Home Is Where the Donuts Are

I think it was, in part, the snacks.

You see, growing up I never knew that we were poor. In grade school, Heather made fun of my boots, and my classmates defended me. It wasn’t until years later that I realized that they came to my defense because my family couldn’t afford fancier boots.

I just thought they saw boots they way that I did – my boots kept my feet warm, like before me they kept Chris’ feet warm, and David’s and Matt’s and Greg’s. My boots came pre-tested for quality control.

We would probably have been considered lower middle class, some times lower, sometimes middle, rarely classy. My folks raised twelve kids on a single, government income.

Sometimes peanut butter became the recurring main meal – usually at the end of the month, coincidentally right before Dad’s paycheck hit. For me, I just thought Mom had a perverse taste for crunchy nut spread.

We never went hungry; we never went naked; and I never knew we were poor.

I think, in part, because of the snacks.

Every day when we came home from school, there were snacks waiting. Never store bought, always baked. Cookies, homemade apple pie, brownies, deep fried donuts. Always something.

Know any starving kids that get homemade donuts after school?

And it wasn’t just for us. Our home had an open door policy. Any friend that meandered over to our house was welcome. And they always got fed.

Maybe it was Don and George, hanging out to do our homework; or Andy who lived two doors down and whose mom was a teacher – he spent so much time at our house he wasn’t expected to knock; or Brian and Dick, tagging after Mary; or Greg’s gang just killing time before musical rehearsal; or Mark bringing the track team by, interrupting their distance run for some sweets.

It didn’t matter how many – one to fifty – all were welcome in our home, and all were fed.

Mom would joke that with so many kids of her own, she could never tell which ones were hers, and which ones were guests. Safer just to feed them all.

How can anyone think they were poor with a house full of laughing, well-fed friends?

Today is my mom’s forty-eighth birthday (my dad laying down the law many birthdays ago that his wife has to be at least one year older than her oldest child).

Happy birthday, mom.

And thanks for a lifetime of snacks.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Dream State

Let me say this right off: Jennifer Hudson blowing the roof off the movie theatre with “I’m Not Going” is worth the price of admission alone. So no matter what else I say, remember that.

The very white and respectable audience I saw DREAMGIRLS with couldn’t help but break into applause for the actress, almost convinced that her celluloid self could appreciate the gesture. How often can you apply the term “showstopper” to film?

The movie has many such marvelous moments, and many marvelous performances. Eddie Murphy stands out in a surprisingly non-Eddie Murphy role – giving us a solid glimpse into the actor that Mr. Murphy will mature into. Even Beyonce Knowles transcends her pop status to give depth to a pop star character.

However, the flick isn’t quite able to transition itself from stage play to film. There is a grace inherent in live performances when the characters start singing to nobody in particular (or even spouting out “Now is the winter of our discontent”); because, after all, there is an audience there, even if the fourth wall is supposed to keep the character from knowing that.

That grace doesn’t extend as easily to film, so the director has to work harder to establish that this is a world naturally containing gratuitous acts of music. Baz Luhrman did this in MOULIN ROUGUE by creating a reality so romantically unreal one couldn’t help but sing. And the marvelous Bill Condon created an inner life of imagination for Roxy Hart, thus giving us the most perfect recent musical film, CHICAGO.

If only DREAMGIRLS Bill Condon consulted with CHICAGO Bill Conden. DREAMGIRLS justifies the music by showing all the singing springing from the recording studio or performances of The Dreams. Except when it doesn’t (such as the aforementioned Hudson roof raiser).

The wishy-washy hybrid makes for an uneasy audience, requiring far too much time for us to let go and give in to the music.

The other big problem is one that was knotty with the stage version as well: trying to tell too much story in too little time. The film comes off as unfocused, unsure of whether this is Effie’s story (the character with the biggest arc, but she disappears half way through) or Deena’s story (who is a cipher for the first half plus), or Curtis’ story (a character that doesn’t arc) or, heck, even Early or C.C. or Lorell’s story.

We track all these characters over a decade plus, zipping from one song to another so rapidly as to be unable to create an emotional attachment. Sure, as an audience, we have moments of connection – but far too many more moments of disconnect.

Not to say that a film can’t effectively tell dozen stories at once. I also recently viewed John Sayles’ SUNSHINE STATE. Another movie with brilliant performances (standouts including Angela Bassett, Edie Falco, and Ralph Waite – who I love to see working!) and multiple stories.

They are even similar in their language – both heavily relying on conversations that mean more than they mean – STATE with lines like Marly’s repeated “What’s important is to keep smiling, even if you’re drowning,” or Furman’s classic, “You can’t live next to the ocean and be afraid of the water.” And DREAMGIRLS with all the songs – each masquerading as a pop tune playing on the radio, while really being the inner voices of the characters breaking the surface.

Both movies are intended to be lyric poems; yet DREAMGIRLS never seems to let the poetry steer the story.

Two things that Sayles did right: first, he focused his multiple stories over a short period of time – five days in May. The focus lets us settle a bit; we don’t need the full life of these characters, just enough to see us through this pivotal change.

And second, he lets each scene sit for a spell; he takes his time. Telling a dozen stories in two hours doesn’t mean rushing.

And DREAMGIRLS rushes, pushing from moment to moment in a breathless pounce, hoping to get it all said before the clock runs out. As a result, some of the best scenes of the story never make it into the film.

Danny Glover’s Marty tells us that Effie had been trying to sing again, but melts down in front of her audiences. He tells us that. Come on, after seeing Hudson mix vulnerability and power with so many moments prior to this, aren’t we all dying to SEE her take her brassy self in front of a club and struggle, and struggle, and lose…?

How can you choose not to show that moment? Instead, it is an aside, quickly tossed so we can rush to the final performance of the Dreams.

DREAMGIRLS is a good movie. Which is too bad; it could’ve been great.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Magic and the Season

Catherine and I joined friends Cory and Vicki at the Magic Castle to watch our brilliantly talented friend Michael Rayner perform. He was marvelous, by the way, as was the the whole night.

Coincidentally, a member of my writers group, Damon Young, mentions the Castle as part of his blog on the season. I like what he has to say, so I'll send you there.

Enjoy.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Warning!

Catherine and I started watching a movie on television called "Gospel." Not a good movie; not even a movie that we could sit through.

But it did have a fun caution at the start.

It warned that The Gospel had adult content.

I think we should all keep that in mind.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Good Grief, Part Three

Christmas comes with tidings of great joy, and also with a touch of melancholy.

The melancholy, in moderation, makes sense. After all, with the birth of Christ comes the slaughter of the innocents. Right on the heels of the multitude of angels singing is Rachel weeping for her children.

And the gift of myrrh reminds us that the birth was just a step in a plan that would lead to the Via Delarosa, the road of sorrows.

The joy of Christmas comes with a sacrifice. My pastor refers to this as “the cost of Christmas.”

This is another reason that I love A Charlie Brown Christmas – Charles Schultz fully understood the notion of sacrifice for joy. Charlie’s holiday malaise is eventually overcome, but only through sacrificial giving.

Let me explain.

The next time you watch the special, pay close attention to Linus and his blanket.

The importance of the security blanket (a phrase coined by Charles Schultz, by the way) is established in several scenes, as well as Lucy’s insistence that her brother give the blanket up. But under threats of humiliation and even corporal punishment, Linus makes it clear that he will never let his blanket go.

Until Linus recounts the meaning of Christmas. If you watch carefully, you will notice that the young boy starts his recitation from the Gospel according to Luke with his blanket firmly grasped. Then he gets to the “sore afraid” part.

“Fear not!” Linus quotes the angels, and as he says those words, he lets go of the blanket.

After the oration, he retrieves his most valued possession.

Later, once Charlie has killed the tree, the real sacrifice takes place. Linus points out that he never thought is was such a bad tree, and that it only needed love.

Sacrificial love, as it turns out.

So Linus uses the greatest treasure on earth to care for the tree, wrapping it around the base.

And therein is a Christmas message worth holding onto. We’re not so bad, really, we just need a little love.

Sacrificial love.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Good Grief, Part 2

“Is anybody there? Does anybody care?” – 1776, Peter Stone, Sherman Edwards

Catherine and I saw Rent recently, a truly depressing movie. Not because of the people that die in the flick (the writing glosses over the characters that perish, so the viewer has to come with their own pain to make the film effective). Rather, the deep sadness of the movie is its philosophy.

The repeated mantra is: “There is only us; there is only this.” While useful when dealing with past regrets, the philosophy becomes a rather selfish one when used to justify short term pleasure – especially at the expense of another’s long term pain.

But it is a hard philosophy to argue against – with logic. This is after all the survival of the fittest, every man for himself, social Darwinism.

But still our hearts rebel – surely life is more than for the self?

Even the makers of Rent rail against the people (who aren’t us) who live in self-centered bubbles.

This puts me in mind of the dilemma facing contemporary Christmas entertainments. (Don’t worry, you will see why soon enough.)

There is an obsession with “the true meaning of Christmas.” Mostly because we can all so easily see what the “false” meanings are. But what do you do when you (or more appropriately, your network or producers) don’t believe that there is a G-d, let alone a Christ, and you are trying to broadcast the “true meaning” of ChristwithoutChristmas?

As one example, the big screen adaptation of How the Grinch Stole Christmas ran into this problem. To help fill two hours, they decided that the whole town of Whosville would be devoid of the true meaning of Christmas. And when it comes time in the story to yahoo-doray, how does the town find the true meaning?

Uh, well, they know that being selfish wasn’t good, so we shouldn’t be, or something, right? There is no model for the true meaning in the preceding ninety minutes, so we have to take it on faith that there is something more to the season than greed and pride.

Most of the others get it a lot better – at least in establishing a good argument against every man for himself. Such as the Scrubs cast’s re-voicing of A Charlie Brown Christmas that has been floating around the internet. (I’d link it here, but it is too crass for little or big ears).

When it comes time for Dr. Cox to step forward and explain the real meaning of Christmas, he tells Dorian to suck it up and acknowledge that he is surrounded by a community of love.

And they’ve established enough community to make you buy it.

So, community, love, peace, joy – that there is Christmas, right?

Or maybe just the very good by-products of Christmas?

I’d argue the latter. I think the original A Charlie Brown Christmas got it right (one of the two reasons I’m giving for it being the best Christmas special ever – reason two tomorrow).

Linus steps forward to answer the question, “Does anybody know what Christmas is all about?” And he tells the simple story of G-d coming to earth as a baby.

The rest – the community and love and charity and peace and goodwill and resting merry and family and eggnog and stockings and wooden shoes and holiday spirit – the rest is all icing.

The cake is this: it isn’t all us, it isn’t all now. We are not alone, and never have to act like it again.

“Is anybody there? Does anybody care?”

Yes. “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a savior, which is Christ the Lord.”

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Good Grief, Part One

I’m not a Grinch.

The Grinch didn’t like Christmas, not one bit. And there is plenty about Christmas that I do like.

I even have my radio tuned to the “All Christmas Music All Month Long” station.

(Of course, it is easier to appreciate carols in December in the years that I do not write a Christmas play. Writing a yuletide play means doing the initial drafts in the spring, rewrites in the summer, and rehearsing in the fall. By December, one can get quite Christmased out.)

No, I am not a Grinch. But I do have mixed feelings about the holidays. I feel a sense of melancholy mixed in with my joy.

Entertainment Weekly recently ran an article on “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas;”
(Issue 912, “There’s Something About Merry”) a melancholy song that is a perennial favorite – perhaps because of the sorrow mixed with the hope in it.

The song was written for “Meet Me in St. Louis,” and comes at a down moment in the flick – as the family is facing a move away from home. Judy Garland sings it to her sister.

There are three versions of the song. The first is fully depressing, with older sister Judy telling the little one that there is no reason in life for joy. “Faithful friends who were dear to us, will be near to us no more.”

Judy Garland begged for lyrics that were a tad more optimistic.

The second version is in the movie, and basically has Judy telling little sis that although things may look bad now, there is hope – “someday soon we all will be together,” and “until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow.”

The third was a rewrite for Frank Sinatra, putting the good times in the present tense, and eliminates the sense of dread in the lyrics. “Through the years we all will be together,” and “Hang a shining star upon the highest bough.”

Version two is the one that resonates with me – is this my inner moderate voting for Christmas?—the one that acknowledges that there are hard times.

And yet…

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Version from "Meet Me in St. Louis" (music and lyrics by Hugh Martin):

Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Let your heart be light
Next year all our troubles will be out of sight
Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Make the yuletide gay
Next year all our troubles will be miles away
Once again, as in olden days
Happy golden days of yore
Faithful friends who were dear to us
Will be near to us once more
Someday soon we all will be together
If the fates allow
Until then, we’ll have to muddle through somehow
So have yourself a merry little Christmas now

What I get about cats:

When I get out of bed in the morning, they look at me like I'm crazy to leave the bed. I think they are right.

What I don't get about cats:

They are allergic to chocolate. How can creatures allegedy so wise be allergic to chocolate? Doesn't seem smart to me.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Still Small Night

I saw The Nativity Story recently.

A pleasant enough of a film, with some serious flaws, and some really fine things to recommend it as well.

One aspect of the film that I truly admired was the recurring theme of finding G-d in stillness.

A story from 1 Kings is recited several times in the film. In the story, Elijah is told to go to the mountain to meet up with G-d. Elijah experiences a great wind, an earthquake and a terrible fire, and G-d is not in any of those things.

Then there is a stillness, and G-d is in the stillness.

The movie plays on that theme by presenting G-d and the heavenlies in subtleness and quietude. No big roaring angel overpowering Mary; no majestic wrath telling Joseph to get his act together. Just a persistent holy presence available for those that would take the time to listen.

The idea doesn’t fully work in the movie (the multitude of heavenly hosts is reduced to a pleasant glow) – but I admire them for trying it.

This season has become the season of busyness, of running around, of doing many doings.

It is a season concerned with how garish we can decorate our houses, how sugared up we can get our kids, how stuffed we can fill our rooms with stuff.

It is about jingle jangle bells, clanging carols and honking car horns.

I’m thinking that maybe the best way to find the meaning for the season is not in shouting “Silent Night” in the hopes of drowning out “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer.”

Maybe it is in hushing, and listening.

And being still.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

A Thousand Thousand Words

I once heard someone argue against taking pictures on vacations. Their thesis was that people become so busy documenting the events of their life, that they don’t take time to actually experience that life.

Then again, I’ve never heard anyone argue against having the pictures after the fact. So as long as my spouse and my siblings ignore experiencing life so that I can have photos, I’m good.

It’s the time of year that tradition mandates pulling out photos to put together the “Christmas Letter.” So my wife gave me the simple task of looking at pictures from my family gathering this summer.

The idea was to skim through the pics that brother Matt had compiled from the siblings cameras, find the two or three that captured the event, and be done with it.

Two complications. One, the skimming didn’t take into account the snap happy nature of my siblings, and I had to go through 945 pictures. Yeah, a picture is worth a thousand words, but a couple of days with my family is worth a thousand pictures.

Second, the reunion was the occasion of my brother’s funeral; and I had left unopened and unviewed the cd of pictures – until now. So the skimming was actually several emotional hours.

Here are two pics from those days that won’t make the annual letter, but are especially meaningful to me.

A sampling of nieces and nephews looking over into the neighbor’s yard. Check out the uncertainty and wonder as they see the “beyond.”

I’d like to think they are looking to the unknown possibilities of the future.

My niece and nephew starting construction on a sand castle. If I’ve got the timing right, this picture was taken while the adults were at the funeral home.

And the next generation is building.

I like that. I like that a lot.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Magically Delicious

This Saturday, MAGIC CASTLE AFTER DARK premieres on A&E at 11am.

This show, produced and directed by friend Jude, goes behind the scenes at the famous magic club in L.A.

Catherine and I volunteered to work for Jude at the Magic Castle for a Katrina benefit a bit ago – and the Castle was amazing. I’ve always had a thing for magic, and knowing that there was a club out there for magicians – what could be better?

As a kid, I bought the card tricks and magic sets. Even did a show for a Boy Scout fundraiser. (I created a character of a failed magician – try to make the ball disappear, and the cup vanishes instead. Try to puncture a quarter with a plastic toothpick, but the toothpick passes through the quarter instead. Try to transform a ten dollar bill into a twenty, and getting increasingly smaller denominations the more I try, until it turns into plain paper. That sort of thing. Hey, the shtick worked well for a dorky kid like me.)

Loved any murder mystery with a magician in it. Thought friend Lisa Wong was the coolest person on earth in part because her dad created magic tricks. (Okay, I was an adult then, but the kid in me never magically disappeared, so there.)

And it was always the “trick” part that I liked – not so much the notion of “real” magic. Supernatural superhero Dr. Strange didn’t do anything for me, and Zatanna was kinda irksome. (She spoke all her spells in the comic books by reciting her wants backwards. Nac uoy kniht fo gnihtyna erom gnitatirri ni a cimoc? Ees tahw I neam?)

So check out MAGIC CASTLE AFTER DARK. Which plays in the morning, which technically is way after dark. See, they are tricking you already.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Eavesdropping

“If I marry someone under a false name, am I still legally married?”

Now, depending on the circumstance, that could be considered a rather odd question.

In fact, if you get that question from your husband after an old friend visits and calls him “Freddie old boy” all day, and you thought his name was Nelson, that is a question that should cause some alarm.

But in my case, it was my friend Jared asking the question, and I knew that this fellow screenwriter was working on a script, so I wasn’t too startled.

However, the woman sitting in the seat between us on the airplane, who didn’t know that Jared was a screenwriter, and didn’t know that Jared and I knew each other—don’t you think she should have been a tad inquisitive?

Instead, she assumed that the question was as much for her as for me, and answered with all she knew about obtaining marriage licenses, along with her guess as to what kind of background check is likely to occur prior to issuance of said license.

She never even asked why Jared would need to know such information. She was too cool for that.

I liked that about her. It made me wonder what it would have taken to rattle her.

Suppose my friend Jim were sitting in the window seat instead of Jared. He might have asked, “If I decapitated a violinist and put my head on the fiddle player’s body, would I know how to perform Tchaikovsky?”

Or Cheryl might have asked, “If I’m dating a deity, and that deity is in fact a trinity, would he be cheating on himself?”

I’d like to think that our helpful stranger would have discoursed on the limitations of muscle memory, or the technicalities of multi-dimensional courting.

I wish I was that cool.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Guest Blogger...

Because of this blog I’ve become addicted to Blick Van Glory’s video for “The Sophomores.” At first I thought I loved it so much because it’s funny, creative and a catchy tune. But yesterday I realized it goes a lot deeper.

I hated sophomore year. High school and college. I couldn’t wait for both of them to end. When you’re a sophomore, you’ve passed a significant milestone — your first year. You feel like you should be better than the freshmen, but they at least have the excitement and giddyness of the new experience going for them. When you’re a sophomore, you’re not a newbie or an upperclassman, and graduation seems like a long way off.

I’ve been living in Hollywood for 7 years. I’ve passed some milestones but the excitement has worn off. I’m a show business sophomore.

This struck me at church yesterday, as it was the second Sunday of advent, when we lit the Bethlehem candle (the “sophomore candle,” as it were). We read the prophecy in Micah 5:2, “But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are small among the clans of Judah, out of you will come for me one who will be ruler over Israel, whose origins are from of old, from ancient times."

This verse proclaimed the hope that was to come for God’s people. Bethlehem was a kind of “sophomore city”, but out of it came the One.

Our hope to come is this — even when we are feeling powerless and discouraged, overlooked in the middle, or like the road is long ahead of us, we have Christ in our hearts. And so, as we go into the world out of us comes the One, the Ruler, the Hope of the World. He has a plan and a purpose, and that plan is that others would see Him emerging from our lives. That’s how He changes the world.

So perhaps if a great host of angels came proclaiming good news to me this season (and you, if you’re a sophomore too) they would sing, “Fear not, fair sophomores, the future leaders of the world...”

-Submitted by Andrea Nasfell

Got this review from Publisher Weekly's site.

Pre-ordered my copy here.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

A Starred Review Coming in PW on Monday, November 27

Through a Screen Darkly: Looking Closer at Beauty, Truth and Evil in the Movies
Jeffrey Overstreet. Regal, $17.99 paper (352p) ISBN 978-0-8307-4315-5

If viewing a film is to be a spiritual exercise, one must be open to conversion. Overstreet, cultural commentator and film critic for Christianity Today, leads readers through his own cinematic conversion in this compelling volume. Overstreet's greatest gift is the masterful way he brings a spirit of discernment to the world of film. For example, determining when sex and violence is artfully employed or when it is just plain gratuitous is not always an easy task. Overstreet uses inspiring anecdotes from his life to show how the process of discerning the content and meaning of films takes patience, prayer and humility. He exhibits all of these traits through his movie commentaries, and invites the reader to set aside biases about what is "properly" Christian and look deeper toward how cinema as an art form affects one's soul. This, according to Overstreet, is the work of God. At times, the author's stories distract from his main point, but his primary goal is one to be celebrated: "I have a strange compulsion to sit down between Christian culture and secular society, trying to help them understand each other—and ultimately, God—better through a shared experience of art." Two thumbs up!(Feb. 8)

Abiding In the Fields

Some folks think the Christmas season begins the first of December; some (in chillier climes) when the first snow falls; some when Santa makes his entrance at the end of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade. (Retailers mark it somewhere in the middle of August.)

For me, it doesn’t feel like Christmas until the pre-schoolers stand in front of the congregation and sing.

This last Sunday, the season began at my church, and I was struck by the many different personality types that become showcased in such an event – much to the chagrin of the personalities’ parents.

It also struck me that they are a metaphor of the many individuals that make up the awkward body called “the Church.”

There are the kids that scream out the lines of the song that they are sure about, hoping perhaps that the volume will cover their lack of singing at other points.

There are the kids that know all the hand motions, but don’t seem to know the words.

Then there are the kids that have the words down pat, but have no idea how to put them into action.

And the kid (why does he always end up front and center?) that knows all the motions, just keeps putting them in the wrong place.

It seems every year that the child closest to the microphone is the one who feels the need to fill the time giving his personal, running monologue, seemingly unaware that he is no longer part of the body around him. He was represented quite well this year.

We also had the youngster that seemed happy at first to be up there, until she realized that she had to perform, so quickly ran crying down the aisle.

And, as a special treat for 2006, we had the kid who was angry that he was being forced to be there, so he petulantly placed his arms akimbo and shouted “No I won’t!” to the mortified mother in the second row.

He did not go unnoticed, as the initially sympathetic child standing next to him encouragingly patted his shoulder, and tried to tell Anger Boy that everything was okay. When the compassion was rebuffed with a “Don’t touch me!”, however, Empathy Lad turned snarky, and began touching (sweetly, of course) with abandon.

There is so much glee to be found in forcing consolation on those that don’t want it.

Next to Anger Boy and Empathy lad was the girl who chose to ignore the problem, turning her back slightly to the boys and raising her voice.

And on the other side of the group, the child who decided that the pre-fab words and motions weren’t enough to pay tribute to the music. So she just closed her eyes, spread her arms wide, and started dancing.

I’ve seen all these kids represented in the body of Christ.

In fact, I’ve been most of them.

Which one are you?

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Note: Photo provided by Andrea, proud mother of Emma, the shepherdess in the center.

Inspired in Traffic

I do a lot of thinking on the road. Maybe because I'm often stuck there on my commute to and from Pasadena. (Lest I sound like I'm the only one in this family who commutes to work, let me admit that Sean sometimes gets tied up by the kitties on his long trek from the bedroom to the office next door.)

So, I'm traveling home this week, stopped, waiting for the Gold Line train, and I see the back of an old car next to me with a dove symbol. First thought: "Oh, a Christian - very cool."

Then, I look closer and the dove is placed right in front of the name of the car (much like the mock-up image below).






Now I think, "How funny - 2 birds next to each other."

Then I think, "How appropriate for the Christian symbolism. The Spirit comes down as a dove and a voice from heaven resounds like thunder."

The ThunderDove. Powerful. Peaceful. Promising. Prophetic.

Make of it what you will. I thought it was pretty cool.

Just my traffic musings,
cath