An Epic Search for Family

Tonight I’m going to switch gears so that I can tell you that Monday night I finished reading a stunningly realized piece of literary greatness, which that night took its rightful seat atop the list of my all time most thrilling page-turning experiences. It was one of those times when I turned the last page and shut the book and just sat there for a moment without moving or saying a word. A reading experience that affects you in such a way that you must pause and think before you can move on to the next thing. Written by The New York Review of Books contributing writer, Daniel Mendelsohn, The Lost: A Search for Six of Six Million is the true story of the author’s multi-year search for the identity of one entire branch of his family tree, lost to the Nazi carnage of World War II.

As a small boy, Mendelsohn recounts at the beginning of his journey, he could make certain members of his family burst into tears simply by entering a room. This uncanny ability to make the elder generation of his relatives weep was due to nothing more than the boy's involuntary, fierce resemblance to his grandfather’s oldest brother, Shmiel. From that point in his life on, a fascination with understanding this reaction to his looks and their likeness to a man who died years before he was even born grows within him until it ultimately leads to the round-the-world voyage of discovery that makes up this mesmerizing tale.

As with any piece of literature or music or film that uses the Holocaust as the episode within which to set its scene, there is always the danger of falling prey to two guaranteed means of failure. Either the story is a too specific and sharp-focused examination of one person or small group of people; the author’s attempt to give his audience a jolting up close look at a character with whom to identify. An approach that inevitably runs the risk of undermining the enormity of the Holocaust. Or the author views the subject through a wide-focus lens in order to paint a truly grand picture of the event that ultimately failed in its participants’ attempts to bring about the total annihilation of an entire race of people. This approach ultimately leaves the reader, while surely filled with the appropriate shock and disgust, a distant and removed observer of the murder of vast amounts of faceless victims.

Mendelsohn beautifully navigates his story between these two techniques. Throughout his book, he makes it clear that his main focus is to put faces on the members of his great uncle’s family. However, in order to find out who this man was, what his wife was like, what his four daughters did for fun around their small Ukrainian town, and, most important to the author, when and how they all eventually succumbed to Hitler’s Final Solution to the Jewish question, the author must venture far away from his home in New York City and seek out survivors who may have at some point come in contact with his lost family members. As he slowly, many times by absolutely amazing luck, finds these marvelously described people, from Australia and Sweden to Israel and eventually the small town of Bolechow itself, and listens to all of their stories of endurance in the face of unimaginable horror, Mendelsohn begins to realize that in his efforts to uncover the specifics, he has written a book that testifies to the Holocaust as a whole. He never loses sight of the big picture, even as he hones in on the explicit details.

And most perfect of all, this quest to find these lost relatives, to try to know and understand the man who he so closely resembled as a child that he often brought people to tears, ultimately becomes for Mendelsohn a journey of self-discovery. His book is a wonderful testament to the importance of family and the idea that only through a genuine appreciation of where you came from can you ever truly know who you are.

I can’t think of a better way to spend this year’s observances of Easter and Passover than by reading a book that recognizes how special it is to be a part of a family.

Until next week, here is my hope that we all find out Shangri-La. Good night.

A Good Head of Steam on the Ol' African Queen

They both had already worked through what many believed to be the high points of their movie careers. Even though she had yet to act in three of the four movies that would bring her the current record for most Academy Awards won by an actress, the general consensus at the time was that her best work was behind her. He had become famous for playing the tough, sharp-witted romantic lead in some of the greatest Hollywood movies of all time, but age and a chronic drinking problem had all but guaranteed that those types of roles no longer found their way to his door. However, in 1951, when the two collaborated on a film together for the first time, a true movie classic was born. She opened up a new chapter on her prestigious film career, deepening the impact of her future status as a genuine movie legend. And he won the Academy Award that had been eluding him for more than twenty years.

Katharine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart together in John Huston’s The African Queen make up one of the most memorable film duos in all of cinematic history. She plays the spinsterish missionary sister assisting her minister brother to bring just a touch of good English decency and God-fearing Christianity to some of the wildest parts of East Africa. He plays a gruff and crude machinist who brings news of the outside world to the mission by traveling weekly up the Ulanga River aboard the small, grimy but capable steam-powered riverboat, the African Queen. When World War I breaks out, and the Germans invade the territory, destroy the mission, and kill her brother, Hepburn’s prim and proper lady has but one chance for survival. She will have to travel with Bogart’s gin-swilling Charlie Allnut down one of the most dangerous rivers in the world aboard the African Queen. Marvelous hilarity ensues as his plans to tuck into a quiet and unassuming little cove in order to wait out the war clash with her newfound enthusiasm for tangible excitement and spirited desire to use the small sea craft as a means of entering into battle for Queen and country.

John Huston, the film’s director, is reported to have said that the initial plans for the movie were for it to be more of an adventure thriller. However, once Hepburn and Bogart arrived on location (rare for a film of this time) and proved to not only have palpable chemistry but were also each other’s match for comic timing, the film crew decided to turn up the comedy level in order to fully utilize this aspect of its cast. You can see this on display no better than in the scene when Bogart takes the boat down the Ulanga’s first set of rapids in an effort to scare Hepburn into submitting to his wishes. Watch as Bogart looks on in total disbelief as a wide-eyed Hepburn dabs her face off with a handkerchief and professes, “I never dreamed that any mere physical experience could be so stimulating.” I am right this second laughing out loud thinking of her uttering that line. It is a priceless moment among many.

For years, the only way to see this gem of a movie has been to either pop in your old, and no-doubt warn out copy on VHS or hope to catch it some late night on Turner Classic Movies. Very few greater films have been unavailable in digital format for so long. Now, after a painstakingly meticulous restoration process that has returned the film to its original Technicolor splendor, The African Queen can be purchased either on DVD or Blue Ray for the first time ever. Not many films would lead me to recommend that you, my readers, drop whatever it is you are doing right this moment, get in your car, drive to your closest movie retailer, and not hesitate for a second in plopping $20 bucks down to buy this movie. I reserve my highest praise for movies that, regardless of whatever else they do, succeed at offering the purest satisfaction by being an absolute entertainment experience. That is The African Queen.

Until next week, here's my hope that we all find our Shangri-La. Good night.

A Touch of the Blarney

In the spirit of the day, I attempted for about two minutes and twelve seconds to write this post in a beautifully thick Irish brogue dialect. This proved an ill-fated idea. Alas, to misquote an old Gaelic proverb, it is better to write in clever English than in broken Irish. Never the less, I will approach tonight’s post with every intention of maintaining just a touch of the Blarney.

When you think of Ireland and the movies, if you think about them at all, your thoughts most likely jump immediately to one of two kinds of movies. Either you picture terrorist thrillers with the IRA standing in for the brood of bad guys; something in the flavor of Harrison Ford’s Patriot Games. Or you picture comic scenes set among quaint little villages, with quirky squinty-eyed and ruddy-cheeked characters clinging thoroughly to their God-fearing traditions; perhaps Disney’s Darby O’Gill and the Little People or John Wayne’s The Quiet Man. However, there is a different brand of Irish cinema out there, adding a richer and more meaningful depth to the stories of the strong and determined people who hail from the Emerald Isle. The film I want to talk about tonight was directed by two-time Academy Award nominated and Dublin born Jim Sheridan.

A couple of years ago, I happened upon a little movie not at all by accident. Rather, I came to know the film thanks to the marvelous recommendation of my sister’s mother-in-law and treasured friend of the family, Barri Jones. The movie was made in 2002 but did not premier in the States until 2003, and then only within the film festival circuit. Needless-to-say, the movie got lost in the shuffle and remained completely unnoticed by me until Barri made the splendid introduction. At the time, I already knew Jim Sheridan, in fact very well, as the director of the brilliant and powerful In the Name of the Father starring the peerless Daniel Day-Lewis. That film, along with Day-Lewis’ Academy Award winning performance in Sheridan’s My Left Foot, etched out a high-ranking position for the director among Irish cinema’s foremost significant elite.

In America is the wonderful story of an Irish family that illegally immigrates to the United States, with hope that the father can break into the New York theater scene. This is not your standard immigration story of huddled masses arriving in New York Harbor aboard an overcrowded steamer. In this story, in fact, the family crosses the Canadian border in a station wagon. There is no one in this story yearning to be free. The plight of this family is merely an attempt at a fresh start in a country famous for them. And yet the efforts made by these parents to create a home for their spirited young daughters among the slums of Hell’s Kitchen are truly heroic to behold. Nowhere will you find a better example of the modern day immigrant experience than within this amazing little movie. A scene at a fair with the dad, a game of double or nothing, and the family’s entire life savings proves to be one of the most gut-wrenching scenes I have ever watched. But this is no story of being down and out and full of disappointment and collapse. Rather with each falter this family manages to keep pushing with effort back in the direction of hope. It is inspiring.

The acting is vibrant and genuine across the board. Paddy Considine as the father is wonderful as a man who can stomach the ridicule that accompanies his outsider status, but can’t fathom the possibility of his own failure. The girls are played by real-life sisters, Sarah and Emma Bolger, in two magnificent presentations of youthful strength of mind, both completely devoid of any hint of the pretension or overacting that often supplements child performances. Holding the whole family together with heart-breaking strength and valiant determination is the mother, played with unnerving realism in an Academy Award nominated performance by Samantha Morton. If you did not know any better, you might be persuaded to believe that Sheridan found a real family to portray his onscreen creation, they are that believable.

So tonight on this celebration of St. Patrick’s Day, should you find yourself in need of something to go along with your coddle and stout, heed this recommendation from Barri and me. See In America.

And now, along with a raised glass of Guinness, here is my hope that we all find our Shangri-La. Slán go fóill.

I Remember Oscar

Well, the Oscars were Sunday night. And that must mean that come Monday morning, people all over the country were collectively sharing in the exact same sentiment: “I’ve never even heard of The Hurt Locker.” At least that’s what I keep hearing around the water cooler. Now this tells me two things. One, they obviously haven’t been reading my blog. And two, the movie studios are spending much more money promoting the likes of Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen than they are spending to push the really great movies being made each year. That, coupled with the fact that the movie-going public refuses to stray too far from its entertainment comfort zones, means that this year’s top award winner is the lowest grossing Best Picture of all time.

The other commonly heralded statement I keep hearing questions why Avatar did not win, especially considering the correlation between how much money it has made and its immense popularity. As far as my opinion goes, I have seen both movies, and while I thoroughly enjoyed Avatar and recognized its vast technical achievements, I personally feel that The Hurt Locker is the superior film. Another point to consider is that members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (and not the movie-going public) vote on the winners in each of their respective fields, and their votes are related (not solely) to the types of movies they would like to see continue to be made. And if that doesn’t satisfy angry Avatar fans, then note this. No film in the history of the Academy Awards has ever been named Best Picture without also having been nominated for its screenplay and/or its actors. So, to James Cameron, who wrote his own screenplay, I have one word: collaborate.

For the past 82 years, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has been taking one night out of the year to recognize and celebrate the accomplishments in filmmaking from the previous year. The very first Academy Awards were presented during a small banquet on May 16, 1929 at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. 270 people attended the dinner for the price of $5 per person. Wings was named Best Picture of the year, which was not at all a surprise, as all the winners had already been announced three months earlier. By the second year, public interest in the awards had developed enough to warrant a radio broadcast of the affair. For the next 23 years, movie lovers across the states crowded around their radios on the night of the awards to see which of their favorite stars would take home one of the golden statues. This tradition lasted until 1953, when the Academy Awards made their first appearance on television.

Over the last several years, however, a steep decline in viewership has encouraged some small and large changes to the ceremony. The belief in the existence of a widening chasm between popular films and quality films led producers of the show this year to break with a precedent set 67 years ago. For the first time since 1943, ten films were nominated for the top honor of Best Picture. The hope was that the inclusion of more popular films such as The Blind Side alongside smaller, more independent films like District 9 would appeal to a wider audience, and ultimately improve declining broadcast ratings. This year’s show was up 14% in viewership compared to last year’s, so I guess the producers are patting themselves on the back this week.

For me, however, the value in the larger nomination field resides in the recognition of a more diverse and interesting collection of films. By casting the net across a broader expanse, members of the Academy are helping to ensure the continued creation of many different kinds of wonderful and entertaining films. Propelling the names of movies like Precious and An Education out of obscurity by placing them in a spotlight of appreciation beside titles like The Blind Side and Avatar guarantees that the people behind those movies can go on doing what they do, and that your local theaters will be showing more than the latest blockbuster currently showing on four of its ten screens.

My challenge to all those people claiming this week that they’ve never heard of The Hurt Locker or An Education is this. Now that you have heard of them, next time you venture to Blockbuster or tour your Netflix queue on the hunt for the perfect Friday night flick, take a chance and pick one of the nominees you would not normally reach for. You may just find yourself pleasantly surprised.

Until next week, here is my hope that we all find our Shangri-La. Good night.

Pixar!

I would love to sit in on one of the brainstorming sessions at Pixar Studios. You know the old adage, “There’s no such thing as a dumb question?” Well, it must be policy at Pixar that there is no such thing as a dumb idea. Bring anything to the table. Because you really just never know which dumb ideas are going to be green lighted as sheer brilliance. Who could have ever imagined that Up would not only be as terrific as it is, but as successful and popular as it was during its run in the theaters last year.

I envision the pitch for Up must have gone something like this:

“Ok. So our hero is 80. And after his wife dies and the city strong arms him into buying his property for major urban growth, and then he accidentally attacks a man he thinks is trespassing and therefore must be moved to a retirement community once he is deemed a public nuisance by the courts, our hero decides to attach thousands of helium balloons to his house and fly it to South America in an effort to fulfill a life-long promise he made to his late wife. Hey! In fact, why don’t we start out with a twenty-minute prologue that shows the tear-jerking lifetime love affair our hero had with his wife. We show everything. Dreams deferred. Heartbreaking realizations of infertility. And we end with her death and his subsequent solitude. Kids are gonna love this one!”

Any other studio would have laughed this proposal right into the garbage can. But not Pixar.

Since 1995, and the release of the first fully computer-animated feature film, Toy Story, Pixar Studios has been the premier movie studio for animation and the uncontested leader in story originality. No other major Hollywood production company has been as consistently successful. And no other studio has managed to incorporate the consistent child-like wonder that established the magic of the Hollywood Golden Age with the same majesty and grandeur that Pixar has infused into each of its ten terrific movies. A Pixar movie is not merely a ‘kids movie.’ These are movies that can be enjoyed by all.

I saw Up when it was first released last summer, and while I have come to expect greatness from Pixar, I was truly amazed by the genuine themes and grown-up emotions introduced in the film’s lovely prologue and woven throughout the remainder of the film. Ideas such as the loneliness that follows the loss of a lasting love affair and the regret that accompanies unfulfilled promises are not something you expect to find in a cartoon. But they are part of what makes a Pixar movie such a special and lasting piece of cinema.

My wife and I watched Up again last night, and I found myself just as thrilled by the adventure, just as captivated by the story, just as touched by the characters as I was the first time. Up, after Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, is only the second animated movie ever nominated for a best picture Academy Award. I think it more than deserves such an accolade. But whether or not it wins on Sunday will be merely a footnote in some future writer’s critique. Of much greater significance is the continued encouragement of every wildly passionate and off-the-wall proposal that enters the offices of Pixar Studios. Such encouragement leads to brilliant creativity. That’s entertainment!

Join me again next week for my recap of the Academy Awards.

Until then, here is my hope that we all find our Shangri-La. Goodnight.