Brooklyn & Joy

I went to see Brooklyn with definitely low expectations. It sounded like some mushy romance. So, what a surprise it was to become enthralled by a marvelous performance by Saorirse Ronan as a seemingly plain girl who flourishes when she emigrates from County Wexford to Brooklyn in the early 1950s.

The film captures the period perfectly, so perfectly that I had forgotten how much things have changed since then. Brooklyn then had boarding houses and fancy downtown department stores. My aunt would send me shirts as birthday presents from Martin's, an old-line store, and I recall my first major Italian feast visiting a colleague of my dad's there.

Her return to Ireland makes it clear that while the locals may conspire to provide her with reasons to stay--a highly eligible man and a decent job--she will always have to deal with the gossip, often ill-intentioned, of a small town in rural Ireland. 

All of this is depicted with total clarity and understanding of the relationships involved. Sure, as in all movies, things proceed somewhat differently from real-life patterns, but here, the performances, including two by old-time pros like Jim Broadbent and Julie Walters, are superb.

Joy is more of a conundrum. Jennifer Lawrence fans will be well satisfied as she is on screen almost all the time and is highly accomplished. Robert DeNiro does what he does best: play a blustery man who has severe limitations may even start to recognize them. Other players contribute well: Virginia Madsen, Diane Ladd, and Isabella Rosselini, to name three. Bradley Cooper apparently was desired and thus paid quite well for a somewhat minor role.

The whole thing, however, fell short for me. It was a plot packed with occasions for many of the characters to display their eccentricities. It all started to come apart even as the title character demonstrated her moxie in soldiering on despite every kind of obstacle and problem, most of them created by her incredibly dysfunctional extended family. 

To me, the producers reassembled the Silver Linings Playbook team, but with a less well-made plot and too much distraction. The result of all this is a picture that drags--I kept looking at my watch.

If You Don't, I Will

We don't get enough foreign pictures here in Washington. Actually, we don't get a lot of good American pics until weeks pass after their opening in New York and Los Angeles. Of course, today, we and every hamlet larger than a population of 50 has the new Star Wars picture, which I will go see soon, especially because it's playing at our local house, the Uptown, which has what you don't run into very often now: one large curved screen and a large palatial auditorium.

But the Avalon, which was saved by community action and is run by a community board, is out on Connecticut Avenue just before the Maryland line, and on Wednesday nights, it shows foreign films, usually French, Czech, or Israeli. I often give French pics a chance because if nothing else, their style is appealing. This week, they had, for only the one Wednesday night showing, a French film released earlier this year, If You Don't, I Will. 

I'd never seen the stars, Emanuelle Devos and Mathieu Amalric, before; nor had I viewed any of the previous work of Sophie Fillieres. The picture isn't great but it has its attractions. It was reviewed, by the way, in New York in December 2014 and Variety caught it earlier at the Berlin Film Festival. It's about a married couple who are at odds with each other for not entirely clear reasons except that they seem to push all the wrong buttons after getting to their 40s, being empty-nesters since her son has recently moved out and lives with his pleasant girl friend.

Their flare-ups at typical parties or when running for a bus don't seem that outlandish. The best gag comes when they put some Champagne in the "super frost" part of the freezer and it cracks up in no time. The wife, Pomme (I recall how Diane Kurys used that name for the heroine in her charming picture, One Sings, the Other Doesn't.), suspects that husband Pierre is having an affair with a younger weather broadcaster. But this obvious provocation falls apart when the younger woman appears to become as fed up with him as his wife.

The climax of the picture comes when the two go for a hike in a large forest park near Lyons, where the picture is set (it looked just like Paris to me). Pomme decides she doesn't want to go home and goes off on her own into the woods. She camps out and hikes for several days, with a few adventures but nothing very major. She stops in a small town where there's a chamber music festival and it is delightful when she joins all the participants in the fest are at a huge dining table as they identify themselves by the instrument each plays. 

She returns to the forest and Pierre is finally urged by her son to pursue her, which he seems to do in a half-hearted way. When she eventually returns and they are back together, the ending leaves it unclear as to what will happen next. Just like life.

Sorry About 'Kiss Me, Kate'

Kiss Me, Kate is one of my all-time favorites in the Broadway musical comedy world. Cole Porter showed that he could write a new-fangled musical, post Oklahoma, in which the songs advanced the plot. At the same time, he outdid himself in composing marvelous tunes and the cleverest of lyrics, having no less than Shakespeare to play off.

So I saw the Shakespeare Theatre Company's production here in D.C., after a glowing Washington Post review, and alas, the production was all wrong. The director, Alan Paul, misconceived the show entirely.  The dancers were excellent and Clive Alves, playing the Bill who can't behave, was athletic and amazing as anyone playing the role should be. But the show leered. "Too Darn Hot" was subsumed by suggestive moves and one of Porter's sharpest songs, Bianca/Lisa singing "Always True to You Darling, in My Fashion," was belted out emphasizing the sex at the expense of the shrewd lyrics that always ride the line and don't go over into burlesque.

All the leads were over-amped and they compounded the sin by screaming or shouting, exposing their limits as singers. In the first act, I thought Douglas Sills as Fred/ Petruchio used his fine diction to stand out from the rest but in the second, he fell into the same pattern of pushing up the volume, thus demonstrating his limitations. Christine Sherrill, the Lilli/Kate of the show, made her vocal deficiencies all too evident after seeming to hit the right tone at the start of "So in Love."

The sets and costumes were fine, using the original 40s motif; also on the plus side were the best of this bunch, the two gangsters who turn up near the close to shine in Porter's most memorable creation here: "Brush Up Your Shakespeare."  Yet even they, after a strong beginning, let their diction falter in the last few verses; this is a song where you need to get every well-chosen word.

I saw the revival in New York sixteen years ago with Brian Stokes Mitchell and Marin Mazzie, both of whom have gone on to more successes and recognition since that early starring opportunity.  They were excellent, as was the Broadway cast. Even my daughter's school production (she shone in the small part of the stage doorman) showed better understanding of how to present this show in its best light.

So I will listen to some recordings I have of the original lead, Alfred Drake, employing his warm baritone to great effect, and Lisa Kirk doing full justice to "Always True to You"--the MGM (naturally) movie had its moments as well, most amusingly when the studio confirmed its belief that everyone on the studio payroll had to sing and dance by casting the fine actors Keenan Wynn and James Whitmore as the "Brush Up" gangsters. It was likely the first time either had been asked to sing or dance on stage or screen.

Dutch Class Distinctions

One nice part of spending a long weekend in Boston, ostensibly for my 45th law school reunion, was seeing the Class Distinctions: Dutch Painting in the Age of Rembrandt and Vermeer at the Museum of Fine Arts. The show was organized to show how the great Dutch painters recognized the class lines in 17th century Holland. 

First there were the nobility then the merchants and artisans and then the working class and the impoverished.  Rarely did they mix. Perhaps the most amazing fact I picked up was when Rembrandt painted a portrait, full-length which was rare there then, of one of the most powerful men in Amsterdam. This worthy didn't go for Rembrandt's little touches such as showing one glove thrown on the floor, so he held off paying the master. 

It's delightful to think about a man who now is only remembered in history because he tried to stiff Rembrandt. A bit like the then-famous Viennese music critic, Edouard Hanslick, who was satirized by Wagner as the unpleasant (to say the least) character in Die Meistersinger, Beckmesser. Of course, that is the only reason he is recalled today at all.

There were two Vermeers, which of course is always an occasion, one I hadn't previously seen from the Louvre, and the other, one of the five usually found at the Met in New York. As is the case with Vermeers, the light is extraordinary. The many other paintings of that grand age are also worth the visit. It is a formidable show.

My reunion also surprised me, I expected little from a 45th, law school no less, but those who showed up were enthusiastic and it was amazing to see how the place has changed. A classmate of mine, now deceased, funded the construction of the major new building in which most of the proceedings occurred. And it was especially fun to hear Neil Chayet, who graduated a few years before I did, speak early one morning about his Looking at the Law radio spot and conflict resolution as well.

The program on the future of the legal profession was also enlightening and not at all defensive, except for the dean noting earlier that day that 96 percent of the graduates leave with jobs in hand.

Mr. Court Administration

A man whom I worked for a good many years ago and who was one of the two most important figures in establishing the field of court administration passed away in August and was memorialized last week at the National Center for State Courts. He was Edward B. McConnell and he was 95 and had led a long and impressive life.

He became the State Court Administrator of New Jersey in 1953, the first significant American state court administrator. The two outstanding chief justices with whom he worked. Arthur Vanderbilt and Joseph Weintraub, recognized Ed's skill and gave him support so that he did administer the courts. He was no backroom manipulator or paper-pusher. In 1973, he was recruited to become the National Center's second head. 

I went to work for the Center the following year and found that Ed was a hands-on leader. I worked in a regional office but when I was involved in drafting any project report that would go to a court or be published, you could be sure that Ed would review it personally and call you with his comments. He didn't mince words and he told you exactly what he thought about the draft and about all the people with whom you were involved and dealing with in the courts.

Suffice it to say that I learned an incredible amount from him. He had gone through Harvard Business School right after World War II but I sensed immediately that Ed had a natural sense of how organizations run and how they should be run. He inherited an organization--the National Center--that was struggling in its early years after Warren Burger had founded it and he turned it around into the dominant organization in its field. Other competitors fell by the wayside.

I also saw how Ed operated in meetings. At times, he seemed like he was sleeping. A sleeping cobra, however. He wouldn't pop off and didn't get involved until he carefully assessed the tenor and tempo of the proceedings and then when he gauged it to be exactly the right moment, he made his move and usually succeeded in getting precisely what result he had been planning to achieve.

Ed established a remarkably adept administrative operation in New Jersey. When I first worked in the state in 1970, I could see immediately that he had become a major figure and achieved a level of respect that few state court administrators or any court administrators have ever gained. In court administration, the other leading giant of the field and the only one comparable to Ed is Ernie Friesen, with whom I've also had the privilege of working. Ernie now is nearing 90 and still out there doing his fine work but we truly are witnessing the passing of the greats.

Two good pictures

I thoroughly enjoyed seeing both Black Mass and Bridge of Spies. The first is set in Boston, and seems to have been filmed there, mostly in Southie. It is the story of James (Whitey) Bulger and how he more or less flimflammed the FBI for years by giving them some info about the rival Mafiosi in return for the feds leaving him and his gang free to engage in their wide run of illegal activities. 

Johnny Depp does a great job playing "Jimmy" Bulger and Benedict Cumberbatch is even better as his respectable brother, Billy, who was President of the Massachusetts State Senate and then Chancellor of the University of Massachusetts until it turned out that his claim that he had no knowledge of what his brother Jimmy was up to fell apart near the end of Billy's career and he was forced to resign as head of the university.

The whole sordid story--including how an FBI operative who had grown up with the Bulgers set up the special relationship and in the end was consumed by it--comes across through realistic portrayals of all the players, both gang members and federal agents. 

Bridge of Spies is the story of how New York lawyer James Donovan, played by Tom Hanks, agrees to represent a captured Russian spy, Col. Rudolf Abel, in U.S. federal court in Brooklyn during the late 50s when anti-communism was rampant. He even took what seemed like a good legal case for a clearly guilty defendant all the way to the Supreme Court and was complimented for his willingness to take the case by Chief Justice Earl Warren, one of the dissenters in Donovan's 5-4 loss before the high court.

Hanks does a fine job especially in the Berlin phase of the picture, where Donovan, unofficially working for the CIA, negotiates Abel's exchange for Francis Gary Powers, the U-2 pilot captured by the Russians when they took his spy plane down. Donovan comes across as braver than I recall because clearly the judge, the prosecutor, the CIA, and Donovan's own law firm expected him to put in a pro forma appearance, not really engage in zealous representation.

In real life, Donovan's notoriety from this case led to his success--mentioned in the movie at the end--in negotiating the release of thousands of Cubans after the Bay of Pigs disaster. But the film did not mention that he also ran unsuccessfully for the U.S. Senate against the popular incumbent, Jacob Javits, and served as president of the New York City Board of Education, a somewhat thankless job that did not add any lustre to his record.

But he did deserve a lot of praise for his bravery in upholding the finest standards of the bar in defending Abel and then negotiating his exchange. Hanks also confirms his status as the greatest living portrayer of "everyman" in U.S. films.

The Flick

It's appearing at one of those minimal Off-Broadway theaters in the Village, this production of Annie Baker's The Flick, which won last year's Pulitzer Prize for drama. There has been a new cast taking over from the originals who started this second New York production, but this play proved its worth over the long run: three hours and ten minutes, that is.

Some have compared the pacing, with pauses and empty stage set, to Pinter but it struck me as the opposite of Mamet and La Bute, the two contemporary playwrights who specialize in crackling, staccato dialogue. Baker takes her time in enabling you to grasp where her characters are coming from. 

The three principals (there's a fourth performer who plays two small parts in fine fashion, too) are representative of young people stuck in dead-end jobs in a society and milieu that deny any chance, it would seem, to escape into any kind of satisfying work. Instead, they soldier on in a movie house in Worcester, Mass., with outdated technology and few prospects.

Gradually the characters interact on deeper and deeper levels, though this process is characterized by misunderstanding and the immediate realization that nothing will turn out right. Overlaying this is the small talk and the banter of any workplace, especially one where there are those who are clearly heading toward a dead end and the others who are usually younger but retain the slim likelihood of escape, if not assured success.

Not many plays capture this scene effectively. One that I recall fondly was Arthur Miller's A Memory of Two Mondays, a marvelous chronicle of a young man spending a summer in an urban supply house, knowing that he will be leaving for college in the fall but that the others are there for their lifetimes.   I had jobs like this when I was a teenager, and felt I learned an incredible amount from my immersion into the working world.

Just as Miller did, Baker captures the sense of outsiderdom that the new hire has, yet he is there on a break from college, so his prospects remain far more exciting than those facing the experienced hands. Baker captures the subtleties as the three in this triangle feel each other out or expose themselves -- in the case of the two veterans -- to each other unsuccessfully from all sides.