→ January 23, 2021
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Stick to baseball, 1/23/21.

I had two columns this week for subscribers to the Athletic, on the George Springer signing and the Joe Musgrove trade. My top 100 prospects ranking will appear on Thursday, January 28th, with the org rankings and team top 20s running the week of February 8th.

For Paste, I reviewed New York Zoo, a light tile-placement game from Uwe Rosenberg, the designer of Patchwork, Cottage Garden, and Agricola.

I’ll send out another edition of my free email newsletter this weekend, with some exciting personal news. You can still buy The Inside Gameand Smart Baseball anywhere you buy books; the paperback edition of The Inside Game will be out in April.

And now, the links…

  • Longreads first: Harvard magazine looks at the loneliness pandemic, which predated the COVID-19 one but has been exacerbated by the last ten months of shutdowns and isolation.
  • California’s public utilities regulator fired an employee who found $200 million due to disadvantaged state residents had gone missing.
  • A vaccine-hesitant mom rushed to vaccinate her kids when the pandemic hit, and she talked to NPR about how she ended up hesitant based on bad information she found onilne.
  • One of Delaware’s Senators, Chris Coons (D), argued in the New York Times that we need to hold Trump accountable for encouraging the terrorists through his words and tweets.
  • Uganda President Yoweri Museveni has stayed in power for 35 years, despite frequent claims of oppression, malfeasance, even spending international debt relief on a private jet. He appears to have won re-election this week, although his main opponent claims there was voter fraud.
  • I really liked the documentary Boys State, which is only available on Apple TV+, and one of the main participants wrote about attending the event in a New York Times editorial.
  • Quined restarted its Kickstarter for the new game Carnegie, which looks like a heavy economic and routebuilding game from the designer of Troyes.
  • Casual Game Revolution is holding voting for the best casual game of 2020, with the candidates My City, Calico, and Back to the Future: Back in Time.
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→ January 22, 2021
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Crudo.

Olivia Laing’s debut novel Crudo is a waif of a novel, barely 135 pages long, and drops you right into the middle of an inner monologue of someone who may or may not be the writer Kathy Acker. The book won the 2019 James Tait Black Memorial Prize, a British literary prize that often picks winners from outside the mainstream, resulting in some brilliant choices (Zia Haider Rahman’s In the Light of What We Know; Zadie Smith’s White Teeth) and some maddening ones (this year’s winner, Ducks, Newburyport, is 1000 pages long and comprises one sentence).

Kathy Acker was a real author, a novelist, playwright, and essayist who wrote experimental, transgressive works dealing with topics like suicide, trauma, and sexual abuse, but she died of breast cancer after a double mastectomy in 1997, at the age of 50. She worked well outside the mainstream and had a hard time finding publishers; her best-known novel, Blood and Guts in High School, took almost a decade to see print, and that came via alternative publisher Grove Books. Wikipedia mentions that her friends included Neil Gaiman and Alan Moore, and her literary reputation has grown since her death.

Laing has brought her back to life, in a way, reimagining Acker as a breast cancer survivor, in the present day, but only around the age she was shortly before her death. This Acker uses social media and tracks the news, especially news of Trump and Brexit, almost obsessively, while also navigating her emotions as she approaches marriage to a man many years her senior. Both marriage, even though it will the “openish,” and the endless catastrophe of Trump’s reign of error terrify her. She views matrimony as an end to her freedom, perhaps to her autonomy, both of which could just as easily apply to her fears about the rising tide of nationalism, racism, and xenophobia that swept Trump into office and led British voters to twice choose economic self-immolation via Brexit.

Crudo walks us through the last few days before Acker’s marriage, through the circuitous thoughts in her mind as well as the extraordinary and mundane events that fill up the calendar. This Kathy Acker has lived as she pleased, and dreads the potential for that to change for any reason, more than she appears to fear death itself. The juxtaposition of the intensely personal and the publicly political works in Crudo‘s favor, by connecting something many readers (I’d wager most readers of this novel) themselves have felt with the less universal sense of marriage as a loss of something, which isn’t how everybody approaches the institution, at least.

The plot of Crudo, however, is as thin as the novel itself – a novella, really, if we want to be pedantic about the category, as there is very little to this book at all. It’s something you read for the prose, which is by turns lyrical and comically profane, or for the mood, but nothing really happens in the typical sense of a plot. There’s less than no action, conflicts are observed rather than experienced, and no character other than Kathy gets much page time, let alone development. I read it, I sort of enjoyed it, and I carried on living my life. It’s different, and perhaps that’s why it won the Tait Black Prize, but it’s not the sort of groundbreaking work the prize ostensibly seeks to honor.

Next up: I’m nearly through David Mitchell’s number9dream.

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→ January 16, 2021
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Grand Austria Hotel.

Grand Austria Hotel came out in 2017, from designers Virginio Gigli (Egizia, Coimbra, Lorenzo il Magnifico) and Simone Luciani (Tzolk’in, Lorenzo, the Voyages of Marco Polo), both of whom tend towards heavier worker-placement or economic games in their designs. Egizia is an all-time classic for me, and Tzolk’in is one of the best heavy/complex games I’ve played, although the learning curve is pretty steep. Grand Austria Hotel might be their best – it’s heavy, but not excessively so, and the complexity here is enough to present a good intellectual challenge without presenting too much cognitive load, and, most importantly, it’s fun.

Grand Austria Hotel, which I assume is a nod to Wes Anderson’s best live-action movie Grand Budapest Hotel, has you running a Viennese café and hotel, where the main mechanic in the game involves attracting guests to your café and serving them four different dishes (resources), after which you can move them to open rooms in your hotel that you’ve already prepared. You can also hire more staff members who can provide extra benefits – one-time bonuses, recurring bonuses, or end-game bonuses. There’s also an emperor track, which is checked three times over the course of the game, providing a one-time bonus if you meet the threshold, but with a stiff penalty if you fall short. And every game has three ‘politics’ cards, with objectives that provide 15 points to the first player to achieve them, 10 to the second, and 5 to the third.

It is a lot to keep in mind, but the genius of Grand Austria Hotel is how well every element of the game works together. The key is that almost every guest provides some kind of benefit in addition to the points they provide. Each guest requires one to four resources to be moved from your café, which has just three tables, after which you get whatever benefit is on the card – money, resources, moving the emperor track, hiring employees (often at a discount), taking guests from the queue, preparing rooms (often at a discount), or even switching rooms from prepared to occupied.

The game has seven rounds, with players going twice in each round in a snake format, so you know from the start you’ll get 14 turns. At the start of each round, the start player rolls a set of dice and sorts them by value. On every turn, you may take a guest from the queue if you have an open table in your café, with the two rightmost guests free and the others costing one to three dollars to choose. Then the player chooses all dice of any one specific face value and uses the action associated with that number:

  • 1: take one brown and/or white resource per die, but not more brown than white
  • 2: take one red and/or black resource per die, but not more red than black
  • 3: prepare one room per die
  • 4: move up one space on the emperor track OR take one dollar per die (in any combination)
  • 5: hire one staff member from your hand for a discount of $1 per die
  • 6: pay $1 and then use all value-6 dice for any of the five actions above

You can also pay $1 extra when selecting dice to use the action one more time, as if you had an additional die of that value.

Any resources you get from dice can go directly on to your guest cards in your café for free, and you may pay $1 to move three resources from your stash to guests. You can then move any completed guests to prepared, unoccupied rooms in your hotel.

The rooms come in three colors, and may only house guests of their specific color, or guests with green backgrounds, who may go into rooms of any color. When you complete blocks of a color, you get a set reward tied to the color (points, money, or progress on the emperor’s track) and block size. Preparing rooms on the first floor is free, with the preparation cost going up by $1 for each floor on which rooms are located.

There’s still more to it, but the real selling point of Grand Austria Hotel is that all of these elements work together. You need to craft a flexible strategy around guests to acquire, blocks to fill, and employees to hire, without losing sight of the emperor’s track or the objectives on the politics cards. And you will almost certainly be strapped for cash early in the game – you start with $10 but you’ll need it to prepare rooms and buy staffers early on, and may choose to use some of that money to fill some blocks sooner for other benefits.

My one criticism is that Grand Austria Hotel has very little player interaction – it reminds me in many ways of Wingspan, in fact, another game that has a lot under the hood, but also doesn’t involve much player interaction. You could take a guest card someone else wanted, and those politics cards do reward the player to achieve those objectives first, but you can’t do much if anything to stop another player who’s off to the races. It just means that you have to figure out your plan and execute it, while also staying agile in case you don’t get the cards or dice you need. I’ve scored 188 points, which is close to the highest I’ve seen from any player, and I’ve scored 50 points and less, even after I’ve learned the game, usually because I didn’t have enough money. It’s not as good as Wingspan but it’s on par with Egizia, offering a more solitary game but with a comparable level of complexity and harmony from all of the moving parts.

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→ January 15, 2021
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This Mournable Body.

Tsitsi Dangarembga’s debut novel, Nervous Conditions, was a critical sensation in the years after its 1988 publication. The first novel published in English by a Black woman from the then newly-independent country of Zimbabwe, it introduced readers to Tambu, a young Shona girl who gets an opportunity to attend two schools in succession that allow her to escape the subsistence farming life of her rural family. The nervous part refers to her difficulty navigating the culture shock she experiences at the second school, where she is a classmate of wealthier white students, and her realization of the grim facts of a post-colonial country where race and gender discrimination remain pernicious forces in everyday life.

Tambu returned to Dangarembga’s two subsequent novels, including 2020’s This Mournable Body, which was shortlisted for the Booker Prize (eventually won by the Scottish novel Shuggie Bain). By this time, Tambu is an adult who has just left a reasonable job in an advertising firm because she was tired of white colleagues taking the credit for her copywriting work. This leaves her a bit adrift, looking for a job and for new housing, and the search for both dominate this novel, one where Tambu eventually returns to the village of her birth and confronts hard realities about how much her journey to the capital, through education and professional jobs, has separated her from her family and her roots in the country.

Where Nervous Conditions was hopeful, This Mournable Body is bleak and unstinting, coming as it does in the immediate aftermath of the coup that ended dictator Robert Mugabe’s 37-year reign, installing a successor, Emmerson Mnangagwa, who has engaged in violent suppression of dissent. (Dangarembga herself was arrested while participating in protests against the government last summer, after this book was published.) Zimbabwe of 2020 is not free, and after a rapid economic expansion at the start of the last decade, the economy has contracted again in the last two years.

(My own interpretation of this book, and really of most post-colonial literature, always comes through a scratched lens, but with that caveat I still offer it here.)

The pessimism of This Mournable Body is unmistakable from the start, in start contrast to the cautious strand of hope throughout Nervous Conditions, but Zimbabwe has changed, and I would assume anyone living there in the last three decades might have seen their own optimism diminished by the country’s lack of progress. Liberation from Britain’s oppressive colonial regime didn’t solve their economic problems, nor did the end of Mugabe’s despotic rule.

Tambu’s two quests in the book – primarily for a new job, with the first one going awry because of her mental health troubles, and the second creating new conflicts in her mind that she has to confront – mirror two of the major problems in any developing economy: the lack of opportunities for stable employment, and the lack of adequate housing. Tambu’s trouble finding work, and the way she loses the first job she finds, are both emblematic of a post-colonial society that retains the racial and economic caste systems of the colonial era, while her trouble finding stable housing reflects the same factors as well as the ongoing gender discrimination of her culture, the latter of which was as much a theme in Nervous Conditions as it is here – but now she sees women as rivals, for professional success and for the limited pool of successful (loosely defined) marriage partners.

This Mournable Body is mostly told in the second person, rather than the first person of Nervous Conditions, which adds to the novel’s sense of ennui and disaffection; Tambu often writes as if she can’t believe her fate, or as if she can’t accept the choices she’s made. Eventually she takes a job with a former workplace frenemy, the white woman Tracy Stevenson, who has founded an ecotourism business, which leads Tambu to sell out her native village in an ill-fated scheme that will ultimately bring her present into conflict with the past she’s tried to leave behind. It’s a powerful if bleak image, and a stark look at both the enduring legacy of colonialism in newly independent African states and the distance women still have to go to achieve any measure of equality with men in these same societies.

Next up: I just finished another novel from the Booker shortlist, Maaza Mengiste’s The Shadow King, and startedDavid Mitchell’s number9dream.

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→ January 11, 2021
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Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom.

The movie adaptation of August Wilson’s play Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom (on Netflix) has been overshadowed by the death of one of its two stars, Chadwick Boseman, last August, making this his final film appearance. The command performance he gives here is a mournful reminder of how talented he was, and the stardom he had right in front of him, as he even manages to outshine Viola Davis, who’s already won one Oscar and is going to be nominated for another one for playing the title character here.

Ma Rainey was a real-life blues singer, sometimes called the “Mother of the Blues,” who achieved not just popularity but a measure of autonomy for herself in the 1920s, even writing some of her own songs and recording as early as 1923. The black bottom was a dance, and “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom” was one of her singles – although I’m sure the double entendre wasn’t lost on audiences at the time. The film just covers the time of one recording session for that song, a fictional rendering of the day that revolves around Rainey and a talented, ambitious, and volatile trumpet player named Levee, played by Boseman.

This Rainey, at least, is a diva, demanding of her musicians and the producer alike, insisting that her nephew voice the introduction to the song, even though he has a stutter that makes the task a bit difficult. Levee, meanwhile, has dreams beyond merely playing trumpet in someone else’s band; he writes his own music, has put together his own band, and is busy trying to convince the (white) producer to pay for him to record his songs himself.

Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, like Fences, comes across like a play on screen, with all the action taking place in just a few settings, and dialogue that never stops. The actors have to convey far more than in a typical film, but they also run the risk of overpowering it, which was the main issue I had with Denzel Washington’s performance in Fences – he dominated every scene he had without Viola Davis, and it took an Oscar-winning performance out of her just to compete.

Here, Boseman and Davis don’t share a ton of scenes, so each can take over in their own way, but neither crosses that line that made me leave the theater thinking Denzel Washington had been yelling at me for an hour and a half. Although Davis’ character is in the title, Levee is the bigger character within the film, getting – in my impression, at least – more screen time and more words than Ma Rainey does. Boseman infuses Levee with both the naked ambition of his character and the innocence required to make his decisions plausible. Levee doesn’t understand how the world works, believing in some level in a meritocracy that doesn’t exist in a world that is already predisposed against him because of the color of his skin. It requires a precise performance to ensure that this character doesn’t become ridiculous. Levee is not a fool, but he’s arrogant enough to think he’s the exception, and when the world doesn’t conform to his beliefs, the cognitive dissonance causes him to erupt in unexpected violence.

Boseman is going to win the Oscar, of course, because of his tragic death before the movie was even released, but there won’t be a plausible argument that the performance itself was undeserving. He puts Levee on a knife’s edge and holds him there for the bulk of the film, so that when he breaks, as you know he must, it works, because you’ve been waiting for him to explode. It makes Davis’ performance seem showy by comparison, although she also is likely to get (and deserve) a nomination for this role.

The story here is somewhat scant, although that seems typical of stage adaptations to screen, and Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom adheres to the play’s use of just a few settings, with the bulk of the film taking place in the recording studio or in the musicians’ room below it. That also means we don’t have much time for back story, and outside of the two main characters, everyone is pretty one-dimensional. The producer who takes Levee’s songs and promises to look them over might be well founded in history, but he’s nothing but a penny-pinching, greedy white man taking advantage of Levee’s race and ignorance here, bordering on a dangerous stereotype. (It’s worth noting, however, that Wilson and this script both changed one word of the lyrics to “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom,” here substituting “new baby prances” for “Jew baby prances.”)

Levee’s big speech towards the end of the film broaches questions about being Black in a society that has always treated Blacks as second-class citizens when treating them as citizens at all, and even goes beyond that to an existential question about Blacks and a God who seems to have forsaken them. It is the clip I expect we’ll see when Boseman’s name is announced at the Oscars in April, because it is his biggest moment and the best pure writing in the script. I imagine this will earn a Best Picture nomination as well, but the reason to watch Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom is for Boseman’s performance – not because he’s gone, but because he’s just that good.

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→ January 9, 2021
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Stick to baseball, 1/9/21.

I had one post for subscribers to The Athletic this week, breaking down the trade that sent Francisco Lindor and Carlos Carrasco to the Mets for four players. Just about everything else is on hold as I have started work on the top 100 prospects package, which will run on or around February 1st.

I will, however, keep writing my free email newsletter this month, with the next issue probably going out by Monday. My thanks to all of you who bought – or asked for – either of my books this holiday season. You can still buy The Inside Game and Smart Baseball anywhere you buy books.

And now, the links…

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→ January 6, 2021
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Trekking the World.

Trekking the World is a sequel game to 2014’s Trekking the National Parks, which itself got a fresh edition in 2017 and about which at least two readers have asked me recently. (It’s unrelated to PARKS, a highly acclaimed 2019 game that I thought was good but a little too short for its mechanics) It’s more than just a reimplementation, though, changing some core mechanics from the earlier game while keeping the general theme of encouraging exploration and teaching geography through a route-building and card-collection game.

The Trekking the World board has a map of the world with routes connecting various sites on the six inhabited continents, some of which are labelled with major natural or man-made tourist attractions, while the remainder are blank waypoints along the routes connecting the world. The waypoints are then filled with cubes of four colors, distributed randomly, which represent souvenirs that players can collect as they move about the world. Players move by means of their hand of Trek cards that show movement points of 1 to 3, and also come in various colors that match the Destination cards for each tourist attraction on the board. If you have the matching hand cards for a Destination and then go to that tourist attraction’s spot on the board, you can claim the Destination card. Worth 10-18 points apiece, they’re the biggest prize in the game.

There are other ways to gain points, however, so a player can’t be shut out if they target Destination cards that other players get first. One is by collecting sets of souvenirs; each set of four (one per color) is worth an increasing bonus, and the player with the most of each color gets a game-end bonus. Another is by collecting the last souvenir token on each continent, which yields a random and hidden bonus of 3 to 6 points.

On a turn, a player must move if they have any cards in hand, and then may take an optional action: draw two more Trek cards, complete a Destination card, or use one of the two Journey cards on the board for a special move. Those journey cards amount to a more powerful double action, such as allowing movement and completion of a Destination, or allowing fulfillment of a Destination card for fewer Trek cards than it would ordinarily require, but getting them also means giving up valuable Trek cards you might want for movement, so their power is blunted by the turns you give up to use them.

At its most basic, Trekking the World is a light and easy-to-understand family game with two educational aspects to make it more appealing to parents. The Destination cards contain brief explanation of each tourist attraction, and they’re all situated on the world map in a way that can help kids (and, in some cases, adults) learn where they’re located. The movement mechanic is really easy to follow, and the way you trade in Trek cards for Destinations is the most complex thing in the whole game. The fact that most movement early in the game yields a souvenir cube is also a big positive, so that no turn seems fruitless until very late in the game. The whole thing ends when one player gets their fifth Destination card or when five of the six continent bonus tiles are claimed.

My one complaint with Trekking the World is a rule you could always alter for your own purposes. Another player’s token blocks both the city on which it stands and the route through that city. I suppose it increases the need for efficient route-finding, or just increases the competitive aspect if you wanted to actively try to thwart an opponent for a turn (you can’t stay put), but in practice, it’s extremely frustrating, and it doesn’t fit with the theme of exploration. If you’re traveling the world, you aren’t forced to skip visiting Angkor Wat because there’s (checks notes) one tourist there already, and you don’t have to skip flying through Heathrow because there’s (checks notes again) one passenger already in the terminal. This is a family game at heart, but this one rule makes it family-unfriendly. I’d house-rule it to allow passage through an occupied space, at the very least.

I’d give Trekking the World a passing grade, a solid 50, good enough to recommend if you want a game to play with your kids where they’ll learn a little something along the way and can compete reasonably well with older players. Just consider the ages of the younger players when deciding whether to alter the rule on movement, and tailor it to your particular group. For older players, I’d say give it a pass – there are better games of route-building and set collection, like Thurn and Taxis (out of print again), Concordia, or Thebes.

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→ January 5, 2021
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Soul.

Soul just doesn’t have one.

I’ve avoided joining the chorus bemoaning the decline in the heart and spirit of Pixar’s scripts since their original batch of ideas, which more or less ended with WALL-E; since then, only Inside Out has met their earlier standard of greatness, although I might concede the point on Toy Story 4, a good movie that didn’t really need to exist (other than to give me a reason to say “traaaash?” to the kids). But it’s true: They’ve gone downhill since they exhausted the first set of concepts, and there doesn’t seem to be any sign that they’re getting back on track. Onward was dismal all around, enough that I have forgotten numerous times that I actually saw that movie in 2020. Some of the sequels have been entertaining, but they’re not very novel, and none has matched its predecessor for ingenuity or insight.

Soul was somewhat more promising, not least because it was the first Pixar movie to star a Black protagonist and feature a largely Black voice cast. That’s praiseworthy, as is the work that went into avoiding the stereotyped depictions of Black Americans in animation throughout history. The score is also great, between the original jazz compositions by Jon Batiste and the ambient background music by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross (both of Nine Inch Nails). And of course the movie looks fantastic; Pixar’s ability to create realistic-looking landscapes and city scenes has long surpassed my mind’s ability to comprehend it. I know what I’m watching isn’t real, and yet I hesitate.

That makes it all the more disappointing that Soul‘s story is just so flat. It’s Inside Out in the afterworld. It’s Brave without the cool accents. It’s It’s a Wonderful Life with less schmaltz. There’s just nothing new here at all. It doesn’t even offer us something on its main subject – death, and the meaning it ascribes to life.

The quest takes Joe Gardner (Jamie Foxx), a music teacher and jazz pianist who falls down a manhole and ends up on the verge of death – with his soul departing his body in a sort of celestial error and heading into the Great Beyond – on the very day he finally gets what he believes will be the big break in his career. Once there, he runs into 22 (Tina Fey), a wayward soul who has no interest in going to earth and inhabiting a meatsuit as a human being. Joe gets the idea that he can use 22 to earn his way back to his own body, which, of course, goes awry, so the two have to learn some Great Lesson and realize that what they originally wanted was, in fact, not the thing most likely to make them happy.

There’s a lot of humor in Soul, but too much of it comes from side characters. Rachel House is great as Terry, an accountant of souls in the Great Beyond, but she’s just re-creating her policewoman character from The Hunt for the Wilderpeople (which is fantastic, by the way – both the movie and her role in it). Graham Norton has some good lines as Moonwind, a sign twirler on Earth who is a sort of pirate soul in the Great Beyond. Daveed Diggs is mostly wasted in a minor role as a friend of Joe’s, and Richard Ayoade and Alice Braga are underutilized as two of the many counselors in the Great Beyond who are all, for some reason, named Jerry. Fey gets some big laughs when her character first appears, but the script doesn’t keep 22’s manic energy going for very long, and Joe is just a straight man here.

I could live with all of that if the script had anything to say on its main theme, but it doesn’t. This is pop philosophy at best, some pablum about appreciating the life you have, and living it to its fullest, rather than striving for, say, what culture or society tell you are the marks of success or of a happy life. The elegy to life as one worth living is a good message, but hardly one we haven’t seen hundreds of times. It’s the main point of It’s a Wonderful Life, and that movie is 75 years old.

I don’t mean to disparage the importance of Soul‘s representation, which will probably be its most lasting legacy, and perhaps continue to create opportunities for filmmakers, in and beyond animation, who are themselves people of color or wish to build stories around people of color. Soul is superficially entertaining, easy on the eyes, and well-paced. It’s better than Onward, or Monsters University, or Finding Dory, but not as good as Coco, which had something to say and spotlighted an entire culture, or Inside Out, which sits in the top echelon of Pixar’s films for its pairing of real insight on the human brain and the powerful emotional resonance of its story. Soul, for all its jazz, just didn’t move the needle.

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→ January 2, 2021
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Stick to baseball, 1/2/21.

I had three pieces this week for subscribers to the Athletic: breaking down the Yu Darvish trade, breaking down the Blake Snell trade, and one piece on both the Josh Bell trade and Kohei Arihara signing. I revealed my Hall of Fame ballot in another post that included several other Athletic writers’ ballots, with each of us explaining one particular vote for a player. I also held a video chat via Periscope on Thursday.

Over at Paste, I reviewed the wonderful game for younger kids Dragomino, a reimagining of the Spiel-winning game Kingdomino, and ranked the five best games I’ve played for kids in the 3-6 range.

At Ars Technica, I ranked the best new board game apps of 2020. I didn’t include Spirit Island, which is a gorgeous app, but the tutorial is so inscrutable that I just couldn’t figure out how to play the game at a reasonable level.

A new edition of my free email newsletter is on my to-do list for the weekend. My thanks to all of you who bought – or asked for – either of my books this holiday season. You can still buy The Inside Game and Smart Baseball anywhere you buy books.

And now, the links…

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→ December 29, 2020
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The Prom.

The thing with musicals is that, even if the plot is good, shouldn’t you remember at least one of the songs after you’ve watched it?

I actually liked The Prom, which has received some scathing reviews and mixed marks overall, even with some obvious flaws, from a hackneyed plot to the choice to cast a straight actor as a gay character at the center of the film, but the biggest problem with the movie is that the music just isn’t any good. I couldn’t sing or hum a single tune from the movie within a few hours after we turned it off. No musical can work like that, even when the feel-good story feels good, the lead actress is a star in the making, and some great actors are quite game for a script that doesn’t always serve them well.

The premise of The Prom, which was a Broadway musical before coming to Netflix and may have seemed fresher or more current when it debuted, is familiar: A high school in Indiana cancels its prom rather than let a student bring their same-sex partner as a date to the event. The student, Emma (Jo Ellen Pellman), is out, but her girlfriend isn’t. Her principal (Keegan Michael-Key) is supportive, and sees this as a civil rights issue, but the head of the PTA (Kerry Washington) heads the opposition, spouting some typical bromides about family values, life choices, and ‘won’t somebody please think of the children.’ (I found it interesting that they cast a Black actor in that role, perhaps to avoid bringing race into a story about defending  LGBTQ rights.) Four Broadway actors, two of whom have just learned their brand new show has received such savage reviews that it’s likely to close after just one night, get wind of this story and decide to head to Indiana to rally behind Emma – and give their own careers a boost of good publicity. Needless to say, this isn’t how things go once they arrive.

The four actors are played by Meryl Streep, James Corden, Nicole Kidman, and Andrew Rannells, all of whom throw themselves completely into their rather absurd characters. Streep plays the diva, Corden her flamboyantly gay co-star, and both profess to be rather unaware of how the hoi polloi might live (although we later learn that’s a put-on). Kidman is a permanent understudy who never got her big break, and Rannells is “between gigs” and happens to be tending bar at the afterparty for Streep and Corden’s show. Kidman is, unsurprisingly if you’ve seen much of her work (like To Die For), the film’s secret weapon, sporting a convincing New York accent and giving her slim character her all, especially in her one big song, “Zazz,” a gentle satire of Chicago’s “All That Jazz” that unfortunately lacks the dancing part that would seal the homage. Rannells has even less to do, but does it well, especially in the song that sends up the show that made him a star, The Book of Mormon, where he responds to the argument that the Bible forbids homosexuality with a song that points out that it also forbids tattoos and the wearing of hats.

The story doesn’t really work if you squint at it, although that’s true of a lot of musicals, and many of the classics have plots that are little more than afterthoughts in service of the music. The resolution relies on a rather substantial plot contrivance, something the viewer knows for most of the movie, that is just too convenient. Some of the subplots actually work better – Key’s principal being a huge fan both of Streep and of Broadway in general, James Corden’s estrangement from his parents – but the script strains too hard to make the main storyline, which itself feels a few years out of date, work.

It succeeds in spite of itself, in large part because of Pellman, who makes her film debut in The Prom and looks every bit a star in the making. With her girlfriend still closeted, Emma carries most of the weight of the kids’ part of the storyline – her girlfriend is the only other teenaged character with any depth here – and Pellman is more than able to carry her share even in scenes with Streep and Kidman, two great actors who can be dominant on-screen, and when she finally gets a scene of her own, singing “Unruly Heart” as her character starts a Youtube channel and takes charge of her own side of the publicity battle.

Corden has come in for a fair amount of criticism for the fact that he’s a straight man playing a gay character, and for doing so with some effeminate flourishes that lean a little bit into stereotype. I can’t argue the point, but from a straight performance perspective, Corden was fine. He’ll never not be Smithy to me, but he was more than adequate here, and was enough of a presence to counterbalance Streep, who is the good kind of hammy for most of the film, even though the script really lets her down in several ways.

But all of this comes with the basic problem I had with The Prom: There isn’t a single song in it that I could still recall a few hours after we finished the film. I enjoyed the experience of watching it, but a musical without good music is a rather empty shell, with barely enough plot to fill a short film. The Happiest Season, a holiday film on Hulu starring Kristen Stewart, had a rather similar plot at the core of its story, and handled it more deftly and with bigger laughs, even though it relies on some hackneyed tropes in its story. So while I liked The Prom just enough, there’s no staying power to it, and, unlike with most musicals, I have no real interest in watching it again.

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