**Imelda Staunton is riveting in the Amazon Prime $2.99 rental, "Gypsy." Big surprise. What is genuinely notable is how moving Louise is.
The director seems to have chosen an actress specifically meant to evoke thoughts of Laura Benanti (smart move). I was especially touched--and unnerved--by "Little Lamb," in which Louise, normally a picture of stillness and quiet, hints at her inner life. She suggests to us that she has dreams of escape. She does this by singing--creepily--to her stuffed animals. Everything about the moment is deliberately "off"; Louise is too old to be doing this. "Will I get my wish?" Louise asks, of a stuffed fish, and we're left to infer what that wish might be. Famously, the song ends: "Little lamb, little lamb....I wonder how old I am...." and we're struck by the realization that life under Rose's thumb means not even knowing how old you are. It's like a moment from Catherine Keener's "An American Crime"--but transplanted to the Broadway musical stage. Unforgettable.
**"Clock Dance" ends as beautifully as it begins, with this bit of figurative language: "She sees herself as a tiny skirted figure like the silhouette on a ladies' room door, skimming the curve of the earth as it sails through space." Perfect. The use of the present tense, the surprising injection of hope, and the godlike quality of the narrator's voice all make me think of the end of Alice Munro's "Floating Bridge"--with its moment of "tender hilarity." I suspect this may be intentional. Tyler almost won the Booker Prize a few years ago, despite having been around for decades, and having insistently revisited the "quiet" world of domestic family life. (We're talking about "A Spool of Blue Thread.") No one asked me--but if I were a judge, I would have given the award to Tyler.
**One of the great pleasures of "Younger" is its commentary on the publishing industry. There is indeed a thing called "sick lit"--where teenagers read about dying fictional teenagers. At fifteen, we seem to want, very much, to wallow in melodrama about death. I love how "Younger" makes use of this weirdness: "Why not have the high-school prom TRAVEL TO the center that offers Hospice care?" Best line of Season Two--so far.
**Sometimes, the NYTimes publishes pieces that could be subtitled "How to Be a Human Being." One appeared, recently, and it's a beauty. It's about what *not* to say when your friend suffers a major loss. Some wonderful, painful missteps: "At least you have your health." And: "God only gives us what we can handle." And the fabulously lazy and irritating: "Just let me know what I can do."
I love this kind of piece because I'm sure I'm guilty of all the sins described, and because the pieces tend to end on a helpful note. (How to handle a friend's loss? "I'm sorry, and I'm here to listen when you want to talk.") Also, a part of me approaches any etiquette guide or self-help tome as if it were a novel in waiting--and I'd really love for someone to take this piece and find a germ of fiction in it. This was done for "He's Just Not That Into You." Why not a movie called: "Let Me Know What I Can Do to Help" ...?????
P.S. Regarding a friend's mourning: Bring food. And drinks. Don't talk about *possible* food. Don't ask questions about *hypothetical* food. Just seal your lips, open your ears, and arrive with warm, good food--and alcohol. Thanks, NYT!
The director seems to have chosen an actress specifically meant to evoke thoughts of Laura Benanti (smart move). I was especially touched--and unnerved--by "Little Lamb," in which Louise, normally a picture of stillness and quiet, hints at her inner life. She suggests to us that she has dreams of escape. She does this by singing--creepily--to her stuffed animals. Everything about the moment is deliberately "off"; Louise is too old to be doing this. "Will I get my wish?" Louise asks, of a stuffed fish, and we're left to infer what that wish might be. Famously, the song ends: "Little lamb, little lamb....I wonder how old I am...." and we're struck by the realization that life under Rose's thumb means not even knowing how old you are. It's like a moment from Catherine Keener's "An American Crime"--but transplanted to the Broadway musical stage. Unforgettable.
**"Clock Dance" ends as beautifully as it begins, with this bit of figurative language: "She sees herself as a tiny skirted figure like the silhouette on a ladies' room door, skimming the curve of the earth as it sails through space." Perfect. The use of the present tense, the surprising injection of hope, and the godlike quality of the narrator's voice all make me think of the end of Alice Munro's "Floating Bridge"--with its moment of "tender hilarity." I suspect this may be intentional. Tyler almost won the Booker Prize a few years ago, despite having been around for decades, and having insistently revisited the "quiet" world of domestic family life. (We're talking about "A Spool of Blue Thread.") No one asked me--but if I were a judge, I would have given the award to Tyler.
**One of the great pleasures of "Younger" is its commentary on the publishing industry. There is indeed a thing called "sick lit"--where teenagers read about dying fictional teenagers. At fifteen, we seem to want, very much, to wallow in melodrama about death. I love how "Younger" makes use of this weirdness: "Why not have the high-school prom TRAVEL TO the center that offers Hospice care?" Best line of Season Two--so far.
**Sometimes, the NYTimes publishes pieces that could be subtitled "How to Be a Human Being." One appeared, recently, and it's a beauty. It's about what *not* to say when your friend suffers a major loss. Some wonderful, painful missteps: "At least you have your health." And: "God only gives us what we can handle." And the fabulously lazy and irritating: "Just let me know what I can do."
I love this kind of piece because I'm sure I'm guilty of all the sins described, and because the pieces tend to end on a helpful note. (How to handle a friend's loss? "I'm sorry, and I'm here to listen when you want to talk.") Also, a part of me approaches any etiquette guide or self-help tome as if it were a novel in waiting--and I'd really love for someone to take this piece and find a germ of fiction in it. This was done for "He's Just Not That Into You." Why not a movie called: "Let Me Know What I Can Do to Help" ...?????
P.S. Regarding a friend's mourning: Bring food. And drinks. Don't talk about *possible* food. Don't ask questions about *hypothetical* food. Just seal your lips, open your ears, and arrive with warm, good food--and alcohol. Thanks, NYT!
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