, through its taxpayer-subsidized national crop insurance program, paid out $12.7 billion in claims for lost corn and soybeans. No one who is thinking clearly believes that farmers should go without crop insurance, or that some subsidy from the federal government is unwarranted. But according to a recent study by the Environmental Working Group, a national advocacy group that studies health and environmental issues, the farmers were able to cash in on over $6.5 billion of insurance proceeds above and beyond what they should have been compensated. Some farmers realized incomes in excess of what they would have made had there been no drought. Citing a report by University of Iowa agricultural economist Bruce Babcock, the EWG pointed to a couple of factors that came into play, resulting in the largesse. For one, the farmers who benefitted the most had entered into price guarantee contracts which sheltered them from the effects of a poor yield. Second and more importantly, rather than buy merely what Babcock referred to as "plain Jane" crop insurance, the farmers used taxpayer-subsidized premiums for "Cadillac" crop coverage plans which insure against both poor yields and price drops. On May 2, 2013, Star Tribune reporter Jim Spencer quoted University of Minnesota ag economist Bill Lazarus as follows: Subsidizing the most generous [insurance] coverage at higher levels than basic coverage "doesn't make much sense." How did the federal government come up with the extra dough to pay insurance premiums resulting in the farmers receiving more than twice as much as what was needed to make them whole?
Apparently the state of Minnesota is following the federal government's lead when it comes to deciding how to use tax revenue. Earlier this month, the state Senate passed a bill that paves the way for illegal immigrants to receive in-state tuition and financial aid for college. The lead in Mark Brunswick's story which appeared on May 2 in the Star Tribune: "Minnesota would become one of the most generous states in the nation toward undocumented college students under a plan approved [May 1] by the state Senate." Silly me; I thought the state was in a deep hole, barely able to rub two nickels together. Doesn't the state currently owe millions of dollars ($860 million, to be exact) in deferred funding to the public schools, and isn't such deferment the reason for our state government being able to claim solvency? Do we not have roads and bridges in this state which are in disrepair due to lack of funding? Aren't legitimate non-profits and state agencies which help the poor unable to fulfill their mission, turning away citizens who need assistance? Some of our public schools have crowded more than forty students in a classroom. Programs like Early Childhood Development are being gutted. Maybe the state could use some of that dough earmarked for the undocumented to aid folks who are actual citizens. Fortunately for me, my own three kids are through with college, and the Bank of Dad has closed up shop. Yet I can't help but wonder what younger parents whose college-age kids receive no financial aid (other than loans which must be repaid) think about the Senate's actions. Not only are they sacrificing to put their own kids through school; they are paying for illegal immigrants' education too.
The Senate's vote is the latest in a relatively recent series of dubious decisions made by state decision makers. Two examples, both having to do with sports, come to mind. When the state legislature passed the stadium bill for the Vikings last year, it calculated that approximately $34 million could be expected to flow into the state coffers annually from electronic pull tabs in bars. Those funds would play an important role in the public subsidy contributed by the state to finance the construction. This year, after the electronic pull tabs have been in operation for several months, we learn after-the-fact that the now-expected annual "take" will only be in the neighborhood of $1.7 million, a far cry from the expected $34 million. How could the projections have been so far off? It turns out that the data relied upon by the finance committees of the legislature was provided by people in the gaming industry, or in other words, the entities which had the most to gain by the passage of the new law authorizing electronic pull tabs in the state. Have you ever met a car salesman who didn't think you needed a new car? I guess our fearless legislators have, or else they're extremely naive.
The second example was the decision by Gopher athletic director Norwood Teague to cave to football head coach Jerry Kill's request to pay $800,000 to North Carolina in return for canceling two future games against the very mediocre Tar Heels. Is the U's athletic department so flush with cash that they can burn that kind of money to chicken out of two games they should be playing to legitimize their otherwise pathetic out-of-conference schedule? Kill wanted to replace North Carolina with a patsie. What really knocked me over was when Teague, just a few months removed from his North Carolina decision, decided to schedule the Gophers to play Texas Christian University twice. TCU's program is much more accomplished than NC's. My long range prediction is that the Gophs will lose both games to the Horned Frogs, whereas they could have won both meetings against the Heels. You have to wonder if the Gopher boosters believe that their hard earned money is in good hands with Norwood.
Arguably, this all ends up in the age-old debate. Does the government (and in my last example, a state institution) need more tax revenue, or might it just be possible to take a harder look at how existing revenues are spent? Are our government (and institution) leaders already making good use of the money they extract from us? If the answer is not "yes," how can jacking up taxes be justified? How can the taxpayers have confidence that their money will be used wisely? Before we throw new money after problems, let's ask our leaders to do a better job.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Movie Review: "The Company You Keep"
"The Company You Keep": B-. The setup for The Company You Keep has almost unlimited upside potential. Opening with black and white actual film footage of network news legendary anchors like ABC's Frank Reynolds and NBC's John Chancellor, the movie viewers are briefed on the '60's activists called the Weathermen, an underground organization which started as an anti-Viet Nam War protest group and expanded into a radical anti-government organization. Their operations turned to infamy when they shot and killed a security guard during a bank heist in Michigan. Those members of the Weathermen who were not apprehended escaped to various parts of the country and created new lives for themselves, out of the limelight but still in public view as ordinary members of society. More than thirty years later, the FBI has not given up the chase. Things happen in a hurry when one morning they descend upon Sharon Solarz (Susan Sarandon), a housewife and mother, as she is filling her car with gas in rural New York. Solarz, who had been living under an assumed name, was in the Weathermen gang. Now, she is charged with murder. (Minnesotans might think of the almost identical real life case of Sara Jane Olson, a "soccer mom" living in St. Paul who, it turned out, was in fact Kathleen Soliah, a member of the violent Symbionese Liberation Army and wanted for a 1975 murder. The FBI finally caught up with her in 1999.)
Ben Shepard (Shia LaBeouf) is a wet-behind-the-ears reporter for the Albany Sun Times. His crusty editor (Stanley Tucci) is constantly on his case to break some hard news before the competition gets the glory. Shepard decides to nose around City Hall to find out what nuggets of information surrounding the Solarz case he might be able to use as a lead. He has an on-again off-again girl friend (Anna Kendrick) who works for the FBI and who begrudgingly feeds him some information which, eventually, leads him to widowed Albany attorney Jim Grant (Robert Redford). When Grant realizes that his true identity as Nick Sloan, another former Weathermen member, is on the verge of being exposed, either by Shepard or by the newly energized FBI, he hustles his eleven year old daughter (Jackie Evancho) into his car in the middle of the night and begins the next stage of his life as a fugitive on the run. Shepard is never far behind.
The odds are stacked against Sloan, with both the reporter and the Feds on his trail. But something gnaws at Shepard. Sloan is not acting like a man trying to disappear. If he were, he would have kept his daughter with him on the lam instead of arranging for his brother to become her legal custodian. Shepard correctly surmises that what Sloan is after is proof that he is not guilty of the security guard murder. The key to unlocking that proof is testimony from yet another Weathermen fugitive, Mimi Lurie (Julie Christie). Will Sloan ever find Mimi, whose last known whereabouts was in California, and even if he does, will she sacrifice her own freedom for the sake of telling the truth about Sloan, i.e., that he was not among the masked gang members who robbed the bank on that fateful day?
In spite of the promising beginning and the presence of such acting stalwarts as Redford and Christie, this movie never achieves that lofty potential to which I referred. There are three predominating reasons for this failure. First, the plot's checkpoints take far too long to develop. While on the run, Sloan needs the help of three people from his past, besides Mimi. He needs his brother (Chris Cooper) to take care of his daughter, he needs a fellow former Weatherman (Nick Nolte) who now runs a dockside business to get him a car, and he needs another ex-Weatherman who is now a college professor (Richard Jenkins) to get a West Coast phone number for him so he can track down Mimi. Each of these scenes takes ten or fifteen minutes, which is too much time spent to advance the story just a wee bit. They are also repetitive, as each of those three men initially resents Sloan getting him involved in Sloan's predicament, yet they eventually do what's asked of them. Second, no matter how flimsy any clue might be, Shepard is able to make hay with it. There are no red herrings; he strikes it rich with every hunch. Even Sherlock Holmes didn't bat a thousand, but young Mr. Shepard does. How is it that this cub reporter with limited resources is so brilliant that he figures things out before the FBI? Third, the movie is devoid of humor, unless you count the sophomoric lines Shepard uses in his weak attempts to impress young women. More than once I thought of the 1993 movie, The Fugitive. The Company You Keep could have used a Tommy Lee Jones/Lieutenant Gerard brand of sarcastic wit among the pursuers. Instead, Terrence Howard, who plays the FBI's top dick, merely goes through the motions and utters bland cliched lines like, "Let's get to work, people." There are other nits, including a head scratching surprise connection one of the characters has with Sloan and Mimi's past, but my point has already been made. The film is entertaining, and the disappointment comes only from thinking about what might have been. Unfortunately, with the slow pace, there is plenty of time to think.
There is one outstanding scene in the movie which takes place in the jail after Solarz has asked to see Shepard. Speaking "on the record," with Shepard's recorder on the table in front of her, Solarz explains how she got involved in the Weatherground movement as a young idealistic woman back in the sixties, and how the group's distrust of, and eventual hatred for, the perceived dishonest and corrupt federal government led them to acts of violence. The intervening decades have not much mellowed Solarz. This "everyday housewife" still harbors the passion she held as a young revolutionary. In her eyes the cause is still there. Sarandan does not have a large role in the movie, but that scene is the one I'll remember.
Ben Shepard (Shia LaBeouf) is a wet-behind-the-ears reporter for the Albany Sun Times. His crusty editor (Stanley Tucci) is constantly on his case to break some hard news before the competition gets the glory. Shepard decides to nose around City Hall to find out what nuggets of information surrounding the Solarz case he might be able to use as a lead. He has an on-again off-again girl friend (Anna Kendrick) who works for the FBI and who begrudgingly feeds him some information which, eventually, leads him to widowed Albany attorney Jim Grant (Robert Redford). When Grant realizes that his true identity as Nick Sloan, another former Weathermen member, is on the verge of being exposed, either by Shepard or by the newly energized FBI, he hustles his eleven year old daughter (Jackie Evancho) into his car in the middle of the night and begins the next stage of his life as a fugitive on the run. Shepard is never far behind.
The odds are stacked against Sloan, with both the reporter and the Feds on his trail. But something gnaws at Shepard. Sloan is not acting like a man trying to disappear. If he were, he would have kept his daughter with him on the lam instead of arranging for his brother to become her legal custodian. Shepard correctly surmises that what Sloan is after is proof that he is not guilty of the security guard murder. The key to unlocking that proof is testimony from yet another Weathermen fugitive, Mimi Lurie (Julie Christie). Will Sloan ever find Mimi, whose last known whereabouts was in California, and even if he does, will she sacrifice her own freedom for the sake of telling the truth about Sloan, i.e., that he was not among the masked gang members who robbed the bank on that fateful day?
In spite of the promising beginning and the presence of such acting stalwarts as Redford and Christie, this movie never achieves that lofty potential to which I referred. There are three predominating reasons for this failure. First, the plot's checkpoints take far too long to develop. While on the run, Sloan needs the help of three people from his past, besides Mimi. He needs his brother (Chris Cooper) to take care of his daughter, he needs a fellow former Weatherman (Nick Nolte) who now runs a dockside business to get him a car, and he needs another ex-Weatherman who is now a college professor (Richard Jenkins) to get a West Coast phone number for him so he can track down Mimi. Each of these scenes takes ten or fifteen minutes, which is too much time spent to advance the story just a wee bit. They are also repetitive, as each of those three men initially resents Sloan getting him involved in Sloan's predicament, yet they eventually do what's asked of them. Second, no matter how flimsy any clue might be, Shepard is able to make hay with it. There are no red herrings; he strikes it rich with every hunch. Even Sherlock Holmes didn't bat a thousand, but young Mr. Shepard does. How is it that this cub reporter with limited resources is so brilliant that he figures things out before the FBI? Third, the movie is devoid of humor, unless you count the sophomoric lines Shepard uses in his weak attempts to impress young women. More than once I thought of the 1993 movie, The Fugitive. The Company You Keep could have used a Tommy Lee Jones/Lieutenant Gerard brand of sarcastic wit among the pursuers. Instead, Terrence Howard, who plays the FBI's top dick, merely goes through the motions and utters bland cliched lines like, "Let's get to work, people." There are other nits, including a head scratching surprise connection one of the characters has with Sloan and Mimi's past, but my point has already been made. The film is entertaining, and the disappointment comes only from thinking about what might have been. Unfortunately, with the slow pace, there is plenty of time to think.
There is one outstanding scene in the movie which takes place in the jail after Solarz has asked to see Shepard. Speaking "on the record," with Shepard's recorder on the table in front of her, Solarz explains how she got involved in the Weatherground movement as a young idealistic woman back in the sixties, and how the group's distrust of, and eventual hatred for, the perceived dishonest and corrupt federal government led them to acts of violence. The intervening decades have not much mellowed Solarz. This "everyday housewife" still harbors the passion she held as a young revolutionary. In her eyes the cause is still there. Sarandan does not have a large role in the movie, but that scene is the one I'll remember.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
Thursday Night Prom
Ah, the snow is blowing, the wind is howling and the temp is in the 30's. It must be prom season. Many high schools are having theirs tonight. Benilde-St. Margaret's, where Momma Cuandito worked for thirty-three years and the alma mater of our three urchins, held its prom last Saturday. It wasn't that long ago when MC and I were watching our kids' grand marches, and hosting or attending pre-dance picture taking parties. The high school girls looked glamorous, as if they had just stepped out from a Milan style show. The boys, with spiffed hair, were almost unrecognizable in their tuxedos and shiny shoes. Dinner at a nice restaurant was part of their festivities, and it wasn't unheard of for the evening's transportation to be provided via limousine or other luxury car. Even before the big weekend, guys earned extra points by the creative, ingenious ways they asked their girls to the dance. Surprise questions on a test (of course, with the help of a teacher), chalk messages on the front yard sidewalk, and poetic invitations hidden in a flower bouquet were some of the methods. BSM even used to arrange for a paddleboat to host the dance on the Mississippi River every other year. The whole evening was an experience which the kids will probably remember for the rest of their lives.
My prom night was also unforgettable, but for slightly different reasons.
I have already briefly introduced you to Father Blaine Cook (Black Matt Lowers The Boom, December 16, 2012), my principal at Bishop Ryan High School in Minot, North Dakota. He was a tough s.o.b. who claimed to maintain "a little black book" in which he kept track of all the indiscretions of which the students were guilty. He also claimed to have connections (read: "spies") all over town whose hobbies were to keep him abreast of all the naughty goings on of the Ryan teens. When I first arrived in the Magic City I was incredulous concerning these claims, but after awhile there was just no denying that the man did, in fact, seem to know everything that was going on in that city of thirty-six thousand people. He somehow also managed to keep on top of things happening at Minot Air Force Base, where several of the Ryanites lived, eleven miles north of town. The "little black book," or the concept of it, was great leverage, especially against those of us who planned on applying for college. For the most part we were not willing to risk Father Cook nuking our post-secondary plans. On the other hand, some of my classmates like Dennis Gorde, Doug Pearson and Doug Picotte could play it a little more loosely. For one thing, they lived out in the country, near Foxholm as I recall, about eighteen miles from school. Father Cook did not have his contacts that far into the hinterlands. For another, those guys were not going to let future plans, whatever they might be, get in the way of enjoying high school life to the max.
There were three Cook Rules for which there was strict liability. One, if you were seen -- by anyone -- smoking while wearing a Ryan letter jacket, you were dead meat. I remember one day he got on the PA system for first period announcements, and he uttered just one sentence: "Douglas Pearson, get up to my office immediately, and don't be wearing your glasses when you walk in." At that moment, we all knew what Doug had been up to the night before and what was now in store for the poor guy. The second Cook Rule is one we still talk about at our class reunions: No couple was allowed to go steady. It is hard to imagine a twenty-first century Catholic high school imposing such a rule, let alone being able to enforce it, but back in 1965, when Blaine Cook ruled the roost, you'd better believe he meant it. (Closed circuit to my sister, Michele: I know you've got some good material on this subject!)
In light of the second Cook Rule, it seemed oxymoronic to discover that Father Cook wanted each and every upper classman to go to the Ryan prom. In fact he made it a command performance, that being the third Cook Rule. No excuse short of admission into the intensive care unit at Trinity Hospital would be grounds for a permitted absence from that dance. It was Cook's belief that the prom is an important part of the total high school experience, and no one should be denied the opportunity, even if the student had little or no desire to go. He correctly figured that if attendance was left up to the whims of the students, there would be dozens of kids who would not go, either because of shyness, finances or the disappointment of not being asked. (In those days, it was unheard of for a girl to ask a boy to the prom, unless he was from another school, or for a girl to go with another girl.) Certainly there are worse fates in life than being directed by your principal to attend your prom. But here is the rub: The prom was on a Thursday night, of all things, and not only was each student's presence at the event a requirement, so was on-time attendance at school the next morning. That last commandment undoubtedly put a crimp on many a post-dance plan.
Hardly any of my friends brought a date to the prom, nor did I. As strange as that may seem, there was some logic to that choice. Each student, upon entering the ballroom, aka student cafeteria, was given a "dance card," which was a little 5" X 7" booklet prepared by an anonymous Prom Committee. Inside the booklet were individual lines numbered # 1 through #12, and on each line was the name of a person of the opposite sex who was to be your partner for the dance that corresponded to the number. For example, if Jeanne Strobel's name was on line # 8 on my dance card, then she and I would partner up for dance # 8. In addition to the twelve numbered dances, there were three extra dances, including the last dance of the night, which were unassigned. You could either sit one or more of those out, or ask someone to join you on the dance floor. In summary, it made no difference if a guy brought a date to the prom, he might get to dance with her only three out of fifteen songs. To be fair, I must point out that the Prom Committee purportedly tried to give the kids a break by assigning their alleged love interest to line # 6 on the dance card. Given the fact that the second Cook Rule forbade couples from going steady, I'd imagine that there was a lot of guess work and tongue wagging going on in the Prom Committee planning sessions.
One of the great mysteries of the entire prom experience was trying to figure out just who was on the Prom Committee. None of my friends knew anyone who claimed (or admitted) to being on the Prom Committee. The best conjecture I heard was that it was a small group of junior girls. Talk about wielding power! The whole notion of dance cards was foreign to me. Even today, when I think of dance cards I can only picture them possibly being used in the South, like at a debutante ball in Tennessee or Georgia. I certainly would not have associated the practice with the state of North Dakota, were I not witness to the usage there myself. Forty-eight years have gone by, and the dance card is still one of the two things I recall the most when I reflect on my prom.
My other favorite recollection did not occur until the next morning, a Friday, when we were obliged to be back in school. Our first period class was phys ed, an 8:30 session with about thirty guys. Ordinarily we would have been dressed in sweats, doing calisthenics or running around the field. But on that particular day our teacher, Mr. Miller, had pity on us due to the late night before. Therefore, he gathered us in the gym and had us sit together on the bleachers, whereupon he commenced delivering a lecture on health. Before he finished his third sentence we all heard the gym doors loudly creak open, and in walked Dennis Gorde and the two Dougs, weaving and staggering their way across the wooden floor to join us at the opposite end. The three amigos were grinning from ear to ear, still wearing their tuxedos with their arms draped around each other. They had never made it back up to Foxholm after the dance. Rather, they had been out all night and then came directly to school.
My prom night was also unforgettable, but for slightly different reasons.
I have already briefly introduced you to Father Blaine Cook (Black Matt Lowers The Boom, December 16, 2012), my principal at Bishop Ryan High School in Minot, North Dakota. He was a tough s.o.b. who claimed to maintain "a little black book" in which he kept track of all the indiscretions of which the students were guilty. He also claimed to have connections (read: "spies") all over town whose hobbies were to keep him abreast of all the naughty goings on of the Ryan teens. When I first arrived in the Magic City I was incredulous concerning these claims, but after awhile there was just no denying that the man did, in fact, seem to know everything that was going on in that city of thirty-six thousand people. He somehow also managed to keep on top of things happening at Minot Air Force Base, where several of the Ryanites lived, eleven miles north of town. The "little black book," or the concept of it, was great leverage, especially against those of us who planned on applying for college. For the most part we were not willing to risk Father Cook nuking our post-secondary plans. On the other hand, some of my classmates like Dennis Gorde, Doug Pearson and Doug Picotte could play it a little more loosely. For one thing, they lived out in the country, near Foxholm as I recall, about eighteen miles from school. Father Cook did not have his contacts that far into the hinterlands. For another, those guys were not going to let future plans, whatever they might be, get in the way of enjoying high school life to the max.
There were three Cook Rules for which there was strict liability. One, if you were seen -- by anyone -- smoking while wearing a Ryan letter jacket, you were dead meat. I remember one day he got on the PA system for first period announcements, and he uttered just one sentence: "Douglas Pearson, get up to my office immediately, and don't be wearing your glasses when you walk in." At that moment, we all knew what Doug had been up to the night before and what was now in store for the poor guy. The second Cook Rule is one we still talk about at our class reunions: No couple was allowed to go steady. It is hard to imagine a twenty-first century Catholic high school imposing such a rule, let alone being able to enforce it, but back in 1965, when Blaine Cook ruled the roost, you'd better believe he meant it. (Closed circuit to my sister, Michele: I know you've got some good material on this subject!)
In light of the second Cook Rule, it seemed oxymoronic to discover that Father Cook wanted each and every upper classman to go to the Ryan prom. In fact he made it a command performance, that being the third Cook Rule. No excuse short of admission into the intensive care unit at Trinity Hospital would be grounds for a permitted absence from that dance. It was Cook's belief that the prom is an important part of the total high school experience, and no one should be denied the opportunity, even if the student had little or no desire to go. He correctly figured that if attendance was left up to the whims of the students, there would be dozens of kids who would not go, either because of shyness, finances or the disappointment of not being asked. (In those days, it was unheard of for a girl to ask a boy to the prom, unless he was from another school, or for a girl to go with another girl.) Certainly there are worse fates in life than being directed by your principal to attend your prom. But here is the rub: The prom was on a Thursday night, of all things, and not only was each student's presence at the event a requirement, so was on-time attendance at school the next morning. That last commandment undoubtedly put a crimp on many a post-dance plan.
Hardly any of my friends brought a date to the prom, nor did I. As strange as that may seem, there was some logic to that choice. Each student, upon entering the ballroom, aka student cafeteria, was given a "dance card," which was a little 5" X 7" booklet prepared by an anonymous Prom Committee. Inside the booklet were individual lines numbered # 1 through #12, and on each line was the name of a person of the opposite sex who was to be your partner for the dance that corresponded to the number. For example, if Jeanne Strobel's name was on line # 8 on my dance card, then she and I would partner up for dance # 8. In addition to the twelve numbered dances, there were three extra dances, including the last dance of the night, which were unassigned. You could either sit one or more of those out, or ask someone to join you on the dance floor. In summary, it made no difference if a guy brought a date to the prom, he might get to dance with her only three out of fifteen songs. To be fair, I must point out that the Prom Committee purportedly tried to give the kids a break by assigning their alleged love interest to line # 6 on the dance card. Given the fact that the second Cook Rule forbade couples from going steady, I'd imagine that there was a lot of guess work and tongue wagging going on in the Prom Committee planning sessions.
One of the great mysteries of the entire prom experience was trying to figure out just who was on the Prom Committee. None of my friends knew anyone who claimed (or admitted) to being on the Prom Committee. The best conjecture I heard was that it was a small group of junior girls. Talk about wielding power! The whole notion of dance cards was foreign to me. Even today, when I think of dance cards I can only picture them possibly being used in the South, like at a debutante ball in Tennessee or Georgia. I certainly would not have associated the practice with the state of North Dakota, were I not witness to the usage there myself. Forty-eight years have gone by, and the dance card is still one of the two things I recall the most when I reflect on my prom.
My other favorite recollection did not occur until the next morning, a Friday, when we were obliged to be back in school. Our first period class was phys ed, an 8:30 session with about thirty guys. Ordinarily we would have been dressed in sweats, doing calisthenics or running around the field. But on that particular day our teacher, Mr. Miller, had pity on us due to the late night before. Therefore, he gathered us in the gym and had us sit together on the bleachers, whereupon he commenced delivering a lecture on health. Before he finished his third sentence we all heard the gym doors loudly creak open, and in walked Dennis Gorde and the two Dougs, weaving and staggering their way across the wooden floor to join us at the opposite end. The three amigos were grinning from ear to ear, still wearing their tuxedos with their arms draped around each other. They had never made it back up to Foxholm after the dance. Rather, they had been out all night and then came directly to school.
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