Fri 06 Nov 2009 |
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 Not for nothing, but I really enjoyed God of Carnage even though I had to pay full price and ended up sitting in the back of the mezzanine. Hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. And these tickets are hot!
As you probably know, one of the characters is played by Tony Soprano. I mean, James Gandolfini. Oh, get real. It is impossible to look at that man in this role and not see him as the "family guy" on The Sopranos, the wildly popular HBO show that has created many a tense moment for Italian-Americans across the land. See Bada Bing! Bada Boom! But talk about tense moments! God of Carnage is about two couples, four "civilized" people who get together to discuss a problem between their two sons: the kids had a fight in the schoolyard. Back before the rise of Helicopter Parents, the children might have settled this themselves. These days, adults feel they must get involved. And involved they get, in a big way. Okay, one kid did get hurt (he lost a few teeth) and the other kid was wielding a stick, so no one's saying that the parents shouldn't have been concerned. But this incident escalates into World War III, not to mention a lawsuit (so what else is new?) looming in the background. One of the parents is a lawyer who, in a rare moment when he isn't on his cell phone obviously wishing he was anywhere else than here, objects to the term "armed with" a stick as used by the mother of the victim. She gives in on that point. Sort of. Let's face it, this "discussion" is all about the parents, not their kids — and that's not a pretty sight. Funny, though . . . The dialogue is pitch perfect. And the timing, which involves projectile vomiting, something I would never have admitted to finding hilarious until this very minute, is also outstanding. Small details, which turn out to be Big Deals, keep coming back like a relative that won't go away. In fact, one of them is a relative who won't go away, the mother who keeps calling at all the wrong times. (Any time is the wrong time that day.) Recurring themes also involve a dead hamster, 50 tulips (for only $40 at the neighborhood bodega), and a homemade pie or tart or torte (I never did get that straight, but maybe that was the point). Besides Gandolfini, who projected extraordinarily well even to the cheap seats, the cast consisted of Marcia Gay Harden, who stole the show as Gandolfini's socially conscious, tightly wound wife, Veronica. Hope Davis, who we (and her therapist, Gabriel Byrne) can't resist on In Treatment is perfect as Annette, the even more tightly wound wife of the lawyer, Alan (Jeff Daniels), the only character in the show who doesn't pretend to be anything other than who he is. Tony, I mean Michael (Gandolfini), is trying to be more sophisticated than his raw, take-no-prisoners self, which begins to be revealed when he finds out to his delight that his son has a gang. Veronica is trying to come across as calm, caring, and wise, and Annette is trying not to throw up. Alan decides to enjoy some really good rum and see what happens. What happens is that they all devolve into raving lunatics. And I, for one, loved it. Not everyone does. One person thought that the material was thin, especially compared to August, Osage County, another domestic comedy/drama about people behaving badly. And someone else complained about having spent all that money (she had orchestra seats) to listen to two couples yelling at each other all evening.
See, I find that comforting: we (my husband and I) do bicker, but we're not that bad . . . So if you want my opinion, spring for the good seats, if you can get them. Or take your chances in the balcony. Like I said, Tony projects real good. God of Carnage is now playing at the Bernard Jacobs Theatre on Broadway. More play reviews on this site:
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Bitter Patter
NO LAUGHING MATTER:
Did Demi Moore overdose
on laughing gas??
That's what's being reported
to those of us at:
A DEVOUT COWARD
GOES TO THE DENTIST
Have you seen The Artist? Seeing it mentioned at
The Golden Globes reminded me that that not ALL movies are
Incredibly Loud!
Do NOT Google Santorum.
I warned you . . .
I did it!
I actually got that
LITTLE BLACK DRESS!
How hard was it?
Click on the link above.
I also got my iPhone.
It's great.
Thank you Steve Jobs
Wherever you are.
Just as I posted I WAS THE GIRL PHANTOM, I found a website called The Ghost Who Blogs about The Phantom comics:
http://falkonthewildside.blogspot.com
Writing Comics. . .
Was a small but wonderful part of my checkered career, and doing a post about it brought back a lot of great memories. If you know any other women in NYC who wrote — or are writing — comics, tell me how to get in touch with them.
I'm on a watching-old-movies kick these days.
Great way to lose yourself.
If you're lucky, you'll never be found.
REVIEWS TO PERUSE
I'm All Right, Jack:
"Jack" is not just all right, it's totally delightful and fresh as a daisy after all these years (made in 1959), with Sellers, although not technically the lead, giving the brilliant performance that launched him as an international star. He plays an all-too-zealous union leader and father of a blonde bombshell who falls for Stanley, the British Upper Class Twit played, also to perfection, by Ian Carmichael, who you might remember from the Lord Peter Wimsey series. The makeout scenes between the the Twit and the Bombshell are priceless. But what is Stanley doing in this working class atmosphere anyway? Working. And too well at that. Forced by financial circumstances too dreary to discuss, he gets a job in his uncle's factory and messes things up for the other workers by, well, working, and thus making his fellow employees look bad. The film takes a big shot at unions — but also at management: they are manipulating white-collar thieves who'll do anything for a buck. Or a pound. Except for the ones, like Major Hitchcock, played by Terry Thomas, who are just plain lazy and inept. Needless to say, Stanley foils everybody's plans, labor and management alike, to my great joy and delight. Oh, and on top of everything else, Margaret Rutherford plays dotty dowager Aunt Dolly. Delicious!
The Big Lebowski:
What can you say that hasn't been said before: brilliant, inspired, with some of the most memorable lines ever to come out of a movie, the most quoted being "The Dude abides." Oh yes. For anyone who hasn't yet seen the film, and it's now out in a special Blu-Ray edition if that floats your bowling ball. The Dude in question, played to perfection by Jeff Bridges, is an out-of-work pothead who is roughed up and has his rug destroyed by some thugs mistaking him for another, bigger, Lebowski. The Dude is really upset about this because, man, "that rug really tied the room together," which The Dude says with all seriousness and not a trace of irony, a great comic touch considering the condition his condition is in. Oh, and besides "Just Dropped In," all the music is perfect for the film. The plot, according to Wikipedia, which has been known to be wrong, is "loosely based on Raymond chandler's novel, The Big Sleep." Could be. But who cares. It involves a bowling competition, "the occasional acid flashback," a trophy wife, a group of German nihilists, a kidnapping gone awry, a mad millionaire and his lackey, in another great performance by Philip Seymour Hoffman. Actually, they're all great performances. Never a fan of John Goodman before or since, he is brilliant in this film. And so are John Turturro, overacting his little heart out, Steve Buscemi in a nerdy, needy role that makes you marvel at his star turn in Boardwalk Empire, and even the actors in the smaller parts, especially Julianne Moore and Sam Elliott. Elliott plays The Stranger (God? Everyman? The part of us that roots for the bad boy?) who elicits from Bridges the immortal words, "The Dude abides." Which prompts The Stranger to comment to the audience: "Don't know about you but I take comfort in that. It's good knowin' he's out there. The Dude. Takin' 'er easy for all us sinners. Shoosh. I sure hope he makes the finals." We'll never know about the bowling trophy because there's never been a sequel to this 1998 film by the great Coen Brothers, and I hope there never will be. It just abides, as all great films do.
Prince of the City:
Okay, the criticisms of this movie are not totally unfounded: it's too long, and Treat Williams may have overacted a bit, although I found him so deliciously charming I couldn't care less, and there's one part concerning the Jerry Orbach character I just didn't understand. But get over it, The New Yorker, this is one powerful movie. And yes, Dog Day Afternoon it isn't, but what it? The DVD has a great special feature with Williams (I so want to call him Treat) and Sidney (what the hell: I once made a meatloaf sandwich for the man) that explains a lot about filmmaking in general and this movie in particular. Also, Sidney's views on good and evil, and how things are not so black and white as you think. I loved it.
Bad Day At Black Rock:
Recommended on TCM by Robert Osbourne as a film he originally had no interest in seeing, then loved it, and by Alex Baldwin, who pointed out the great actors in the cast, including Lee Marvin, Ernest Brognine and Dean Jagger. Well, after all that, I had to like it, right? I did. A lot. It was a Good Day On My Couch.
Behind the Scenes Stuff: Spencer Tracey was off drinking and wouldn't commit to the film until the producers (who wanted him desperately) told him that they had Alan Ladd, at which point Tracey grabbed it. He was perfect for the part, wearing a dark suit and tie the entire time in a western setting, pulling it off perfectly. Other than that "fashion statement," the film makes a strong case against racism: the hatred of the Japanese during WW2. See it.
Song of The Thin Man:
I usually like these frothy, silly, suave, utter unrealistic films from the 30s and 40s, with William Powell and Myrna Loy as the couple we'd all like to be — if only we had the looks, brains, money, a huge capacity for drinking and a dog like Asta. But this one was a stinker, rather than a stinger, or maybe a sinker, because it turned out to be the last, not to mention the least, in the series. Watch any of the others four sequels, but not this one: Even the pooch jumped the shark.
The Children's Hour:
It had its moments, and just looking at Audrey Hepburn makes life worth living, but mostly I kept thinking that the play, by Lillian Hellman, was so much better. It's about two young women runing a school for girls, who are accused by a hateful little brat of being (GASP!) lesbians. And although the closest we get in this 1961 production to using that actual term is the word "unnatural," it's enough to ruin their lives. A young Shirley McClaine is worth seeing in this, and James Garner, and Audrey Hepburn is, well, Audrey Hepburn. The rumor of the love that dare not speak its name is totally untrue — or is it? And I'll say no more, because you should see the movie for yourself, imperfect as it may be, as is Life Itself.
by martinis alone,
I like this blog:
grapesandgreens.blogspot.com
BITTER PATTER
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Comments
Great review! I used to know what was playing on Broadway when I lived closer to the city. Now that I live in Connecticut, I rarely get in or read about shows anymore. So, it's nice that you write reviews about them. Btw, the link in your email has an "n" at the end, which ruins the link.
Thanks also for the heads-up on the link. Luckily, that "n" only appeared on a few of the emails (don't ask) and even luckier, you knew enough to get here anyway.
Love your reviews. I, too, am far away from home. New York is still my home no matter where
I live. So it's great to have you keeping up what what's happening on the Great Off or On B'way.
Dorothy Parker reviewed plays for awhile, also. But, you're not as bitter as she was. Funny, tho!
Gary
some things I didn't get when I saw it. It kind of reiterates George Carlin's rant about child
worship in this country, where it takes a whole committee to pontificate on incidents that
unfortunately happen, but sometimes the kids work it out themselves.
EVERYBODY'S a shrink!
If they are not allowed to make decisions then they will not have confidence in making decisions. Too many twenty somethings are still living like they were teenagers.
I heard a comedian (a female I think) say that teenagers are "mentally ill people with car keys." So maybe a 16 and 17 year old needs close watching when a car is involved, but they still should have some freedom to make choices.
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