Liars and Saints

Here, Martha is rushing along too fast, and she drops her gift for George's birthday (a book). The book slides out of a picnic basket, and Martha doesn't notice. Later, struggling for a quick replacement, Martha hands George a wacky self-portrait, one from a photo booth. She expects George will swoon (she doesn’t recognize how goofy and distorted the photo is, and instead feels blinded by her own beauty).  George doesn’t swoon; he (appropriately) chuckles. He knows that this is an absurd photo. Martha gasps; she feels startled by George’s reaction; she begins to see the truth in George’s response; she, too, laughs at the photo. Which is something a friend can do for a friend: George can teach Martha to laugh at herself. “The Gift”—the title—seems to refer to Martha’s gift to George, but it also refers to George’s gift to Martha. George gives Martha a chance for self-mockery, self-deprecation (always an appealing trait). Self-mockery is something that keeps us all

Rendell, "A Spot of Folly." Ruth Rendell wrote a million crime novels before dying in 2015; people said she was a literary genius, and her fans included Joyce Carol Oates, Toni Morrison, and Ian Rankin. A few years after her death, her publishers collected ten of her tales—“tales of murder and mayhem”—and repackaged them as a collection, “A Spot of Folly.” As far as I know, you can’t easily get this book in America. You have to search for a European edition. It’s worth the search. Folly is Rendell’s main theme, basically always; she is deeply interested in the silliness of human behavior. Even a ghost story, in Rendell’s hands, is a chance to comment on “folly.” Here’s an example, a three-sentence tale from the start of the anthology: Alone in the four-poster, she glanced up from her book and saw in the mirror a little old woman sitting beside her. She shut her eyes, looked again, saw an empty bed, neatly made with fresh linen. The hotel staff, summoned by

Wading into the "Cats" discussion.... My husband and my mother both say they liked this film, and that's a fact I'm struggling to digest. That said, I don't actually think it's the apocalyptic disaster that various tweeters have invented in their memories. It's a not-good adaptation of a not-good musical with a few moments of cleverness. Specifically: *Giving octogenarian legend Judi Dench vast swaths of screen time is always a smart idea. Dench does her dignified, twinkly act, here, and it's charming. It's especially fun to see her opposite Ian McKellan; these two have obvious, infectious chemistry. *Ian McKellan himself is the reason to make it through the first hour. Actors talk about "lightning in a bottle moments": a scene where an actor captures a truth about the human condition, almost casually, without a sense of laboriousness. McKellan gives this movie its one true "lightning in a bottle" moment: An aging

Martha kicks ass on the tightrope, and George--like any other sentient being--feels moved to express his admiration. But he goes too far. "I could never do that," he says. "I'd freak out and fall." Martha--suddenly self-conscious and terrified--begins to teeter and shake. And George--newly aware that words sometimes have unintended consequences, and lives of their own--changes his approach. "I can see you love what you're doing, and you're bound to excel when you have a real passion." Martha--now puffed-up--resumes kicking ass. She has a vote of confidence; this is all she needs. So much of the George and Martha library is about measuring words; James Marshall seems to be saying, continuously, "It's entirely TOO FACILE to claim that honesty is always the best policy." This is quietly subversive, and it's profound. And is there a dash of autobiography? I wonder if Marshall felt a bit overwhelmed by the insta

"Richard Jewell" is a movie about passivity and misplaced deference. The hero is wrongly implicated in a bombing. But the hero really loves The System. He wants to help the (nefarious) FBI. He continuously calls people "Sir." He signs on for things he shouldn't sign on for: recording fake terrorist messages, participating in a shady interrogation, being verbally bullied over and over. Jewell's lawyer tries to help him. "Speak up!" "Summon your righteousness!" Jewell finds his voice in the eleventh hour, delivers a well-placed FUCK YOU to a fictional government troll (in the form of Jon Hamm), and reclaims at least some portions of his (thoroughly-wrecked) life. This is a movie that left me in tears. A note about Clint Eastwood and women: No one would make the mistake of anticipating gender-themed thoughtfulness from Mr. Eastwood. The guy is sort of a doofus, and he is 9,000 years old. When paired with American legend Amy Adam

For "Little Shop" Fanatics: *One thing I particularly like is Howard Ashman's way of inhabiting a character. Seemingly "throwaway* lyrics turn out to be revealing. Audrey II wants to tempt Seymour to complete a killing: "I swear on all my spores! When he's gone....the world will be yours...." (We catch our breath. Yes, the plant from outer space has SPORES!) "A little nookie gonna clean up your zits," says Audrey II, and we pause and consider the fact that, yes, Seymour--surely not in great health, and not familiar with the basics of self-care--might have less-than-Brad-Pitt-esque skin. (I wish that the off-Broadway director had been brave enough to give Jonathan Groff fake zits.) *The thrill of this current production is seeing three stars having fun. The stand-out, of course, is Christian Borle. It's hard to put into words what he is doing. He seems to have a zany "interior life": Even when a character of his is

A.R. Ammons wrote a poem without metaphor, without rhyme, without allusions: One can't have it both ways and both ways is the only way I want it. It's a poem about ambivalence. The speaker both would, and wouldn't, like a certain thing. The speaker acknowledges this, and also admits that conflicting desires make for an uncomfortable situation. ("One can't have it both ways.") I think this is a funny poem, and I think it's funny because of the word "and." We're *not* reading this sentence: "One can't have it both ways, but both ways is the only way I want it." We're *not* reading this sentence: "One can't have it both ways, and yet both ways is the only way I want it." Ammons doesn't give us a comma, and his choice of conjunction doesn't underline or spell out the fact that the two halves of the poem are in tension (a "but" would accomplish that). By leaving

A George and Martha story I particularly love is "The Beach." I love--most--the stories that don't have several twists. The ones that are sort of quiet and linear are the ones that (at least sometimes) seem closest to life. In "The Beach," Martha refuses to stop and apply sunscreen. She is having too much fun. "Please wear sunscreen," says George. "Oh, poo!" And George tries again: "You will be sorry...." And Martha scoffs, and ignores her friend. Up till now, we have been having fun with the hippos. They're hippos in bathing suits! They're hippos on a beach! But the harsh light of morning arrives. Martha is terribly burned; she is in pain. And the crux of the story: George, tempted to rub salt in a wound, instead holds his tongue. He will not express his exasperation. Because "that's not what friends are for." This is a children's story, but it could also be a scene from &qu

There's a poem by Ammons: One can't have it both ways and both ways is  the only way I  want it. Ambivalence is the human condition, and that's consistently on display in "Gloria Bell." Our title character complains to a woman administering a "wax"--OW! OWWW!!!--and yet, in the next moment, Gloria is requesting further pain. ("A little more off the sides....please....") When advised not to call her (terrible) boyfriend again, Gloria says, "I won't," in a noble, serious way, and it's very clear that she is really saying I WILL! I WILL!!!! "I said I quit smoking," says our heroine, as she lights up a new cigarette. Gloria is (intermittently) a wreck, a mess. Gloria, c'est moi! At a certain point in a career, an artist can be taken for granted. This is sometimes called the Meryl Streep Phenomenon (in reference to the many, many years Meryl went between her two most recent Academy Award wins). That s

One thing that is lost--absurdly--in the Ashman "Little Shop" movie is a sense of anti-capitalism. You see the anti-capitalist streak really clearly in the Ashman stage musical. Before Audrey dies, Seymour asks her if she would have loved him *without* all the velvet and fur and glitz. And Audrey says, "Yes, of course." So the death of Audrey then feels especially senseless and brutal. I imagine Hollywood producers told Ashman, "You can't kill off Audrey"--and so, in the movie, the story pretty quickly loses its sting. People don't get angry about the sloppy second half of the film adaptation of Ashman's work. People should get angry. The movie also tosses to the trash a big part of one of Ashman's best numbers: They say the meek shall inherit.... You know the Book doesn't lie.... It's not a question of merit.... It's not demand and supply.... This is a strange, strange moment. The Biblical idea of "the meek in

A new study of domestic violence, "No Visible Bruises," proves, beyond doubt, that one of the most dangerous spots in America (for a woman) is a woman's own home. Edward St. Aubyn--born into enormous privilege--was raped by his father and abandoned by his mother, and he became an addict before he could drive. In "The Crown," we see, again and again, brutality among the Windsors: parents silencing their children, siblings throwing one another to the wolves. It's in this tradition that "Succession," on HBO, seems to operate. People say it's unwatchable because the characters are so despicable--but I think despicable characters are fine. What's unacceptable is a *boring* character. Also, I think it's important for a writer to have compassion for his characters--awful though they may be--and it seems that someone running "Succession" *does* feel something for these lizard-people. We can sort of understand why the g

One of the most effective Broadway Christmas songs is the opening of "Godspell," which has John the Baptist singing, over and over: Prepare ye the way of the Lord. Short and sweet and to the point. You see Christmas again, on Broadway, in "Promises, Promises," in a more secular form: a party, where the chorus sings "Turkey Lurkey Time." Bock and Harnick handle Christmas in a smarter, deeper way--no surprise--and it's striking that the authors of "Fiddler on the Roof" would also have crafted a memorable Christmas scene. (But, then, Irving Berlin wrote "White Christmas" .....) Bock and Harnick use Christmas to make some sociological observations, in "Twelve Days to Christmas," from "She Loves Me": Workers in a perfume shop note the different personalities among shoppers, and these personality differences are underlined by setting. A person who shops for gifts on December 1st is different--in, maybe, every

At Christmas, it's nice to remember Maile Meloy's story, "O Tannenbaum": It was a fine tree, Everett's daughter agreed. His wife said it was lopsided and looked like a bush. But that was part of its fineness--it was a tall, lopsided Douglas fir, bare on one side where it had crowded out its neighbor. The branchless side could go against the living room wall, the bushy side was for decorations, and now the crowded tree in the woods had room to grow. Everett dragged their find through the snow by the trunk, and Anne Marie, who was four, clung to the upper branches and rode on her stomach, shouting, "Faster, Daddy!" What a way to establish a mood! Everett's wife maybe has a point about the tree, but Everett isn't really listening; we might wonder if this is a marriage with staying power. (And does Everett possibly identify with the "crowded" tree in need of "room to grow"?) It's also striking that the prize tree has two

James Marshall has a "spoonful of sugar" approach. His George and Martha stories often have morals--"don't snoop and don't be selfish" (noted by critic Amy Bloom), "don't be nasty and punitive," "don't rub salt in a wound"--but, despite the morals, there is a lunacy, there is a sense of absurdity, that keeps things light. Even when you're taking your medicine, you're also seeing images of hippos in bathing suits, images of hippos in berets, hippos on roller skates. (My favorite drawing has Martha the scientist inspecting a flea, beneath a framed photo of a black dot, labeled, "FLEA.") The lunacy is the spoonful of sugar. So many fairy tales present the prince as the grand prize, the climax, so we don't actually get to see an ongoing relationship. But, BEFORE Marshall's stories start, Martha has already met her prince. The George and Martha stories are what happens "after the knot is tied.

I really liked McDermid's bizarre and grisly new novel, "How the Dead Speak." A story is nothing without great characters, and McDermid gives us: *Sadistic nuns, possibly murdering young girls and burying them in unmarked graves. *A woman at war with PTSD, discovering she has a strong, creepy urge "to bully." *A convicted murderer, hoping to introduce mindfulness training to his (wary) fellow inmates. McDermid is an inspiration because she has been so creative for so long. The new novel has bits of a fictional "memoir" from the invented character, Tony Hill; it has a climax that hinges on cutting-edge technology that is capable of finding "invisible ghosts" of bloodstains on certain fabrics; it has the compelling sadist, "Vanessa," in a wacky revenge subplot. I thought the ending was hasty. But: no matter. I'll keep returning to this author, who is like a smarter and more-graceful version of Stephen King. Your thoughts?

People think of Sondheim as being a bit frigid, but recall the love songs he has produced: "It Takes Two," "Johanna," "Not a Day Goes By," "Move On," "Loving You," "Tonight." My favorite is "With So Little to Be Sure Of," which is sung on the occasion of two lovers parting (for complex reasons): With so little to be sure of.... If there's anything at all.... If there's anything at all.... I'm sure of here and now and us together. Leave it to Sondheim to emphasize how scary and fragile life is, even in a love song! Emphasis so strong, it requires a repeated line ("If there's anything at all.....") All I'll ever be I owe you.... If there's anything to be.... Being sure enough of you.... Makes me sure enough of me.... My favorite lines in the song. Watch how his mind zigs and zags. It's possible we aren't really anything in this world ("If th

James Marshall's "The Garden" has George hatching a plot. George wants to help Martha grow a garden (she can't do it), so he goes to the florist and buys cut tulips. He jams the tulips into the ground. (This is right up there, in terms of lunacy, with George's wacky disguise, in "The Disguise.") Martha, once again, matches George's strangeness: Spotting her friend in the middle of his plot, Martha does not get annoyed. She does not get impatient with George's dense nature. Instead, she is moved by George's generosity, and she declares her love: "I'd rather have *you* than all the gardens in the world." Once again: Romance, subtext, suspense, and humor are packed into nine or ten lines. And we have another title with a (possible) double meaning: We might think "The Garden" refers to a literal garden, but maybe it refers to the beautiful thing that Martha and George have cultivated together, i.e. the hippos'

My confession about social anxiety: Often, I feel it so intensely that I just eat non-stop for the duration of whatever event I'm at. It's not that food is especially appealing, after a while; it's just that the mechanical act of putting a thing in one hand, then shoveling it down the esophagus, keeps me somewhat stable. This sounds insane, but maybe it's not so uncommon. The special hell of a bad social interaction is captured really well--unforgettably--in Woody Allen's "Midnight in Paris." In that movie, the Michael Sheen character handles anxiety by launching into didactic speeches at every possible moment. ("If I'm not mistaken, she was Rodin's mistress...." "If I'm not mistaken, this is Picasso's finest portrait....") You laugh because you have been there; everyone in the scene is suffering, and no one in the scene can name the problem. (I'd argue that Allen has empathy for most, if not all, of his characte

Reading the new history of the IRA, I thought of a passage from Calvin Trillin's "Killings." In "Killings," two neighbors become involved in an endless feud. It's a feud about a very tiny piece of land. The feud ends with one neighbor shooting and murdering the other neighbor. As someone else in the town said, "Both parties were wrong. Everything could have ended if someone had said, I was wrong and I'm sorry ." The byzantine struggles between the Irish and the English are so complex and so tricky to follow. The English were brutal. Relentlessly brutal. The IRA responded by becoming brutal. Relentlessly brutal. The stink of evil is on both parties. An iconic photo from the era of the Troubles seems to suggest how awful and how infectious the evil was: A priest kneels by the corpse of a murdered Irishman, and the man's blood is now on the priest's lips, like a ghoulish kind of lipstick, because the priest has attempted (and failed a

Revisiting "A Charlie Brown Christmas," I was struck by a few things: *The mystery of the tree. CB picks a shoddy tree, but after the kids surround it and primp it, it seems to be transformed. It actually seems to become a different tree. This isn't explained. Is this some kind of allusion to the miracle of the wine and the loaves? Or is the artist suggesting that perspective means everything? (A tree, from varying angles, is more than just one tree; it has more than one personality.) This is so strange.... *When Lucy the therapist understands that she has a paying customer, she changes her sign. It no longer says, "The Doctor Is Out." It now says: "The Doctor Is REAL IN." (What does that REAL mean? Is it meant to mean, " I'm REALLY, REALLY in....I'm excited about your money, and I'm SO in right now.... ") I can't tell you how much that "Real" has puzzled me, year after year after year.... *The high point, for

The book review podcast argues that this past year was exceptionally strong for non-fiction. Critics say, "If NO VISIBLE BRUISES sounds like a take your medicine read, just try the first few pages. Then see if you can put it down." A critic also addresses the idea that there's something gruesome or untoward about reading a history of domestic violence. The critic says, "When someone asks me HOW CAN YOU READ THAT? ...I just say HOW COULD I *NOT* READ THAT?" Fair point. At the end of the podcast, critics speak about some personal favorites, books that inspired ardor even if they weren't granted a "top ten" spot. The ones that called out to me are: "Nothing to See Here" (Wilson), "Know My Name" (the Stanford memoir), "The Body in Question" (literary fiction by Jill Ciment), and "The Last Whalers." It's striking that some books that seemed big did not actually make the top-100 cut: Jami Attenberg'

"The French Lesson" is a game of cat and mouse. But who is the mouse, and who is the cat? As in many other cases, George *seems* to be the cat. He lures Martha toward a "trap." He wants to kiss, so he asks--with faux-innocence--HOW DO YOU SAY GIVE ME A KISS IN FRENCH? Martha gives the answer. A request! George must honor the request. He kisses Martha. And the tables turn. Martha is, in fact, NOT the mouse. She is the cat. "Tee hee," she says. "I *knew* you were going to do that." And the curtain falls. Suspense, disguise, a shifting power balance: All within nine or ten lines about two daffy hippos. Also, yet again, the title "The French Lesson" seems to have a double meaning: This is a "lesson" about language, yes, but it's also a lesson about subtext and hidden agendas. I still promise to return to the world of adult characters. One day. But a masterpiece is a masterpiece. Attention must be paid!

One thing I hadn't fully expected was the love affair between my father and my infant son. Joshua is a charmer; he loves everyone. But my father is more reserved. That's why it's a surprise--repeatedly--to hear my father's audible gasp when Josh pops up on the FaceTime screen. Then it's as if everyone but Joshua disappears. As various adults chat and chat about, say, Linda Ronstadt's current health, or the drama surrounding a night nurse, my father fixates on his grandson. Sometimes, he forgets to pretend that he knows an adult conversation is occurring, and he begins making a shrill whistle sound, to get Joshua's attention. At other times, my father's dry humor comes out. I notice this right away; I'm not sure everyone sees it. My father, on his grandson's upcoming visit to Buffalo: "I'm making arrangements for the Mandarin tutor....." My father, on whether he will part with Joshua after the Buffalo visit: "That'

In "The Disguise," George the hippo wears a disguise. It's hardly effective. You would need to be seriously impaired not to recognize George (though George thinks he has done something brilliant). This, alone, is delightful and bizarre. But Martha's behavior is just as notable; instead of telling George the blunt truth, she notes her friend's sensitivity and says, "I'd never guess it was you if it weren't for your bright, smiling eyes. It's just the eyes that give things away...."   A white lie, and such a statement of love. George--pleased with himself--gives Martha a grin. And the two friends pass some time together. Rising action, climax, resolution; well-oiled plot, wacky characters. All in approximately ten sentences, or fewer..... P.S. It seems the title, "The Disguise," is double-edged. George wears a disguise. But Martha also "wears a disguise." Her disguise is her white lie.

When I watch "The Crown," it's hard for me not to think about "windows and mirrors." This approach to English education says a book shows us windows: It allows us to see other cultures. A book also shows us mirrors: It allows us to see *ourselves* more clearly. The Royals: They are NOT just like us! They own islands. They meet LBJ. They meet the moonwalkers. Their dalliances are splashed across newspapers. The Royals: They are JUST LIKE US! They have tender moments with their siblings. They bicker with their spouses. They struggle to detach from their parents. I found moments exasperating. "Moondust" represents "The Crown" in its most aimless and most self-indulgent phase: an episode that seemed to go on forever, and that led me to ask, over and over, WHO CARES??? And why did Peter Morgan feel a need to invent a Wales story line--involving Prince Charles--that never actually happened? (Lazy and inexcusable, and Hilary Mantel is n

In what way do "Frozen" and its franchise differ from several other Disney musicals? The lyricist is a woman. Before, we had Howard Ashman, Tim Rice, Stephen Schwartz. Now: Kristen Anderson-Lopez. It's likely Ms. Anderson-Lopez is well aware of the tradition she is entering. "Into the Unknown," the big anthem from "Frozen II," is a rewrite of Stephen Schwartz's "Around the Riverbend." (Even the titles--Preposition plus THE plus Noun--are similar.) In "Riverbend" (the best song from "Pocahontas"), our title character wonders what life holds for her. Will she stick with her man, a man society has assigned to her? Or will she pursue a different adventure? Pocahontas is in a kind of dialogue with her "Dreamgiver," which nudges her along, a voice that encourages rebellion. In "Frozen II," Elsa listens--and argues with--a Secret Siren, a voice nudging her along, encouraging (you guessed it)

A favorite bit of Sondheim farce: Ms. Sara Jane Moore, who will go on to try to kill President Gerald Ford, sings to us about her firearm..... I got this really great gun! Shit....Where is it? No, it’s really great! Wait! Shit....Where is it? Anyway, it’s just a thirty-eight.... But....with a gun... You can make a statement... Even if you fail.... This one was on sale! Moore realizes she is holding a shoe, and not a gun. But--“actually”--the shoe was *also* on sale. You feel like you know Moore; you know someone who is as scatterbrained as she is. And character is established through action: What would someone so troubled end up doing? She would lose her gun in her purse, and become distracted by memories about her shoe. Hilary Mantel has said, when she is having trouble inventing a scene, she imagines the protagonist entering her office and sitting in a chair. Something about that act--dreaming up the physical steps involved in entering a room and sitting in a chair--he

“A Charlie Brown Christmas” airs Thursday ..... so get ready. A few thoughts: *This is the first of the holiday specials, and it’s the best, if you ask me. I think that mainly because of the Vince Guaraldi score. I especially like the weirdly sad anthem, “Christmastime Is Here.” That’s the music of my childhood. *There’s tension throughout the episode between crass materialism and a wish for something transcendent. Sally writes to Santa: “Just send money.” A Christmas decoration contest has ads that start with this line: “Win money, money, money!” It’s worth noting that Charlie Brown, in his resistance to all of this, is genuinely irritating. He is drawn to neurotic self-sabotage. When he buys a crappy tree, and the tree falls apart, he more or less admits, “I *knew* this was going to happen.” It’s the resident philosopher Linus--less crazy than Charlie, at least in this half hour--who saves the day and reminds everyone about “peace and good will toward men.” (A useful reminder

It’s a downer to think about the week ahead, after a long weekend, but I’m happy to know that the following titles are on the way: * Scott Spencer, “An Ocean without a Shore.” Spencer is past seventy; this guy just loves writing. He is known for having “literary cred” while still telling juicy stories. Big things actually happen in his novels. * Val McDermid, “How the Dead Speak.” This one comes out in a few days. McDermid has two protagonists, and they love each other, but they can’t act on their love; one, the victim of childhood abuse, can’t have normal romantic relationships. The other is struggling with alcohol after the murder of her brother. In “Insidious Intent,” the most recent Tony Hill novel from McDermid, a major character killed someone in cold blood. This was shocking; no one could have anticipated that the character would act this way. I’m curious to see how McDermid digs herself out of the narrative hole she has created--maybe the biggest narrative hole in her lon