I Served the King of England

This 2006 Czechoslovakian import is an odd little film. In some ways, its quirky script and offbeat sense of humor remind me of The Coen Brothers' films. In other ways, it could very well be taken for a Merchant Ivory piece, in that it is magnificently filmed, divinely cast with a wonderful assortment of character actors, sophisticated, charming, and historically thought-provoking. Filled with imaginative but relatively small special effects (no parting of the Red Sea here), it is also appalling, as the central character’s political leanings have him literally sleeping (or at least bedding down) with the enemy.

As the movie opens, we meet Jan Dítě (Oldrich Kaiser), a fifty-something ex-con, who will serve as our narrator and focus for the next two hours. It is 1963, and Dítě has just been released from a Czech prison, after some fifteen years. Dispatched to a war-torn, long-deserted village on the Czech/German border, he needs no key to open the door of his government-issued home—a shell of a place in need of just about everything. As Jan goes about rebuilding it – and his life, he mentally revisits the circumstances that brought him to this place. His musings take us back to the late 1930s, when he was a young man in search of two things: great wealth and great women.

The young Jan, as played by Ivan Barnev, is impish - almost Chaplinesque in his movements. Short in stature (His name – Dítě - literally means “child” in Czechoslovakian) but long on ambition, he pursues his dreams with gusto, opportunism and slight-of-hand. An early encounter with a salesman who admires his unorthodox methods, evolves into a friendship/mentoring of sorts, leading to a series of positions as a waiter in some of the best hotels, spas and resorts in the country.

With each situation comes more power, more money and more women. As the film moves effortlessly between the past and present, we learn more about this often naive, fiercely ambitious, ever-clever young man and the times, while the reason behind his recent incarceration remains a mystery.

The film’s title refers not to Jan, but another mentor (the Maître d', Skřivánek)—at the exclusive Hotel Paříž in Prague. Skřivánek’s claim to fame? The 'fact' that he once served the King of England, and has an uncanny sense of intuition, knowing a customer’s financial situation, and food preference before he or she sits down to dine.

Over time, the ever-opportunistic Dítě acquires both experience and recognition, albeit at a price. Shunned by his countrymen, barely tolerated by the Germans he serves, he does what he has to, to become a millionaire.

Humor runs rampant here, even as the political climate darkens with the 1938 German occupation of Czechoslovakia. This is a side of the war seldom seen in film, as Jan’s political leanings and romantic yearnings lead him to marry and buy into Hitler’s agenda regarding the creation of a “master race”.

While there are many humorous moments in this movie, one scene in particular involving a bed, a portrait and a fuhrer-loving young lady, is laugh-out loud funny. Mel Brooks funny. I can’t believe I’m laughing at this, funny. It is –as I said– an odd little film, loaded with irony, small moments and events that lead to one of the all-time cinematic twists of fate: a gem of a plot point that this reviewer did not see coming.

Filmed in Prague and the surrounding area, I Served the King of England has much to recommend it, including a marvelous cast and terrific script by director Jiri Menzel and the late Bohumil Hrabal-whose novel provided the source material. Add to that a visually-stunning movie full of great settings and sets, beautiful women, mouth-watering food sequences and a satisfying conclusion. It is not to be missed.

And speaking of missing things – Some picsandpans2 followers have missed the occasional food find. That being the case, and as the ‘pans’ in 'picsandpans' refers to such culinary delights, I plan to devote my next posting to some of the more interesting and purchase-worthy foods I've come across over the past year. Aside from a few local offerings, most are available throughout the country. Until then, you’ll have to feast on great movies like this one. Bon Appetit!

Yoo-Hoo Mrs. Goldberg!

Yoo-Hoo Mrs. Goldberg! takes those of us over the age of fifty back to the black and white days of television, when Gertrude Berg brought her well-loved radio show to CBS.

Berg was the Oprah of her day: the first woman to create, produce, write and star in her own vehicle, the first to win an Emmy for her efforts, and the first to lose a top-ten show for refusing to fire one of her cast members.

For those of you who are too young or didn’t have access to a TV back in the 1950s, I offer a little background. If Berg was, as I suggest, the Oprah of her day, she was also the Tina Feye of her generation: a woman who not only acted but wrote the episodes she appeared in, first on radio, and then TV.

A supreme business woman, Gertrude Berg barreled her way onto the small screen as Molly Goldberg – a Jewish immigrant who shared a cozy apartment with her husband Jake, two very American teenage children (Rosalie and Sammy), and Molly’s brother David, or “Uncle David” as he was most often called.

The Goldbergs lived happily in the Bronx, a working class, New York neighborhood where neighbors regularly raised their windows in order to converse with their friends across the alley (“Yoo-Hoo! Mrs. Goldberg!"), and everyday problems were gently and creatively solved in thirty minutes.

The documentary begins with Berg’s own story, which was a good bit darker –at least in her formative years, than the fictional one she would later create. We learn of her mother’s decent into mental illness, and her father’s inability to make a decent living or support his daughter’s dreams.

It wasn’t until she met and married Englishman Lewis Berg that her life took a happy turn. A staunch supporter of his young bride's ambitions, the chemical engineer moved the family to New York city, where his wife could hone her craft. by 1929 Gertrude had won a spot on the NBC radio network, with a daily show she dubbed The Rise of the Goldbergs.

The show quickly morphed into The Goldbergs, a 15-minute slice of newly-American pie. Like Levy’s Rye, you didn’t have to be Jewish to love it. An instant hit, it demanded nearly all of Berg’s time, as she went about the task of rehearsing and performing by day, and writing the next day’s episode by night, with just an hour or two break for dinner with her family.

The Goldbergs transitioned into television in 1949, moving to its Monday nighttime slot on CBS. It was the first situation comedy of the new medium, and would earn Berg an Emmy as the first woman to receive an Emmy for her work in a comedy series.

Like Arthur Godfrey, Gertrude Berg delivered the sponsor’s commercials as if they were part of the show. In her case, that meant resting Molly’s ample arms on her dining room windowsill and touting the virtues of Sanka Instant Coffee.

But Yoo Yoo Mrs. Goldberg is more than just another nostalgic look at television’s so-called “Golden Age”, with the documentary taking you down the dark and winding road of McCarthyism. At the height of the show's popularity, Philip Loeb -Jake to Gertrude's Molly, was labeled a communist sympathizer, blacklisted and forced to resign. Berg stood by him, but to no avail. In the end her loyalty would cost her dearly. Though it consistently won its time slot, and Sanka’s sponsorship translated into a 50% spike in sales, the show was cancelled, replaced by a new sit com featuring a thirty-something red head and her Cuban bandleader husband.

Depressed, and unable to get work of any kind, Philip Loeb would take his own life, and The Goldbergs would languish in nowhereland for nearly two years before being picked up by another network. But by then it’s time had come and gone.

Gratefully, a few old kinescopes have survived. You’ll find segments of some, (one of which features a young unknown by the name of Anne Bancroft), along with a terrifically clever episode built around the naming of a new baby, on the bonus disc. Other goodies include Berg’s appearance on Person to Person with Edward R. Morrow, a lengthy narrative on Ed Sullivan’s Christmas show, insights from some of Berg’s now-grown grand children, family photos, home movies and words of Molly-sparked wisdom from the likes of Norman Lear and Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg.

The package also includes a totally unrelated piece of film that the producer/writer Aviva Kempner felt compelled to include, and an embarrassing series of outtakes featuring Kempner’s family shouting “Yoo Hoo, Mrs. Goldberg!” into the camera.

Despite this last piece of nonsense, if you can get past the original show’s crudely drawn graphics and outdated pace, you'll find a wealth of information and entertainment in this two-disc series. And while Yoo-Hoo Molly Goldberg isn't everyone's bowl of borscht, if you have an interest in the origins of the situation comedy, feminism, Jewish culture, New York in the 1950s or the infamous black list, you’ll find much to think about in this well-researched tribute.

As for the show itself, compared to today's slick pace quick cuts, and edgy humor, it will appear more-than-a-bit dated. But that's all right, at least, with me. Eli Mintz as Uncle David, and Gertrude Berg bring so much heart to each episode, you'll wonder how so many have forgotten them. This, along with the fact that the look, feel, and lessons learned in their home and as seen from Molly's window, are still magical, all these years later.

Cairo Time

Given the fact that Cairo has barreled its way to the top of the world news this week, it seems like a good time to introduce you to a small but beautifully made film called Cairo Time.

Written and directed by Canadian Ruba Nidda, it is one of those films that grows on you, which is to say that when I initially watched it, I found it a bit slow, its plot simple, and dialogue sparse. And yet, this quiet little story stuck with me. The bonus section of the DVD was instrumental in opening my eyes and mind to what an interesting film it really was, in that both the interviewer and the actors brought out points that I had not considered: points well worth examining. Even more so now than when I first saw it some months ago.

As one film critic so eloquently put it, Cairo Time is “a slow walk through ancient landscape.” It is the simple story of American Juliette Grant, an empty nester who happens to be a magazine editor, though far removed in temperament from someone like Vogue’s Anna Wintour, (as immortalized in Merle Streep’s Miranda Priestly in 2006’s The Devil Wears Prada. Though, as portrayed by Patricia Clarkson, she might just as well been a housewife, schoolteacher or shopkeeper. She is, in fact, the wife of UN diplomat Mark Grant, (Tom McCamus) who has been working in Gaza, where he oversees a refugee camp.

When the film opens our heroine - the fair-haired, fifty-year-old Juliette, is going through Customs, having flown from the states to meet Mark for a vacation in Cairo, but soon finds that circumstance within the camp are such that he can’t get away. He sends former U.N. employee Tareq Khalifa (played by a then 44–year-old Alexander Siddig), in his stead. Tareq is a gentle soul, who resigned his post under Mark to take over his father’s coffee shop. Tareq is Muslim. An Arab―someone Sidding described back in 2009 as being a direct contradiction to the more violent roles he has played in the past. With Juliette left to fend for herself, Tareq takes on the role of guide and friend. And over time, bonds between the two are formed, affections are felt, and choices are made.

The going is slow here – the film could almost be called Real Time rather than Cairo Time. We are given a chance to see the relationship between Juliette and Tareq grow. Had there been quick cuts, and a faster pace, we would not have felt the same way about these two people, which is to say that in this case, slow is a good thing.

What we do see is a city that is hot, crowded, dirty and a bit frightening on one hand, and beautiful and calm on the other. Pyramids can be seen in the not-too-distant distance; children and goats mix and mingle with cars and businessmen.

The plot basically revolves around how Juliette spends her time as she waits for her detained but devoted husband to return to Cairo so that, among other things, they can see the Pyramids together. It is a tale of restraint and affection, where things are insinuated rather than investigated. Though, at 37, writer/director Nidda was somewhat younger than her middle-aged characters, she skillfully and quietly managed to inhabit their dilemmas, thoughts, and decisions. In the DVD’s accompanying Q&A, both she and the film’s stars note that this story wouldn’t have worked had the characters been younger. "When you’re older," notes Siddig, “you worry about mistakes more. Acts become more significant and have more at stake.” And so this is a romantic story where the smallest of gestures divulge great affection.

Never having been to Egypt, I found the vistas and pictorials fascinating – a tribute to both the land and cinematographer Luc Montpellier. One has to wonder what it will look like once the dust has cleared.

Siddig is handsome, warm, and attractive in a non-movie star way. Up until now he has, apparently, played more volatile characters. In the DVD’s bonus piece he says that he hopes that people who see this film will come to know that while there are those whose motives are not pure, there are many more good, kind and giving men in that part of the world.

The fact that Cairo is currently in chaos makes this 2009 film all the more interesting. While Juliette’s safety is a concern, and the volatility of the area underscored by her husband’s absence and a brief but frightening bus scene, it is not a political film as such– at least I didn’t see it that way. But now, as word comes that statues of Tutankhamun and other irreplaceable antiquities have been damaged or destroyed by looters over the past few days, the images captured in this 2009 film take on a new importance.

In and of itself, Cairo Time won’t win any awards. Some reviewers criticize the director for choosing to avoid the trendier side of the city. Others point to the fact that Alexander Sidding’s accent is not that of an Egyptian, and Clarkson’s attire is politically incorrect – particularly given the fact that she works for a fashion magazine and would be aware of such things. Despite those and other perceived flaws,I believe it is worth seeing, for no other reason than that every now and again we need to get away from the highly predictable, formula romantic pics where strangers meet and fall into each other’s arms, despite the consequences.

Slow? Yes. This movie is slow. But, as Ms. Clarkson put it, "the silences are earned" here. For it is what is not said that makes Cairo Time a movie to remember.

Mid-August Lunch

While other folks were sifting through the ever-shrinking Sunday paper, preparing for the coming work week or whisking the last vestiges of food off the city’s supermarket shelves in anticipation of a major snowfall, I was watching Mid-August Lunch, a 2008 75-minute labor of love the New York Times referred to as "a luminous sliver of a film."

What this Italian trifle lacks in size and scope, it makes up in charm. It is the simple tale of an unemployed middle-aged fellow name Gianni (Gianni Di Gregorio) who lives with Valeria, his ninety-three year old, strong-willed mother in their working class neighborhood condo.

Forget your idea of what a condo should look like. This one is old and dilapidated, with neither air conditioning or doorman. The pint-sized apartment is devoid of granite counter tops and flat-screen TVs. The paint is chipping. The air is thick. The stove is dated and the elevator is rickety. It couldn’t cost much to live there, and yet as we soon find out, hard times have kept Gianni from paying his share of the condominium fees for over three years, and the natives are restless.

As the film opens, it is mid summer – August – and the day before Pranzo di Ferragosto, one of those sun-soaked holidays where residents head for someplace other than their place to celebrate. Gianni and his mother are two of the few who remain, she, watching her pint-sized portable TV, he, nursing his mild heart condition with a glass of wine or two or three. When condo manager Luigi knocks, Valeria fails to answer, not so much for fear of strangers, but because she knows Luigi is there to collect.

With no money to offer, and much to be gained, a bargain is struck. Luigi is itching to get out of town, but can’t leave his elderly mother (Marina) alone. If Gianni will ‘baby sit’ her for the next day or so, he will forgive his debt. Sounds like a plan, and so it is that Gianni and Valeria agree to welcome Luigi’s mother (Marina Cacciotti) with – if not open arms, than at least, a sofa bed’s-worth of comfort and some of Gianni’s tasty vitals.

But wait – there’s more! Luigi arrives not only with Mama Marina, but Auntie Maria (Maria Calì) who, it turns out, has a wee bit of dementia. But there’s no turning back, and Gianni’s heart begins to pound from the stress.

Fast forward, as the doctor arrives – allaying Gianni’s fears that he is having a heart attack, and promising a full work up after the holiday (“if”) Gianni will tend to the doc’s elderly mother (Grazia Cesarini Sforza) while he does a holiday hospital shift. There’s nothing to say but “Yes”, and soon Grazia arrives, complete with a full list of do’s, don’ts and medications she must take throughout the day.

And so it is that this little apartment becomes a home for the aged literally overnight, – with each of the four ladies trying to carve out her own place in the pecking order. As the exasperated Gianni, writer/director Di Gregorio is low key and totally believable, as are the four ladies who make up the list of major players in this winsome little film.

It's interesting to note that the idea for this film came from personal experience. It seems that despite the fact that Di Gregorio was married with children, his aging mother expected him to leave his family and take care of her in her small apartment. And because he was a good Mediterranean-born son, he did just that for the better part of a decade.

As Gregorio's condominium debts grew, the manager approached him with a proposition similar to the one made in the film. If Di Gregorio would pop downstairs each day and play a game of cards with the manager's aging mom, the debt would be forgiven.

Unlike Gianni, Di Gregorio declined. He said there was no way he could manage it, but over the years he thought about what would have happened had he agreed. The script for Mid-August Lunch grew out of such contemplations.

It took a long time to get this movie made. As with other films about the elderly (Driving Miss Daisy comes to mind) investors weren't anxious to produce a film about 'old people.' When financing did come through, it was very limited, which was one of the main reasons non-professionals were recruited.

In fact, the only professional in the troupe is Alfonso Santagata, who shines in the role of the condo manager. Gianni’s friend Viking was played by Luigi Marchett, a lifelong friend of Di Gregorio's. Similarly, the role of the doctor is played by his friend and physician, who used his notes on his own mother's care as a prop.

Of the four women in Lunch, only one had anything close to an acting credit prior to filming. Even Di Gregorio was a novice. He became the 'star' of the piece when the actor he had hoped to secure bowed out. With money tight, and time a wasting, the producers suggested that he take on the role, which, they pointed out, called for a middle-aged man who liked his wine, had lived with his mother as an adult, and knew what it was like to be in debt.

Making life easier for all involved, Di Garegorio allowed the ladies to use their own first names in the film, along with some personal keepsakes. Other treasured props include a tablecloth and crockery from his mother's apartment, which, as you may have guessed by now, is the very same apartment you see on screen. The owners gladly gave him permission to shoot there, in hopes that if the film actually made any money, Di Garegorio would finally be able to pay off the last of his condo debts.

The resulting film is a happy mix of home-style Italian cooking, unlikely friendships and gentle humor. Bonus-section treats include an interview with De Garegorio and a trip down memory lane, as the writer/director/actor visits with each of his unassuming co-stars. These one-on-one in-home conversations give you an idea of how much the ladies got out of their unexpected burst of fame, at a time when they least expected it.

Mid-August Lunch, like other films I have featured here, is far from a perfect piece. It is, at times slow, and the cinematography won’t win any awards. But the fact that it isn’t slick, has no quick cuts or deep conversations and lacks any star power, makes it all the more charming and worth while.

Short and not altogether sweet, funny and touching, this Italian treat is one of life’s simple pleasures.

Sometimes less really is more.

God Grew Tired of Us

God Grew Tired of Us is a truly unique film: a tale of then, and now, pain and promise, joy and longing. It is the true story of people in a distant land who, despite living a life devoid of what we in the U.S. would call the most basic of necessities, lived a good—even joyous life, only to have that life destroyed by civil war, and resurrected in a totally different and often perplexing form.

Sparsely narrated by Nicole Kidman, and directed by Christopher Quinn, God Grew Tired of Us begins in Southern Sudan, where, prior to 1983, a group known as the Dinkas enjoyed a primitive, yet exceedingly rewarding life, farming and tending their cattle over a rich, lush landscape. They bathed in the Nile, grew what they ate, and developed a strong sense of family and community.

This some-would-say idyllic life came to an abrupt end during the second Sudanese civil war between the Muslim north and the black Christian and animist south. In–as they say, 'the blink of an eye', Northern government troops raided the Dinkas’ villages, raping their women, murdering their men, sexually mutilating their male youth, and taking those who remained as slaves. Children were herded into huts and burned alive Animals were slaughtered or left to die.

The only villagers to survive the attack – the so-called "lucky ones"– were the youngsters (mostly boys between the ages of 3 and 11) who were tending cattle in the forest during the rampage. Escaping into the African jingle and across the desert, 27,000 of them traveled more than one thousand miles on foot, in search of a safe haven.

Many would not make it, succumbing to thirst, hunger, pestilence, animal attacks and bombing raids. After a three-year stay in Panyidu at a UN and church-charity-sponsored camp on the Ethiopian border, they were forced to flee when the fighting grew closer. Backtracking through the Sudan, they headed toward Kenya, arriving at a camp in Kakuma in 1992, and what they hoped would be a temporary sanctuary.

Using an indelible collection of archival and more recent footage, God Grew Tired of Us takes us from those earliest of days through 2002, when the first group of refuges were relocated in American cities around the country. We see what they loved and lost, follow them across the desert to that end-of-the road camp where they would languish for more than ten years, and watch as several of the young men make the mind-bending transition to life in these United States.

The jump from archival to then-current film begins in Kakuma, shortly before the chosen few had to say their good-byes. We get a sense of how hard it was for them to leave, as great expectations mixed and mingled with fear of the unknown, guilt at leaving this extended family, and worry that they would never be able to return to their native land.

The bulk of the film focuses on three of the refugees (John Bul Dau, Panther Bior and Daniel Abul Pach) as they settle into life in America. Their feelings are intense. Confused, awestruck, frightened and hopeful, they are barraged with all manner of first-time experiences, having never turned on a light, slept in a bed, set an alarm clock, seen a refrigerator, used a toilet, come upon a trash can, taken a shower, worn shoes, or stepped inside a supermarket. The only thing I can equate it to would be if somehow I was plucked from my easy chair and set down on Mars, with only the barest notion of how to survive.

"I hear there is something called an ‘apartment’" says one boy, shortly before they leave Kakuma. "What does it look like?" asks another. "I’ve never used electricity" says a third, adding,"so I imagine that it will be very hard for me to do that."

Still, they press on, willing to do whatever it takes, be it "digging latrines, cleaning dog’s teeth" or "singing songs to old people so that they’ll fall asleep" in order to make enough money to improve their lot in life, as well as the lives of those they left behind.

And so we watch them as they make their way, marveling at our cultural differences – ("In U.S. there is only one wife" notes one of the boys, "These things are going to affect us"), while trying to make sense our seeming indifference to those in need.

Their reactions and moods―a mixture of gratitude and guilt― are at the heart of this beautifully crafted film. Inspiring on so many levels, it is a tribute to a people who despite all that has befallen them, remain inherently happy, loyal, loving and true to their heritage.

It is amazing that in this day and age, when news is instantaneously transmitted through all manner of technology that their plight was not recognized sooner, and aid did not come quicker. When, in 2001, help did arrive, some 3,800 boys were relocated in Pittsburgh, Syracuse, New York and Omaha, and thirty-four other U.S. cities.

Discontinued after 9/11 for security reasons, the program that brought Daniel, John and Panther to America was eventually re-instituted in 2004, shortly before the end of the second civil war. But their mission is far from over, as, by some counts, 17,000 young people have yet to be relocated.

Some choose to remain. Nearly all hold on to the hope that they will find lost family members alive and well, and that one day they will be able to return to their villages. Since the film was produced, programs have been established to help them search for their families, retain their culture, get an education and make their way into the workforce. But it is slow going.

God Grew Tired of Us is a remarkable documentary—a mixture of heartbreak and joy, wonder and wisdom, success and failure. I hope you will step out of your comfort zone and seek it out. It is everything a documentary should be, and more.

As with all of the films and TV shows I write about in this blog, God Grew Tired of US is available through Netflix.

Dr. Bronner's Magic Soapbox

Well, It’s been a while since I last wrote. In the interim I’ve watched a lot of DVD offerings, some good, some bad, some really bad. But every now and again there was a film that coaxed a smile, sparked a tear, or got me to thinking about someone, some place or something I had never thought about before.

Dr. Bronner's Magic Soapbox is an imperfect but often fascinating documentary. It’s a film about—of all things—a family-owned-and-operated soap company. The story is unique, the people are interesting, and the product (Dr. Bronner’s Magic Soap) is a natural. I know, because despite its flaws, the film peeked my interest to the point where I actually went out and bought a bar.

Unfortunately, the film itself is very uneven, often transgressing from its subject matter for no apparent reason. I suspect the filmmaker used these fillers to compensate for a lack of archival footage, filing in the gaps with a little of this, and much-too-much of that. As a result, the film is a bit like one of those old-time frozen "TV dinners", with too much stuffing and not enough meat.

That said, if you can overlook or fast-forward through those ill-placed sequences, I think you’ll find this odd little documentary to be well worth your while.

It's the story of Dr. Emmanuel Bronner who, like his father before him, was a master soap maker and chemist. Unlike his father, he was—how can I put this? —a bit unstable. But boy oh boy, could he make soap. Castile soap. One-size-fits-all and does-just-about-everything soap.

Fans of the stuff say they use it to bathe themselves, shampoo their hair, brush their teeth, sanitize their kitchen counters, mop their floors and wash their dog. From vegans to world-peace activists, Dr. Bonner’s Castile Soap is beloved by many, not only for its versatility, but the message carved into each and every bar. And what would that be?

All-One. That’s it. That’s all. That’s enough.

The film examines the origin of Bronner's mantra, which turns out to be an abbreviated version of All-One-God-Faith, and fills us in on the life and times of this eccentric (to-say-the-least) individual. While the self-proclaimed doctor claimed to have escaped from a concentration camp during the Holocaust, it appears he had emigrated to states long before the war. In truth, he had escaped—not from a prison camp, but an Illinois mental hospital, where he was being treated for manic depression.

In brief—but insightful clips, we see Bronner lecturing to anyone who will listen about his all-encompassing, All-One philosophy. It was a passion that would quickly overtake his life, leading him to virtually abandon his children. Bronner’s son Ralph notes that his dad’s response to any such accusations was simply, “What’s more important – uniting spaceship earth or raising your own family?”

While any ill feelings may be hiding behind Ralph’s soft-spoken and genuinely kind manner, he has chosen to continue promoting the virtues of the soap and a peaceful existence. At seventy, he is the face of the family business, traveling the country, and giving away free bars of soap and hundreds of dollars at a time to unsuspecting but grateful strangers. A born promoter, he stands on his virtual soapbox, renting local theaters for an evening or two, in order to put on his free, one-man-show about what else, but Dr. Bronner's Magic soap.

Back at the factory, Bronner promotes peaceful co-existence in a very real way, purchasing olive oil (a key ingredient in his soap) from farmers on both sides of the Israeli/Palestinian border.

It's a start.

Dr. Bronner's Magic Soapbox is loaded with interesting, thought-provoking stuff—if you don't mind a little stuffing. Who knows, it just might inspire you to buy a bar, lather up and save the world.

DOC MARTIN: An extremely clever television series from across the pond.

Last week it was Christmas in July at my house. I stuck in a thumb and pulled out a plum of a DVD- or at least an unexpected treasure from among the new releases at NetFlix.

You know how you feel when you’re reading a good book and don’t want it to end? Well, that’s the way I felt about the BBC’s Doc Martin series. Last year after watching the final episode of season 3, I thought it was over. After all, the series had gone off the air in 2008. The writers had― I thought―wrapped things up pretty well. The ending. clever, the future of the main characters left to the viewer’s imagination.

Little did I know that the series’ star, Martin Clunes, and his wife—series producer Philippe Braithwaite, opted to take a two-year break from filming to catch up on life, and treat their daughter to her first vacation since the show began.

And so it was that, unbeknownst to me, Season 4 commenced in 2009, and appeared among NetFlix's new releases earlier this month, just in time to liven up the summer’s dry spell.

I came to Doc Martin after enjoying another gem of a series called William and Mary. That show starred a tall, average-looking but extremely gifted actor named Martin Clunes. Equally adept at drama and comedy, Clunes has a way of disappearing into his characters. The fact that he doesn't look like a leading man, serves both him and the story well.

If you haven’t seen William and Mary, you need to put it on your ‘to do’ list. It is exceptional, and not to be missed. Doc Martin is far lighter fare, with lots of twists and turns and special moments along the way.

The funny thing about Doc Martin is that Klunes’ character (doctor/surgeon Martin Ellingham) isn’t a very likeable chap. Truth be told, he does a lot of things that annoy me. But somehow, I have grown to like him in spite of myself – or should I say, himself?

As the series opens, Dr. Ellingham (an anagram for series creator Dominic Minghella) has just arrived in the fictitious fishing village of Portwenn, having left the big city of London, where he was a successful and well-respected surgeon. Why the sudden, and some would say downward career change? It seems that out of nowhere, the doc became hemophobic, getting down right queasy at the very sight of blood—not a great attribute for a vascular surgeon. But what was a deal-breaker in London, is just a blip on the radar screen in Portwenn.

As the town’s only physician, Doc Martin's waiting room is often packed with people of all ages and medical complaints. Though his bedside manner is virtually non-existent, and he turns away more patients than he tends to, the villagers are, for the most part, quite fond of him. It is a feeling that is in no way reciprocal, as he finds the majority of his patients foolish, annoying and unworthy of his time or doctoring. Pity the poor hypochondriac who wanders in for an ace bandage or bottle of sugar pills.

On the other hand, the doc has saved a lot of unsuspecting town folk and visitors from a wide variety of ills, thanks to his quick diagnosis both in and out of his ‘surgery’ or clinic. But when it comes to personal relationships, the doc is, to say the least, socially challenged. It appears that the only two people he cares anything about are his Auntie Joan and a winsome school teacher/ headmistress named Louisa Glasson (Caroline Catz).

His affection for his aunt stems from a childhood of summers spent in her care on her Portwenn farm. Though we’ve never seen him show her any kind of real affection (not a kiss, not a hug, not an ‘I love you, Auntie” in 4 years'-worth of episodes), we know by the way he acts when she falls ill or has any kind of problem, that he cares. As for Louisa, he seems unable to say or do anything even mildly romantic without screwing it up. One moment he’s kissing her, the next, he’s offering her breath mints. Not exactly the stuff that dreams are made of.

So what does Louisa see in him? Her attraction to this stodgy, distant, unromantic and generally rude man is somewhat of puzzlement, but then again, 7 million viewers a week found him intriguing, so why not Louisa?

I suspect the answer lies in the hope that this curmudgeon of a man, smile-free, and totally tactless, is, beneath his highly starched collar and wardrobe full of pin strips, a good soul. There are hints of it every now and again: glimmers of hope― signs of a caring heart, and wish to do better.

Whether he will or won’t, one thing is certain: he is an exceptional physician, with a knack for diagnosing unsuspected or misdiagnosed ailments. This particular talent makes for some interesting plot twists and unexpected endings. Just when you think you know how know things are going to wind up, something happens, and all bets are off.

Will Martin and Louisa wind up together? Will he ever say the right thing at the right time? Will he ever conquer his phobia? Return to the city and leave Louisa and the good people of Portwenn behind? Perhaps series 5, which is scheduled to begin shooting in 2011, will reveal all, though I suspect not.

By the time season 5 reaches our shores, it will be 2012, which gives you plenty of time to catch up on the first 4 years of the series. Its exceptionally well-written scripts and a supporting cast are guaranteed to keep you glued to your TV, DVD player or computer screen.

Stephanie Cole’s Auntie Joan is feisty and warm, stubborn and softhearted all at the same time: a woman who has rescued strays (human and otherwise) all of her life, including her own nephew.

Other quirky but lovable characters include plumber/ restaurateur Bert Large – (who is), and his son, Al, (who isn’t), played respectively by Ian McNeice and Joe Absolom. Pauline Lamb (Katherine Parkinson), is the doc’s feisty and slightly dippy receptionist, office manager and blood-taker, while Sally Tishell (Selina Cadell), owns and operates Portween’s one and only grocery/chemist (drug store). A major fan of Doc Martin’s, she is a bit of a hypochondriac, wearing a neck brace despite the fact that there is nothing wrong with her neck. Purveyor of pharmaceuticals and other telltale items, she knows everybody’s business, and shares her opinions with anyone who will listen.

In addition to these and other series' staples, a wide assortment of characters weave in and out of Portwenn, including Dr. Edith Montgomery (Lia Williams), who appears for the first time in season 4. Aside from being sexually aggressive, she is, in many ways, a female version of the doc. How she fits into the picture is one of those surprises I was talking about that keep you guessing.

Filmed on location in the fishing town of Port Isaac on the North Cornwall coast, Doc Martin offers up an inviting picture of a near-perfect place to if not live, vacation. Seaside retreats and winding roads dotted with family farms and rows of sea-worn cottages beckon viewers from as far away as Australia to come and take a look. And many do.

If you, like me, are tired of reality TV programs and other questionable fare, take the high road to Portwenn. It may take you an episode or two to get into the series, but once hooked, you’ll be in for a heck of a ride.

A SECRET - A compelling tale with a French twist

Based on an autobiographical novel by Philippe Grimbert, 2007’s A Secret is, on one level, the story of a Jewish family's struggle to survive during the Second World War. On another level, it is a tale of forbidden love and its emotional consequences.

It's also a study in timing—the "if onlys","what ifs" and "should have beens" in life. We have all, at some point, been the beneficiaries of good timing: arriving at the bus stop just as our bus pulls up, or being the fifth caller when that’s what it takes to win the prize. Similarly, we've all experienced some measure of bad timing: being the sixth caller, or arriving at the bus stop moments after the bus has pulled away.

More often than not, timing―good or bad— means little in the grand scheme of things. But every once in a while, timing can totally change a person's life. This last scenario is the premise of this most unusual film.

We pick up the story in the spring of 1940, just days before the German Occupation. Inside a synagogue somewhere in Paris, Maxim Grimberg (a name he will later change to "Grimbert"), an athletically-gifted, ruggedly handsome fellow, is about to wed Hannah, his soft-spoken, non-athletic but adoring bride-to-be.

Moments before the ceremony, Hannah’s brother Robert and his well-toned, beautiful blond wife, Tania, rush in. Introducing their mates, Hannah and Robert innocently brag about their spouse’s virtues (Robert: "She’s a swimmer." Hannah: "Maxim’s won wrestling"), unaware of the instant and overwhelming attraction between the two.

The tale is told in retrospect by a thirty-something François (Mathieu Amalric), son of Maxim and Tania. No misprint, he is Tania's child. Early on, François realizes that he can never live up to his father's dreams, and yearns to know what brought about the seemingly impenetrable wedge that forged itself between them from the first. His quest for the truth ultimately leads to questions answered and secrets revealed.

Though this is basically a war-time saga, Grimbert’s script spans several decades, zigzagging back and forth in time from the early 1940s to the mid 1980s. Turning a basic cinematic device on its head, cinematographer Gérard de Battista calls up the past in rich brushes of Technicolor, while filming the present day in black and white.

The device works, as we are treated to lush representations of a courting life that, in many cases, is enhanced and idealized by the young Grimbert's imagination. Attention to detail is evident in every frame, thanks in large part to costumer Jacqueline Bouchard and production designer Jean-Pierre Kohut-Svelko. A 1950s swimming pool sequence is particularly rich in spirit and authenticity.

The casting is equally stunning, in that both Patrik Briel (Maxime) and C’ecile De France (Tania) are athletic, strong and good-looking. DeFrance’s Tania reminds me of a young Sharon Stone minus the tough, intentionally sexy edge, while Briel’s Maxime is reminiscent of Yves Montand in his prime. And, like Montand in his prime, Briel is wildly popular in France, both as a singer and actor.

As the waif-like bride-to-be Hannah, Ludivine Sagnier is the perfect counterpoint to De France’s athletically-gifted Tania. Dressed down to look like a pleasant but average-looking young woman, she looks nothing like the sexy savvy Julie she portrayed in Francois Ozon’s film, Swimming Pool.

And speaking of Julies, Julie Depardieu, as long-time family friend and confidant, Louise, provides a quiet but strong note to this complex and engrossing tale. She is, as it turns out, a keeper of secrets, one of which, is her own.

While the war (including the Holocaust) is in itself a character in this piece, there are only a few stock shots of actual warfare, and virtually no concentration camp footage. What we do see is the inevitable impact that history had on the Grimberg's life long after the war was won.

In less gifted hands, A Secret could have easily warped into a heavy-handed soap opera. It is only because Grimbert and director Claude Miller chose to address the major issues with subtlety and restraint that the film is as good as it is.

That’s not to say that there aren’t a few exquisite and emotionally-charged moments. One scene in particular stands out, as Maxime views a lake-bound Tania from his bedroom windows. I can still see him rushing from sill to sill to catch a fleeting glance of her, much as Boris Pasternak's distraught poet raced frantically up the stairs to the rooftop window of his ice castle to watch the ill-fated Lara ride away with Victor Komarovsky in Dr. Zhivago.

As I read over these notes, I realize that I haven’t told you much about the actual plot of this incredible film, but to tell you more would rob you of some of its most engrossing and thought-provoking moments. What I can say, is that A Secret explores the way everyday people react in times of war...how they deal with loss or the possibility of loss, and love, and hope. The fact that it is based on a real family - Grimbert's family - makes it all the more relevant. A Secret is an extraordinary film. I urge you to see it.

O'Horton & Schultze Gets the Blues

Some time in the early 1950s, life insurance ads featuring cheery-faced, grey-haired men and women began appearing in digest-sized magazines like Coronet. They were pictured swinging golf clubs, smiling beneath palm trees and posing happily in vacation-like settings. A 1955 headline over a photograph of a man holding a fishing rod, reads, "How I retired in 15 years with $250 a month."

By 1958, this on-going campaign featured a husband and wife enjoying life in sunny California. Above them, a somewhat updated headline read: "How we retired in 15 years with $300 a month."

Eventually, inflation killed the campaign if not the dream of a carefree retirement. Even in these not-so-golden years, there are those who long and plan for a time when they won't have to work. There are, however, others who find the prospect of an unstructured life more than a bit daunting, their identity wrapped snugly in what they do for a living, and how well they do it. Over the years, several films have attempted to capture the transition to life in the not-so-fast lane. Of these, Norway's O'Horton and Germany's Schultze Gets the Blues are two of the best.

Written, directed and produced by Bent Hamer, O'Horton is a quirky film centering around the days immediately preceding and following a railroad engineer's mandatory retirement. Hamer charmed his way into my heart with Kitchen Stories, and I was anxious to see what he could do outside the kitchen.

As it turns out, O'Horton is a good bit darker and more adventurous than Stories, but still in keeping with Hamer’s penchant for keeping things simple, and letting the pictures tell the story.

In case you're wondering, the “O” in “O’Horton" stands for “Odd”—the central character’s given name. Pronounced "owed", it is, apparently, a fairly common name in Norway, and while some critics believe Hamer chose it for its English translation and pronunciation, the screen writer denies it. And I believe him, as Odd is not an odd man. Solitary? Yes. A creature of habit? Perhaps. But odd? No.

If anything, Odd, as portrayed by Baard Owe, is a rather ordinary member of the working class. A railroad engineer by trade, he has always lived by the rules, and in Odd’s world, those rules dictate that he retire at the age of sixty-seven.

We meet him on the morning of what is to be his next-to-last run. As the credits roll, we see a train passing by his modest Oslo apartment building. Cut to his studio apartment, where he is in the midst of a long-standing morning routine: packing his lunch, filling his thermos and covering his parakeet’s cage before setting out on foot for the nearby train terminal.

He arrives just as his train pulls into the station. We see only the front end of the engine. As it comes to a halt, we hear the wheels squeal, the sound of additional cars hooking up, and the slow steady shuffle and eventual acceleration of the train as it makes its way out of the station and into the stark white landscape of a typical Norwegian winter.

Cue the music, and what has to be one of the most beautifully-filmed train sequences I have ever seen. It is a study in black and white, with Hamer using three cameras to provide breathtaking views. There is the overhead shot taken from a helicopter – showing us the expanse of the land and the sure steady path of the train. A second camera is placed just behind Odd, where he sits―trusty pipe in hand, anticipating every twist and turn along the way. A third camera provides ground-level close-ups of the train and surrounding countryside.

The total effect is spell-binding, particularly the cabin footage. Here, we see what Odd sees; the whitest of whites, followed by the blackest of blacks, as the train makes its way in and out of tunnels and snow-covered towns.

Scheduled to make his last run the following morning, Odd arrives in Bergen, where he is honored at the obligatory retirement dinner. This sequence is one of the film’s best: a charming, whimsical piece of folderol, during which he receives a silver train-topped trophy from the railroad, and a wonderfully humorous tribute from his fellow engineers.

It is in these opening sequences that we learn that Odd is a quiet man who is uncomfortable in the spotlight, choosing to be an observer rather than participant at his own retirement party.

When circumstances cause him to miss his last run, Odd's life takes an unexpected turn, trashing the one post-retirement plan he had in place―a return flight to Oslo. What would be a minor snag for most, is, literally, a major departure for this life-long railroad man, and I found myself wondering whether it was, if only subconsciously, an act of defiance: a non-confrontational way of getting back at a company that has no use for a loyal employee of a certain age. Look Ma, no trains!

But ma isn’t listening, as she sits by her rest home window, lost in a world of her own. Yet despite the fact that she no longer has the ability to listen or respond to her son, she remains an ever-present force in his life, her lost dreams infiltrating his own.

With no plans for the future, Odd takes refuge in the faces, places and creature comforts that have been a part of his working man’s routine. Among them, a neighborhood tobacco shop, a local restaurant where, like Cheers, everyone knows his name, and a boarding house, where a smitten innkeeper has kept a room and hot meal waiting for him on the nights when his run ended in Bergen.

Yet even amidst the old and familiar, there are off-putting moments, as one unexpected dilemma leads to another. Before long, the newly-retired engineer finds himself taking chances and making decisions that fly in the face of rules and convention, and are, at the very least, out of character.

After one such predicament in a local gym, Odd comes upon an elderly gentleman named Trygve Sussner, superbly played by veteran actor Espen Skjønberg. Lying on a city pavement on a cold winter’s night, it appears that Dr. Sussner has had a bit too much to drink. Odd helps the old man to his feet and into cab: a kindness that leads to a series of events and givens that are not quite what they seem. As these events unfold, and the givens fall away, we learn the back story that shaped Odd’s life, and will ultimately impact his future.

Towards the end of the film, Sussner confides that as a young man, he had a gift for being able to see with his eyes closed, and would often take to the road blind-folded. Inviting Odd to join him for a pre-dawn drive, the old soul looks around his snow globe of a town and remarks, “Today is a beautiful day for driving blind.” It is a statement that far exceeds its literal meaning, causing the once cautious engineer to do some blind driving of his own.

Like O’Horton, Schultze Gets the Blues follows a man who has been forced into retirement, without a clue as to how to fill in the blanks. Despite the fact that Horton is a Norwegian engineer and Schultze is German miner, their stories, at least at first blush, appear to be quite similar. The engineer receives a silver train-topped trophy for his years of service, the miner receives a rock of salt. The engineer finds comfort in his pipe, the miner, in his accordion. And yet, to say that they are basically one and the same film with different subtitles, would be a mistake, as they each have their own rhythm, look and story line. Fraternal twins, they are alike in some ways, yet totally different in others.

Of the two, Schultze’s tale is a good bit brighter, with a happy dose of Zydeco music, and a trip across the pond to cheer us on. But while O’Horton’s journey may be somewhat darker, it is not without its fair share of humorous moments. Together, they prove that the joys, fears, foibles and challenges surrounding retirement are universal. Underscoring this notion is the fact that, as of last August, O'Horton had been seen by more Americans than Norwegians; the commonality being the milestone rather than the miles.

Are these films for the geriatric set, or can they be enjoyed by all? The answer lies in another question: Do you have to be from outer space, a vampire, animated figure or larger-than-life mortal to enjoy films about them? Surely not. A good movie is a good movie. It's as simple as that.

Here’s to a bright and shining New Year, filled with spectacular moments both on and off the silver screen.

Till the next time...

Kinky Boots: It's a shoe in

As I write this I'm listening to the Kinky Boots CD sampler. It’s a great soundtrack that includes an updated version of “Whatever Lola Wants”. The song, which has been recorded by everyone from Sarah Vaughan to Bob and Ray, comes from the 1955 Broadway show Damn Yankees, but is perfectly suited to this 2005 film, both for its tone, and title.

The basic theme of the movie is a familiar one: someone’s plans are put on hold by the death of a parent, as in Frank Capra's 1946 classic, It’s a Wonderful Life, where George Bailey is forced to put his dreams aside in order to take over the family business.

In Kinky Boots, that business is Price & Sons, Ltd., a well-respected but antiquated Northampton company known for its well-made but out-of-step men’s oxfords. When owner Harold Price dies unexpectedly, his adult son Charlie’s hopes and dreams appear to be buried along with his dad. For while Mr. Price senior’s heart was stitched into every sole, Charlie’s beats elsewhere, as does that of his pretty young fiancée, Nicola.

As in the Capra tale, the timing couldn't be worse, with the newly-betrothed couple having just arrived at their brand new, London apartment. "The best thing of all is the view" gushes Nicola, as she raises the shade of their bedroom window. "It's not Northampton!" But moments later the phone rings with word of Harold Price's passing, and all too soon the view changes to one of Charlie and Nicola riding in a limousine on their way to the cemetery, looking bleakly out the window as they pass the aging factory, the words "Save our soles" painted in a graffiti-like sprawl across a faded panel of the building.

Accepting his fate, Charlie returns to the factory the following morning, without a clue as to how to run the business. But as he soon learns, there is no business― literally. With no orders to fill, and a stock pile of shoes that no one will buy, it's clear that the factory is, and has been running on empty for some time.

Unwilling to sell, but with few other options, Charlie begins the painful process of letting people go. When a young about-to-be-sacked employee (Sarah-Jane Potts) suggests that he save the company by finding and filling an as-yet unfilled niche in the world of shoes, Price takes her advice, traveling to London in search of an idea.

Shortly after his arrival, he comes upon and thwarts a would-be mugging, an incident that introduces him to a feisty drag queen named Lola. Lola, whose given name is Simon, runs a cabaret similar to one you may have seen in LaCage aux Folles. The encounter sparks an idea, one Charlie believes might re-boot the business and turn the ailing factory around.

What follows is fairly predictable: not quite the Mickey Rooney/Judy Garland-esque "We'll build a barn and have a show" scenario, but predictable none-the-less. And yet, it more than holds your attention, as time runs short, emotions run high and people dig in.

Chiwetel Ejiofor as Lola, is a stand-out, delivering a first rate performance that, in less skilled hands, could have negatively impacted the entire tone of the piece. While he looked familiar, I couldn't quite place him until I read his filmography, which included 2002's Dirty Pretty Things (directed by Stephen Frears) where he starred as Okwe, a Nigerian doctor-turned-cab driver and concierge, and 2003's Love Actually – where he took on a smaller role as Peter, the newly-wedded husband of Keira Knightley.

But it is in Kinky Boots, that Ejiofor truly shines. Inspired by, and loosely-based on an episode of the BBC documentary series Trouble at the Top, director Julian Jarrold's fictionalized version is a good bit more colorful, laced with perfectly-chosen music and a hopeful ending.

And speaking of hope―I hope the title of this film won't cause you to pass it by, assuming that it's filled with salacious sex and x-rated language, as nothing could be further from the truth. For while it's certainly not Mary Poppins, it certainly is a heady mixture of drama and comedy, show-stopping musical numbers and heart-wrenching pathos, with a little romance thrown in for good measure. I think you'll get a kink out of it.

Elsa and Fred

I’ve just finished watching a lovely little film called Elsa and Fred. I must say that at first, I wasn’t quite sure I was going to like this movie, as Elsa appeared to be almost a caricature of a character – wildly and unbelievably eccentric. And yet, before I knew it, like Fred, I was involved.

Briefly, Elsa and Fred is the story of Fred, a newly-widowed, pleasant-looking, extremely decent but conventional man in his late seventies, who moves into an apartment across the hall from Elsa, an eccentric eighty-two –year-old woman (China Zorrilla) with an incredible zest for life and penchant for―well, lying.

As the movie begins, we see Fred (whose real name is Alfredo) through Elsa’s eyes. She describes him as “a bit opaque...like his inner light had gone out. All his life he’s been this boring person. He’s never stepped out of line, had an indiscretion… he loves being sick.”

And so he does. Fred, as adeptly played by Manual Alexandre, is a man who is well dressed, polite, quiet, and grieving. And though his grief is real, Elsa can’t help but wonder if his marriage was as humdrum as the rest of his life, for when asked to describe his newly deceased wife, Fred’s first response is to say that she was “tidy.”

From this we gather that their marriage was, if not a love affair, then comfortable, and he misses that familiarity and its trappings. Afraid of dying, Fred takes enough pills to fill a toilet bowl. When he confides his fears to Elsa, she comes up with a different diagnosis: “You’re not scared of dying,” she pronounces. “You’re scared of living.” And so the story unravels, as Elsa sets out to “make this dinosaur live.”

Like Fernanda Montenegro in Central Station, Ms. Zorilla takes what could be a highly unlikable character, and makes us care about her. Some, no doubt, will even envy Elsa’s spirit, and ability to get to the heart of the matter, without tip-toeing around.

As the credits rolled, and I thought about what I had just seen, I found myself comparing this 2005 film to 1988’s The Accidental Tourist. Totally different in many ways, these two films share one thing in common: they both center around strong, off-beat women who, despite the cards that fate has dealt them, remain full of life, and the men they pull out of the abyss— men who, for different reasons, have been afraid to take chances, make changes, and get on with their lives.

Elsa and Fred is not a perfect film. There is an over abundance of slow-fades, the music is heavy-handed, and some of the supporting characters are a bit too sharply drawn. And yet, there are so many good things about this piece, that I am even willing to forgive the screen writers for its inevitable conclusion.

Why? Because in this film, the story isn’t nearly as important or interesting as the people who inhabit it. To Zorrilla’s credit, we (along with Fred) come to adore Elsa, despite the fact that she is deeply flawed. And the subtly of Alexandre's performance takes us from here-to-there, with great joy and promise.

The sub-plot may hit home with some baby boomers, who have watched their aging, widowed parents find romance, and had to deal with their own feelings about what that means to them. Similarly, those who are of a certain age, and have had to deal with their grown children’s feelings and concerns, will also find something to think about here.

While Elsa and Fred is billed as a comedy, I would put it more into the ‘dramady’ category. Yes, there are funny moments― well-placed zingers and bits of business, mostly executed by Elsa, but for the most part, this is a movie with far more depth to it than say, 27 Dresses, When Harry Met Sally or The Runaway Bride. If you’re looking for light and airy, this ‘ain’t’ it.

I know that there are a good many people who shy away from foreign films by because they don’t want to deal with the subtitles. If you are among them, I hope you will set aside any misgivings, and watch this small but delightful film. Those of you who are Fellini fans will especially enjoy the movie’s nod to Anita Ekberg and Marcello Mastroianni, and the famous fountain scene in La dolce vita. For all this and more, I say, bravo!

Mad About Mad Men

It occurred to me the other day that in focusing almost entirely on my favorite DVDs these past few months, I've neglected the other “pics and pans” promised in the launching of this blog. In an effort to rectify the situation, I would like to introduce you to one of the best cable shows on television, as well as a couple of exceptionally delicious food finds.

One look at the title of this latest effort, and a good portion of you are apt to say, “You’re going to introduce me to Mad Men?" Okay, okay. I know. Many of you are already unabashed fans. The AMC series is, after all, about to go into its third season. But if you have not as yet indulged, or if, per chance, have yet to watch it with the accompanying commentaries, “this Bud’s for you.”

Truth be told, I love nearly everything about Mad Men, which is why I have been gearing up for the new season―slated to arrive on August 16th―by revisiting past episodes enhanced by those afore-mentioned commentaries.

While you can watch most of these episodes on AMC from time-to-time, you can only watch the commentary versions and other extras by either purchasing or renting the DVDs. For me, these special features - particularly the commentaries, take the viewing experience to a whole new level, offering reflections and information you can only garner by listening to the writers, actors and behind-the-scenes teams who created them. They are also a great way to clear up any questions you may have about a particular scene or situation.

The show revolves around Sterling Cooper, a mid-sized, second-tier 1960s Madison Avenue advertising agency. At Sterling Cooper, nearly everyone drinks, smokes and sleeps around. Those who don’t, gossip about those who do. It’s typical office fare, but with New York City as its backdrop, Mad Men is filled with intoxicating glimpses of the way it was: the New York restaurants and smoke-filled haunts, forever captured in films like Brigadoon, Designing Women and Lover Come Back, but without the Hollywood glow. For this is a darker look at this multi-layered decade. Doris Day, with her twinkling eyes and closely-guarded virginity, could never work for Sterling Cooper.

And yet, this totally fictionalized version of the way it was, is, in itself, intriguing, and filled with nostalgic nods to some of our favorite products, past times and moments. Those of you who are old enough to remember the decade, will likewise recall many of the brands, campaigns and life-changing events the show uses to take us from here to there. Watching one particular episode the other night, I was reminded of an ad campaign that took over the air waves and newspapers at the time. It featured three little words: We Try Harder.

While the show recently alluded to another ground-breaking 1960's campaign―the famous Volkswagen "Lemon/Small Wonder" ads, Avis Rent-A-Car’s We Try Harder promotion was right up there. I remember collecting a drawer-full of We Try Harder buttons, each printed in a different language. It was a brilliant campaign, and it, along with those Volkswagen ads, made me want to be a part of the madness.

The award-winning series projects you into that world, and a time when men wore suits, hats and skinny ties to work, and neatly-coiffed women were, for the most part, stuck behind their manual typewriters. Smoking, drinking and carousing were, if not encouraged, then tolerated by some, and accepted by others as part of the game.

A commuter train-ride away, shirt-waisted wives held dinner for their self-dubbed “mad men,” as their children fiddled with the new stereo set, or sat patiently with their mom in the family’s station wagon, waiting for dad to arrive on the evening train.

What is, perhaps, most surprising about this series is that it is as fresh as it is retro – a nod to the late Peter Allen’s observation that “Everything old is new again.” The themes, dreams, disappointments and traumas of this often glorified decade are the themes, dreams, disappointments and traumas of today. Then, as now, men and women worried about being replaced by their younger counterparts, both at home and at the office. Technology bulldozed its way into our lives, and world events frightened, shaped and intrigued us. Like the man said, “Everything old is new again.”

Where Mad Men could have been written and played in a camp-like fashion, creator Matt Weiner thankfully chose to take the higher road. From sets to fashions, attitudes to platitudes, child rearing to commandeering, everything―if you’ll forgive the pun— is spot-on.

And then there’s the cast. It is a credit to the make-up and wardrobe team that Jon Hamm, (Sterling Cooper’s Creative Director, Don Draper) and January Jones, as Draper's Grace Kelly-like wife, are barely recognizable away from the set. Hamm—as the mysterious Don Draper, is so good-looking, so chiseled, so cool and distant, you have to wonder if the actor is really the ham fellow cast-members remark about.

Jones is, to my mind, the weakest link in the chain, though a very pretty and adequate addition to the cast. More impressive is Elisabeth Moss, who, along with Hamm, is deservedly up for an Emmy. As the complicated secretary-turned-copywriter, Peggy Olson, Moss is totally believable as a twenty-something secretarial school graduate who appears to be one thing, and is, in fact, quite another.

Other stand-outs include Vincent Kartheiser as Peggy’s off-and-on again paramour, and John Slattery as the agency’s number two man and chief womanizer, Roger Sterling. You may remember him as Eva Longoria Parker’s late and politically-corrupt husband on Desperate Housewives.

But this is an ensemble cast, and everyone on the show is perfectly cast, from office manager Joan Hollaway (Christina Hendricks) to the ever-quirky Bertram Cooper, magnificently played by Robert Morris, who, as a decidedly younger version of himself and his character, lit up the Broadway stage (and movie) in How to Succeed In Business Without Really Trying during the very era Mad Men seeks to recreate.

In short, if you have a passion for all things "sixty" and the way that advertising (spurred on by world events and new technologies) impacted everything from race relations to office protocol, you’ll love this unique and highly-watchable series.
And there’s a lot to love, particularly on the Season One DVDs, with their accompanying commentaries, special features and featurettes. Together, they provide an inside track on the way the series was conceived, dialogue crafted, sets designed, wardrobe assembled, music chosen and cast―cast. Season Two offers similar fare, but there is an unbridled enthusiasm in Season One's commentaries (due, in part, to what was―at that point― newly found fame and recognition), that is particularly appealing.

But don't take my word for it. If you haven’t seen this beautifully-crafted piece of television, take the “A” train to Madison Avenue and travel back in time–to a time when network television ruled, and the morning paper was not yet in mourning. Invite a friend along―someone who is old enough to remember those bygone days, and open to sharing their personal memories and insights with you. Go all out; whip up a meatloaf and some mashed potatoes, grab a six-pack of bottled Coke, and enjoy the view. No time and/or interest in cooking? Not to worry. Pick up a couple of the following food finds, and get ready to rock―or should I say, twist?

FOOD FINDS

I ran across this first product quite by accident, at—of all places―Kroger, a store not generally known for its wide array of international brands. But it was at Kroger that I came upon Capilano Natural Australian Honey – the best I’ve ever tasted. I suggest you purchase a package of Wonder English Muffins and some lightly salted butter to go with it. I was a Thomas muffin fan prior to all of this, but Wonder’s version is much cheaper, and crisps up perfectly when halved and toasted, staying remarkably warm and crunchy when lightly slathered with softened butter and drizzled with Capilano. OMG.

Prefer jam to honey? Reach for some homemade peach or blueberry preserves from Pontotoc Ridge Blueberry Farm. The blueberry jam is thin – almost runny, and laced with dozens of small blueberries that spill across a buttered muffin like marbles.

The peach preserves are just as heavenly, with large pieces of fruit throughout. I found the strawberry/fig jam to be too sweet for my taste, looking and tasting more like something you would spoon on top of short cake than your English muffins or freshly-baked biscuits. But, then again, strawberry short cake may be just what you're looking for.

In any case, Pontotoc Ridge offers a wide variety of jams and butters, including honeysuckle and kudzu. I bought a small taster-size jar of the stuff just to see what it tasted like, and found it to be surprisingly bland. My advice would be to stick with the standards,which, in this case, are anything but standard fare. You’ll find them at the Downtown Farmer’s Market here in Memphis, as well as the Midtown Farmer’s Market in Oxford.

More of a dessert person? Look no further than the freezer section of the Fresh Market, and a New England-based product called GaGa. Named after the founder's grandmother, the pint-sized container claims that their product is as “Smooth as ice cream..." [and]"...Fresh like sherbet.” And it is.

So far I’ve tried GaGa's lemon, orange and raspberry flavors, all of which remind me of my childhood Creamsickle days. Of the three, I liked the orange least, and can't wait to try their chocolate and 'rainbow' varieties. Live outside of Memphis? According to GaGa's web site, these tasty treats and their Popsicle off-springs are also available at selected Whole Foods and Wegmans markets.

Incidentally, in case you were wondering―no one sends me free samples or pays me to push their products on this blog site. What you see, is what I get: foods, flicks and TV shows that are just too good to miss. May you enjoy them all.

Till the next time…

Hear My Song

As anyone who loves books, magazines, movies and music can tell you, the main library’s semi-annual sale is a wondrous event. Over the years I have poured through and amassed all kinds of donated and discarded treasures that have made my life richer, and all for a few cents on the original-price dollar.

Friends of the Library get a head-start on sifting through the stacks, and there was one year when I must have carted home at least fifty old magazines to bolster my collection of pre-1960 periodicals.

This year, I waited until the second day of the sale, hoping that there would be fewer items to tempt me, as I realized long ago that if I kept buying these things at my current pace, my collections would quickly take over the house.

I arrived at the library some time around 1 p.m. Much to my surprise, dismay and delight, the tables of were still bulging with bargains. By the time I checked out, I had managed to whittle my stash down to four soft-covers, eight not-so-old magazines, a Wally Lamb audio book I’d meant to read, and a well-worn VHS library copy of the 1991 film, Hear My Song—an eight-dollar-and-change windfall.

I’d watched Hear My Song several times over the years. It's one of those so-called “small movies” that lives up to the old "good things come in small packages" adage. I had a home-taped copy somewhere, but I bought the video because I wanted to share it with a friend, who I know would love it as much as I did. As it turned out, she'd already seen and enjoyed it several times, but she said she knew someone who would appreciate it.

Before I passed it on, I decided to watch it yet again, as it had been nearly a decade since I had last seen the film. I was surprised at how many of the small but delightful moments I had forgotten. Aside from an obvious bit of lip-syncing in a couple of performance sequences, I found it to be as dellightful as ever.

Ned Beatty is the only actor you may recognize, and the only American in this marvelously-cast piece. He plays that part of an Irish tenor by the name of Josef Locke, who, it turns out, was a real person, and quite the celebrity in Europe back in the fifties and early sixties.

After looking Loche's biography up on the Internet, I was surprised to see how much Beatty looks like the tenor, something casting agents tend to ignore. Sought by the government for non-payment of taxes, the real Locke fled England back in the early sixties. It is this fact that forms the basis of this fictionized account, picking up the story some thirty years later.

The film centers around a thirty-something Irishman named Micky O’Neil. Micky is in love, though he just can’t seem to say the three little words his girlfriend longs to hear. He also has trouble telling the truth. His are small lies – white lies if you will, but he is, at heart, a good soul. Played by Adrian Dunbar, who co-wrote the script with director Peter Chelsom, he is charming, sweet, and a bit of a rascal.

Micky owns a night club in Liverpool, booking less-than-authentic (not to mention infinitely cheaper) headliners like Franc Cinatra. Nearly broke and destined to lose his club unless he comes up with some quick cash, Micky books "Mr. "X", a Josef Locke impersonator. Pre-show posters make it appear as if Loche is coming out of hiding for this once-in-a-lifetime concert, filling the club to capacity. But when the ruse is exposed, the town rebels.

Making matters worse is that unknown to Micky, his girlfriend’s mom (Shirley-Anne Field) was romantically involved with Loche shortly before he disappeared. Her anticipation at seeing him again, followed by her (and her daughter's) obvious dismay at being duped, serves as a wake-up call for the lovesick Irishman. Hoping to make it up to her and his patrons, Micky sets off for Ireland in hopes of finding Locke and bringing him back to Liverpool for a long-overdue concert and reunion.

What follows is a whimsical detour from the real story, but it is a lovely detour. To tell you anything more would take away from the enjoyment of this marvelous piece, including a not-to-be-missed ending that will have you cheering from your Barcalounger.

Locke was known for several songs, and they are all included, fitting perfectly into the plot, from the title piece (“Hear My Song, Violetta”) to “I’ll Take You Home Again Kathleen” and “Goodbye.” There are also wonderful bits of dialogue – many of which are mightily delivered by perfectly-cast supporting players like Harold Berens, who, as elderly band leader Benny Rose, responds to Micky’s amused query -“Who are you?” with a Jimmy Durante-like, “If the phone doesn’t ring – it’s me.”

Hear My Song is truly a gem of a film. Rent it. Watch it. Love it. Share it, and spread the joy.

The Captain's Paradise

I don’t know why, but it always comes as a surprise to find out that something or someone I thought I had discovered, had a prior life. Example? The hauntingly beautiful "Smoke Gets in your Eyes." I heard it for the first time in 1958, when The Platters version of the song topped the charts for weeks on end. Like so many of my friends, I thought it was a new tune, when, in fact,Jerome Kern and Otto Harbach wrote it for the 1933 operatta, Roberta. Bob Hope introduced it, but it was Paul Whiteman who scored with his rendition, as did three other artists. Who knew?

Many people think Nat King Cole introduced the tune (his version of the song was a 1940's hit), while those of you who are post-Platters babies probably discovered it within the body of a movie soundtrack. It’s been on a bunch of them, including Hearts in Atlantis, Smoke, American Graffiti and Four Weddings and a Funeral. So new, it’s not.

Mad Man fans may recognize the song from the AMC series’ pilot episode, which not only borrowed the tune, but the title. All of which is to say that there are a lot of people out there who would be surprised to learn that what they believed to be a new song, is actually a seventy-six-year-old classic.

But surprises come in all shapes and sizes. As a young girl, I was surprised to learn that some of the TV stars from my childhood days had once been big time movie stars― people like Lucille Ball, Dick Powell, Loretta Young and Ralph Bellamy.

A few actors and actresses are lucky enough to have careers that span fifty, sixty, even seventy years. As a result, they may be known for one thing by one generation, and another by another. Case in point: the late Sir Alec Guinness. Twenty-somethings may be surprised to learn that Sir Alec (aka Obi-Wan Kenobi) was a major stage and screen star long before the Wars, appearing in dozens of plays and motion pictures, Bridge on the River Kwai, for which he took home a Best Actor Oscar.

Guinness was said to be the director's good luck charm, and can be seen in some of Lean's most well-received works - Dr. Zhivago, Lawrence of Arabia and A Passage to India among them. But Guinness was also in a number of smaller films, like The Lavender Hill Mob, The Ladykillers and my personal favorite, a sprightly British comedy called The Captain’s Paradise.

I was just a child when Paradise hit the big screen in 1953, but Pete, my long-time significant other, remembered it well, and would bring it up from time to time when the subject of what to give someone presented itself. Last month, faced with the task of choosing a staggering number of birthday, wedding and graduation cards and gifts, the world's worst chooser of gifts turned to her well-worn VHS copy of The Captain’s Paradise for a fresh perspective.

Sir Alec plays Captain Henry St. James, a ship’s captain who makes his living ferrying passengers back and forth from the British territory of Gibraltar to the Spanish-ruled Tangiers. Believing that no one woman could fulfill all of his – or any man’s needs, he becomes a bigamist, with a wife in every port. When in Gibraltar, he lives quietly with the domestically-inclined Maud, aptly played by Celia Johnson. You may remember her from the previously-reviewed Brief Encounter. Maud is the ideal homemaker, content, it seems, to cook and clean her way into her husband’s heart.

When in Tangiers, the captain comes home to Nita, played by Yvonne De Carlo. Nita is a hot little number, who, it appears, likes nothing more than to party her way through life, dancing, romancing and pleasing her man, without ever having to worry about dish pan hands.

Over the years, the Captain continues to live this double life, each wife unaware of the others existence. A captain’s paradise? Perhaps, but a paradise built on lies and assumptions: assumptions tested when the ever-thoughtful but careless captain unknowingly switches anniversary presents, giving Maud a bikini intended for Nita, and Nita an apron he bought for Maud.

What follows is a clever and thought-provoking conclusion that will have you questioning any pre-conceived notions about people, places, and preferences. To tell you anything more about the plot or predicament would ruin the fun. Suffice to say that life – and people, are unpredictable, because, as the good folks at Almond Joy have been known to say, “Sometimes you feel like a nut; sometimes you don’t.”

The Captain’s Paradise is a lovely way to discover or rediscover the talents of Sir Alec. Give it a shot. After watching it, you just may want to rethink this year’s Father’s Day gift.

Till the next time...

Outsourced

I don’t know about you, but sometimes I’m just in the mood for a mindless, totally unpretentious, happy little movie. When I'm looking for that kind of experience,I really don't care if it has a four-star or no-star cast, big time director or unique premise. All I ask is that it leave me feeling good about life and the human condition. A two-star movie on a good (or bad) day can be extremely satisfying.

Outsourced is a perfect example. While 95% of this American-made film takes place in India, Outsourced is no Slumdog Millionaire, nor does it try to be. By that I mean that athough it doesn’t dismiss the country’s abject poverty, it doesn’t wallow in it either. Rather, it shows how so many with so little – be it possessions or personal space, are able to live together with dignity and even joy.

The plot revolves around a young American named Todd Anderson (Josh Hamilton) who is second in command at a novelty company’s Seattle call center. When his boss informs him that the center is about to close and customer service calls outsourced to India, Todd has only moments to decide whether he wants to join the ranks of the unemployed or travel to Mombai, where he will both train his replacement (a sweet-natured soul named Puros) and get the new call center up to speed. His decision drives the plot forward, taking us to an Indian airport terminal just outside the city.

The moment our reluctant hero steps off the plane he's aware that he’s not in Kansas (okay, Seattle) any more. This new (old) world bares little resemblance to the one he has left behind, and it is clear from the first that adjusting to his new surroundings is going to take some doing.

First time co-writer/director John Jeffcoat spent several months in India during his college years, and drew from his experiences there for much of the film's humor and pacing.

A pretty call center rep named Asha is the heroine of the piece. As portrayed by Ayesha Dharker, she is captivating, but not what you would call “movie-star beautiful.” What she is – is smart, and it is this quality that draws Todd to her. I found this premise, in itself, unique and dare I say hopeful?

While Jeffcoat and co-writer George Wing are out to entertain rather than preach or teach, they use humor to acknowledge both the down and up-side of living in a place where so many have so little. Unlike its Slumdog cousin, their India is warm and welcoming, a place where family, community and customs are important and preserved, despite these obstacles.

The humor here is such that nearly everyone can identify with it on some level. Even the not-so-likable characters are likable in their quirkiness, and the enthusiasm and hospitality of the people Todd comes in contact with is catching.

His relationship with Asha is, I suspect, quite plausible–even realistic, while not necessarily delivering the Hollywood ending we Americans have come to expect from our romantic comedies. Then again, Outsourced isn’t your typical romantic comedy. Yes, parts of it are romantic, but unlike the Nora Ephron Meg Ryan/Tom Hank's pairings that we have come to know and love, many of this movie's funniest and most up-lifting moments have nothing to do with their relationship.

Is Outsourced a great movie? No. Not really. But then again, aren’t there times when you would rather have a cold beer on a hot day than a warm glass of fine wine? Maybe not, but you know what I mean. Whether you’re talking gourmet vs. fast food, a great novel or chick lit, epic film or simple indie, sometimes less is can be infinitely more satisfying than more.

In this case, there is a take-home message that lingers long after the rental has been returned, and its title, forgotten. For in putting a face on the Puros and Ashas of this world, Outsourced reminds us that as dissimilar as we are, we are all searching for a way to keep some naan on the table, and our dreams in tact.

When you think of it, it really is amazing that those voices at the other end of the Internet are as calm and pleasant and helpful as they are, given the long middle-of-the-night hours, low wages and constant barrage of questions, problems and verbal abuse they must endure.

Such observations are my own. Writer/Director Jeffcoat only sets the stage and lets the viewer take it from there. No, Outsourced isn't Slumdog Millionaire, or even Norma Ray for that matter. More about satisfaction than dissatisfaction, it is a movie celebrating small kindnesses, gentle people and cultural differences.

A word of caution: do not confuse Outsourced with the similarly-themed 2008 film End of the Line. Though both revolve around a smart young Indian call center agent and an attractive American male, they are a world apart.

In The Other End of the Line, Shira Saran is the ultra-bright Indian rep (Pyria) who works at an American credit card company's Indian-based call center. In Pyria's world, reps can talk to their customers for as long and as often as they like, hooking up with them directly, and chatting about everything from movie stars to getting together for a one-on-one "meet-and-greet" in San Francisco.

Jesse Metcalfe (Desperate Housewives former gardener) is Granger Woodruff, the young American Creative Director on The Other End of the Line,' who drops everything before a job-on-the-line presentation to follow his heart.

I know, I know, this is a movie, not real life. But good romantic comedies - even fantasy-based films, are based on the sensibilities that follow them into Never Neverland. Director James Dawson's Neverland is a schizophrenic world - an unbalanced mix of pratfalls and platitudes. National Lampoon's Vacation one minute, Pretty Woman the next. Dawson even uses the latter's theme song to underscore a 'let's-fall-in-love-in-one-day montage.'

But even a bad movie can serve up a good line or two, and End of the Line is no exception. Close to the end of its one hour-and-forty-six-minute run, there is a wedding sequence, where best-man Granger raises a glass to the happy couple, regaling guests with tales of the groom's life-long penchant for going after what he wants, even if it means taking chances.

Though the words attributed to the groom counteract his on-screen presence as a four-star buffoon, they are well worth remembering. "Nothing should ever hold a man back from his future" quotes Granger, and we can almost see the light bulb of true love shining over his head. Putting down his champagne glass, he makes his way through the tables of wedding guests and heads for the airport in a Pretty Woman/Richard Geer/fire-escape-inspired conclusion.

Well, all this "talking" about India has made me hungry for some home-grown Indian food. Anybody up for some tandoori chicken and a basket-full of freshly baked naan that's second to naan? My favorite Memphis Indian Restaurant is India Palace at 1720 Poplar Avenue. They have a great lunch time buffet featuring all kinds of chicken, lamb, potato, lentil and vegetable dishes, along with a happy choice of desserts that includes a killer rice pudding. And in the summer you've gotta try their mango milkshake-like concoction (I think it's called Mango Lassi). It's just wonderful. Filling - but wonderful.

You'll find several other Indian restaurants around town as well, all of them worth trying. Why not pick a favorite, dine in or out, and top of the night with a little in-home Outsourced entertainment!

Till the next time...