Prometheus Redux

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Prometheus is the most libertarian of the Greek gods. His name has been used to signify choice and accountability in such stories as Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein or, The Modern Prometheus; her husband Percy Bysshe Shelley’s Prometheus Unbound; Ayn Rand’s Anthem, in which the protagonist renames himself Prometheus; and even in this publication, whose web address, libertyunbound, alludes to the Greek myth.

In that story, Prometheus and his brother Epimetheus, both Titans, are given the task of creating man and endowing him with gifts. The animals are created first, and Epimetheus is a bit too generous, bestowing all the talents and skills (courage to the lion, strength to the ox, cunning to the fox, sagacity to the owl) before man comes along. What to do about this blunder? With the aid of Athena, Prometheus flies up to the sun and steals a bit of fire, bringing it back as a gift to man.

This gift would truly set humans apart from the rest of the animal kingdom. With fire they could warm their houses, cook their food, forge tools to cultivate the earth, create art and musical instruments, and coin money to make commerce and wealth possible. They could also make weapons of defense. In short, they could become independent and self-reliant. But eventually those weapons of defense would become weapons of war, bringing such wickedness to the earth that Zeus would be compelled to destroy it with a flood and start all over again with a new founding family.

Zeus and the other gods, whose power comes from the adulation of humans, are not happy. As a punishment, the gods do two things. First, they form a woman named Pandora and give her to Epimetheus, along with a box from which Pandora releases sorrows and misfortunes into the world, misfortunes that will cause humans to turn to the gods for help. Second, Zeus has Prometheus chained to a rock, where an eagle comes each day to eat his liver. The liver grows back overnight, only to be eaten again.

His body changes — veins appear in his skin — he seems to become mortal — then he crumbles and falls, as his DNA spills like atoms into the water.

It is helpful, though not entirely necessary, to know this background when seeing Prometheus, the long anticipated prequel to the Alien (1979) / Aliens (1986) / Alien3 (1992) / Alien Resurrection (1997) tetralogy. Those films put Sigourney Weaver on the map as one tough mama and opened the casting door to women to become Hollywood action heroes. While the film does not adhere slavishly to the myth, there are enough allusions to make it satisfying intellectually even though it is mostly a science fiction thriller.

As Prometheus opens, the camera pans along what appears to be primordial Earth: uncultivated shrubbery emerges from rich, black, volcanic rock as water pours through fissures in canyon walls. The camera pans up to a gigantic waterfall that seems to be the source of life itself. (Iceland, I must say, provides the perfect location for a pre-human Eden!) At the top of the falls sits a man-like being. In his hand he holds a black and red substance. He hesitates with what appears to be a look of sorrow, and then he eats the substance. His body changes — veins appear in his skin — he seems to become mortal — then he crumbles and falls, as his DNA spills like atoms into the water. Watching this, I couldn’t help but think of Persephone banished to Hades for eating the forbidden pomegranate seed, Adam becoming mortal in the day he ate the fruit of the tree of knowledge, and Prometheus suffering eternal punishment for bringing life-giving fire to mankind. “Adam fell, that men might be” (2 Nephi 2:25), I thought, as the being fell, literally, into the waterfall. Powerful.

The rest of the film is a satisfying return to the Alien franchise, with all the expected elements. Aliens burst from stomachs (note the allusion to liver-eating here). Wise-cracking rocket drivers crack their last laugh. Space scientists hide from monsters in darkened shafts. And one strong, independent woman does her best to save the day. This time, archeologists Elizabeth Shaw and Charlie Holloway (Noomi Rapace, Logan Marshall) have discovered evidence of the origin of earth life — and it isn’t evolutionary amoebas. They believe they can trace the path of that original goo-eating Earth visitor back to his planet of origin, and there discover important truths about humankind.

What they find relates to the second part of the Prometheus myth — Zeus’s decision to destroy Earth’s warmongering civilization. The space travelers discover that aliens have been stockpiling gallons of the goo as a weapon of epic destruction, and their navigation system is targeting Earth. They have simply been waiting for humans to become smart enough to reach the founder gods, Prometheus style, and bingo — liftoff. Once again, Earth’s safety lies in the hands of a feisty, self-reliant, courageous, and in this case quasi-religious woman — Elizabeth is a crucifix-wearing Catholic who isn’t quite sure what that means.

Even with a slew of stomach-ripping aliens on hand, no modern blockbuster would be complete without a cold, heartless, corporate rep. Prometheus supplies two of them, in the guise of Meredith Vickers (Charlize Theron) and her boss, Peter Weyland (Guy Pearce), who is funding this mission not for its potential contribution to science or humankind, but for selfish personal reasons. Of course. (Interestingly, Weyland’s company logo is a triangle, perhaps suggesting the Trinity. That would go along with Elizabeth’s crucifix.) Unfortunately, the always wonderful Guy Pearce is wasted here under a gallon of age-creating prosthetics; if they wanted an old man in his role, why not simply hire an old man to play it? Unless flashbacks have been planned for the next installment of this prequel, there was absolutely no reason for this casting. As for Theron — she plays the cool queen magnificently.

The true stars of this film are Michael Fassbender as David, the lifelike robot servant of the crew, whose name suggests that either a Goliath slayer or a Messianic king (or both) is coming somewhere along the way of this new trilogy; and Rapace, who steps into Sigourney Weaver’s moonboots with a fierce determination and a welcome softness. She will do well as the new Eve, if that is where this trilogy is headed.


Editor's Note: Review of "Prometheus," directed by Ridley Scott. Twentieth Century Fox, 2012, 124 minutes.



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Problems of Perspective

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Perspective. Two people can look at the very same scene, or experience the very same event, yet come away with completely different ideas of what they have seen. That seems to be the point of Wes Anderson's latest film, Moonrise Kingdom, and he begins making that point, cleverly and creatively, with his opening scene.

We see a painting of a seaside house. As the camera comes closer, we enter the house. It is obviously a dollhouse, full of tiny dollhouse furniture. Then a boy walks into the scene, passes the tiny chair, and demonstrates that it is actually normal size. As the camera pans from room to room, similar anomalies appear. We see a giant set of binoculars at the far side of a room, until a young girl walks into the scene and comes toward the binoculars. Only then do we realize that they were normal sized binoculars sitting on the window sill in the foreground, not the background. Again, we see a full-sized lighthouse in the distance, until a car drives into the scene and we realize it is merely a mailbox in the foreground, decorated to look like a lighthouse.

These optical illusions are no accident, and they are not merely a filmmaker's cinematic game, although they are mighty fun. Anderson uses this technique to establish, early in the film, that what we see is not always what we get. Our perspective of anything we see is often skewed by our expectation of what it is. The girl carries her binoculars everywhere and sees almost everything through their lenses, suggesting that if we look at events more closely, and put people into the picture, we are more likely to gain a proper perspective.

Wes Anderson is known for his quirky story lines, dysfunctional families, vivid color palate, and deadpan direction. This film is no exception. Moonrise Kingdom is a story of young star-crossed lovers — a familiar story, here turned upside down. Suzy Bishop (Kara Hayward) is the oldest child of a pair of lawyers (Bill Murray and Frances McDormand) who speak in legal jargon and call their four children to dinner with a megaphone. At one point a shirtless Mr. Bishop walks through the living room, carrying an axe, and announces to no one in particular, "I'm going to find a tree to chop down." No wonder Suzy has anger-control issues.

Sam (Jared Gilman) is an orphaned "Khaki Scout" staying at a summer camp across the island from Suzy's house. Sam doesn't fit in with the other scouts. Authority figures in 1965, when this film is set, would probably have said he needs to "be a man"; certainly no one seems concerned about how the other boys treat him. Those same authorities today would probably say “he is being bullied.” It's all about perspective, isn't it?

Sam and Suzy meet by accident when the scouts attend a church production of Benjamin Britten's "Noye's Fludde," in which Suzy plays the raven. (Okay, it's not exactly by accident; Sam sneaks into the girls' dressing room to find out who she is.) Britten's music provides the score for much of the film, and "Noye's Fludde" foreshadows both the pairing up of the two young romantics and the tempest — figurative and literal — that is about to break forth.

After a year of clandestine correspondence and furtive binocular spying, Sam breaks out of his tent, Shawshank style, and runs off with Suzy into the woods. The shenanigans that follow, with scouts, family members, and a robotic matron (Tilda Swinton) known only as "Social Services" trying to find the runaways, is classic Anderson, with bizarre, illogical, unexpected happenings presented as perfectly natural events. The sweet budding romance between Sam and Suzy as they play house in the woods (also bizarre and illogical) is contrasted sharply with the mean-spirited antics of those who are sworn to protect them.

Under the direction of their gung-ho scoutmaster (Edward Norton) the rest of the scouts form a posse to track Sam down and bring him back to camp. "I resigned," Sam tells them simply, to explain why the boys have no jurisdiction over him. To this one of them asserts, "You don't have the authority to resign!" His perspective on group dynamics is funny and chilling, so obviously wrong and yet so socially accepted. Recalling the furniture in the film's opening scene, the boy appears to be a small GI Joe, but he is spouting grownup beliefs. Sam is correct when he says to the boys, "I don't like you and you don't like me, so why don't you just let me go?" But they won't let him go; they expect him to conform to the group.

All of this might be charming and delightful if only our star-crossed lovers were a little older. But to me there is something creepy and unnerving about 12-year-olds kissing in their underwear and talking about hard-ons and breasts. Yes, these children have faced some difficult obstacles, with Sam being sent to foster care after his parents died and Suzy spying on her mother's infidelity with the local cop (Bruce Willis) and being bathed by her mother at the age of 12. But I hardly think that running away to play house and have sexual experiences at that young age is the answer.

I also couldn't shake the realization that Kara Hayward and Jared Gilman were 12 themselves as they experienced their first "touching sessions" in front of cameras, boom operators, and director Anderson. As the film points out in its opening scene, a little perspective is wanted. Things that are large sometimes turn out to be small, and things that are small often turn out to be large. Children are small. They should not be placed in adult situations, no matter what the director — and their parents — tell them to do.


Editor's Note: Review of "Moonrise Kingdom," directed by Wes Anderson. Indian Paintbrush, 2012, 94 minutes.



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The Brain, Explained

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"Don't think, feel!" Bruce Lee's character exhorts his young son in Enter the Dragon (1973) as he teaches him to trust his instincts while learning to fight. By contrast, Ayn Rand favored "Don't feel, think!" when she wrote, "People don't want to think. And the deeper they get into trouble, the less they want to think." Like Plato, Rand proudly privileged reason over emotion. But which is the better approach for making decisions, Lee's feeling intuitively or Rand's thinking rationally?

According to Jonah Lehrer in How We Decide, they're both right. We humans would make better decisions if we understood how the brain reacts to various stimuli. The frontal cortex accesses different tools within its complex regions and uses that knowledge to choose when we should react intuitively and when we should figure things out rationally. Using fascinating real-life stories, studies conducted by respected psychologists and neuroscientists, and an entertainingly accessible style, Lehrer explains how the uniquely human frontal cortex sorts it all out and helps us decide.

For instance, Lehrer considers how quarterback Tom Brady surveys the position and forward direction of 21 moving players on a 5,000-square-yard playing field, anticipates where everyone will be next, and decides where and how fast to throw a football, all in less than two seconds, while other players are bearing down on him. Brainwave studies have shown that there isn't time for him to process the information and make a rational decision. The neural synapses aren't that fast. A quarterback's decision is made intuitively, through the part of the brain controlled by emotion. As Lehrer quotes Brady, "You just feel like you're going to the right place."

Lehrer also demonstrates what causes athletes, performers, public speakers, and everyday humans like you and me to "choke" on tasks for which we are perfectly prepared and skilled. He tells the stories of opera singer Renee Fleming, golfer Jean Van de Velde, and others to demonstrate the point. The problem comes from overthinking a task that the body has learned to perform instinctively. In short, the brain gets in its own way, as the reasoning synapses block the path of the emotional synapses. "A brain that can't feel can't make up its mind," Leher concludes (15).

Of course, mere feeling isn't sufficient for making the right decisions. A potential juror who says, "I can tell if someone's guilty just by looking at him" is more dangerous than a crook with a gun. Lehrer provides equally fascinating examples to demonstrate when the rational part of the brain needs to be in control. For example, he tells the compelling story of firefighters who tried to control a raging forest fire in the Rockies in 1949. When the blaze jumped a gulch and began racing toward them, most of them tapped into their brain's emotional side and tried to outrun the fire.

The captain, however, evaluated the situation rationally. He quickly took into account the dryness of the grass, the speed of the wind driving the fire, the slope of the hill they would have to run, and their unfamiliarity with the terrain on the other side of the crest. While his emotions screamed "Run!" his reason said, "Stop. Build a fire. Destroy the fire's fuel, and then hug the ground while the fire passes over you." He was the only man to survive. None of his young firefighters followed his lead. Today, building a firebreak has become standard training procedure because of this incident. But at the time, Captain Dodge's brain created the escape route entirely on its own.

Modern scientific tools, such as the MRI, electronic probes, and EEG, have made it possible to see exactly what the brain does when faced with a choice, a risk, or a dilemma. "Every feeling," Lehrer writes, "is really a summary of data, a visceral response to all of the information that can't be accessed directly" (23). This means that you and I will make better choices if we understand which parts of the brain to access for different tasks, and how to satisfy or tone down conflicting stimuli.

For example, one study asked subjects to memorize a list and report to someone in a room at the end of a hallway. On the way the subjects passed a table where they were invited to take a snack. Those who had a long message to remember — one that required them to remember seven things — usually chose a piece of chocolate cake, while those who only had one or two things to remember tended to take a piece of fruit. The practical application? When the rational brain is working at capacity (and according to psychologist George Miller's essay, "The Magical Number Seven, Plus or Minus Two," memorizing seven things seems to be the capacity), the emotional brain takes over, and the chocolate cake is irresistible. When the rational brain has less to remember, it can overrule emotion and make a wiser choice. No wonder we overeat and fall prey to other temptations when we have too much to do.

So when should we think rationally, and when should we act impulsively? Lehrer ends his book with several practical suggestions.

First, simple problems require reason. When there are few variables to consider, the brain is able to analyze them rationally and provide a reasonable decision. But when the choice contains many variables — as when one is buying a new house — "sleep on it" and then "go with your gut" really is the best advice. Overthinking often leads to poor decision making.

Second, novel problems also require reason. Before reacting intuitively, make sure the brain has enough past experience to help you make the right decision. Creative solutions to new problems require concrete information and rational analysis.

Third, embrace uncertainty. Too often, Lehrer warns, "You are so confident you're right that you neglect all the evidence that contradicts your conclusion." This is especially true in matters such as politics and investment decisions. He offers two solutions: "always entertain competing hypotheses . . . [and] continually remind yourself of what you don't know" (247). Certainty often leads to blindness.

Fourth, you know more than you know. The conscious brain is often unaware of what the unconscious brain knows. "Emotions have a logic all their own," Lehrer says. "They've managed to turn mistakes into educational events" (248–49). The reason superstars like Tom Brady, Tiger Woods, and Renee Fleming can rely on instinct is that they've been there before. Tom Brady has surveyed thousands of football fields and thrown thousands of passes; Tiger Woods has made thousands of putts; Renee Fleming has sung an aria hundreds of times. For them, the brain knows what to do, and thinking just gets in the way.

Fifth, think about thinking. Before making a decision, Lehrer warns, be aware of the kind of decision it is and the kind of thought process it requires. "You can't avoid loss aversion unless you know that the mind treats losses differently than gains," he explains. Knowing how the brain works will help us make better decisions in everything we do.

How We Decide is a book full of real-life stories, scientific experiments, and practical applications. It will help you understand how you make decisions, and will guide you to make better decisions in the future. Returning to Bruce Lee and Ayn Rand's conflict between thinking and feeling, Lehrer makes a strong case for "Think sometimes, feel sometimes. And make sure you know when to do which."


Editor's Note: Review of "How We Decide," by Jonah Lehrer. First Mariner Books edition, 2010 (Harcourt Brace, 2009), 302 pages.



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Outsourcing: The Inner View

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Many years ago a woman wrote a letter to Ann Landers, asking whether she should go back to school to get a college degree. She worried that it might be a waste of time so late in life, ending her letter with this: “If I go back to college, I’ll be 62 in four years.” I’ve never forgotten Ann’s cogent reply: “And how old will you be in four years if you don’t go back to college?”

We all have choices. We have no control over the amount of time we have in this life, but we do control what we will do during that time. Life is what we make of it. No matter how old we are.

This is the message of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, where a dozen or so fellow travelers have stopped for a while to share their stories, and their lives, to varying degrees. It is a poignant and funny Canterbury tale, Indian style. The young innkeeper, Sonny Kapoor (Dev Patel), serves as host and philosophical guide. Bubbly and bumbling, he is an optimistic and likeable fatalist. When the travelers express horror at his falling-down hotel, he tells them, “In India we have a saying: everything will be all right in the end. So if it is not all right, it is not the end!”

The best exotic hotel is exotic, but it certainly isn’t best. The phones don't work. The roof has holes. Some rooms don't have doors. The courtyard is cracked. But Sonny doesn't see it as it is; he sees his hotel as it can be. As it will be. Because if it isn't all right now, it just means it isn't the end yet.

The travelers have come to the Marigold Hotel for different reasons, most of them having to do with money.

Douglas and Jean Ainslie (Bill Nighy and Penelope Wilton) invested their retirement funds in their daughter’s startup company, and it didn’t start up. In their native England,they can’t afford more than a cramped bungalow for old folks, so they have come to the Marigold for cheap rent.

Recently widowed, Evelyn Greenslade (Judi Dench) has discovered that her husband mismanaged their money and left her deeply in debt. She embraces the Indian experience, blogging about it for readers back home and finding a job training telephone operators in an outsourced information company (yes, those infernal IT people you reach when your computer is on the fritz. But here they are earnest and likeable — as, I suppose, they really are).

The film gives us an unintentional inside look at socialized medicine, and what we see isn't pretty.

Madge Hardcastle (Celia Imrie) has traded on her good looks all her life. Now those looks aren't so good any more, and she must face the possibility that she has had her final love affair. She is looking for love, but she is also looking for a lasting sugar daddy. She likes nice things.

Muriel Donnelly (Maggie Smith) is an old-school racist, and by that I mean she is confident and self-assured in her belief that everyone around her shares her bigotry, including the people whom she considers inferior. As the film opens she is on a stretcher in a hospital hallway, complaining that she wants a “proper English doctor,” not the black man who has just tried to touch her. Because we understand she is an unhappy product of her cultural upbringing, we cut her some slack and enjoy her crotchety rantings, knowing that she will have a change of heart before the film ends. (And if she doesn’t, it will only be because it isn’t the end yet!)

The film gives us an unintentional inside look at socialized medicine, and what we see isn't pretty: cots in the hallways because there aren't enough examining rooms, months-long waits for necessary surgeries because there aren’t enough surgeons. "Six months!" Muriel exclaims. "At my age I don't even buy green bananas!" (I know, it's an old joke — but it always reminds me of the dear friend who first said it to me — just weeks before he died, as it turned out.) When Muriel’s doctor tells her she can have the needed hip replacement surgery immediately in India, she goes there, then repairs to the Marigold Hotel to recuperate.

Graham Dashwood (Tom Wilkinson) is the only character who has come to India for non-financial reasons. He is trying to find the love of his life, whom he met 40 years earlier while stationed in India, and from whom he was forced to part. He spends his days in the registry office, trying to track down the friend, and in the streets, playing cricket with young boys. Through him the characters learn the meaning of true love.

Despite the heat, the unfamiliar foods, the smells, and the “squalor,” as Jean describes it, India is still, in this film, a land of exotic wonder and happy faces. When asked what he likes about it, Graham responds, “The lights, the colors, the vibrancy. The way people see life as a privilege and not as a right.” Camels, elephants, and cows line the roads, along with rickety buses and colorful “tuk-tuks,” the ubiquitous three-wheeled taxis. These folks have “come to a new and different world,” as Evelyn writes in her blog, with voice-over narration. “The challenge is to cope with it. And not just to cope, but to thrive.”

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel is filled with similar upbeat aphorisms and quotable quotes. “The person who risks nothing, does nothing. Has nothing,” Evelyn tells her readers.“The only real failure is the failure to try. And the measure of success is how well we cope.”

“Most things don’t work out as expected,” she concludes, “But what happens instead often turns out to be the good stuff.” With an outstanding cast of veteran actors portraying couples in various stages of love and marriage, an important message about taking charge of one’s choices, and a point of view that says old age doesn’t have to be outsourced (but it isn't so bad when it is), The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel is indeed the “good stuff.”


Editor's Note: Review of "The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel," directed by John Madden. Participant Media/20th Century Fox, 2011, 124 minutes.



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The New Normal

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Science is the inspiration of those techno-libertarians who hold that evolutions in technology will ultimately lead to revolutions in political freedom. A commitment to the virtues of small business and entrepreneurs is a major inspiration for the ideals of free market capitalism. So it is easy to think that libertarians might feel that our values were being mocked by two primetime comedies, The Big Bang Theory and Two Broke Girls — the first of which is about scientists and the second about two poor girls who start a business. Yet these sitcoms are deeply touching, hilarious, and also well-intentioned shows — because the audience laughs with the characters, not at them.

The Big Bang Theory, which premiered in 2007 and has now become ubiquitous, with reruns on TBS and new episodes on CBS, is the story of four scientists (two theoretical physicists, an astrophysicist, and an engineer) who work at Caltech. These four scientists are as close to the stereotypical nerd or geek as you can get. They constantly hang out at the local comic book store, play video games, enjoy Star Trek, can’t get girls to date them, and are beaten up by jocks. They constantly make reference to things that only scientists think about. One of them, for instance, dresses for Hallowe’en as the Doppler effect. The producers try to make the science on the show, of which there is a lot, completely accurate, and some episodes feature inside jokes that only scientists can understand.

The characters’ world is turned upside down when Penny (Kaley Cuoco) moves into the apartment down the hall. Penny is an attractive, normal, “popular” sort of girl, who works as a waitress but dreams of becoming an actress. Leonard (Johnny Galecki), the protagonist, instantly falls in love with her. Much of the comedy in the show’s early years focused on Leonard’s feelings for Penny, and the jokes frequently involved the science nerds being totally ignorant of what Penny takes for granted (e.g., the rules of football, the names of such popular bands as Radiohead), or Penny being ignorant of the world of science and geek culture (e.g., online role playing games, the Klingon language). Leonard eventually started dating Penny, and they had a cute, adorable romance for about one season. But their relationships was sundered by the scheming machinations of Star Trek actor Wil Wheaton (who plays an evil version of himself). Leonard and Penny just recently got back together, which makes the show more enjoyable.

The real comedic gold, however, comes from Leonard’s roommate Sheldon (Jim Parsons, who won an Emmy for the role), a brilliant, supremely arrogant physicist with strong doses of OCD and Asperger’s syndrome. Sheldon constantly, and hilariously, insults everyone around him; at the same time everyone else perpetually makes fun of his arrogance and total disconnect from reality. In one episode Leonard calls Sheldon a sphincter, to which Sheldon replies, “The sphincter? A much maligned muscle; did you know there are over twenty different sphincters in the human body?”, and illustrates with an anatomical drawing from the internet.

The writing is usually clever. An instance: Sheldon and Penny are having a fight. Sheldon (threateningly): “You’re playing with forces beyond your ken.” Penny: “Yeah? Well your Ken can kiss my Barbie!” I said “usually.” In a few episodes each season the writing falls flat. This was especially noticeable during the episodes that immediately followed the end of Penny and Leonard’s dating.

But the show is always light-hearted, never serious. It was introduced with the tag line “smart is the new sexy,” yet it never says anything serious about science, or politics, or anything else. The extent of the show’s commentary on religion is Sheldon’s disdain for his Texan Christian mother’s creationism, and Sheldon’s lecturing Penny on the origins of Christmas as a pagan holiday. But the love-hate relationship between Penny, who represents the “normal” popular world, and Leonard, who represents the nerd-geek-science world, is central to the show. Their romance is premised on the idea that the normal, ignorant masses might eventually be able to appreciate the true value of science and technology. The conflict is not precisely between religion and science. It is about the conflict between pop culture and geek culture.

Business doesn’t really look like old rich white men at a corporate board meeting; it looks like two young women in aprons struggling to build a career and reach the middle class.

And, yes, true to its tag line, “The Big Bang Theory” makes it cool to be a geek; it turns smart into sexy. Science has not gotten PR this good since the genre of science fiction was first invented. The show goes a long way toward teaching the public about the details of the type of thinking behind science and what scientists do, so that people won’t just see the magical moving pictures on television and may instead actually get a taste of where the wires and circuit boards inside the TV come from. If Leonard can get Penny to date him, even for a while, then there is hope that all the nerds out there (and the scientific attitude they embody) can find acceptance in this world.

Two Broke Girlsstarted this season, so there is less of a body of work by which to judge it, but every episode I have seen has been hilarious. This show is designed as a microcosm of the Great Recession. Caroline (Beth Behrs), a wealthy heiress and Wharton Business School graduate, is thrust into poverty when her father loses their fortune and goes to jail for running a Madoff-style Ponzi scheme. Caroline is hopelessly naïve about how to cope with low-income life. All she has left is her pet horse. Somehow a Wharton degree does not help her to get a white-collar job. She is taken in by Max (Kat Dennings), a young, snarky, sassy, wisecracking waitress who lives in Brooklyn. Caroline becomes Max’s roommate and gets a job as a waitress at the Brooklyn diner where Max works.

Poverty is the constant undercurrent in the show, which lists an update on the amount of money in the two girls’ bank account at the conclusion of each show (it fluctuates between $200 and $800). But the episodes help the audience, nervous about its own finances, laugh at life and not get beaten down by financial worries. After all, Max and Caroline always find a way to survive. The show is remarkably raunchy (one episode had a running joke about the diner’s horny, seedy chef asking the girls’ Polish friend [Jennifer Coolidge], who runs a cleaning business, to “come to my apartment to clean,” and her replying, “You cannot make me come, I will not come”). Max always has a wise-crack or an insult to shoot at someone. Both actresses are superb in their roles.

What do two broke girls do to cope with the Great Recession? One thing they don’t do is wait around for the welfare state to pay their bills. They start a small business instead. Max bakes cupcakes; Caroline sets up a cupcake business and promotes the sale of cupcakes. Much of the plot involves the girls’ desperate schemes to raise money to fund their cupcake website or find new places to sell their cupcakes. It is just good old-fashioned American effort — people trying to rise from poverty by being productive and selling a product to people who want it.

Unfortunately for the audience’s economic education, nowhere to be seen are New York City health inspectors grading their kitchen, or the IRS auditing their financial records, or any of the goon squad of federal, state, and city bureaucrats who in real life would try to regulate and tax the life out of their startup. The show is not political at all; aside from the implicit feminism of two single girls being very assertive and self-sufficient, it has no explicit message. But the simple yet touching portrayal of two tough, smart-alecky girls, who constantly poke fun at the people around them and use their sense of humor as a way to cope with the sorrows of economic disaster, is an inspiration that everyone stricken by the Great Recession can learn from.

A lot of people are talking about “the new normal” in connection with the Great Recession. But what do The Big Bang Theory and Two Broke Girls say about American mainstream culture? These shows are on CBS, which touts itself as “America’s most-watched network,” not a niche market like Fox Business Network. Both shows have consistently received high ratings (although Two Broke Girls had some unfavorable reviews). A show about nerds coping with the world of pop culture has become a symbol of the world of pop culture assimilating nerd culture. From World of Warcraft to urban fantasy novels such as Harry Potter and Twilight, to the popularization of social media on electronic devices, to the omnipresence of the internet, the technology-obsessed geek world of the techno-libertarian has become, well, how shall I say it . . . normal. And a realization that poverty is the new normal, but it is necessary to take a can-do attitude to rise out of it — that is also catching on.

The libertarian angle is clear: business doesn’t really look like old rich white men at a corporate board meeting; it looks like two young women in aprons struggling to build a career and reach the middle class. Inspired by these two shows, I dare to speculate that if technology continues to evolve and shape the world in which we live, and if prolonged financial desperation forces America to wake up to economic reality and embrace free market principles as the path to recovery, then maybe a few decades from now libertarianism will also be . . . dare I say it? the new normal.


Editor's Note: Review of "The Big Bang Theory," CBS, Thursday, 8:00pm; and "Two Broke Girls," CBS, Monday, 8:30pm.



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Model Citizen

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Bernie Tiede was a model citizen in the small city of Carthage, “behind the Pine Curtain” in eastern Texas, as one resident calls it. As an assistant funeral director, Bernie took gentle care of the deceased. As a member of a local Protestant congregation, he taught Sunday School, sang in the choir, and made people weep with his lovely tenor solos. As an amateur thespian, he directed local musical revivals. As a trusted friend, he escorted a recently widowed curmudgeonly dowager to concerts, dinners, and even trips abroad. He was generous and kind. Everyone loved Bernie. Even after he killed the curmudgeonly dowager. By accident. Oops.

Bernie is a dark, deadpan comedy in the style of the Eugene Levy-Christopher Guest mockumentaries. But this is no mockumentary; the people being interviewed for this film are real citizens of Carthage, Texas, all dolled up for their close-ups and spouting colloquialisms you couldn’t get away with as a scriptwriter. “She had her nose up so high in the air, she would have drowned in a rain storm,” one snippety resident says about Marjorie Nugent, the deceased dowager. Another gives a detailed explanation of the five sections of Texas, ending with “I sort of skipped over the panhandle — but everyone does.” “The Gossips” (as director Richard Linklater affectionately calls them in interviews) do their best to support their friend Bernie and explain his motives. No one could ask for a better jury of his peers.

Linklater has carefully crafted a combination documentary and fictional bio-flick about this famous (at least behind the Pine Curtain) case. He interviewed dozens of people who knew Bernie Tiede, and then used their stories to write a script about it. Jack Black is perfect as Bernie, inhabiting the role with a distinct waddle, a beneficent smile, and a sincerity that invites endearment. You just want to reach out and hug him, or be hugged by him. Early in the film we join Bernie in his car as he drives through the town, singing a country hymn about his walk with Jesus. That long cut, interspersed with occasional interviews, tells us everything we need to know about his personality.

Marjorie Nugent (Shirley MacLaine) is the kind of nasty, critical, overbearing old woman whom everyone wants to avoid. Her own grandchildren haven’t seen her in four years, and for good reason. At first she is charmed by Bernie’s attention and becomes charming as a result, but eventually she reverts to type, assailing Bernie, too, with her browbeating and criticism. MacLaine is wonderful in this role, tapping into her ingénue days to charm Bernie and then digging deep into her nastiness. But she never revels in the role or tries to steal a scene — she is convincingly Marjorie throughout. Wisely, MacLaine has resisted the Hollywood collagen-botox mania, so she can still move her face. She doesn’t have a lot of dialogue, but she doesn’t need it. Her body language and facial expressions tell us what Marjorie is thinking and feeling without words.

Bernie is one of those unexpected little gems that surprise and delight us in every scene, despite its macabre subject matter. It asks us to sympathize with someone who should be utterly unsympathetic — and we do. Linklater’s melding of actors and townspeople is brilliant — actors could never have convinced audiences to empathize with Bernie, but these real residents who know and love him do. Moreover, the actors seem to have taken their cues from the interviews, matching their cadences and movements to the local residents. The result is a seamless blending of fact and fiction. Matthew McConnaughey is particularly good as Danny Buck, the preening peacock of a prosecutor. The film is a delightful piece of work, with a delightful protagonist. Too bad about Marjorie. Oops.

The film also inadvertently highlights a growing problem with the criminal justice system: the tendency for prosecutors to overcharge, with the hope of forcing a plea bargain. Let’s suppose a young man gets into a fight, and someone ends up dead. The fight may have been premeditated, but the killing was not. The prosecutor charges him with first degree murder and scares the bejeezus out of him with the maximum sentence of 25 to life. A plea bargain to manslaughter would get him a sentence of 8–10 years. Frightened about the potential risk of a jury trial, he takes the deal.

But what if he isn’t guilty at all? What if he has been wrongly accused? He already doesn’t trust the system; after all, they got the wrong man, and he knows it. Nevertheless, facing a potential sentence of 25 to life, and knowing that juries are wont to convict poor kids like him who have been assigned an overworked public defender, he might be convinced to plead out. If he does go to trial, he’s facing the higher charge of first degree, even though the prosecutor knows it should be manslaughter or, at most, second degree murder.

Any film that causes us to take a closer look at the criminal justice system is a good film in my book. And Bernie is a very good film. Don’t miss it!


Editor's Note: Review of "Bernie," directed by Richard Linklater. Millennium Entertainment (2011), 104 minutes.



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Broadway Is Back!

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Once in a decade a show comes to Broadway that redefines what we mean by "Broadway musical." Once is the show of this decade. It has choreography without dance, show-stopping music without belting, laughter without jokes, central figures without names, and a love story without a single kiss. Once you've seen Once, you will have a completely different idea of what a Broadway musical can be.

Once upon a time in Dublin, a guy met a girl. The guy was a busker, the girl was a Czech immigrant. Once upon a time his music soared, but as this show begins, he has given up on music, and given up on life as well. He is headed for the bridge over troubled waters when the girl stops him and tells him that his music has value. What she means is that his life has value. Once she comes into his life, his life changes. For once, and always.

Onceis based on an independent film of the same name whose central song, "Falling Slowly," won the Academy Award for Best Song in 2007. Those who saw the award show will remember the humble, unbridled joy of Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova, who wrote the music and directed and starred in the film, as they accepted the Oscar. They were so overjoyed that host Jon Stewart brought Marketa back out after the commercial break to finish her speech, which had been cut off by a thoughtless timekeeper. Class act, Jon.

As good as Hansard and Irglova were in the film, however, they can't hold a candle to the performances of Steve Kazee and Cristin Milioti as the guy and girl onstage in the Broadway production of Once. Milioti is particularly earnest and charming as the girl, who elicits gales of laughter from the audience even when she is simply reminding the guy, "I am serious. I'm Czech." Tiny but powerful, she seems to personify the word "hope."

The score by Hansard and Irglova is pure Irish folk, but this is no "Riverdance." The songs convey a deep, plaintive resonance that matches the plaintive, unrequited longing of the guy and the girl. Unlike typical Broadway shows in which people suddenly break into song in the middle of a conversation, the music here is an integral part of the story. Characters sing because that's what they are doing — on a street corner, in a recording studio, at a pub or a family gathering. Music is as natural to them as speaking or breathing, and as essential. In this show, music doesn't interrupt the flow of the story; it is the story.

The music is played onstage by a crew of talented "buskers" who weave seamlessly into roles as minor characters in the story and back out again as street musicians performing at a pub or on a sidewalk. The effect is mesmerizing. It's intensified by the fact that the set is an active onstage pub where audience members can buy drinks and mill around with the musicians before the show and during intermission. Everything else is created through imagination — a chair becomes a living room; two tables create a bedroom; several tables become an apartment. All of this occurs in the blink of an eye and the whirl of a table as the busker-musicians act in carefully choreographed unison to move the furnishings and props on and off stage. There is no dancing in this show, but there is some stunning choreography.

The dialogue is modern Irish too, and by that I mean it is peppered with the f-word. But the way they use it, as an adjective and an interjection, is somehow gentle and not at all offensive. It is just part of the Irish accent, as anyone knows who has spent much time in Ireland recently. They use it almost caressingly, with a soft vowel to match their soft personalities.

Once a Broadway musical had to end with a wedding. In fact, it would often end with two or three weddings, as the oft-mismatched couples in the story finally sorted themselves out into appropriate pairings. Audiences sighed with cathartic relief and left the theater smiling. But life isn't a fairy tale, and relationships more often end in the reality of unrequited love; the mismatched couples are already matched with someone else, and those previous entanglements simply won't be sorted out. What resonates in Once is that the relationship between the guy and the girl celebrates a true love that transcends romance. It is deep, whole, and pure. Like the music.

Eleven Tony nominations. Every one of them richly deserved. If you are in New York this year, even once, don't miss the chance to see Once.

Once,directed by John Tiffany. Bernard B. Jacobs Theater, New York City. Discount tickets usually available through broadwaybox.com.




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Move Away from the Window!

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Horror has been a staple of filmmaking since the earliest days of cinema, when the Lumiere brothers (perhaps unintentionally) terrified audiences with the sight of a train seeming to rush straight toward them (1896) and when Lon Chaney made audiences shudder as the first creepy Phantom of the Opera (1925).

The best horror films of the ’50s and the ’60s — such films as Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956) and Hush . . . Hush, Sweet Charlotte (1964) and I Saw What You Did (1965) relied on psychological tension rather than blood and gore to develop an overwhelming sense of dread and fear. In fact, Hitchcock deliberately filmed Psycho in black and white to reduce the vividness of the blood one sees in the famous shower scene. Then along came Bonnie and Clyde (1967), and the bloodfest was on.

Humans seem drawn to the cathartic effect of intense fear followed by a flood of relief — especially when that fear remains within the safety of a darkened theater. Once we could go home laughing merrily, knowing that the vampire had been vanquished with a silver bullet or the devil had been destroyed. Then the unvanquishable villain was introduced — Rosemary decided not to kill her devil baby (1968); Freddy Krueger refused to stay dead. Chainsaws and meat hooks increased the gore and reduced the catharsis.

Just when it seemed that the genre had completely saturated itself with mindless gore and predictable stereotypes, Scream appeared (1996) and iconized the genre, adding a new stock character (the likeable nerd) who explained the "rules" of horror movies to his terrorized friends while they were being terrorized. Acting as the chorus in a Greek play, this character participated in the drama and simultaneously narrated it, providing a bridge between the people on-screen and the people in the seats.

Randy (the Greek chorus): "There are certain rules that one must abide by in order to successfully survive a horror movie! For instance, Number One: You can never have sex. (Crowd moans and cheers.) Sex equals death, OK? Number Two: You can never drink or do drugs. (Crowd moans and cheers.) No, it's the sin factor, it's a sin, it's an extension of Number One! And Number Three: Never, ever, ever, under any circumstances, say 'I'll be right back,' 'cause you won't be back."

Stu: "I'm gettin' another beer, you want one?"

Randy: "Yeah, sure."

Stu: "I'll be right back!!!!"

This insider narration turned the story into a kind of film class and elevated the Scream franchise intellectually above typical slasher films. Yes, it still had buckets of blood, but it also challenged viewers to consider the film as an artform with distinct features and expectations. As audience members we were drawn into the film with a knowing nod of our heads. Yes, we too were intellectually superior to these knuckleheads who don’t know enough to stay together, look behind the door, and MOVE AWAY FROM THE WINDOW, IDIOT!

The Cabin in the Woodstakes this insider narration a step further, suggesting that, if there are rules, then there must be rulemakers. Rules like "the slut dies first" and "the virgin makes it out alive" aren't just the observations of classroom teachers of literary criticism; in The Cabin in the Woods the rules are positively diabolic. Two distinct storylines develop side by side, one scary and intense, the other droll and detached. Throughout the film, just when the tension seems almost unbearable, “reality” intrudes, reminding the audience that this isn't real — or is it?

It all lends the film a bizarre sense of humor and camp, as zombies with buzzsaws (and even a crazed unicorn!) terrorize the quintet of beautiful, robust teens who just want a quiet weekend of beer, weed, and sex at an idyllic cabin in the lovely woods. There are watchers in these woods, watchers who are intentionally controlling the action, for reasons that don't become apparent until late in the film.

As horror films go, this one is pretty basic, but the framing device of having a story within a story sets it apart and gives the audience something meaty to consider.Richard Jenkins and Bradley Whitford are particularly amusing as the bland, unemotional, white-shirted IT men-behind-the-scenes in the external frame story.

Despite its campiness (and it does have moments of delicious humor) and its intimations of mythic significance, The Cabin in the Woods is still a horror film at heart. If you go, expect to see throat stabbings, arm hackings, blood spewings, and lots of eerie music to pump up your heart and curl your toes. So don’t go alone. Stay together. And MOVE AWAY FROM THE WINDOW!!!


Editor's Note: Review of "The Cabin in the Woods," directed by Drew Goddard. MGM/United Artists, 2011, 95 minutes.



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What Not to Do About Bullying

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The Weinstein Brothers are champions at using controversy to garner publicity for their films. Recently they used that skill to the hilt to stir up public interest in their documentary Bully, an intimate look at the problem of bullying in public schools. First they inserted enough explicit language to earn an R rating. Then they complained vociferously to the rating board that the R would prevent the most important audience from seeing the film. The controversy was reported in the media, and reviewers like me sat up and took notice. I viewed Bully the day it opened, fully expecting it to knock Hunger Games off its throne as the most talked-about film of the season.

Katniss Everdeen need not worry; she still owns the throne. Bully is a good documentary. It might even be an important documentary. Those who have experienced any form of bullying will probably find it a very moving documentary. But I don't think anyone is going to be flocking to see it, regardless of the rating. It will probably end up in many school libraries, however, and many students will see it in their social studies classes for years to come.

The film follows the stories of five students from four states (Georgia, Iowa, Oklahoma, and Mississippi) who have experienced bullying for a variety of reasons. One is small for his age. Another suffers the physical effects of a premature birth. Yet another is a lesbian. Two have committed suicide, and are represented by interviews with their parents and in clips from home movies. The filmmakers were able to get surprisingly candid scenes of students abusing these kids on the bus, in the cafeteria, and in the hallways, as well as candid scenes of administrators, teachers, and parents — people who often make fools of themselves as they discuss the problem. I often thought to myself, "Didn't they realize they were being filmed?" I applaud the filmmakers' ability to elicit such open, unabashed realism. No one in this film was on his best behavior.

Except, perhaps, for the school administrators. They fairly glow in their obvious attempt to put their best feet forward and shine for the cameras. The principal at Alex's school stands in the hallway as the students arrive from the bus. One boy comes to her with his hand on his head and reports, "A kid slammed my head into a nail!" The principal puts on her sweetest, most understanding voice and says, "I'll bet you didn't like that, did you?" Another boy walks past, visibly upset, and she says to the camera, "He's such an unhappy child." In another scene she forces two older boys to shake hands as a way to resolve what seems to be a longstanding battle. The bully extends his hand, but when the victim of his bullying is reluctant to do so, she chastises him, saying that he is now the bully and that it's his fault. "Why don't you just get along?" she coos after the bully leaves. "He was willing to shake your hand. I think the two of you could be friends." The boy, nervous and confused, responds, "The cops told us to stay apart." This principal hasn't a clue. Not a clue.

When are parents going to wake up and realize that the public school system itself is broken beyond repair?

Another school administrator tries to whitewash the issue. "Is it an ongoing problem in our school?" she asks rhetorically. "No it is not," she answers herself, vigorously nodding her head as she says it. I would love to have an expert explain that body language! Another administrator offers a similarly Pollyannish response when parents complain about the abuse their son is experiencing on the bus. First she says, "Buses are notorious for abuse," and offers, "I can put him on another bus" — rather than trying to solve the problem. The mother suggests (wisely, I might add), "When I was a kid the bus driver pulled over and wouldn't take anyone home until everyone settled down." Isn't that kind of an obvious policy? But the principal simply says, "I've ridden Bus 54, and they were good as gold." Several of us in the audience laughed out loud at that idiotic response. Well, duh! You were on the bus! Of course they behaved!

The film does a fine job of revealing the problems experienced in the communities it covers, but it offers few satisfying solutions. Devon, who was bullied for four years, says in an interview, "I stood up for myself, and they leave me alone now." But when Ja'Maya tries this technique, she ends up in juvenile jail for several months. Alex simply gives into the abuse, acknowledging sadly, "At least it's attention. I don't mind it that much." His story is perhaps the saddest, because he feels so lonely in addition to being bullied. He just wants a friend. Telling school authorities and the police also accomplishes little. When a vice principal asks one of the bullied boys why he didn't speak up sooner, he responds, "Because you didn't do anything about it last year when I told you that X sat on my head."

Only one family makes what I consider the right choice: they take their daughter out of school and teach her at home. Why would any thinking, caring parent subject a child to this kind of torture day after day? When are parents going to wake up and realize that the public school system itself is broken beyond repair?

While Bully is a good movie, it is hardly a great one. My biggest complaint is that its scope is so limited. These children all lived in similar small towns in the South or Midwest, and all seemed to come from similar poor socioeconomic backgrounds. That is hardly a representative sampling. An estimated 13 million children experience bullying every year, representing every region of the country, every size of community, and every socioeconomic group. Moreover, children used to find a safe haven after school hours. But bullying has left the schoolground and now occurs increasingly at home, especially through the internet. Children simply can't get away from the painful words and public gossip. None of this is highlighted in the film. Nevertheless, I consider Bully must-see viewing for anyone who has a child attending a public school.

What made me saddest as I watched this film was not the funeral of little Ty, one of the boys who committed suicide, or even watching a boy ram Alex's head against the back of a bus seat. It wasn't hearing Alex's principal say, "Boys will be boys." It was the sight of Alex's own mother browbeating and chastising him for not telling her that he was being bullied at school, followed by his sister joking that she's embarrassed at school because none of her friends like him. He's surrounded by bullies at school, and by well-intentioned bullies at home. I just wanted to wrap my arms around that little boy and whisk him away from all of them. All of them.

Except, perhaps, for the school administrators. They fairly glow in their obvious attempt to put their best feet forward and shine for the cameras. The principal at Alex


Editor's Note: Review of "Bully," directed by Lee Hirsch. Weinstein Bros., 2011, 99 minutes.



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Swimming Against the Tide

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At the beginning of the First World War, Robert Frost wrote in Mending Wall (1914), “Good fences make good neighbors” — suggesting metaphorically that borders and boundaries help to prevent war and aggression. But in that same poem he acknowledged,

Something there is that doesn’t like a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.

Nature herself, he said, works to break down manmade walls through the simple power of water finding cracks and breaking rocks. Nature doesn’t like boundaries.

Borders are good when borders are necessary. They are preferable to war. But more than a century earlier, weary from the destruction and expense of war, Benjamin Franklin recommended wise foreign policy when he wrote: “The system of America is commerce with all and war with none.”

Business brings people together. I may not like your politics, your religion, your clothing, or your neighborhood, but if you produce something I want and I produce something you want, and if we have a justice system that protects our right to property, we will manage to get along, if only for the benefit of mutual exchange. War and aggression may provide short-term solutions to shortages, and walls may keep aggressors at bay. But commerce and free trade promote lasting relationships that increase prosperity and living standards for all. Understanding this simple fact could solve many of the current problems in the Middle East.

Commerce vs war. That's what I thought my review would emphasize when I headed out to see Salmon Fishing in the Yemen, an indie flick about a British fisheries expert (Ewan McGregor) who is hired to create a salmon fishery in Yemen. What a great a new industry for an emerging nation, I thought. This is the way to be good neighbors and promote peace and prosperity — through commerce! Who needs war?

Sigh. This is what happens when I start writing my review before seeing the movie. Salmon Fishing in the Yemen is not about commercial fishing at all, but about a wealthy sheik (Amr Waked) who loves salmon fishing at his massive estate in Scotland and is willing to spend £50 million or more to be able to fish in Yemen. He isn’t interested in creating jobs and industry; he just wants to fish in his own backyard. Sheesh!

Nevertheless, Salmon Fishing in the Yemen is a wonderful little film, one that is well worth seeing. Salmon fishing is actually a metaphor for the uphill relationships presented in this funny romantic drama, which follows two couples who become unintentionally entwined. The fisheries expert, Dr. Alfred Jones, is the very prim and proper husband of Mary Jones (Rachael Stirling), a financial analyst who seems more committed to her job than to her marriage. Meanwhile, the sheik’s consultant in the project, Harriet Chetwode-Talbot (Emily Blunt), who entices Dr. Jones with a money-is-no-object offer, is in love with a soldier (Tom Mison) who has suddenly been deployed to the Middle East.

Encouraging them in the fishing project is Patricia Maxwell (Kristin Scott Thomas), the Prime Minister’s press secretary, who seizes this “goodwill” story as an opportunity to counteract some bad war-related publicity coming out of the Middle East. (Chillingly, Maxwell uses her access to high-security government search engines to scan through private emails for references to the Middle East. And they pop right up on her screen, including the "private" communication to Jones from the sheik's representative, requesting a salmon fishery in Yemen. Yikes!) Normally so drab and serious in her roles, Thomas displays an unexpected talent for humor in this film. With her delightfully droll delivery; she effortlessly steals every scene. And that is no easy theft, for a film in which every actor is so adept at displaying that bemused, self-effacing kind of British humor that always seems to say, “Oh, did I do something funny?” The film is simply charming, through and through.

One of the sheik's chief concerns when Jones and Co. are ready to transfer the salmon to Yemen is whether farm-bred fish that have never seen a river will run, or whether they will just swim passively in circles. This underscores the film’s theme: do people who have been domesticated to the point of emasculation still have the instinct to know when they have been set free? Alfred Jones proclaims, “It’s in the very core of their being to run. Even if they never have. Even if their parents never did!” He’s talking about himself, of course, although he doesn’t know it. Juxtaposed against this hopeful declaration is his wife Mary’s cutting remark, “It’s in your DNA to return to a dry, dull, pedestrian life.” Where is his true home? And how much effort will it take to find it? That's what the film asks its viewers.

Ultimately this is a film about swimming against the tide. As Dr. Jones deliberates on whether to accept the whimsical challenge of bringing salmon to a desert, we see an overhead shot of him hurrying along a crowded sidewalk within a school of gray-suited businessmen. Suddenly he turns and makes his way through the crowd in the opposite direction, to tell Harriet that he accepts the offer. He is swimming upstream (yes, to spawn!), and we know that he will be caught before the film is over.


Editor's Note: Review of "Salmon Fishing in the Yemen," directed by Halle Lasstrom. Lionsgate, 2011, 107 minutes.



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