The War on Gaza was on day 106 when I decided to track down a version of Judgment at Nuremberg. I didn't have a hard copy (but one is on its way), andThe War on Gaza was on day 106 when I decided to track down a version of Judgment at Nuremberg. I didn't have a hard copy (but one is on its way), and I wanted to avoid watching the film version until after I experienced a stage version, so I went with the always reliable L.A. Theatre Works production. It was as powerful and important a play as I remembered it, made all the more poignant for what was happening in the world on January 21st, 2024.
We watched a genocide in real time. Will there be any justice for those caught up in it? If so, it will come about because of the Nuremberg trials. But then the Nuremberg trials were meant to ensure that genocides would not happen again because anyone and everyone who took part in the genocide could be prosecuted, and look how that went.
Everyone should read this play, listen to this play, see this play, or watch this film. Abby Mann's lessons for us have always been important, and they remain so now -- in the middle of a genocide.
It is now January 24th, 2024 and the genocide is still happening. I demand a ceasefire (but who's listening?). Free Palestine.
My heart breaks for anyone who is the victim of ethnic cleansing, no matter when or where....more
Having not much liked the first episode of the Alfred Molina led Three Pines television series (although he was perfectly cast as Chief Inspector GamaHaving not much liked the first episode of the Alfred Molina led Three Pines television series (although he was perfectly cast as Chief Inspector Gamache), I was prepared for A Fatal Grace to under-perform its predecessor, Still Life. I wasn't quite prepared for how much it under-performed, however, which is weird considering that the book was better than its adaptation.
As I see it, A Fatal Grace has two major problems: one, Louise Penny isn't sure what sort of book she wants it to be; and two, it has taken a sharp turn into the silly.
1. Identity Crisis: Is A Fatal Grace a police procedural or a classic whodunnit? Well, it tries to be both and with decidedly limited success. The police procedural side of the novel is poorly conceived and sometimes comes off as an afterthought, sometimes as an excuse to build supporting characters (with questionable success), and sometimes as a way to merely clear the stage of clutter so that CI Gamache can sit at centre stage and do that thinking thing he does so well.
As for the whodunnit side of the novel ... it's a little too "Murder She Wrote-ie" to be a good whodunnit. I don't know how many times I rolled my eyes at Jessica Fletcher finding some piece of evidence that only she had seen and pulling the killer out of her ass, or how many times I laughed at the way the killer could be picked up by the audience on pure gut instinct and expectation. This was going on in spades in A Fatal Grace. Our guts jump to conclusions accurately and too soon in this book, and silly twists and turns meant to obfuscate or mislead us did no such thing. Worse still, the biggest crime of Penny's whodunnit failure is how boring it made the whole proceeding.
Then there is the ...
2. Silliness: And that silliness again takes some of its shape from Murder She Wrote. What kind of investigator can be taken seriously when he invites half of his suspects over to a watch evidence with him while eating pastries and drinking hot chocolate? Gamache, apparently. I couldn't take him seriously at all after he did this, though, and it is such a tremendous breach of police procedure that it knocks another peg out of Penny's attempt to build a police procedural.
Moreover, if that wasn't bad enough, Penny continues what is clearly meant to be a long term through line of a behind the scenes investigation-subversion-crucifixion of CI Gamache. We pick up some new details to build on the minor clues from Still Life, suggesting a deep, anti-Gamache police conspiracy because he once gave the force a black eye by "doing the right thing," but this is mostly used as a bait and switch tactic to distract us from the case at hand and to deepen our questions surrounding certain members of Gamache's team. It is a boring tactic, a silly tactic, and a tactic that has me seriously considering dropping this series right here and now.
But I won't. I already have book three on my shelf, so I will go on, but shit better improve and fast, or I will be turning my back on Armand Gamache and going back to one of the old reliables....more
I finished my umpteenth rewatch of Firefly last month and was feeling a little sadder than usual that the Serenity and her crew didn't have any more aI finished my umpteenth rewatch of Firefly last month and was feeling a little sadder than usual that the Serenity and her crew didn't have any more adventures for me to watch. Then I thought, "What about the graphic novels?" But I have other graphic novels I've promised myself I will read that are already gathering dust, so I set aside that idea and thought, "What about the books?" And sure enough they're all on audible.
So I started at the beginning with Big Damn Hero, and I've gotta say it wasn't too bad. James Lovegrove (from a story concept by Nancy Holder) delivers what I like to imagine as a steady, middling episode in this literary second season of Firefly. All our favourite characters are present, and they are all very much themselves. It must be a gift to get to write about such well developed characters because so much of the work that needs to be done to endear characters to their readers is complete. And Lovegrove takes full advantage of that, trusting his readership enough to know that we all know everything we need to know. So he knows that we know and we know that he knows and no we all know what we know. And it's good that we know it. I know ... I digress.
The best parts of Big Damn Hero, at least my favourite bits, were the flashbacks to Shadow and Mal's youth. I presume everything in these novels is accepted canon, but even if that isn't so, Lovegrove's really nailed the feel of what Mal would have been like and the folks Mal would have run with, and the events and motivations that would have nudged Mal into his Browncoat, and that feeling of "rightness" is good enough for me.
A quick note on the narrator, James Anderson Foster. The man is "solid." Not mind blowing but "solid" in a Niska way. He doesn't spend his time trying to impersonate the actors; instead, he seems to be embracing their rhythms of speech, and he uses those rhythms to make each character feel like themselves even if they don't strictly sound like themselves. It is an excellent tactic, and he pulls if off fairly well. ...more
Before now, the only Bret Easton Ellis I'd read was American Psycho. I've read it a couple of times and never been entertained by it, but the first tiBefore now, the only Bret Easton Ellis I'd read was American Psycho. I've read it a couple of times and never been entertained by it, but the first time I read it I was blown away, then I was blown away again by its brilliance, despite how difficult it is to digest. It is that literary indigestion that has kept me away from Ellis' other books until now, which is a shame because I think he may be one of the most important authors of the late-20th century USA.
Less Than Zero, Ellis' debut novel, is an experimental, fragmentary, fever dream of a book. It is populated by the disaffected, über-priveleged, abandoned, young "adults" of late '80s Beverly Hills. Some are seeking fame and fortune, some are seeking their next fix, some are seeking numbness, some are running away, some are drowning, all are on the edge of oblivion. They are the sort of rich filth I have almost never been able to empathize with. And when I read the things they did to one another, to others (people from outside their class and community) whom they gleefully victimized, and to themselves, my brain screamed at me that I should make no place for them here either.
But the wonder of Bret Easton Ellis' writing, for me at least, is that he overcomes my biases and makes me grieve for the three most damaged denizens of this corrupt Los Angeles: Clay, Julian and Blair. All while making me nearly physically sick at the scenes of depredation Ellis has conjured for them to move through.
Not as brilliant and not as graphic (though only marginally so) as American Psycho, Less than Zero remains a significant novel. Not quite great but damn close. And it cements Bret Easton Ellis as an important voice of a time and a people who continue to shape our present to often devastating effect. ...more
Despite years of teaching, acting and directing, there remain several gaps in my familiarity with plays. Sometimes there are plays from a playwright IDespite years of teaching, acting and directing, there remain several gaps in my familiarity with plays. Sometimes there are plays from a playwright I know intimately that I simply refuse to read (out of fear or disinterest), sometimes there are eras of plays I don't know because knowing every era of theatre in depth is almost impossible, and sometimes there are playwrights I just haven't been exposed to -- even though I probably should have been.
Paula Vogel falls into that latter category. I should know about her, but I don't, so when I was sifting through L.A. Theatreworks titles to buy on audible (because I do love listening to a staging of a play if I can't see it live) her name meant nothing to me. What did speak to me was the seemingly playful title -- How I Learned to Drive -- coupled with the cover art that included the insanely talented (and often hilarious) Glenne Headly looking passionate next to a smilingly handsome character actor, Randall Arney, looking vanilla and innocuous. It seemed like a light and fluffy play for a sleepless night. I bought it, and it sat for a while.
I listened to it last night. "Don't judge a book by its cover!" has been beating me over the head ever since. How I Learned to Drive was brilliant, but disturbingly so. Headly was heartbreaking and superb; Arney was tragic, sympathetic and horrible all at once.
How I Learned to Drive is not light, not funny, not for the feint of heart (view spoiler)[(trigger warning: sexual abuse & PTSD) (hide spoiler)], but it will stick with me for a long time (probably forever). And I will now dig much deeper into the work of Paula Vogel. If How I Learned to Drive is any indication, her body of work must be impressive. ...more
I just finished my smoke. Time to clean up the mess. ;)
In all serious, though, Yes, Roya was something of a revelation. I feel like I have been wWhew!
I just finished my smoke. Time to clean up the mess. ;)
In all serious, though, Yes, Roya was something of a revelation. I feel like I have been waiting my whole life for this story. It is the erotica I have been craving; it is everything I desire in real life, everything I have experienced in a piece here and a piece there but never as a whole; it is arousing, loving, brave, sexy, caring, submissive & dominant, defiant; it makes me proud to be bisexual, actually. And that is quite an affirming thing....more
This epistle from Sam to the Fundamentalist Yankee Christians started out so well. I came to it hoping to find new tools for talking to the theists inThis epistle from Sam to the Fundamentalist Yankee Christians started out so well. I came to it hoping to find new tools for talking to the theists in my life, new tools for coaxing them into hearing me rather than just yelling me down and attempting to shame my atheism, and though it started well and raised my hopes, Mr. Harris just couldn't help falling into belligerence and a touch of condescension that couldn't possibly sway any concreted hearts are steeled minds.
This letter definitely isn't for the atheists in Sam Harris' audience. But by the end it's clear that it is not for those on the extreme right fringes of American Christendom either. Sam Harris is really trying to reach those Liberal Christians who run the gamut from socially tolerant to fully socially accepting, to teach them that their stubborn clinging to Christianity actually facilitates the fringes of their faith, to try and get them to see that they don't need the scriptures of long dead sheep herders for their morals, their community, or their "spirituality," to try to get them to strangle out the outmoded beliefs that cause harm, even if their own version of those beliefs seem benevolent.
As an atheist I am all for what he's saying, but I am afraid that the way he says it isn't going to sway too many of the moderate Christians out there.
Yet there is a group to whom this letter would speak -- the deconverting. Those who find themselves earnestly turning away from religion need to read this letter. It will affirm their deconversion and give them tools to protect themselves from those who are trying to keep them in the flock. Had Harris addressed his letter the "Christian Deconverting" I would have given him more stars, but considering his stated target and what I see as a failure to communicate effectively to them I can only give him three, despite the fact that everything he said was spot on. ...more
Fake was a lovely little surprise while I was on Friday night extra-curricular shuttle duty. The dramatization of two key moments in the story of the Fake was a lovely little surprise while I was on Friday night extra-curricular shuttle duty. The dramatization of two key moments in the story of the infamous Piltdown Man (a skull found in 1912 by Charles Dawson that was reported to be the elusive "missing link"): its introduction to the world at large in the nineteen-teens, and its final repudiation as a hoax in the nineteen-fifties.
The play pretends it is about Piltdown Man and the ways in which hoaxes damage our trust in science, and, thereby, all of us (which is particularly relevant during our second year of COVID and the tidal wave of vaccine refusal), but, really, Fake is an excuse to bring together two dazzling historical figures -- Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Rebecca Eastman -- to present lucid and balanced debates about "belief," spiritualism, religion, spirituality, and atheism, to present a light criticism of monogamy (while not straying so far into condemnation of the practice as to ruffle the feathers of playwright [auhor:Eric Simonson]'s audience), and to gently suggest that we should stop worrying so much about where we came from (both religiously and scientifically) and where we are going (ditto), and maybe start worrying a little more about who we are where we are at in the present.
I listened to the full cast recording from L.A. Theatreworks, and the excellent performances of Simonson's marvelous dialogue have convinced me that this is a play I need to direct ... and soon.
How did it take me so long to find Fake? I don't know. It must have been a conspiracy to silence Simonson. Yeah ... that's it. I'll believe anything. ...more
I am a man. I am a father with three children. We had no trouble conceiving, and though we lost two babies to miscarriage, we've been fairly lucky wheI am a man. I am a father with three children. We had no trouble conceiving, and though we lost two babies to miscarriage, we've been fairly lucky when it comes to fertility and childbirth. Thus, my biases probably make my feelings about Avalanche: A Love Story unhelpful or tone deaf or irrelevant to many folks who don't share my experiences.
I'm going to share my biases anyway ('cause that's often what goodreads is for).
I don't believe there is a right to pregnancy or childbirth, nor do I support medical intervention to make pregnancy possible. My position does not come from religious conviction -- of which I have absolutely none -- but from my convictions about socio-economics and the nature of intervening when natural selection has made a choice we don't like.
I'm also not a fan of one-person shows. They are mostly self-indulgent, overrated crap from spoiled artists who reveal their inner selves in ways that vilify everyone who disagreed with them in their lives and rarely contain much in the way of self-reflection or personal responsibility. Privileged elites pretending to be victims or finding their identity in victimhood is not my idea of a stimulating evening of theatre.
To some extent, Avalanche: A Love Story falls into the confines of both these biases. It is, after all, about a privileged woman -- a white (Australian?), affluent screenwriter -- and her attempts to get pregnant in her late-thirties and early-forties. Even before she gets to the latter stages of fertility, pregnancy has been a long shot for her, and her own body proves to be as problematic as the man -- her ex-, then her husband, then her ex- again -- she hopes to share the experience with. Indeed, everyone around her is to blame for her situation to some extent or other, and even her mother, who tries to talk the narrator out of becoming pregnant because she thinks the narrator will be a terrible mother, is known only through her opposition to the narrator's journey. So the selfishness, the embrace of being the victim, the unmitigated privilege, and the single, whiny, self-indulgent voice made my time spent with Avalanche: A Love Story a challenge.
Yet somehow, with all these things working against my appreciation of the one-woman show, I found myself impressed by Avalanche: A Love Story. If I set aside all my problems with Avalanche: A Love Story, I am left with a narrative that did affect me emotionally. For all the narrator's faults, for all my feelings of opposition to her, Avalanche: A Love Story was able to take me to a place where it didn't matter what my biases were or are ... the narrator's truth was her truth and that is what mattered. No. I can't know what it was to be the narrator, to be a woman facing the pressures of motherhood slipping away from her in a society that still expects motherhood for all women, to understand the struggle to conceive -- possibly alone -- but Avalanche: A Love Story gave me a chance to empathize with someone who has experienced these things, and even if it wasn't terribly entertaining Avalanche: A Love Story was enriching.
The thing I most love about Gillian Flynn's books is the people who populate her places. Yeah the mysteries and thrills are fun to read, and diving inThe thing I most love about Gillian Flynn's books is the people who populate her places. Yeah the mysteries and thrills are fun to read, and diving into twisted minds can be a blast, but it is the depths she reveals in her characters that most excites me.
All of her narrators -- Libby Day (Dark Places), Amy & Nick Dunne (Gone Girl), Camille Preaker Sharp Objects -- are flawed but fascinating. People who feel absolutely real to me.
So it is Camille, our first person narrator, who really made me dig Sharp Objects, despite the novel's flaws. Let's get those flaws out of the way (and also keep in mind that Sharp Objects was Flynn's debut, so much slack should be cut): first, the novel sped to its conclusion; second, at least three threads (Camille's relationship with KC Cop Richard Lewis, the identity of her missing father, and a deeper look at murder suspect, John Keene) needed expansion. Further work on these threads would have made Sharp Objects richer than it is, but these flaws can be easily overlooked because of Camille.
Camille is utterly fascinating. I will give nothing of the plot away, but I can talk about Camille's personality without spoilers: she is damaged; she is damage; she is obsessed with damaging, she self-medicates with booze, with sex, with cutting, and only one of the three actually contains anything positive for her -- even though that one things is fraught. Flynn puts us in Camille's skin, which is no mean trick, and an important trick at the same time. I could feel the energy flair up on the scars she had cut into her body. I could hear the murmurs of those scars in her mind's ear. I could smell the smells she immersed herself in, and the caress of the water as she sank into her tub. I could feel and smell and taste the sensations of the sex she so intensely engaged in; I could feel the vomit burning her esophagus as she unwittingly put herself in danger, then wittingly repeated the danger as a dual act of defiance and protection. And being in her skin made me love her.
Gillian Flynn wrote a living person who -- once I agreed to go on the Sharp Objects journey -- I couldn't help empathizing with. For the length of this short novel, Camille Preaker was alive in my world, and I felt she was glorious. She is a character I am glad I got to know, and it is both scary and wonderful to think that somewhere in the vast expanses of Gillian Flynn's imaginative mind, Camille is alive and moving forward through time.
She is a character I would love to meet again, though I have a feeling only Ms. Flynn will get the privilege of knowing where Camille ends up. ...more
The cracks in our society are wide. Our self-appointed do-gooders often do no good at all. And our have-nots are often tossed aside or trampled on as The cracks in our society are wide. Our self-appointed do-gooders often do no good at all. And our have-nots are often tossed aside or trampled on as society "cares" for the vulnerable. George F. Walker must have seen this somewhere in his life, for his play Problem Child hits the dirty windows that cover up these social shortcomings with a high-pressure wash.
He doesn't seem to be saying that there is no place for assistance, or for those in power to protect the vulnerable, but he is definitely saying that many of those who take on the jobs of protection (much like high school bullies who become police officers) are not suitable to the jobs they have adopted. Like the aforementioned cops, many of them take on their jobs for the power and control it gives them, then they go onto abuse that power.
Problem Child tells this tale with humour -- often quite dark humour -- mixed with a healthy serving of unflinching reality. All of its four characters are deeply flawed, but the three at the mercy of the one are doing the best they can in a world stacked against them. That "best they can" is a long way from "good" but it is real, and it allows us to feel their pain and pull for them against the man.
Another dark slice of Canadiana, Problem Child is a play I need to see staged. ...more
For fear of saying anything that could injure your enjoyment of Alma Katsu's dandy horrifying ghost story on the sister ships Titanic and Brittanic, TFor fear of saying anything that could injure your enjoyment of Alma Katsu's dandy horrifying ghost story on the sister ships Titanic and Brittanic, The Deep, I will simply tell you that it is one of the most satisfying horror stories I have ever read, and not just lately ... I mean ever. Some of that may have been due to the unbelievable narration of Jane Collingwood, who turned in one of the finest narration performances I've come across, and some of that may have been my interest in the Titanic, which was osmosed into me by my ex's love of the Cameron movie, but mostly my love of The Deep is what Alma Katsu has created -- a balanced, perfectly paced, imaginative interweaving of history, the supernatural and imagination. I am now officially a fan of Ms. Katsu. I can't wait to read The Fervor....more
The parallels between my life and the life of the Wingos is terrifying. What happened to them in the story didn't all happen to me, but much of it didThe parallels between my life and the life of the Wingos is terrifying. What happened to them in the story didn't all happen to me, but much of it did, and some of it came close, and the parts that didn't happen to me and the people I love were still connected emotionally to The Prince of Tides, which, if you know anything about The Prince of Tides, tells you that I carry a lot of damage.
I read this book twice in the late eighties and once in the early nineties, the first time at the behest of my mentor, the second and third time because I am a glutton for punishment. Many years later, this time in fact, I came back to The Prince of Tides because my son expressed an interest in watching the film with me, and I wanted to experience the entire book one more time before I watched the adaptation (which would be a third viewing).
When I finished it the other day, I wept for the last hour of Alan Carson's narration. I was cooking dinner and my family was around the house doing their thing. I tried hard to stifle my sobs as I worked (not out of shame but because I didn't want to disrupt everyone's alone time), but my sniffles were too huge and my nose blowing too prolific (a tell-tale sign that I am sad or sick because I have no allergies and the tiniest of noses), and everyone of them appeared at some point to see if I was okay and give me hugs. When they knew I was joy-sad crying over a book they gave me love and wandered back to their happenings. I love my family.
And I love this book. I love this book for the way it dives into pain and unlocks it; I love this book for the way it challenges our sacred cows and sacrifices them to healing; I love this book for its honesty; I love this book for being a mirror I can stare into, can share my pain with, can heal just a little more every time Tom heals.
I dunno. This may not be for everybody, but it sure is for me. Thank you, Mr. Conroy. You have given me a gift with your words. I hope you found peace in death, good Sir....more
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