Movie Review: "Fences"

"Fences": B+.  August Wilson, the late St. Paul playwright, wrote ten plays about the American black experience, each of the plays occurring in a different decade of the twentieth century.  Hollywood superstar Denzel Washington has announced his intention to help produce movie versions of all ten of those plays, and Fences is the first offering in the proposed series.  The story takes place in 1950's Pittsburgh, with the central character, Troy Maxson, played by Washington himself, who also directs.

Maxson is a fifty-three year old sanitation worker who, along with lifelong friend Bono (the superb Stephen McKinley Henderson), rides on the back of the city's garbage trucks, lifting the heavy refuse cans and dumping the contents into the back of the truck.  Troy aspires to one day be promoted to driver, a position which he claims is reserved exclusively for the white guys.  Troy gets paid every Friday, and he routinely brings home his entire wages to wife Rose (Viola Davis), who in turn grants him an allowance.  Most of that allowance is spent at the local saloon.

 

Even though being a garbage man is not the most glorious of vocations, Troy is pretty proud of himself, and isn't bashful about boasting of his accomplishments.  He is what I like to call a "pontificator." He is a self-proclaimed authority on everything, especially life.  Most of his verbal opinions are unsolicited, but Bono and Rose are willing listeners.  Some of the most enjoyable moments of the film are those showing the three of them having animated discussions in the Maxsons' tiny back yard. The same willingness can't be said for Troy's two sons, Lyons (Russell Hornsby) and Cory (Jovan Adepo).

 

Lyons is an accomplished musician who annoys Troy by frequently stopping by on his father's payday.  We first meet Lyons on a Friday, and sure enough he has asked Troy for a twenty dollar loan, with assurances that the loan will be repaid quickly.   Troy at first refuses to lend his son the money, essentially calling him a deadbeat, but thanks to Rose's intervention, the loan is made.  This is the first of many times Rose steps forward as the more level-headed of the married twosome.   Lyons, who is an adult, is able to overlook Troy's abrasiveness.  In contrast, the younger son, Cory, lives under Troy's roof and has a harder time digesting his father's mean, arbitrary and hurtful rules.  Troy's refusal to permit Cory to play high school football because doing so would cut back on his after-school job hours has a direct impact on the youngster's future.

 

One might mull over the question of why Wilson titled his story Fences.  There is a real fence which Troy has promised to build for his wife around their property, but he has placed that project on the back burner.  The title is obviously a metaphor, with one possibility being that Troy has built an imaginary fence separating what he considers to be his role as a parent-enforcer from what should also be his role as a loving parent.  He is unable to execute both roles, even going so far as to ask young Cory if there is any law which requires a parent to like his son.  In Troy's mind, putting a roof over his son's head, clothes on his back and food in his stomach should suffice.  As for Lyons, Troy rejects Bono's suggestion to go to the jazz club to hear Lyons play.  Only top notch musicians are invited to play there, but Troy quickly dismisses Bono's wise counsel. Opportunity lost.

 

The other running metaphor throughout the story is baseball.  Troy was a Negro League star thirty years ago.  He claims he could still, in the present, hit better than the white outfielder who starts for the Yankees.  Troy has a baseball tied to a string hanging from a tree in his yard.  As he swings a bat at that ball, he pontificates that life's problems are like a two-strike fastball on the outside corner.  You just have to learn how to hit it.  When he and Cory get into a physical confrontation, he tells his son he's down to his last strike.

 

There is a revelation half way through the story which turns Troy's world upside down.  Even then he has a hard time finding fault within.  This is a prime example of a man being his own worst enemy.

 

The third act of the movie is weak, cliched and mostly unbelievable.  Maybe Wilson felt that his ending was the only way to tie things up, but compared to the rest of the story it almost seems written by another author.  Notwithstanding those shortcomings, I will be surprised if the film is not a contender for most of the big awards in the next couple of months, and deservedly so.

 

The film's greatest asset is the performance of the two leads.  Ordinarily Troy would be an unlikable person, but in the hands of Washington he almost wins us over.  Even more impressive is Davis as the loyal wife who knows when to put up with her very flawed husband and when to assert herself in the interest of her family.  In every scene in which the two of them appear, Davis is the equal of the great Washington.  In most of his pictures, Washington is a scene stealer; Davis does not let that happen here.  Davis is most effective when Rose is suffering from a broken heart.  Washington is not called upon to do that in this story, as Troy is a man without a heart.

Quarterly Cinema Scan - Volume XXVI

Red River, a 1948 western, is considered a cowboy classic.  The film was directed by Howard Hawks, an elite motion picture director whose most valuable professional asset was versatility.  A look at Hawks' filmography shows that he was not afraid to take on any genre, be it comedy, war stories, gangster films, mysteries, film noir or westerns.  Equally as big a name in 1948 was the Duke, John Wayne.  Although he was only thirty-nine years old when Red River was made -- its release was delayed two years -- Wayne's screen presence in his preceding films had already established him as a star.  His bigger than life aura suited him well for the silver screen.

 

Red River is the story of a cattle drive covering a thousand miles, a lot of it over what became known as the Chisholm Trail.  Wayne plays Tom Dunson, a hard nosed cattle rancher who decides to move his huge herd from Texas to Missouri because the Civil War's aftermath has rendered the southern beef markets almost non-existent.  Duncan's right hand man is his adopted son, Matt, played by Montgomery Clift.  Clift was only twenty-five years old when the movie was shot.  Although he'd appeared in more than a dozen Broadway plays, he was a film novice.

 

So, why is Red River considered a classic?  There are many reasons, but here are four of them:

 

a. Wayne always had played the good guy, the everyman hero whose judgment was beyond reproach.  In Red River, his character has a soft side which is overcome by a dark side.  This opportunity to play a darker character is the main reason Wayne signed on for the project.  Until Red River, Wayne was considered by many producers, including those with whom he'd worked, to be a successful actor but not necessarily a good actor.  With the help of Hawks, Wayne's performance in Red River changed that.

 

b. Red River was Clift's coming out party as a screen actor.  Hawks, who not only directed but also produced the movie, took a gamble by casting the relatively unknown star.  Neither Wayne nor Clift was nominated for an Academy Award for their work in this film, but Clift was nominated four times for subsequent performances in relatively quick order thereafter.  His most famous role was in 1953's From Here To Eternity.

 

c. Unlike most westerns of its day, the scope of the cinematography for Red River, especially the scenes involving hundreds of head of cattle, is breathtaking.  We actually see the gigantic herd fording a river, stampeding, and tumbling over a ridge.  One has to wonder how capturing all this on camera was accomplished.  Even by today's standards, the filming the cattle scenes would be an amazing feat.

 

d. The plot of Red River has sometimes been compared to Mutiny On The Bounty.  Dunson has taken on an unimaginably difficult task with a three-pronged set of potential problems: keeping the herd alive as they drive over rough terrain with no end in sight, dealing with Indians and outlaws who have their eyes on Dunson's precious assets, and keeping the ornery disgruntled cowboys in line with a strict set of rules that Dunson feels are necessary to accomplish their goal.  Does this sound like Captain Bligh's situation on board the Bounty?  Yes.  Is there a Fletcher Christian in Red River?  You will have to see it, then decide.

 

Hawks and Wayne made five films together, spanning four decades. Red River was their first collaboration, and Hawks' first western.  I recommend Red River, especially if you like westerns and don't mind spending almost two and a quarter hours on it.  I'm giving it a B+, dropping it down a notch from where it was heading.  The weakness of the female character played by Joanne Dru, and the less-than-satisfying ending cause me to do so.  The only other Hawks-Wayne joint effort I've seen is Rio Bravo (included in my Quarterly Cinema Scan on January 2, 2014), which I prefer a little more, as evidenced by my grade of A-.

 

***

 

Here are the films I've seen at the Quentin Estates during the fourth quarter of 2016. 

 

1. Blowout (1981 mystery; John Travolta is a sound engineer who, from a distance, records audio of a car crash (in which a presidential candidate drowns), so  he dives in the creek for a rescue attempt and pulls out a hooker, Debbie Allen.) C+

2. Brief Encounter (1945 drama; Trevor Howard is a married doctor who meets housewife Celia Johnson in a train station, and every Thursday they rendezvous again.) A

3. Candles On Bay Street  (2006 romance; Eion Bailey is a married veterinarian who is surprised to learn that his high school crush, Alicia Silverstone, has returned to town, Balmoral Cove, Maine, after thirteen years.) B-

4. Four Days In November  (1964 documentary; footage, including some rarely seen, of President Kennedy's tragic trip to Texas in November 1963.) B+

5. The Long Hot Summer (1958 drama; When drifter Paul Newman arrives in Frenchman's Bend, Mississippi, his questionable reputation precedes him, but Orson Welles, who owns most of the town's businesses, figures he'd make a great husband for his reluctant daughter, Joanne Woodward.) B

6. Murder Ahoy (1964 mystery/comedy; Margaret Rutherford, a trustee of a British ship in the town's harbor, suspects foul play in the murder of her fellow trustee, so she invites herself on board to pursue various clues, much to the displeasure of Captain Lionel Jeffries.)  B

7. Rain Man (1988 drama; Tom Cruise is a financially desperate California wheeler dealer who finds out that Dustin Hoffman, an autistic savant in Ohio, is the brother he never knew he had and is the main beneficiary of their millionaire father's will.)  A

8. Red River (1948 western; John Wayne is a despotic Texas rancher who, with his son Montgomery Clift and a dozen other men, leads a thousand mile cattle drive north, destination Missouri.) B+

9. Yours, Mine and Ours (1968 comedy; Navy officer Henry Fonda and Lucille Ball, both widowed with lots of kids, marry each other and face the challenges of melding their families.) C+

Four Days In The Corn, Part II: The Irish & The Germans

It's Wednesday in Iowa City, with all morning and afternoon to kill until the 8:00 tipoff of the Notre Dame-Iowa women's game tonight.  There is no shortage of possible ways to spend the time.  Our quarters, the Sheraton Hotel, is one of two hotels centrally situated along the pedestrian mall in the heart of downtown.  The mall also provides shoppers and diners plenty  of choices with a number of stores, bars, restaurants and even a small movie theater, the nonprofit FilmScene.  A large section of the four hundred fifty acre University Of Iowa campus borders downtown.  Included among the school's buildings is the Old Capitol, where the first state legislatures convened in the mid-1800's before the politicians decided to move the capital to Des Moines.

We have always enjoyed exploring college campuses on foot.  Illinois, Purdue, Penn State, West Point, Missouri, Texas, BYU and the Air Force Academy are some of the ones we have visited on our travels, in addition to the four where our kids attended school.  Unfortunately, due to the frigid winds which are sweeping through town on this last day of November, we wuss out on our planned campus visit this morning and choose a more laid back agenda.  After downing what passes for coffee in our room, we brave the cold gusts and traverse the two block long mall.  Other than the college kids who seem immune to the effects of the arctic breeze, there are hardly any walkers or bikers.  We duck into a few stores, but make no purchases until we arrive at Prairie Lights bookstore.

 

Tattered Cover Book Store in Denver probably still remains my favorite, but Prairie Lights isn't far behind.  This two story building just north of the pedestrian mall is the kind of place where one could spend an entire morning.  Every genre of book with multiple titles can be found here.  The store is also host to a number of events, most notably book readings by authors, many of whom are affiliated with the famed Iowa Writers' Workshop.  Some of the older the employees could easily pass for literature professors and research scholars, not that a finance major like me would know.

 

Since we've skipped breakfast, an early lunch is in order.  We happen upon a place which looks like a classic urban hot spot, the Pullman Bar & Diner.  It has the same vibe as Ike's in downtown Minneapolis, only smaller.  Just as in Decorah's La Rada two nights ago, we score the best table for two next to the front window.  The restaurant is long and somewhat narrow, probably designed to invoke thoughts of a Pullman car.  All that's missing is the clickity-clack of a train's steel wheels on the rails.  Mary selects one of her standbys, a croque madame, while I can't pass up the Frisco melt.  The food is hot and delicious, just what we need to thaw out from our stint outdoors.  We long for a real cup of coffee.  Our friendly young server, Arlinda, suggests that we order a French press, "because I love to push down the plunger into the pot!"  If that's all it will take to make her day, who are we to stand in her way?  Turns out to be a good choice for all concerned.

 

Back outside, we continue to investigate what downtown IC has to offer, this time outside the perimeters of the pedestrian mall.  It is not getting warmer despite the fact that we're now under the afternoon sun.  If anything, the wind has picked up.  Active Endeavors is a top drawer clothing store, specializing in outdoor apparel from name brand companies like North Face and Patagonia.  The floor manager spots my Notre Dame hat and informs me that the husband of ND coach Muffet McGraw was in earlier today.  We walk by the "second" downtown Italian restaurant, Basta Pizzeria Ristorante, and decide to return for dinner tonight.  Then we check out AKAR, which a 2014 travel article had billed as "a gem of an art shop" with "great children's clothing."  There's no question the place offers an array of brightly colored contemporary art goods and Iowa-centric wares, but the selection of children's clothing -- my main area of interest here in light of the travel article --  is much lower than my expectations.

 

Upon leaving AKAR we make a final decision to scuttle our plans to meander around campus, but Plan B is brilliant:  Return to the ped mall and have a beer in the Bread Garden Market.  I can't think of any place in the Twin Cities that's quite like BGM.  Most of the spacious interior is a beer and wine off-sale shop, with concentration on beer from Iowa breweries.   There's also a nice deli and hot food section which is doing a brisk business.  Along the lengthy side of the premises which faces the mall, there's a glassed-in, high ceiling dining area where almost every table is occupied by college students.  Some of them don't appear to be eating or drinking anything and have probably been camped here for hours, but virtually all are pouring over a laptop or a smart phone.  Mary and I, the oldest folks under the roof, take in the great people-watching scene while we sit at the bar and have a couple of locally produced tap beers.

 

After a short break at the Sheraton we head out for Basta, straight north via the pedestrian mall's one block north-south walkway which we hadn't seen before.  The ambience of Basta appears more authentically Italian than last night at Baroncini.  The place is divided into a bar area and a larger dining room, both of which have the lights down low and are furnished with dark wood.  As is true in many restaurants with such a floor plan, the bar area is more appealing.  After whetting our appetites with the stuffed dates appetizer, we order the salsiccia pizza, which is topped with homemade sausage and some peppers to give it more than a little kick.  Good thing I was washing dinner down with a Deschutes Fresh Squeezed.

 

The Iowa River splits the University Of Iowa campus in two.  Carver-Hawkeye Arena is situated across the river, much too far away for us to walk on a cold winter's night.  From the outside, the building doesn't look anything like a sports arena, yet this is where both the men's and women's teams play. It is barely one story high, hiding the fact that the basketball floor is in a bowl, located at what must be the equivalent of a good four or five stories below street level.  With the spectators' seats totally surrounding the court, it must be extremely loud if filled to capacity.  Unfortunately, that probably happens only for some men's games.  Tonight's attendance for the women will be no more than a couple thousand, if that.

 

The Notre Dame-Iowa game tonight is part of the Big 10-Atlantic Coast Conference (ACC) Challenge.  Before the season starts, the honchos from those two leagues try to pair up teams from each so that the pre-season favorites play each other, the teams predicted to finish second in each league play each other, etc., all the way down to the cellar dwellers squaring off.  For unknown reasons, that blueprint has been disregarded for this matchup.  Otherwise, the Irish would be playing Maryland, as those two women's teams are far and away the pre-season favorites in their respective conferences.  (Incidentally, the pairing of last night's men's game in The Bend between Notre Dame and Iowa was also part of the Big 10-ACC Challenge.  It is merely a coincidence that the men's and women's teams from those two schools were paired up this season.  It usually does not happen that way.)

 

One of the best parts of attending an Irish Lasses game is to watch the grand entrance of ND's coach, Muffet McGraw.  She does not make an on-court appearance when her team goes through the twenty-five minute pre-game warm up.  The task of overseeing the warm up is left to her assistant coaches with the help of the student managers.  Following the warm up each team clears the floor, heading to their locker rooms. Shortly thereafter, about five minutes before tipoff, the team's re-enter for layup lines and team introductions.  It is only until then that Muffet walks in, looking like a million bucks with her coiffed trim auburn hair, a silk scarf draped over a silk blouse, an above-the-knee skirt and, impossibly, high heels.  The sixty-one year old, not looking a day over forty-five, has been Notre Dame's head coach for the past twenty-nine years.  With the exception of the incomparable Geno Auriemma at UConn, Muffet has run the most successful women's basketball program this century.  They say that a lot of sports teams reflect the disposition of their coach.  The Irish hoopsters are calm, confident and savvy.  Currently ranked as the number one squad in the country, another adjective you might use is "good."

 

Notre Dame's two best players are All American junior center Brianna Turner, and All ACC point guard Lindsay Allen, a senior.  The Lady Hawkeyes are an above average, albeit unranked, team which gives the Irish a challenge for about thirty minutes before ND pulls away as expected.  I am curious to keep an eye on two Hawkeye reserves, senior forward Hailey Schneden and sophomore forward Hannah Stewart.  They are alumna from my two former high schools, Assumption and Bishop Ryan, respectively.  Final score: ND 73, Iowa 58.

 

The night is not over just yet.  We have discovered that Iowa City, despite its small size, is home to a speakeasy!  Okay, maybe speakeasies went out with the end of the Prohibition Era, but that's the motif which the Clinton Street Social Club is shooting for.  We have to check it out!  The Club is located near the edge of downtown at the top of a narrow set of dimly lit stairs, the entryway to which off the sidewalk is about as wide as a pencil.  Once on the second floor you can tell that this place is geared for the old time cocktail crowd.  Sure, there is a person or two with a beer or a glass of wine, but spirits are in order here.  The Club's website calls itself "an apothecary of enlightened libations." Sounds serious.

 

Everyone in the place is sitting at the bar.  Our bartender, Ryan, looks like he, himself, would be carded if he walked in as a customer.  Ryan says he graduated seven or eight years ago with a business degree, but after an unfulfilling short-lived career in other cities, he returned to IC, the place he missed too much to stay away from.  Mary orders a French 75, and I try the Club's version of an old fashioned.  I have the same thoughts about this place as I had earlier today at the Bread Garden Market.  I can't think of a Twin Cities establishment, at least none that I've been in, which resembles this speakeasy.  Maybe that's why I like it.

 

 

***

 

Momma Cuandito calls me The Linear Guy.  She's poking fun at me, but I consider it a badge of honor.  I like to have my ducks in a row.  I am also big on symmetry.  Every debit should have a matching credit, every zig calls for a zag, for each Republican there should be a Democrat.  Well, scratch that last one, but you do get my drift, don't you?

 

Tuesday was our getaway day from Decorah.  What was our final task there?  Picking up some beer to go from Toppling Goliath.  It seems natural (and symmetrical) that on this Thursday morning on which we are leaving Iowa City, we should do something similar.  Lucky for us there is John's Grocery, an IC institution and my favorite grocery store of all time!  We had been there once before ten years ago when we visited Jill at Loras and set off on a day trip.

 

True, John's is a grocery store, but its calling card is the huge selection of beer stocked on its shelves both in the room temperature store proper and in their bank vault size walk-in cooler.  It's a pretty safe guess that almost every one of the thirty-five-plus beers made in the state of Iowa is there, and dozens from all over the Midwest and other regions.  Belgian and German beer also occupy a generous section.  What is most unique about John's is the bevy of beer glasses, steins and mugs to match dozens of the beers available for sale.  Wine lovers won't be disappointed either.  John's has expanded its wine inventory since our last visit, and it's now pretty impressive.

 

After making a sizable purchase of liquid refreshments at John's, we jump into our Lexus... I mean our 2005 Toyota Corolla ... and hit the road.  We are 305 miles from home, but our first destination on this final day is a place we've been meaning to visit for years, the Amana Colonies.

 

In 1855, only nine years after Iowa became a state, a group of twelve hundred religious refugees of German descent created a settlement on fertile lands along the Iowa River.  They called themselves the Inspirationists.  Their main occupation was farming, but they set up seven villages along a sixteen mile loop.  The villages were spaced about a mile and a half away from each other, roughly the distance which an ox-pulled cart could traverse in an hour.  The settlers developed a variety of skills concomitant with village life, such as baking, weaving, carpentry, teaching and preaching.  Unlike the Amish, another German group often confused with the Inspirationists, the Amana colonists not only adapted to technological advancements, they embraced them.  The most important event in the Inspirationists modern history occurred in 1932 when the people elected to separate their church from their economic activity.  Following that separation (sometimes called "The Change"), one of the colonists started an appliance business which grew into world famous Amana Corporation.

 

We make a quick drive through Homestead, the first village one encounters by driving counter-clockwise on the loop.  The main drag, V Street, is about a half-mile long, terminating as one might expect at a corn field.  With a population of under 200, Homestead looks like any other tiny midwestern town.  Neatly kept houses and a few churches line the road.  There is also a church museum and a country inn.

 

Next along the loop is Amana, the hub of whatever action the Colonies have to offer.  We have the extremely good fortune of hitting the Amana on the day before its biggest weekend festival of the year, Prelude To Christmas.  Many of the residences and retail buildings are decked out with wreaths and lights.  People are outside attaching garlands and decorations to the fences along the perimeter of their yards.  The Christmas spirit is infectious.

 

We don't want to go store hopping on an empty stomach.  The Ox Yoke Inn looks like our best bet.  Inside there are several dining rooms, most of them filled with customers.  The atmosphere is somewhat like the Norski Nook in Osseo, Wisconsin;  jolly rotund waitresses serving an older crowd many comfort food entrees followed by home made pie,  Behind us is a long table occupied by ten women who are playing a raucous dice game, apparently to decide who picks up the tab.  Good thing for the loser there will be no bar tab here.

 

Mary orders the chicken lunch plate while I pick the sauerbraten.  Both are excellent and filling, but that does not deter us from ordering two pieces of pie, coconut creme and rhubarb meringue.  I wonder how many folks from IC and Cedar Rapids drive over here for lunch; they are each only a half hour away!

 

Before we return to our car we walk across the street to check out the General Store and a children's shop called the Red Wagon.  At Amana Meat Shop & Smoke House, Mary buys a huge ham which she plans to serve the famdamily when we congregate at Brainerd in January.  Our final stop is the Amana Woolen Mill on the edge of town.  The enormous building houses both a manufacturing facility and a retail room.  Mary tosses a hint my way that we should spend $200 on a thick red woolen blanket, but I feign a hearing problem.  Yet, it's hard to walk out of that place empty handed, so I buy her a Stormy Kromer hat, which its label modestly describes as a wollen baseball cap with ear flaps.

 

The Millstream Brewing Company is located in a quaint cottage across the street from the Woolen Mills.  I have been sampling some of their product over the past few days, and it goes down easy.  I wouldn't mind checking out their tap room, but then reality sets in.  I've already made a mental note to put Decorah's Pulpit Rock on the itinerary for our next trip to Iowa.  Now I'll have to add Millstream to the list.

 

We do a quick drive through Middle Amana, the next village on the loop.  Its population of 581 makes it the largest of the seven hamlets.  Then finally our explorations are over and we point true north.  It's time to find our way home.  Who would have ever guessed we could have such a good time spending four days in the corn?         

Four Days In The Corn, Part I: The Land Of Ole & Goliath

For many Minnesotans, heading south for a winter break is as natural as going "up to the lake" in the summer.  Which southern sojourn did Momma Cuandito and I consider this season?  The list of possibilities included Mexico, the Caribbean, Arizona and Florida.  Even Cuba got a mention.  We chose Iowa.  It's more than where the tall corn grows.

 

Decorah.  For several years we passed through Decorah when our daughter, Jill, attended Loras College in Dubuque.  Both of those cities reside on US Highway 52.  Usually we zipped through, or even by-passed, Decorah in our hurry either to get to Jill or to return home, but on those few occasions when we did make a stop in Decorah, including once for a swim meet when Jill swam for the Duhawks against Luther College, we recognized it as a town worth visiting.  In addition to Luther, this small city is home to two other well known points of interest, the Vesterheim Museum and Toppling Goliath Brewing Company.

 

We arrived early on a Monday afternoon and checked into our Air B&B, Vossheim.  Located on a residential street a few minutes south of downtown, Vossheim is owned by a friend, Linda, whose mother lived in that house for ten years.  The Norwegian word "heim" means "house," and "Voss" refers to the family's ancestral village back in the homeland.  The one-level rental quarters features two bedrooms, one and a-half bathrooms, a huge updated kitchen and a comfortable living room.  Flying in the breeze outside the front door is the flag of Norway.

 

My inclination is to make Toppling Goliath our first stop, but we both acknowledge the folly of such a plan.  It just might be too hard to leave.  So instead, we decide to check out what downtown has to offer.  The main drag in Decorah is Water Street, "not Main Street" as a few locals advised us.  For a small city, Decorah's shopping district along Water Street extends for more blocks than I would have guessed.  It kind of reminds me of Galena, Illinois, a regional shopping mecca, although Decorah is smaller.  Most of the buildings lining Water Street are dark brown two story structures, housing gift shops, clothing stores, art galleries, book stores, cafes, bars and banks.  Oh boy, there is no shortage of banks.  The money must be rolling in from many of the hundreds of nearby farm families.  Radio station KVIK plays classic rock from its studio across the street from the Vesterheim at the west end of Water.  Shades of American Graffiti?  The Winneshiek Hotel is the place to stay if you're looking for conveniently classic lodging.

 

It is not hard to spend half a day downtown, and that's not even including the Vesterheim, which is on our agenda for tomorrow.  Since I became a grandparent I have developed an entirely new outlook on shopping.  My old strategy, pre-grandkids, would be to suck down a beer or two in a bar while Momma Cuan visited the stores.  Now, I actually go into many of the stores with her, not to shop for myself but to see if there's any potential purchase with the beautiful granddaughters in mind.  It isn't until that curiosity has been satisfied that I step outside and wait for my better half.

 

After popping into a few Water Street stores like Modish, Revelation, J.Tupy's  and Margaret's, it's at last time to quench our thirst. The lucky denizens of Decorah are blessed with two microbreweries. So many brews yet, for us, so little time. We decide to save Pulpit Rock for another visit -- I'm confident there will be one -- and make a beeline for Toppling Goliath, just across the bridge spanning the Upper Iowa River from downtown.

 

Walking into Toppling Goliath, we immediately sense a cozy atmosphere.  We sit at the small bar, as is our custom in any tavern, and it doesn't take long for the fellow next to me to ask where we are from.  Did our Minnesota accents give us away, or are we the only strangers in the bar?  I suspect the latter.  It turns out the inquisitor knows the same family that owns our b & b; that family, the Istads, also owned the Whippy Dip ice cream stand in town.

 

My pre-trip research for Toppling Goliath has consisted of reading a 2015 article from the Chicago Tribune, in which it was reported that a Beer Advocate survey named seven TG beers among the top one hundred in the world.  Another website, RateBeer, calls TG's Kentucky Brunch the "second best beer in the world."  I am not too disappointed that Kentucky Brunch is not available during our visit, because its style, imperial coffee stout aged in whiskey barrels, isn't one of which I'm fond.  I do find a few draughts to my liking today, particularly an American pale titled Pseudo Sue.  I wouldn't know a citra hop if it was sitting right in front of me, but its refreshing taste is the keynote to the delectable Pseudo Sue.  Momma Cuan hedges her bets by ordering a flight of six small pours of different offerings.

 

We strike up a conversation with a couple at the bar who tell us they live within walking distance of both TG and Pulpit Rock.  Location, location, location!  I am envious.  When they ask how we'd found out about the TG tap room, I show them the Tribune article, pointing out that the story includes reference to a husband and wife, Tim and Carol Stoddard, whose practice is to bring growlers of TG beer with them on road trips to share in other breweries' tap rooms.  The couple laugh and inform us, "Yeah, we are Tim and Carol."

 

Our fellow beer drinkers are quick to offer their suggestions on Decorah restaurants for us to have dinner.  Some even call a place or two to determine if they are open on Monday; others give us directions.

 

The downtown bistro, La Rada, is our choice.  There, we are seated at the room's best table, tucked into a nook next to a ten foot high bay window.  The outdoor Christmas season scene, with a light snow falling against a twilight sky, could be a postcard.  We enjoy everything about our dining experience, from the tatted up server who totally digs our desire to ease through cocktails before ordering, to the hum of conversation among fellow diners, to Mary's penne with lamb and my flank steak.

 

Back at Vossheim, I magnanimously tell Mary that we should watch the last hour of her favorite show, The Voice, instead of the Monday Night Football Game.  The fact that Vossheim's cable TV package does not include ESPN has absolutely nothing to do with my suggestion.

 

***

 

Our first stop Tuesday morning is back downtown to Impact Coffee on Washington Street, next door to La Rada.  I have been to dozens of coffee shops in the Twin Cities, and I would place Impact right up there with the best of them.  The space is divided into two rooms.  The front is equipped like NASA's Mission Control in Houston.  You must need an advanced mechanical engineering degree to know how to use all their heavy duty coffee brewing gizmos.  We settle for lattes and a couple of scrumptious apricot almond scones that melt in our mouths.  An artsy arch between Corinthian columns separates the front room from the back, where all the comfy chairs are found.  Colorful paintings by local artists adorn the walls of both sections.  If we weren't headed for the Vesterheim, I would camp out on one of Impact's sofas for sure.

 

The Vesterheim is the national Norwegian-American museum, hosting over 24,000 artifacts.  The main building, which is the only one of the twelve open year round, is spread over four levels in a grand old brick structure.  The English translation of the museum's name is "western home."  The first floor focuses on the life that the Norwegians had before emigrating to the States.  Because of their rural cold weather environment, it was a hard existence.  On top of that, their government imposed many restrictions which they were eager to escape by heading across the Atlantic.  The first to do so was a group of fifty-three brave souls in a fifty-four foot sloop christened the Restauration, on which they sailed west in 1825.  A large replica of the Restauration and two other ships are displayed on Vesterheim's first floor.  One of those other ships is the actual Trade Wind (not a replica), the twenty-five foot vessel sailed to America in 1933 by the Hamran brothers, Harald and Hans.  Ships like the Restauration were crowded, limiting the physical possessions the new settlers could bring with them to the new land.  The museum teaches us that the most valuable assets those people had were not what they could stuff in a trunk.  Rather, it was their stories, artistic and mechanical talents, music, recipes and other elements of their Nordic culture which now live on, two centuries later.

 

The second floor picks up the narrative once the Norwegians have reached the New Land.  Two of the museum's most interesting displays are houses located on the first two floors showing a typical family residence both in the old country (on the first floor) and in America (second floor).  The Norwegians were expert craftsmen, as evidenced by the many pieces of furniture in the museum.  Cabinets, tables, desks, chairs, stools, and wardrobe chests are just some of the items housed at Vesterheim.  The folk art known as rosemaling, the practice of decorative painting, adds appeal to things like headboards, walls, lampshades, table tops, picture frames, even refrigerator doors.  The early Norwegians were also master wood carvers and jewelry designers.  Hundreds of those artifacts are displayed nicely on the second floor.

 

The third floor is primarily devoted to beautiful textiles, while the basement level concentrates mostly on military exhibits.  A fascinating narrative describes how many young Norwegian men were drawn into the War Between The States, fighting for both sides, even though they were new to the country and did not share the passions which drove most of their fellow soldiers.  Another basement exhibit details the 99th Infantry Battalion in World War II.  This battalion, comprised of about a hundred Norwegian Americans, were expert skiers and mountaineers who helped liberate Norway from Nazi control.

 

Once we are inside the Vesterheim gift shop, it is hard to leave.  I could spend an entire paycheck -- if I had a paycheck -- going crazy buying fabulous sweaters, knit stocking hats, books, dolls, games, toys and souvenirs.  As you might expect in this town heavily populated by Norwegians, there are entire sets of Ole and Lena cards with humor in varying degrees of taste, good and bad.  Exercising a little self discipline, we escape without too much damage to our pocketbooks.

 

For lunch we decide on a place recommended to us last night by our new friends from Toppling Goliath.  It's the Good Times Grill, located just down the College Drive slope from TG.  Good Times is what I would call a nice sports bar, if such a label is not an oxymoron.  I am impressed with their food choices, and end up with a chili and tacos combo.   My gold standard for chili has been Pecos River Hot from the Loon in Minneapolis.  (The Loon's menu description for their Pecos River is, "No beans, no B.S.")  I am happy to report that Good Times' recipe edges closer to the Loon's than 90% of all the other chili I've had.  My only disappointment with Good Times is that I am unable to sample the beer from their ample list, due to this afternoon's travel plans.

 

Speaking of beer, our last stop before we head out of Dodge is to return to TG to pick up a couple of bombers for our birthday boys, Luke (November 26) and Michael (November 28.)  Being risk-averse, I choose Pseudo Sue which, based on last night's experience, I know the young lads will enjoy.  I also pick up a tall boy four pack of Golden Nugget, one of TG's two widely acclaimed IPAs (the other one being Intergalactic Warrior), for my own consumption.  As we pull out of town I am proud of myself for remembering to bring a cooler from home.  Got to protect the newly acquired precious cargo!

 

Iowa City.  I would be remiss if I did not give a tip of the hat to northeast Iowa.  This is not your father's farmland.  Traveling south from Decorah to Iowa City requires negotiating over ninety miles of country highway, mostly on State Route 150, before hooking up with Interstate 80 near Cedar Rapids for the last short leg.  Although the crops have been harvested long before this late November afternoon, there is no mistaking the beauty of the rolling hills, the plentiful trees -- yes, trees! -- and the well kept farm houses that dot the landscape.  I can't help but make the mental comparison of what we are viewing to the northeast quadrant of North Dakota.  There the land is flat, the farm houses are miles apart, and the one tree is barely visible near the horizon, about fifteen miles from the road.  I love both parts of the country, the undulating topography of Iowa and the wide open plains of North Dakota.  Public Service Announcement:  If time permits, get off the interstate and enjoy the view!

 

Now that I'm in the twenty-first paragraph of this post, I suppose it's about time I disclose the main reason for our Iowa excursion.  Since the turn of the century, the Notre Dame women's basketball program, under the leadership of head coach Muffet McGraw, has established itself as one of the top two in the country, behind only perennial power UConn.  This season the Irish are ranked # 1 in the pre-season polls, and have won their first six games so far.  They have only one regular season game scheduled west of the Mississippi River, and that happens to be against the Iowa Hawkeyes.  What better reason for us to head south?  This will be the first time Momma Cuan and I have ever seen an Irish Lassie game in person.  Tip off is tomorrow night in Carver Hawkeye Arena.

 

We pull into Iowa City around 6:30 p.m., surprised Iowa City has any rush hour at all, let alone one that extends past 6:00.  We are reminded of home as we come upon downtown, where construction has blocked several streets and detour postings are everywhere.  We are staying at the Sheraton in the heart of downtown on the pedestrian mall.

 

Both of us are in the mood for Italian food, and there are two ristoranti within a few blocks.  We select Baroncini, which we find out after the fact from the hotel concierge is the preferred choice of the dual option.  (Don't ask why we checked with the concierge after, instead of before, we ate; that's just how we roll.)  My first impressions once inside the place are (i) nice but unremarkable ambience, and (ii) wonderful aromas pervading throughout.  Pre-dinner cocktails seem like a good, even if not novel, idea, so Momma Cuan chooses an Americano while I opt for a Bloody Boulevardier, which is made with bourbon, campari and sweet vermouth.  After enjoying a few sips, our server inquires how I like the drink, to which I respond positively.  He is proud to announce that he is the one who talked Baroncini's management into putting that concoction on the cocktail menu.

 

Momma Cuan enjoyed her hanger steak entre.  I keep to my personal tradition of ordering a pasta dish whenever I'm in an Italian restaurant.  This time it is agnolotti di Manzo.  Molto buona!  I am also impressed by the fact that Baroncini has Moretti Rossa on tap.  Not all Italian eateries do.

 

Our final stop of the night is to locate a sports bar to check on the Notre Dame vs. Iowa men's basketball game, which is being played in South Bend as part of the ACC-Big 10 Challenge.  We retrace our steps to the pedestrian mall and land in Brothers, a chain-operated watering hole across the street from our hotel.  Apparently Hawkeye Mania has not overtaken Iowa City, because only one of several TV screens is tuned to the game on ESPN.

 

I find it interesting to note the differences between the schools' veteran head coaches.  Mike Brey, the Irish boss, is about as congenial and easygoing as any coach in Division 1.  He rarely raises his voice, remaining calm even when a game is unraveling.  He is gracious with the media, possibly preparing for a post-coaching career in broadcast journalism.  Sometimes his announcer buddies make fun of his attire -- he used to be known for his mock turtlenecks -- and his recent "look," an unshaven countenance.

 

The Iowa Hawkeyes are coached by Fran McCaffery who, like Brey, is fifty-seven years old.  With his silver hair and expensive suits, McCaffery looks more like a Wall Street banker than a gym rat.  It's no real surprise that he holds an economics degree from the Wharton School Of Business.  I always enjoy watching Fran in action because he is hot tempered and not afraid to pick up a technical foul if he thinks his team needs a spark.  He is the quintessential feisty Irishman.  McCaffery has a twofold Notre Dame connection.  He was an assistant coach at Notre Dame for eleven years, starting in 1986.  Also, his wife, the former Margaret Nowlin, was a superior basketball player for the Irish.  On this night, Fran's Irish heritage, coaching resume and relationships do not provide him or his team enough luck.  The Hawkeyes are outmanned and fall to ND, 92-78.

Movie Review: "Sully"

"Sully": B-.  One of the observations I usually make when driving to the airport to catch a plane is the amount of cloud cover.  If it is clear, I always announce to Momma Cuandito, "It's a good day to fly."  I'm sure she appreciates those insightful proclamations coming from someone who is neither a meteorologist nor a pilot.  After having seen Sully, I might have to start watching for birds, not just the clouds, before I say anything.  Of course, I am not an ornithologist either. 

Sully, directed by Clint Eastwood, tells the story of the US Airways captain, Chesley Sullenberger (Tom Hanks), who thought he was on his way from New York City's LaGuardia Airport to Charlotte, but ended up landing less than six minutes after takeoff in the Hudson River.  A flock of birds had struck the plane and disabled both engines.  One hundred fifty-five passengers were on board; only a very few were injured, none fatally.  All are rescued by various commercial and Coast Guard boats and NYPD helicopter crews before the aircraft slowly sinks to the river's floor.

Almost all of the story focuses on the grilling inquiry of Sullivan and his first officer, Jeffrey Skiles (Aaron Eckhart), by the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB).  The board's goal is to determine whether Sullivan made the correct decision to go for a water landing when he was only minutes away from returning to La Guardia or else choosing a vacated runway at nearbyTeterboro, New Jersey.   Not only is Sullenberger's career at stake, but so are millions of dollars which the airline's insurers will be reluctant to pay.  The NTSB's ultimate verdict concerning the cause of the near disaster -- pilot error, mechanical failure or an act of God -- will be the critical evidence in any insurance-related litigation.

The juxtaposition between Sully the life saving hero in the eyes of the adoring public, and Sully the alleged poor decision maker, could not be more stark.  Eastwood's depiction of the NTSB as being heavy handed, pre-judgmental, unappreciative and unsympathetic are over the top.  The board members may as well have been wearing black hats with bandanas over their faces.  Because the story is told more like a documentary than a narrative, we viewers have to wonder whether NTSB investigators are that inhumanely driven in real life.

It is also hard to accept, as the movie would have us believe, that the flight simulations shown near the end of the film --the "big finish" -- were not previewed by either the NTSB or by Sully, Skiles and their lawyers before displaying them in a public hearing.  Speaking of lawyers, are we to believe the pilots go into a hearing like this without a cadre of counsel?  I guess in Hollywood they do!

I acknowledge, as I've done before, that when a filmmaker takes on a project like this where practically everyone knows the ending before entering the theater, keeping the viewers entertained anyway is a unique challenge.  Having "said" that, in addition to what I believe to be a ridiculous portrayal of the NTSB, Sully has much room for improvement.  What follows are three quick examples.

The phone calls between Sully and his wife, Lorraine (Laura Linney), are poorly written and serve no purpose other than to cause us to think that Mrs. S was more worried about a handful of relatively insignificant problems in her own little world than grasping the enormity of what her husband was enduring.  Second, there is no tension whatsoever between pilot Sullenberger and first officer Skiles.  They each have the other's back, and there is no disagreement or second-guessing between them either during the aborted flight or the investigation.  Maybe that's how things actually stood between the two men, but a little tension would have improved the story.  Third, there is a half-hearted attempt to personalize the passenger manifest by introducing a mother-daughter couple and a trio of guys on their way to a Carolina golfing vacation.  Perhaps this is an attempt by Eastwood and writer Todd Komarnicki to emulate the 1970's film Airport which had several interesting passengers, among them Helen Hayes who won a Best Supporting Actress Award for playing a habitual stowaway.  Unfortunately, the Sully side characters are not in the same league as Ms. Hayes.

On the plus side, the reenactment of the crash, which Sully insists be referred to as "a water landing, not a crash," is engrossing, as are the rescue efforts to pluck the passengers before they drown or become hypothermic from the January waters.  Kudos to the casting and  costume teams for selecting and clothing Hanks to look like the real Sullenberger.  You can make that comparison for yourself if you stick around to see the closing credits.  Sullenberger and his wife appear on screen, as do many passengers who identify themselves by their respective seat numbers.

Movie Review: "Manchester By The Sea"

"Manchester By The Sea": B.  When our three children were little, Momma Cuandito and I used to board separate flights to the same destination in order to lessen the odds of leaving them orphans.  When the kids reached grade school we finally executed wills, something we should have done years before.  One of the most important decisions young parents make when creating a will is naming a lucky (?) person to be their children's guardian if catastrophe should strike.  My sister lived in New Jersey and Mary's brother already had five kids.  The logical choice was Mary's single sister, The Great Aunt Margaret.  But we did not spring a surprise on Margaret by naming her as guardian without first discussing the plan with her.  Our strategy was first to ply her with wine at Champp's Bar in Richfield before popping the question.  The strategy worked; she happily -- ironically after shedding a tear -- said "yes."  Fortunately we ended up not having to put her parenting skills to the test.  Now all three of our kids are in their thirties, and Mary and I are still around to bear witness.

In Manchester By The Sea, Lee Chandler (Casey Affleck) is not so lucky.  His older brother, Joe Chandler (Kyle Chandler, who I assume is no relation as this is a work of fiction), has died suddenly although not totally unexpectedly due to a heart condition, and Lee does not learn he is the named guardian of Joe's sixteen year old nephew until Joe is chilling in the hospital morgue.  This manifestation raises a host of problems while setting up a rather unique dynamic.
 

A major issue is logistics.  The nephew, Patrick (Lucas Hedges), lives in Manchester by-the-Sea on the northeast Massachusetts coast, while Lee lives in distant Quincy, a gritty Boston suburb.  But even more problematic is the tainted history Lee has left behind in Manchester.  There is a reason he has moved away from the town where he grew up.  Writer-director Kenneth Lonergan keeps the viewers in the dark, teasing us with hints of Lee's ignominious past.  For example, there are two or more early scenes in Manchester when people with hushed voices say, "So that's the Lee Chandler," as if he were an infamous celebrity.  We also know from copious flashbacks that at one time both Lee and Joe were married but are now divorced.  Their ex-wives are Randi (Michelle Williams) and Elise (Gretchen Mol), respectively.  Placing Patrick with his unstable mother, Elise, is out of the question.  Arguably she is even more ill-equipped to raise a teenager than is Uncle Lee.
 

The dynamic between Lee and Patrick is not of the type often explored in the movies.  Their nexus might be described as "adult vis-a-vis almost adult."  Patrick is not some helpless little child nor is Lee a single parent who will simply add one more kid to his brood.  Their uncle-nephew relationship has always been solid, a fact driven home by flashback scenes of the two of them fishing together on Joe's boat when Patrick was about ten years old.  Now he is a junior in high school, a hockey player and a rock band member with two girlfriends, neither of whom knows about the other.  At sixteen he is legally, if not developmentally, too young to live without supervision, yet he talks and usually acts like an adult.  Most of the time, Lee and Patrick's dialogue resembles exchanges between equals.  Even without his own personal challenges, such as anger management, Lee will be severely burdened if he fulfills his dead brother's wishes.
 

I found the writing and the editing of this film to be inconsistent.  A good example of the latter is a four minute scene in the third act which is comprised of Lee picking a fight with a fellow bar patron who brushes past him.  A wild melee ensues.  Much earlier in the story, a virtually identical barroom brawl is portrayed.  The second time around should have not bypassed the editor's scissors.
 

As for the script writing, I submit for your consideration an excerpt from a review I wrote to my kids on November 29, 2011 concerning Like Crazy, a movie about a college couple, Jacob and Anna, who fall in love:

There is an important scene about three-fourths of the way through the movie where Anna has a crucial face-to-face dialogue with a character named Simon.  But guess what?  We only see them talking; no audible dialogue!  In my humble view, that is lazy script writing, and is the largest negative for me.  It reminded me of a courtroom drama I saw called "Anatomy Of A Murder."  That movie shows testimony from many witnesses, but we never get to see or hear star defense counsel Jimmy Stewart give his closing argument (even though one of the characters states that it was the best closing argument he'd ever heard).  My point is this:  If one of the main characters in a movie has something in the way of a "game changer" to say, I want to hear it.

Now, why do I bring that up here?  Because Manchester's script is guilty of the same offense.  (I might call it the Anatomy Of A Murder Syndrome.)  The most heart-rending moment in the story is a late scene dialogue between Lee and his ex, Randi, in which the crying Randi apologizes for "the awful things I said to you."  Yet the very words Randi is apologizing for are never heard by us!  In a movie with a running time of two and a quarter hours, surely that earlier conversation should have been included for the viewer's benefit.
 

The first half of the story could have used a chuckle or two, but they're all saved for later.  The movie almost turns into a comedy past its half-way point.  When Lee drops Patrick off at his girlfriend Silvie's (Kara Hayward) house for a purported study date, Patrick encourages his uncle to accept the dinner invitation of Silvie's mother, Jill (Heather Burns), so that Lee can keep Jill occupied, thus enabling Patrick and Silvie to make out alone without the mother's intrusions.  In a different scene, when Lee insists that he has to live in Quincy instead of Manchester so he can keep his maintenance engineer job, Patrick replies, "Why?  You're a janitor!  There are plenty of clogged drains and stuffed toilets in Manchester that need clearing."  The first hour of the story needed such infusions of humor for a better pace.

The beautiful cinematography by Jody Lee Lipes  is not enough to raise this hyped movie above a B.  Lee Chandler is too deadpan to watch over the course of two-plus hours.  In the first few minutes of the film, a beautiful brunette intentionally spills a drink on him in a bar in a vain attempt to start a conversation.  Lee does not pick up the aggressive hint.  Much later, Jill becomes exasperated when Lee proves incapable of carrying on a simple conversation.  The needle never lifts off the zero line much when gauging Lee's personality.   A more interesting character than Lee is Randi.  Yet, despite the misleading promotions and posters announcing Michelle Williams as a co-star -- The Guardian's review even suggests her performance might be Oscar-worthy --  Williams is on the screen less than ten minutes.  Maybe a sequel with Randi as the protagonist will be in the offing.  Meanwhile, Manchester might legitimately be called a love story, but the focus is not the relationship between husband and wife; rather, it's the one between uncle and nephew.

Movie Review: "Arrival"

"Arrival": C+.  Arrival is a movie that delivers a message, in fact a bold, thought-provoking message.  But director Dennis Villeneuve takes so excruciatingly long to deliver it that the payoff does not seem worth the wait.  There are too many scenes which repeat the "action" from previous scenes.  How many times do we have to watch the characters hunched over a computer, desperately seeking clues?  How many circular scribbles do Abbot and Costello, the seven-footed aliens who've landed their craft in the US, need to draw on the glass partition separating them from the Americans, only to be followed by the humans attempting replication?  Don't go to this movie hoping that the aliens will remind you of ET.  The seven-legged creatures, christened "heptapods" by the scientists, have no personality, nor are they cute or cuddly.  They remind me of elongated versions of the Pac Man ghost, Inky.

The world comes to a standstill when a dozen spaceships resembling thousand feet long footballs hover near the ground at various locations throughout the world, including Greenland, Sierra Leone, Siberia, China and Montana.  People are panic-stricken.  Are these spacemen friend or foe?  What is their mission and why did they choose those twelve particular spots to visit?  The locations seem to be randomly selected, although a little research reveals two commonalities: All twelve spots have low potential for lightening strikes, and all are places where Scottish singer Sheena Easton had a hit record in 1980.  That last factoid is the only inkling of humor throughout the two hour movie.

The nations housing these uninvited visitors are desperate to find answers.  Surely the various armies can't wait until catastrophe strikes at the hands of the aliens, yet by the same token a preemptive military assault might be apocalyptic.  At first the nations cooperate with each other, sharing data and putting their deep thinkers in constant communication.  The US military brass, led by Colonel Weber (Forest Whitaker), immediately calls on language expert Dr. Louise Banks.  Weber won't take "no" for an answer because he acknowledges Banks' unmatched expertise at translations; she has worked for him before.  In fact, the colonel arrives without warning by landing a huge chopper in the doctor's back yard.  Ten minutes later, they fly off to Big Sky Country.

 

On board the helicopter Banks is teamed with physicist Ian Donnelly (Jeremy Renner), another of Weber's recruits.  The first dialogue between Banks and Donnelly leads the viewer to believe this pair will bicker, or at least disagree, about how to communicate with the heptapods.  A turf battle seems likely.  That expectation never comes to fruition.  Instead, Banks and Donnelly relate to each other professionally, thus lessening the opportunity for witty debate and banter.  For much of the movie Renner's talents are wasted, as Donnelly's primary function appears to be observing Banks with admiration.  This is clearly Adams' movie.

 

The leaders of the various host countries lose patience, and interpret some signals given by the heptapods to be a prelude to battle.  The open communication among the countries starts to shut down.  China is ready to call its own shots without regard to the other nations.  Weber and the Washington brain trust correctly realize that all it would take is one country to start attacking their extraterrestrial visitors and all twelve spacecraft would likely launch a counter-attack.  This possibility puts even more pressure on Banks and Donnelly to solve the mystery.  What are Abbot and Costello trying to tell them?  Communication is essential; that's why Dr. Banks is there.

 

There are two sidebars to the main story arch.  One pertains to Banks' child who is introduced early and then only sporadically.  Although this girl is not directly involved with her mother's activities vis-a-vis the visitors from outer space, you are hereby advised to watch and listen carefully when the mother-daughter relationship is addressed on-screen.  Secondly, the concept of time is a running thread, especially once we get to the half-way point of the film.  The less written here regarding these two facets of the story, the better.  Just know they are key.