‘X2’

Dos Equis

‘X2’ offers top-of-the-line entertainment with a bit of a paranoid political edge

By

A quick introduction in X2 restates the plot of the first X-Men movie: the dreaded war between Homo sapiens and Homo superior is ready to break out. Only the dedicated efforts of Professor Charles Xavier (Patrick Stewart), the world’s most powerful psychic, can stave it off.

Xavier’s assistants are Storm, a weather witch (Halle Berry); the straight-laced preppy Scott Summers, known as Cyclops (James Marsden), who can fire a power ray from his eyes; the physician and telekinetic Jean Grey (Famke Janssen); and the energy vampire Rogue (Anna Paquin). In the background, we glimpse the brooding warrior Logan, known as Wolverine (Hugh Jackman).

After the pretitle intro, the first real dialogue quotes Abraham Lincoln’s first inaugural address. As in the better Civil War movies, we understand what both sides are fighting for. X2‘s writing and characterization pay tribute to the sturdy pulp fiction of comic-book writer Chris Claremont, who scripted the X-Men comics for Marvel during the series’ most worthwhile period, from 1979 to 1983. These stories, reflecting Reagan-era scoundrelry, are soaked in political paranoia.

Paranoid times are back; thus X2 is as zeitgeisty now as the Planet of the Apes series was in its time. The opening sequence of the White House under a one-mutant siege by the devilish Nightcrawler (Alan Cumming) is so satisfying that it’s practically a breach of the Patriot Act. The Nightcrawler’s assault unleashes the hawkish presidential adviser Stryker (Brian Cox), who has been torturing the secrets of the Xavier School for Gifted Children out of the imprisoned Magneto (Ian McKellen).

Stryker is determined to use Xavier’s technology to locate and liquidate the mutants of the world. Meanwhile, Magneto escapes and rallies a counterassault with the help of his former foes and of his consort, the blue-skinned chameleon Mystique (Rebecca Romijn-Stamos, greatly improving as an actress).

The film’s level of acting shames most superhero movies. Cox is ordinarily shuddery enough, but he’s especially fearful here, giving McKellen grounds to evolve from villain to antihero. Magneto becomes as indomitable as a general. One savors McKellen’s theatrical richness as he bends a wavering young mutant with wicked advice: “You are a god in a world of insects.” As for Jackman, it’s tempting to see him as a stockier Clint Eastwood, yet isn’t he better at the late-period, award-winning Eastwood–the guilty, haunted Eastwood–than Eastwood himself ever was?

While X2 is a metaphor for political discrimination against those who are gay or the wrong color, the film also features a sly but apt borrowing from Arthurian lore to flesh out the story. The film serves up a hell of an adventure, rich in all categories, with digital animation at a new peak of skill and with the fight sequences always having something at stake.

Director Bryan Singer has once again made a successful collaborator with composer and editor John Ottman (his partner on The Usual Suspects). What’s most important is that the thrilling action here hangs on a skeleton as sturdy as Wolverine’s adamantium bones.

‘X2’ opens Friday, May 2, throughout the North Bay.

From the May 1-7, 2003 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

School Budget Woes

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School of Hard Knocks

Schools struggle to bridge the budget gap

By Joy Lanzendorfer

Montgomery High School librarian John Koetzner may not have a job after May 15. On that day, school districts all around the state will let employees know who will be keeping their jobs and who will be either moved to another position or out of work completely.

Koetzner knows his position is up for possible elimination because he received a preliminary notice on March 15 telling him so. State law requires all districts to inform anyone by that date if their position is being considered for termination.

The law also requires boards to inform employees of final decisions by May 15. This year, because of the uncertainty surrounding the budget crisis, schools were forced to prepare for the worst by sending notices to more people than they will lay off, leaving many employees in limbo.

Koetzner knows he won’t be laid off completely. With 27 years of teaching under his belt, his longevity ensures that he will still have some sort of position at Montgomery High. He might be in the library part-time, or, since he taught English for many years, he may be back in the classroom.

“If I move into a teaching position, it will probably bump some other younger teacher out of a job,” he says. “Either way, someone ends up losing out. And the lack of librarians will be hard on the students and other teachers. Librarians are a dynamic part of the school process.”

Piner High School’s librarian, Tony Sousa, also received notice that she may lose her job after May 15. But she may also keep her job or be moved to part-time status or to another department. She just doesn’t know.

“I hope the school board is working on behalf of the teachers and librarians,” she says. “I have to have faith that there are some people representing us. I’m not privy to the meetings between the unions and the school boards, so I don’t know. But I hope they are.”

While most school employees don’t blame the school administration, the uncertainty of their situations is still putting them in a difficult place emotionally.

“The people who received notices will be in limbo until at least May 15,” says David Stirrat, a teacher at Casa Grande High School who did not receive a temporary notice in March. “The human toll is the hard part. Teaching is a hard job, and it’s been a hard year anyway. For a teacher, getting a pink slip is like a slap in the face. Even if that person understands logically why the district had to do it this way, it still feels like you’re being told that you’re not wanted or needed.”

There’s no doubt about it: It’s a bleak time for education across the state. Every day there seems to be more bad news. Teachers, librarians, and counselors may lose their jobs; class sizes will probably increase; music and art programs might be cut; other programs, from school counseling to healthcare to reading programs, are on the chopping block. On top of that, some districts are losing students and, consequently, money.

Still, many are asking if there are other options besides cutting resources. Could more administration be cut, or could districts share more costs among each other? Are certain programs being overlooked that should be considered for cuts? Could some of Sonoma County’s 40 school districts be combined, eliminating excessive and duplicate administration and leading to a more efficient system overall?

Education is important; all the politicians say so. In 1998 Governor Gray Davis made education his “top priority,” saying he planned to “restore our public schools to greatness by raising our expectations of students, increasing funding, and requiring more parent-teacher-student interaction.” In 2002 it was his top priority again, with plans to “continue improving our schools by reducing class sizes, providing incentives for higher student performance.”

But a sluggish economy, the energy debacle, and other factors led to the current budget crisis, and now the governor has a $35 billion budget gap to fill. As a result, California schools are facing a $5.4 billion cut, which is large enough to trickle down to every public school in the state.

Local school districts are facing a variety of cuts depending on the size of their budget. Santa Rosa City Schools, for example, is looking at cutting between $9 million and $12 million from its $127 million budget. Petaluma City Schools will have to trim $2.6 million from its $55 million budget. Old Adobe Union School District will probably have to cut $900,000 from its $13.8 million budget.

Each district is preparing for the cuts in different ways, but some things are common among them. Since 75 percent to 85 percent of most school budgets are made up of personnel costs, most districts had to look at laying off teachers and other employees who work directly with students.

At this point, 344 teachers in Sonoma County have received lay-off warnings. In some cases, the cuts will just affect temporary teachers. In other cases, as in Santa Rosa City Schools, 50 teachers have opted for early retirement, reducing the number of teachers to be laid off, but most library and counselor positions might still be eliminated. Petaluma City Schools sent out notices to 74 teachers, including 49 in full-time positions, but will probably lay off closer to 10 to 20 teachers.

The problem is that even now no one really knows what’s going to happen. Generally, the state doesn’t allow schools much time to plan for budget problems because it waits until midyear to inform them about next year’s budget. This year is particularly bad because the state is requiring schools to have completed budgets by June 30, when the state itself may not have a budget by then. In other words, the law requires districts to make decisions based on information they do not have.

By March 15, most districts didn’t know how big the cuts would be or how they would handle the problem. But since they were required by law to inform anyone they might lay off by that date, they sent notices to more employees than necessary to cover the worst possible scenario.

“When it came to laying off the teachers, educators were saying to the state, ‘OK, give us some leeway on the March 15 deadline,'” says Sandy Hill, assistant superintendent of human resources for Petaluma City Schools. “But the state wouldn’t do it. It’s very difficult to make these decisions without the right information. And even now, there’s still some things we don’t know about, like whether the class size reduction is going to be in the budget or not, which will have a huge impact on the budget if it is.”

However reasonable the district’s actions, the layoffs have caused a lot of controversy as teachers and employees responded to their pink slips. Many were upset with how their district made its decisions. For example, when choosing which teachers to possibly lay off, Petaluma looked at whether the teacher had the CLAD certification, a state requirement that helps teachers with non-English-speaking students. Because CLAD certification is a new requirement, many teachers don’t have it yet and felt it was an unfair criterion.

“Some teachers with five years’ classroom experience without the CLAD were given notices, while others with two years’ classroom experience but have the CLAD were not,” says Stirrat. “It seems like the district sent notices to people with the CLAD and then realized their mistake and sent out more notices, and ended up compounding one mistake with another.”

The district admits that they sent out two batches of notices before March 15 but says it had nothing to do with the CLAD test.

While some are focusing on who may be laid off, others are questioning what the district is cutting in the first place and wondering if there are other options that have been overlooked.

“Everyone always says we should avoid impacting the classrooms,” says Koetzner. “But then you look around at what’s being cut, and it’s all things that affect the classroom, like reducing librarians, counselors, and teachers. It makes me wonder if the budget is being questioned enough.”

In the case of Santa Rosa City Schools, despite the budget cuts and plans to lay off personnel, some programs remain untouched and new ones may soon be created. But there seem to be good reasons for it all. For example, one program that is untouched is Project Achieve, which was designed to raise student academic achievement. Though the program adds additional testing on top of state-required testing, its costs are relatively minimal, only around $25,000-$30,000 per year.

Then there is Santa Rosa’s reorganization plan, which is in the beginning stages and includes many different proposals. Some of these include the new west-side middle school and the controversial “newcomer” school, a voluntary one-year program that would offer non-English-speaking students an opportunity for English-only instruction.

While a budget crisis may not seem the time to take on new projects, reorganization is important for the school district because students are leaving the district in droves. The district estimates that though some new students have entered the district, 1,400 students, particularly from the west side of Santa Rosa, have left for other districts or private schools. And each child that leaves means $4,000-$6,000 less in funding for the schools.

There are a number of reasons students are leaving the Santa Rosa district. Neighborhoods around some of the elementary schools are now “mature,” meaning that the children have grown up and left the area. And some of the test scores on the west side are lower than the county average, which has also resulted in less funding. But most commonly, the student flight has been attributed to parents reacting to the high number of non-English-speaking Hispanic students enrolled in the schools.

“Rightly or wrongly, the number of Hispanic students has created a concern in parents that the instruction will not be as good, especially on the elementary-school level,” says Santa Rosa School Board president Hugh Futrell. “It may be due to racial stereotypes.”

With students leaving and money diminishing, the district has had to look at creating new options to stop the problem. But since reorganization uses existing resources, it is little threat to the budget right now.

A number of ideas have been offered to mitigate the huge sums of money that need to be cut from school budgets. Santa Rosa school officials are proposing a parcel tax measure on the November ballot. More people are also asking why there aren’t more cuts in administration.

For instance, some have accused Santa Rosa City Schools of not cutting enough administration, since, according to the Press Democrat, only one school administration position will be cut, saving $116,000. School district officials, however, say that administration has been heavily cut.

“We’re trying to reduce administration costs to a minimum,” says Futrell. “But to begin with, it runs pretty lean. I can say that the percentage of administrative cuts has been much greater than the cuts to the educational program.”

When asked about administrative cuts in the budget, Santa Rosa Assistant Superintendent Doug Bower couldn’t say if the administrative cuts had been quantified, but by shuffling through the budget, he was able to count up $500,000.

But if individual administrative cuts either in districts or on school sites have been exhausted, what about combining some of the district administration to generate more money?

Sonoma County has 40 school districts ranging from one school with 11 students to 17 schools with 13,000 students. Of the 58 counties in California, Sonoma County has the fifth highest number of school districts, right behind Kern, Los Angeles, San Diego, and Tulare counties, according to the Superior Court of Sonoma County’s Grand Jury final report on the public school districts.

Napa County, by contrast, has five school districts, and Marin County has 16. The city of Santa Rosa, with a population of 160,000, has 10 districts alone.

“In the early 1900s, there were actually more school districts in Sonoma County than there [are] now,” says Sonoma County Superintendent Carl Wong. “Our county seems to have a cultural history that is community-centered and independent in spirit, which explains all the districts.”

And with 40 different sets of administration, it’s likely there are some job duplications among the schools. The Grand Jury found that while combining single-school districts would probably not save very much money–each school would still need two principals and separate sites–combining other districts could end up saving quite a chunk of money. Rincon Valley Union School District could save $500,000 if combined with another district, which is also the amount the district will be cutting from its budget next year.

District consolidation seems a good way for schools to save money without disrupting the classroom. The schools would stay basically the same, only management might change. The money that was funding duplicate administrative costs would go to the classrooms instead. And, contrary to popular belief, smaller districts don’t necessarily mean better test scores. Multischool districts actually rank higher in academic performance on the elementary school level, according to the Grand Jury.

But others are quick to point out that the larger districts are laying off even more school employees than the smaller districts. Combining districts could mean less innovative changes in education and might risk the loss of educator’s individual voices.

“It’s not just what is the most efficient way to use educational dollars, but what is the most effective way,” says Chris Rafanelli, Rincon Valley School Board member. “I’ve been a teacher for both large and small districts, and the smaller district was much more responsive to the needs of that specific group of students.”

But the debate over how much combining districts would help Sonoma County’s budget crisis almost becomes moot when you look at how difficult combining districts is in the first place. Letters of intent must be filed, studies must be conducted, subcommittees formed, reports written, and districts consulted, all before the question ever comes before the voters.

“I think it’s absurd that we have so many districts,” says Futrell. “Practically, however, it would be very difficult to consolidate the districts. Ideally, it would no doubt help reduce administration costs.”

But the Grand Jury is taking steps toward seriously considering consolidating some districts. In the meantime, the jury recommends more cost sharing among the districts.

“After school boards have done everything they can to save money, the local boards of education in this challenging budget climate might decide it’s time to talk to another district,” he says.

With attempts to trim some of the unnecessary bureaucracy slow in coming, there aren’t many options now for schools other than trying to avoid slashing classroom costs as much as possible. But it doesn’t look like the problem is going away soon.

“There’s nothing more disappointing and difficult for a school board than budget reductions like the ones we are currently making, which we know may affect the classrooms,” says Futrell. “It’s just something nobody wants to do.”

From the May 1-7, 2003 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

‘Identity’

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Head Games

Corpse chronicler Mary Roach dissects the cadaver-packed fright flick ‘Identity’

Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate postfilm conversation. This is not a review; rather, it’s a freewheeling, tangential discussion of life, alternative ideas, and popular culture.

“Bodies. Dead bodies! Oh my God!” cries author Mary Roach, standing atop a short, grassy knoll around which two dozen human shapes–most of them faced down, one or two faced up–are scattered about in every direction. “It’s a body farm!” yelps Roach, staring wide-eyed for a few seconds before trading that expression in for a wicked, happy grin as she adds, “But hey, it really doesn’t smell too bad.”

Thankfully, Roach is only kidding around. The splayed corpses we see are really just the sleeping bodies of sun-soaked recreationists, enjoying a quiet Sunday afternoon in the park. The day is sunny and quite warm, precisely why we’ve chosen this spot to sit and talk about Identity, a nifty new horror movie starring John Cusack and Ray Liotta.

Maybe it’s not too strange that Roach, a San Francisco-based science writer with a well-developed silly streak, would imagine that all the sleeping people around us are dead. After all, we’ve just seen a film in which 10 desperate people stranded in the rain at a desert motel take entertaining turns being beheaded, gutted, strangled, shot, smothered and, uh, toasted alive.

If that wasn’t enough to skew her view, Roach has just spent two years among the dead–whole and in parts–as research for her sensational new book, Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers. As funny as it is, well, kind of creepy, Roach’s 12-chapter free-for-all is a study of the ways that dead human bodies, from ancient days to the present, have given their all in the pursuit of important scientific, medical, industrial, and philosophical knowledge.

In her research, Roach spent time with plastic surgeons as they practiced giving face-lifts to the sawed-off heads of recent body donors, and she visited a very real “body farm” in Tennessee, where scientists study the process of human decay. In other words, Roach really knows her way around the nonliving.

After we’ve settled down on the grass with our cups of coffee, I begin by saying, “First, I want to ask about one specific moment in the film.”

“The head?” she asks.

Yep. The head.

Early in the film, the gnarly noggin is discovered as it’s going through tumble-dry in the motel’s coin-operated clothes dryer.

“I knew it was a head banging around in there–ka-thunk! ka-thunk!” Roach smiles, kind of sweetly. “I guessed it was a head because of the weight. Because of this book, I now know how much a human head weighs. And that noise was way too heavy for a hand or a foot. What else could it be? A torso wouldn’t fit in that particular large appliance, so it pretty much had to be a head.”

“How much does a head weigh?” I have to ask.

“About 11 pounds,” Roach replies. “Roughly the same as a bowling ball or a large roaster chicken.”

Good to know. But why do severed heads freak us out so much? Even Shakespeare–who could melt an audience with his words–was not above tossing a few heads onstage when a play needed a bit of a jolt in the third act.

“Heads are difficult under any circumstances,” Roach muses. “When I was doing my research, the woman who was setting up the plastic-surgery practice lab–depositing each head in its own aluminum roasting pan–admitted that she only copes with her job by thinking of the heads as wax.

The head and the hands,” she continues, “across the board, are what people who work with dead bodies find the most difficult to deal with. The head and the hands are the parts we most often see of a person. It’s very hard to make heads or hands impersonal.”

“Why,” I ask her, “do you think the severed head has become such an effective horror-film cliché?”

“A head is the thing we recognize people by,” she says. “Remember that scene in Apocalypse Now, when Marlon Brando drops that guy’s head in Martin Sheen’s lap? ‘Here’s his head! Here’s his face! Auugghhh, it’s in my lap!’ It’s horrifying because a head is the brain, and it contains the personality of a person.

“A severed knee,” says Roach, smiling, “is just never going to have that same effect.”

From the May 1-7, 2003 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Iris Stewart

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Moving in the Spirit

Author-dancer Iris Stewart celebrates the power of divine motion

Talk about a women’s movement. In her 2000 book Sacred Woman, Sacred Dance, Petaluma author Iris Stewart masterfully chronicled the history of sacred dancing and its connection to women of all religions throughout the ages. The book struck a deep chord, resonating with women hungry to express their own spirituality in a way that connected to who they are as women. In the book, Stewart described an undeniably growing sacred dance renaissance, and predicted the continued rebirth of modern sacred dance and its spread throughout the country and the world.

Today, her book is as popular as ever, and the phenomenon of sacred dance is, as predicted, establishing ever stronger footholds–pardon the pun–in community centers and yoga classes, in dance studios and public parks (see sidebar), even within the very same churches and hallowed halls that once would have banned sacred dancing and burned the practitioners.

“They’re dancing in all the churches now,” Stewart says with a look of delighted, wide-eyed wonder and pride. “Methodists, Catholics, Protestants–they’re all dancing!”

Well, perhaps not all of them, but enough to create a sizable shock wave on the cultural-spiritual Richter scale. It’s undeniable: Though sacred dance has technically always been around, it’s suddenly around in a very big way.

Sacred dance, simply put, is dance as a form of prayer, a form of connecting with the rhythms of the Creator–or Creators or whatever and whomever you embrace as a higher power–and to creatively encourage the integration of mind, body, and spirit. In literature from the Sacred Dance Guild–actually founded in prehippie, pre-New Age 1958–dance is described as a “language of faith and celebration.”

Iris Stewart speaks that language fluently.

A self-described “refugee from the Southern Baptist Church,” Stewart abandoned spirituality at the age of 16, a response to Christianity’s condescending attitude toward her as a woman. For years, she believed in nothing beyond her own mind and her emerging feminist principles. Stewart’s spiritual healing, if that’s the right term, came about in the late 1980s, when, more or less on a lark, she enrolled in a belly-dancing class.

“I was having chronic fatigue syndrome,” she explains, “and I noticed that when I went to dance class, I came out feeling better–not depressed, not tired.” The second major influential event was one of those classic out-of-body experiences, one that occurred, predictably enough, while she was dancing.

“It was many years after I’d started dancing, and I was performing in an old church that had been turned into a cultural center,” Stewart says. “I was doing a veiled dance to Ravel’s Bolero. I was doing choreography that I’d done many times, the audience was there watching, but this time it was different. This time I just felt myself kind of floating up to the ceiling. I thought, ‘Oh, this is nice. I’d like to stay up here.'”

In the introduction to her book, Stewart describes the moment as one of profoundly spiritual peace, writing, “I didn’t know what was happening. I just knew I wanted to stay with the sensation I was experiencing. Of course, that was impossible, but I began to be able to call on that sense of peace more and more often on my journey to healing.”

Eager to learn more about what had happened, Stewart hit the books, quickly discovering countless tales of people who’d had intensely spiritual experiences while engaged in the act of dance. All of that led Iris Stewart to literally write the book on sacred dance.

She wasn’t the first, of course. Gabrielle Roth, a pioneer of the modern sacred-dance resurgence, has written extensively on the subject and produced numerous CDs of sacred-dance music. What Stewart brought was intellectual heft and anthropological oomph, producing a vigorously researched book that resembles a textbook, but makes you want to move your body while you read.

Since the publication of Sacred Woman, Sacred Dance, Stewart has become one of the country’s most sought-after lecturers on the subject of women and dance. Through her website (www.sacreddance.com), she’s reached a legion of sacred dancers from all four corners of the planet. “I hear from people from all over the world,” she says. “From England, Belgium, Brazil, and Japan. It’s just an amazing phenomenon.”

Stewart believes that there is a direct correlation between the recent reintroduction of dance into the practice of certain mainstream Christian churches and the fact that more women are being ordained and put into leadership positions within the previously all-male clergy. If it’s true that male clergy seldom recognized the value of dance as a spiritual practice and that it is the female church leaders who are now slipping the practice of sacred dance back before the altar, it would lead one to assume that women share an intimate connection to dance that men don’t–or can’t–have.

Stewart is careful not to draw so bold a distinction between men and women.

“I do think there is a strong spiritual connection between women and dance,” she says, “but there are men who are involved in sacred dance in the churches now. And certainly, men do need it. Sacred dance is a human experience. Men and women both can know the power of it.”

That said, the book makes a strong case for the notion that throughout history and across the globe, sacred dance has been a practice uniquely honored and passed down by women.

“The book was written to explore the history of women’s dance as an expression of spirituality,” she says. “It’s one way of tracing the history of women’s ways of expressing the divine. Women do have their own way of expressing the divine, and dance has been an important part of that.”

Good enough. But what exactly is sacred dance, and how does it work?

“For people who don’t understand sacred dance,” Stewart says, “for those who haven’t experienced it, I describe it as an easy high.

“And then,” she adds, “as you get more and more into it, you will begin to feel that there is an opening of the spirit, through the body. That’s what sacred dance is–an opening up of the spirit and the body. It’s been done that way for millennia, all over the world–and happily, it’s happening again, now, all over the world.”

Sacred Circle Dancing–Second and fourth Tuesdays of the month at 7:30pm at the Gravenstein Yoga and Movement Center, Gravenstein Highway South, Sebastopol. Call Richard Feather Anderson at 707.523.4364.

Dances of Universal Peace–The second and fourth Saturdays of the month at 7:15pm at the United Methodist Church in Sebastopol, corner of Healdsburg Avenue and High School Road. Check the website at http://sufisonoma.org

Dance for Body & Soul–Lead by Zuza Engler, an instructor in “Trance-formative Inner work,” Dance for Body and Soul takes place Wednesdays at 7:30pm at Kuk Sool Won School of Martial Arts, 348 Petaluma Blvd. N., Petaluma. Call Zuza Engler at 707.789.0809 for more information.

Gabrielle Roth’s ‘Sweat Your Prayers’–Takes place at two locations: the Sebastopol Community Center Youth Annex, the third Friday of the month, and in Mill Valley at the Moving Center, also on the third Friday of the month. For questions about the Sonoma County class, call Leslie King at 707.823.3963; call the Moving Center in Mill Valley at 415.288.0431.

PanEuRhythmy–Developed by the late Bulgarian teacher Peter Deunov, PanEuRhythmy is a sacred dance built around the principles of love, wisdom, and truth. Author and teacher Arddella Nathanael leads outdoor PanEuRhythmy sessions at various Marin and Sonoma County park locations. Call Arddella Nathanael for times and places. 415.499.8027.

The Planetary Dance with Anna Halprin–An all-day event–taking place concurrently at various spots around the globe–the North Bay’s Planetary Dance, with dance-alchemy legend Anna Halprin, will make its mighty magic on Mt. Tamalpais in Mill Valley on May 4. The free event is open to all. Call 415.461.5362 or check the website at www.annahalprin.org.

West Coast Circle Dance Camp–Takes place June 25-29 in the High Sierras. Call John Bear at 510.528.4253 or check the websites at www.farhorizons.org and http://circledance.tripod.com/info.

Sacred Dance Guild Festival–July 17-22 at Scripps College in Claremont, Calif. The annual festival–this year titled “Paths of Radiance”–features a week of classes and workshops devoted to the art or sacred dance. Check the website at www.sacreddanceguild.org.

From the May 1-7, 2003 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Will Oldham

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Master of Every Song

Will Oldham does not want you to see songs, only hear them

By Sara Bir

Palace Music, Palace, Palace Brothers, Bonnie “Prince” Billy–take your pick. Ultimately, it’s all Will Oldham, though that’s not what Oldham would likely believe himself or have you believe. Critics enthrone him, indie-rock hipster kids worship him, and the mainstream music outlets of America don’t recognize his name–er, names.

There’s a lot of pressure in writing about Oldham, because his fans are the sort who could easily pinpoint an ill-informed critic. The unlikely details of Oldham’s background are scattered over a trail of interviews in which Oldham affects record levels of squirreliness. Imagine, then, how it feels to be Oldham, to make music that’s so loved and fixated on–music whose identity the public cannot manage to extricate from the real Oldham himself, whoever he is.

But facts first: Will Oldham is undeniably a weird dude, and that can be distilled just from first glances at his trademark unkempt appearance. There’s not a lot of hair on the top of his head, but there’s plenty in the back and a bushy mess of it up front (usually, at least) in the form of a crazy-man, Walt Whitman-style beard.

Oldham’s background as an actor–in 1987, he played a leading role in the film Matewan–could account for his tendency to adopt a stable of personas for recording and performing. He’s released three albums under the Bonnie “Prince” Billy moniker: 1999’s I See a Darkness, 2001’s Ease down the Road, and this year’s Master and Everyone, which thematically walks the middle ground between the earlier two.

Prior to these, he put out one album under his given name but primarily worked under variations on the Palace Brothers name, often recording with his brothers Ned and Paul. Since the Palace days, Oldham’s songs have become more stripped-down, musically; Master and Everyone is bare-bones in its musical accompaniment, but its focus on the eternal conundrums of domestic issues has a lived-in feel that’s frequently mistaken for American roots music.

Oldham’s compositions are so evocative that they make listeners remember things they were never around to forget and recall feelings they never experienced firsthand. There’s a sense to his narratives that Oldham’s singing his own life stories straight up, even though he’s not, a gift the songwriter shares with such modern-day troubadours as Nick Cave and Tom Waits.

Oldham’s lyrics are often oddly sexual too–or sexual and odd; it’s hard to tell which. Erotic declarations and blunt desires crop up midverse from nowhere, though their presence is never as disruptive as it is placidly brazen. “She was a fine-looking lady / and she liked to go down on me / and I liked to go down on her, too” he sings with a wistful bluntness in “A King at Night.”

There’s a sincere fragility so clear in Oldham’s voice–almost mouselike at times–which, when sung over his narratives, makes the songs faraway and mysterious and familiar all at once.

Notoriously reticent during interviews, Oldham rarely consorts with the media these days; the notion of celebrity and its corrosive power upon an artist’s vision seem to sicken him. When he is available for public comment, the results can be befuddling and cryptic.

“What makes a record different has to do with people and time of year and weather and just time,” he was quoted in online magazine Neumu. And in a note printed on fancy letterhead that came with our Bonnie “Prince” Billy press pack, Oldham cryptically scribbled, “Nobody is supposed to see, ever, just hear, which is why we make records.”

That’s the enigma of Will Oldham. He’s a tough nut to crack, though with a seemingly endless chain of recordings to scrutinize, it’s impossible not to examine the evidence and try.

Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy will play at the Old Western Saloon in Point Reyes Station, 11201 Hwy. 1, on Tuesday, May 6. Brightblack and the amazing harpist Joana Newson, who is very much worth checking out herself, open. Show starts at 8pm. $5. 415.663.1661.

From the May 1-7, 2003 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Bob Dylan

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The SACD edition of Bob Dylan’s ‘Blonde on Blonde’ (1966)

The ‘Blues on Blonde on Blonde’ tribute album (2003)

Tangled Up in Blues

Bob Dylan’s classic ‘Blonde on Blonde’ gets a makeover

By Greg Cahill

In this jaded been-there-done-that age, it’s hard to appreciate the impact Bob Dylan’s 1966 classic album Blonde on Blonde had on the rock world upon its release. Recorded in Nashville at a time when no rock musician would dare step foot there and with a core backup band that included guitarist Robbie Robertson and other members of the as-yet-unformed group known as the Band, as well as a host of top Music City session players (including guitarist Joe South), Blonde on Blonde combined intense music with often surreal wordplay in a manner that led more than one reviewer to deem the album nothing short of a revelation. Now the album is the subject of a new tribute CD and a much anticipated audiophile reissue.

Blonde on Blonde is the ultimate realization of Dylan’s association with the beat poets and marks the culmination of his groundbreaking electric rock and roll period that began with 1965’s Bringing It All Back Home and reached a fever pitch on Highway 61 Revisited.

“With rage and slangy playfulness, Dylan chewed up and spat out literary and folk traditions in a wild, inspired doggerel,” the Rolling Stone Encyclopedia of Rock & Roll noted of Blonde on Blonde. The album reached No. 9 on the pop charts and spawned the No. 2 single “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35,” the quintessential stoner anthem replete with boozy brass band. Dylan’s worldwide record sales topped 10 million that year, and his songs had been covered by at least 150 other artists.

At 62, Dylan–whose nonstop rock and roll circus makes its North Bay debut on July 25 at the Konocti Harbor Resort and Spa in Kelseyville–is still winning admirers. Case in point: Blues on Blonde on Blonde, a new tribute CD that recasts 12 of the 14 tracks from that classic LP as contemporary blues tunes.

The Telarc-label tribute turns the tables on Dylan, who has often turned to the blues for material and inspiration. Of course, you can’t compare this new tribute to the original, but for the most part these covers hold their own. Among the big names trying their hand at Dylan’s oeuvre are Joe Louis Walker (“Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again”), Duke Robillard (“Pledging My Time”), Cyril Neville of the Neville Brothers (“I Want You”), Eric Bibb (“Just Like a Woman”), and Deborah Coleman (“Temporary Like Achilles”).

Guitarist and singer Sue Foley turns in one of the album’s best performances with her raw interpretation of “Most Likely You Go Your Way and I’ll Go Mine,” and Zydeco heavyweight C. J. Chenier brings down the house with a red-hot rendition of “Absolutely Sweet Marie.”

Meanwhile, Columbia Records has issued a stereo super-audio compact disc version of Blonde on Blonde that is a must-have for completists. Like so many SACDs, this version (which can only be played on SACD players) sometimes suffers from excessive bass. But the new SACD dramatically enhances the, shall we say, haunting 3am quality of Blonde on Blonde, probably best captured on “Sad-Eyed Lady of the Low Lands.”

In July, Columbia Records is set to release 15 Dylan albums on digitally remastered, hybrid SACDs that should greatly improve the sound and which can be played on most CD players. Strangely, Blonde on Blonde won’t be one of those hybrids.

The reissues should stir plenty of media attention on the man recently named one of “The 50 Most Risk-taking, Quantum-leaping, Status Quo-shaking, Mind-bending, Soul-stirring, World-changing Innovative Americans Over Fifty” in the March/April issue of the American Association of Retired Persons membership magazine. “To dwell on his simple three chord sound and that foghorn of a voice would be missing the point,” the article notes, “because it’s not just about the music, it’s about the vision.”

The article goes on to laud “the rock sage”–who nearly died a few years ago from a heart infection–for singing about maturity, loss, and mortality, “things that rock and roll was never built to explore.”

From the May 1-7, 2003 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Fish and Chips

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Michael Amsler

Batter Up: Betty’s Fish and Chips is still going strong, as good as when this photo was taken.

Something’s Fishy

Seeking the lightest of fishes and chips

By Sara Bir

How many of you here are British? What, three? Great, then. We won’t be ruffling any feathers here. But we won’t be taking any cheap potshots at British cuisine either, because what’s the point? Trifle can be wonderful. And so can scones (real ones, not the mutated versions found at American bakeries), gigantic fatty roasted meats, and Branston Pickle. And fish and chips. Sometimes.

My favorite place to get fish and chips was the Old Vic, which was British, dingy, and Californian all at once. But the fish and chips themselves were excellent. Whenever I had a craving for fish and chips, it was for the Old Vic’s fish and chips.

Now that the Vic has come to rest, we must seek other sources for fish and chips. It’s been a bumpy road.

Before undertaking this damnation of my arteries, I telephoned a dear friend whose Scottish education and English husband would be of enormous informational wealth on this subject. “Tell me about fish and ships,” I said. “The real ones.”

“Hmm,” she replied. “Well, a proper chips shop–or chippy–is a hole in the wall. Open late, so you can eat there when you are drunk, though if they have beer, it’s probably just in cans. Décor: none. Like, none, nothing at all.”

“And the food?” I asked.

“The fish itself, yeah. Golden-brown, crispy batter. Chips, I dunno. Often the chips will be undercooked and mushy, all at once. Potatoes cut in all different sizes–some big, some small. Maybe not enough small ones.”

“So they are hunked up, just chipped up into random pieces?”

“Yes! A chipped-up potato. Usually I give them away.”

Hmm. “Any tartar sauce?”

“No,” she continued. “Tartar sauce would be too chichi. Malt vinegar, yes. Ketchup, maybe. If you ask for it, they’ll just squirt it all over the fish and chips for you. Same with brown sauce.”

Brown sauce, I learned, is like ketchup but less tangy and more peppery. And brown. “I don’t really know what it is,” my friend admitted.

The main difference between British fish and chips and American fish and chips is the chips; our chips are thinner and more frylike. Heretofore I will say “chips” but actually mean “chips/fries.” From my friend’s testimony, it seems that with our special American chips/fries, we are not missing out on much.

There are two other important differences: tartar sauce and coleslaw often appear with American fish and chips. And a lemon wedge, usually. I like to squeeze the lemon into my tartar sauce and dunk my chips in it.

Because we live in California, there is absolutely no sense in exactly replicating a British fish and chips shop here; adapting, yes. That is what Californians do: We adapt. My special adapted California criteria for good fish and chips are that they must (a) be cheap, (b) be tasty, and (c) furnish a dining experience not too far afield from the carefree, class-free origins of fish and chips. Oh, and beer is a huge plus.

My current favorite fish and chips are available in San Francisco at Edinburgh Castle, a Scottish pub in the Tenderloin that’s Scottish down to the surly bartenders. If you order fish and chips there, they call the Chinese-run fish and chips shop across the street. Minutes later, a tiny, stooped Chinese woman comes shuffling over bearing parcels of fish and chips wrapped in Chinese newspaper. The fish and chips will stink up the whole place, and everyone who didn’t order fish and chips will smell yours and stare at their half-empty pints and feel their half-empty stomachs tighten and wish that they, too, had ordered the fish and chips.

The Tenderloin is too damn far away, though. It was time to look elsewhere. I stopped in at the redundantly named Kitchen Avenue Kitchen and BBQ in Mill Valley. It’s a newish, funky little place– designed to be that way, and perhaps they’ve overdone it with the neon pig sign hanging in the back. I noticed they had fish and chips on the menu, an anomaly at a barbecue joint, but what the hey.

Ten dollars and 95 cents later, a plastic basket full of something remotely resembling fish and chips sat in front of me. First off, I smelled garlic–flash-sautéed chopped garlic and parsley scattered over the fish and chips. Everyone knows that garlic does not hang out with fish and chips! The tartar sauce was nicely lemony, and the watery coleslaw benefited from bits of pineapple here and there. But the fish: big loss.

Four fat, finger-sized pieces sat, dark brown and puffy, atop a greasy lettuce leaf. The batter had been applied too thickly, and its interior was thick, undercooked, and pasty. Plus, I detected the bite of cayenne pepper in the batter. Taking liberties with fish and chips is OK, but there has to be logic underlying it. For a meal presented in a plastic basket, $10.95 is way too much.

If you want cheap ($4.99 for a one-piece meal), go to Cape Cod Fish ‘N’ Chips in Cotati, right next to Oliver’s. It’s tiny, dark, and dingy. Ooh, very chippy. And the chips are actually chip-shaped, with a crisp coating of the texture and color of curly fries. Not trad, but edible.

The fish was OK, though the batter was overseasoned in an unplaceable, processed way. The coleslaw was gloppy and hunky and too raw. Plus, their brand of malt vinegar, Four Monks, is too mild–not nearly malty or piquant enough. Beer: none. Sigh.

Jasper O’ Farrell’s does have the beer, thank you, it being primarily a pub; hence it’s also dark, partially seedy, and full of mirrored things. At midday, a few crusty types were sitting at the bar, tucking into plates of fish and chips. Very soon, I joined them.

The $6.75 one-piece deal was, for bar food, priced reasonably. The food was comfortingly unremarkable: salty chips that could have been fried a bit longer and flaky white fish whose batter was leavened a little too much, imparting a flakiness to the coating. Their tartar sauce was chunkier than most, with possibly a hint of horseradish, and I swear to God their coleslaw had sesame oil in it. Unexpected but undisrupting, it added some spunk to the whole deal.

Jasper O’ Farrell’s is a cool place with a lot of character. You could get better fish and chips, but that’s not entirely the point.

Better chips can be had for sure at Market–An American Restaurant, a fancy, recently opened spot in downtown St. Helena. The restaurant has quite a pedigree–veterans from the French Laundry, Farallon, and Gary Danko restaurant are principals–but its menu’s focus is squarely on high-end comfort food. The champagne-battered fish and chips I had there ($11) were beautiful: three golden cod fillets, freshly borne from the deep fryer and yet grease-free. The chips were perfectly crisp and shoelace-skinny.

This is all a question of place. I do not want to go to, say, Le Cirque and order a hot dog, no matter how good that hot dog could possibly be, because it could never be as good as a $1 street-cart hot dog. As excellent as Market’s fish and chips are, I cannot bring myself to fully endorse them, because Market is way too nice a place to be a proper home to fish and chips.

There’s always Betty’s. Our former staff writer, Paula Harris, reviewed it in 1998. It hasn’t changed much since then, and her review (search for “Betty’s Fish and Chips” in the www.metrosiliconvalley.com archives) is still right-on.

Personally, I say the most promising fish and chips configuration would be to transfer the kitchen staff of Market to the premises of Cape Cod Fish ‘N’ Chips, and add a keg of Bass Ale. Something tells me that’s not going to happen.

Kitchen Avenue Kitchen and BBQ
72 E. Blithedale Ave., Mill Valley. 415.381.2936.

Cape Cod Fish ‘N’ Chips
548 E. Cotati Ave., Cotati. 707.792.0982.

Market–An American Restaurant
1374 Main St., St. Helena. 707.963.3799.

Jasper O’ Farrell’s
6957 Sebastopol Road, Sebastopol. 707.823.1389.

Betty’s Fish and Chips
4046 Sonoma Hwy., Santa Rosa. 707.539.0899.

From the May 1-7, 2003 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

John Trubee

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Photograph by Wild Don Lewis

Penis Prose: John Trubee acheived a certain fame from the song “Blind Man’s Penis.”

Trubee or Not Trubee

The myth, the man, the legend, the unknown twisted genius of John Trubee

By Sara Bir

Rest is for the weak, and no way is John Trubee weak. For the past 10 years, Trubee has lived in almost total obscurity in Santa Rosa, writing songs, dubbing cassette tapes, and burning a colorful assortment of CDRs. He’s released a fat stack of albums with multiple bands and music projects (including the enigmatic Zoogz Rift, who went on to become a pro-wrestling promoter); written reams of scathing, razor-sharp antipoetry; and helmed a mail-order business that carries bootlegged prank phone-call tapes, bizarre video productions, and Kinko’s-bred printed material.

Trubee may be best known for “Blind Man’s Penis,” an unlikely ditty which, in the grand scheme of things, is not very known at all. But the strange and wonderful song represents the tiniest fraction of this man’s output.

At first glance, a great chunk of Trubee’s oeuvre–musical and otherwise–reeks of spite, of piss and vinegar. Songs like “Satan Pukes on High School Cheerleaders” and “Mental Illness Can Be Beautiful” project an image of a man whose confidence in the human condition is very low. But upon closer examination, Trubee’s life and work has been “not about the darkness of life, but about the joyous absurdity and strangeness of it,” as fan Matt Pamatmat puts it.

Trubee grew up in Princeton, N.J., in an upper-middle-class home, the oldest of five brothers in a straight, disciplined family. “First album I ever bought was Sgt. Pepper, and it was strange because I really wanted to get Magical Mystery Tour, but they didn’t have it,” he says, sitting poolside as the spring dusk arrives at the Flamingo Hotel.

Trubee is drinking Galliano on the rocks–which, he informs us, is not usually served that way, but that’s how he likes it–and he wears a thick, knotted rubber band on his right wrist. “So I got the next best thing, and I put it on my dad’s stereo and played it, and I just started shaking with excitement. I got so fascinated that I started buying Beatles albums, got my first guitar.”

Eventually, Trubee went to Boston’s Berklee College of Music, where he felt the call of California. “I was always intrigued with music and show biz and stuff–palm trees and great weather and crap like that. Not that I was intrigued like people want to be rich and famous, but just the whole thing of it–music and records, the whole process of doing it. Being a kid and hearing the Beach Boys and the Mamas and Papas–it seemed like California was a magical place.”

So after graduating, Trubee loaded up the back seat of his car with records and drove out to Los Angeles. His first job was in a film vault in Hollywood, organizing tapes of The Hollywood Squares. It was during this time that Trubee became involved with Zoogz Rift and His Amazing Shitheads, with whom he played bass and guitar.

Rift released an impressive discography on the punk label SST, where he was a bit of an anomaly alongside bands like Black Flag and the Minutemen. Although Zoogz Rift has been compared frequently to Captain Beefheart and Frank Zappa, he eventually created a genre-defying sound all his own.

“Zoogz’s real name is Robert Pawlikowski, but he legally changed his name just as a ‘screw you’ to the world, to be the nonconformist that he is. He’s a very difficult person to deal with. He has very few friends, and he’s very prickly. It’s almost like dealing with a dragon–it spits fire and it will puncture you and hurt you, but if you deal with a dragon long enough, you get to be friends with it and it no longer burns you. One of my friends says Zoogz is like chutney–it’s an interesting flavor, but you wouldn’t want to have it every day.”

The whole time Trubee played and toured with Zoogz, he still held down minimum-wage jobs. He wasn’t crazy about the work, but it allowed him to make the music he wanted to make. It was through one of these low-paying jobs that “Blind Man’s Penis” came about.

While Trubee was still in New Jersey, he worked as a cashier at a convenience store. During one endless shift of boredom, he noticed an ad on the back page of a tabloid: “Co-write on a 50-50 basis, earn $20,000 in royalties.”

Trubee proceeded to sit down and, in
five minutes, write the most ridiculous stream of nonsense committed to paper, with lines like “The zebra spilled its plastinia on bemis / And the gelatin fingers oozed electric marbles . . . Stevie Wonder’s penis is erect because he’s blind / It’s erect because he is blind.”

Expecting a furious rejection letter, Trubee instead received an invitation to send $79.95 to the studio, who would then record his song. Trubee took up the offer and a few weeks later got a 45 RPM record that played a professionally deadpan, nasal vocalist delivering Trubee’s lyrics over a track of uninspired, bare-bones country music–only the chorus had been altered to read: “A blind man’s penis is erect because he’s blind.”

This recording wound up on many of the custom-dubbed sampler tapes of noise, readings, and ephemera that Trubee made to pass out to music-industry types while he was in Rift’s band. One of these tapes found its way to the then fledgling label Enigma Records, who wanted to put “Blind Man’s Penis” out as a single.

“I made a handshake deal,” Trubee says. “We didn’t sign anything. I said I just wanted a couple hundred promo copies.” Trubee sent his copies to Dr. Demento, then-music columnist Matt Groening, and Elvira, who had a Sunday afternoon show on KROQ. “Blind Man’s Penis” became a minor sensation in the L.A. area.

The song still draws attention. Filmmaker Jamie Meltzer’s recent documentary Off the Charts: The Song-Poem Story included a segment featuring Trubee reciting his lyrics along with the record, and “Blind Man’s Penis” was recently included on the amazing compilation The American Song-Poem Anthology. Trubee’s track stands out because in the fascinating genre of song-poems, the hapless songwriters are typically 100 percent serious about their songs; Trubee was in on the joke all along.

After Enigma issued the “Blind Man’s Penis” single, Trubee wanted to do another record. “But I didn’t know how to go about it and ask directly, the right way,” he says. Instead of sending out demos with promo material, he sent out a “totally pathetic fake suicide note,” declaring his terminal frustration with the world and the music industry–which did seize the attention of Matt Groening and Enigma. Thus came about the LP The Communists Are Coming to Kill Us, whose first side was a sound-noise collage assembled from Trubee’s archives of tape, edited together in a matter of hours.

John Trubee and his backing band, the Ugly Janitors of America, went on to release a handful of albums, some on Enigma, some on a small German label, some self-released, but all instilled with Trubee’s whacked sensibility. For every lovely and inspiring moment, such as “When My Ship Rolls In,” there’s a confounding explosion of chaotic noise. This is not to everyone’s taste, and it has resulted in some very negative feedback hurled Trubee’s way. “I love negative stuff. I think it’s wonderful,” he says. “It adds to the controversy. You can’t control what people react to.”

Trubee landed in Santa Rosa because of his increasingly pressing desire to get the hell out of L.A. “You’ve heard that idea [that] when you’re on your deathbed you see your whole life as a huge panorama around you?” he asks. “I thought, ‘If I don’t change this situation, that’s what it’s going to be on my deathbed: My life will be a panorama of being surrounded by crap that I hate.'”

On a drive across California, Trubee stopped in Santa Rosa for coffee. “I looked around and said, ‘This is really pretty. This is it.’ So I just moved here cold–no job, no friends. But I have no regrets. Anything of value in the world requires risk. Sometimes you bleed a little for it.”

Like “Blind Man’s Penis,” Trubee’s promotional cassettes took on lives of their own; people would send him found recordings or write and request specific cassettes. This led him to start a tiny catalogue business, Space and Time World Enterprises, which carries titles such as The Crying Bitch Tape and Satanic Cellular Phone Calls from Hell.

Considering this information, it’s ironic to find that Trubee’s job involves “using the phones,” as he puts it. “That’s as much as I can say. It’s just a normal day job. I’m ashamed I’m even working in a day job.”

The last time Trubee recorded was in 2000, but he’s still writing. “I have dozens of songs sitting in folders at home, tons of stuff I’m dying to get out, and I don’t have any money to record,” he says.

Trubee is the perfect example of the hidden life behind the picture of the guy we see on the cover of an obscure album in the record store, the unexceptional reality of his 9-to-5 life obscuring the underground legacy of his artistic life.

“It’s such an enriching and satisfying thing to do music; in some way it can be crippling, because I’ve spent so much of my time and energy in it,” Trubee says. “I’ve gotten windfalls of money occasionally, and I’ll go and blow them out on [making] an album, and if I were a normal person, I could have used that as a down payment for a house.”

But how many homeowners have secretly dreamed of making rock records? Trubee’s in the minority, but he’s lived out his own version of the American dream more than most of us ever will.

John Trubee delights in receiving bizarre mail from strangers. Send your insults, life stories, acid trip recollections, and non-bouncing checks to P.O. Box 4921, Santa Rosa, CA 95402 or e-mail him at cr***************@**no.com.

From the April 24-30, 2003 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

‘Spirited Away’

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‘The Castle of Cagliostro’ (1979)

‘Castle in the Sky’ (1986)

‘My Neighbor Totoro’ (1988)

‘Kiki’s Delivery Service’ (1989)

‘Princess Mononoke’ (1997)

‘Spirited Away’ (2001)

‘Spirited Away’/’Castle in the Sky’/’Kiki’s Delivery Service’ three-pack (2001/1986/1989)


Spirit World: Chihiro meets the mysterious creature who’s been following her in ‘Spirited Away.’

Fear and Wonder

‘Akiko’ creator gets ‘Spirited Away’ by the films of Hayao Miyazaki

Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate postfilm conversation. This is not a review; rather, it’s a freewheeling, tangential discussion of life, alternative ideas, and popular culture.

Back in March, on Oscar Night, when Hayao Miyazaki’s animated oddity Spirited Away was awarded the Oscar for Best Animated Film–beating out Disney’s popular Lilo & Stitch and the 20th Century Fox megahit Ice Age–the majority of Oscar-watching Americans sat back and thought, “Spirited Away?” Till that moment, most Americans hadn’t heard of the film, in spite of the fact that it had already racked up worldwide grosses of over $250 million. To date, only about $8 million of that was earned by the dubbed version released in the States–and promptly rereleased in theaters immediately after the Academy Awards–and now in video stores.

One American who had heard of Spirited Away was Mark Crilley, who’d seen Miyazaki’s film in the original Japanese and who ranks himself as a major fan of the man behind such films as Princess Mononoke, Kiki’s Delivery Service, and My Neighbor Totoro.

“Hayao Miyazaki is huge in Japan!” enthuses Crilley, who lives in Detroit. “He’s like the Beatles, the guy we’re all waiting for to see what brilliant thing he comes out with next.”

Crilley, it should be said, rates as his own kind of national monument here in America–if you happen to be among the many fans of a certain loopy comic-book series about a super-smart Japanese girl who hangs out with people from the planet Smoo. Crilley is the creator of the insanely popular Akiko comic series, which just published its 50th issue, as well as the author of several bestselling spin-off novels, the latest of which is Akiko and the Alpha Centauri 5000.

I bumped into him at a book signing in California, where I promptly invited him to see the rereleased version of Spirited on the big screen. Though he prefers the Japanese-language version, Crilley was dazzled by the film all over again.

“I love the image of the subway train gliding across the surface of the water,” he says, recalling one of many memorable moments from the film. “The little flying pieces of paper–that can stalk you or cut you or just float around in air–there was such a magical quality to them.”

In the eerie and dreamlike film, a young girl named Chihiro is drawn into a magical realm of gods and spirits, where she is forced to work in a vast, spirit-world bathhouse in order to save her parents, who’ve been turned into pigs. “One of my favorite scenes in the whole movie,” says Crilley, “was when she gets to the guy with all those arms, operating the boiler that runs the bathhouse.

“The scene taps into that universal sense of being an outsider,” Crilley continues, “when you’re the new person in a school or a working environment. Chihiro is the new girl in this weird world, and she doesn’t know the rules yet. I think we all feel like that sometimes.”

Allowing that the film’s creepier aspects might be a turnoff to some viewers, Crilley says, “To anyone who sees this film and thinks, ‘Oh boy, this is not to my liking,’ I hope they won’t let this be the last Miyazaki film they see.

“If I had to pick one movie that I feel has been unjustly ignored, it would be My Neighbor Totoro. It is available on videotape, but the packaging suggests that it’s just another Japanese kids’ movie, so it’s never gotten the treatment that Mononoke and Spirited Away have gotten. I hope that people–and critics–will seek it out and reevaluate it, because I think it’s a flawless film on every level.”

Which brings Crilley to the one Miyazaki film he’d most like to see in the future.

“I’d love to see Hayao Miyazaki’s Akiko: The Movie,” he laughs. “If anyone can do my little stories right, he can.”

From the April 24-30, 2003 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Ira Glass

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‘This American Life: Lies, Sissies & Fiascos,’ a two-disc compilation of the most popular segments from ‘This American Life.’


Photograph by Richard Frank

See More Glass: Ira Glass may have a different fan base than Howard Stern, but he’s still a radio star.

Radio On

To a nation of rapt listeners, Ira Glass is a radio hero

By Sara Bir

This American Life has been on public radio for seven and a half years now, and even though an armload of interviews with the show’s host, Ira Glass, have divulged the fascinating and labor-intensive process behind the show, the behind-the-scenes details of This American Life never fail to fascinate.

Neither does Glass, a man of many words (even if about one-third of them are “um”). He’s the kind of immediately personable guy that we want to have in our circle of friends–energetic, good-natured, insightful, and quick-witted–and to the rapt audience of This American Life, for one hour every Saturday afternoon, it feels like he is. We talked to Glass recently over the phone from his office in Chicago.

Tickets for your appearance in San Rafael sold out quickly. Do you feel that you are famous, or a celebrity?

The only time I ever feel anything like that is when I come out and speak. When you’re just on the radio, nobody recognizes you. And because it’s public radio it’s not such a high-profile thing that, like, when I give my charge card to the man at the video store, he doesn’t go, “Ira Glass!” That has never happened in a lifetime of buying things. Last week for my birthday, we went to a steakhouse. The thought that I’d give my charge card to the guy and he’d say, “Wait a second, you said on your program that you didn’t eat meat!”–that would be horrifying.

After all of these years interviewing other people, does it feel weird to be interviewed?

It’s taken me a long time, actually, doing publicity for the show–like years–to be able to be interviewed by somebody and not spend the entire interview as them. I’ll hear myself answering a question, like the answer I’m giving to you now, and the thing I think is the thing the interviewer thinks: ‘Come on, get to the good part, say something I can use,’ and I’ll not only be editing the interview as it’s happening, but I’ll also be structuring the story. I’ll be thinking, “Where’s the lead?” Even as I’m saying these words, I’m thinking, “Hey, that wouldn’t be a bad lead.”

What do you think of public radio’s current content?

When I got my first internship at NPR, it was 1978; All Things Considered had been on the air for six years–it wasn’t a national institution. The ways in which it has changed since then . . . two things have happened: the reporting has gotten way better. When I started with NPR, Robert Siegel was the foreign correspondent in Europe–that was it, the entire continent, all of those countries, and I think he had to cover Russia too. So there wasn’t a lot of depth to the breaking news coverage. Whereas now, it’s prosperous and a really strong network in every way.

Where it’s kind of fallen apart, I think, is it just has less of a personality on the air. It’s like it exchanged a more charming personality for a smarter personality. What you get is clear, you understand what’s happening, you understand what it might mean. But often there’s not a lot of heart. And I feel like that’s almost a violation of the laws of radio.

[The conversation then swings to discussion of people why people like or dislike public radio.]

My girlfriend can’t abide it–can’t stand it. She feels like people talk in a condescending tone, and she doesn’t find it that interesting. When we’re in the car, we flip back and fourth. . . . If it’s in the morning, we’ll flip between Howard Stern and Morning Edition. Like a huge demographic of the audience, actually, is flipping between Howard Stern and Morning Edition.

Maybe that’s like taking fat-free milk and two percent, and mixing them together to get what you want.

I feel it’s more like taking fat-free milk and combining it with pure cream. It’s like taking matter and antimatter, and, like, clapping them together.

Ira Glass will appear at the Osher Marin Jewish Community Center’s Hoytt Theater on Thursday, April 24, at 7:30pm. 200 N. San Pedro Road, San Rafael. 415.444.8000.

From the April 24-30, 2003 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

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