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Josh Brolin: "Whalefall"

 I once knew a "child of suicide." This young man had not yet finished high school; however, his father had opted to jump ship. When we talk about suicide, we're not supposed to choose verbs that imply a sense of agency. Not "commit" suicide. Instead: "die by suicide." The idea is that you're in a burning room at the top of a skyscraper--and the options are sealing themselves off--and so, at a certain point, it would seem insane *not* to plunge to your death. In "Whalefall," Josh Brolin is troubled. One critic says the Brolin character suffers from "toxic masculinity," but there is nothing notably masculine about the Brolin character. It might be better to say that he is just toxic. Austin Abrams, Brolin's son, tries not to upset the sleeping dragon. But battles are inevitable. In one scene I like, Brolin has issued a sloppy half-invitation, and Abrams has replied with a sloppy half-deferral. The problem of non-communication...
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On Kelly Clarkson

  My world is Kelly Clarkson. Everything is Kelly Clarkson. To re-cap, Clarkson went into a store in Brooklyn and understood the vendor's tone to be snotty. She then posted on social media about the rudeness. But--being a celebrity--she unwittingly activated a mob of millions of people who subsequently attacked the Brooklyn store. And now the Brooklyn store is attempting to play the role of victim (and not the other way around). I love this story. We're not supposed to make assumptions--but I'm going to make assumptions. The Brooklyn vendor was, in fact, rude (and we can't tell in the video because the sound is off, obviously so much in life is about tone, intonation). Clarkson was also having an iffy day--and, having grown up in Fort Worth, she was feeling particularly impatient with the default semi-rudeness that you are likely to find at *more than one* tiny Brooklyn shop counter. Having grown up in Buffalo, I personally feel something like rage whenever a New York C...

Storytelling

Amy Bloom writes about Karen Pirie, Poirot, and Peter Wimsey, and these characters would be ideal "college essay" narrators: What all of these people have in common is curiosity and intelligence and an impressive, sometimes awkward, perseverance. Some of them are self-aware (to make any monster no longer a monster, give him or her some self-awareness), and some are not, and some pretend not to be, but we see that they know who they are or, at least, what they have done, in the quiet moments and the musing after the event, whether the event is homicidal or sexual. Many high-school seniors shy away from self-awareness in their essays; the writers believe that conceding a flaw would be an unappealing choice (when, in fact, it is a *very* appealing choice). Some people might wish for the perfect protagonist, but it’d be hard to get any of those people to agree on what the perfect protagonist should be. Do we all want beautiful or genius? Beauty or extreme handsomeness can be off-...

My Favorite Music Video

  My favorite music video is for the Whitney Houston "Higher Love" remix. A few things it does right: *It is pure sex. It would be difficult to imagine a hotter, more joyful music video. *It is not thuddingly literal. Too often, music video directors feel a need to underline each and every lyric. If there is a metaphor involving a sunrise, we see an actual sunrise. "Higher Love" avoids this trap. *It's a thoughtful tribute to Whitney. The costumes are an allusion to "I Wanna Dance With Somebody"--and we in fact see that video on a small TV screen for approximately three seconds. This feels appropriate--not sappy or overly reverent. A light touch. Five stars, no notes. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JR49dyo-y0E&list=RDJR49dyo-y0E&start_radio=1

Jessica Chastain: "Other Mommy"

 Yes, it's a bad movie. But it's not terrible. In a way, it *profits* from the negative reviews--you see the film and anticipate a trainwreck. And it's just a car wreck, so you're pleasantly surprised. A grand tradition of storytelling involves children attempting to piece together the truth from various fragments that adults provide. The main text is Henry James's "What Maisie Knew" (with a strong film adaptation featuring Julianne Moore). You also have the Culkin character in "You Can Count on Me." You have Maile Meloy's excellent story "Red From Green." Mona Simpson's "Casebook" belongs in this discussion. Plus Jesse Eisenberg's galvanizing performance in "The Squid and the Whale." "Other Mommy" features a little girl--a young actor asked to do a bit too much. As others have noted, it's hard to spend so much time with a child actor when you know Jessica Chastain and Arian Moayed are in th...

Family Counseling

 In Lorrie Moore's famous story about pediatric oncology, Moore encourages the other parents (people she finds in a hospital waiting room) to tell *their* own worst stories. "Hit me--hit your hardest." My group, Autism Moms, has a standout. She recently had a ruptured aneurysm; she believes that stress didn't help the situation. In her account of her life, her ex-husband refuses to read about autism; he believes that the daughter in question will "learn" if the stakes feel threatening and punitive. He uses corporal punishment; the family judge says it's OK, because "it's not like he is beating anyone senseless." The dad has made noises about weaponizing Child Protective Services; if the mom isn't compliant with certain wishes, CPS might need to get involved. The mom is frightened when the daughter gets violent--it's difficult to manage this if you're alone in the house with the child. As I listen, I have two strong reactions. On...

The Art of the Essay

  The extraordinary paragraph featured here is from Donald Hall's essay "Out the Window." Hall--having spied his ninetieth birthday on the horizon--had committed himself to writing prose. We don't get many books from octogenarians. In fact, Lorrie Moore has specifically said that she thinks a writer's career ends at the eightieth birthday; "I have turf until I turn eighty, and then I need to cede my spot." This is nonsense--and Donald Hall enjoys taking on the contrarian role. It's clear throughout the essay that he is writing  as an act of service --he knows there are not many literary reports from the pen of a "post-post-retirement" man, and he is filling a gap. I'm especially moved by his descriptions of his mother. The subtext is evident: "This, now, is what it was like for her. This is what she couldn't find words for. This is what she couldn't tell me." A writer has to recognize shame as an opportunity. Most of u...