Book Review: "The Crossing" by Cormac McCarthy

The Crossing (1994)

5 Stars out of 5

Cormac McCarthy

426 pages

(Spoiler Alert: this review contains some spoilers.)

The wolf is a being of great order and that he knows what men do not: that there is no order in the world save that which death has put there.

“The Crossing”

Cormac McCarthy began his “Borderlands” trilogy in 1992 with “All the Pretty Horses”. Part two of the trilogy is “The Crossing”. I gave part one 5 stars out of 5, I like “The Crossing” so much, I’d like to give part two 6 stars out of 5. In “All the Pretty Horses” we met sixteen year old John Grady Cole, a young man cut loose from the home he grew up in 1947 Texas who is then free to make some choices with his life. In “The Crossing” we move over one state to New Mexico and back in time by about seven years to meet Billy Parham, also sixteen. Both of these young men will make journeys on a road that seems to be of their choosing that will take them across the border into Mexico. And as much as both books use fate as one of their impressive list of themes, there does seem to be a significant difference between John Grady Cole’s choice and that of Billy Parham: John Grady makes his own choice to make the crossing into Mexico and his future, Bill Parham seems much more drawn down that road; his journey is much more an act of fate than one of choice.

“The Crossing” is told in three parts, the second and third parts each repeating part one to some degree; but with each iteration there is a ratcheting upwards of the sense of indifferent malice from the land and some of its people that Billy must re-face each time. In Billy’s first trip and the book’s first section, McCarthy has written a story that could easily stand alone as novella. Billy is introduced to the reader along with Billy’s younger brother Boyd and their two parents. The Parham family ranches for a living in southern New Mexico; close enough to Mexico that the distant Sierra de la Madre Mountains can be seen. The Parham cattle are being preyed upon by a wolf and the Parhams must trap her (for it is indeed a “her”; a pregnant “her”) and put her down to save their cattle. It is the closing years of the Great Depression and there is little room for sympathy for the needs of the wolf or her unborn pups. As in previous McCarthy books the fact that this is the end of the Depression is a multi-faceted component to the unfolding scenes. It not only tells the reader of the financial hardships abroad in the land, but it also hearkens to a familiar McCarthy theme: the end of an era; one in this case that parallels the soon to be ending cowboy era. In any event, the Parham’s must find a way to trap the she-wolf and they quite frankly lack the means or the knowledge to do so.

The Parham’s learn of a trapper that lived alone in the mountains. Billy and his father find the lost trapper’s cabin. He’s gone along with the era of trapping, but not his medieval collection of tools. Billy will use these various traps and McCarthy will utilize his storehouse of knowledge as regards the various traps and techniques necessary to trap the wolf. It will take Billy’s ingenuity as well as the traps to capture the wolf, but once he has done so, he determines to take her back to her presumed home in Mexico. This quixotic trip is the first indication of the forces that propel Billy. He tells no one of his impending trip except a chance stranger that he meets along the way. Why would Billy feel so strongly about the wolf that he would leave his family without a word to take her on what must needs be a hopeless journey? Billy seems as much in thrall to some force, some fate drawing him southward as the wolf is to Billy. Billy has been drawn not just southward but also into one of the “doomed enterprises [that] divide lives forever into the then and the now”. He will have three such enterprises within this book.

Once Billy reaches Mexico during each of his three trips he is confronted with a vibrant mélange of people and events: circuses and gypsies, fiestas and revolutionaries, pilgrims, bandits and horsemen, rich and poor, male and female, old and young. It is this last comparison that McCarthy dwells upon repeatedly throughout the “Borderlands” trilogy: he will always use a young man just starting his journey through life filled with innocence and hope and have that young man interact with a series of old people (generally but not always, men) filled with the tears and disappointments of their years. Billy will meet on this first journey an old Mormon missionary, an aged Mexican trapper, and on a later journey a blind man with this summary of life:

“The light of the world was in men’s eyes only, for the world itself moved in eternal darkness and darkness was its true nature and true condition and that in this darkness it turned with perfect cohesion in all its parts but that was naught there to see.”

Is this intended by McCarthy to be his own bitter assessment of reality as seen through his inner old man’s eyes? Is he trying to talk to his inner younger man with his sober view of the universe? And if so, would he have his younger self be the ox in this other view of life by an Amerindian carter met by Billy:

"The ox was an animal close to God as all the world knew and that perhaps the silence and the rumination of the ox was something like the shadow of a greater silence, a deeper thought" and that in any case "the ox knew enough to work so as to keep from being killed and eaten and that was a useful thing to know."

Perhaps, McCarthy would like his inner younger man to simply accept life as it is; don’t try to explain the universe, don’t put yourself out there and expose yourself to the murderous possibilities of an indifferent world; don’t confuse your dreams of hope with the universe’s dark realities. McCarthy has further tests for Billy that will explore this concept. In Billy’s second journey into Mexico, he will take his younger brother, Boyd. A young man that Billy will assert is the better of the two brothers: smarter, harder, and wiser than Billy. Boyd will in time make his choices and they will feel like choices not some irresistible draw of fate. Billy’s choice (if indeed it was a choice) to take the wolf back to Mexico led ultimately to death, and Boyd’s choice to “flee” into Mexico will also so lead. The other consequence of Boyd’s decision will again force Billy to make a third trip into Mexico. All three trips will seem to be utterly hopeless, as if Billy were a modern Don Quixote; but drawn as Billy is to his dream or his fate, he will go into Mexico, into “that antique gaze from whence there could be no way back forever.” Billy will make it back and will indeed make into part three of the trilogy, but few of his various companions will do so.

Like the other two parts of McCarthy’s stunningly brilliant trilogy, the reader is feted with a “cowboy” story; there are bad men, good men of honor, lots of horses and horse knowledge. But only in a McCarthy novel is the reader treated to such a thoughtful exploration of the differences between dreams and reality, between the hopes of innocent youth and the bitter realities of the aged, and of the use of the “road” as a metaphor for growth from youth into adulthood. These three books are a kind of unique “bildungsroman” where the youth in question is not the one growing to maturity; he is instead a metaphor for man so growing. The road McCarthy wants the reader to take is presumably the one he has taken, a kind of Buddhist’s willingness to let go of our perception (our dream) of reality and to accept that the Universe has its secrets and we are little more than an ox in terms of ever understanding, let alone changing that deeper, darker reality. Yes, the world man lives in can be mean, cruel and corrupt, but it can also be the simple altruism of a shared meal with a hungry stranger. So, just let go and accept it.

This book, this trilogy is not going to be for every reader, but I think for me, it was in some ways life altering in terms of how one might look at reality. I can’t really recommend it as a cowboy yarn; it might seem to be one, but it isn’t really. This is an artful book that uses beautiful language to explore some of the root existential thoughts that plague man. McCarthy draws his conclusions in each book and reaches a cathedral of thought in the epilog of “Cities of the Plains”, the third part of the trilogy. Whether you as the reader will come to the same conclusions as McCarthy is obviously an open question; what is not, in my opinion is that this trilogy is a monumental work that combines McCarthy’s earthbound view of gritty reality with an ethereal though dark and indifferent view of the philosophy of existence.

Needless to say, I recommend it strongly.

Book Review: "Alexander Hamilton" by Ron Chernow

Alexander Hamilton (2004)

5 Stars out of 5

Ron Chernow

818 pages

“Justice shall be done to the memory of my Hamilton”

Eliza Hamilton

In this presidential election year of 2016, I wonder what the average American thinks when they think of our “founding fathers”? I imagine most Americans no matter their educational attainments could name a few characteristics of George Washington, maybe a few for Thomas Jefferson, but who else? This presumed American voter might well know that Alexander Hamilton (AH) is on our ten dollar bill, but would they connect the link from the 10 dollar bill to AH’s role as our first Secretary of Treasury; to him laying the foundations for the American economic juggernaut that America is today? As I drill down further to the details of our country’s formative years, and ignoring for the moment the specifics of AH’s role, how many modern Americans know how close it was for our country to emerge from our long War of Independence from England into a near fatal series of political and economic skirmishes (if not in fact minor wars). Skirmishes that were to define in much greater detail what our nascent country would be like: a strong centralized government overseeing a manufacturing-based economy or a decentralized, agrarian chain of states only loosely connected for defense or economy. Ron Chernow’s 2004 biography of AH entitled “Alexander Hamilton” seeks to delve deeply into the psychologies of all the major proto-American Founding Fathers and to a large extent carefully explore all the political events in late 18^th century America in his remarkable effort to answer these questions.

Chernow’s biography of AH contains, as one would expect, many features and aspects of Hamilton’s personal life that are enlightening about Alexander Hamilton. However, the most amazing thing to me as a reader is not Chernow’s well described American War of Independence but rather the aforementioned struggle after the war as the young country sought to govern itself via the Articles of Confederation. This unfortunate document with its utter inability to unite the new country as was partially demonstrated in the original battle over state’s rights (incredibly led by the State of New York and not the South!) versus a strong federal government; a strong central government that was sorely needed to properly unite the country into the United States of America. The cure for this legal and national identity malaise was the US Constitution. Again, how many modern Americans know what a close thing it was to get the US Constitution approved, let alone the use of a Constitutional Convention as an “end run” to overcome the opposition of local power brokers such as the Governor of New York, George Clinton? (As is so often the case, Clinton merely saw the changes that would be brought by the new Constitution as erosion to his personal power – the safety and security of the US were of secondary importance to Clinton.)

The most influential tool in terms of getting the Constitution approved (and it was never a sure thing) were the Federalist Papers. This incredible collection of papers was written by future Supreme Court Justice John Jay, the Constitution’s author James Madison, and most significantly in terms of effort and persuasion, Alexander Hamilton. The authorship of the 85 papers was kept secret at the time, though subsequent scholarship has shown that Jay has written 5, Madison 29, and AH 51. While the Federalist Papers would not only prove to be a singular factor in getting the Constitution approved, they have also been referred to by many scholars as the defining document that describes American governmental philosophy. The only weakness in Chernow’s book, if there is indeed a weakness, is that he spends rather too little time examining the various Federalist papers and AH’s philosophical opinions that informed his writing. Instead, Chernow preferred to comment again and again on how hard a worker AH was as he frequently marveled at AH’s work ethic. I’ll grant him this point, but will recommend the reader to Forest McDonald’s 1979 biography on AH as a better examination of the philosophical underpinnings to AH and the Federalist Papers.

Where Chernow shines is in his exploration of the events that led AH to be such a intellectual powerhouse in early America. Hamilton’s story begins on the West Indian islands of St. Croix and Nevis where AH will learn to despise slavery, to admire personal and national industry, and where one of AH’s personal defects will begin to take root: reflexive defensiveness over his reputation and honor. He was born to a ne’er do well fourth son (James) of a Scottish Laird and an already married English/French woman (Rachel Faucette). One aspect of Rachel’s situation was that her first husband (Johann Lavien) treated her so brutally she had to flee from him (and her son by Lavien). The consequence of this desertion by Rachel was that Lavien held all the legal powers as he sought to further destroy poor Rachel (and her later children) in court. As such, the unfortunate AH and his older brother (James) were legally described as bastards – their parents’ “marriage” never being sanctioned by the local law due to the first husband’s legal opposition. This event in AH’s life might well have played a significant role in his later years in America where he would fight every assault on his honor, no matter how insignificant. Little did he know but young AH’s troubles were just beginning. His father James (legitimate or not) would abandon Rachel and the two boys while AH was only 10. His mother would die two years later and the loving (though depressed) cousin that would take the boys in after Rachel's death would shortly thereafter commit suicide. And just to make an absolute mess of their situation, the newly orphaned and then re-orphaned boys would have what few assets they had inherited from their mother claimed by Lavien – all according to the local Danish law. Rachel was declared a whore (again thanks to Lavien) in the eyes of the law, the boys’ bastards, and all their assets seized. Pretty cool law, don’t you think?

This is where one of the oddities of AH really begins to appear. He is hard working and immensely intelligent; all quite at odds with his dissolute father and dim-witted brother; though it must be noted, not at all at odds with a very close childhood friend. Chernow notes that maybe AH’s mother did get around and quite possibly the Scottish Laird’s son was not actually AH’s father, but was instead a very successful neighbor and father to AH’s closest childhood friend/”brother”. In any event, AH’s abilities catch the eyes of several import/export businessmen. They will pave and pay the way for AH to attend college at Kings’ College (later Columbia) in New York City. AH will move there, never to return to the West Indies. He will excel at college as he begins an academic path to the law. Before he finishes school though, the American War of Independence will begin.

AH will seek opportunity to fight the English as a captain of artillery. He will have a couple of chances to prove his mettle; one chance even occurring during the final battles at Yorktown. But his real skills as a manager and tireless writer will come to the attention of George Washington. His abilities will prove so valuable to Washington that Washington will actively work to prevent AH’s desired move to an active military position. Such frustrations will play havoc with their relationship – at least from AH’s point of view. Chernow will make it exceedingly clear that this period in AH’s life is a crucial one for him and for Washington. The bottom-line being that the steadiness and reserve of Washington will pair very well with the frantic and intellectual AH, and further Chernow believes that neither man would have succeeded without the other. This point will be made again when Washington will serve as America’s first president (something that AH worked over and again to convince Washington to do) and AH as the first Secretary of the Treasury.

Chernow will expend the remaining bulk of his book examining the post-war and Presidential years of Washington and Adams and of AH’s immense influence over both administrations (though Adams little knew of it at the time). There were at least two significant lessons learned by AH during the war: during the winter at Valley Forge, AH experienced in painful detail the inability of American industry to either build the needed implements of war or to supply whatever they did manufacture them to the struggling army; the second lesson was AH’s frustration with the manner in which the war was administered by “committee” from Philadelphia. Hamilton would take both of these wartime experiences to create within his mind a theory if not  necessarily a detailed plan to forge a home-grown industrial base during his tenure as Secretary of the Treasury and to argue forcibly during the Constitutional Convention for a strongly centralized government with a leader that had near monarchial powers. AH did not get all he wanted in terms of the future President’s powers, and quite possibly he created a number of life-long enemies during the convention’s battles over doctrine and law, but because of the force of his will and the strength of his logic, the future American government and economy were considerably improved. One might even be tempted to suggest that his influence set the stage for an American government that would succeed where it would have otherwise completely failed, quite possibly leading to a splintering of the nation into a variety of mini-nations or even to renewed domination by England.

In Washington’s first administration, AH will try to create a new United States of America based on a manufacturing economy rather than the agrarian utopia sought by Thomas Jefferson and former AH Federalist Papers ally James Madison. Before Hamilton could get to his vision of a robust industrial economy, he needed to solve an intransigent problem that was badly eroding the cohesiveness of the country: war time debt. Some of the states (notably Virginia) had managed their debt, while others had big problems. These divisions were largely though not completely along North/South lines. AH’s solution was two-fold: nationalize the debt and create a national bank. Some of the states felt they had handled their debt and argued against bailing out those that did not, but it was as much a philosophical argument that split the country: what is the role of government in the economy. Jefferson, Madison, and fellow Virginian Monroe were staunchly opposed to the bank. Their supporters would argue that their opposition was based on philosophy; their opponents would argue it was out of political and economic self-interest. Was their opposition rooted in a desire to protect a slave-based economy, an opposition against to non-local governance, or just simply personal enmity directed to AH and his personality? You will find biographers that will support their subject materials point of view and deride their opponents. And one thing you will readily grasp from Chernow’s book is that he most definitely shares Hamilton’s antipathy towards Jefferson and Madison. Consider the following:

“It is a testimony to the political genius of Thomas Jefferson and James Madison that they diverted attention from the grisly realities of southern slavery by casting a lurid spotlight on Hamilton’s system as the paramount embodiment of evil. They inveighed against the concentrated wealth of northern merchants when southern slave plantations clearly represented the most heinous form of concentrated wealth. Throughout the 1790s, planters posed as the tribunes of small farmers and denounced the depravity of stocks, bonds, banks, and manufacturing—the whole wicked apparatus of Hamiltonian capitalism.”

One thing is certain for every reader that studies Chernow’s book is that the reader will truly understand and appreciate Alexander Hamilton’s role in forging the foundations of our country. He may not have a statue in his honor in Washington DC. He may have had had his history tarnished by political enemies that outlived him by 25 years or more and who as a result could polish in print their accomplishments as they tarnished Hamilton’s. Hamilton may have transitioned in his later years from an optimist to one suffering from depression and overly concerned about his honor (even leading to his fatal appointment with Aaron Burr in Weehawken NJ), but no one who reads Chernow’s book will doubt the immense debt modern Americans owe this man for his role (if for nothing else) in establishing an economic system that allowed America to transition within a span of 75 years to being one of the world’s manufacturing powerhouses. Possibly you may not agree with Talleyrand who considered Hamilton to be one of the three greatest leaders of their shared era, but you will almost certainly agree that AH’s legacy is one sadly under-studied by modern Americans. I think, too you will believe as I do, that Chernow has finished the job alluded to above by Hamilton’s widow, Eliza.

Chernow has written four books on banking and three on political history, the 2011 book on George Washington earning him the Pulitzer Prize for biography. Chernow’s explorations of political philosophies may be somewhat superficial, but his examination of the psychologies involved, at least as manifested in this book on Alexander Hamilton places this author near the top of my list of favorite biographers. I strongly recommend this book to every reader interested in American history, and personally look forward to reading his book on George Washington.

Movie Review: "Steve Jobs"

Steve Jobs (2015)

R

3.5 Stars out of 5

Director                                Danny Boyle
Writer                                   Aaron Sorkin (screenplay); Walter Isaacson (book)
Cinematography                 Alwin Küchler
Film Editing                          Elliot Graham
Music                                    Daniel Pemberton

Michael Fassbender           Steve Jobs
Kate Winslet                        Joanna Hoffman
Seth Rogen                          Steve Wozniak                   
Jeff Daniels                          John Sculley
Michael Stuhlbarg              Andy Hertzfeld
Katherine Waterson          Chrisann Brennan
Perla Haney-Jardine           Lisa Brennan, age 19
Ripley Sobo                          Lisa Brennan, age 9
Makenzie Moss                   Lisa Brennan, age 5



  “It's not binary. You can be decent and gifted at the same time.”

Steve Wozniak

Is the Danny Boyle/Aaron Sorkin 2015 biopic on Steve Jobs entitled “Steve Jobs” a very well made film? Yes, unquestionably it is. There is superb acting by its two leads, Michael Fassbender and Kate Winslet. There is remarkable cinematography and set design to go along with a brilliant score and film editing. In fact, I think the direction by Boyle and much of the writing by Sorkin are also great. But why Sorkin or Boyle would somehow think that this film was based on the absolutely brilliant 2011 biography “Steve Jobs” by Walter Isaacson is utterly beyond me. I have read elsewhere that Boyle vigorously defends his interpretation of Jobs’ life as shown in this film, and that’s perfectly fine by me. But I am stretched to the breaking point in my efforts to line up this film’s character arc with the depiction of Jobs made by Isaacson. It is a good film, but it is art spiced with only some veracity. If a movie goer wishes to be entertained with Boyle’s and the cast’s artistic abilities, then sure, see this movie, it is worth the effort. But if you want to actually learn who Steve Jobs was, take the time to read Isaacson’s book. That too is really worth the effort.

The Boyle/Sorkin team took three events from Jobs’ professional life that were all Apple product introductions and used these three events to trace a largely imaginary journey through time by their version of Steve Jobs and his relationship to his first-borne child, Lisa Brennan. The first event was Jobs’ introduction of the Macintosh. During this part of the movie, the best part of the movie as it lies the closest to historical fact. Jobs as played by Michael Fassbender is shown to be utterly in charge of his team. No matter that what he wants is illegal (turning off the Exit sign lights), or technically impossible (fixing a bug in the software in too short a time period), or inhumanely cruel to his first born 5 year old daughter Lisa (Makenzie Moss). Moss does a fine job of endearing herself to the audience; not so much to Jobs the character. Jobs endlessly (and within earshot of Lisa) insists to Lisa’s mother, Chrisanne (Katherine Waterson) that Lisa is not his daughter. The argument is painful to watch for the audience and for the characters standing near the distraught mother and insensitive father.

These opening scenes depict with some accuracy Jobs’ intellect for detail and memory, his unconquerable drive for control, and his seeming utter lack of empathy for all around him, even for the feelings of a five year old clearly in awe of him. The scene is directed with a frantic energy that goes well with the typical Aaron Sorkin script of rapid fire dialogs and sudden changes of direction in the content of those conversations. Also working well in these early parts of the movie (indeed the whole movie) is the editing which will be used to cross-cut from the present product show to scenes early in the history of Wozniak and Jobs. Yet one more key aspect of these early scenes and again during the whole movie, but especially so in these scenes used to set the tone for the movie is the driving, pulsating score. The editing and music that is used throughout the movie are great and near essential elements in creating a sense of frantic pacing; a kind of peak into the presumed swirling maelstrom of Steve Jobs’ frenetic mind.

The early scenes are essential also for establishing the character of Apple’s VP of Marketing, Joanna Hoffman (Winslet), lead software engineer, Andy Herztfeld (Michael Stuhlbarg), and Apple co-founder and lead hardware engineer, Steve Wozniak (Seth Rogen). All three of these roles are well played, surprisingly so by Rogen as he does so without a trace of his usual levity. However, all three characters really strike me as little more than foils to display some aspect of Jobs’ malformed personality. Hoffman may be a VP of marketing but in this movie she seems to be little more than Jobs’ “girl Friday” in terms of what she does, as well as the only one with the gumption and permission to argue with Jobs. Hertzfeld plays the unrecognized and unappreciated male friend to Jobs, willing to jump in unasked and play the back-up role of father to the neglected Lisa. And Wozniak is simply the nerd that once built Apple’s first successful computer, the Apple II, and is now reduced to doing little more than publically screaming for recognition of that fact. None of these roles bear much resemblance to the descriptions written by Isaacson in the book that allegedly is the basis for this movie.

The movie will now introduce John Sculley (Jeff Daniels) as the new CEO for Apple. In the book and presumably in real life, Jobs went on one of his relentless drives to get his way; this time to get Sculley to leave Pepsico and come to Apple. Initially, it was a mutual love-fest. Jobs would repeatedly complement Sculley, telling him how much Apple needed his expertise. And in the book far more so than in the movie, Sculley would reciprocate, telling Jobs just how much Sculley admired Jobs and how much his flattery meant to him. The movie will work somewhat well in the movie’s second act which displays the irony of how Sculley will orchestrate Apple’s “firing” of Jobs. It is a complicated tale, somewhat described by the movie. What the movie does more than actually detail the situation and maneuver’s used to disenfranchise Jobs is talk more about the ambiguity of the transition: Jobs will insist Sculley fired him, Sculley will aver that the board did so, not Sculley. This fracas is turned into a he did/she did imbroglio without very much insight into what actually happened. This then is my primary complaint about the movie. It is a movie about how things feel and not a movie about how things happened. Again, it is a work of art, not an actual biography.

However frustrating the second act was, the concluding act is an absolute travesty of the truth. Jobs returns to Apple after a stint at NeXT and Sculley has left Apple in disgrace. At this point in the movie, and following the success of the Apple II, Sorkin wants us to believe Jobs has had only failures: the Macintosh at Apple (the putative cause for Jobs’ ejection from Apple) and the DOA computer from his new company NeXT). The movie leaves out completely Jobs’ successes at Pixar and further wants us to believe that Jobs’ plan all along at NeXT was to manipulate events such that Apple would be forced to come after Andy Hertzfeld’s OS used at NeXT; and to do so, they would be required to take back Jobs and fire Sculley. As with the rest of the movie, there may be some underlying truths in this version, but it is such a skeletonized version of what actually took place, that it is essentially false. However, the most aggravating thing about the movie is not this timeline in the third act. Instead, the biggest problem is that in the interest of a happy ending for someone who was neurotically un-empathic, Sorkin uses Jobs’ return to Apple as a means to provide his character with a clear and positive arc.

After returning to Apple, we meet Jobs again preparing for another product showing, this time for the iMac. We will see him have one more argument with Wozniak about recognizing the Apple II engineering staff. We will see him again arguing with people about the presentation that is about to be given, albeit Jobs has a softer tone this time. And we will again see Ms. Hoffman trying to get Jobs to reconcile with Lisa. As she does so, we will also see once again Jobs verbally flay Hertzfeld, this time for trying to displace Jobs as Lisa’s father – or so it will be seen by Jobs. None of these portrayals seem out of character for anyone. The problem is the inevitable (for Hollywood) reconciliation between Jobs and Lisa. It will be somewhat arduous, but just as surely as the real Jobs would always get his way, he will reconcile with Lisa. She will (now played at 19 by Perla Haney-Jardine) refuse at first to see him, then she will but angrily so, she will  then stomp away, and then after a “big reveal” conversation on a rooftop agree to watch his presentation from back stage. This was something she had asked repeatedly to do earlier in her life at age 9 (Ripley Sobo). The closing scene, as nicely done as it was emotionally, will show Jobs turning from his iMac audience to walk briskly towards Lisa standing in the shadows. Nice and heartwarming, and quite frankly I would hope something like that happened. Problem is it evidently didn’t happen. Lisa and Jobs would remain essentially alienated until the day of his death.

So what is “Steve Jobs” the movie? It is not a biography and for that matter is not even in my opinion an accurate portrayal of the actual arc of his emotional life. Left out of the movie completely is the primary person that had a late-in-life positive effect on Jobs’ personality, his wife, Laurene Powell. Jobs would have three children by her, a boy and two girls. According to Isaacson, Jobs’ personality did improve in terms of improving empathy in the years following his marriage to Powell. And he would improve considerably his fathering skills with the three legitimate children he had with Powell; especially so with his only son. Thus, an argument might be made that the Boyle/Sorkin tale sort of, kind of tells the truth: Jobs did learn to some degree to be a father. That being said, the falseness of this movie is so striking, I cannot review it for its artistic merits alone; which are strong. I would have liked to have given this movie 4.5 out of 5 rather than the 3.5 out of 5 I have settled on. The technical merits and artistic qualities of this movie are high, but its fundamental link to the truth is so shaky, I came away from this movie deeply disappointed. Watch this movie if you wish to see professional movie makers at work, but read Isaacon’s book if you really want to learn about Jobs and the industry he so thoroughly influenced.

Book Review: "Post Captain" by Patrick O'Brian

Post Captain (1972)

3 Stars out of 5

414 Pages

Patrick O’Brian

 

"falsum in unam, falsum in omnibus”

"false in one thing, false in all things".

Roman Law

 

We first met O’Brian’s two heroes Captain Jack Aubrey and Naval Surgeon Steven Maturin in the first book of their 20 book series, "Master and Commander" (1969). In this first book, the reader was treated to O’Brian’s mixture of actual historical naval events during the Napoleonic Wars of the late18th/early 19^th century. He also brought an interesting mix of personalities: the rash on land/brilliant at sea Aubrey and the deeply reflective and conflicted (over at sea naval procedures) Maturin. O’Brian reprises many of these elements in the second book in the series, “Post Captain” (1972); he also works hard to add a touch of Jane Austen-like characters and motifs to this sequel. Taken in pieces, O'Brian's homage to his favorite author Austin, improves nicely the range of topics and emotions used in the first book. But there is a downside, and that is the overall dramatic arc to this book is damaged.

“Post Captain” is more like a series of novellas linked by the inclusion of its two protagonists than like a cohesive novel consisting of minor story arcs that are brought together in a final denouement. In the opening section, we meet Aubrey ashore – always a problem for him and this novel will prove it to be markedly true. Aubrey lives with Maturin in a rented country house. They are seemingly happy and in Aubrey’s case, quite wealthy. He did quite well in terms of naval prizes in book 1 and is now living the life of a country gentleman as he awaits his presumed de rigueur promotion to Post Captain. Aubrey is “courted” by a local mother of three young women. She is Mrs. Williams and of her three daughters, Sophia is the eldest and the one Mrs. Williams most wants to make a match with to Aubrey. There is also a cousin, Dianna Villiers – she of no name or wealth, a kind of foundling to Mrs. Williams. Dianna is also quite saucy for the times, as she will prove time and again as she verbally jousts with Maturin.

Alas, poor Aubrey’s fortune quickly evaporates, and having done so, Mrs. Williams ensures Sophia is no longer on the market for Aubrey. In keeping with his poor ashore decision making skills Aubrey turns his eyes on Dianna, who has by now become a point of intense fascination to Maturin. This conflict will test the strong friendship/love of Maturin and Aubrey, leading to the brink of a duel to the death. However, Dianna will soon also be off the market to both men as she is more attracted to a third, and in a later act of Aubrey’s unusual skills and bravery at sea, the duel which had been put on hold will quietly fall to the side as the two men resume their long running relationship of trust and affection. These scenes will be played out over the length of the novel, but will be unfortunately be so haphazardly included in the novel’s narrative that much of the emotional weight of the dissension between the two men and even more so, their reconciliation will be lost to the reader. There is some literary gold within these sections as O’Brian will to some degree accurately emulate Austin’s astute observations of class distinction and behavior. He is far less effective in copying Austin’s exquisite command of 19^th century English dialog. O’Brian’s efforts are noteworthy, nevertheless.

One consequence of Aubrey’s newly acquired penniless state is that throughout the remainder of the book, he will spend almost all of his time ashore dodging the various bailiffs sent to collect him for his debts. In one amusing episode, he will actually order one of his crew to impress into the naval service one of the very men sent to arrest Aubrey. However, the biggest consequence of Aubrey’s need for money is a greatly magnified need to return to duty in the navy. And again, we are given the opportunity to witness how clumsy Aubrey is ashore as he fruitlessly seeks a ship and command. Aubrey will enter into badly couched arguments with the First Lord of the Admiralty (Earl St. Vincent) and will end up merely antagonizing the very man he should have been courting. The scenes are useful also in that they describe the politics of the time (Aubrey’s father is in Parliament and a member of the opposition) as well as the unfortunate fate of many former ship captains. The biggest problem for Aubrey and the other former captains is that the English Navy is flush with captains deserving a promotion to Post Captain and/or to a ship. The reason there so many in want is that this book takes place during the Treaty of Amiens – and ironically, this time of peace has set many former captains adrift as the English Navy simply has no need for a large navy during this interregnum between wars. That will soon change.

During the final stages of the peace, Aubrey and Maturin are visiting a former foe in the French navy; visiting him in France. While there, the peace treaty falls to pieces, and the French government now firmly in the hands of Napoleon orders the arrest of all the Englishmen in France. Thus ensues another comical interlude as Maturin adopts the role of bear trainer and Aubrey the guise of said bear. They will make a serio-comic journey out of France to neutral Spain where Maturin owns an estate. They will in time make it back to England where Aubrey will be given (finally) a ship, but no promotion. This ship unlike all others in the book is a fictional ship, the Polychrest. The Polychrest was built for a special weapon system that was later abandoned. A key element to the Polychrest’s unique architecture is that she lacks a true stern; both ends of this ship appear to be bows. Such a design will require expert seamanship on the part of the captain and his crew. Unfortunately for Aubrey, the same First Lord of the Admiralty that gave him this ship (the same he previously antagonized) has also given Aubrey no crew of seasoned sailors. Aubrey will create a crew but they will be far from experienced including as they do many impressed “sailors” such as the aforementioned bailiff.

O’Brian’s point in creating this scenario is to of course highlight just how skilled at sea Aubrey is. He will do so of course. He will also prove his sense of right and wrong as he makes decisions that will make the highly avaricious First Lord Vincent angry. These actions and decisions of Aubrey will take a feared and highly capable privateer (the Bellone) out of action pleasing many English merchants that had been preyed upon by the Bellone, but because no prize ships were captured, Vincent will vent once more his spleen at poor Captain Aubrey. Undeterred, Aubrey will take the Polychrest out on a mission not far removed from a suicide mission. He will succeed in the books’ best described naval action and in doing so, he will also succeed in capturing a French frigate, the Fanciulla, though he will lose the unfortunate Polychrest. In an act characteristic of the morally upright Aubrey, he will recommend captaincy of the Fanciulla be given to his First Lieutenant (Mr. Parker) and not to himself. However, brighter days lie ahead for the honorable Aubrey.

A consequence of the resumption of the war is the replacement of the venal Vincent with the far more focused Lord Melville; a man that greatly admires both Aubrey and Maturin. Maturin has recently in other story arcs within this book displayed his capabilities to Melville and others inside the English military hierarchy of his abilities as an English spy. The success of which will now help earn Aubrey his long awaited promotion to Post Captain and to a temporary captaincy of the HMS Lively. Again Aubrey will be placed into a situation where he must prove himself not just an able seaman but far more importantly, an able commander of men. The Lively is an extremely capable ship and her crew just as much so. Her previous captain is away for a short period of time as he works as a MP in Parliament. Thus Aubrey must shape this new crew to his tastes and do so without disturbing an already finely tuned crew. One thing he finds out about this crew is that as good as they are at seamanship they are woefully inexperienced in naval warfare – he has his goal now, and he exercises it and the crew superbly. All of this will lead to a final confrontation at sea between a four ship English squadron sent to intercept a Spanish squadron approaching Spain with a cargo of New World gold. If the gold reaches Spain, the Spanish will throw in with the French. It is a clever use of actual history and a final (for this book) chance for Aubrey to prove his skills. You know he will do so, but as in the first book, you cannot be 100% certain of just how Aubrey and Maturin will excel in this last engagement.

You will have to read the book to find out. You won’t be disappointed if you enjoy stories of moral and physical courage. Aubrey and Maturin are nothing but fine examples of both at sea. Their misadventures ashore as they both seek the hand of the quixotic Dianna, or as Aubrey and Sophia seek some kind of relationship despite Aubrey’s new penury might shake your opinion of them; certainly of the ashore maladapted Aubrey. As a reader you might ask yourself, are these characters believable or at least consistent? I believe you will agree they are. I especially liked the philosophical debate the Irishman Maturin engages in regarding the poetry of fellow Irishman Ossian, and how he is countered by Scotsman, First Lieutenant McDonald. Their discussion of a principle of Roman Law plays very effectively against the flaws of several of the characters within this book. It also helps to highlight the mixture of strengths and weaknesses possessed by the redoubtable Aubrey. Just what is he exactly: a sad fool ashore, but brilliant leader of men at sea? It would seem so, and perhaps he is the exception that proves the rule with respect to the Roman principle just mentioned.

Where you may share a negative opinion with me is that this book suffers from two flaws: O’Brian consistently disappoints in his segue descriptions on a small scale (they are far too abrupt) and as noted previously, at least in this book, in linking properly the various vignettes and in doing so with a pacing that leads to a major climax to the overall story presented in this book. I did like this book, and if I consider the various sub-sections as standalone stories, this book is comparable to “Master and Commander” in quality. If I look for a complete artfully designed full length novel, I walk away from this book somewhat disappointed; not so much I won’t read book 3, but still with some dismay.

Book Review: "An American Tragedy" by Theodore Dreiser

An American Tragedy (1925)

4.5 Stars out of 5

Theodore Dreiser

859 pages

(Spoiler Alert: this review contains many spoilers.)

“What matter it if a man gaineth the whole world and loseth his own soul?”

An American Tragedy

Theodore Dreiser’s 1925 novel, “An American Tragedy” might at times seem to the reader more like an Epic than a tragedy. What happens to one of the characters, not the central character, in this epic-length novel (over 800 pages), certainly is tragic. But this book reminds me due its intimate exploration of the mind of a murderer much more of Edgar Allan Poe’s 1824 short story, “The Tell Tale Heart” than a true tragedy like Leo Tolstoy’s “Anna Karenina” (1877). It is equally a brilliant study of an immature mind that once set free from the rigid strictures of its youth makes one bad decision after another; it is a mind that is always seeking self-gratification and is simultaneously utterly unaware of the needs of those around him. It might well be a tragic path that this story’s lead character, Clyde Griffiths takes through the novel, but for me as a reader, the effects of the supremely self-centered Clyde’s actions on those around him are the true tragedy.

The first part of this three part book delves into the teen years of the central character, Clyde Griffiths. We first meet Clyde as an unhappy twelve year old living in Kansas City. His parents are street missionaries living in deep poverty. Clyde hates the life and only yearns to leave it. His mother speaks endlessly in quasi-biblical terms ending most of her words in "-eth" and mindlessly quoting a Bible she clearly only partially understands. That Clyde will learn little in terms of a true moral compass from his mother and this environment will play a key role in his development and the later events in the novel.

Clyde will work a variety of low-paying jobs, partly to bring in some income for his family, but mostly to escape to new worlds outside the cloistered one of his family. He is timid and insecure. He knows only that he wants something for himself and does not want the life of self-sacrifice his parents have chosen for themselves and as a consequence for their children. Clyde’s sister is also unhappy and will end up running away from home and ends up a pregnant teen without a husband. Clyde will flee shortly thereafter  to a local hotel to work as a bell boy and to be inculcated into the world of feminine allure. Clyde will eventually flee this world too once he becomes tangentially involved in a hit and run accident. The key point in this early section is Clyde’s refusal to accept any responsibility to help his pregnant sister or the victim of the hit and run. Instead, he runs, he hides, and he feels sorry only for his own misfortunes. He is seventeen as this section ends, but he has the maturity level of a six year old. He simply wants what he wants, and too bad for everyone else. Consider Dreiser’s description of him at age 20:

“For to say the truth, Clyde had a soul that was not destined to grow up. He lacked decidedly that mental clarity and inner directing application that in so many permits them to sort out from the facts and avenues of life the particular thing or things that make for their direct advancement.”

In part two, Clyde meets and tries to exploit a wealthy relative, Samuel Griffiths. Samuel is Clyde’s uncle; Asa’s (Clyde’s father) older brother. Samuel feels lingering guilt over previous family events that led to Samuel’s wealth and to Asa’s poverty. Samuel will consequently bring Clyde eastward to Lycurgus NY to work in Samuel’s factory in what will prove to be a very misguided effort of familial compensation. Clyde will start at the literal and administrative bottom of the Griffiths Shirt Collar Factory, but will after a short while be promoted to the management of a group of female employees. Here is where the greatest tragedy will take place. Clyde has been warned not to date any of these women. Clyde of course, simply throws caution to the wind and ignores this strict company dictum. He meets a shy new employee, Roberta Alden and quickly falls in love with her; as she does with him. Dreiser having set the stage with Clyde’s interest in women and disinterest in the needs of others during the Kansas City section of the book, will now bring Clyde’s malformed psyche into full view.

One of the best parts of “An American Tragedy” takes place after Roberta’s and Clyde’s relationship reaches its sexual zenith; a zenith that will lead to the Clyde’s consequent moral nadir. Roberta will become pregnant, and Clyde will fall out of love with her, even as he falls in love with a wealthy socialite, Sondra. Roberta’s growing demands on Clyde due to her pregnancy will push Clyde into an intricately described mental meltdown. He is drawn to Sondra for her beauty and social position, but is “trapped” by Roberta’s condition. He does not seem to acknowledge in any way that her situation is his doing, and he certainly does not feel his duty to her extends much beyond trying to find her a way out of her state. But this is 1925 New York; there might be a way for some to terminate a pregnancy, but such means are unknown to the poorly educated Roberta and Clyde. Clyde’s sense of self-pity grows and his tenuous moral anchor he once had, starts to loosen further. As Clyde searches for an answer, he sees a newspaper story of an accidental drowning; the female victim is found but not the male; Clyde is horribly inspired. Dreiser will now explore Clyde’s mind in a manner that really reminded me of Poe's guilt-ridden protagonist. Clyde can almost be seen with an angel on one shoulder and a demon on the other as they argue for taking or defending poor Roberta’s life. Reading this internal dialog, there will be little doubt in the reader’s mind where this argument will lead.

Clyde will carry out his horrendous plan towards Roberta while leaving a trail of clues and witnesses that will be his undoing. Clyde will falter at the end, though his faltering will accidentally rather than intentionally place Roberta in mortal danger. Clyde could save her, but his self-interest and the demon on his shoulder will again cause Clyde to make one more bad decision, and the pathetic Roberta will pay the price. Clyde being Clyde has a left a trail that is so rife with clues that he finds himself in jail awaiting trial within mere days of Roberta’s passing. This leads to the second great part of this book for now Dreiser enters the mindset of the prosecuting and defending attorneys. In doing so, the reader has an opportunity to learn quite a lot about how lawyers work to frame the strongest argument for their legal position. Technically both sides are right: Clyde was not guilty of murder when he abandoned Roberta to drowning, and yet morally he is abundantly guilty. Both sides of the ensuing legal confrontation will play fast and loose with the facts, but it is clear both sides feel they are morally obligated to do so.

The scenes surrounding the pre-trial and trial parts of the book really make reading this book a treat. Both sets of lawyers break moral and legal law as they pursue their case for the presumed “greater good”. Their behavior and their motivation are a great contrast to Clyde and his rationalizations for what he planned to do and what he actually did do. And yet, the lawyers and Clyde always view their transgressions via a prism that is constructed out of their intentions (if I can be allowed to create a metaphor). Each one of these characters feels that because their intentions are good (in the case of the lawyers) or justified (no matter how self-centeredly in the case of Clyde), their actions are morally acceptable. It is a very clever set piece created by Dreiser to explore right and wrong.

This book does so many things right: pitch perfect descriptions of the various characters, their Roaring Twenties vernacular, their era-appropriate legalisms and class consciousness. This book would have earned a perfect score from me but for one flaw. This book most definitely is too long. It could easily be broken into two 400+ page books. The inclusion of Clyde’s teen years is essential to a full understanding of Clyde’s personality and how it developed, but by adding it to the climatic relationship between Roberta and Clyde, and to the resulting trial makes a single book far too long. That being case, I strongly recommend this book to anyone interested in getting a peak at 1920’s America and more importantly getting a peak into a master author as he examines the mind of a morally weak, perhaps morally bankrupt young man. It is also a really fine example of how legal jurisprudence is planned and put into action. This book is really worth the time it will take to read.

Movie Review: "Deadpool"

Deadpool (2016)

R

3.5 Stars out of 5

Director                                Tim Miller
Writer                                   Rhett Rease, Paul Wernick
Cinematography                 Ken Seng
Music                                    Junkie XL (Tom Holkenborg)

Ryan Reynolds                      Wade Wilson/Deadpool
Karan Soni                           Dopinder/taxi driver
T.J. Miller                             Weasel
Ed Skrein                              Ajax/Francis
Gina Carano                         Angel Dust
Morena Baccharin             Vanessa
Brianna Hildebrand           Negasonic Teenage Warhead
Stefan Kapičić                     Voice of Colossus
Taylor Hickson                    Meghan Orlovsky
Leslie Uggams                     Blind Al

 

Just call me angel of the morning, angel
Just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby.

Juice Newton, 1981

I thought last year I had reached my limit on comic book-movies. They are so similar, I often struggle to remember which “super hero” beat up which “super villain”. In virtually all cases, we are “treated” to some quasi heroic character that often demolishes cities in their endless quest to vanquish some bad guy or group of bad guys that just can’t be beat until the requisite two hour run time has been reached. There is no real confrontation based on skills and strengths that bear any relationship to reality. (And therein lies the root problem: if you are Superman, and as a consequence invincible, there is no genuine dramatic tension as to your character’s peril or its resolution.) However, in 2014 we did have “Guardians of the Galaxy”, and lo I was entertained. That movie’s characters had some abilities, some strengths and weaknesses, and they had a wisecracking raccoon. (And quite frankly, I can’t resist snarky raccoons.) Now, in 2016 we are treated with more sarcasm dispensed by a super hero in “Deadpool”. This film suffers just as all the other comic book-movies do for its derivativeness and predictability of the action scene outcomes. Fortunately, “Deadpool” the movie has a saving grace: Deadpool the character is often funny; at least he’s funny, if like me, you enjoy wisecrackers especially if they are in red tights.

There is a skeleton of story; though in all honesty, it really seems to be there solely for the purpose of allowing Deadpool or his pre-super hero form cut up non-stop at the expense of almost everyone around him. His pre-super character is Wade Williams (Ryan Reynolds). He is ex-special forces and works for some odd outfit that sends out its tough guys to intimidate bad guys that are stalking people. (Or some such; I’m pretty sure all of the targets are truly bad, while our hero Wade and the company he works for just looks bad; at heart, they surely have hearts of gold.). In any event, this company has a kind of receptionist or dispatch agent (it’s not clear) by the name of Weasel (what else) played by T. J. Miller. Weasel is evidently as snarky as Wade, and as such he runs a pool to see who will die first at the company, i.e. a Dead Pool.

And for some reason or other, there is a stripper or escort by the name of Vanessa (Morena Baccharin) that drops by one day, perhaps for no other reason than to fall in love with Wade; which they do. Darn, just as Wade proposes to Vanessa, he drops unconscious. It turns out he’s got some kind of nasty cancer and only a short time to live. Fortunately for Wade, there’s another company out there that is a really nasty company called Weapon X. They go around finding people in trouble so they can activate their dormant mutant genes and then sell off the newly mutated lost soul to the highest bidder. Their recruiter (Jared) comes calling and signs Wade up. He drinks (or has it injected) the dormant-mutant-genes-activating cool-aid and becomes a latent super hero. Along the way he learns to hate the Weapon X leaders, Ajax (aka Francis played by Ed Skrein, and Angel Dust played by Gina Carano). The reason he hates them is because their methods for finishing Wade’s transformation require torturing him following the cool-aid treatment; this converts him from a latent to active mutant super hero. Make sense?

So, there you have the plot. Wade is a good guy that cracks jokes and gets turned into a super-man that heals very quickly, shoots real well, can do acrobatic twists and turns in the air, and oh yeah, crack jokes. He goes after Francis and Angel after he recruits some help from a couple of characters from the X-Men universe. They are Colossus (voiced by Stefan Kapičić) and Negasonic Teenage Warhead (Brianna Hildebrand). Together, the three of them go and beat up Francis and Angel, and while they are there, rescue Vanessa.

The point though is very clearly not Deadpool’s (the name Wade and Weasel choose for the Super hero version of Wade) origin, or why he’s annoyed with Francis and Angel, or really much of anything that makes very much sense; this is after all a comic book-movie, though one with a sense of humor. That sense of humor is expressed in the very first image (it’s not really a scene). That image is a beautiful long panning/telescoping image of a frozen scene. It plays out to the music of “Angel of the Morning” by Juice Newton. What is the image, does it have anything to do with Newton’s lovely song; um, need you ask? It is a superb example of what can be done with modern photography and CGI. The pan will begin with a close up of a bullet and will telescope back and over a rotating car that contains our hero, one of his recent victims and any number of flying objects, all frozen in time and space. It is a very cool opening, and it gets better as the credits begin to roll. I will go so far to say, this is my favorite part of the movie and is a great introduction to the snarkiness to come. Each member of the cast is describes as a stereotype rather than named. Most of the descriptions are hilarious; most especially those designated as the writers, i.e. “The Real Heroes of this Movie”.

This movie is fun for adults that enjoy sarcasm and don’t mind very dark humor. An example of the latter involves Deadpool’s discussion with the audience as he breaks the fourth wall (which he does throughout the movie) to mention that he forgot his ammo and must confront a large force of bad guys with only twelve bullets. He jokes his way through the ensuing killings as the audience is allowed to see a countdown on the bullet casings from 12 to 1. It is very black humor. There is no doubt that people are dying at the hands of our humorous anti-hero hero. So, if you like very good CGI, pretty decent pacing for movies of this type, rampant cynicism and the associated sarcastic humor, you might well like this movie. I must warn you, though, this is not a movie for kids, comic book genre or not.

 

Book Review: "Rabbit Run" by John Updike

Rabbit Run (1960)

3.5 Stars out of 5

John Updike

325 pages

“And after you're first-rate at something, no matter what, it kind of takes the kick out of being second-rate.”

Rabbit Run

There is sometimes a problem in reading and reviewing a book from an earlier era. If one goes far enough back in time, say the late 16^th century/early 17^th century and Shakespeare, the language might almost be a foreign tongue. Of course, the themes and poetic prose used by Shakespeare make his work quite nearly timeless and equally obviously, worth the effort. If one goes back a century before one was born, say to Austin in the early 19^th century or Conrad at the end of the same century, the language is now completely comprehensible, though perhaps a little archaic at times; again, in the hands of an excellent author such as these two, the themes are completely relatable. Move forward suddenly to the not quite near present, to  books written in the world that you saw through your near-adolescence eyes,  but now read as an adult, and what is your reaction? For me, it has been generally a disappointment tinged with a sense of incredulity. Did we really live in the same and world and time, this unnamed author and I? I had this reaction a year or so ago when I finally got around to reading Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road” (1957). I have had it again with John Updike’s, “Rabbit Run” (1960).

I chose to read “Rabbit Run” because in reviewing authors and books I should have read long ago, but hadn’t, I discovered that Updike was one of only three authors to have won a Pulitzer Prize for Literature two times. (The other two were Booth Tarkington, an author yet to be discovered by me, and my personal favorite author, William Faulkner.) Updike won both times for books from a four book series he started with “Rabbit Run” when he was only 28. The books that won were for the third book in the series, “Rabbit is Rich” (1982) and the concluding book, “Rabbit at Rest” (1990). He added a novella on Rabbit in 2000, “Rabbit Remembered”. With so much critical praise for the last two novels, I thought, I would start on the first book in the series, “Rabbit Run”. In short, my reaction to “Rabbit Run” is that I will read the rest of the books, but it won’t be for my reaction to “Rabbit Run”, it will be to seek what the Pulitzer committee saw in the last two books. The first book is intriguing but only for its examination of the protagonist’s self-centered view of the world. There is little to learn from this book about human nature other than that there are examples of humanity, I’d really rather not know. (See the quote at the head of this review for a nice preview of why I detest Harry “Rabbit” Angstrom.)

“Rabbit Run” begins innocently enough. Harry aka “Rabbit” (his nickname from his days as a high school basketball star) walks a street at the end of the day selling. Rabbit sells the “Magipeeler , a kitchen aid, to housewives in the local supermarkets. He’s feeling a little down when sees a basketball game in progress. The players stare at him with unfriendly looks. Rabbit is undeterred and asks to join them in their game. He runs, he shoots and, of course he dominates his over-matched opponents. They look at him now with hate in their eyes. Rabbit could care less; he is the master of the basketball court once again. It is only now revealed to the reader that Rabbit at age 26 (curiously roughly the same age as Updike when wrote the book) has just defeated a group of 10 year olds. Rabbit doesn’t care in the least that he just beat a group of children less than half his age. The only thing that matters to him and his neurotically immature mind is that he is number 1 again. Nothing else matters to this man-child.

Rabbit returns to the home he shares with his pregnant wife, Janice. She is a former sales girl where Rabbit sells his “Magipeeler” and the daughter of a locally successful car dealership owner. Janice and Rabbit also have a two year old boy, Nelson. They live in Mount Judge PA. As this story proceeds, and despite whatever negative feelings you might on occasion have for Janice, her parental family (the Springers) , or even for her young son, I am convinced you will for the most part feel only pity for all of them as they orbit the self-regarding “sun” of Rabbit. He continues his journey of self-absorption as soon as he walks in the door and sees Janice, his late term pregnant wife. His focus on her will be centered around her physical and mental defects (as he would term them); and even more telling, how these defects have hurt Rabbit’s self-esteem. Somehow, being married to Janice has knocked him down from number 1 to number 2.

He will leave the house after an argument with the intention of not returning. He will drive aimlessly (rather like his life in summary) from Mount Judge to various sites to the south and then west of home. On this journey, Updike will demonstrate for the reader why he is grouped amongst authors in the “realist” tradition. A good example is given on Rabbit’s night time sojourn where he listens to the car radio. The reader will be treated to a very long list of the songs and advertisements that Rabbit hears as he drives along. There is no connection to Rabbit’s life or to the geography he passes through, this list (and it won’t be the last) is mindlessly detailed for the reader to ponder. Is there significance to the song and ad list, or like’s Rabbit’s quite pointless life (as he sees it) is there no meaning to the song list, let alone to the details of the ads themselves – and you will get to read the entire script from several ads.

After a night on the road, Rabbit will return to one of the foci of his adolescent heroics – his basketball coach, Marty Tothero. Marty is another class act. He still admires Rabbit, maybe not so much for his personality as much as the reflected glory of Rabbit’s high school basketball achievements under Marty as the coach. Could there be any two less mature characters in all of literature, one entering adulthood, the other nearing retirement? Marty will introduce Rabbit to a new victim of Rabbit’s arrested development, Ruth Leonard. Ruth will see initially Rabbit as a source of income, but in time will become at least partially enamored of him. Too bad for Ruth, for in time, she will regret having ever met Rabbit, let alone fall in love (in her own way) with him.

Rabbit’s misbehavior will not go unnoticed by the community of Mount Judge. A new character will enter the story; Jack Eccles. Eccles is the Episcopalian priest to the Springer family. By now, I think you won’t be surprised to learn that Jack has issues, too. Like Rabbit, Jack is struggling to find his place in life. He races about trying to save lost souls like Rabbit, even as he leaves his wife and children to their own devices. Jack’s wife Lucy will sway from hating Rabbit for diverting her husband from Lucy’s attention to Lucy disingenuously flirting with Rabbit.

One last set of characters in the book are Rabbit’s parents and his sister Miriam. Rabbit’s father is an ineffectual father and seems only concerned with how Rabbit’s behavior is embarrassing to his sense of parenthood. It goes without saying, Mr. Angstrom is as far out to sea as a father as Rabbit, himself. But the crown jewel of the family is Rabbit’s mother. She is shrewish to a degree rarely seen in literature. If she is even moderately considerate of anyone, it is Rabbit. As one reads the book, it is not in the least difficult to discern where Rabbit learned a sense of self-importance, or even more importantly a sense that he has earned more than what life has given him. And I do mean given him. Rabbit never thinks in terms of truly earning anything. His basketball skills came naturally to him, and he fully expects all else in life to come as effortlessly. This includes the love of a wife and a mistress.

So, what is Updike trying to tell the reader? Are there young men not long out of High School or College who excelled as jocks but find themselves as “also ran’s” in the game of life? Is he trying to question middle class, protestant values in 1960’s America?  Perhaps via Rabbit’s promiscuity, he intends “Rabbit Run” to anticipate the coming sexual revolution that America experienced in the late 60’s. And then with the flawed Episcopal priest, Jack, Updike would perhaps like to tweak the nose of conventional religious hypocrisy. Perhaps, each of these themes is important to an understanding of Rabbit, but I think the key is Rabbit’s aimlessness. He is in own immature manner looking for some meaning in his life. He can see Jack trying to find it via saving his parishioners. He can see variations of it in his and Janice’s fathers and mothers, middle-aged people dedicated to their jobs or their families or at least allegedly so. The problem for Rabbit is he doesn’t really want a job, a wife, or a child; he wants to be free. How adult of him.

I simply cannot recommend this book. It may be well written from the perspective of characterization and style, but its protagonist’s journey of self-discovery is fatally flawed in that this protagonist believes he is the center of the universe. Who cares about someone searching for meaning when that person believes all is due to him and due to him with virtually no effort on his part? I will continue the series. I want to get to the two books that were awarded the Pulitzer, but beyond serving as a springboard to those books and as an introduction to Updike’s narrative style, this was a very disappointing book.

Movie Review: "The Revenant"

The Revenant (2015)

R

4.5 Stars out of 5

Director                                Alejandro Gonzalez Iñárritu

Writer                                   Mark Smith, Alejandro Gonzalez Iñárritu (s'play); Michael Punke (book)
Cinematography                 Emmanuel Lubezki
Music                                    Carsten Nicolai, Ryuichi Sakamoto

Leonardo DiCaprio             Hugh Glass
Tom Hardy                          John Fitzgerald
Domhnall Gleeson             Captain Andrew Henry
Will Poulter                         Jim Bridger
Forrest Goodluck               Hawk
Arthur Redcloud                Hikuc

 

A person could watch Alejandro Gonzalez Iñárritu’s “The Revenant” just to enjoy his cinematographer, Emmanuel Lubezki’s vision of the Rocky Mountains in winter. Lubezki’s eye and hand produce such a work of cinematic art it is simply awe-inspiring. Alternatively, one could watch this film for the writers’ visions (Iñárritu and Mark Smith): a man’s war of survival against the elements and that man’s single-minded purpose in staying alive long enough to wreck his vengeance on his enemy. Yet another viewer might want to seize the opportunity to watch an outstanding actor, Leonardo DiCaprio at the top of his game; watch him portray the man just alluded to in the writers’ visions as he struggles to stay alive; or as this character states, “as long as you can grab a breath, you fight”. All of these are compelling reasons to watch this movie. Taken together, these different means of appreciating “The Revenant” combine in my mind to produce a convincing example of why anyone would be driven to consider Iñárritu as one of the best directors at work today.

It is my opinion that Iñárritu has produced a movie that has deep parallels with Alfonso Cuarón’s 2013 movie, “Gravity”. Both use Lubezki as their cinematographer, and the two movies are mesmerizing in similar ways: “Gravity” opens with Sandra Bulloch flying through space in a dizzying spin following a collision with space debris, while “The Revenant starts with an attack of Ariakara warriors on a group of white trappers. Both movies employ state of the art camera work that takes the audience straight into the middle of the action. However as good and as similar as the cinematography is in both films, it is the screenplays that make me think of the parallels more than anything else. While both films require expert physical acting by the two leading stars, it is the trip to “salvation” that both take that is the most definitive of their resemblance. Bulloch’s character will race from one life-threatening situation to another, while DiCaprio’s will do exactly the same. One might be in space, the other in the mountains, but there is a strong likeness of dramatic tension and relief; each movie will do it yet one more time, again and again. One big difference is their final destination: Bulloch’s character is “saved”, not necessarily so with DiCaprio’s.

Just as the title suggests, “The Revenant” tells the story of one who returns from the dead: in this case, the story of Hugh Glass (Leonardo DiCaprio) in 1823 North America after a bear attack. Glass had travelled up the Missouri River under the command of Captain Andrew Henry (Domhnall Gleeson) with a group of roughly 50 men. They were there to trap beaver and to return the pelts for their payoff. As they broke camp, all the while packing their beaver pelts, they are beset by a tribe of the Ariakara. Most of the white men were killed; those few that survived included Henry, Glass, his half-Pawnee son Hawk (Forrest Goodluck), and about 10 others. Amongst the other survivors was young Jim Bridger (Will Poulter) and a particularly evil-tempered John Fitzgerald (Tom Hardy).

The group flees the Ariakara on their boat but only for a short distance down the river. Glass quickly advised that they must abandon the boat for a hike across the mountains to their ultimate refuge, Fort Kiowa. It is on this journey that Glass while out hunting will find himself between two grizzly cubs and their mother. The ensuing scene as the mother bear seeks to "protect" her cubs is one of the most riveting and technically perfect scenes of special effects I have ever seen. It may haunt your dreams for some time to come. Glass will survive but only just. Unable to carry him to Fort Kiowa, Captain Henry offers to pay any volunteer willing to stay with Glass $300. Fitzgerald, Hawk and Bridger agree to stand watch over Glass and then to bury him when he dies. Fitzgerald’s betrayal of this duty as well as his duty to Hawk and Bridger will bring on the story’s major arc.

 

After leaving Glass for dead, Fitzgerald makes his way back to Fort Kiowa with a tall tale quite at odds with reality. Meanwhile, Glass has recovered enough to begin an arduous journey back from where he was left; his personal journey back from the dead. His desire to return is fueled with passion; he wants justice against Fitzgerald for his crimes against Glass and the others, and he will overcome every obstacle nature or man may put in front of him. Nothing is going to stop Glass; like the unchanging mountains that surround him, his will is equally fixed, absolutely adamantine in its lack of changeability.

Glass will first crawl as his body is too broken to support its own weight. He will gain some strength, painfully gain his feet, and begin to walk in time.  After several days of this near death hike, he will meet a sympathetic Pawnee who will provide some much needed outside, though still largely indifferent help. It is at this point that the movie stumbles a bit. Up to the point where Hikuc (Arthur Redcloud), the helpful Pawnee comes onto the scene, it is Glass alone against the world; now he has help. This deviation of one man alone against nature is not my primary complaint. Instead, it is the introduction of fantasy story elements that show up at this point in the story. They are dressed up as fever-induced delusions, and perhaps they could have happened; but they are a big change in the story’s tone and story-telling method.

In the first reel, “The Revenant” is a film based in reality; a hard reality of life on the frontier battling the elements, Native-Americans and the wildlife. In these early parts of the movie, Iñárritu spins his story in a manner where all three, the elements, Native-Americans and wildlife all seem more like forces of nature. There is no particular animus in any of them towards Glass or his companions. It simply snows in winter, a mother bear protects her cubs, or a group of Indians attack white men. There seems to be little or no personal passion in these acts; they simply are. The bear and the Indians might be thought to be driven by passions, and yet in the early parts of this movie they really do not seem to have such. The Indian attacks with his bow and arrow, the white man falls, and the Indian moves to the next victim. No emotion, it’s just a simple act, like falling from a cliff. Gravity and the cliff mean you no particular ill will; you die nevertheless.

The stumble in the movie occurs as Glass’ reserves, as vast as they must be, start to wane. He hallucinates about his dead loved ones: one will hug him, another hover above him in the air. These scenes are emotional and they carry impact for Glass and the viewer: one scene in an abandoned church is especially heart-rending. As good as these scenes might be in a different movie, they feel very much out of place in a movie as grounded in hard reality as most of “The Revenant” is. If Iñárritu truly wanted to create a cinematic vision of the unfeeling nature of death when it comes in whatever form it might come in, it is a mistake to switch from such a hard vision of life to one based on a hallucinatory view of life.

Iñárritu will turn back to reality in the final reel of “The Revenant” as Glass seeks his long delayed justice for the wrongs committed by Fitzgerald. The movie will end with a close up on DiCaprio’s face that will, like the bear attack live in my mind for a considerable length of time. The look on DiCaprio’s face says so much about what he has gone through and hints at what may become of him. By this point in his character’s life, he has gained some measure of vengeance but has lost virtually everything else. In this cinematic world, one must wonder “what does Glass have left to live for”? And if that is true for Glass, one could surely imagine, this is one of Iñárritu’s core themes in “The Revenant”: finding the will to put one foot in front of the other, or to quote Glass once again: “You breathe…keep breathing”. This is what I believe is Iñárritu’s actual desire for this movie’s effect on his audience.

DiCaprio’s acting is absolutely the best of the year: his 2016 Oscar for Best Actor was not a “gimme” for his years of unrewarded excellence; years that largely began in 2004 with the “The Aviator”, 2006 with “Blood Diamond” and “The Departed”, and continues up through this movie with too many more to list. He earned the award long before “The Revenant” and could have been given it for either of the 2006 films. That being said, he more than earned it with his bravura performance in “The Revenant”. And I must say, as much as I regard DiCaprio’s acting, I have on multiple occasions derided Tom Hardy’s; not this time. Hardy’s performance as the evil Fitzgerald is quite noteworthy and is part of why this movie is as good as it is.

Great acting, great cinematography, an excellent score and a brilliant script that works with concepts as deep as “the will to live when all feels lost” make this movie one for the ages. It is a violent movie at times, there is no way to soft peddle that concept. However, “The Revenant” like a few other works of art that use violence (e.g. Cormac McCarthy’s novel, “Blood Meridian”), makes violence a powerful story tool, almost a movie character; an essential character to properly tell this story of survival, of love, of vengeance. This story is worth knowing and Iñárritu’s vision of the story is one worth experiencing. Even if you abhor movies with violence, consider seeing this film. It is a movie that brings so much to the screen, it simply must be seen.