Movie Review: "The Revenant"

"The Revenant": B.  I once heard a humorous comment from a long distance runner.  "Sure, I admire the Kenyans and Ethiopians, but could they run a marathon if it took them the five hours it takes me?"  I was reminded of that quote when I read about Leonardo DiCaprio choosing voluntarily to suffer in the extreme cold while filming The Revenant in order to make his portrayal of frontier scout Hugh Glass more authentic.  The question that comes to mind is this: Wouldn't it be more impressive acting if DiCaprio really wasn't all that cold but looked and acted cold? 

The Revenant leads all contending film entries with twelve nominations in various categories for this year's Academy Awards.  The double icing on the cake is that the movie itself is deemed by the press to be the likely winner among the eight films nominated for Best Picture, and DiCaprio is the front runner in the race for Best Actor.  He has been shut out in his four previous acting nominations.  The film is worthy of just about every positive adjective one could find; "sprawling" would be my first choice.  The movie is beautifully photographed by cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki, who shot mainly in British Columbia, Alberta, Montana and Argentina.  The perfectly chosen locations include scenes of snow covered mountains, white water rivers, the sun shining through trees defrocked by winter, and campfire timbers floating through the night sky.  Several panoramic and aerial shots capture the majesty and magnitude of the mountains, especially when compared to a lonely frontiersman making his way on foot or by horseback across the snow-blanketed valley.

The underlying plot is one we've seen time and again, particularly in westerns.  A man is left for dead, deserted by his compadres whose own well being is foremost in their decision making.  Somehow the deserted man survives, and thereupon is driven to get his revenge on the culprits.  The Revenant dresses up this familiar story arc by adding many remarkable episodes to put meat on the bone.

The scene most talked about is the attack by a ferocious momma bear on Glass, who has been hired to guide an unsavory group of pelt hunters.  Their prey consists of fox, beaver, raccoon, buffalo and any other furry four-legged creatures they can shoot. The rugged scout is armed with a rifle and a hunting knife, but those prove quite inadequate against the mammoth creature.  Most of the men in his group, including John Fitzgerald (Tom Hardy), prefer to leave the badly mangled, unconscious Glass in the snow, but at the insistence of their leader, Captain Andrew Henry (Domhnall Gleeson), they drape him on a wooden plank attached to a horse and take him with.  Captain Henry realizes Glass, a half-breed with irreplaceable knowledge of the unforgiving land and its indigenous inhabitants, is invaluable to the troop out in the wilderness.  They are dozens of miles from their post on the other side of the almost impassable mountains.  Furthermore, as we learn in the first few minutes of the movie, these men are not only hunters but the hunted -- by Indians -- as well.  Captain Henry's decision to try to save Glass is based more on necessity for his men's survival than human kindness.

When it becomes apparent that dragging the near-dead Glass up a steep icy mountain is doomed to fail, Captain Henry offers extra money to Fitgerald and another younger hunter, Jim Bridger (Will Poulter), to stay with Glass while the rest of the party proceeds.  Also staying behind is Glass' son Hawk (Forrest Goodluck), still a teenager.  Henry's instructions to Fitzgerald are to wait for the impending passing of Glass, and to bury the body honorably before proceeding with the two youngsters to catch up with their party.  After Henry and the other men leave, not only does Fitzgerald disobey orders, but he does so in a most reprehensible manner in full view of the disabled Glass.

Glass, his body having been shredded by the bear, is nearly frozen and can barely walk.  Gasping for every breath he eventually drags himself out of the shallow grave.  The chase is on.  Think "the hare and the tortoise."

Glass' quest for revenge is grueling.  Little by little he regains his strength and mobility, but not before memorable encounters with a Pawnee, a pinto, and a disgraceful band of French trappers and fur traders.  In this movie, unlike cowboys and Indian flicks of yesteryear, the whites are the bad guys.  Hardy as Fitzgerald makes a great villain; rugged, smart, unpredictable, and intimidating in a way that DiCaprio is not.  Hardy is also up for an Oscar in the Best Supporting Actor category.

One could argue that Mexican director Alejandro Inarritu, who won the Best Director Oscar last year for Birdman (reviewed here January 17, 2015; B) does not waste a single scene or include an extraneous speaking part in The Revenant.  I found the saga too long at one hundred fifty-six minutes, and as noted above, the basic plot itself is not original.  Perhaps my biggest beef is the second-to-last scene, which is illogical and gratuitous.  The theme of the story is "leave revenge for God to handle," but revenge is ultimately rendered by a disinterested party.

Movie Review: "Carol"

"Carol": B.  Cate Blanchett's performance in the title role of Carol establishes the Australian actress as the heir apparent to Meryl Streep for designation as today's greatest actress.  She plays a wealthy, bisexual, married woman who makes a love connection with a young female clerk in Frankenberg's Department Store in Manhattan.  In the history of the Academy Awards, only four actresses (Streep, Katharine Hepburn, Bette Davis and Geraldine Page) have been nominated more for acting awards than has the forty-six year old Blanchett, whose nominations total is now seven.  Her Best Actress nomination announced last week for Carol puts her in position to place a third Oscar on her mantle.

Carol's love interest, Therese, is played by Rooney Mara, who garnered a well-deserved nomination for Best Supporting Actress in this film.  Therese is an intelligent, quiet, single woman who has no big future plans but realizes she's in a holding pattern professionally and romantically until she figures out a course for her life.  Therese has a boyfriend, Richard (Jake Lacy), who is ready to pop the question, but Therese's affection for him is tepid, if that.

 

The initial contact between the two women occurs in the children's department when Carol, adorned in a mink coat, purchases for her daughter a model train at Therese's counter.  Carol forgets her gloves, which Therese mails to Carol's rural New Jersey home, using the sales slip for the address.  Several days later, Carol shows her appreciation by taking Therese to lunch.  It is during that meeting when the two women feel a friendship possibility.  Although Carol is roughly twenty years older and much more affluent, they converse as equals.  With Christmas approaching, it seems only a bit unusual that Carol would invite Therese to her Jersey home, or that the younger woman would accept.

 

While Carol and Therese are hanging out there, Carol's husband, Coach Taylor -- I mean Harge (Kyle Chandler) -- comes home and immediately engages Carol in a heated argument, without any attempt to conduct the verbal clash out of Therese's vision.  Harge and Carol are in the midst of a potentially nasty divorce.  After he leaves, Carol drives Therese to the train for her return home to New York.  Soon thereafter we understand why Harge is irate; he figures Carol is romantically involved with Therese, based on his wife's previous fling with Abby (Sarah Paulson).

 

The thought of losing custody of her daughter, Rindy, is too much for Carol to bear.  To alleviate the tension she decides to take a long road trip west, and invites Therese to accompany her.  Therese has no compelling reason to stay behind.  She's in a dead end job under a humorless unappreciative boss, and has no inclination to elevate her relationship with Richard to the next stage.  Over Richard's objections, she accepts Carol's offer.  Off they go in Carol's stately Packard.

 

It's on the road trip that things begin to happen at an accelerated pace.  Harge's suspicions prove to be accurate, shall we say.  Carol and Therese's bond becomes tighter.  Director Todd Haynes films the bedroom scenes skillfully, well within the boundaries of today's "R rating" range, and in harmony with the classiness of the leads.  But speaking of boundaries, the story does occur in 1952 when society's moral code was much more conservative.  Outside forces required same sex couples to be more discreet.  Failure to do so often resulted in upheavals of life.  Carol, who dreads being legally separated from Rindy, must juggle the risk with her desire for Therese.  There is much more at stake for her than for her young partner.

 

The beginning of the '50's period is beautifully photographed, especially the big city street scenes with the late model cars.  Some great songs by pre-rock era artists like Perry Como, Eddie Fisher, Billie Holiday and Jo Stafford are perfectly interspersed throughout the story.  Blanchet is exotically stunning, in a Gwen Stefani kind of way.  Mara has the ability to convey deep feelings without words.  But ironically, the scene that has stuck with me includes neither Blanchet nor Mara.  It occurs in Abby's doorway, when Harge is trying to locate Carol.  Abby won't help him, to which the emotional Harge replies, "I still love my wife."

 

The long and winding road trip bogs down a little, but at least the women are not headed to distant Las Vegas.  Rather, midwestern Waterloo, Iowa is the terminus.  Does everything that happens in Waterloo stay in Waterloo?

Bowie's Passing Precipitates Disparate Thoughts

The passing of David Bowie late Sunday was the lead story on American network news the next day, indicative of the international status of the English rock star.  I was more an admirer than a fan.  The highlight of his music for me was the way he incorporated the intro of the Beatles' A Day In The Life into the rollicking chorus of his 1975 hit Young Americans. 

I heard the news today, oh boy

The whole incorporation lasted about five seconds, but it is a great five seconds in a tremendous song, and I smile every time I hear it! 

***

As the title of this post indicates, disparate thoughts, four to be precise, entered my noggin upon learning that Ziggy Stardust had bitten the dust.  What immediately struck me was the still photo of Bowie displayed on TV, with the years of his birth and death.  I always take notice when a celebrity dies and the year of birth is given as 1947.  Such was the case with Bowie.  That is also the year I was born.  When I see "1947" it's like a flashing sign surrounded by a bright red border; I can't disregard it.

I have been thinking about my own mortality ever since I started seriously deliberating over when to retire in the mid '00's.  As the advertisements for the financial institutions are wont to remind us, you don't want to outlive your money.  Retirement planning would be oh-so-easier if only we knew exactly when we were going to die. The same thing occurred when I turned sixty-two and had to make Social Security decisions.

It shouldn't shock or even surprise me that geezers like myself, born in '47, could be in the home stretch.  Last summer I attended my fiftieth high school reunion in Minot.  Our Class of 1965 had eighty-nine members.  Sixteen of them (18%) have passed.  The summer before that I went to my forty-fifth class reunion at Notre Dame.  Approximately one hundred fifty of fifteen hundred classmates (10%) are in that big football stadium in the sky.  Thank God for the mental relief provided by theater and movie actor Alan Rickman, whose final curtain call came four days after Bowie's.  Rickman was born in 1946, an older fellow. 

***

My second thought was about my mother, Little Pook.  The British Invasion arrived on our shores during my junior year of high school in February 1964, and from that point until I left home to go to college nineteen months later, I played (and drummed to) Beatles music constantly in our house.  The Pook not only put up with it, she became a Fab Four fan herself and could hold her own in any discussion about the mop tops.  She was one of the many moms who preferred the Beatles to those ragamuffins, the Stones.  Thus in retrospect I should have been only mildly surprised when, two decades later, Pook almost caused me to run my car off the road when she immediately identified a Bowie song which had come on unannounced on the radio.  She let me in on the secret that she liked his music "even though he seems a little strange."  I would have replied "You go, girl" if only that saying had been coined by then. 

***

Bowie has sometimes been referred to as "rock's chameleon."  He would take on different personae depending on which of his albums he was supporting on the present tour.  When Jon Bream, the veteran music critic for the Star Tribune, interviewed him in 1987 in the midst of a tour, Bream wondered whether Bowie would remain in character.  The answer was no; Bowie conversed like a normal guy.  Steven Kurutz of the New York Times found him "quite lovely and accessible."  In 1991 Bream also wrote that Bowie insisted that interviews include not only him but the other members of his band, which at that time was Tin Machine.

This thought came to mind this week: There are many current rock stars who could take a lesson from Bowie's desire to have the press think of his band as a whole, not just Bowie and sidemen.  For example when Maroon 5 hit town last year, the Strib concert reviewer (either Bream or Chris Riemenschneider) was turned off by lead man Adam Levine's hogging of the spotlight.  While addressing the audience, Levine referred to his mates as "my band"  and used terms such as "my song" instead of using the preferred pronouns "we" and "our."   I also noticed that when Jimmy Fallon had U2 as guests, Bono made sure to occupy the seat closest to the host.  Drummer Larry Mullen, who originally put the band together, was relegated to a chair behind the couch.  (I have to watch out for the drummers!)  Maybe I read too much into that arrangement -- I suppose we couldn't have Bono take a back seat -- but I was dismayed by the maneuver.  How refreshing it would have been to allow Mullen or bassist Adam Clayton to open up.

On the flip side, again referring to the Beatles, one of the many things which made the Liverpool Lads enduring to Yank teens was that they always came across as a band of equals.  Teenage girls split their favoritism almost equally among the Cute One (Paul), the Quiet One (George), the Smart One (John) and the Funny One (Ringo).  It was only until we read more about them over the years that we came to realize the genius of Lennon and McCartney.  According to Lennon biographer Philip Norman, the band was always John's.  But take a look at the cover of their first American album on Capitol Records, Meet The Beatles, with the famous Robert Freeman photo.  You'll see four guys of apparently equal rank, no one out of the foreground.  That policy was consistent on both sides of the pond throughout their history. 

***

Constantly reinventing himself, Bowie was the most successful and well-known of the avant-garde rockers.  Art rock, glam rock, prog rock, he ran the gamut.  He focused as much on the visual experience of his fans as the audio experience.  He even employed choreographers, including Toni Basil, for his tours.  Rock was theater.  One reason I never became much of a Bowie fan is that I prefer more straight-up rock, a la Lynyrd Skynyrd., a band I've seen four times in person.

My thoughts took me back to Ribfest, which always seemed to fall during the hottest week of the summer.  The event was held in a huge surface parking lot in downtown Minneapolis, off of 5th Street and Nicollet Mall.  Rib vendors from all over the country set up their smokers and trailers, competing in a contest for blue ribbons, trophies, prize money and bragging rights.  In addition to the sumptuous meals and the requisite beer, the festival's other attraction to entice the public's attendance was a concert set up on stage at one edge of the premises.

The Ribfest promoter usually booked "B-list" talent for the annual affair.  For Ribfest circa 1999, the headliner was Southside Johnny & The Asbury Jukes, a veteran Jersey band sometimes labeled as "a poor man's E Street Band."   The warm-up act was Eddie Money, the former New York cop-turned-singer, who had twelve Top 40 hits, most notably Take Me Home Tonight from 1986, featuring Ronnie Spector, formerly of the Ronettes.

I made my way over to the stage a good half hour before the scheduled start time.  There were a couple of thousand fans in attendance, all of whom would eventually be standing as close to the stage as possible on a general admission basis.  Some very rough looking men -- ridden hard and put away wet -- were moving equipment, setting up instruments, connecting wires and doing sound checks, all the while dangling smokes of unknown nature from their lips, many wearing cowboy boots, leather vests and western hats.  There was one roadie who appeared to be in especially bad shape, one of those guys who was probably fifteen to twenty years younger than he looked.  He reminded me of the many panhandlers lining Hennepin Avenue with their misspelled messages written on pieces of a cardboard box.  "The hard life of a roadie," I thought to myself.  "This poor guy needs a shampoo, a bath and a fresh set of clothes."

Ten minutes later it was time for the opening act.  I recognized the man who waved to the crowd as he strolled up to the mic.  He was the same pathetic guy who'd caught my attention moments before.  It was Eddie Money.   

Movie Review: "The Martian"

"The Martian": B+.  Ever since the United States landed a man on the moon in 1969, NASA's next outer space target has been Mars, the fourth rock from the sun.  Even before that, the Red Planet has fascinated science fiction writers and movie makers for decades.  "Is there life on Mars?" is a question which captivated both astronomers and amateur stargazers alike.  Hence the word "Martian" has long been a part of our language.

To date, we have not managed to send a manned mission to Mars, but in 1997 NASA was successful in landing a spacecraft called the Pathfinder on Mars.  It patriotically touched down on the Fourth of July, no less!  One of the devices aboard Pathfinder was a rover dubbed Sojourner, which miraculously sent back images and other priceless data from various locations on Mars over a period of three months before conking out.

Flash ahead to the year 2035, when the movie, The Martian, begins.  A six person crew headed by Commander Melissa Lewis (Jessica Chastain) has been living on and exploring Mars for eighteen "sols," i.e., Martian days, which are roughly a half hour longer than Earth days.  Their mission is called Ares III.  Each of the astronauts has a specialty, such as geology, mechanical engineering, astronomy, flight operations, communications, etc.  While they are all outside their spaceship, Hermes, a tornadic dust storm kicks up, threatening the ability of the docked vertical ship to remain upright.  They scamper back to Hermes, but crew mate Mark Watney (Matt Damon) is missing.  With every precious second ticking, they desperately but unsuccessfully search for Watney.  Debris is flying everywhere, and landslides off the Martian peaks loom.  Signals emitting from Watney's space suit indicate that he is receiving no oxygen, and with responsibility for saving the rest of her crew in mind before it's too late, Lewis orders blast off, leaving the presumably deceased Watney behind.  As they head back toward Earth, the crew is extremely despondent about losing Watney.  Lewis knows she did the right thing, but still feels pangs of guilt.

But rejoice!  Watney lives!  That is the good news, but the bad news is twofold.  First, a long slim metal rod has impaled the astronaut's torso.  After making his way to the "hab" (the crew's large canvas-covered living quarters), he must anesthetize himself and yank out the shaft, then stitch himself up before he bleeds to death.  Director Ridley Scott doesn't turn the cameras away from the blood.  Secondly and obviously, Watney must figure out how to survive for four more years until the next planned manned mission, Ares IV, arrives from Earth.  This is problematic, because Watney concludes after taking inventory that he has only enough food for three hundred Sols, less than one year.  Luckily for the stranded spaceman, his field of expertise is -- wait for it -- botany.  Using manufactured water coupled with fertilizer made partially from the crew's frozen human waste, he soon has an impressive crop of potatoes to ration for himself over the anticipated four year wait for rescue.

What has already been a fast paced movie picks up even more when Mission Control in the US realizes from comparing satellite photos that Watney must be alive.  Certain pieces of equipment seem to have been moved over a period of a few days.  The mission specialists can hardly contain their enthusiasm, but NASA director Teddy Sanders (Jeff Daniels) decides to quash publication, mostly on the theory that the Ares III crew will be distracted by such news from their responsibilities during their dangerous and complex return to Earth.  About the same time those developments are occurring on Earth, Watney manages to drive the Hermes rover, still functional after the dust storm, dozens of kilometers to the site of the Sojourner.  Using his mechanical prowess, he is able to salvage and connect certain parts of the Sojourner to his own equipment to establish rudimentary communication with Mission Control personnel.  The excited earthlings truthfully tell him they only recently became aware of his survival.  One of Watney's first reactions is to ask, "What did my crew say when they found out I'm alive?"  Of course, due to Sanders' silence order, the Ares III crew has not been told, and Watney is apprised of this decision.

From there the drama builds.  Is Watney doomed to an indefinitely long life on Mars, or will he perish among the red rocks?  Neither outcome is appealing.  Is returning to Earth out of the question?  With all those rocket scientists at Mission Control, surely someone will come up with something.  Will his crew continue to be kept in the dark or will they figure in the rescue plan?  Even a cold war rival of the United States comes into play.  As Yogi Berra once observed, "It ain't over 'till it's over." The final act is very exciting.

There is a lot of technological interplay going on in the story, much of it explained in the video diary referred to below, but to director Scott's credit he makes it understandable to us laymen without blatantly dumbing it down.  He and producer Mark Huffam collaborated with NASA throughout the project to make sure what the film displayed to the viewers was scientifically accurate.  Thus we are not only entertained, but instructed as well.  When The Martian won a Golden Globe award this week for Best Picture in the "Musical or Comedy" category, many chuckled at that designation.  Yet, there is more humor than you're likely to find in most science fiction scripts.  Some of this is supplied by Watney while he keeps a usually light-hearted video diary in the hab to pass the time and perhaps to serve as his legacy if he perishes.  One of his funniest moments is when he opens the packages of the human waste to use as fertilizer and mocks nearly passing out.  There is also a running joke about Commander Lewis' taste in music.  The only tunes Watney can find in the hab is her collection of '70's disco.  Paul McCartney's Venus And Mars, Elton John's Rocket Man or David Bowie's Space Oddity might have better fit the circumstances.

Quarterly Cinema Scan - Volume XXII

Everyone currently over the age of sixty-three surely recalls exactly where she was when hearing the news of President John F. Kennedy's assassination.  The president was shot in a Dallas motorcade at 12:30 p.m. on Friday, November 22, 1963.  I was a junior in my fifth period chemistry class at Assumption High School in Davenport when we received the initial announcement.  I'm embarrassed to admit that my first reaction was to think of some snide remark about Senator Barry Goldwater of Arizona, presumed by most to be the likely Republican to oppose JFK in the following year's presidential election.  In retrospect, I've cut myself some (undeserved?) slack due to my youth, and also because the thought of political assassination was a foreign concept to most of us.  Sure, we knew all about what happened to Lincoln at Ford's Theater, but that was practically ancient history.  The only "shootings" we were familiar with were taking place in war movies or on televised westerns like Bonanza, Wagon Train and Gunsmoke.

Twenty minutes or so after that first announcement we were in chem lab, next door to the classroom.  It was then that the principal once again came on the P.A., only this time to inform us that the president was dead.  The mood was one of somber disbelief.  I kept thinking about all the televised press conferences I'd watched during which the young president with the funny accent briefed the media with his customary charm and wit on full display.

My family was glued to the television set that entire weekend and beyond, from news about Lee Harvey Oswald's arrest, to the swearing in of new President Lyndon Johnson aboard Air Force One, to the murder of Oswald in the Dallas police station by Jack Ruby on live TV, followed by Kennedy's funeral procession from the Capitol to Arlington National Cemetery.

Investigators were soon able to track Oswald's movements following the gunshots.  After descending six flights of stairs to the ground floor, he made a hasty departure from his place of employment, the Texas School Book Depository, located along the presidential motorcade's route.  He took a bus and then a cab to a location near his boarding house in the Oak Cliff neighborhood in south Dallas, where he stayed just a few minutes.  Shortly after leaving that house on foot at about 1:15, Oswald fatally shot Dallas police officer J.D. Tippit, who had stopped him for questioning.  A few blocks away, a shoe store owner grew suspicious when he saw Oswald duck into his doorway just as a Dallas patrol car was cruising up the street.  The store owner followed Oswald toward the Texas Theater, where he witnessed the suspect sneak inside when the ticket seller wasn't looking.  The cops were called, and after a short scuffle, they arrested Oswald for the murder of Tippet.  Of course later, Oswald was fingered as Kennedy's assassin.

The Texas Theater was showing a double feature on its matinee schedule that day.  If you can name the two films, or even one of them, you certainly must be a history buff, a movie maven, or a trivia guru.  Maybe all three.  I am none of those, but somehow it registered in my memory that the titles were Cry Of Battle and War Is Hell.  Until last month, I had not seen either one, but periodically kept an eye out for them on Turner Classic Movies' schedules.  Finally last month, TCM showed Cry Of Battle, and my curiosity prevailed.  I can't honestly say it was worth the wait, but I've now crossed it off my "Wanna See" -- not to be confused with my "Must See" --List.

The story starts out promisingly on December 8, 1941, the day after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor.  The Japanese navy has invaded the Philippines, and a young American civilian, Dave McVey (James MacArthur), is caught in an ambush.  McVey is rescued by Filipino guerrillas trying to oust the invaders.  The rescuers take him to a remote village where he stays in a safe house for months while learning the local language.  Everything is fine until another, older American, merchant seaman Joe Trent (Van Heflin), arrives at the house.  Once Trent finds out that McVey is the son of a wealthy industrialist who had been doing business in the western Pacific before the war, Trent takes McVey under his wing.  Trent figures McVey's old man will reward him someday for protecting his son.

McVey correctly senses that Trent spells trouble, and his hunch proves true when Trent rapes the teenage granddaughter of the safe house's owner.  Trent runs for the hills while McVey momentarily decides to stay, but the girl's incoherent screams well after the fact scare McVey into escaping too, lest he be accused of the crime.  At that point he reluctantly joins Trent, whose experience presents McVey a safer option than roaming the dangerous island alone.

The pair encounters more Filipino guerrillas, including one battle-tested group led by the boyfriend of Sisa (Rita Moreno), and marauding bandits.  Additional skirmishes against the Japanese, ambushes, betrayals and romantic vibes become part of the story.  The arc of the plot shows how McVey is changed by all of these things, not always in a good way.  It is appropriate and instructive that the working title of this film was To Be A Man.

Before the inadvertent connection which Cry Of Battle would make with the events of that tragic day in Dallas, the main reason moviegoers paid attention to the film upon its release was the presence of MacArthur and especially Moreno in the cast.  Even though he was only twenty-five years old, MacArthur was already famous as a quasi-teen idol from his appearance in many Walt Disney productions in the late fifties.  The role of McVey was a major stepping stone in his effort to shed the teen label and step into more mature roles.  As for Moreno, this was only the second movie since her breakthrough portrait as Anita in the musical West Side Story.  In fact, filming of Cry Of Battle was put on hold for three days so that Moreno could fly back to LA from the Philippines to collect her Oscar for Best Supporting Actress for that musical. 

War Is Hell, the other half of the Texas Theater double feature, remains for me to be seen.  That movie, not Cry Of Battle, was the one actually playing during the few minutes Oswald was present.  Maybe it's weird, but I'm still interested in watching it someday.  I figure it's a part, albeit a tiny part, of American history.

Here are the movies I have watched in the sixty-eight degree comfort of my family room this past quarter.

1. Cake (2014 drama; Jennifer Aniston, with the help of her housekeeper Adriana Barraza, attempts to overcome physical and emotional pain resulting from a tragic accident followed by a separation from her husband.) B-

2. Crossing Delancy (1988 rom-com; Amy Irving is an independent woman with an important job, but her grandmother, thinking she needs a man in her life, arranges a blind date with pickle vendor Peter Reigert.) B-

3. Cry Of Battle (1963 war drama; James MacArthur is an American trapped on a Phillipine island when WW II breaks out, and gets involved with untrustworthy Van Heflin who looks upon the islanders as pawns.) C+

4. The Deer Hunter (1978 war drama; Robert DeNiro, Christopher Walken and John Savage are western Pennsylvania steel town workers who have traumatic experiences fighting in Viet Nam.) A-

5. The Detective (1968 police drama; Frank Sinatra is a no-nonsense detective who, while his marriage to Lee Remick is crumbling, works toward solving the gruesome murder of the gay son of a city government big wig and the apparent suicide of Jacqueline Bisset's husband.) B

6. Stand By Me (1986 drama; four twelve year old boys, led by River Phoenix, hike for miles in a quest to find a dead body in the woods.) B+

7. Summer of '42 (1971 drama; On a New England island, fifteen year old Gary Grimes strikes up a friendship with radiantly beautiful Jennifer O'Neill, a war bride, and by the end of the summer he has become a different person.) B

8. A Summer Place (1959 drama; Troy Donahue and Sandra Dee are college age children of Dorothy McGuire and Richard Egan, who themselves are married to others but for whom the old flame is rekindled.) D

9. The Thin Man (1934 detective drama; William Powell, a retired detective who drinks martinis without pausing, is reluctantly drawn into a missing persons case which turns into a triple homicide.) A-

10. The Wrong Man (Henry Fonda, married to the mentally deteriorating Vera Miles, is a night club musician who has the dual misfortune of being nearly broke and remarkably resembling an armed robber.) C-

View, Then Brew

The last movie I reviewed here was Macbeth on December 21 (B).  The film was delivered in old Shakespearean language which required the utmost concentration.  I was exhausted after two hours of trying to interpret the spoken words, keeping the characters straight, and following along with the plot development.  You might wonder, how could an old decrepit finance major manage such a feat.  The answer: It was a team effort, with Momma Cuandito helping me to fill in the blanks over a couple of tasty beers during our postmortem at the Pig & Fiddle.

Postmortems are a vital part of the movie-going experience.  Whenever possible, I enjoy discussing a movie soon after viewing it.  The more complicated or nuanced a film is, the more someone else's take is beneficial.  Even for straight forward stories, there are few times when you and your viewing partner share exactly the same recollections and impressions.  Thus Momma Cuan and I have developed a routine which results in most of our movie outings expanding into double features, i.e., the movie itself, followed by a beer or two at a nearby watering hole.

Almost all of the movies we attend are shown at one of five theaters, four of which are within a ten minute drive from the Quentin Estates.  As luck would have it, each of those theaters is located near at least one neighborhood bar, making our postmortems extremely convenient.  Here is where you will find us dissecting our films of choice, with a brief tidbit or two about each place.

1. Mann's St. Louis Park Cinema.  This is a very comfortable first run six-screen theater, with seating on two floors.   The same middle aged guy, Robert, has been selling tickets there for umpteen years, and the next time he greets me with a "hello" will be the first.  Granite City Food & Brewery is practically right next door.  Its Mug Club is the only club of any kind to which I belong (the only club that would have me?).  Before you turn up your nose at GC because it's a chain, you must try their Two Pull, a mixture of their Northern Light and Brother Benedict Bock beers.  Think "black & tan." If you join the Mug Club, you'll get a huge schooner for the price of a pint, plus 10% off on food.  Their maple pepper bacon flat bread is particularly good.

2. ShowPlace Icon.  Locally referred to as the "West End Theater," this fourteen screen behemoth in the Park is the place to see huge epics with sensational cinematography and Surround Sound.  (I plan to see The Revenant there.)  Of our five most frequented movie houses, it is by far the most modern state-of-the-art facility.  But I always snicker at the pretentiousness of Icon's practice of having you reserve a seat for a showing with only six or seven other customers in attendance.  Equally pretentious is the sixty second oration one of the ushers renders as a greeting before they dim the lights.  PUHLEESE, this isn't a Minnesota Orchestra concert!  There are any number of saloons in the West End to wet your whistle: Crave if you are a yupster, Rojo if you'd rather have a margarita instead of suds, Cooper if you think it's a great day for a Guinness.  The one I like best is Yard House.  Yes, it's another chain, and it can get noisy.  But their beer selection is limitless, and their food is better than its competitors.  Their outdoor patio is the only such space removed from West End vehicular traffic.  Caveat: The difference between Yard House's happy hour and non-happy hour prices is vast.

3. Hopkins Theater.  If you're looking for a cheap date, the six-screen Hopkins is the place.  They never charge more than $3.00 per ticket, and most of the time it's $2.50.  This is the last stop for films which have already played in first run theaters for awhile before becoming available on DVD.  There are two taverns within ten giant steps of the entrance.  The Big 10 has a small bar and little ambiance.  However, it is quiet and their limited beer selection is actually not bad.  Across the street, the Wild Boar is more of a blue collar sports bar with several TVs and above-average food.  The clientele is much younger than the Big 10's, which can mean more noisy and over-swerved customers, if you catch my drift.  I'm willing to put up with it because I am a chili snob, and I do like the Boar's version.

4. Willow Creek.  Located near the I-394/169 intersection in Plymouth, this is kind of a mid-level theater, similar to the Mann.  By that I mean it's not modern or equipped with technological bells and whistles like the Icon, but the films available there are often first run.  The advantage here over the Mann is that there are twice as many screens, hence a broader selection from which to choose.  Of course the obvious disadvantage is the longer drive to get to Plymouth.  The other disadvantage is the bar scene.  The only close place is Kip's, located a half-mile away in the Marriott Hotel.  Kip's calls itself an Irish pub, but without any nooks and crannies it's a far cry from the authentic Irish pubs I've patronized.  (For that matter, so is the West End's Cooper.)  If you have Guinness on tap and offer corned beef and cabbage, does that make your place an Irish pub?  Me thinks not.  I like GC much better.

5. Edina Theater.  It's true, the Cake Eaters do let Park riff raff like me cross their borders periodically to spend money.  The Edina is one of three Landmark Theaters in the area, and is where we usually go for foreign films, independent studio offerings and so-called art house movies.  The theater itself is the most uncomfortable of the five we patronize, resulting in the need for a drink afterwards even if I'm by myself.  Which brings us to the Pig & Fiddle, or as we prefer calling it, the Fig & Fiddle. (Momma Cuan and I like alliteration, I guess.)  Hands down, the Fiddle offers the most unique esoteric beer selection of any of our haunts, which apparently justifies their decision to overprice their menu.  The bar staff is well versed on the offerings, and they take their beer seriously.  The Fiddle also serves a five star pretzel appetizer, which goes perfectly with the suds.

In closing, here is a little reflection relating to this post.  When Momma Cuan and I made our way to the Pig & Fiddle after viewing Macbeth, the time was approaching 4:00, nearing dusk on a late December afternoon.  Mary ordered her usual, Tripel Karmeliet, while I started with an Unrated Rye IPA from local Nordeast brewer, 612.  Nothing unusual there, except we managed to cop two of the coveted window seats, partially illuminated by the pub's colorful neon signs. We savored our high ABV drinks and devoured our customary pretzel while we watched fluffy white flakes gently descend, illuminated by the headlights of cars carrying commuters home from work.  We shared our thoughts on Macbeth, proudly concluding -- possibly from the effects of our beverages -- that we'd squeezed about as much meaning from the story as any Shakespearean scholar could devise. For a moment I felt like this was an out-of-body experience. Why?

I thought back years ago to all the Christmastime bus rides I'd taken post-rush hour from downtown to my home. Too tired to read, I would peer out the window at the Uptown bars and restaurants filled with people celebrating the season.  They appeared to have been there for hours, and it was easy to feel sorry for myself.  I wanted to trade places with them so that I, too, could get into the holiday spirit.  Now, sitting with Momma Cuan by the Fiddle's window with the pretty winter view, the shoe was on the other foot.