Wake Up Mother Nature!

I’m wearing tights today for the first time in, oh, nearly half a year. Sure, it’s supposed to hit 93 degrees today in Northern California, but that’s not stopping my homage (or at least my legs’ homage) to Fall. I think maybe Mother Nature’s still reeling from the summer of fires, storms, earthquakes, and hurricanes (and let’s not forget the biggest natural disaster, Madonna dating A-Rod) and has forgotten to usher in Autumn (either that or she drank too many beers at Father Time’s Labor Day party and hasn’t yet recovered). Even the campaign signs in my neighborhood (popping up at such a rate that I wonder if, like Gremlins, they multiply when doused by the lawn sprinklers) and pumpkin-shaped peeps on the grocery store shelves haven’t prompted her to cool things down, so I figured I’d break out the tights and do my part. Fall is my favorite season. The kids are back in school, my lawn turns green again, my cat starts growing back his fur, and I can begin forgetting the magnitude of the SF Giants’ failure. What’s more, I can look forward to the Fall Movie Season. This Fall, theatres will show no fewer than 11 movies based on books. Here’s a quick list of the movies and my initial thoughts (warning: approaching stream of conscious, river of uninformed first impressions, and rapids of unrelated opinions):

Appaloosa – Entertainment Weekly describes the two main characters as “laconic.” I had to look it up. It means “using few words.” So the two main characters are men of few words. In a Western? Shocking. When was the last time you saw a Western with a couple of chatty Cathys? The movie could prove a lesson in subtlety, though, given the two fabulous, understated actors playing the leads – Viggo Mortensen and Ed Harris. But wait…scratch that…Renee Zellweger is in it, too. So much for subtlety.

The Duchess – Thankfully, it’s not a Fergie documentary, but a movie based on the book Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire by Amanda Foreman and starring Keira Knightley. I haven’t decided if I think Keira Knightley is a great actress, a good actress, or just adept at choosing the right scripts, but I have a feeling I’m going to love this movie. Corsets + Ralph Fiennes (or any member of the Fiennes family, for that matter) – my husband grumbling in the seat next to me + smuggled Junior Mints = an enjoyable movie experience. I haven’t read the true-life tale, but Knightley’s last turn in a page to screen story (Atonement) was riveting.

Blindness – The ads made me think of Children of Men, but that’s probably due to Julianne Moore’s presence and the post-apocalyptic look of the sets. I’m interested in the fact that the characters in the book don’t have proper names, just descriptions (i.e. Girl With the Dark Glasses). In fact (get ready for a shameless plug), my friend and I recently wrote a novel using the same device…and if you’d like to read more about our characters (The Pecker, Babies Don’t Spit Up, Sweat Rings and Man Slippers), head on over to http://www.fictionlimbo.blogspot.com/. I feel a tad dirty now . . .

What Just Happened – I know nothing about this film except that it’s a Hollywood satire, adapted from a book, starring a mess of people (Robert De Niro, Sean Penn, Bruce Willis, Catherine Keener, Robin Wright Penn). Never heard of the book, barely heard of the movie, but De Niro as a producer doesn’t seem like terrible casting.

The Secret Life of Bees - Can I just tell you how irritated I am that I used my “internet buzz” metaphor already . . . I should have planned better. In any event, I LOVE this book. I LOVE this book so much that I read all the book club questions at the end and had a little schizophrenic conversation with myself about plot and character development alone in my bed around 2 a.m. (Sue Monk Kidd’s second book, The Mermaid Chair, however, was a colossal disappointment. Truly a book to cast away.) I think Dakota Fanning is great casting, as is Paul Bettany as the abusive father, and Queen Latifah as the leader of the bee farm sisters. I’m on the fence about Jennifer Hudson as the nanny, though. I don’t think she’s old enough, but, then again, I don’t remember how old the character was supposed to be in the book. I guess she always seemed tired so I pictured her older. And, I’m not sure J. Hud can pull it off. Sure, she was fantastic and deep and moving in Dreamgirls, but she was singing 90% of the time. Would her “I’m Not Going” Oscar moment have been as emotional if she’d had to deliver it as a monologue? Does she have what it takes? Her superfluous role in Sex and the City sheds no light on the question. I’m a huge Hudson fan – I have been since the American Idol days, agreeing with Quentin Tarantino when he called her Un-Bleepin’-Believable (or was it Fan-Bleepin’-Tastic?)—so I’d like to see her shine. I will definitely go see this movie (again, without my husband).

High School Musical 3: Senior Year – Based on the acclaimed novel of the same name, this much-anticipated third installment of the never-stale franchise . . . just checking to see if you’re paying attention.

Quantum of Solace – Technically, I don’t think this, the latest Bond flick, was adapted directly from a book. Of course, the 007 character was Ian Fleming’s literary creation so, in a sense, all Bond films are adapted from a book. Quantum of Solace is the name of an Ian Fleming short story, but I don’t believe the movie is based on the story—I think the title was just hijacked. (It’s entirely possible I could be wrong, but I’m too tired to look it up right now…) A couple of thoughts run through my head when I think about this movie. First, Daniel Craig looks like the adult version of my seven-year-old nephew, which is a bit disturbing because I find Daniel Craig delectable in a rather inappropriate way. Second, I used to see the Bond movies for free when I was in law school because one of my fellow students was the daughter of the producer . . . I miss law school . . . I miss school . . . I wish I didn’t have to work . . .

The Road – The Road comes out the day before my husband’s birthday. We both loved the book (and you know how I feel about the casting) so I expect we’ll see it opening night. And then we’ll mainline some Prozac and hold our children tight until the nightmares cease.

Marley & Me – Blech. It’s a Dooooooggggggggggg Movie. Based on a Dooooooooggggggggg Book (I’m not a fan, generally). Starring Rachel Green--I mean Jennifer Aniston--Owen Wilson, and a Dooooooooogggggggg. And the trailer shows all three running on a beach. In slow motion. I have nothing else to say.

Twilight – I haven’t read the books so I’m scared to say anything, for fear a bunch of tweens will come and put a stake through my heart. But I am nervous for the filmmakers - vampire movies are hard to cast – remember the uproar surrounding Tom Cruise as Lestat in Anne Rice’s Interview With A Vampire?

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button – This movie, based on the short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald, sounds terribly interesting. It’s about a man aging in reverse. And I wager even Brad Pitt cannot ruin the movie, because it also casts the celestial Cate Blanchett and riveting Tilda Swinton (although The Talented Mr. Ripley was all sorts of awful and it had a stellar cast). Ooh, I can’t wait to see the two of them at all the premieres, interviews, and awards shows. Cate with her fickle sense of style and Tilda with her, well, how would you describe these ensembles? I love these women!

Revolutionary Road – The first pairing of Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio since . . .since . . . what was that movie? Kate Winslet betters every film she’s in. I sat next to Leonardo DiCaprio at Fixx in Vegas. He’s quite tall and manly in person. And Fixx has the most delicious fried macaroni and cheese and crusted mashed potatoes. This has nothing to do with the movie, just thought I’d share. I’m going to pick up this 1961 book by Richard Yates, described as a “cautionary tale . . . full of big ideas that question the viability of the American dream.” Quite a pertinent topic 47 years later. Let’s hope it translates to the big screen.

Happy reading and/or viewing!

Goodbye Mr. Newman

I’m certain I can’t add anything new to the Paul Newman conversation. And yet, I feel compelled to interrupt regularly scheduled blogging to make note of his passing. My world stopped for a moment when I heard of his death. I was at a park decorating for my son’s birthday party when my BlackBerry buzzed. I scrolled through my email while scattering confetti, and opened a message from one of my closest friends. The first line read, “There’s something about Paul Newman dying that’s very very sad to me.” Until then, I didn’t know he’d died, as I’d been devoted to cupcakes and treasure hunts for the previous 24 hours. The news winded me. It’s strange, really. I didn’t know him. I haven’t seen all his movies. I don’t even use his salad dressing. Still, I echo my friend’s sentiment that a world without him feels . . . different somehow.

Books Are Going To The Dogs

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’ve probably heard Oprah announced her (adopt a loud, deep, excited voice and show the whites of your eyes) NEW BOOK CLUB PICK! It’s The Story of Edgar Sawtelle by David Wroblewski. Oprah’s site describes the book as an “epic” novel about the “kinship between people and dogs.” Today I received an e-mail from Oprah, commanding me to “Show Us Your Sawtelle Dog!” The e-mail goes on to explain, “Author David Wroblewski wants you to create your own image of a Sawtelle dog so much that he won't even reveal what breed his own dog is! So, what does a Sawtelle dog look like to you? Is your dog one?” Apparently, “for generations, the Sawtelles have raised and trained a fictional breed of dogs,” described as having a “thoughtful presence.” I admit, I haven’t read the book. Ok, I admit I haven’t even bought the book. I’m still consumed entirely by I, Elizabeth (the English have won the war against Spain and now Elizabeth can concern herself with more domestic affairs, like executing those who don’t ask her permission before marrying. And she's getting old, so now I've started picturing Judi Dench. Go figure.). I admit I tend to cringe when faced with the prospect of settling in with a “dog” book. Ever since I had my first bout of deep depression after reading Where The Red Fern Grows, I’ve steered clear of the canine literary genre. I will read this book, though, if only because the entire world will be talking about it and I’d like to join that conversation. For the time being, however, having not read the book, I can’t say what a “Sawtelle dog” looks like to me (so, in an act of doggie-owner narcissism, I've posted a photo of my Husky, Misha). But I am interested in the question itself. No doubt this book will be made into a movie (first-time author, Oprah stamp of approval, animals and kids . . . I’m sure a script is already in the works). And if the breed of the dog is not revealed in the book, what kind of dog will be used in the movie? Dollars to doughnuts whatever breed is picked, people will be disappointed, having already created their own vision.

Cast Away

My older son is learning about homophones—words with the same sound but different meanings. What word describes both a shiny object you wear on your finger and the sound a bell makes? Ring. What refers to both a drink and the last name of a fool-pitying, gold-chain wearing, Rocky-punching, over-exposed 80’s cliché? Tea/T. You get the idea. So, it occurred to me as I was helping him with his homework, that the word “cast” has multiple meanings. According to dictionary.com, it means, inter alia (sorry, that’s a fancy schmancy law school Latin phrase for “among other things” that has become part of my lexicon): (1) to throw off or away; and (2) to allot a role to (an actor). When I started this blog, I intended to discuss the intersection of movies and books. “Cast” in “Cast That Book” carried the second meaning. But a book I recently finished has prompted me to explore the first meaning . . . to throw off or away. I’ve read a number of books over the years that I wanted to “cast” into the trash can, off my bedside table, out the window of a moving train. Lately, I’ve been lucky in my literary explorations; maybe because I tend to read books recommended by trusted friends or reviewers. I also feel safe dipping back into the well of an author I know and love, an author who has proved himself or herself to me before, an author like Pat Conroy or John Irving or Amy Tan or Barbara Kingsolver or…usually…Isabel Allende. Oh Senora Allende, how it pains me to complain about one of your books, especially after recently spending a glorious week immersed in Zorro. But complain I must. I just finished Portrait in Sepia, the companion book to the marvelous novel, Daughter of Fortune . . . and it was . . .uh . . . not good. That’s harsh, I know. I originally wrote, “and I didn’t enjoy it,” but that’s not accurate. I’ve “not enjoyed” my fair share of books, but still appreciated and even recommended them. Pillars of the Earth, in all its paternalistic and violent glory, comes immediately to mind. Portrait in Sepia, on the other hand, felt lazy and chaotic, the literary equivalent to making an entire second movie out of deleted scenes. It’s a slim novel by Allende standards, and yet it never seemed to end. I didn’t identify with any of the characters (thrown together like reheated leftovers), because none of them had a strong voice…even the narrator. In fact, the narrator was . . .well . . . boring. She was a witness to murder, orphaned, and stuck in a loveless marriage and yet . . . boring. She didn’t move the story forward; rather, the story happened to and around her. Further, the translation seemed clumsy. (The only good parts were, well, the “good” parts, if ya know what I mean….Allende knows her way around a fictional bedroom). Had I read this book first, I’m not sure I would have picked up another Allende novel, which would have been a travesty. If you are new to Allende, please, cast this book aside and pick up another (Daughter of Fortune, Zorro, House of Spirits). You’ll thank me.

Back On My Soapbox

Gwyneth Paltrow was on Oprah yesterday. She's got a smokin' post-baby body that she actually admits working hard for (2 hours a day, 6 days a week). She's got mid-length shiny blond hair, an infectious smile, warm eyes, and a calm yet energetic presence. And she loves good food. I ask you, my friends, why isn't she playing Elizabeth Gilbert in the screen adaptation of Eat Pray Love?! Don't get me started....

God Save The Queen Blanchett

I’m knee deep in I, Elizabeth by Rosalind Miles . . . which is to say I’m 280 pages into the hefty tome. I cannot put it down, not for yoga, not for movies, not for a walk with the dog. (I will not set it down in the house; I would not drop it for a mouse…) I might be enticed to set it aside if Colin Farrell showed up in my bedroom, just maybe. It isn’t simply that the book is interesting and beautifully written…it’s also that if I put it down for more than a day, I will have to start over. There are scads of Lords and Ladies and Duchesses and Dukes and Earls and Queens and Dowager Queens and Lord Protectors and Council members, and if I don’t sit court with them daily, I will forget who they are and why they’re important. To make matters even more difficult, as their positions change, so do their names. An Earl of Sussex or Essex or Fed-Ex named Bob might become Duke Wellington or Colonel Sanders overnight. This can get terribly confusing, especially for me, who for years thought John F. Kennedy and Jack Kennedy were two different people. I’m not so good with names. Thank goodness Miles includes a family tree at the beginning of the book. Above all the identity-shifting power grabbers, however, Elizabeth (whose name changes, as well, from heir to bastard to most honored sister, etc.) rises and shines. She is interesting and smart and beautiful and savvy. She has a knack for self-preservation that modern politicians can only dream of. And she looks like Cate Blanchett. At least in my head, she does. I saw the movie Elizabeth only once, right after I took the bar exam. As you can imagine, I was a little loopy, and the details of the movie didn’t stick with me, stuffed as my head was with the rule against perpetuities and exceptions to the statute of frauds. But apparently Cate’s performance made an impression. I haven’t thought about it in years, but as soon as I started reading I, Elizabeth, I pictured Cate Blanchett as the fair virgin Queen. Perhaps because she, too, is smart and beautiful and savvy. I applaud you, Ms. Blanchett, for embodying the role in such an indelible manner.

Perfection

Wow...I feel like it's been an eternity since I last wrote. In my defense, my 5 year old son broke his arm a couple of weeks ago and we've all been adjusting. He's in a hard cast, now, so I don't feel like I have to follow him around and shield his soft splint with my body. In fact, the cast is proving so durable, I wonder whether we should, as a prophylactic measure, cast all children's arms, legs and foreheads until they're about 7 years old and understand some basic things...like the laws of gravity, cause and effect, and corresponding action/reaction. Yes, I tend to be a bit overprotective of my children. I can't imagine what it would be like to try and protect my son as one of the last persons left on Earth after an apocalyptic event, like the father in Cormac McCarthy's Pulitzer prize-winning novel, The Road. (See how I worked that segue?)

I read The Road earlier this summer, and I still find myself moved by it. I admit, I haven't read McCarthy's other books, so I don't know if all his writing is like this, but I was blown away by his stark prose. The language itself mirrored the landscape in the novel. And never before has the word "okay" been weighted with so much meaning. In case you don't know, The Road follows a father and son as they travel to the coast through the charred country, hoping to find food, redemption, some sign of goodness... The world is covered in ash, the sun doesn't shine, and there are roving bands of cannibals. (McCarthy never says what caused the apocalypse because it doesn't really matter, but I picture a meteor collision, like the one that did in the dinosaurs.) The father's lungs are giving out, but he presses on, teaching his son to be the keeper of the fire...the fire representing the goodness of humanity. They don't say much to each other, but their affection for one another is apparent, as is the father's single-minded desire to provide for his child and keep him safe, while also instilling in him a sense of dignity and honor. He wants everything for his son that I want for my sons, just pared down to the minimum for survival. He's not concerned that the boy play nice on the playground, make the right kind of friends, or eat enough broccoli--he's concerned that the boy not get roasted over a spit, take a human life, or starve to death. I could write an entire thesis on this book.

I'm not sure that I pictured the father and son as I was reading, but somewhere around the end of the book, I got it in my head that George Clooney had signed on to play the father. I was convinced I was right. And I wasn't upset. I thought, "I could see that. He'll need to dirty himself up a bit, but maybe this is his Oscar role . . . something to appeal to his intellectual side before he loses more brain cells in Ocean's Infinity." I think I may have even told people Mr. Clooney had signed on. He hadn't. I'm not sure he was even mentioned for the role. Where did I come up with that? I'm blaming it on the go fug girls, who mention their "intern George" so often he permeates my thoughts (although I suppose if I didn't refresh their blog approximately once every 37 minutes, maybe it would help). The point is, George Clooney is not playing the father. Instead, it's the best casting I can imagine...Viggo Mortensen. I'm so excited - though I'm not sure excitement is the proper emotion for a post-apocalyptic roving-cannibals film. But can't you just see it? One of the most still, present actors of our time in a stark, bleak drama with little dialogue...it's perfect. Think about it...he's played a quiet wanderer in charge of small ones before...a Ranger to be precise . . . and the result was Middle Earth nirvana.

Whoever cast him, give yourself a pat on the back. Was it you, Mr. Clooney?