The Father, a movie review

The last movie I saw was a terrifying horror movie. Not terrifying the way people kept disappearing in the movie Get Out, or the way the home invaders in the movie Us turned out to be all too familiar. It was terrifying because of its brutal – and brutally honest - depiction of an elderly man’s descent into dementia, and because I am at an age when dementia may be looming on the horizon.

The movie, Florian Zeller’s The Father starring Anthony Hopkins, is a story about an independent and stubborn elderly man who is, at least in the beginning, living in his own flat in London. When his daughter, Anne, arrives he refuses to accept the help she is trying to provide in the form of a live-in caretaker. Hopkins, whose character’s name is also Anthony, tells his daughter the caretaker won’t work because, among her other faults, she has stolen his watch, an instrument he obsesses over throughout the movie as though knowing the time is something that can secure his (and our) grasp on reality.   

After Anne leaves, Anthony emerges from his kitchen to find a strange man sitting in his living room, a man who tells Anthony he is Anne’s husband and that they are living, not in Anthony’s flat but in one that belongs to the couple. When Anne returns to the flat, Anthony (and I) fail to recognize her. That’s not the same woman, I thought as I gaped at her in confusion. What’s happening here?

My confusion intensified when an entirely different man is introduced as Anne’s husband (and I was left to wonder if Anne has divorced and remarried). This man cruelly accuses Anthony of ruining Anne’s life and his treatment of Anthony deteriorates from there. (When the same man appears in the background of another scene close to the end of the movie - this time not as Anne’s husband, but as an employee in a nursing home  - a chill ran through me.)

In the final scene of the movie, I watched as Anthony fully realizes the horror of the situation he is in and, as he begins to cry out for his mother, I became aware of two things simultaneously. First, of this man’s extraordinary acting ability, of how, as one critic put it, “all of the magic happens above his neck,” and second, of a real-life man who, with a knee to his neck, also cried out for his mother.

As the credits rolled, I got up from my seat (Did I mention I was the only person in that theater that afternoon?) and walked toward the lobby where I sought the eyes of anyone who would return my gaze, needing at that moment to be, not just fully present, but also seen.

Boundless, A Movie Review

I don't often see a movie and afterward, think of it as sweet. But that was exactly what the last movie I saw was. The movie, Stan and Ollie, was about the comedy team, Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy (also known as “Babe”), who took their careers from vaudeville to silent films, and then to “talkies.” 

As a child, I didn’t see a lot of movies for reasons I discussed in my memoir, Rude Awakening. So, I didn’t see many of their routines, and when I did, I just didn’t “get” slapstick. But as I watched actors Steve Coogan and John C Reilly re-enact the routines of these two song and dance men, I finally “got” it, especially one routine that their manager called “magic.” As I watched it, I realized I was both holding my breath and enthralled.

But, what really worked between Laurel, who wrote most of the material for the act, and Hardy, who was his first and most enthusiastic supporter, was the friendship and love they shared.

As the movie ended, words appeared on the screen telling us about the death of Hardy in 1957, and about how, afterward, Laurel continued to write material for the act until his own death in 1965. Why would he do that? I wondered. I, who wrote an entire book about someone who died, wondered, Why would he do that? Why, indeed?

Dear Elvis, my story about love and loss written as a series of letters to Elvis, is available at amzn.to/2uPSFtE

Tony, Don and Ralph

I recently went to the theater to see two movies which, on the surface, seemed to have nothing in common. Except that they did, the most obvious being that both were stories about “big, strong men.”

The first film was Peter Farrelly’s Green Book, an (almost) true-to-life story about the relationship between Dr. Don Shirley and Tony Vallelonga.

The story begins when Tony is temporarily laid off from his job as – well, as a big, strong man. That is, as a bouncer at the Copacabana in New York City. 

It is 1962 and Tony wants to stay away from the shadier side of his Italian American neighborhood so he accepts a job driving pianist Dr. Don Shirley on a concert tour through the American South. (Oh, did I forget to mention that Dr. Shirley is African American and that Vallelonga is a bona-fida [as I second generation Italian American, I stand by my spelling] bigot?)

Now, I know there is some controversy about the way Dr. Shirley is depicted in this movie and because Tony is the one portrayed as “the hero.” But that was not how I saw it. First of all, Dr. Shirley is not just any musician, he is a prodigy who started playing at the age of two. During his career, he was one of only three pianists who played at the La Scala Opera House in Milan. He also played with (among others) the Chicago Symphony, Boston Pops, the Philadelphia Orchestra, the National Symphony Orchestra, and with Duke Ellington at Carnegie Hall. But for his concert tour, he played a kind of third stream jazz that his audiences (including Tony) loved.

At one point during this movie, both men land in a southern jail that looks remarkably like the one in Mayberry, except that their jailers were nothing like Andy, or even like Barney on his worst day. And it is not Tony who gets them out, but Dr. Shirley who demands his right to make a phone call, which he makes to – wait, I don’t want to spoil it for you!

At another point during this movie Dr. Shirley, who has three doctorate degrees and speaks eight languages, decries that he often feels as though he isn’t “black enough” for some, or “white enough” for others, and seems to be wondering where he fits in. (For me, if Dr. Shirley had a problem fitting in, it wasn’t because he wasn’t black enough or because he wasn’t white enough, but was because he was a genius and most of the rest of us are not.)

The other movie I saw (with my granddaughter Chloe) was Disney’s animated Ralph Breaks the Internet, the story about what happens when Wreck-It-Ralph gets tired of being the bad guy in a video game and wants to become "the hero." To accomplish this, Ralph offers to go to the Internet (Did you know it was a real place?) with his best friend, Vanellope, to help her find a replacement part for her racing game.

This movie is hilarious. My favorite scene occurs when Vanellope drops in on all the Disney princesses and tries to tell them that she’s a princess too:

Pocahontas: What kind of a princess are you?

Vanellope: What kind?

Rapunzel: Do you have magic hair?

Vanellope: No!

Elsa: Magic Hands?

Vanellope:  No!

Snow White: Were you poisoned?

Vanellope: No!

Cinderella: Do animals talk to you?

Vanellope: No!

Rapunzel: Do people assume that all your problems got solved because a big, strong man showed up?

Vanellope: Yes! What’s up with that?

All the Princesses: She is a princess!

I love it!

And I love that the two movies are similar in that they both recognize the giving, healing and loving nature of friendship, and because they recognize that sometimes even big, strong men have to be rescued!

So, I encourage you to go see these movies, especially Green Book, which is billed as (and is) a “feel good” movie - because there just aren’t enough of those around anymore! 

My memoir, Dear Elvis, a story about grief and loss can be found at amzn.to/2uPSFtE

The Love U Keep

It begins with strings:

Andrew: “Do you mind this music? Do you like opera?”

Joe: “I am not that familiar with opera, Andrew.”

Andrew: “This is my favorite aria.”

A female voice begins to sing “La Mamma Morta” as Andrew tells Joe the name of the singer, the opera, the composer:  

“It’s Maria Callus.

Andrea Chenier

Umberto Giodano”

Callas sings, Joe looks at his watch, and Andrew continues:

“This is Maddalena saying how
during the French Revolution 
a mob set fire to her house 
and her mother died 
– saving her.” 
The music slows. 
“Do you hear the heartache in her voice? Can you feel it, Joe?”

The music reaches a crescendo and Andrew bends from the middle as though wounded by the single cello that echoes Maddalena’s grief. 

The camera moves back and shoots from above Andrew’s head and we see the IV pole he is holding. Andrew is dying. He is emaciated. “I was alone,” Andrew continues, explaining it to Joe (as though he were a two-year-old).

“Surrounded by nothingness.

Hunger and misery.

Until love found me and said

‘Live!

You must live.

Heaven is in my eyes.

You are not alone.’”

There is a fireplace in the room casting light and shadow across Joe’s face until, as we watch, Joe not only feels it, he becomes one with it.

The above is, of course, a scene from the movie Philadelphia with Tom Hanks and Denzel Washington, and until last week, it was my all-time favorite movie scene (especially because it is followed by a scene in which Joe goes home, and sees his infant daughter and his wife with new eyes).

I say “until last week” because that was when I saw a scene that rivals the one above as my favorite. The movie is George Tillman Jr’s The Hate U Give, a story about an African American teenager who moves back and forth between her wealthy, white prep school, and her poor black neighborhood and family. Starr Carter (Amandla Stenberg) is the daughter of a strong mother (Regina Hall) and a loving father (Russell Hornsby) who teaches his children both black pride and how to behave in case they are stopped by a policeman.

But Starr’s childhood friend Khalil (Algee Smith) has had no such training and Starr is forced to watch as Khalil, who reaches for a hairbrush, is fatally shot by a policeman. At first Starr is traumatized, then enraged, and finally, she is forced to act.  

In the scene I loved, Starr faces her white, prep-school boyfriend, Chris (KJ Apa), who tells her, “I don’t see color. I see people.” 

And Starr, angry now, replies, “If you don’t see my blackness, you don’t see me.”

“I see you,” Chris says gently as he touches his hand to her face.

And with that Tillman tells us that it is not enough to just see "blackness." We must also isolate and recognize its beauty and applaud its courage.  


My memoir, Dear Elvis, a story about grief and loss can be found at amzn.to/2uPSFtE   

First Reformed, A Movie Review

It has become my habit to take myself out on weekends to dinner and a movie. And lately, I've seen some powerful ones - like Tully and The Rider. But I have the feeling the movie I saw last weekend, First Reformed, is going to stick with me for a long time to come, and I highly recommend it even if I sometimes found it difficult to watch.

First Reformed, is a story about the minister of a small church in upstate New York. Reverend Toller (Ethan Hawke) is a former military chaplain who encouraged his son to join the military and is racked with grief and guilt after the boy dies in Iraq.

The movie begins when a young pregnant woman (Amanda Seyfried) asks the reverend to counsel her husband (Phillip Ettinger) who is an extreme environmentalist who believes it is immoral to bring a child into the world as it exists today and asks Reverend Toller (who has lost a child) if God can forgive us for what we have done to his creation.

The young woman, Mary, fears that her husband is becoming radicalized and violent and then uncovers the evidence to back up that belief. What she discovers in her garage will change not just her life but the lives of her husband and the minister.

This movie begins with a quote from the American monk and mystic, Thomas Merton, who tells us that "it is possible to hold both hope and despair in our minds simultaneously" and doesn't end until it shows us exactly how that is done.

Other members of the cast include Victoria Hill and Cedric(the Entertainer) Kyles.


My memoir, Dear Elvis, is available at amzn.to/2uPSFtE

Chloe and the List Poem

My five-year-old granddaughter, Chloe, came into my room last week for one of her brief, impromptu visits and to see what I was doing.  As it happened, I was channel surfing.  Chloe asked if she could watch Nick Jr, but I wanted to watch Discovery ID.  We compromised by watching Home Alone.    

We sat down together, Chloe beside me, watching the movie until the little boy in the movie, Kevin, slaps himself in the face and screams.  As soon as she saw it, Chloe started laughing.  She laughed so merrily I re-played the scene and then played it again just to hear her laughter.

A few minutes later, however, she grew bored again and ran out of the room to find and hit base with her mother. I continued watching the movie until Kevin used the lines from an old movie to scare away the burglars and the pizza delivery boy. 

It was no wonder then that when Kristina told us in poetry class that our assignment was to write a list poem, I thought of the movie I was watching the night before.  Kristina explained that a list poem is one created from a list, which could be a list of anything – groceries, things to do, or even a list of book titles.  It didn’t matter.  The point was to take the list and create a poem with it.  So, with the movie still fresh in my head, I decided to write a poem using some of the best movie lines ever written and called it -. 

If I Only Had a Brain

Words and Music not
by Toni McCloe

I have always been a sucker for old movies,
great actors, and the lines they speak -
since way back when my sisters took me
to watch Abbott kibitz with Costello.
I cried when Brandon called,
“Shane, Shane, come back.”

Although I was dubious when Brando said

he “coulda been somebody,”

I got Denzel’s

"Explain it to me like I'm a two-year-old." 

And never once doubted that

Gable didn’t give a damn.

I felt the slap when Loretta Castorini told

Nick Cage to snap out of it.  

But nothing prepared me for the shivers I felt when 

Haley Joel said he saw dead people. 

I marveled when Marilyn spoke not a word

as she hung onto the side of that pool,

and how Meg needed only one word to show 

how delighted she was when Harry met Sally. 

But all this thinkin is gittin me plumb tuckered out –

That was a line in a movie once, wasn’t it?

Well, maybe not.

Anyway, that’s all folks,

but I’ll be back – after all

tomorrow is another day

and until then,
may the force be with you.    

My memoir, Dear Elvis, is available at amzn.to/2uPSFtE