Liars and Saints

  "Babygirl" is a little vague about its protagonist's desires. Romy, a CEO who works with automation, is herself a kind of robot; she has never had an orgasm in almost twenty years of marriage. Secretly, she wants to crawl on all fours, lick milk (doggy-style) from a saucer, and submit to simple commands ("undress," "spread your legs"). These wishes seem sort of "vanilla" in flavor, but they have inspired such shame in Romy, she has kept mum for decades, and she has learned to hate herself. A young intern, Samuel, intuits Romy's wish to be (mildly) humiliated, and an affair begins. Romy now has what she wants, but she may need to sacrifice her marriage. The movie never makes a convincing case that the marriage truly means the world to Romy, perhaps because of some bad expository dialogue. ("My marriage truly means the world to me!") The director is a little more persuasive when she suggests that job-loss would be a devastating ...

  It can be tricky to be the child of a writer. That's because writers tend to have two interests, films and bookstores. That's not a wide range. My son Josh can't tolerate movies, and this is hard for me to accept. Yesterday, Susie and I took our first "solo" trip to the cinema; the title was "Vengeance Most Fowl," the story was delightful, and the entire afternoon was marked by a notable absence of struggle. By contrast, with Josh, my options are: shooting hoops, playing catch, and bouncing the bouncy ball. That's not to imply that bouncy balls are something less than an absolute treat. I recommend this game in the intervals between potty visits: It's great to have pure chaos, no undies, no diapers, in the presence of a little Quidditch ball (with a mind of its own).  Josh seems to have an agenda, a campaign to make me less recessive. When I want to read, he sneaks into the kitchen, mixes water with Life cereal, adds ground black pepper, and st...

  "Commitment" is a novel about improvisation. It's about sailing along in a mouse-infested boat, plugging holes with steel wool. In the first scene, a family in the Palisades prepares to send one son to Berkeley. The mom (Diane) is a single mom; she has a nervous condition, so she can't handle the drive across California. She is entrusting her child to strangers. One stranger, in a casual way, says, "I don't know what you're thinking. I wouldn't miss this drive for the world." Within a few days, Diane will stop speaking, stop leaving her bed; she will have a full mental breakdown, and she will literally never recover; she will hang on in a semi-vegetative state, for years and years, until she dies. In the wake of Diane's tragedy, the family bends some rules. It's probably illegal for the younger children not to enter the "care" of the state of California, but they remain in their house, and they find a surrogate mom in the form...

  "A Complete Unknown" seems weirdly prudish, especially since its subject is a sexy writer: Kick your shoes off, do not fear. And bring that bottle over here. Cause I'll be your baby tonight. Given that this movie is centered on not one but two sexual relationships, it would be useful to see the lead characters "behaving" in bed. Also, since Bob Dylan is such an asshole, the bedroom scenes might help to explain his appeal. But the camera gets shy. It's like we're watching a high-school production of the Bob Dylan story. That said, the part of the movie that really interests me (and interests most viewers) is the story of Dylan and Johnny Cash. Though the movie doesn't have time for Dylan's literary training, a brief Internet search reveals that Dylan is fond of Rimbaud, "The Odyssey," Brecht, "All Quiet on the Western Front," T.S. Eliot, William Blake, "Moby Dick." He arrives in New York with these particular voices...

  My dog had a challenging summer. He developed a mysterious cough; we thought it was Kennel Cough. In fact, it was not. It was heartening to learn that we'd steered clear of Kennel Cough--but once the words are in the air, they leave a certain "odor." It's like if you're indicted for murder, and then you're found "not guilty"? You still carry certain words with you, for the rest of your life. "Indicted for murder." (Also, it's like the child on the playground who says, "Don't worry! I don't have  pinkeye !" A certain kind of silence fills the space....) Distressed by the cough, and perhaps coping with early signs of old age, Salvy began to pee in my basement. The basement was there; it was earthy; it had fun new smells, because of a renovation. He couldn't resist. Additionally, Salvy's best friend, Shep, departed for a year abroad, in Madrid. We haven't found a suitable replacement. My husband is more astu...

 Tilda Swinton has the "glamorous" role in the new Almodovar film; it's Swinton who has a Golden Globe nomination. But my heart belongs to Julianne Moore. It's always Moore's character whom I "relate to" when I hear this story.  Moore is a weird, mostly isolated writer who spends her free time reading Sigrid Nunez novels and thinking about a possible "Virginia Woolf project." (Famously, Nunez, the inspiration for the Almodovar film, wrote an entire novel, "Mitz," about Woolf's pet marmoset.) Moore agrees to help Swinton with a major endeavor, because she wishes to be a good friend, but also, I suspect, because she wants access to good material. ("Writers are like cockroaches," Nunez says. "Tell us the novel is dead, and we'll just publish our diaries, and we'll say it's a new genre,  autofiction ....") Moore asks Swinton, "May I tell your story?" -- and I can't be alone in wondering if...

  "Maybe Happy Ending" seems to borrow themes from "Kimberly Akimbo," although I understand that "MHE" might actually predate "Kimberly." Both shows are about love and death.  It's interesting to describe death in a theater--because, in a theater, you're keenly aware of the passage of time. Every second is "curated." As in "Kimberly Akimbo," "MHE" heavily suggests that the evening may end with the protagonist's death. Curtain--or death? Which will come first? The question generates suspense. Here is the story. Oliver and Claire are essentially twentysomethings; they are called "robots," but the robot idea is just an elaborate metaphor for being 23 years old. Oliver has trouble with social functioning--as any 23-year-old might. He has "unresolved" bits of trauma from an unexamined youth--as any 23-year-old might. He shows signs of impetuousness, an inability to think things through--as ...

 My career coach is a sunny person, and she just wrote a piece called "Little Santas Everywhere," about Good Samaritans spreading the joy of the season. And I'd like to reply, with brief thoughts about people I loathe. *The couple behind me at the Jersey Gardens AMC. You talked all the way through the somber neo-Nazi drama, "The Order." This wasn't "Hairspray" or "Jumanji." It was a quiet, challenging film about obsession. What were you thinking? As Broadway star Laura Benanti recently said, in reference to her colleague, Zachary Levi: "Fuck off forever." *The woman in my neighborhood. My dog was pooping at the side of a sidewalk; no "poop-free" signs appeared anywhere nearby. I was clearly holding a poop bag, ready to clean up. You stopped, craned your neck to make eye contact with me, then gasped in a dramatic, stagy way. Then you walked off. I still have no idea what you wished to communicate. My comment, then, was ...

  I'm always drawn to crime stories; a crime demands a "double life," and we're all (to varying degrees) playacting, involved in double lives. A crime is just a heightened variation on everyday tension and suspense. One recent, sterling example of crime plotting was "Kimberly Akimbo." This show introduces the mesmerizing character of Aunt Debra, who poses as a friend to children while silently devising a scheme for theft. Debra works hard to conceal the fact that she doesn't really care about the kids whose services she has enlisted--but the truth seeps out. At the same time, we're given little hints about Debra's past, clues that start to suggest a reason for the desperation that we're witnessing in the present tense. When the actual backstory emerges, crawls into the light, you can hear a pin drop. It's such a surprising scene. The "criminal" in "Gypsy" is a young woman named June. She has a facade: cooperative, enth...

 "South Pacific" has returned; a reunion concert just occurred. The novelist Lorrie Moore has confessed that she sometimes watches and rewatches "This Nearly Was Mine" (when she should be working). This is the gold-standard example of a "rearview mirror" song. It's everything you wish you could say to your ex--but you can't, because your ex is receding in the distance (you see her via rearview mirror).  People say that a breakup is especially hard because you're mourning both (a) the loss of routines and (b) the loss of dreams, things you didn't actually have but could enjoy  anticipating . It's (b) that inspires the bridge of Richard Rodgers's song. So clear and deep are my fancies Of things I wish were true; I'll keep remembering evenings I wish I'd spent with you. I'll keep remembering kisses From lips I'll never own-- And all the lovely adventures  That we have never known. In the wake of loss, there is only rumi...

  One of my favorite traditions is the Christmas horror film. In "Silent Night," Keira Knightley plans her own death, with assistance from her husband, Matthew Goode. The apocalypse is en route; most families are choosing a pharmacological "early exit." (The film's greatest scene involves the Coca Cola that Matthew Goode selects. A few of his children complain that he has settled for Coke Zero, rather than real Coke. They're really going to take their suicide pills with Coke Zero? The suspense builds and builds.) More recently, we were treated to "Violent Night," in which Santa has to murder a gang of murderers? I can't remember. But: great title, great ad campaign. This year, no such movie exists, so I made do with "The Order." There isn't a holiday theme. You just get Nicholas Hoult as the head of a neo-Nazi cult; Hoult literally terminates underlings who irritate him, and he plants a bomb in a porno theater (somewhere near Seat...

 I have a few friends with literary aspirations, and the subject of writing is tricky. It's useful, because "shoptalk" can be fun. At the same time, there is always competitiveness and ego. (The writer Simon Rich captures the silliness of ego in "The Baby," a story about a novelist who discovers that his little fetus has enviable storytelling talent. The actual baby is the published novelist, not the emotionally mature fetus.) One friend has released various picture books, and I'm always excited for him, and also slightly miffed. (When Anne Lamott watched a colleague soar to new heights of success, she grew very tired. She grew impatient, saying "wonderful! wonderful! so wonderful!" while half-ignoring the voice in her iPhone.) Because of my own history, I'm drawn to "What Are You Going Through," a novel about a thorny literary friendship. It's essentially the story of Sigrid Nunez and Susan Sontag. Sontag discovers that she has f...

  Among many other strengths, "Somebody Somewhere" has special insights into the sibling bond between children of a mentally ill parent (i.e., all children everywhere). Trish--the MVP on this show--walks all over her sister. We sense that Trish is tightly wound in all contexts, but her behavior with Sam is sometimes deplorable. Showing up fifty minutes early (without warning), then expressing impatience when Sam hasn't anticipated the change in plans. Last-minute canceling a social event (again, without warning) because a Tinder option has made itself available. At the same time, Trish is fiercely proud of Sam. She brags about Sam's singing ability, as if the ability were her own and not Sam's. (This is how a family works. If one person has a talent, it is, oddly, all siblings' shared talent.) Trish also rationally guides Sam through questions about dating, because Sam is intensely neurotic whenever she has to reflect on her own life. (Easy to relate to this.)...

 My neighbor is like a great opera star; she performs stunning arias of complaint, arias of grievance, day after day. I don't have to do a thing. I just take notes. The idea of a half day enrages her. There are too many! And her husband whines about the half days, as well, but his whining is just a performance--a transparent attempt to curry favor. "Don't do that," says my neighbor, when her spouse goes into the "feeling your pain" act. "Just zip it." I mention that--on this particular half day--I'm considering screening the Robert Zemeckis film, "The Polar Express." (I'm on the fence. The trailers look creepy. Also, the book seems to be the perfect length; any effort to blow up that book into a two-hour film event seems inherently dubious...) "Listen," says my neighbor. "I took my kids to the *actual* Polar Express, in Whippany? You have to sign up on the Fourth of July. If you don't hop online on the Fourth, t...

 Creative writing seminars tend to focus on stakes. "What are the stakes?" "You need to up the stakes."  This is something Hitchcock managed extraordinarily well; in "Rear Window," the Jimmy Stewart character is fighting to save his own life. In "Dial M," a man pursues a legal victory because it can ensure his romantic happiness (ad infinitum). What I love in "The Artist," by Ed Vere, is that there is a sense of urgency, even as the writer tells a story that small kids can understand. A dinosaur is born with an innate love of the world's wonder and beauty. She becomes determined to communicate her own vision to the rest of the world. She refashions herself as a graffiti artist, perhaps in New York City, and she wins praise, but then her brush slips. Shamed by her error, she becomes mute. (This is like the weird gap in Jane Austen's career, during which Austen spent years not-writing. Whatever she did, it wasn't writing.) A s...

  As a young man, Bruce Springsteen would read Dostoyevsky, along with Arthur Miller plays. Springsteen's own work seems to be suffused with the spirit of Willy Loman; Springsteen's characters are often severely flawed and relatable. Thus: the speaker in "Born in the USA," who "got into a little hometown jam." (We can read between the lines.) There is also the young man in "Dancing in the Dark," who understands that he ought to be home doing his literary work, but who instead grabs his wallet and heads to the bar. ("This gun's for hire....") There is also the man who abandons his wife and children. ("I took a wrong turn, and I just kept going...") It seems to me that Bruce Springsteen has compassion for these troubled souls. He knows we're all doomed, but he encourages us to keep trying. I think that's the spirit behind Springsteen's version of "Santa Claus Is Comin' to Town." You better watch out; ...

 Sigrid Nunez, my favorite writer, spent years in the company of Susan Sontag. From these years, Nunez learned: *Sontag always insisted on sitting close to the movie screen (which is a good policy). *Sontag had no interest--or almost no interest--in nature and in animals. *Sontag generally did not prepare for lectures, speaking engagements, classes. *Sontag had very little patience for contemporary American literary fiction. She thought Updike and Roth were fine stylists--and that's all. Sontag's literary interests were W.G. Sebald, Juan Rulfo, and Joseph Brodsky. *Sontag's response to the challenges of parenting: Drag your child to Film Forum, and have him sleep through whatever double header you've selected. Enjoy! *Sontag was impossible with waiters. She treated them like cattle. One of her favorite moves was to request that the waiter produce a bizarre dish with no clear link to (not even a family resemblance with) any dish actually offered on the menu. When the wai...

  I'm in a silent fight with Audra McDonald. She always tells this story in interviews. "I was a hyperactive child, very averse to school. I was failing. And my parents were educators. I'm certainly not judging anyone, not judging any choices, but MY parents said,  We are NOT trying Ritalin. Audra will cope through THEATER CLASSES . And the rest is history." I find this story irritating--because *of course* Audra McDonald is being judgmental. Of course the subtext is: Ritalin is a weaker choice. And I want to remind Audra that she attempted suicide at Juilliard. So: Did theater class really accomplish everything she was hoping for? My own diagnosis is "adjustment disorder," and Lexapro has been a welcome aide. ("I'm not judging anyone who chooses Lexapro, but....") I can tell you about "adjustment disorder." It's basically this. If you were in public, and you saw someone acting in a thoughtless way, you might raise your eyebrows. ...

 Recently, in her fifties, the novelist Sophie Kinsella began to have trouble standing, sitting, speaking. Various medical consultations revealed nothing. On a hunch, Sophie's husband said, "Let's have her brain examined." The result: the discovery of a glioblastoma. Sophie Kinsella has around one year to live. Here is where the story gets crazy. SK has chosen to fictionalize the newest events in her life. The book is called "What Does It Feel Like," and it concerns a novelist, Eve, who can't find an idea. She is full of guilt; her husband is kindly watching the five children--working overtime to create a "writing oasis." Instead of drafting a story, Eve leaves her desk to purchase a beautiful dress. As she wrestles with self-loathing, she has an epiphany: a shopping addiction could be the subject of her next novel. The resulting novel--"Shopaholic"--changes Eve's life. Then: the cancer diagnosis. What follows isn't really a p...

 Michael Connelly's new novel, "The Waiting," is about (you guessed it) waiting. The novel alludes to the Tom Petty song: The waiting is the hardest part; Every day you see one more card. You take it on faith; you take it to the heart. The waiting is the hardest part. A family has lost its pride and joy to a serial killer. Maddie Bosch seems to identify the serial killer (through luck). But the killer also happens to be the man responsible for the death of the Black Dahlia--the victim who ranks Number One among LA's famous victims. The DA can't stand the head of Maddie's division, for petty political reasons. If the DA gave Maddie "the win," this would really "smart." So the DA falsely claims that the evidence "isn't there." And a grieving family is wounded by this silliness. At the same time, Maddie's colleague, Renee Ballard, is doing some waiting of her own. She knows that her mother abandoned her years ago. She doesn...

 My Jewish husband likes Christmas more than I do. He plays Megan Hilty's (tedious) holiday album in the car. Also, he has Celine Dion shrieking so loudly (NOEEEEELLLL! NOELLLLLL!), I find that I cannot think. At a Broadway performance of "Gypsy," Marc sees a "Momma Rose fir tree ornament." Nothing says "birth of Christ" like a blistering Arthur Laurents play about a sociopathic woman eating dog food and fighting to stay alive. (I cave in. "Yes," I reply, to my husband. "We must have that ornament.") My own private Christmas party this year involves two songs: Kristin Chenoweth,  O Holy Night Audra McDonald,  Angels From the Realms of Glory The other day, Marc suggested that we might attend the Mariah Carey Advent concert in Newark. This was a sweet offer, but I had an immediate, traumatic vision of loud, drunken New Jersey residents pushing each other to join a smelly stampede in front of a ratty "merchandise" stand. I ma...

  It's difficult to get everything right--in a Broadway musical. I didn't think Josh Groban was equipped to handle "Sweeney Todd," but the production itself was ravishing. The lighting was as beautiful as Sondheim's words. And the orchestra was overwhelming. Now, with "Gypsy," we have a star (Audra McDonald) who really can deliver, in each and every moment. But the visual packaging is bland; the director's work seems a little less than "urgent." When Kail did "Sweeney," no one had done a full-scale, lush Broadway version of the show in several decades. But with "Gypsy," everyone has a fairly clear memory of the LuPone/Laurents production. This new one doesn't always feel like a revelation. What is "Gypsy"? Rose Hovick is in a shitty situation. Her mother has abandoned her; her father is depressed and verbally abusive. Rose has cycled through three disastrous marriages; she is growing bored at home, in Seatt...

 I have a special fondness for "I Am" songs -- where a character simply indicates one or two facts about her mental state. Among my favorites is "Will He Like Me," from "She Loves Me." You can feel the anxiety in the air. Another favorite is "My Man's Gone Now," from "Porgy and Bess." Here the message is this: "I'm miserable." But Audra never says, "I'm miserable." Instead, she tells a story. Once, she enjoyed the company of "my man." But now he is absent; he has been replaced. In his stead is "Old Man Sorrow," who whispers beside Audra, "when I say my prayers." This astounding aria reproduces Audra's anguish. We know exactly what Sorrow is whispering. "You lost your man." We know how relentless the whispering is, because Audra ends with repetition: Old Man Sorrow--telling me I'm old now-- Since I lose my man. Since I lose my man. Since I lose my man. The me...

Three Conversations From My Home   "I thought Ariana Grande was fine." "There are many arguments I'm prepared to lose, but Ariana Grande was not fine. She was a serious misfire. Do you understand what Kristin Chenoweth did with this character? She made her into a dazzling psychopath. You couldn't turn your eyes away. And it was all Chenoweth; it *wasn't* on the page. I'll need you to watch some clips when we find the laptop." *** "Wait, you're saying Jonathan Bailey is gay--?" [Long silence.] *** "It was wonderful to see Idina and Kristin again." "I guess? I had no idea what they were singing about. And, even without them, the movie was already much too long." "Will you take me to Idina's new Broadway show?" "Probably not; it looks awful." "It's Idina!" [Long silence.]

 Among my favorite "Simpsons" characters is Mrs. Krabappel, perhaps because I myself am a teacher. I understand Edna's frustration. (In one of her worst moments, she watches a "yo-yo gymnastics assembly." When a colleague questions the educational value of yo-yo tricks, Edna says, "This will give our children something pleasant to remember when they're grown up, and they're pumping gasoline for cash.") Edna dreams of adventure, mainly in the form of romance. But, in a non-canonical episode, her desired adventure has a "noir" flavor; she enlists Lisa Simpson in the cover-up of a murder. I feel I've known some Ednas--and I feel that I myself have been an Edna. The actress--Marcia Wallace--won at least one Emmy Award, and she is gone now. In "Bart the Lover," Edna seizes the reins of her own life and places a personals ad. ("1+1 equals....2?") She falls into a fast-paced epistolary romance; she takes chances; she ...

  *The song "Some People" begins on a low note--a famously difficult way to start a song. Schoch suggests that this is because Rose is digging something up from the depths of her soul. *Schoch and I have slightly different readings of "Send in the Clowns." Schoch sees this as an honest statement; Desiree is baring her soul. But I see this as a performance--a kind of lie. Desiree is comparing her humiliation to a moment of disaster in a misconceived play, but of course Desiree's suffering is much, much more important than one bad night at the theater. I think Desiree's real pain is mostly kept just beneath the surface. I'm not sure who is "right" here. *I never knew this, but there is a reason the rhymes toward the end of "Passion" seem too "neat." Fosca is dictating a fake letter; Giorgio is writing the letter. Fosca uses rhymes that are too tidy; in this way, Sondheim emphasizes the artifice, the discomfort, in the scene. F...

  The writer Ann Leary has a rule for choosing novels: "I want a sociopath in the mix. Give me Patricia Highsmith, give me du Maurier. A story is best when it involves a knife-wielding maniac." To that end, I chose several thrillers for vacation: "The Soulmate" (meh), "The Plinko Bounce" (hooray), "The Expat" (delightful). But I think too *many* killings can create a monotonous experience, so I threw in just a cup or two of "literary" fiction: "Blaming" (Taylor) and "Commitment" (Mona Simpson). My spouse is more ambitious; he chose to read a lengthy biography of Abraham Lincoln, on the beach. Time away meant that I could lick my wounds over a job situation that irritated me. On a related note, I work with a career coach who likes to allude to the old chestnut:  A situation that won't bug you in five years is not a situation to dwell on...EVER....  That's not easy to internalize. I tend to think that everythin...