Leonard Maltin, ed. Leonard Maltin’s 2008 Movie Guide (2007)

     Leonard Maltin, ed. Leonard Maltin’s 2008 Movie Guide (2007) This is a frustrating guide. I’ve read my way from the title page to the last page. [Yeah, I know, I’m obsessive]. While it is a good guide to currently available or viewable movies, the standards of judgement are inconsistent. Maltin uses several reviewers (he obviously can’t watch even a few hundred new movies himself). But these reviewers vary in their standards. That’s especially obvious for titles receiving mild praise, which some reviewers interpret as two stars, and others as 2½ or even 3 stars (out of four). Some reviewers seem more attuned to the cinematic values of a title, others to its themes. It would help a lot if each review were followed by initials, that way the reader would get a better sense of how the review would relate to his own tastes and standards.
     By the way, Maltin (or his reviewer) still doesn’t get science fiction. The SF movies generally most highly rated are just oaters in SF costumes. He also overrates actors, underrating of the power of a director (and editor) to make an actor look good or bad. Still, this reference is the best available, if only because of its sheer size: this version covers over 17,000 titles. (Other Guides cover another several thousand additional titles not listed here). It also tells of variations in length or edition. **½ (2008)

Diane Mott Davidson. The Cereal Murders (1993)

     Diane Mott Davidson. The Cereal Murders (1993) Another formula book, this time a mystery whose ‘tec is a single mother (survivor of an abusive marriage) who makes her living in Aspen Meadows, Colorado, by catering to those who pay more when the menu is written in French. However, unlike Baldacci, Mott Davidson can write.
     Goldilocks Bear (yes, that’s her name) is a pleasant person with enough self-respect to get good and angry when necessary, and enough self-knowledge and confidence to fall in love when the right man (Tom Schulz, a cop, whom she met in a previous book) presents himself. Tom is a bit too good to be true, being both a superb lover and a good cook, and deeply respectful of Goldy’s feelings. The perpetrator is a bit too monomaniacal and psychologically twisted for credibility. Three people die because he wants his daughter to go to Harvard, which requires that she rank first in the graduating class. At least Mott Davidson has the sense to let the Denver police express the incredulity the reader must feel, and so defuse it.
     The schtick in this series is the food: Goldy not only describes food in vivid detail, she also gives us her recipes, which I (despite my culinary dunciness) could understand, and which seem more than feasible. A pleasant read, which with its two predecessors could make a pleasant season of TV. **½ (2008)

David Baldacci. The Christmas Train (2002)

     

 David Baldacci. The Christmas Train (2002) Tom Langdon, barred from flying because of some misunderstanding with airport security, takes the train from New York to L.A. Eleanor Carter, his ex who walked out on him in Tel Aviv because he wouldn’t commit, is also on the train, and after the usual expressions of anger etc, they make up and presumably live happily ever after. Along the way there is an avalanche that blocks the train on Raton Pass, a wedding, a mysterious thief, assorted salt-of-the-railway characters, and other nonsense.
     This is a manufactured book. Baldacci never misses an opportunity to tell when he should show, nor to explain when he should suggest. He inserts chunks of information (and propaganda) about Amtrak via “conversations” with Amtrak employees and former employees. He avoids offending anyone, of whatever race, religion, gender, or social status. His attempts at tension and foreboding consist of weather forecasts and sudden hidden-camera bits of narration. His metaphors are 99.4%-pure cliche. In a word, this is a Harlequin Romance plus TV movie scenario told from a male point of view.
     The best thing about it is the plot, which Baldacci undercuts by making the meeting and reconciliation between Tom and Eleanor a set-up scripted and directed by Max, the director for whom Eleanor is supposedly revising a script. According to the jacket copy, Baldacci is a multiple NYT best seller, has sold 40 million copies of his books in 35 languages, and has assorted other support for the inevitable inference that because he sells a lot of books he is a great writer. If his product represents what airport and beach literature has become, we are in serious trouble. * (2008)

James Filby. Credit Valley Railway (1974)

     James Filby. Credit Valley Railway (1974) This is an annoying book. Filby has done a lot of research, but has neither the scholar’s understanding of the significance of his data, nor the journalist’s sense of narrative. The result is more of a compilation of source material, both quoted and paraphrased, with bridging remarks. What he needed was an editor. The maps on the end pages are awful, being a reproduction of a printed map with thick ink strokes superimposed to show the route of the CVR. The photos are poorly reproduced, which is the fault of the Boston Mills Press (their later books have much better quality printing). It’s a pity, since this could have been a good history of the CVR. Whoever writes one will no doubt find Filby’s work useful, if only for its source list, if he can decipher it, that is, as Filby has no idea how to format a bibliography. * (2008)

Two oddities

     Brock Silversides. Prairie Sentinels (1997) Historical photos and a diagram of the innards complement the brief but surprisingly thorough history of the elevator in western Canada. Well done. **½

     The Railway Correspondence and Travel Society. The Locomotives of the Great Western Railway: Part Eleven: The Rail Motor vehicles and Internal Combustion Locomotives. (1956) Just what the obsessively descriptive title says, and obsessively complete and detailed. Useful as a reference, but its discursive style and arrangement makes it a difficult to find exactly the information desired. A few more tables would help, as would an index. Good photos. I bought this from a stall at the Gloucester & Warwickshire Railway at Toddington for £5. Its original price was £1, which would amount to about £10 in today’s money, so I got a bargain. **½  (2008)

Linda Finn. War Letters Project

     Linda Finn. War Letters Project (At the Timber Village Museum, Blind River, 2 November 2013 to 20 January 2014.)
     Linda Finn’s grandmother Essie Sann wrote letters to soldiers during World War One, and again during World War Two. She saved many of the letters written back to her. Linda Finn has created a number of pieces using scans of some of these letters along with found objects, parts of uniforms, scans of photographs, and abstract and realistic images. These items are layered onto painted or monoprinted backgrounds, some have translucent layers of paint added, and Finn incorporates one of her favourite media, hand-cast paper layers or pieces into several of the pieces. Finn is nothing if not inventive in her use and melding of media.
     She also has a gift for design, and knows how to use limited palettes. Visually, all these pieces are interesting, most are engaging, and a few are stunning. I especially liked Requiem and When Words Are Not Enough. Requiem shows the life-size outline of a dead soldier over blotches of red, ochre, and mud, with the pieces of a uniform glued onto the base of raw canvas. I don’t know why this picture is so powerful, perhaps it’s the dead soldier, whose image hovers at the edge of visual awareness while we focus on the details of the background and overlays. Words consists of digital images of dozens of letters glued onto the canvas, with a life-size soldier overlaid on it. The letters are almost all legible, here and there the smudge of the soldier’s figure hides the words like a scorch mark.
      Also impressive is War Marked the Landscape Like Language, in which Finn has placed twigs painted black onto small wooden plaques arranged on short ledges. Anyone who has seen images of the World War battlefields will recognise the allusions. Seeing so many miniature trees shattered by shellfire lined up in rows and columns emphasises their calligraphic qualities. The title is apt; the language of war is destruction and death.
     A very moving exhibit is a suitcase containing stories and reminiscences told by the relatives of the dead, along with some photos and drawings, which the viewer is invited to pick up and read. I had time to read only one, a daughter’s account of how she yearned to have known her father, who died when she was three, and who knew her only as a two month-old baby. She keeps his portrait on her bedside table still.
     These are art works with intended meanings and significance. The fashion for many decades has been for supposedly pure art, which at most expressed the maker’s individual responses to the world, or recorded the artist’s exploration of his or her visual dialect. But even these meanings were politely ignored: what was supposed to matter was the design, the palette, the dialogue with similar and contrary styles, the demonstration of how the new visual dialect could be used.
     But the making of artworks that made a public statement never went away. In the second half of the 20th century, the comment was as often as not satirical, ironic, or self-deprecating; or too solemnly serious to be taken seriously. The work of people like General Idea almost apologises for having ideas, and ideas about politics and culture at that. Their in-your-face commentary made them seem somewhat indecent.
     The kind of comment Finn offers, straightforward invitations to think and feel about what it means to know about and be linked with people in the viewer’s personal and collective past, that was largely left to the makers of greeting-card verse and calendar art. Linda Finn shows us that questions raised by memory are serious, not only for the viewer’s sense of his or her own past, but also for our collective understanding of our shared history. Memories are too important for sentimentality. Her work is about war, and the sacrifices that we offer to the god of war; but it is not a glorification of war. In this, it is a welcome counter to the current jingoism. Highly recommended. ****
     Disclosure: we own one of the works in this series, it is part of this exhibition.
Read the report in Standard, or go to the Museum's Facebook page.

What Would Jesus Do?

What Would Jesus Do?
      A meditation for the Interchurch Council in Blind River.
     Religion, like other institutions, goes through cycles of fads and fashions. A few years ago, we saw bumper stickers with What Would Jesus Do? Or the abbreviation WWJD? This question also showed up on buttons, on t-shirts, on hats, and much else. We don’t see that slogan much any more. Perhaps people have realised that it’s a radical question. If you take it seriously, it can change your life.
     So how does one answer this question? Seems to me, one thing we should do is look at what Jesus actually did. He didn’t do that many things. He preached. He told stories. He gave advice. He healed people. He wandered around with his friends, and accepted hospitality wherever he found it. He visited friends and acquaintances.
     And he got into trouble with the authorities.
     He got into trouble because he visited disreputable people, such as tax collectors, wine bibbers, and prostitutes. The respectable people were exceedingly annoyed by this habit, and used it as evidence that he wasn’t preaching true religion. Religion is for the right kind of people. People like us. People who don’t flaunt their bad behaviour. People who take care to obey the rules, and behave with decorum and good manners, and never, ever sin in public.
     But the respectable people were perhaps even more annoyed by the messages Jesus preached. In particular, they didn’t like the advice he gave. He told people that religion wasn’t about following the rules. It was about loving God and your neighbour. He told the rich young man that he should sell everything he had, give the proceeds to the poor, and follow him on his wanderings. He expected everyone who witnessed this exchange to follow the same advice.
     He told people that helping when needed was more important than observing the Sabbath. He not only told people this, he demonstrated it by occasionally breaking the Sabbath rules. He healed a man on the Sabbath, and scolded the respectable people who objected. Religious truth, whatever they thought it was, wasn’t about the rules, but about how they dealt with other people.
     He told people that what they did for the least important people they did for him. He told people that they should visit the sick, the poor, the prisoners. He said that if someone asks you for a coat, you should give him your shirt, too. If someone asks you to go with him for a mile, you should go with him for two. He pointed to the widow who gave a few pennies as more generous than the Pharisee who gave many dollars.
     He told the story of the good Samaritan to remind us that what matters is not whether someone deserves our help, but whether he needs it.
     What would Jesus do? That’s a question that’s supposed to guide us as we follow him. If we want to follow his example, we too should do what he did. It’s not easy. It’s not comfortable to help people we don’t like, or people that we think don’t deserve what we offer, or people that won’t thank us for helping them. But that’s what Jesus would do.
     That’s what Jesus did.
     2013-10-18