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...