→ July 22, 2022
→ By

Los Angeles eats, 2022 edition.

I’ll start with the two remarkable meals I had in Los Angeles, starting with Pizzeria Sei, which has already received quite a bit of good press for their incredible “Tokyo-style Neapolitan” pizzas. I had the funghi, with fior di latte, several types of mushrooms, entire cloves of garlic, pecorino, oregano, and thyme. This might be in the top five of pizzas I’ve ever had, from the ingredients to that incredible, airy dough, perfectly baked, just a little charred on the edges and spotted on the underside. I did take the garlic cloves off before eating it, because I am a 49-year-old man who will sweat garlic out of my pores for two days if I eat all that, but the garlic/thyme flavor combination is one of my favorites to have with mushrooms – and those were exceptionally high quality, with cremini, shiitake, and I’m pretty sure porcini on there. I would eat any pizza these folks make given how good the dough is.

Sushi-Tama was my splurge meal for the trip, which I think I earned after we got through ten rounds. It’s one of those sushi places where the fish arrives daily on planes from Japan (and, as my server informed me, elsewhere around the world) and where the staff all pronounces everything as if they’re native speakers. I stuck to nigiri and a mozuku seaweed salad, which was itself unlike any other seaweed salad I’d ever had. It wasn’t bright green and vaguely briny, but dark olive (I’ve had that before) and extremely vinegary. Enough about the seaweed, though … the fish was comparable to the best I’ve ever had. I would especially recommend the kinme dai, golden eye snapper served with a little lime zest and salt. Its slightly higher oil content gave it more flavor than the madai, true snapper that was one of the daily specials. I also tried the nogoduro, fresh sea perch that they serve lightly seared, a new fish to me; the anago, salt-water eel; and the medium-fatty tuna, which the server actually recommended even over the much more expensive, fattier tuna cut. Twelve pieces of nigiri plus the seaweed salad was under $100, which I think is a bargain by L.A. standards.

Tacos Baja was my first meal after landing, Enseneda-style tacos, burritos, and other dishes mostly revolving around fried shrimp and fish. I kept it simple, getting two fish tacos with beans and rice. The fish was baja-style (of course), very crispy with a beer batter, served with a giant amount of shredded cabbage, salsa, and white sauce. There was so much stuff on the taco I could barely fold the thing, but the important part is that the fish was good and perfectly fried so it stayed moist in the center. I probably should have skipped the rice and beans and tried another taco. They have three locations, one in LA proper and two in Whittier.

Ronan on West Melrose is a pizzeria with a bunch of small plates and three other mains on the menu, although I was just there for the pizza. Ronan’s dough is actually lighter and fluffier than Sei’s, or really any Neapolitan place I have tried – enough that I’m not sure you’d even call it Neapolitan any more, although it’s still great, just too airy for that style. I had the Sweet Cheeks – guanciale, ricotta forte, and black pepper honey. It was sort of a salt-and-pepper bomb, although that was good after I’d been out at the Futures Game for several hours. The dough was the real star, though. I felt like I just had delicious salty bread for dinner. With a little bacon. It turns out that the owner of Pizzeria Sei previously worked at Ronan, although I think he’s surpassed his former employers.

Angry Egret Dinette is set back in a courtyard off Broadway in the Old Chinatown neighborhood of Los Angeles, so it’s not visible from the road, which meant I drove past it twice before just parking and walking to find it. This Beard-nominated spot has a large patio seating area and a take-out window, offering breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with inside seating available at some point in the past but perhaps not currently. I went with their shrimp po’boy, fried shrimp (and a lot of them) with cabbage slaw, salsa negra, pico de gallo, and avocado. Salsa negra is made from chiles mecos, a type of chipotle pepper, which is itself a dried and smoked jalapeño; mecos are ripened for a longer period, giving them a deeper red color, and then smoked for a longer period as well. To make salsa negra, you fry the chiles mecos in oil for several minutes until they turn dark brown, and then add garlic, salt, sugar, at the very least, with some recipes calling for vinegar, cumin, other spices, even soy sauce. Whatever Angry Egret uses, my Italian-American palate was not ready for that heat – this was very spicy, delicious, but whoa boy that was hot. The shrimp were quite fresh and fried just enough to cook them, still tender throughout. I liked this combination of flavors but I can’t pretend I tasted everything with my face on fire.

One breakfast spot to recommend – Aroma Tea & Coffee, which offers a smoked salmon “stack,” their take on a benedict that replaces that awful Canadian ham product with smoked salmon and replaces the English muffin with a crispy potato pancake. I’ve had this combination before, including over at Square One in LA, and I’ll never not order this if I see it on a menu. The salmon here was solid, which is the main differentiator – if that’s not up to par, the whole dish fails.

I did try two coffee places recommended by a friend in the specialty coffee business. Kumquat, over in Highland Park, brings in specialty coffees from small roasters all over the country, and focuses on espresso rather than brewed coffee, although they do offer a drip coffee each day. They do a daily blend for their regular espresso and a single-origin espresso that changes daily. I love the space, but there’s no indoor seating at the moment, just a shaded patio. They also offer some baked goods; I enjoyed the blueberry cornmeal scone, which was nice and crumbly and not too sweet, so it didn’t overpower the coffee. Go Get Em Tiger has multiple locations and a sizable food menu, although I just had a drip coffee, their Ethiopia Yukro, a tart, fruity coffee that’s less citrusy than beans from other Ethiopian regions that I’ve tried. They don’t have wifi, if you’re curious, which did matter as I was trying to work on draft recaps by that point, although I still recommend the coffee.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
→ June 28, 2022
→ By

Cha Cha Real Smooth.

Cha Cha Real Smooth subverts many of the conventions of the rom-com, throwing two people together in a situation that might lead to love and/or sex in most movies, but thanks to some smart, subtle twists to the formula, ends up a coming-of-age movie about being in your 20s.

It’s the second film from writer-director Cooper Raiff, whose 2020 debut Shithouse received very positive reviews, but this time he’s working with a bigger budget and much bigger names in the credits, including Dakota Johnson, who plays Domino, the single mom who lives near Raiff’s recent Tulane graduate Andrew. Domino is about ten years older than Andrew is, and has a daughter, Lola, who is autistic. (She’s played by autistic actress Vanessa Burghardt, making her first appearance in film or TV.) They all meet at a bat mitzvah, where Andrew, who works at a fast-food place in the mall called Meat Sticks, shows a knack for getting kids out on the dance floor, leading Domino to bet him a grand that he can’t get Lola to dance. He does, which leads some of the moms at the party to ask him to be the DJ and party starter for their kids’ b’nei mitzvah, a job that might overstate his readiness for prime time but also keeps him and Domino in each other’s orbits. She has a fiancé who’s often working out of town, while Andrew has a girlfriend studying in Barcelona. Andrew, meanwhile, still lives with his mom (Leslie Mann), stepdad Greg (Brad Garrett), and younger brother David (Evan Assante), the last of whom is trying to land his first kiss with his girlfriend, for which Andrew gives him a substantial amount of often-dubious advice.

Raiff has created some fantastic characters here, and while the dialogue can be a bit clunky, he seems to have a knack for seeing how different characters might react to and interact with each other. The Andrew-Domino dynamic is the beating heart of the film, especially in the way that Andrew tries to use his charisma on Domino and charm her the way he might have charmed women in college – to which she’s a little susceptible, but not in the way that he hopes. The same trick doesn’t work as well on everyone else, though, which is a part of Andrew’s challenge in the film: He thinks he’s a fully formed adult, and knows the ways of the world, but of course he doesn’t and is going to stub his toe or worse as he learns those lessons.

There’s a lot going on in Cha Cha Real Smooth, and it doesn’t always land. Andrew’s mom is bipolar, and had a manic episode at some point in the recent past, but that detail is dropped halfway through the film and never really returns, unless you want to count that as the reason she married Greg – but I don’t think that adds up. You can see where the Barcelona girlfriend thing is going pretty quickly, and the story would have worked just as well without it. It’s also really unclear why Andrew continues to get DJ/Party Starter gigs after his first fiasco, other than plot convenience, although it does lead to a very satisfying scene at what I presume is his final fiasco while also setting up a great denouement with the closest thing Andrew has to an antagonist. I also wish Mann and Garrett, who are both great in small roles, had a bit more to do, although the way the Andrew/Greg conflict (Andrew is just a dick to his stepdad for no apparent reason other than that he exists) resolves is also satisfying. I’ll add my wife’s criticism here, with which I agree, that this movie deserved better music; there are some good names in the soundtrack that indicate an attempt to get the right kind of indie artists into the film, but the songs are not that memorable.

Lola is a critical part of the story and the evolution of Andrew and Domino’s relationship, but to Raiff’s credit, she’s more than just a prop, and develops a relationship with Andrew that shows the audience more about each of them. Burghardt plays her like a whole person – she’s described it as portraying things she’s learned not to do as an autistic person. It’s the best kind of representation: A character with a disability is an integral part of the story, has normal interactions with other characters, building a real relationship with one of them, and deals with some of the problems that they might face in the real world – in this case, bullying by other kids. Lola is part of the fabric of the film, and her autism is not a plot point, but simply a characteristic.

If Raiff didn’t stick the landing here, Cha Cha Real Smooth would not have worked – it could have become too precious, or just unrealistic, with even small changes in how the Andrew/Domino relationship ends or where those two characters are in the coda that takes place six months later. But Raiff does get that part right, which helps mitigate some of the things that didn’t work in the middle of the film. It’s also frequently very funny, and Raiff has very good comedic timing that will probably carry him a long way. I don’t know that I need to see more of him playing this sort of character, but I enjoyed the two hours I spent with him. Your mileage may vary.

Cha Cha Real Smooth is streaming on Apple TV+.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: , , ,
→ June 26, 2022
→ By

The Enchanted.

I picked up a copy of Rene Denfeld’s debut novel, The Enchanted, just because I liked the look of the cover – it was one of the Harper Perennial Olive editions, with smaller dimensions and some subtle but lovely art on the cover. I’m rarely so suckered in by good artwork on a book, maybe taking one off the shelf but almost never just plain buying the book because of it; I figured at worst it would look nice on the shelves (and it wasn’t expensive, since it was a gently used copy from Changing Hands). And my God, am I glad I did. What a wonderful, ethereal novel, one that pulls hope out of the depths of its setting’s despair.

The narrator of The Enchanted is an unnamed prisoner on death row who cannot speak, and who views the world around him through a magical lens of sorts – not as something unreal, but as a world of possibilities, with hope and promise for other people even though he has no chance of either for himself. He explains the story of one of the other men on death row, known just as York, and the investigator, known just as the Lady, who works for York’s lawyers and tries to find information on his past that might earn him a reprieve from the electric chair. Within these stories, the narrator talks about one or two other denizens of the same ward, the incredibly brutal life in the prison, and, very obliquely, about how he came to be on death row, although he never explains what his initial crime was.

The prose starts out seeming a bit precious, what with the lack of proper names for most people in the book, but it suits Denfeld’s incredible gift for storytelling. The narrator’s view of the world comes through in the faint unreality around everything in the novel, even the graphic violence that appears quite frequently, as is fitting for a prison of this sort, where prisoners are killed and raped – and sometimes guards are as well – while no one on the outside really cares, because one more dead prisoner is one fewer mouth for the taxpayers to feebly feed.

The real narrative greed comes in the Lady’s story – her quest for answers about York, about how he came to become a brutal killer who’d get the death penalty, but also how she came to pursue this job, and what wounds this particular search opens up in her. She has an uneasy bond with the defrocked priest who serves as the chaplain for the death row inmates, if they choose to utilize him, which forms a weirdly sweet undercurrent in a novel of so much sorrow, even though her story turns out to be quite dark. Her efforts for York are complicated by the fact that he wants to die, and has asked his lawyers to stop making efforts to spare his life, so when she learns information that might be enough to get his sentence commuted, she has to decide whether to use it or abide by his wishes.

Denfeld worked as a chief investigator for a public defender’s office, often on death-row cases, and shows incredible empathy for her characters here, recognizing that there is humanity in everyone. Even the people who do the worst things might still have humanity in them. They’ve often have had the worst things done to them. Maybe that cost them their humanity. Denfeld isn’t writing them off. Neither is the Lady. And where it all ends up is quite something – perhaps I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t, not really, and the point Denfeld makes with the final reveal becomes the core message of the entire book. Without spoiling anything, I’ll just say it’s a plea for empathy and understanding, and I found it extremely moving.

Next up: Jason Kander’s Invisible Storm: A Soldier’s Memoir of Politics and PTSD.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: , ,
→ May 27, 2022
→ By

Eating to Extinction.

Dan Saladino’s Eating to Extinction: The World’s Rarest Foods and Why We Need to Save Them makes its important point – that declining biodiversity will impact our food supply in multiple ways – in unusual fashion: Rather than arguing the point in a straight narrative, Saladino gives the reader a tour of many of the rare foods at risk of extinction from environmental degradation, globalization, even over-regulation in some cases, presenting the scientific case for preserving them but relying more on emotional appeals. We’ll miss these foods if they’re gone, or maybe we’ll want to try them more for knowing they exist and might disappear.

The strongest arguments here come in the various sections on plants, because of the evolutionary case Saladino offers. Take the banana, probably the best-known sustainability problem in our food supply: Most of the bananas sold in the world are Cavendish bananas, every plant of which is genetically identical, because the plants themselves are sterile and must be propagated via clones. This deprives the plants of the opportunity to develop new defenses to pathogens or environmental changes via evolution; mutations are discouraged in monoculture farming. The Cavendish itself is now defenseless against a real threat to its existence: Panama disease, which previously wiped out Gros Michel banana plantations, has mutated and is in the process of wiping out Cavendish plantations as well. The banana you know and love is, to put it bluntly, fucked.

Saladino offers examples from the other side of the evolutionary equation, identifying rare fruits, vegetables, and other plants like wild coffee that offer both the genetic diversity these plants will need to survive – forever, even after our species is gone – and more immediate benefits to us, such as unique flavors or cultural legacies. Coffee is struggling in the face of climate change that is driving it to higher altitudes and pests like the fungus that causes coffee-leaf rust; the wild coffees of Ethiopia may provide genetic solutions, at least until the next crisis comes along. There’s a wild maize plant in Mexico that fixes its own nitrogen through a symbiotic relationship with a bacterium, a crop that could help address the world’s growing need for food. The wheat we’ve selected for easy harvesting and processing is close to a monoculture, and it wouldn’t take much to collapse the annual crop, even though there are hundreds of thousands of known varieties of wild wheat, like the wild emmer wheat of eastern Turkey known as kavilca.

He explores the impact that even so-called ‘sustainable’ solutions often have on wild populations, and how what works for our food supply in the short term leaves it even more vulnerable in the long term. We’ve nearly wiped out wild Atlantic salmon and are well on our way to doing the same in the Pacific, while farmed salmon fill our stores and plates, but when those farmed salmon get loose from their aquaculture pens, they interbreed with wild populations and can reduce genetic diversity, leaving those fish more vulnerable to diseases.

Some of these endangered foods are more closely tied to culture than to global food needs or biodiversity, such as the honey gathered by the native Hadza people in Tanzania, where local bee and bird populations are threatened both by habitat destruction and the loss of symbiotic relationships they’ve developed with humans. Certain birds would identify hives in baobab trees that contained honey, and humans would hear their calls and bring down the nests. The humans would eat the honey and parts of the honeycomb, while the birds would wait nearby to consume what the humans did not. This entire way of life is disappearing as native populations lose their land and become assimilated into urban life and dependent on processed foods.

Along the way, Saladino explains (several times) the presence of various seed banks around the world, including the critical one on the island of Svalbard in the Arctic Ocean, and the two great success stories of the Haber-Bosch process of fixing nitrogen in artificial fertilizer and the Green Revolution – the post-WWII adoption of high-yielding varieties of cereal and grain crops, notably dwarf wheat and rice, along with scientific methods of increasing yields through those artificial fertilizers and massive monocultures. (Not mentioned is how Haber’s research, which has helped accelerate climate change, also led to the development of Zyklon-B.) There’s quite a bit of science in here, which does help move things along in what amounts to a series of mini-essays on dozens of foods.

Saladino’s reference-work approach isn’t entirely successful for that last reason; sometimes, it’s like reading an encyclopedia. It’s often an interesting one, and Saladino went to all of these places to try the endangered foods and eat them with the locals who grow or gather or develop them. But such a broad look at the subject guarantees that some essays will be duds, and by the time we get to the end, Saladino’s epilogue, “think like a Hadza,” is so far removed from the opening essay on those people and their honey-gathering that the throughline connecting all of these foods has started to fray a bit. It works best as a call to action – we need to find and value these products, to keep them alive and protect those habitats or those cultures, and to stop relying on these monocultures to feed ourselves. You can find other wheat flours even at Whole Foods and similar stores, while there might even be local mills or growers near you offering unconventional (and thus genetically distinct) flours and grains and beans. Our diets will be richer for it, and we’ll be taking a small step towards protecting the future of humanity before we scorch the planet growing the same five crops.

Next up: I just finished Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , , ,
→ May 9, 2022
→ By

The Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois.

Honorée Fannone Jeffers’ debut novel The Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois is one of the best 21st century books I’ve read, an epic work of historical and contemporary fiction full of three-dimensional characters, evocative places, and an exploration of how personal and generational trauma echoes through years and family trees. Winner of this year’s National Book Critics’ Circle Award for Fiction, it’s an actual heartbreaking work of staggering genius.

The novel follows two stories in the same family line, focusing on Ailey Pearl Garfield, who is three years old when the novel opens and a graduate student by the time it closes. She’s one of three sisters born into a well-off Black family in an unnamed northern city, but whose roots are in Chicasetta, a small town in rural Georgia that, as we learn over the course of the novel, went from Creek territory to slave plantation to village, with Ailey’s ancestors there throughout. Her narrative follows the traumas of her modern family, especially those of her sister, Lydia, and herself, as we learn early in the novel that both were molested by their grandfather over a period of several years.

Their ancestry traces back to the Creek people who originally lived on that land until white colonoists tricked them out of it, eventually kicking them off the land and building a brutal cotton plantation there. The primary slave owner, Samuel Princhard, was especially vile and his crimes seem to pass through subsequent generations like a genetic inheritance, although eventually some of the slaves escape the plantation and create new lives for themselves after the Civil War. Ailey’s connection to her ancestors runs through three aged relatives still living in Chicasetta, especially her great-uncle Root, a former academic and expert on Black history who loves to debate the relative merits of W.E.B. Du Bois and Booker T. Washington. When Ailey makes her meandering way to graduate school, after an abortive attempt at pre-med to follow in her father’s and her oldest sister’s footsteps, it is Uncle Root who both opens doors for her in a predominantly white world and who coaches her through the worst moments. Along the way, characters die, come in and out of Ailey’s life, and dredge up old memories, all of which collides when Ailey’s research into her own lineage as part of her dissertation runs headlong into Princhard’s story and the many people who lived, worked, and died on that plantation.

The Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois runs to nearly 800 pages, but Dr. Jeffers has created an immersive world – two of them, really – where, for me at least, the reader is as close to the scenes as possible. Few writers can evoke images and create characters this real and solid, let alone in a debut novel. Ailey and Uncle Root are the standouts, but they’re just the head of a wide cast, and even many of the secondary characters are still memorable and move beyond stock status. Jeffers also weaves a discussion of intersectionality throughout the book, mostly that of Black feminism and the roles of women in Black American society as well as in American society at large – and yes, the phenomenon of white women leaving Black women behind in their fight for rights appears several times, including in probably the weakest character in the book, Rebecca, who only appears briefly near the end.

The historical passages in Chicasetta, on the plantation and before the white settlers seized the land, have the same gauzy feel of some of the great works of Black American literature set in that time period, including Beloved, with elements of magical realism at play. Jeffers centers the slaves in the story, treating the brutality of their lives as a matter of fact, which I found increased the horror of it – this was just an accepted part of their reality, living under a capricious, vengeful god in human form. She still does give time to the slaveowning family, but that’s because telling their story becomes a critical part of telling Ailey’s.

Ailey herself is a beautifully flawed, realistic character, often exasperating in her choices or even words but ultimately the hero of the work – and the hero of her family, the one who doesn’t just survive her trials but steps forward to reclaim the family’s legacy and take it forward for future generations. I imagine someone will try to turn The Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois into a movie, but this book has the rich storytelling of the best narrative television series we’ve seen. It deserves the longer treatment, or none at all. And of the candidates I’ve read for this year’s Pulitzer Prize for Fiction – which includes the very good Hell of a Book, by Jason Mott, winner of the National Book Award – this is by far my favorite.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , ,
→ April 15, 2022
→ By

Playground.

I have what appears to be a false memory of an American movie critic  Playground, Belgium’s submission for this past year’s Academy Award for Best International Film, was the best movie of 2021. It made the Oscars’ shortlist, but didn’t get to the final five, and after a very limited theatrical release here this winter it hit streaming (amazon • iTunes • Google) this Tuesday. It is a marvel of small cinema – it tells a simple story, with few characters and no gimmicks, in under 80 minutes, and it’s just devastating.

Playground follows two kids, Nora (Maya Vanderbeque), aged 7, and her brother Abel, about 10, and takes place entirely at their school – mostly in the schoolyard, which is a brutal place, and Abel even tells Nora that he’s going to beat up some of the new kids with the school bully, Antoine. Nora has a very hard time leaving her father on the first day of school, and ends up clinging to her brother, which causes Antoine and the other bullies to turn on Abel. When Nora sees this, she wants to tell her father, but Abel orders her not to, for fear it will make things worse – and, it turns out, it does.

First time writer/director Laura Wandel shot nearly all of Playground at the kids’ height, and in soft focus, so Nora in particular is always centered in the shot and the story. Nora’s anguish is the beating heart of the story; the adults who ostensibly run the school let her down at nearly every turn, and even when she believes she’s doing the right thing by protecting her brother, he turns on her as well, blaming her for his switch from bully to victim and for his growing isolation from the other kids. Wandel declines to shift the focus to the adults – when we see them in full, it’s because they have bent down to talk to the children on their level – because the failure of the teachers and administrators is not the point of the story. It’s simply assumed. The adults are often kept out of frame entirely, and sometimes their words are muffled, to further evoke the overwhelming disorientation of being a young child in a new environment where the rules are unclear and adults don’t always fulfill their obligations to you.

Vanderbeque gives the best performance by a child actor I’ve seen since Brooklynn Prince’s in 2017’s The Florida Project. Her wide-eyed look conveys fear and determination in turns, and her facial expressions reveal the inner torment Nora faces as she realizes that none of her actions have unequivocally positive consequences. When Nora’s choices lead not to Abel’s liberation from bullying, but to his ostracism and her own isolation, Vanderbeque’s features tighten up as the character holds back tears, and if you’re a parent, just watching her doing that might rip you apart. Nora is forced to make decisions she’s not equipped to make, which only deepens her torment, and after several turns of the screw we see her start to feel the effects of this pressure. She’s still just seven and a young-looking seven at that, so despite her role as the protagonist, eventually her youth and immaturity take over and she begins lashing out at classmates and her brother – more so after her own few friends start taunting her over her brother’s unpopularity.

At a taut 72 minutes, Playground can move through its story without ever letting its foot off the gas – it’s as tense as a thriller and never telegraphs its direction, which also underscores that feeling of dread that most children experience in such apparently hostile settings. The playground of the school constitutes so much of the kids’ experience that the film’s original title, Un monde, means “a world.” It’s a nasty, brutish place, and perhaps Wandel’s way of showing us a microcosm of what awaits Nora and Abel when they grow up. You’re just hoping they make it okay until the bell rings at the end of the last class.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: , , ,
→ April 13, 2022
→ By

Black Swan Green.

My reading of the entire David Mitchell catalogue continued during the offseason, as I read but never reviewed The Thousand Autumns of Jasper de Zoet (which I loved – brilliant prose and a compelling story), and now brings me to Black Swan Green, an autobiographical memoir set in Ireland in 1982. It’s the most straightforward of Mitchell’s novels that I’ve read, with relatively few references to people and events in his other novels, and a lovely, bittersweet coming-of-age story that reads like a way better Belfast.

Jason Taylor is Mitchell’s stand-in, a 13-year-old boy who lives with his parents and his older sister Julia, attending a boys-only school where he’s one of the less popular kids, due in part to his stammer. He’s friends with Dean Moran, one of the few kids less popular than he is; gets bullied by a few of the street toughs from the town; and harbors a quiet crush on Dawn Madden, who ends up dating one of the worst bullies in Black Swan Green, Ross Wilcox. Jason’s misadventures nearly always start in mundane ways – he’s at school, on the bus, at a carnival, at home, or just playing in the woods – but end up touching on one or more of the major themes: his parents’ fractious marriage, his difficulty in almost every social situation due to his stammer, and the difficulty of fitting in that teenage boys everywhere face. So much of Jason’s inner monologue revolves around trying to be cool enough that he’ll be accepted – or at least not bothered – by the town’s bullies, but not to attract undue attention and thus becomes a target for them for an entirely new reason.

Jason is a fantastic character, one I wish we’d see come back again in another novel – although I suppose he’d be a successful writer as an adult. I certainly saw enough of myself in him, despite the outward dissimilarities between us (I never had a stammer, and Jason is more comfortable fighting & playing sports than I was), to feel like both he and his story were realistic. Mitchell gives him everything a protagonist should have, building out Jason’s moral compass and personality through a series of normal events that many kids would face, from finding a lost wallet to standing up to bullies to coping with the conflict between loving your parents and recognizing that it’s not cool to be seen with them. It’s a more modern interpretation, but you can interpret Black Swan Green as the protagonist’s struggle against a world where toxic masculinity is the norm, a world into which he does not fit.

That does mean that the other characters are less fleshed-out, especially Jason’s dad, who is just kind of a dud as a person – although I would guess most of us know a Michael Taylor who talks a good game but doesn’t post when it’s his turn to be a good father or husband, and it’s hardly surprising when he eventually fails at all of his roles. Julia doesn’t get enough time on the pages, as she heads off to college partway through the book, but she’s the most interesting secondary character, as she softens towards her younger brother as both her time at home comes to a close and she better foresees the storm brewing in their parents’ marriage.

Black Swan Green – which has put the Charlatans’ “Sproston Green” in my head for the last week – doesn’t have the mystical elements that appear in most of Mitchell’s books, and other than a mention of Robert Frobisher, none of the major names who pop up in the Mitchell Literary Universe appear here. (Some characters here show up in minor roles in other books, especially Cloud Atlas, but none rang a bell for me so long after I read that work.) That’s for the better, as it would have been jarring to have that stuff show up in a roman à clef, unless the Horologists really did show up in Mitchell’s childhood. One warning: There’s a fair bit of homophobic language here, although I’m sure this is accurate to the time period and setting – I was 9 in 1982, in New York rather than Ireland, but this was the vernacular of teenaged boys in the 1980s – and it’s hardly glorified. It’s unsurprising to see Mitchell do straight fiction this well, and as much as I enjoy his broader and more inventive plots, this is among the best coming-of-age novels I’ve ever read.

Next up: Ellen Hendriksen’s How to Be Yourself: Quiet Your Inner Critic and Rise Above Social Anxiety.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , ,
→ March 18, 2022
→ By

Drive My Car.

Drive My Car has become the critical favorite of awards season, winning the best film prize from the LA Film Critics Association, New York Film Critics Circle, and the National Society of Film Critics, a trifecta that has happened six times previously, with the last four films to do so going on to win Best Picture. It spurred one of the best pieces I’ve read on movies in this, a  cycle, Justin Chang’s piece from late January arguing for the Oscars to nominate the film – his favorite of 2021 – for Best Picture. He was right, and the film did get the Best Picture nod it deserved, as well as nominations for Best Director and Best International Film. After Jane Campion’s tone-deaf, ill-timed comments at the Critics Choice Awards, which came just four days before voting opened, it might even have a chance to win the big prize.

Based on a brief short story by Haruki Murakami, Drive My Car is a three-hour meditation on grief and recovering from loss, beautifully shot and acted, with a script that pulls great emotion from small moments and quiet interactions among its characters. Yusuke Kafuku (Hidetoshi Nishijima) is a stage director and actor whose wife Oto (Reika Kirishima) narrates stories she creates for him during and after they have sex. Shortly after Yusuke discovers that she’s cheating on him, he returns home to find her dead on the floor of a cerebral hemorrhage. Two years later, he’s invited to stage his version of Anton Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya, a multilingual production, in Hiroshima, where his contract requires him to stay an hour away and use a driver, Misaki (T?ko Miura), to get him back and forth. These drives, and the conversations that take place in the car, explore the two characters’ traumas and share difficulty coping with their grief and guilt over what they might have done differently to prevent the tragedies in their pasts.

Drive My Car immerses you in its world, the one facet it shares with Murakami’s writing – it’s akin to living inside of someone else’s dream for three hours, thanks to the gorgeous shots of Hiroshima and the unhurried plot, which reveals its secrets naturally, as the relationship between Yusuke and Misaki develops and the two begin to confide in each other. Yusuke and Oto lost a child earlier in their marriage, which we learn in oblique fashion near the start of the film but without any explanation, which only adds to Yusuke’s guilt and grief over losing his wife – especially since he never had a chance to confront her about her infidelity. He ends up hiring the actor with whom she cheated to play the title character in Uncle Vanya, with what seems like ill intent, but after an intense conversation between the two in the back of the car where the actor tells Yusuke the end of a story that Oto had never finished, his view softens and he realizes there were things about his wife he never knew.

There are some strange plot contrivances that never quite pay off. Yusuke develops glaucoma in one eye, which he discovers after the condition causes him to get into a car accident, which you’d think would be reason enough for him to end up with a driver. Instead, the glaucoma never comes up again in the film, and the screenwriters concoct this bizarre contract with the theater to force him to use a driver – which he’s reluctant to do because of the importance of his routine while driving, right down to the car itself, which we learn is closely associated in his mind with his wife. Getting Yusuke a driver is central to the unfolding of the story, but the glaucoma could have been the reason for it – or it didn’t need to be in the film at all.

I have never seen or heard any performance of Uncle Vanya, so I read the Wikipedia summary of the play to try to understand what was happening on the stage within the film, as well as its connection to the overall plot. (There’s a brief scene near the start of the film where Yusuke appears in a production of Waiting for Godot, a story about two people waiting for a third, unseen person who never comes, talking endlessly about it, which seems like a more obvious parallel to the story of Yusuke and Misaki.) The actors in the play speak different languages and often can’t understand each other without Yusuke or his local assistant translating, with actors who speak Mandarin, English, Korean, and Korean Sign Language in the production, but despite diffident direction from Yusuke, several of the actors experience breakthroughs while working with the material, forming bonds with each other and connecting more with the characters, an allegory for Yusuke’s own resistance to exploring his own grief or just his own emotions. Two of the main characters in Chekhov’s play are stuck, pining for the same woman, the wife of Vanya’s brother-in-law, whose first wife (Vanya’s sister) has died. Vanya has dedicated most of his life to managing his brother-in-law’s estate, but realizes that he’s wasted his time on a man of limited ability and even less sense of the value of other people, all while waiting for a woman who is unavailable to him.

Much commentary about Drive My Car has focused on how well it translates the dreamlike nature of Murakami’s writing to the screen. The comments get it half right. This film does replicate the all-consuming aspect of Murakami’s work, but that’s found in his novels, not in his short stories; the stores in Men Without Women, the collection where “Drive My Car” appears, are scant, like shadows of ideas, and lack the texture or altered realities of most of his novels. The comments also constitute Burning erasure, as that film, the best of 2018, followed the same formula, extrapolating a wispy Murakami short story into a film well over two hours long that developed its characters (its men, at least) and created layers of back story and scene. Drive My Car does so as well, with strong performances by both of its leads, and offers a thematic and visual complexity absent from the story on which it is loosely based. It’s the best movie I’ve seen from 2021 so far, with just two Best Picture nominees (CODA and Don’t Look Up) and at least two significant international films (Playground and Petite Maman), and while the odds are still against it winning Best Picture or Best Director, it absolutely deserves both honors.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
→ March 3, 2022
→ By

Red Rocket.

The idea of the con man as amiable rascal goes back decades, at least, but the archetype has been overtaken by current events, not least from our four years with a con man in the White House. In Sean Baker’s latest film, the hilarious dark comedy Red Rocket, Baker plays with the format by giving us a charming, fast-talking con man as the lead character, making it clear in stages that he’s a self-aggrandizing loser who does not care whose lives he destroys as long as none of them is his own. (You can rent it on Amazon, iTunes, or Google Play.)

Baker’s previous film, The Florida Project was my favorite film of 2017, anchored by an incredible performance by a 6-year-old actress, Brooklynn Prince, with no previous acting credits. Red Rocket is almost as good, and once again he’s cast two unconventional actors as leads: former MTV VJ and unserious actor Simon Rex, and an unknown actor named Suzanna Son, who had just one minor movie credit before this one.

Rex plays “Mikey Saber,” a former porn star who has returned to Texas City after his career ended for unknown reasons, and tries to move back in with his estranged wife, Lexi (Bree Elrod), who at least for a time was in adult films with him. After a few futile attempts to find regular work, stymied by the long gap on his resume, Mikey begins selling weed for Leondria, who distributes with the help of her kids, especially her stoic daughter June. When Mikey has enough money to finally pay Lexi and her mom Lil something for rent, he takes them to the local donut shop, where he meets 17-year-old Strawberry (Son), and immediately sets his sights on seducing her, with an eye towards taking her to LA and using her as his way back into the porn industry.

As in The Florida Project, the majority of actors in Red Rocket are non-professionals; only Rex and Elrod had more than one acting credit before this film, with Elrod mostly working on the stage since she was in Shutter Island a decade ago. Baker’s skill for finding people who can fill these roles is remarkable, with Brittney Rodriguez (June) especially standing out once her character finally gets to talk, in the film’s funniest scene by far, a family squabble near the end of the movie that was, of course, provoked by Mikey.

But it’s Rex and especially Son who make this movie. Rex is perfectly annoying as the guy who never shuts up about himself, his plans, how greatness is just around the corner, how he would already have been rich and/or famous except that something happened. He has an external locus of control large enough to enclose his giant ego, and he never tires of telling everyone who’ll listen about it. Son is a revelation as Strawberry, a convincing teenager (she’s actually 26) who leans a little into the Lolita role Mikey sees for her, but who is also naïve enough not to realize how sinister Mikey’s motives are and to appear to fall for him and his schemes, even when some external factors should tip her off. She evinces the superficial worldliness of the teenager who thinks she’s an adult, especially since the world often treats her that way, but who’s also too trusting and sometimes misses obvious points about how the world works. She also gets to sing in one of the movie’s stranger moments – it comes after a sex scene, which is awkward like every single sex scene in the movie, almost always because of Mikey – and has a lovely voice that had me convinced I’d heard her before. (She sounds like one of the many indie singer/songwriters out there right now, although I haven’t been able to figure out which one yet.)

The film is dark, despite being incredibly funny, and never quite grapples with how awful Mikey is other than letting you see the person under the hood (quite literally, near the end of the film). He’s a 40-something creep who seduces a 17-year-old and sees absolutely nothing wrong with it, even when he tells her ex-boyfriend to leave her alone because she’s with Mikey now. He uses his closest friend, or the closest thing he has to a friend, for free transportation for weeks, only to land that friend in a world of trouble from which Mikey escapes. He weasels his way back into Lexi’s life, clearly giving her false hope that he’s sticking around and will allow her to put something back together – her mother is addicted to opioids, and Lexi might be as well – only to have him ditch her the moment he locks in on Strawberry as his mark. He’s irredeemable with no interest in redemption. I have known several people, all men, just like him, convinced that a huge success is just around the corner, that the world simultaneously owes them this success and is the only thing denying it to them. They’re insufferable even as friends or acquaintances, and that’s if you don’t get caught up in one of their schemes. It’s a testament to Baker’s script and Rex’s performance that Mikey is so familiar and recognizable, and that he can entertain us even as we want to throttle him.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: , , ,
→ March 2, 2022
→ By

C’mon C’mon.

C’mon C’mon was written and directed by Mike Mills (not the REM/Baseball Project bassist), and doesn’t include that song, just to answer the two most obvious questions up front. It is a beautiful, tiny, intimate film, sweeping you up into its leisurely rhythm, combining humor, grief, and a vision of parenthood from the outside into a near-perfect film. (You can rent it now on Amazon, Google Play, or iTunes.)

Joaquin Phoenix plays Johnny, a journalist working on a radio documentary where he and a small crew travel to large cities in the U.S. to interview kids about their views on the world today and what the future might be like. He calls his sister Viv (Gaby Hoffman), who asks him to come to Los Angeles to watch his nephew Jesse (Woody Norman) for a few days while she travels to Oakland to look after her estranged husband Paul, who is bipolar and not getting the proper help or taking care of himself. A few days turns into a few weeks, so Johnny takes Jesse on the road with him, and has to serve as a friend and a guardian and a temporary parent to a kid who misses both his mom and his dad.

It’s part buddy comedy, part road movie, but it’s always authentic – there is something very honest about every detail in this film, which gets a boost from the real interviews that Phoenix conducted during the filming. (One of the boys he interviews was shot and killed last summer on his stoop; the film is dedicated to his memory.) These vignettes, often Phoenix asking a question followed by several kids, who look like they’re maybe 8 to 16 years old, providing answers – thoughtful, funny, sad, honest answers that gives the outside look at childhood to contrast with the main narrative’s inside look.

Phoenix is perfectly understated as Johnny, but Norman steals the show here – he’s more than just the cute kid, and rises to the challenge of a script that asks him to show a wide range of emotions and behaviors. Jesse is a pretty typical 8-year-old kid, by turns sweet and rambunctious, not always aware of his surroundings but sometimes acutely aware that his person wasn’t nearby. He’s a social kid, and funny, but also has that habit of kids that age of assuming that whatever they find interesting will be just as interesting to everyone around them. He also loves conspiracy theories, with Johnny’s crewmates eating up his talk about them in one scene in a restaurant that helps establish how easily Jesse gets along with adults – something we learn from later scenes is an adaptive behavior.

The Viv material is the weakest part, not least because it’s not entirely clear why her presence is required in Oakland, especially once Paul gets into inpatient mental health treatment. The arc of Viv and Jesse’s relationship suffers a little from its scant screen time; we do see through flashbacks that it has had its vicissitudes, and learn from a poignant conversation between Jesse and Johnny that the latter may have had a role in his sister’s marriage breaking up. It’s not implausible, but it falls into the space in between useful background and underdeveloped subplot.

C’mon C’mon is entirely in black and white, which cuts two ways here; it’s always gimmicky when a modern film is shot that way, but it does add to the film’s sense of scale. Everything about this movie is so small, in the best possible sense. The black and white aspect only increases that intimacy, making the movie seem leaner and more spare, although I can also see an argument that it’s not necessary, and that doing so in 2021 is showy.

I admit to liking this movie more than my faux-critic side does – C’mon C’mon depicts a fundamental part of being human, and does so with compassion and humor. Many of my favorite movies do something like this, and the fact that this movie does so in such a simple, elegant way makes me love it even more. And I wish that Norman had gotten a Best Supporting Actor nod for his work, to go along with the BAFTA nomination he got in the same category. He’s just fantastic, and without him, the movie wouldn’t seem as real or pack the same punch.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: , ,