Culture War nonsense is the least of the problems with the new Disney/Pixar Lightyear movie

The premise, or conceit, of the new Disney/Pixar movie, Lightyear, now showing on Disney+, is kind of cute.

Wrong, but cute.

The idea -- and this is not a spoiler since it is shown before anything happens in the movie -- is that Lightyear is the movie that "Andy" saw in 1995, launching his desire for space toys, Buzz Lightyear in particular, and ultimately jeopardizing Woody's primacy among the toys in Andy's bedroom.

Get it? Except... the original Toy Story was released in 1995. It was not set in any particular year. In a range, perhaps, between 1965 or so, when every other primetime TV program stopped being a Western (when Star Trek beamed into our living rooms for the first time), and, I don't know, maybe sometime in the early 1980s, when every Summer or Holiday blockbuster movie came with its own merchandising campaign. A lot of great stories are set in an indeterminate past to maximize the audience to whom the story might appeal.

The kids who saw the original Toy Story weren't the real target audience for the film, or certainly not the only target audience. It was parents -- such as Boomers like me, who remembered cowboy toys and lived through the excitement of the Space Race, or GenXers, who were the targets of merchandising campaigns for Star Wars toys. The Toy Story films were not just children's entertainments about talking toys in a nursery; that concept had been thoroughly explored in the Raggedy Ann books a generation or two earlier. The Toy Story movies touched the memories of the ticket-buying parents, bringing up their own memories of childhood.

So "Andy" wouldn't have seen Lightyear in 1995.

But I could get past that easily enough. Entering into a movie or play is all about (or usually about) turning off your skeptical self and suspending your disbelief. So... OK, then... I'm watching a movie "made" in 1995....

But then came the controversial bit. It's not even fair to call it a plot twist. It's almost a throwaway, really. Backstory. Under the circumstances, it made sense that the character in question would find someone with whom to settle down. The identity of the person chosen is not important to the story, really; it could have been anyone. The person chosen is so tangential to the plot that said person has no lines in the script. Not a one. In 2022, the choice made causes more shrug than shudder.

But it would never, ever, ever have happened in a movie "made" in 1995. So Lightyear could not have been made in 1995. If it had been made in 1995 it would not have been a family film. If it were released at all, Andy would never have seen it. And there certainly would not have been rows and rows of Buzz Lightyear figurines at Al's Toy Barn. The movie destroys its already shaky premise for no good reason.

Not to mention getting the actual 2022 release banned, or rated for adults-only, in many parts of the real, non-Hollywood world.

It was a totally unforced, unnecessary error.

But that's only the beginning of Lightyear's problems.

It contradicts the Lightyear origin story hinted at in Toy Story 2 -- without improving on it in any way. I don't think this should count as a spoiler alert, but there is a temporal twist in Lightyear -- a twist that was handled better, and more credibly, in (believe it or not) The Lego Movie 2: The Second Part. For a studio that has prided itself on great, layered storytelling, that is a harsh criticism.

But, wait, there's more.

Disney/Pixar did a better Buzz Lightyear origin story in Buzz Lightyear of Star Command: The Adventure Begins, a 2000 direct-to-video release (with Tim Allen voicing Buzz). The makers of the new Lightyear movie had obviously seen that movie, and the Buzz Lightyear TV show, where Patrick Warburton did a pretty good Tim Allen imitation. Some of the robots in the new movie reflect at least a passing familiarity with these precedents. Buzz's dislike of rookies is another plot element brought forward from these prior projects.

But the new Lightyear makes Buzz's cockiness a cover-up for his deep-seated, and frankly understandable, self-doubt. I don't think the Buzz in the new movie would inspire a gazillion kids like Andy to aspire to infinity and beyond.

I get that the makers of this movie wanted to 'humanize' the cartoon character. But a little less angst and a bit more hard-earned success and triumph for the title character would have gone a long ways to rescuing this movie.

It's a pretty film -- Pixar still knows how to do visuals -- and there are some ideas of relativistic physics and tidally locked planets that might have been interesting elements in a better movie. The talking cat-robot was a reasonably fresh take on the Disney talking-animal-companion trope (but the cat would have been prominently displayed at Al's Toy Barn if Lightyear had somehow been the movie that Andy saw).

I didn't hate Lightyear; it's just not that good.

And, especially with Pixar, I'm always hoping for better.

Regrets... I have a few

Apocalypse Maybe Week continues here at Second Effort....

When Frank Sinatra sings Paul Anka's stirring "My Way," he tells us

Regrets -- I have a few --
But, then again, too few to mention

And when Francis Albert Sinatra sings it, you can believe that he -- Sinatra -- doesn't have a lot of regrets.

Me, on the other hand, I'm a bundle of regrets. I'm probably made up of mostly regrets and peanut butter.

Have you ever seen the Albert Brooks movie, Defending Your Life? It's one of the few movies I've ever actually watched that features Meryl Streep.

I know, I know. She's got more Academy Awards than most people have IQ points -- what's her current Oscar total? 110? She'll probably get three or four next year, too. But nearly all of her movies are big, soggy, sorry downers. There's enough sadness in the world without paying $11 or whatever a first run movie costs these days to get sad on purpose. (For an eloquent elaboration on this point, may I direct you to Preston Sturges' 1941 classic, Sullivan's Travels?)

Anyway, in Defending Your Life, Brooks and Streep meet for the first time in the Afterlife, in a place called Judgment City. They learn that life on Earth has just been one big test. Can a person learn to master his or her fears? In the movie this is the only way a person realize his or her true potential, unlock more of his or her mental ability, and "move on." The title comes from the fact that new arrivals at Judgment City must undergo a trial during which a person's life is judged. Those found wanting are sent back to Earth -- reincarnated. A highlight of the movie comes when La Streep and Brooks visit the "Past Lives Pavilion" and see the people they have been. (There's a cameo appearance in this scene you have to watch for; trust me, it's perfect.)

When the past lives are reviewed, we see that Streep had been increasingly brave and noble in each successive incarnation -- which is why her 'trial' is more a party than anything -- while poor Mr. Brooks had mostly ended up screaming. Sometimes he was food, sometimes cannon fodder. Streep is a cinch to "move on" -- but Brooks?

Well, let's say I identify with Mr. Brooks' character.

On reflection, I suppose, I'm made up of regrets, peanut butter, and fear.

I'm braver now than ever. It's nearly a half dozen years now since I took sick and had to contemplate the Abyss. Ever since, I've been more willing to say things, and do things, from the courage of my convictions. I no longer always hold back because I'm afraid of how I will 'damage' my relationships, or my job, or my prospects....

I've probably worked my way up all the way to Sniveling Coward.

For me, this is progress. But I am all too painfully aware that it's not enough. I hope that I might have yet a while longer to work on this.

Maybe even have days when I'm not so tired.

Just between us, it's for these reasons I'm kind of hoping the Mayans were wrong. Or that they just ran out of rock....

On the passing of Nora Ephron

Would Meg Ryan have become America's Sweetheart if not for Nora Ephron?

After When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle, and You've Got Mail, I thought Meg Ryan would be impossibly cute just reading the phone book. Then I saw her in When a Man Loves a Woman, playing an out-of-control alcoholic....

True, Ryan did make Joe Versus the Volcano without Ephron and, many years later, Kate & Leopold, and these were good -- but When Harry Met Sally (which Ephron wrote), Sleepless in Seattle, and You've Got Mail (both of which were written and directed by Ephron) were clearly better. And Meg Ryan was cuter. I think it can be seriously argued that Ephron made Ryan cuter.

How good was Ephron? Her 2005 movie, Bewitched, was only OK -- but I found it possible to watch Will Ferrell in that movie without becoming physically ill. I can't say that about too many Will Ferrell movies.

I don't know for certain how much input she had in them (I'm guessing it was considerable) but the soundtracks to Sleepless in Seattle and You've Got Mail introduced new generations to the music of Jimmy Durante and Louie Armstrong.

I recently saw You've Got Mail on cable, though, and it reminded me of my one objection to Ephron's films.

Was it necessary for Tom Hanks to be living with Parker Posey at the beginning of the movie? Was it necessary for Meg Ryan to be living with Greg Kinnear?

Hanks and Ryan are emailing each other, anonymously, from the beginning. They are not physically cheating on their respective partners but... emotionally? In Sleepless in Seattle, of course, Tom Hanks is widowed, but Meg Ryan is living with (and engaged to) Bill Pullman.

I know, I know, these are movies for grownups, and people who have reached the ages of the characters in these movies need to have 'pasts' to be remotely realistic. But must their pasts be so present? Couldn't Greg Kinnear have been living down the hall? Bill Pullman's character probably wouldn't have minded separate establishments before marriage.

I am reminded this morning when reading Ephron's obituary that she was once married to Carl Bernstein (All the President's Men) and that he cheated on her with an alleged family "friend" while Ephron was pregnant. Although you'd think the novel she got out of the experience, Heartburn, might have have been enough, maybe she still needed to get even, in a way, through Meg Ryan's characters.

Or, maybe, given Ephron's obvious love of old movies, maybe she just wanted Ralph Bellamy to really get the girl... if only for a little while.

John Carter entertaining, badly named

I persuaded Long Suffering Spouse to come with me to a matinee performance of John Carter yesterday -- you know, tickets $5 each before 5:00pm? (Look, I wanted to support the picture -- but I'm still cheap.)

John Carter had a 55% falloff this weekend from its already disappointing opening. It'll start disappearing soon, if it isn't already gone from your local mega-movie-multiplex.

If it by some chance remains at your local theater, however, I would encourage you to see it.

John Carter claims to be based on Edgar Rice Burroughs' A Princess of Mars -- and it is, sort of, in a very loose sort of way. It has been updated. The beautiful Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium, is not so helpless as she was in Burroughs' novel; indeed, she's something of a Barsoomian career girl and warrior queen here.

In 1912, it was adequate for Captain John Carter to be overcome by mysterious gas in an Arizona cave or (later) stand, arms outstretched in the night in supplication, facing mysterious Mars, and be transported there by the power of his longing. The new movie provides a MacGuffin instead -- and an alien race of bad guys, neither Barsoomian nor Terran -- around whom a satisfying sequel or two might well be built. Or might have been built.

If you've re-read Burroughs recently in anticipation of seeing the movie, you may be disappointed: The plot departs wildly from the original. But I didn't find that objectionable. The names of the characters, tribes and cities are the same, and their characterizations (Dejah Thoris' martial skills notwithstanding) are not jarringly inconsistent with the source material, despite the new plot. I think the movie faithful to Burroughs, despite the modernizing touches, unlike, for example, the recent Robert Downey, Jr. Sherlock Holmes-channeling-James-Bond movies.

One key departure from the book -- but one I knew was more or less required: The beautiful Princess of Helium now wears more than jewelry.

And, ladies, you will be sorry to learn that John Carter arrives on the movie-Barsoom wearing his prospecting duds, not in his natural state as in the novel. (Things were not necessarily as staid in 1912 as we were lead to believe, were they?)

But the real flaw of John Carter is the marketing -- starting with the name of the picture. Does "John Carter" conjure visions of a mysterious dying world and exotic inhabitants struggling for survival? Is "John Carter" the name that sci-fi writers down to the present day have used when citing or alluding to Burroughs' Mars stories?

And what idiot came up with the idea of making the trailer look like a Western? Worse, a Western with a Marvel-Comics-type-superhero-riddled-with-angst lead? Somebody must have gotten this brainwave watching the commercials for Cowboys and Aliens -- and never thought to change a thing after that movie bombed.

There was too much backstory to suit me -- but I enjoyed John Carter anyway.

And Long Suffering Spouse?

She's never read Burroughs.

But she enjoyed it, too.

An old quasi-fanboy regrets the reception that John Carter's received

When I was a boy I devoured the Tarzan books of my fellow Chicagoan, Edgar Rice Burroughs. From Tarzan, I graduated to Burroughs' thrilling stories of dying Barsoom, of Captain John Carter and his beautiful Martian princes, Dejah Thoris of Helium. Burroughs could buckle some serious swash.

I don't know if I read every single one of Burroughs' Barsoom stories, but I read a bunch, and more than enough to catch the references and bouquets tossed Burroughs' way through the years by later sci-fi authors. And Burroughs inspired scientists, too: Carl Sagan, I learn this morning, had a poster-size map of Barsoom outside his office at Cornell.

A few years ago, I bought a compilation of Burroughs' Mars stories from Barnes and Noble and reacquainted myself with the stories. (Barnes & Noble will sometimes repackage and republish books that have finally fallen into the public domain. It took me awhile to figure this out.) I didn't feel cheated. I still thoroughly enjoyed the stories.

You can as well, and you don't have to pay for them: Many of the Barsoom stories are now in the public domain and available online for free download to your iPad, Kindle or Nook.

If the books were still being published -- and if they were graphic novels or comic books instead of actual books -- and if I were 30 or 40 years younger -- if all those things were so, I'd probably be considered almost a "fanboy" of the Burroughs series. (Fanboy, for those of you as old, or older, than I, refers to a certain type of juvenile who obsesses over some geeky series -- Star Wars, for example. It is often used in a derogatory sense, describing in particular one who greatly overdoes his affection, whose devotion to the fictional Obi-Wan Kenobi trumps any relationship he should have, or might have had, with an actual living human.)

I'm not taping any fake arms to my shoulder blades, nor do I plan to at any time in the foreseeable future, but I did watch the commercials for the John Carter movie with great interest and hope. I was encouraged by the fact that a Pixar veteran, Andrew Stanton, was directing. Pixar is another word for quality, as far as I'm concerned.

Thus it was that I eagerly opened Roger Ebert's tweet to his review of John Carter last Thursday.

And then I was disappointed.

Ebert didn't like the movie.

He didn't hate it either, but he didn't recommend it.

I bought the Sun-Times Friday morning hoping against hope that he might have changed his mind for the printed review. (I'm not sure that real fanboys even know what newspapers are. Except maybe Superman fanboys, since Clark Kent still -- I think -- toils for the Daily Planet. Right?)

But Ebert didn't change his mind. And it was a busy weekend at home -- shortened by the time change on top of everything else -- and I couldn't get Long Suffering Spouse to come with me to see the show.

This morning I hear that John Carter made "only" $30.6 million this weekend, finishing second in the weekend box office sweeps to The Lorax. Because John Carter supposedly had a $250 million budget, this opening is being interpreted as not just disappointing, but devastating. John Carter is being compared to Ishtar in some circles.

Well, I still want to see the movie. And I hope it builds at the box office.

Curmudgeon and Long Suffering Spouse go see a movie

Someone game my wife two AMC theater passes last Christmas; we used them yesterday to go see The Muppets.

I enjoyed it, mostly, although Amy Adams is a bit much for me. She was doing the same schtik she did in Enchanted and I know I'm supposed to just think she's icky-sticky-super-sweet. But -- for me at least -- she's a bit much.

And one other objection (I don't think this qualifies as a spoiler): The plot centers on the Muppets being forgotten. Forgotten? Not in my house.

*Singing now* It's time to play the music/ It's time to light the lights....

If you don't want to see the same old movies this Christmas, consider these....

Über-blogger Ken Levine, a former rock 'n' roll DJ who wrote for M*A*S*H, Cheers, Fraiser, The Simpsons and so many other shows, and who still has found time to broadcast major league baseball games for the Seattle Mariners and the Baltimore Orioles (and now does post-game work for the Dodgers), makes his Christmas movie recommendations this morning.

Among Levine's recommendations was "Bachelor Mother," starring Ginger Rogers and David Niven. You might have to stop the DVD periodically to explain the cultural issues involved to the 'young people,' though: See, Ginger Rogers takes in a foundling -- in a time when single mothers moved to new towns and claimed widowhood. David Niven is the son of the plutocrat who owns the store where Ginger is, and isn't, employed. And David's father, played by Charles Coburn, gets some very wrong ideas about Ginger and the foundling and his own son. But it all works out in the end.

Levine's post got me thinking about other Christmas movies you may want to check out over the holidays.

Let's stay with David Niven for a moment and go with "The Bishop's Wife" -- one of my wife's favorites.

I'm looking forward to seeing "Christmas in Connecticut" in the next few days, too. Barbara Stanwyck and Dennis Morgan are billed as the stars, but S.Z. "Cuddles" Sakall steals the show. (Again, though, there are a few cultural issues that may have to be explained to the kiddies....)

Sakall also played Otto Oberkugen in the Van Johnson-Judy Garland musical "In the Good Old Summertime." Like the later "You've Got Mail," "Summertime" was a sort-of, semi-remake of a movie set at Christmas in Hungary, "The Shop Around the Corner." I'll be looking for that Jimmy Stewart movie in the next week or so, too.

I'd boycotted that other Jimmy Stewart Christmas movie for several years, finally breaking down a week ago or so, and weeping all the way through it just like I used to. But if you're looking for a Frank Capra Holiday-themed movie that doesn't have Henry Travers as an "angel, second class," consider "Meet John Doe," starring Gary Cooper and the aforementioned Barbara Stanwyck. Of course, it's a tad dark.

Yup.

And if your imagination is still running with Jimmy Stewart down the main street of Bedford Falls but you can't bring yourself to watch that movie again, try the movie that was advertised on the marquee of the theater in the little town that Lionel Barrymore couldn't control after all: "The Bells of St. Mary's."

"The Bells of St. Mary's" isn't exactly a Christmas movie, although the Christmas pageant rehearsal is a highlight. And it gives me a chance to tie Henry Travers back in. (A lot to explain to the young people here, though, too: These days young people, even young Catholics, don't have a lot of experience of nuns. And, of course, no nun ever looked like Ingrid Bergman.)

And you can't mention this Leo McCarey classic without mentioning "Going My Way." ("Bells" is usually thought of as the sequel to "Going My Way," but IMDb says "The Bells of St. Mary's" was actually written first: In order to borrow Bing Crosby from Paramount for "Bells," RKO had to allow Leo McCarey to write and direct "Going My Way", based on the same character.) "Going My Way" is often shown at Christmas and provides a Bing Crosby alternative for those tired of "White Christmas" or even "Holiday Inn."

There are a couple more movies that come to mind that I haven't seen in a long, long time: I'm looking for "A Bell for Adano" and "We're No Angels" and if anyone knows when either of these will be on, I have space on the DVR.

Can you suggest any other Christmas movies that might be slightly off the beaten path?

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Related: Holiday movie favorites: An Unscientific Survey. Yes, there is some overlap between the lists.

What is America?

That's the challenging question posed by "Landgirl," a transplanted Midwesterner now at Home in the Highlands. The Scottish Highlands, that is.

She writes, "I'm doing an unofficial poll of real Americans in response to a BBC series over here trying to define America."

Although I'm anonymous, I'm quite real, and quite willing to take a crack at this one.

First, America is not just a place. The space we occupy on a map isn't even particularly important (although, once you're in you're required to stay in. See, Lincoln and the Civil War).

It is for this reason that the very notion of "Homeland Security" bothers me so. Germany has a fatherland. Russia has a motherland. But America is the only nation, ancient or modern, that is founded more on shared ideals than geography. Geography is at the root of most nations. Or religion. Or ties of blood. Sometimes combinations of these three things.

But not America. What makes America America is that we hold these truths to be self-evident: That all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.

We the People of the United States haven't always lived up to these ideals. The tired, the poor, the huddled masses of the Old World yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of their teeming shores -- these were not always welcomed to America with open arms, and certainly not always and by everyone in accord with our highest ideals -- but where in the world have more been welcomed better?

America is a state, of course, like France is a state, or Germany. (It's a grammatically incorrect state: The United States of America is a state... but I digress.) The point, though, is that unlike other states, America is also a particular state of mind. And that is where the notion of American exceptionalism comes from, at least for me.

So many people, here and elsewhere, are 'one worlders.' Human progress will be stifled, they think, and wars will flourish, until we are all united under a single government. Some idealists at the end of World War II saw in the United Nations a vehicle for eventually accomplishing this goal. Many other Americans have been scared to death of the U.N. for that very reason.

But, actually, the best vehicle so far invented for uniting humanity into a single nation was promulgated in Philadelphia in 1787. It is the instrument that allowed the 13 original independent nations to unite to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to themselves and their posterity. It allowed independent nations like Texas and California and Hawaii to join as well. (We can also defer to a different date the question of just exactly how voluntary or unanimous was Hawaii's surrender of national sovereignty.)

I don't know if this abstract discussion has really explained what I think America is. An evening of Frank Capra films will help: Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, It Happened One Night, It's a Wonderful Life -- even the much darker Meet John Doe. No, we don't always live up to the ideals portrayed in these movies either. And sometimes that spirit is sorely lacking here in the sinful, wicked City. But not always. And I've been in small towns on bright, sunny days; I've felt the warmth of strangers' greetings; I've basked in the courtesy and respect of people I've never met and will never meet again and I am here to testify: Capra had it right.

However, if you're not in a cinematic mood, you might want to read this post I put up in November 2007, about the South Korean landlords and the Iranian tenants.

One final attempt to illustrate America: Before I was married, my future wife's apartment was next door to a synagogue. I was a frequent visitor at the apartment, of course, and, one Fall evening, the future Long Suffering Spouse and her roommate and her roommate's boyfriend (now her husband) and I were all out on the back porch of her building looking down into the Sukkah constructed behind the synagogue. It was after dinner, near dusk. We were watching the little kids from another apartment in my wife's building playing around the Sukkah. The kids were Iranian (around the time of the Shah's fall, there were a lot of Iranian immigrants in Chicago). It occurred to me, even then, that we were four Catholics (of Irish, Cuban, German, and Lithuanian descent) happily watching Muslim kids playing in the yard of a Jewish house of worship. The wide open spaces of the West and the cornfields of the Midwest are uniquely American -- but so, too, was this tranquil scene around the Sukkah.

Does this answer the question?

Curmudgeon goes to the show

I don't think the expression is current. I certainly don't know if the expression was used nationwide. But, unless you're talking about professional baseball players achieving the major leagues, "going to the show" has always meant taking in a film to me.

Long Suffering Spouse and I saw a movie on Saturday. The accompanying illustration no doubt destroys any suspense I might otherwise have built up about what we went to see.

I love Pixar movies. I've seen nearly all of them in first run. I didn't get a chance to see Up in the theater and I wasn't entirely interested in going to see Cars, but I own every Pixar feature on DVD and I love them all. Even Cars, which surprised me.

Pixar movies are animated, but they're not for kids. Or, at least, not only for kids. That's the way good movies should be -- a little something for everyone.

And Pixar movies play shamelessly with the heartstrings. My sister Betty and her daughter walked out on Monsters, Inc. when Boo's door got shredded. She wasn't the only one. I remember feeling devastated myself when I saw it, and thought the film had been ruined for me. Except Pixar found a way to make it all better in the end. Now I just trust Pixar and surrender.

Of course, I did wait three weeks to go see Toy Story 3 -- I always planned to wait at least a week and let the crowds die down and, in the meantime, other things got in the way of our going. And, of course, Long Suffering Spouse and I went to the earliest show at the local movie palace, when ticket prices were only $5 apiece.

I was so happy with the bargain, I even offered to spring for popcorn.

"Please don't," said Long Suffering Spouse. "Leave me with my illusions."

I am amazed by the ability of the Pixar folks to take a corporate mandate -- make sequels! -- and turn it into a wonderful movie. I choked up several times during the movie, and laughed out loud, too -- I did not, mind you, LOL, I really and truly laughed. At the end, my eyes were moist. I hate it when my allergies act up that way....

On the way out, Long Suffering Spouse pointed out that the bad guys in the last two Toy Story movies have been grouchy, bitter old farts. I was forced to agree. I like Pixar, but Pixar doesn't like guys like me....

Movie shoot 'transforms' Loop -- Curmudgeon safe

(Photo obtained from this site.)

So far.

Yes, it's Sunday and I'm here at the Undisclosed Location, the street in front of my building having been closed off to facilitate the filing of Transformers 3.

A block west of here there are some giant prop boulders suggesting torn-up pavement. There's a truck parked in the middle of it. It is tilting suggestively. One guesses the occupants of said truck did not fare well in the shooting script. The scene reminds us that, apparently, not everything can be done, even in this modern age, with CGI.

The picture with this post is from a different, though nearby, street, Washington Street, looking east from Wells towards LaSalle. I assume that the photo was taken yesterday. I haven't heard any explosions or anything like that this morning, even though I've cranked a couple of windows open here (no A/C here on Sunday).

I don't think I'm in any great danger of getting stomped on by a giant metal robot that can disguise itself as a truck: My Undisclosed Location probably isn't recognizable at all as a Chicago office building to anyone from out of town. What's the point in destroying such a building? I think the filmmakers prefer landmark-type buildings that moviegoers can readily identify. Thus (as I was reading just the other day), the Great Pyramid of Khufu has been "destroyed" several times now in various movies.

You know, I was raised thinking that the Great Pyramid was the Great Pyramid of Cheops -- and I just had to look that up now to find out why. It turns out that the Cheops was how the Greeks referred to the old fella. The name stuck for centuries... but fashions change.

But I digress.

I came here this morning to clean off my desk and I should be about that task. Assuming no Transformers demolish my building overnight, that should give me a leg up as the week begins....

Educating the next generation

One of the nicer things about the kids getting older and bringing home significant others is that I get to educate said others.

No, I'm not teaching physics or math -- but I am trying to expose people to culture... at least as I see it.

Older Daughter's husband, Hank (whom I've sometimes called ODB, for Older Daughter's Boyfriend), was my first victim. Hank dated my daughter for seven years so I had a number of opportunities. He'd never seen The Quiet Man, for example. At Christmas, I made him sit through The Bishop's Wife. (Well, Hank's an Episcopalian himself.)

Hank's an architect by trade, so I contributed to his professional education by exposing him to Cary Grant in Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House. Older Daughter didn't mind this so much -- but she really objected when I made Hank sit through George Washington Slept Here. (Older Daughter can't stand Jack Benny. This disappoints me. On the other hand, she is one of the few 20-somethings around who knows enough about Jack Benny to have an opinion, albeit a misguided one.)

Hank is a bit of an Anglophile. In the wrong company he might be mistaken for a bit of a snob. But I can use his highbrow leanings against him. Just a few weeks back, I was looking to suggest a film for Hank and, without naming the title, I said we might try a Sondheim musical based on the works of the Roman playwright Plautus.

"I thought I knew every Sondheim musical," Hank responded, swallowing the bait before he knew the hook had been set, "but that doesn't ring any bells."

I popped A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum into the DVD.

Older Daughter wandered into the den a half-hour later and began chastising me, but it was too late.

I haven't had as much success with Oldest Son's wife, Abby. She's very quiet -- in my presence -- probably because my disloyal son has warned her what might happen if she expresses any interest in anything.

But I have a new victim now: Younger Daughter has a beau and he's spending quite a bit of time at the Curmudgeon home these days. From my point of view, Olaf also has wide gaps in his cultural education, but he's not an in-law yet. So I have to be careful: He can easily avoid me.

Thus, I must become a trusted provider of cultural information. I built some credibility over the weekend.

Olaf is not a musician -- which makes him different from every boy Younger Daughter has fancied in the past (usually, whenever she revealed an interest in a new boy I would just ask 'guitar' or 'drums'? and that pretty well covered the waterfront). On the other hand, even though he doesn't play an instrument, Olaf has an interest in music, and apparently a particular interest in classical 20th Century European music. Like the Beatles, for example.

So, the other day, when he was hanging around the house, I thought to pop in the Powerpuff Girls' classic Meet the Beat-Alls DVD. This impressed Olaf no end: He remembered the Powerpuff Girls cartoons fondly from his childhood -- he even vaguely remembered this episode -- but had never caught the references before.

Now, I have to top this.

Best one sentence review of Avatar

I wish I could take credit for this one, but I heard it from my son-in-law:

Avatar: Ferngully meets Dances With Wolves.

This is not a knock against the movie. I saw it this weekend in 3D and enjoyed it immensely. The indispensable Roger Ebert compared Avatar to the original Star Wars in his review. The comparison is appropriate: Like Lucas in 1977, James Cameron has stretched technology in remarkable ways in order to create a wonderful new world.

Pandora is so breathtakingly beautiful, in fact, that we don't mind the derivative plot, which here is a not-very-thinly disguised Halliburton vs. Noble Savages morality play. Guess who Mr. Cameron is rooting for? We don't even mind that a key plot point involves mountains floating in mid-air (a nod to Flash Gordon, presumably?) or that the mineral that the Earthpeople want to extract from Pandora is called "unobtainium."

Like the original Star Wars, Avatar will long retain the power to transport the people who saw it in first run to a wonderful place -- even after the technology that made it possible becomes commonplace. But one also hopes that Mr. Cameron will learn from Mr. Lucas' experience with Star Wars: No matter how much we loved Avatar, that doesn't mean that we'd be interested in a prequel.

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By the way, the human behind the beautiful blue Princess Neytiri is Zoe Saldana -- who played Lt. Uhura in last summer's Star Trek remake.

Anniversary:Trekking from baseball to the movies

It was our anniversary last Friday and Long Suffering Spouse and I, as we have on so many prior anniversaries, spent the day watching one of our kids play baseball. You may not think this a particularly good way to commemorate the day... but it beats spending an anniversary in an emergency room. We've done that, too.

This year we were out of town, traveling to Middle Son's college conference tournament. There was some time in between his team's first and second games Friday so Long Suffering Spouse and I decided to go see a movie.

Star Trek.

Now, I know what you're probably thinking: What kind of an anniversary is this? Sports and an action flick? I'm sure that, for many women, this itinerary sounds like a description of a day in Purgatory... at best... and perhaps some place hotter still.

But Long Suffering Spouse likes baseball... and she likes Star Trek, too.

In fact, 30 years ago, a couple of years before we actually met, she came down to the student newspaper office at the university we both attended to complain about the negative review I gave to the first Star Trek movie, "Star Trek: The Motion Picture." (We figured this out years later after we'd gone to see another Star Trek movie. She began complaining about the review that had made her so angry years before... and I was obliged to confess that I was the one who had ticked her off. Not, as it happens, for the last time either.)

I had modest expectations about the new movie.

In fact, I expected to hate it.

I am a Star Trek fan. It is not by accident that one of the first blogs I ever linked with was Captain Picard's Journal. Let's put it this way: I take to science fiction like Bee takes to cruising. And Paramount should send me some kind of award: I started watching the original series in first run, OK? Since then, I've watched the cartoon, "TNG" (in my house the kids referred to the show as Star Trek their generation, while "TOS" was Star Trek my generation), and "Deep Space 9." I didn't really keep up with "Voyager" (Youngest Son got too scared, watching as a baby) or "Enterprise" -- I was never home when the show was on -- but if there were 200 Star Trek paperbacks, I must have bought and (guiltily devoured) 150 of them. I used to donate them to the local library when I was done. I even have some Star Trek hardbacks. And videotapes, and now DVD's of several of the movies.

(By now, you are completely creeped out at the unvarnished geekiness of someone who has pretended, in many of the essays here, to gravitas. Ah well.)

It is widely believed that odd-numbered Star Trek movies are inferior to even-numbered ones. The second Star Trek movie, "Wrath of Khan," was light years ahead of "Star Trek: The Motion Picture." "Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home" (the whales movie) is by far the best of the series. This new, er, enterprise, would be the 11th movie -- and therefore, according to form, likely to disappoint.

I was therefore pleasantly surprised to enjoy the film. The new movie plays with the original characters, and the time lines, and the relationships... but there are explanations that pass muster within the realm of Star Trek fiction. The new movie is faithful to the spirit of the original series without being locked into its canon. I have one major objection to a plot point... but I won't ruin the surprise for anyone who wants to see the movie for themselves.

When the lights came up, after the show, there were three old, scraggly looking guys sitting a few rows ahead of us, vigorously debating various plot points. These had to be three of the guys that William Shatner made fun of in his famous SNL skit, still living in their mothers' basements. Sadly, I could follow the entire discussion.

Videos at home on a sick day, then and now

I didn't actually take an entire day off whilst recently battling the plague (I'm finally getting better, though, and thanks for asking) but I did come home early several days in a row, often even before Long Suffering Spouse got home from her teaching job at the neighborhood Catholic school.

Weak as I was, therefore, I still had an awesome power: I could watch anything I wanted on TV.

Unfortunately, what was true of Daytime TV when I was younger remains equally, and painfully, true today: There's nothing on. There are simply more channels.

So I toyed with the idea of picking out a video to watch.

When the kids were little, bringing home germs that felled all of us, we would hunker down to watch movies together. These the kids picked out.

When you're sick at home movies are comfort food for the soul -- as important to feeling better as cough syrup and nearly as important as chicken soup.

With Older Daughter, it was The Secret of NIHM, a Don Bluth movie about intelligent mice. And rats. It was a sweet little movie... that eventually wore out its welcome after (seemingly) endless repetition.

With Younger Daughter, it was Disney's Fantasia.

This troubled me... but only because I thought of it as a movie that people never watched unless they were stoned. What can I say? The 70s warped a lot of us.

There were other favorites, of course. The kids made an important distinction between their Robin Hood (the Disney cartoon, at left) and my Robin Hood... with Errol Flynn, Basil Rathbone and Claude Rains.

So, naturally, when the kids were little and we debated which movie to put on, the Disney version won out almost every time.

Times change (thankfully, in this case). Now the kids and I both enjoy Mel Brooks' Robin Hood: Men in Tights.

And, speaking of Cary Elwes, perhaps the ultimate 'sick day' movie in the Curmudgeon house when the kids were little was The Princess Bride.

I think every one of my kids, to this day, can recite large portions of dialog from this movie on command.

I thought about putting this movie on myself when I was home early at the end of last week.

But I hesitated.

After all, this was an opportunity for me to watch anything I wanted.

I could even watch some Monty Python, I thought.

A couple of years back Long Suffering Spouse gave me every episode of the Monty Python TV series in a boxed set. I love Monty Python.

But Long Suffering Spouse hates it.

And, I thought, if I put that on, I'll doze off peacefully... but I'll pay for it when Long Suffering Spouse gets home.

So I refrained.

But my Inner Child wanted something familiar. So here's what I picked out:

The Incredibles

What? I suppose you'd have picked out something by Ingmar Bergman? Or Akira Kurosawa?

An answer for Mr. Ebert & a modest blow for civility

I read Roger Ebert's scathing review of the new Will Farrell vehicle Step Brothers on the train going to work Friday and I was composing a blog post en route in answer to this question posed by Mr. Ebert in the course of his review:

Sometimes I think I am living in a nightmare. All about me, standards are collapsing, manners are evaporating, people show no respect for themselves. I am not a moralistic nut. I'm proud of the X-rated movie I once wrote. I like vulgarity if it's funny or serves a purpose. But what is going on here?

What's going on here is that people think that because they can do something they must. Artistic freedom has been confused with wretched excess... the dumbing of America continues... lowest common denominator....

Oh, yes, I was on a roll -- but, once I got to the office, I was swept up in the turmoil of a number of end-of-the-week crises and I never had the opportunity to finish my essay and inflict it on the Blogosphere.

And aren't you grateful.

But I brought home the pullout Weekend section from the Friday Sun-Times, the section containing all of Mr. Ebert's reviews. I had a premonition I might need to cite the Step Brothers review.

I figured Youngest Son would be the one who'd lobby to see it first, since 15 is about the upper limit of the mentality that such a movie aims for.

But, as usual, I was wrong. Sunday afternoon Younger Daughter said she had made plans to see this movie with some friends. I pulled out the review and read it to her... and to an increasingly horrified Long Suffering Spouse.

The language used in the film, Ebert wrote, "would seem excessive in the men's room of a truck stop.... In its own tiny way, it lowers the civility of our civilization." And Mr. Ebert was equally as enamored of the violence in the film as he was of the language.

Long Suffering Spouse, as I'd hoped, put her foot down: Younger Daughter would not be allowed to go see this movie. The Death Glare from Younger Daughter did nothing to sway either Long Suffering Spouse or me. Middle Son and Youngest Son both tried to lobby on their sister's behalf: They were interested in seeing the movie, too. But we stood firm. A few minutes later, after Long Suffering Spouse left the room, Younger Daughter tried to bargain with me: If we would let her go see it with her friends, she said, she'd promise not to like it.

The bottom line: Younger Daughter did not go see Step Brothers yesterday. I have no illusions: I'm sure she'll see it at some point; she just won't tell us about it. Middle Son will see it too. They are both past 17 and can see R-rated movies whether we like it or not. But we struck a modest blow for civility yesterday and the children may -- some day -- come around to our point of view.

Next we'll go for the early bird special at the diner?

I don't see what the big deal is. Middle Son went to see the 10:50 showing of the new Batman movie Friday night; Long Suffering Spouse and I went to a 10:30 showing of Wall-E.

Of course, we went to a 10:30 a.m. showing over the weekend, and caught no end of grief for it.

My friend Steve and his wife chided Long Suffering Spouse and me after Mass on Sunday for acting old. Sure, I said, playing along, and then (I told him) we went out to eat. Did you know, I asked as innocently as possible, you can get a big discount in some places if you go there before 4:00 pm? Steve eventually stopped kidding me for acting old and instead began giving me grief as the last of the big-time spenders.

Middle Son also accused me of being cheap. I prefer to think of it as 'frugal.' OK, yes, the tickets were four bucks apiece before noon. Why should I pay $9 or whatever the evening price is when I can see what I want for $4? Plus, I'm far less likely to fall asleep during the day than during the evening. Shouldn't that count for something?

But the real crime that we apparently committed, at least in the children's eyes, was in turning off our cell phones during the movie.

Imagine: We were out of touch for perhaps two whole hours.

We did turn on our phones after leaving the theater, at which time both Long Suffering Spouse and I were both treated to a two-screen message, ENTIRELY IN CAPS, detailing Younger Daughter's proposed plans for the day, plans that were in imminent danger of falling through because we had gone incommunicado.

Can I help it if she wasn't awake before we left the house? She made the choice to sleep in... we just moved ahead in our day without her.

And Middle Son left a message on our home phone telling us where his game was that afternoon and also complaining, rather pointedly, that we should have left our phones on.

But this experience raises a question: Is it now become a crime in America to be out of instantaneous phone contact at any hour of the day or night?

Mel Brooks and Jack Benny Month -- and, yes, Your Honor, I can tie this up

It was a lazy Saturday morning in the Curmudgeon home. Long Suffering Spouse and I were channel surfing and -- it being too early for most of her contemporaries to be active -- Younger Daughter was sitting in the room with us.

We stopped clicking channels when we found Mel Brooks' "Robin Hood: Men in Tights."

I enjoy Mel Brooks. I find most of his films funny, if a tad... excessive. I think, for the most part, the Robin Hood parody stays more on the funny side than the excessive side. But there are... excesses.

It was the excesses in this film that made Younger Daughter uncomfortable. If you've seen the movie, you may recall the scene in the outlaws' camp where Robin serenades Maid Marian, standing behind a sheet for privacy, but the fortuitous placement of a campfire behind the couple projects their shadows on the sheet as if it were a movie screen... and the outlaws take seats in front of the screen, just as if they were in the theater. They guffaw when the shadow of Robin's sword might be confused with something else.... Younger Daughter wasn't uncomfortable with the sexual references in the film -- despite my active disapproval, or perhaps because of it, she watches MTV whenever she can. The current programming on MTV seems to consist of nothing but sexual references. I'm so old I can remember when MTV had music videos, some of which, a few anyway, could be watched by every member of the household. But I digress.

What made Younger Daughter uncomfortable was watching the sexual references in the same room with her parents. I know about her discomfort because she told us about it.

Now you know how I feel, I told her.

Fast forward now to Saturday afternoon.

I was fiddling with the computer when it came time for Chuck Shaden's "Those Were The Days" program. Locally, the program is broadcast on WDCB-FM, the College of DuPage radio station; the link takes you to the program website where you can listen to last week's program.

February is Jack Benny Month. (Were he alive today, Benny would be turning 39... again... on February 14.)

In the course of a four hour program, Shaden and Company will play four complete Benny episodes. I don't tune in for "Suspense" or "Little Orphan Annie" -- I want to hear Benny.

No one was in the room when I put the program on.

But as soon as Younger Daughter and Long Suffering Spouse heard it, they announced they were leaving. Long Suffering Spouse got angry with me about it. "I had to listen to that stuff at your parents' house," she told me, "and I did for their sake, but you know I can't stand it."

Yes, the audio quality is often poor. That makes it a challenge to listen -- sometimes it makes it painful to listen. The songs are dated. Cigarette commercials are anything but politically correct.

But Benny is still funny. And there are no crude references to embarrass any member of the family.

And it makes me sad to realize that there is nothing like him in the entertainment world today. Even prime-time TV is chock full of sexual and excretory references.

And those are just the commercials.

The folks who tuned in to Benny's radio program -- people of my parents' generation -- are a dwindling remnant. As these people leave us, these programs will be lost.

And we'll all have to watch TV in separate rooms.

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Mel Brooks, by the way, agrees with me about Jack Benny. Otherwise he wouldn't have remade the movie generally acclaimed as Benny's best. No, it wasn't "The Horn Blows at Midnight." A hearty virtual handshake and pat on the back to the first person who correctly names the movie that both Brooks and Benny made in the comments.

Holiday movie favorites: An Unscientifc Survey

Whilst sojourning at our home a week ago, Older Daughter's Boyfriend claimed not to have seen "Miracle on 34th Street". I immediately undertook to remedy this, although we were interrupted by the start of the Thanksgiving Day football schedule. Now that she knows, however, I'm certain that Older Daughter will take up the cause and make certain that he sees it all the way through.

And if he knows what's good for him, he'd better like it, too.

I know "Miracle" has been remade at least twice, but the original, with Maureen O'Hara, John Payne, Edmund Gwenn, and Natalie Wood, stands head and shoulders above the latter day imitations. In fact, I have arbitrarily assigned it the No. 1 position in my own Top 5 Christmas Movie list.

What a great movie: The lawyer's the good guy! Even opposing counsel (the prosecutor) is a good guy -- and so, too, the judge. (Hard to believe I'd like this, then, isn't it?) If you, like the Boyfriend, for some reason (perhaps you were raised by wolves?) haven't seen this movie, buy or rent it now.

The judge, by the way, was played by Gene Lockhart. He was June Lockhart's father. That would make him... Lassie's grandfather? (I wonder how young you can be and still get that joke. I probably wouldn't like the answer.)

Any Top 5 List like this is completely arbitrary and I'll probably disagree with it by next Christmas -- and maybe even this one -- but, if it serves as a starting spot for a stimulating discussion, why the heck not play along?

For no. 2 on the list, I recommend the original version of "Christmas in Connecticut" starring Barbara Stanwyck and Dennis Morgan.

The plot twists and turns agreeably until the principals get together, as they must, in any good comedy.

But, for me, the movie succeeds because of the performances of the wonderful character actors, such as S.Z. "Cuddles" Sakall and Sydney Greenstreet. Yes, they were both in "Casablanca" as well (my nominee for greatest movie of all time), Sakall as Carl, the German headwaiter, and Greenstreet as Signor Ferrari. And Greenstreet was Kasper Gutman -- the Fat Man -- in "The Maltese Falcon". It's Sakall who steals the show in "Christmas in Connecticut" as Uncle Felix, who isn't Barbara Stanwyck's uncle at all.

If you buy or rent this movie, I'm pretty certain you'll agree it's "hunky-dunky."









No. 3 on my list is "The Bishop's Wife", with David Niven, Loretta Young, and Cary Grant.

Our kids were confused by this one, when they were younger, since they knew that Catholic bishops do not marry. They got over it.

It's hard to imagine, but David Niven is actually ruffled in this movie, even a tad flustered, as an overstressed bishop who prays for help in erecting a new cathedral and receives instead Cary Grant -- who seems to have a very un-angelic interest in Loretta Young. This may be Long Suffering Spouse's favorite Christmas movie. (Another of her favorites would be "My Favorite Wife," with Cary Grant, Randolph Scott and Irene Dunne. There's a great role for a judge in that movie, too -- played by Granville Bates -- as well as a Christmas ending... although it doesn't end on Christmas....)

The principals can't be upstaged in "The Bishop's Wife," but the supporting cast sure tries. I particularly like Monty Woolley as the old professor and James Gleason as Sylvester, the cab driver. Gleason you may remember as Max Corkle in "Here Comes Mr. Jordan" (later remade as "Heaven Can Wait") or for his parts in two great Frank Capra movies, "Aresenic and Old Lace" and "Meet John Doe".

"Meet John Doe," by the way, is a very dark movie, especially by comparison to Capra's "It's a Wonderful Life" -- which isn't on this list, but only because it's been done to death. "John Doe" seems to have slipped into the public domain, just as "Wonderful Life" did a few years back. That's when it was on one TV station or another all night long on Christmas Eve.

And just to contradict myself, I'll nominate as no. 4 on my list, a movie that is shown continuously every Christmas Day -- all day long -- "A Christmas Story".

Consistency, I remind you, is the hobgoblin of little minds.

I admit, however, that it wears on me by Christmas afternoon... when the kids are watching it for the sixth time. But still -- the first three or four times you see it every year -- it's great.

There are so many other wonderful Christmas movies, but I may have overstayed my welcome in the Golden Age of Hollywood... so for No. 5 I'll go with Bill Murray in "Scrooged".

That's Carol Kane here with Bill Murray. Kane plays a most unorthodox Ghost of Christmas Present.

I think of "Scrooged" as a cross between "Newtwork" and "A Christmas Carol." And no antlers were actually stapled on any mice during the course of the filming of this movie.

Now I turn it to you: What unforgivable omissions have I made? What are your top 5?

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Note: The still from "The Bishop's Wife" was taken from this site which offers stills for sale... presumably without the 'www.carygrant.net' overlay.

Sight seen recently along Clark Street

The movie trailers which were parked on a lot only a block or so from my Undisclosed Location are gone now. Those were for The Dark Knight, that being the working title of the latest installment in the Batman franchise. That movie was filming here in Chicago for months.

I saw these trailers parked a couple of days ago as I was running errands in the Loop.

This is taken from Monroe Street looking south on Clark, toward Adams. At the far end of this line of trailers, presumably invisible even to persons with good eyesight, was a tall, middle-aged man, wearing a jacket with a walkie-talkie clipped on and looking -- well -- kind of bored.

I asked him what movie these were for and he told me, in a voice that left little doubt that he'd answered this question far too often already, that the movie being filed was Family Practice, a made for TV movie starring Anne Archer and Beau Bridges.

In the movie (according to IMDb), the City of Chicago will play the part of Philadelphia.

No casting director approached me as I loitered in the street.

More about AFI's Top 100 Movies -- or -- One time my mother clobbered me

In the post below you'll find the American Film Institute's list of the top 100 movies of all time.

The Sound of Music makes the list at No. 40.

This was my late mother's favorite movie. I haven't seen it in 30 years or more -- and I still know the words to all the songs.

I remember, as a kid, going to the Coral Theater on 95th Street in Oak Lawn to see The Sound of Music. My mother took me several times. I want to say dozens of times... but I'm sure that's an exaggeration.

I became thoroughly sick and tired of that movie -- to the point where, as the von Trapps are fleeing the music festival with the Nazis in hot pursuit, well, I wasn't exactly rooting for the Germans... but I sure was hoping that they'd catch the family -- just this once.

My mother said we had to go see this movie; "otherwise," she said, "they'll never make another decent family picture."

"Mom," I said, "why should they bother? We're still seeing this one."

And then she clobbered me.

Maybe I had it coming.

And maybe they didn't make another decent family movie -- until Pixar came along with Toy Story. And every movie they've made since.