No Questions, No Answers, No Time: A Review

There is a latitude on this Earth that, in summertime, has very, very long hours of daylight and practically no nighttime. This latitude includes Sweden, a Scandinavian nation near Norway and Denmark.

That kind of eternal sunset proves a fantastic metaphor for man's frustrations, a metaphor utilized by Ingmar Bergman in his 1955 film Smiles of a Summer Night (Sommarnattens Leende) and by playwright Hugh Wheeler and composer/lyricist Stephen Sondheim in A Little Night Music, a 1973 English-language musical based on that film.

In 1977, veteran stage director Harold Prince and Vienna's Sascha Film company brought A Little Night Music back to the screen in a low-budget, relatively unsuccessful film that was more or less buried in a film vault for the better part of thirty years. A few years ago, Hen's Tooth Video restored the film negatives and released the movie on disc in the United States. This is a review of that film, which I, as a classic film buff, have recently seen.

I'll begin by stating how much rancor there is out there for the movie version. Instead of a musically gifted lead actress (like the original stage show's Glynis Johns, whom you may recognize as the mother in Mary Poppins), Prince went with Elizabeth Taylor hoping her name would be enough to sell the movie to an audience that hadn't really loved a musical since 1971's Fiddler on the Roof. Needless to say, the name was not enough. But the most drastic change to the structure/story/content is what many people believe robbed the tale of its meaning: the transplant of the setting from ever-sunny Sweden to central-European Austria. Also needless to say, Austria doesn't have the eternal sunset.

And there goes the metaphor.

The song "The Sun Won't Set" has been replaced by a ditty called "Love Takes Time" or something like that, which opens the show with the characters singing about their experiences (or lack thereof) in such issues. The new lyrics are good enough, however, and visually the opening sequence is captivating enough (considering the poor sound and picture quality).

A Little Night Music is the story of a middle-aged (or somewhere thereabouts) actress named Desiree Armfeldt (that's Taylor), who is getting tired of her pedestrian career and her relationship to a married military man. Sounds familiar. Figure in Frederick (in the play, Fredrik) Egerman, the lawyer with whom she was previously involved. Frederick is now married to an 18-year-old virgin named Anne. On top of it all, Frederick has a son, Erich (originally Henrik), who is in love with Anne... which is just a little less bad than it sounds, considering he's actually a year or two older than his stepmother. Desiree is getting tired of the vain, moronic dragoon she's with (and the dragoon's wife, with whom he is entirely honest about the situation, is also getting sick of it) so she hatches a plot to get Frederick back on a weekend in which the Egermans will be invited to her mother's country house. Matters are complicated when the Mittleheims (previously Malcolms), the hilariously stupid dragoon and his emo wife, learn of the invitation and descend on the Armfeldt home that same weekend.

The sense we get right from the start is that only one of the couples really belongs together. As should be expected, things work out in the end, although I won't say how.

On to the specific movie.

Falling under the axe were a surprising number of hit songs from the show-- "Liaisons," "In Praise of Women," "Remember?," "Perpetual Anticipation," "The Miller's Son," and, of course, "The Sun Won't Set." The "Quintet," a group of three women and two men who acted as a kind of Greek chorus for the show, are also gone, grounding the film a little more thoroughly in reality, which is both a blessing and a curse. Returning from the original cast are Hermione Gingold (she sang "I Remember It Well" with Maurice Chevalier in Gigi and fought to ban books in The Music Man) as Desiree's mother, Len Cariou as Frederick, and, best of all, the riotous Laurence Guittard as the Count. Diana Rigg (Miss Piggy's put-upon employer in The Great Muppet Caper and Bond's true love in the hideously boring On Her Majesty's Secret Service) is the Countess, and she is by far the best new addition to the cast. The rest of the cast is unmemorable, especially Taylor. Early in the film, she hurries off stage after a performance saying she couldn't kill the "old cow" (her character) any faster tonight-- I wonder if it's what the real Liz Taylor said after finishing her death scene in Cleopatra.

And the big bone of contention about Taylor is that she was not a singer. Never was, never will be. She had tried out for the lead in 1958's South Pacific movie, but she wouldn't sing. I guess twenty years later it didn't matter as much to her. She's dubbed in "Love Takes Time," but in the uproarious "You Must Meet My Wife" (a highlight of the film, in which she learns of Frederick's bizarre situation) and the famous "Send in the Clowns," it is obviously her own voice... paper-thin and reaching. It's not pleasant.

But look at Sophia Loren in the underrated Man of La Mancha. Her big solo, "Aldonza," is scratchy and waily, but emotionally it's exactly what it should be. Taylor tries boldly to hit the same mark but misses, although barely.

All in all, I would love to see a film of A Little Night Music done right, with the quintet and the complete score and the Swedish setting. As far as I know, the play was recently revived, so there should be renewed interest in it. Of course, it probably won't happen. Ever. Movie musicals have been dead for decades. Occasionally you have a Grease or a Jesus Christ Superstar that does some small or large amount of business. But mostly, it's Rents, horrible versions of strictly theatrical stories, or Sweeney Todds, which, like Night Music, lost too much from the original play to be more than "good."

But since it isn't easy for people to go see a play, movie musicals are great because they allow those who wouldn't normally be able to see them, to see them. I discovered South Pacific, Carousel, La Mancha, Camelot, and many other great musicals through movie versions widely deemed subpar by the critical majority. And for the most part, it's a good system. A Little Night Music: 1977, PG, Sascha-Wien Film/Hen's Tooth Video. 119 minutes. Not perfect, but great, and for exposure to one of the best musicals ever written, a perfect opportunity.

Books Are There to Challenge Us, Not to Be Challenged

While reading through the newspaper this morning, I saw some interesting stories. But the one that really caught my attention-- as in are you freaking kidding me?!-- was about the list of books recently challenged-- books that have been petitioned for removal from schools and libraries.

A while back, I wrote a post about the selective re-editing of Hugh Lofting's Doctor Dolittle stories by two know-nothing revisionist clods. I don't know which is worse-- to challenge/ban a book or to go back and remove the offensive lines. On the one hand: a challenged book still maintains its original structure, but no one enjoys it. On the other hand, a revised book does give a glimpse into the author's style and intent, however diluted that glimpse may be, but it's insulting artistically to take it upon yourself to rewrite literature.

I can't believe this is still an issue!

Correction-- yes I can. And that's the sad part.

Included on the list of challenged books are the Twilight series. I have no special love for those books-- in fact, I think they're pulpy, pretentious trash with lousy, dimwitted narratives and unappealing characters. (Not to criticize.) But if people want to subject themselves to the reason why many people think the novel is a dead art form, let them! If you're offended by the content, don't frooging read it!

Also included: And Tango Makes Three, a children's book about two gay penguins raising an abandoned chick in a public zoo. Now, this is more of a hot-button topic. But to me, this story (which I have never read, but I am familiar with the tale of these icy birds and their unwitting struggle for civil rights) reflects something good: two life forms taking the initiative to raise a baby animal that would have died if not for them. What kind of decent person is opposed to that? Should the chick have committed suicide just so as not to be raised by two queers? Are a man and a woman who beat and harass their child automatically better parents than two women or two men who love and support a child in their care?

Let's also look at some of the other books that have been challenged and/or banned in the past. Leon Uris' Exodus, for one, a powerful epic about the struggle for Israeli independence. This novel (and, more frequently, the 1960 film it inspired) draws ire from those who claim it vilifies the Palestinian Arabs. Does anyone who makes that claim remember Taha (spoiler alert), the Arab village chieftain who gave his life rather than see innocent Jewish children be slaughtered?

Of course not. And what about William Peter Blatty's The Exorcist? Now I can certainly understand the moral objection to this story: the route to its highly moral core is paved through and through with profanity, startling obscenity, frightening episodes, and the simple idea that pure evil would victimize an innocent twelve-year-old girl. It's not an easy, nor a fun, read. It's a shocker, a thinker, a faith check, and a bone of contention. No one is denying that (except the poor, desensitized children of my generation who find nothing shocking in it and call the harrowing 1973 movie masterpiece a lifeless bore). But at the heart of this story (and I emphasize heart) is the overriding supremacy of a mother's love for her daughter, a love that compels her to take every conceivable action to stop this horrid evil from claiming the young soul. That story could never be told without such a chilling level of horror. But so many allegations made against the book and film-- that they glorify Satanism and encourage child rape-- are not only purely wrong but thoroughly offensive to anyone with a simple grasp of the story's true nature.

I encourage everyone out there to read a book that's been banned. A book that has, in the past, been burned. Because these hateful, closed-minded organizations don't go after meaningless books. I'm not saying that Twilight has meaning (its only purpose is to make teenage girls sigh), but you have to admit that books that teach and challenge are usually targeted as "offensive to morality."

And I also challenge everyone to remember another book that's been banned many times over-- the Bible.

More Than Just a Chariot Race: Easter Entertainment Picks

Happy Easter, folks! Enjoy your bunnies and Jesus.

As XC's resident film critic (and really, technically, its only resident), just thought I'd recommend a few classic movies to watch to commemorate this rejuvenating time of year... and a few things to stay away from.

Things You Should Watch

• Ben-Hur (1959)-- Famous for its pre-climactic chariot race, this 222-minute classic (212 without the overture & intermission), features so many more great scenes: a stunning sea battle, a daring attempted prison break, a procession through Rome that involves absolutely no CGI, and Christ scenes that are reverent without being cheesy or regrettable. The great performances by Charlton Heston, Stephen Boyd, Jack Hawkins, and Hugh Griffith only enhance the film, as does the music and the mind-bogglingly wide widescreen photography.
• Godspell (1973)-- The gospel of St. Matthew comes to 1973 New York in this presumably low-budget cult classic, in which a cast of ten incredibly talented people (including Victor Garber and Carmen Sandiego's Lynne Thigpen) reenact Biblical parables in between weird but no less compelling songs. The choreography is great, and the city incomparably beautiful, even if the hair and costumes are dated (and believe me, they are; America's farthest-right right winger would notice). It all leads up to a powerful reenactment of the Last Supper and an eerie interpretive presentation of the Crucifixion and resurrection.
• Jesus Christ Superstar (1973)-- Actually filmed on location in Beit Guvrin, Israel, this amusingly retro but no less dramatic rock opera (directed by Fiddler on the Roof's Norman Jewison and co-produced by Grease's Robert Stigwood) features some of the best vocal performances in the history of rock and roll. A few critics say it's disrespectful (most publicly Archie Bunker) but it's actually based directly on the layout of the Gospels and treats Jesus, oddly enough, with the reverence a Christian should expect.

Things You Really Shouldn't:

• It's the Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown (1974)-- Okay, so Charlie Brown is fun, but it should never be dated. With its cheesy 70s music and dreadful voice work, this lesser special does not belong in the same league as the ubiquitous Christmas and Halloween shows. Although the climactic appearance of the Easter Beagle is great fun.
• The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965)-- Seriously, baaaaaad George Stevens! Misusing the super-wide screen format of Ben-Hur, the widescreen-hating director churned out this overlong, laborious, mind-numbing and waaaaaaay too preachy account of the life of Christ. Max von Sydow plays Jesus, but his eyes are terrifying. And the film is punctuated with dismal, tacky, inappropriate cameos-- most notably, John Wayne.
• The Silver Chalice (1954)-- Highlight: Paul Newman's film debut. Lowlight: Paul Newman's film debut. This lousy adaptation of a mediocre bestseller is poorly acted, poorly filmed, and hideously designed. Also-- worst. Use. Of. Lorne. Greene. Ever.

A Reminder

This is a very religious week. In the Jewish faith, this week has seen the Passover celebration marking the occasion when the Hebrew slaves were visited, and spared by, the Angel of Death. Christians celebrate the resurrection of Christ with Easter. Those without organized religious beliefs, or who practice worship of nature for example, celebrate the rebirth of the world with the infancy of spring.

The news has not been particularly secular in recent days, either. A large-scale rehashing of the Catholic Church's "Molest-o-gate" scandal has seen an upswing in all the major news outlets in the US and abroad. Several key members of an apocalyptic Christian fundamentalist militia group has also got people talking. So you have the good aspects of faith (mentioned in paragraph 1) and the bad, and it is crucial to remember both.

Here's what I believe-- not in a religious sense, but in a personal sense. All human beings get the chance to live a just life and cause some good in the world around us. To me, that belief seems like a pretty good candidate for my personal "meaning of life," and I strongly encourage everyone alive to find their own. But no power in the physical universe-- or the spiritual universe-- gives a human being the right to take the life of another. Or to cause harm to another. Now, "causing harm is often accidental"-- harsh words that come out the wrong way, for example-- but to deliberately plan it is inexcusable, even if you don't follow through with your plan. To participate in an action that you know will harm another human being (i.e., child molestation), but resorting to "higher principles" to defend your motive, or insisting that you mean no harm after-the-fact, is bad enough. But when you take the life of another human being, you relinquish your chance to live a just life and do good. No ifs, no ands, no buts.

I have absolutely no sympathy for child molesters, cop killers, rapists, murderers, slavers, and others of the same ilk. The same holds true (and this is particularly important in light of recent events) for those who further victimize victims of natural and unnatural disasters.

Unfortunately, I still have an unshaken faith in the goodness of human nature. But that's really starting to get tested. Let this be a wakeup call to the world, and let this time of year serve as the ideal backdrop.


On a much lighter note-- if you've never seen the cheesy, classic 1956 epic masterpiece The Ten Commandments, I encourage you to help keep a decades-old tradition alive. Saturday night at 8 pm Pacific, ABC will air the 220-minute extravaganza in its entirety (with the exception of the nonessential snippets-- overture, intermission, exit music, and director Cecil B. DeMille's memorable but labored on-screen introduction). So unless you have your own copy, or access to somebody else's, I strongly recommend the Passover tradition (regardless of your personal religious identification). The special effects may look ridiculous now, but they remain magnificent as a representation of Old Hollywood ingenuity, when the term "personal computer" was decades in the future. In spite of the goofy sanctimony and aforementioned cheese, the last movie that even came close to having this amount of class was Return of the King.

I Know We're Not Supposed to Ask. But Somebody Needs to Start Telling. NOW.

The latest preposterous development in the uphill battle for gay and lesbian patriots to serve in the military without compromising their personal ethics: a suggestion that, if "Don't Ask/Don't Tell" is repealed, GLBT personnel would get their own living space.

The upside? Sometimes it can be totally awesome to have a living space all to yourself. Right? Totally!

But the downside? Well, that would be the implication that led to this suggestion: the belief that all homosexuals are disgusting, unnatural deviants who can't control themselves and will rape anyone who breathes, as long as they're the same sex.

Are you freakin' kidding me, people?! First of all (and these are in no particular order), gays have been serving in the military, secretly, most likely since before the Stamp Act. I'm sure that in the course of that time, there have been some incidents of the kind feared above. But the important thing to remember is that these are completely atypical! Gays and lesbians are (wait for it!) human beings, just like all the other human beings on the planet, with a wonderful little trait called self-control. Common sense clearly dictates that this trait is exercised more often than not in the course of world events.

Second, when people are afraid, their brains start looking for little things to be afraid of. Key example in a non-related case: for the very first time, a six-year-old child goes to sleep without a night light. Naturallly, he or she is very nervous about being immersed in total darkness for the first time since the womb. At this time, anything becomes anything else. A teddy bear stacked in the open closet becomes a hideous monster waiting for the right moment to pounce. Closer to the point, if a straight man or woman is uncomfortable with their sexuality (which happens), they won't want to be left alone with someone who's just said, "Hey, I'm gay." Certainly not without a light on.

That's where the principle of "unit cohesion" comes in (and if I hear that term one more time, I am going to throw myself against a glass door until the world makes some kind of sense). Military brass are afraid that when that paranoia (irrational fear) sinks in, bye-bye to the effectiveness of the team. Well, they're right on that. But the solution is not in segregating gays from straights. That only leads to increasing the feelings of distance and difference. You know what happens when those feelings escalate? Brawls, riots, and, in extreme circumstances, genocide. Don't believe me? Read up on your history.

The secret to improving unit cohesion is to force the paranoid faction to mingle with those they fear. Let all the misconceptions go away and make room for truth. Because as soon as the paranoid people can wrap their frightened, Burt Gummer-y brains around the facts (that gay men and women forcing straight men and women into bed is the exception), this problem will be just another ugly scar on our hideously deformed, scar-addled history.

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Entertainment expert weighs in: This June, a modern American classic returns to regular life after seven years of cancellation. Watch Futurama, starting in the sixth month on Comedy Central! Somebody finally listened!

The Downside

So healthcare reform has passed, eh?

Let's not start dancing in the streets just yet.

The declaration that this "sweeping reform" is, well, sweeping is not incorrect. It is a major step. But not in the right direction (my apologies to the songwriters of Bedknobs and Broomsticks.)

The idea of every single American insured sounds great, doesn't it? Everyone will be covered in the case of emergencies and everyone would have a safety net for the inevitable. But there is one thing about this reform that sticks in my ear like a pterodactyl talon.

A minimum $700 fine if you're uninsured.

Wait, what?

That's right. If you can't afford health insurance (say, if you're unemployed), and you're no longer old enough to be on your parents' policy, what happens? You get a gigantic penalty. Because when you're out of work and can barely afford to put food on the table and a roof over your head, a giant penalty is exactly what you need!

I'm sorry. I have defended political liberalism for a long time. On many of its facets, I am still defending it. But ever since I found out about that little teeny tiny point that they're trying to gloss over, I could not in good conscience support it. Washington State's Attorney General, Rob McKenna, is starting a lawsuit to get that provision dealt with. And rightfully so. I haven't been particularly impressed with McKenna up until now, but I fully support him in this.

Punishing people for being poor is doing exactly what I've been telling conservatives the Obama Administration hasn't been doing. And yet that's exactly what it is. As much as I hate to use this term in regards to a guy I initially rooted for (although he's still better than McCain would've been), he is being exceptionally elitist. It doesn't matter whether or not he realizes it, but that's what's happening. There will be some people who choose not to get health insurance, of course. I don't understand why you wouldn't want to be insured, but it's your choice. Or at least it was. And those people won't be the hardest hit by this policy-- that'd be the people who can't find work. The single parents who still aren't receiving child support. The graduate students who have no money save for tuition and no longer qualify for protection from their parents' insurers.

I'm still a liberal. But for the first time in my life, I'm more ashamed of my ideological "brethren" in Congress than the conservatives.

And, of course, what's making more news than that this week? Sandra Bullock's divorce. Jiminy fez, I hate the world.

Miss Me Yet?

To answer that elusive question, GW Bush, no, I don't miss you yet.

I don't miss the preposterous claims like, "God wanted me to be President." I don't miss the way you turned "Weapons of Mass Destruction" into a catchphrase to further your apocalyptically stupid agenda. I don't miss the way you have no concern for anyone but the white, straight, Christian elite. I can't miss Cheney because (tragically) he hasn't gone anywhere. I don't miss your dingleberry turn-of-phrase (it's nu-cle-ar, not nucular! You speak English, right?!) I don't miss your little photo-ops like throwing out pitches at ball games. I don't miss the way you allowed your staff to bungle through Katrina when people were dying and they needed all those leadership qualities your blind admirers have claimed you've got in the bag.

I don't miss eight years of feeling like I wouldn't be an American if I ate French fries or questioned the merits of "The Star-Spangled Banner" being our national anthem. I don't miss watching you lead the media on by distracting them with the arrest of Saddam Hussein, as if the capture of one Islamic fascist makes up for the freedom of the one who actually did something to us. I don't miss the way your people weaseled out of accountability for anything. You left office with your approval rating somewhere in the low-to-mid 20s. If we lived in a good society, it would have been in the negatives.

You, Mr. Bush, are a liar, a narcissist, a thundering idiot, and a socially blind, rancid, smug, arrogant, condescending, elitist, lazy, holier-than-thou riflehead and not 100 years of the opposite could make up for eight years of you.

No. I don't miss you. And I never will. The current administration has its problems (I cannot emphasize that strongly enough). But there will always be a standard of crappiness in the Oval Office, from January 19, 2009 on. That standard, before then, was Nixon. Now it's you. Happy?

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