‘Speed-the-Plow’

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‘Speed-the-Plow’

Mad about Mamet

Fine cast distinguishes AT’s ‘Speed-the-Plow’

By Patrick Sullivan

Ever wonder why Hollywood churns out so many crappy movies? David Mamet knows the answer, and in Speed-the-Plow, which kicks off a Mamet festival at Actors Theatre, he reveals all. Sort of.

Mamet ought to have plenty of insight on this subject. After all, while he made his bones in the theater with landmark dramatic works such as Glengarry Glen Ross, he scored the big bucks by writing screenplays for films ranging from The Postman Always Rings Twice and State and Main to Hannibal and Heist.

In Speed-the-Plow, Mamet gives us all of Tinseltown compressed into one room: the new office of Bobby Gould, the freshly minted head of production at a big film studio. The promotion has put Bobby (played by Joe Winkler) in a position of power, but he’s been around long enough to know that it also makes him a target.

And sure enough, before you can say “I’m ready for my close up, Mr. DeMille,” Bobby finds himself at the center of a peculiar battle of wills between two of his underlings.

Think back to those old Heathcliff cartoons, where an angel and a devil whisper conflicting advice into the titular feline’s ear. Bobby’s shoulders are just as crowded. On his right, pitchfork gripped firmly in a hammy fist, sits the production boss’ right-hand man, a hard-charging Hollywood insider named Charlie Fox (Robert Conard). Wearing the angel costume is Bobby’s idealistic new secretary, an attractive young temp named Karen (Heather Siglin).

The fight is over which script the studio will next produce. Charlie wants to make “great big jolly shitloads of money” with a prison movie featuring action superstar Dougie Brown. Karen, who appeals to both Bobby’s conscience and his eye for beauty, wants to save the world with The Bridge, a script by a highbrow novelist that would, as she says, “teach people they don’t need to be afraid.”

The AT production of this morality play offers an excellent cast. Winkler and Conard are big, very physical guys with hugely expressive faces and voices–perfect for a Mamet play. Both actors also have a flair for the kind of macho comic dialogue that pervades Speed-the-Plow. Pondering how Bobby should decorate his new office, Charlie offers this advice: “Why don’t you paint it with broken capillaries, decorate it like the inside of your nose?”

Heather Siglin brings the necessary physical beauty to the play, but unlike actresses sometimes chosen for this part, she also achieves the potent mix of intelligence and naiveté crucial to making her appeal to the cynical Bobby believable. Confronted by her sincerity and simple questions (“Why must it all be garbage?”), the two men are often reduced to babble. And Siglin even manages to make a halfway compelling case for the quality of the play her character has chosen to champion–which is no easy task.

For Mamet has certainly stacked the deck in this contest between conscience and commerce, as might be expected from a Hollywood insider. Are there good scripts the movie biz will never touch because they don’t feature enough quivering bosoms, raging gun battles, and thinly disguised racism? Sure, but The Bridge ain’t one of ’em. Charlie has great fun giving comic readings of lines like “He thought of architecture.” And, really, the script sounds no better than his prison movie.

Speed-the-Plow also bears the Mamet trademarks: a raging case of sexism and a lot of irritatingly repetitive dialogue: “This morning a man came to see me.” “A man came to see you?” and so on.

But it’s generally a funny play with a compelling conflict, and the cast assembled by director Brian Newberg manage to wring nearly every drop of comic juice to be found in the script. Just leave your sensitive side at home.

‘Speed-the-Plow’ continues through Feb. 2 at Actors Theatre, LBC, 50 Mark West Springs Road, Santa Rosa. For details, call 707.523.4185.

From the January 10-16, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Blues Harmonica Blowout

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Blues Harmonica Blowout

Humming Along: Canadian blues phenom Carlos del Junco brings his talented mouth to Santa Rosa on Jan. 13 for the Blues Harmonica Blowout.

Blues Blowout

Festival gives voice to the humble harmonica

The average harmonica weighs only about four ounces. That’s not what you’d call heavy, and it places the distinguished device among the smallest musical instruments on the planet. That said, there’s nothing tiny about a harmonica’s sound, which ranges from a mesmerizing intonation of diatonic complexity to an eardrum-shredding blast of wildly multitudinous chords and tones.

And yet, ever since its unexpected birth nearly two hundred years ago–reportedly around 1829 at the hands of either Sir Charles Wheatstone or Friedrich Buschmann, depending on your source–the humble harmonica has struggled to gain the kind of respect given to the flute, the piano, the guitar, and the fiddle. Only the accordion and the bagpipe have suffered similar public relations woes. Still, those instruments have long enjoyed their own high-profile music festivals.

“A lot of people look at the harmonica as a toy,” states East Bay bluesman and harmonica virtuoso Mark Hummel. “The problem is, with a harmonica, the audience can’t see what the player is doing, because unlike with a piano or a guitar, it’s all being done in the harmonica player’s mouth. The harmonica–like the blues–has always been given the back seat in the music business.”

But things do change.

The blues themselves are enjoying a resurgence, and the harmonica is finally beginning to earn some respect as well. And thanks to Hummel, the harmonica has even been given its very own music festival.

For 11 years, Hummel has been staging an increasingly popular Bay Area event called the Blues Harmonica Blowout. In years past, Hummel has invited the Bay Area’s reigning masters of the mouth organ to come out and strut their stuff. But this year’s show marks a milestone for the event. For the first time, Hummel has arranged to bring in some of the best blues harmonica players from around the country and beyond. “This will be the most varied lineup I’ve ever had,” Hummel says.

The show–which comes to the Last Day Saloon in Santa Rosa on Sunday, Jan. 13–will feature blues legend Snooky Pryor, one of the oldest living pioneers of the Chicago blues sound and one of the first blues players to amplify the harmonica.

Hummel himself will perform with his own band, the Blues Survivors. The bill also includes the great Sam Myers, Canadian phenom Carlos del Junco, Anson Funderburgh, and Sonoma County’s own Norton Buffalo.

The show also boasts a rare California appearance by Annie Raines, the hot, young Boston-based harmonica player whom Hummel–and many fans and critics–ranks among the best blues harp players in the business.

“She kicks most guys’ asses on the harp,” Hummel says. “Seriously. Annie Raines is better than 85 percent of the other players out there.” Noting that there are remarkably few women playing blues harmonica, Hummel says, “Women don’t tend to gravitate to the blues the way men do. It’s never had a big a female fan base. I don’t know why.

“Maybe the guys aren’t cute enough.”

“I don’t know why there are so few female harmonica players,” says Raines, who makes her home in Boston and has burned a path through the blues world with her guitar-playing partner Paul Rishell, who will join her onstage at the festival.

Two of a Kind: Boston’s Annie Raines and Paul Rishell blow into town for the harmonica festival.

Photograph by Eric H. Antonjou

Raines is looking forward to the Blues Harmonica Blowout, having heard colorful tales for years concerning Hummel’s yearly extravaganza. She’s especially anticipating a good time with the other performers, most of whom she’s played with in the past. And she doesn’t mind being the only woman on the bill.

“My grandmother played the harmonica,” she says, citing her earliest influences. “My mother plays a little, though neither one was a professional musician. But I have to say that, growing up, I never felt like there was anything I couldn’t do just because I was a female.

“All I know is the harmonica moves me strongly,” she adds. “The minute I started playing it, I knew I never wanted to stop. Now, when I’m up on stage, if I’m doing my job, it doesn’t matter if I’m male or female. The people in the crowd will be just as moved.”

Raines has noticed that the blues has been attracting more and more young players. She predicts that an increasing number of women players–some with a similar love of the harmonica–will appear in the near future.

The blues, says Raines, is in the midst of a major renaissance.

“An even more sustained renaissance,” she says, “than the one that took place in the sixties.” As to why the blues is enjoying a resurgence of respect, Raines is less certain. “I really don’t know,” she says. “Maybe people are finally starting to get it now that everything on the radio has at least a little blues in it.”

As for the new respect that seems to be growing for the long-suffering harmonica, Raines laughs as she says, “I hope that’s true. It seems to be true. People have always loved or hated the harmonica. I like to just concentrate on the people who like it.”

“It’s a taste thing,” says Hummel. “Harmonica is an acquired taste, and even the people who love harmonica have different tastes as to which kind of playing they like. Some people think Bob Dylan’s a great harmonica player. I think he’s pretty terrible. You can use the harmonica as an accompaniment to guitar as Dylan or Bruce Springsteen or Tom Petty do. Or you can use it as a solo instrument. I prefer the players who use it that way, who know how to make the harmonica sing.

“For me,” he continues, beginning to sound like a kid at Disneyland, “people like Snooky Pryor and Sam Myers are my heroes. I’ve learned from them. I’ve inherited my love of the blues–and my love of the harmonica–from them.”

Like Raines, Hummel foresees a powerful, worldwide re-energizing of the blues and looks forward to whatever the future brings to the art form.

“I’ve never seen the harmonica as prevalent in commercials and pop music as it’s been in the last few years,” he says. “Fortunately, there are more good harmonica players now than there have ever been.”

The Blues Harmonica Blowout takes place on Jan. 13 at 5 p.m. at the Last Day Saloon, 120 Fifth St., Santa Rosa. Tickets are $25. 707.545.2343.

From the January 10-16, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

John Walker

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John Walker is deluded, but does anybody remember Columbine?

By Dan Savage

Remember the school shooting in Jonesboro, Ark., that left five dead and 10 wounded? How about the school shooting in West Paducah, Ky.? Or Springfield, Ore.? The mother of all school shootings took place in Littleton, Colo., on April 20, 1999, when Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold opened fire at Columbine High School. The two had been planning an attack on their school for more than a year and managed to kill 12 students and one teacher before killing themselves.

Now here’s an interesting fact: Littleton voted for Bob Dole in 1996 and George W. Bush in 2000. Jonesboro also went for Bush in 2000, as did West Paducah. Springfield bucked the school-shooting-cities-for-Bush trend and voted for Gore.

What difference does it make who the residents of Littleton supported for president?

Quite a lot, if right-wing pundits are to be believed. According to conservative commentators, John “American Taliban” Walker tells us everything we’ll ever need to know about Marin County, where Walker grew up.

Writing in the Washington Times, Wesley Pruden insists Walker is “bad news . . . for hot-tub liberalism.” How Walker wound up in Afghanistan fighting for the Taliban, Pruden writes, “will be the stuff of endless argument, harangue, and speculation.”

Then Pruden speculates that Walker–whose parents still live in San Anselmo–is the logical end product of a culture that doesn’t teach the young “very much about right, wrong, God, flag, and country.” In Marin, political liberalism, permissive parents, and moral relativism all combine to create murderous traitors.

Right-wing commentators have also accused liberals of wanting to excuse Walker’s crimes. “I don’t think John was doing anything wrong,” John Walker’s father famously told a TV news reporter. “We want to give him a big hug and then a little kick in the butt for not telling us what he was up to.”

But Walker’s parents are about the only people in the United States who think Walker’s life should be spared–even most liberals want to pack Walker off to paradise–and the anguish of Walker’s parents is understandable.

What did they expect Walker’s father to say? “Please hang my son”? My-kid- converted-to-Islam- and- took-up-arms- against-his-country is not exactly covered in What to Expect When You’re Expecting.

And if John Walker’s actions–or his “journey,” as they say in San Anselmo–tell us everything we need to know about that part of the country, then Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold must tell us everything we need to know about Littleton, Colo.

If growing up in Marin means Walker was taught too little about right, wrong, God, flag, and country, perhaps growing up in Littleton means Harris and Klebold were taught too much about these same things. The pair seems to have been well versed in their Second Amendment rights, that’s for sure.

If political liberalism, permissive parents, and moral relativism create murderous traitors, then conservative small towns apparently create school shooters. And Milwaukee creates cannibals (Jeffrey Dahmer), Boston creates stranglers, and London creates rippers named Jack.

The right simply can’t have it both ways: If one son of liberal Marin joining the Taliban and taking up arms against his country proves that Marin breeds traitors, then two sons of conservative Littleton taking up arms against their defenseless classmates proves something similar about Littleton.

Or, hey, maybe all that Marin’s Walker and Littleton’s Harris and Klebold can prove is that some people are murderous, deluded little shits, and that these murderous shits grow up in both liberal and conservative parts of the country. Like Harris and Klebold, Walker is an American tragedy, not Marin’s tragedy.

Walker was a creation of the political left no more than Harris and Klebold are creations of the political right.

From the January 10-16, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Train

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Train

Train Time

North Bay rockers score five Grammy nods

By Greg Cahill

What started eight years ago as a two-man band with acoustic guitars and powerful voices honed in college coffeehouses has built up a full head of steam and become a record industry juggernaut of sorts. Train, a Bay Area band with Petaluma connections, is definitely on a roll.

The popular rock act picked up five Grammy Award nominations last week–including the coveted Song of the Year (a songwriter award) and Record of the Year (an artist and producer award)–on the strength of their Drops of Jupiter (Sony) album and the hit title track.

Those nominations put the band in such lofty company as U2, flower pop star Nelly Furtado, and soul singers India.Arie and Alicia Keys. Train’s ruggedly handsome singer, songwriter, and guitarist Pat Monahan, a Pennsylvania native who now lives in Petaluma, was on hand when the nominations were announced Jan. 4 at a press conference in Beverly Hills. The 44th annual Grammy Awards, televised worldwide, will take place on Feb. 27 at the Staples Center in Los Angeles.

Train also picked up nominations for Best Rock Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocals, Best Rock Song, and Best Instrumental Arrangement Accompanying Vocalists, all for the “Drops of Jupiter” single. The band, which launched their Drops of Jupiter tour earlier this year with a show at the Mystic Theatre, heads for Europe Jan. 13 for a two-week tour.

Other North Bay artists involved in Grammy-nominated projects include rock guitarist Joe Satriani (Best Rock Instrumental Performance: “Always with Me, Always with You”), former Journey axe slinger Neal Schon (Best Pop Instrumental Album: Voice), and Indian classical and jazz fusion tabla player Zakir Hussain (Best World Music Album: Saturday Night in Bombay: Remember Shakti with John McLaughlin).

A host of local blues acts were also tagged, including singer Maria Muldaur (Best Traditional Blues Album: Richland Woman Blues with Roy Rogers and Bonnie Raitt), guitarist Joe Louis Walker (Best Traditional Blues Album: Hellhound on My Trail: Songs of Robert Johnson), folk/blues great Geoff Muldaur (Best Traditional Folk Album: Avalon Blues: A Tribute to the Music of Mississippi John Hurt), and blues harmonica ace Charlie Musselwhite (Best Traditional Soul Gospel Album: Spirit of the Century with the Blind Boys of Alabama, featuring Musselwhite).

“Once again, this year’s nominations reflect many different musical points of view, from those established artists whose influence has shaped the evolution of our musical language to newcomers who speak with a unique resonance,” said Recording Academy President/CEO Michael Greene. “We are gratified to see so many truly talented singer/songwriters; they remain a vital part of music’s foundation.”

Meanwhile, Train also leads the list of nominees for the California Music Awards (formerly the Bammy Awards) with six nominations, including Outstanding Album, Outstanding Single, Outstanding Rock/Pop Album, Outstanding Group, Outstanding Male Vocalist, and Outstanding Songwriter. That gala awards ceremony recognizing significant musical contributions made by California artists will be held Saturday, April 27, at the Henry J. Kaiser Arena in Oakland.

Other North Bay favorites nominated for a California Music Awards include Joe Satriani and Les Claypool.

From the January 10-16, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Karma Indian Bistro

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New Indian bistro heats up Cotati

By Paula Harris

Indian restaurants abound in my home town. London, and the rest of Britain for that matter, is teeming with Asian-Indian food establishments. From chic tandoori restaurants, boasting servers in silken saris, to grungy hole-in-the-wall curry take-outs, the perennial late-night staple of boozy pub crawlers, fire and spice rule.

Well, we’re no longer in London, but tonight Sonoma County feels pretty similar. The rain is slicing down outside as the cloudy sky deepens and traffic snarls. It’s cold. It’s wet. It’s just like home.

And I need a curry hit.

So, as we enter Karma Indian Bistro in Cotati, the intoxicating fragrance of simmering onions and ginger and the dizzy anticipation of savoring a thick, tongue-searing sauce are especially welcome.

This new restaurant, with a main dining room and a lunch buffet area, isn’t fancy. Yet the white linen tablecloths and fresh flowers on each table lend a classy tone.

The walls are a sunny turmeric yellow. There’s a little bar with three diner-type red leatherette and silver chrome stools, plus comfy booths and several tables. The recessed lighting and simplicity of the place is pleasing.

The music from the sound system emits a variety of melodies, from traditional Indian folk to smooth jazz from Kenny G.

Karma has received mixed reports about its service. According to the restaurant’s owners, much of the problem was due to a faulty tandoor oven that was sometimes slow to bake the food.

After a closure of some three weeks to fix the traditional brick and clay heat source, the restaurant is back up and running.

The restaurant seems also to have alleviated the service problem by adding staff. We’re served by several men in white shirts and black pants, and all are very helpful. Questions are encouraged, and the chefs will prepare dishes from mild to spicy to suit your taste and heat tolerance.

The cuisine of various Indian regions is represented. Specialties include tandoori meats and seafood marinated in yogurt and spices and cooked in the clay oven, and a generous selection of curries. Vegetarians enjoy choices galore.

Samosas ($3.95)–two crisp pastry puffs, plump with spiced potatoes and peas–are a satisfying appetizer. They’re served with two sauces, a tangy tamarind and a spicy mint.

The menu calls aloo tikki ($3.50) “lightly breaded potato cubes seasoned with herbs and spices,” but these aren’t cubes; they’re patties. Still, with the toasty, non-oily outside and the fluffy mashed potato inside, they are a texture treat.

We order the baigan barta ($8.50), a vegetarian curry, extra spicy. But this version is actually quite mild, and doesn’t resemble the fire served in England, where for some, the mark of a superior curry is when you sweat uncontrollably, your nose runs, and you tear up simultaneously.

This baigan barta, with freshly roasted eggplant, chopped onion, bell pepper and garlic, ginger, and herbs, is more smoky than spicy. I didn’t care for the consistency, which is like mashed baby food.

The lamb saagwala ($12.95) is a rich curry featuring big cubes of lamb (chewy rather than tender) thickly coated in a fresh spinach and coriander sauce. It’s bright with flavor but once again on the mild side, even though we ordered medium.

A lighter dish is the vegetable biryani ($9.95), rice-baked in the oven and brimming with green beans, roasted cashew nuts, peas, raisins, carrots, scallions, and spices.

Miniature copper dishes hold lemon-scented dal (lentil purée), which is so thick and fortifying that we drink it down rather than pour it over the rice.

A variety of condiments drive the intense flavors home. Raita ($1.95) is a cool refreshing yogurt and cucumber blend; sweet chutney ($1) is homemade using fresh mangos; and achar pickles ($1), an acquired taste, have a jarring flavor like a mouthful of stale, spicy seawater.

There’s a wonderful selection of leavened breads baked in the clay oven, some studded with garlic and cilantro, others stuffed with potato and spinach. But I found the texture to be overly doughy.

A few wines are available, but cold beer may be a better choice. Try the Taj Mahal, Flying Horse, Golden Eagle, or Majaraja, all imported from India.

The one dessert offered this evening is a very runny looking rice pudding. We passed and sweetened our spicy breaths instead with a spoonful of fennel seeds and pinhead-sized mints offered in a bowl by the door.

We leave happy. Indian food can be stodgy, oily, and glutinous, so Karma is to be praised for offering a wide variety of flavorful regional specialties with a lighter touch–even though the sweating was kept to a modest minimum.

Karma Indian Bistro Address: 7530 Commerce Boulevard, Cotati; 707.795.1729. Hours: Lunch buffet Monday-Friday, 11:30a.m. to 2:30 p.m.; Dinner Monday-Saturday, 5-9p.m. Closed Sundays. Food: Indian Service: Good and helpful Ambiance: Comfortable rather than exotic Price: Inexpensive to moderate Wine list: Small wine selection but several Indian beers Overall: 3 stars (out of 4)

From the December 27, 2001-January 2, 2002 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

‘A Beautiful Mind’

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‘A Beautiful Mind’

Nutty Professor

Russell Crowe gnashes Nash in ‘A Beautiful Mind’

By

The schizophrenic delusions of John Forbes Nash, Jr., according to his biographer Sylvia Nasar: “In his mind, he traveled to the remotest reaches of the globe: Cairo, Zebak, Kabul, Bangui, Thebes, Guyana, Mongolia. . . . He was C.O.R.P.S.E. (a Palestinian Arab refugee), a great Japanese shogun, C1423, Esau, l’homme D’Or, Chin Hsiang, Job. . . . Baleful deities–Iblis, Mora, Satan, Platinum Man, Titan, Nahipotleeron, Napoleon, Shickelgruber–threatened him.”

And he lived in fear of the apocalyptic Day of Resolution of Singularities.

Nash, subject of the film A Beautiful Mind, was the Nobel Prize-winning math genius and madman whose mental illness interrupted a brilliant career. This career included such discoveries as Nash’s equilibrium in game theory and Nash’s theorem about the embedding of manifolds in Euclidean space. The illness was tragic, but at least Nash was spared, for a time, from falling into the hands of screenwriter Akiva Goldsman and director Ron Howard. That time has ended.

Not since the film Awakenings has the career of a scientist been subject to such terminal dumbing down. Russell Crowe brings a certain sway to the part of Nash–he’s good with bemusement and panic. Still, Howard and Goldsman’s anti-intellectual approach to the material ensures that A Beautiful Mind remains a disease-of-the-week film shot in the dullest colors. Crowe’s virility is shorted out here for “Oscar-caliber acting”: the standard sloppy, shoe-gazing, awkward little boy portrait of an intellectual. His Nash is redeemed by true love (Jennifer Connelly, gorgeous as always, but unable to draw a bead on her shying co-star).

The madman’s deliriums–which were more vividly suggested in Pi, no doubt inspired by Nash’s troubles–are presented here as a plain Cold War spy drama, featuring Ed Harris as a spy in a snap-brim hat. It’s a clever strategy to make cinema out of the career of a man who spent most of his life staring at a chalkboard. Still, what Nash accomplished could have been illustrated so much more thrillingly.

Yes, the movie is different from the book, which outlined a fiercely competitive academic world that sometimes strained the sanity of those who lived in it. The movie-shall-be-different-than-the-book law doesn’t mean all adaptations of real life must be crapified. Ours is an era when you can tell any kind of story in a movie, so there’s no excuse for deleting troublesome subjects, such as Nash’s pre-breakdown sex life, which included an illegitimate child and several male lovers.

The “brute mental power” a colleague described in Nash is ignored in creating this fake prestige movie, topped with a glop of derivative and repetitive James Horner music. Appropriately, it’s a soundtrack that’s enough to drive anyone insane.

From the December 27, 2001-January 2, 2002 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

‘The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring’

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‘The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring’

Fate Forward

A master of myth meets the ‘Lord of the Rings’

Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate post-film conversation.

Phil Cousineau is exhausted. The award-winning documentarian, teacher, storyteller, photographer, and author–who certainly ought to be worn out, if only from carrying the weight of so many hats on his head–has only been back home in San Francisco for 12 hours, following a long week of bicoastal book-touring.

Yet there he is, waiting–and yawning–on the steps of Grace Cathedral from whence we will embark on a rainy, two-hour drive to San Jose to catch an early-morning screening of The Fellowship of the Ring. And though the film, based on the first book of J. R. R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy, is all of three hours long, Cousineau remains energized through every exciting second, not yawning once. In fact, it’s all he can do to remember to breathe.

When he finally does, it’s to sigh “Unbelievable!” and “Magnificent!” as the film concludes. Moments later, on the way out of the theater, Cousineau stops to gaze at the eight foot high Lord of the Rings display standing in the lobby. There is the astonishing, expressive face of Frodo Baggins (Elijah Wood), Tolkien’s unwilling hero, the fur-footed Hobbit whose task it is to destroy a golden ring so evil it could plunge his world into darkness. Looking over Frodo’s shoulder are the assorted members of the fellowship of elves, dwarves, hobbits, and men that have formed to help him, most notably Gandalf the wizard (Ian McKellen), the young hobbit’s mentor and spiritual guide.

“This will turn out to be a very important film,” says Cousineau, a widely recognized expert on myths, best known for his documentary, The Hero’s Journey: The World of Joseph Campbell, and the best-selling book, Once and Future Myths: The Power of Ancient Stories in Modern Times.

“In my studies of myth over the years, I’ve seen that at about the two-thirds point in all of our great classical myths and fairy tales, the hero or heroine has an opportunity, a choice, to make a decision to either be a victim of fate–or to turn fate into destiny,” Cousineau observes.

“In this story, Frodo–this wonderful young boy–has to make that decision repeatedly,” he continues. “To turn his fate into destiny, or turn his back. Those moments are part of what make this one of the most powerful films of the last decade.”

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Cousineau forces his eyes away from Frodo’s half-panicked, half-determined face. With that we embark on a quest for lunch.

“At the heart of this story,” Cousineau says 30 minutes later, as a mostly untouched plate of pasta waits on the table before him, “underneath the story of Frodo the hobbit, is the eternal fascination and obsession with the source of evil. What do we do about it in every generation? Will it overwhelm us, or will someone have the courage to go through the dark night of the soul, to enter the dark forest, to go down into the underworld to defeat the monstrous source of evil?”

“The deep fascination that exists in all of our hero literature, all of our quest stories, is the question, ‘Will I have what it takes when that moment is here for me?’ ‘Will I be just a victim of fate, or will I turn fate into destiny?'”

From the December 27, 2001-January 2, 2002 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

2001 in Review

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Remembering 2001, the year that sucked

By Patrick Sullivan

Looking back over this year that’s about to pass mercifully into history seems like a dangerous thing. Maybe all memories have fangs, but 2001 is surely the year that bites.

You could describe it in general terms–as a time of layoffs, rip-offs, and death from above. But our modern world is a visual place, and most of us could sum it up in one image, whether it’s a plane smashing into a building or something closer to home, something more personal–something with teeth, something sucks the air right out of your lungs. Something you’d prefer not to think about.

“You’re writing 600 words about 2001, the year that sucked?” my brother said. “You should just write ‘mom died’ 300 times.'”

Very true. After staring at a little white box holding my mother’s ashes, Sept. 11 felt less like a surprise than a strange confirmation of something I already knew.

But for many Americans, I think, the events of the last few months–the suicide attacks, our war in Afghanistan, the world’s apparent ongoing economic collapse–packed such a wallop because we’d been riding so high for so long. Even those who weren’t benefiting much from this long period of peace and prosperity were at least getting high off the fumes.

Being punched is one thing; getting sucker punched is something else.

Of course, the first half of 2001 wasn’t all beer and Skittles: It wasn’t only Al Gore’s campaign staff that was left feeling a bit queasy about the less-than-clear resolution of the presidential election confusion. And ominous signs of our coming economic woes were everywhere–we could all hear the cruel cackle of the poltergeists loose in those little houses on Wall Street.

But we were urged to forget. Forget the election controversy, never mind the economy, full speed ahead. The subtext? Looking back, dwelling too long on the past–these are dangerous things. They kill the momentum. They sap the will.

Those calls have started again, after a barely decent interval following the events on that black September day.

During the holiday season, nearly every city in the country was covered with posters showing an American flag with shopping bag handles attached. The not too subtle message? America is open for business, so get on with your life–and your shopping.

It didn’t work, of course: For Christmas, most retailers got a lump of coal in their cash registers.

But the “forget about it” attitude lives on in the way 2001 is described. There are some who employ the soothing euphemisms of the talk-show nation, the narcotic narrative of Oprah-speak. They call it “the year of challenges” or “a time of testing.”

If you think that sort of description does justice to those forced to jump from the upper stories of the World Trade Center (or to the Afghan children maimed and killed by stray American bombs), raise your hand.

Didn’t think so.

It’s often said that Americans hate history–that we prefer to live in the present rather than dwell on the past. And it may be especially tempting to throw a blanket over this traumatic year. But let’s not try.

For one thing, it won’t work. Why not? It’s those grim images, those indelible mental snapshots, that keep returning to haunt the mind’s eye.

For you, it might be collapsing buildings or falling people. For me, it’s that newspaper photo of the small boy hunched over the coffin of his mother, who was killed on Sept. 11. For that kid, 2001 was not a time of testing. For him, 2001 will not be over until 2020–or maybe longer.

And for another thing, coming to terms with horror takes time. It’s not something you can multi-task, processing the grim effluvia of the subconscious and coming to terms with the existence of evil while chatting on the cell phone and updating your website.

It’s popular to say that Sept. 11 changed the world; it’s not so quite so common to say we all ought to take a good long time to figure out exactly what that means.

But that’s exactly what we should be doing.

From the December 27, 2001-January 2, 2002 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Britney Spears vs. Pink Floyd

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Britney Spears vs. Pink Floyd

Fame Game

Naming the year in two notes

By Greg Cahill

It’s Celebrity Death Match at its most raucous. In the red corner, wearing low-slung jeans and a scanty halter top, it’s pop princess Britney Spears, trying to prove that there’s life after the teen-pop phenomenon that rocketed her up the charts three years ago. In the blue corner, looking paunchy and decidedly middle-aged, but determined to regain their crown as best album-oriented rock band of all time, it’s Pink Floyd.

For the past three weeks, Britney’s long-awaited eponymous third LP has gone toe-to-toe with Pink Floyd’s Echoes (Capitol), a two-CD greatest hits collection, both hitting the stores in the same week. Britney debuted at number one; Pink Floyd claimed the number two spot.

In a year that gave us the XFL, the Bush presidency, and the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks, the Billboard pop chart at year’s end is a tuneful battleground that reflects the opposing forces at war within the soul of America.

Can you still take comfort in the vapid trappings of popular culture, or are you looking for more meaning in your life?

Britney, of course, is out to prove something. Her disco beats are grittier, her songs more reflective. And there’s a clear message. “Overprotected,” “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman,” co-written by Dido, and “What It’s Like to Be Me” set the tone. And just in case you miss the point, “I’m a Slave 4 U” let’s you know Britney’s working overtime for your sake.

This is Britney, the image-conscious, sexually charged pop queen in overdrive, the ultimate product of the Mouse Factory, Disney’s breeding ground for the stars of the new millennium. She’s everything that corporate America has to offer, from her silicone-enhanced breasts to the come-hither woman-child persona she pushes on her slick MTV videos (first shaped by director Gregory Dark, who honed his trade in the 1980s as a porno filmmaker).

At a time when President Bush is promoting tourism and asking millions of unemployed workers to spend their way out of the recession, Britney is the corporate America’s poster child, the material girl du jour.

On the other hand, Pink Floyd speaks to that side of the national psyche that senses there’s more to life than a new Lexus, Xbox, and Armani suit. Sure, this is a washed-up band that hasn’t had a hit in three decades. But for all their songs of angst, alienation, and social decay, Pink Floyd’s hard rock still resonates with a huge segment of the record-buying public.

And remember that for all of society’s obsession with success, this is a band whose biggest commercial hit–1973’s smash single “Money”–derided the pursuit of the almighty dollar and helped vault the conceptual masterpiece Dark Side of the Moon on to the charts for hundreds of weeks.

As a body of work, Echoes evokes sometimes psychedelic, often ponderous art rock filled with songwriter Roger Waters’ frequently mundane and even maudlin ruminations about everyday life, with occasional experimental excursions into the frenetic, the surreal, and the terrifying. It’s the perfect soundtrack for a post-Sept. 11 world struggling to redefine its values and searching its tired soul.

Britney is a willing slave to the machine, happy to lead you down the garden path; Pink Floyd offers cautionary tales about authority (“Another Brick in the Wall”), comfort to the forlorn (“Hey You”), and not so gentle reminders that your casual compliance to the system is bleeding you of your humanity (“Sheep”).

Heed their call or cue up for Britney’s ear candy–consider it a pop music lesson in duality.

From the December 27, 2001-January 2, 2002 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

2001 News in Review

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2001 News in Review

Strange Days

Local news took odd turns in 2001

By Paula Harris

Crisis has been the rule on the national and international scenes during this past year, but local events also took more than a few unusual twists. Forget bungled ballot boxes or the bewildering bin Laden–things got very strange right here in the North Bay. Let’s look back.

Puppet Government

Argyle Sox didn’t make it into office, but he had a surprising number of supporters in his failed bid for a seat on the San Rafael City Council in November. The fact that Sox is a floppy-eared dog with mismatched eyes–and a sock puppet to boot–did not deter some voters from tossing him their support. Assisted by his trusty “campaign manager,” actor-artist Robert Cooper, Argyle Sox wowed supporters with stump speeches along the lines of: “Hi, I’m running for city council. I heard there are already four puppets on the council, so I thought I’d fit right in.” Incumbents were supremely unamused.

Cathouse

Neighbors on a Petaluma street knew something was amiss with one house on the block. Maybe it was the stench. Later, after vandals broke some windows, authorities discovered the place was overrun with some 200 freely breeding neglected cats.

In May, police arrested Marilyn Barletta, 62, on two counts of animal cruelty charges in the bizarre cat-hoarding case, the largest ever of its kind in Sonoma County, according to authorities.

Barletta lives in San Francisco but apparently bought the Baker Street property to house the stray cats. She denies neglecting the animals, but prosecutors say the dilapidated place was overrun with feral felines living in filthy conditions. Animal control officers euthanized 160 of the cats, saying they were too sick or too wild to be given up for adoption.

Barletta was charged with one count alleging the cats were tortured and another alleging the animals were deprived of food, water, and shelter. She has been free on $10,000 bail. However, the sorry tale may not yet be over. Barletta faces additional criminal charges after police and animal control officers this month discovered what they fear could be the makings of a replacement collection: several more cats at the Baker Street home.

Authorities later issued a $50,000 arrest warrant for Barletta who last week was due for an arraignment on the additional charges but skipped court. Prosecutors say Barletta told her attorney she was going to the bathroom–but never came back. Police later arrested Barletta on a neighbor’s tip. At press time she was awaiting release.

Keeping Pace

USA Track & Field, the national governing body for running sports, has named Frank Ruona of Novato the country’s top runner in the 55-59 age group. That recognition was news in itself and a great coup for Marin County, but what really gives the honor a strange twist is that Ruona, 56, has persisted in running despite suffering seven cardiac arrests last year.

Ruona first became aware that he had a heart problem in 1996 while running the California 10-Miler. Doctors diagnosed him with atrial fibrillation, an arrhythmia disorder. But frequent bouts of heartbeat irregularities that had Ruona ending up as a regular in the emergency room for shock treatments did not deter the intrepid runner. He did finally decide that it was time to have a pacemaker implanted; the operation took place last July.

Ruona hasn’t suffered a cardiac episode since the operation. He continues to train hard and has not been beaten by anyone in his age group this year.

Taliban Man

He’s been dubbed a parents’ worst nightmare. John Walker, a 20-year-old former San Anselmo resident (yes, San Anselmo, land of the hot tub and caffe latte), was catapulted into infamy in early December when he was found–long-haired and grubby–fighting alongside Taliban forces in Afghanistan. He clambered out of a sooty basement in Mazar-e Sharif and landed in plenty of legal hot water. Although his lawyer is pushing a public relations strategy in the hopes that Walker will ultimately face charges resulting in a few years’ prison time, Walker may face treason charges, which could carry the death penalty. At press time, the Marin man was being held aboard a U.S. vessel in the Arabian Sea.

Green Town

The active city of Sebastopol has never been one to be lulled into complacency: Just look at the collection of signs at city limits welcoming visitors to the city. The West County community is a nuclear-free zone, and there’s a voluntary ban on the use of pesticides in place. Several years ago, a sign also proclaimed Sebastopol a rape-free zone. Now the city could be going partially car-free as city residents are being asked to refrain from driving on the first Sunday of every month.

When the Sebastopol City Council, comprised of many Green Party members, recently brought up the highly controversial suggestion to encourage cleaner air and less traffic snarls, some folks, particularly local merchants, consumers, and car dealership owners, were aghast at the thought of folks actually using their legs. The council meeting rapidly deteriorated and actually erupted into fisticuffs between supporters and opponents. Two men had to be physically separated by the chief of police. Talk about driving a wedge.

DA Days

Sonoma County District Attorney Mike Mullins was back in the news this year after high-ranking female investigator April Chapman accused him of retaliating after she filed a sexual harassment complaint against a former colleague. Chapman, a former sheriff’s deputy with a reputation as a top criminal fraud investigator, was sent back to the front desk to handle paperwork after blowing the whistle on prosecutor Bruce Enos, whom she alleged had sexually harassed her.

Mullins, a longtime subject of criticism by women’s rights advocates who claim he’s failed to aggressively prosecute cases of rape, spousal abuse, and sexual harassment, denied that he transferred Chapman to the lower post out of vindictiveness. A jury cleared Mullins in November but released a statement criticizing all sides in their handling of the matter. Officials say the cost of defending the DA suit could cost Sonoma County taxpayers as much as $300,000.

This latest jury verdict comes less than a month after county supervisors agreed to pay former prosecutor Donna Ryan more than $123,000 to drop a discrimination lawsuit against Mullins and the county.

Mullins this month faced another problem when the high-profile Dr. Louis Pelfini murder case collapsed after prosecutors said videotaped rehearsals undermined the credibility of a key witness. The dismissal of this case has caused some to believe Mullins has lost his edge over opponent Stephan Passalacqua in Mullins’ bid for a third term in office.

From the December 27, 2001-January 2, 2002 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

‘Speed-the-Plow’

Mad about Mamet Fine cast distinguishes AT's 'Speed-the-Plow' By Patrick Sullivan Ever wonder why Hollywood churns out so many crappy movies? David Mamet knows the answer, and in Speed-the-Plow, which kicks off a Mamet festival at Actors Theatre, he reveals all. Sort of. Mamet ought to have plenty...
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Blues Harmonica Blowout

Humming Along: Canadian blues phenom Carlos del Junco brings his talented mouth to Santa Rosa on Jan. 13 for the Blues Harmonica Blowout. Blues Blowout Festival gives voice to the humble harmonica The average harmonica weighs only about four ounces. That's not what you'd call heavy, and it...
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John Walker

John Walker is deluded, but does anybody remember Columbine? By Dan Savage Remember the school shooting in Jonesboro, Ark., that left five dead and 10 wounded? How about the school shooting in West Paducah, Ky.? Or Springfield, Ore.? The mother of all school shootings took place in Littleton, Colo., on April 20, 1999, when...
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Train

Train Time North Bay rockers score five Grammy nods By Greg Cahill What started eight years ago as a two-man band with acoustic guitars and powerful voices honed in college coffeehouses has built up a full head of steam and become a record industry juggernaut of sorts. Train, a Bay Area...
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Karma Indian Bistro

New Indian bistro heats up Cotati By Paula Harris Indian restaurants abound in my home town. London, and the rest of Britain for that matter, is teeming with Asian-Indian food establishments. From chic tandoori restaurants, boasting servers in silken saris, to grungy hole-in-the-wall curry take-outs, the perennial late-night staple of boozy pub crawlers, fire...
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‘A Beautiful Mind’

Nutty Professor Russell Crowe gnashes Nash in 'A Beautiful Mind' By The schizophrenic delusions of John Forbes Nash, Jr., according to his biographer Sylvia Nasar: "In his mind, he traveled to the remotest reaches of the globe: Cairo, Zebak, Kabul, Bangui, Thebes, Guyana, Mongolia. . . . He was C.O.R.P.S.E. (a...
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‘The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring’

Fate Forward A master of myth meets the 'Lord of the Rings' Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate post-film conversation. Phil Cousineau is exhausted. The award-winning documentarian, teacher, storyteller, photographer, and author--who certainly ought to be worn...
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2001 in Review

Remembering 2001, the year that sucked By Patrick Sullivan Looking back over this year that's about to pass mercifully into history seems like a dangerous thing. Maybe all memories have fangs, but 2001 is surely the year that bites. You could describe it in general terms--as a time of layoffs, rip-offs, and...
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Britney Spears vs. Pink Floyd

Fame Game Naming the year in two notes By Greg Cahill It's Celebrity Death Match at its most raucous. In the red corner, wearing low-slung jeans and a scanty halter top, it's pop princess Britney Spears, trying to prove that there's life after the teen-pop phenomenon that rocketed her up the...
Read more

2001 News in Review

Strange Days Local news took odd turns in 2001 By Paula Harris Crisis has been the rule on the national and international scenes during this past year, but local events also took more than a few unusual twists. Forget bungled ballot boxes or the bewildering bin Laden--things got very strange right...
Read more
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