It’s that time of year when I write a lot of posts about movies! This will be a quick one. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this fact on my blog, but I’m kind of a movie score connoisseur. I’m the person who tells my friends, whether they care or not, that the same person who composed the score to Forrest Gump also composed the score to Captain America (that’s Alan Silvestri). I have a favorite film composer, Thomas Newman, whose beautiful score was one of the many wonderful things about Saving Mr. Banks, a movie everyone should go see.
But for the past couple of days, I’ve been thinking a lot about Patrick Doyle, an underrated composer best known for scoring many of Kenneth Branagh’s films, although he’s done much more. Although Doyle has composed a few quiet, subtle scores, such as the piano-driven Sense and Sensibility soundtrack, he is at his best when he’s in his joyful and triumphant mode. For me, a movie score can be just as good as a rock concert for a fist-pumping, adrenaline-rushing moment, and when I want that, I often turn to Patrick Doyle. Here is a list of my top five life-affirming P. Doyle tracks. In most cases, the track I mention is at the very end of the movie.
1. “Merida’s Home” from Brave
2. “Thor Kills the Destroyer” from Thor
3. “Strike Up Pipers” from Much Ado about Nothing (1993) Note: Spotify lists the composer of this soundtrack as “David Snell.” This is base slander. I have no idea who David Snell is.
4. something from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I couldn’t pick a favorite track here; they are all great. I love “Hogwarts’ Hymn,” from the credits, but it’s not quite the “fist-pumping” experience I described above.
5. “Papa!” (starting about 1:30) from A Little Princess, which I only recently realized that Patrick Doyle scored.
In my December 5 post I mentioned that I was considering writing a post on Stevie Wonder’s song “Someday at Christmas,” a Christmas song that I’m not ashamed to say makes me cry. But the post I was crafting in my mind sounded a lot like the one I had just written about “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” (i.e., me waxing poetic and theological about a song which I would then quote), so I decided not to bore you. Instead, I’ll briefly mention my thoughts on that song in my list of assorted observations I’ve made so far this month about classic Christmas music and movies.
If you believe Jesus is going to come a second time and recreate the world as a place of peace and justice, listen to “Someday at Christmas” with that in mind. It would only take one or two little tweaks of the lyrics to make it an eschatological song.
You know that bird on the Island of Misfit Toys who doesn’t fly . . . he swims? And you know how during the end credits of Rudolph, that elf in Santa’s sleigh sends each toy down to earth with an umbrella to ensure a safe and pleasant landing? Well, the other night my friends and I noticed that THE ELF DOESN’T GIVE THE BIRD AN UMBRELLA! I shouted, “That bird can’t fly!” and everyone laughed, but it was a rather tragic moment for this bird lover.
I watch White Christmas pretty much every year, and while it’s hard to resist Bing Crosby’s smooth, warm voice and soulful blue eyes, my real White Christmas crush is Danny Kaye, so debonair when he’s dancing and awkward when he’s not, and adorable either way.* Until last night, I had always been under the impression that Danny Kaye was an unusually tall man, mainly because his ankles always seemed to be sticking out. But last night when I was watching White Christmas, I looked closely at that scene near the end when all the soldiers are lined up to honor General Waverley, and I noticed that DK is actually shorter than the guys on either side of him. So I looked him up on Wikipedia this morning, and it turns out that he was 5’11”–not short by any means, but not unusually tall. I think one reason he looks tall in White Christmas is that he’s always next to Bing Crosby, a relatively little guy at 5’7”. But another reason–the reason Danny Kaye’s ankles always seem to be sticking out–is that he’s often wearing his pants too short in what I believe is a deliberate move to show off his awesome socks, such as the mustard yellow ones he’s wearing in the scene where he fakes a broken ankle. He executes this sartorial maneuver long before it was cool, of course, and it’s just one of several proto-hipster clothing choices that Danny Kaye–or at least his character, Phil Davis–makes throughout the movie, including a deft use of the cardigan.
Perhaps I’ll have some more epiphanies (no holiday pun intended) while watching The Muppet Christmas Carol, Love Actually, and any other Christmas movies I may end up watching over the next week, or while listening to Christmas music, such as the instrumental “Victorian Christmas” albums I was listening to earlier or Bing Crosby’s White Christmas (not affiliated with the movie), which I’m listening to right now. Let me know about any keen observations you may have had as well!
*Speaking of Christmas movies and crushes on now-deceased actors, can I get a witness to Jimmy Stewart’s gorgeousness in It’s a Wonderful Life?
During the past 24 hours I have watched two movies that were good, but not great. Both suffered–though not to a great extent–from cheesy dialogue and improbable plot lines. Yet I was thoroughly engrossed in both, and now I can’t stop thinking about them. The movies were The Godfather: Part 3 (generally agreed to be the least good–it would be false to say the “worst”–of the three) and Thor: The Dark World. The reason I’ve invested so much thought and feeling into these movies has little or nothing to do with dark elves, astrophysicists, or bloodbaths in New York or Sicily. It has to do with family drama.
Maybe it’s because my own immediate family has experienced mercifully smooth sailing over the years (I mean, we scream at each other sometimes, but that’s not enough to make a movie premise), but whatever the reason, I love stories about families trying to navigate the treacherous waters of heartbreak, betrayal, and that kind of stuff. I’m especially a sucker for brother stories (see my poem on that topic; my latest Weasley fanfic also picks up on this theme), but any combination of sibling, parent-child, or husband-wife relationship will do it for me.
The Godfather trilogy is, of course, all about a F/family. Though I consider all three movies to be well worth the significant time commitment, Part 2 is the one that absolutely blows my mind. A lot happens in the three hours and 20 minutes we’re with the Corleones, but it all really comes down to sibling relationships, as the four children of Don Vito try to figure out what to do with his staggering legacy of blood and money. We have a brother who blunders into an offense, a brother who can’t forgive that offense, a sister who is blindly loyal to her family, and a dead oldest brother whose presence is still there. We have a fratricide–committed by proxy but no less real. For me, the best scene in that movie is a flashback where all four siblings, young adults, are sitting around a table, celebrating a birthday (I think it’s their father’s). We see Sonny, Fredo, Connie, and Michael having a very normal interaction that is bittersweet and fascinating only because we know who they will all turn out to be. It is a brilliant scene.
In Part 3, though Michael’s problems with his own children and estranged wife take precedence, I was happy to see that the sibling relationships still get their due emphasis, even if only two of the siblings are still alive. Connie is still there telling Michael the lies he wants to hear; Sonny is there in the person of his equally hotheaded son, and Fredo haunts Michael like Banquo’s ghost.* I could have dispensed with all the Vatican stuff and even the rival mafiosi. I could have just watched Michael sitting in a room surrounding by his closest family members with his conscience eating him alive.
Similarly, in Thor: The Dark World, I wouldn’t have cared if nobody ever visited Earth or any other realm (although I did feel like I was really cool when my limited knowledge of German helped me figure out quickly what “Svartalfheim” meant). I would have been content to just watch the family drama play out in Asgard. There’s certainly plenty of it. Thor deliberately and calculatingly defies Odin’s orders, unlike in the last movie when he only did so on an angry whim. And Frigga defies Odin’s orders too! (Are you friggin’ kidding me? Sorry, I couldn’t help it.) And what is up with Loki? Does he really love his mom, or is that part of his elaborate B.S.? And then there’s the brother rivalry. There are about five bizarre but wonderful minutes in which this movie becomes a fantastical version of a road trip comedy. There is actually a conversation in which Loki criticizes Thor’s driving (flying) and Thor tells him to shut up. This is spot-on sibling stuff. I think my sister and I had the exact same conversation last time we were in a car together.
I’ve never read the Elder Edda, but from my limited understanding of Norse mythology, I don’t think the familial relationships were emphasized much at all in the original legends. (Odin, to paraphrase a line from The Dark World, was far more All-Father than any specific person’s father. And Loki was never actually adopted by the Odin family; he was merely a barely-tolerated mischief-causing member of Odin’s entourage.) It may be blasphemous to say so, but I think Marvel Comics improved on the original by playing up and/or creating the deep connections between the characters. It certainly made The Avengers much more interesting: Did you notice how Thor never really becomes just one of the guys? The others keep their distance from him. Surely this is not only because he’s semi-divine (like Superman, but without the human guise) but also, and probably more so, because he’s the villain’s brother.
I should stop. Suffice it to say that I’m in serious geek-out mode right now about both of these fictional families, and I can’t wait to hash it all out with the next person I run into who’s seen either or both of the movies. If you want to be that person, get the conversation started in the comments!
*Look, I know this is a spoiler, but I don’t think anybody has a right to complain about spoilers when the movie has been out for decades.
This past weekend my mom and I attended the fourth annual LeakyCon in Portland, Oregon. (This year there is also a London LeakyCon.) LeakyCon began as a Harry Potter convention (named for the website The Leaky Cauldron, which in turn is named for the tavern that marks the boundary between Muggle London and the magical shopping district Diagon Alley), and while it now represents a number of fandoms, it’s still a Harry Potter convention to me. The following is simply a highlight reel representing one person’s experience of the convention.
Best chance encounter: My mom was buying a pop at a concession stand and I was playing Wordsmith on my phone* when Mom said, “Hey, that guy’s wearing a cardigan like Neville’s.” I quickly noticed that he also had the Sword of Gryffindor hanging from his belt and was indeed cosplaying, quite convincingly, as Neville Longbottom, who, as you probably know, is my favorite character. We asked him for a photo, and he ran to retrieve the Sorting Hat so that his costume would be complete. On Facebook and Twitter you can see a picture of me standing next to a very BA “Neville” as he draws the sword out of the hat.
*I’m calling this the luckiest five minutes of my life because in addition to the encounter I’m about to describe, I played my highest-valued word to date, for 98 points.
Most heartwarming story: We got to attend a panel featuring three actors from the movies: Devon Murray (Seamus Finnegan), Scarlett Byrne (Pansy Parkinson), and Ellie Darcey-Alden (young Lily). They all seemed like good quality people, but Devon was (predictably) the scene-stealer, telling story after goofy story from both his personal life and his on-set experience. One story, though, was just plain sweet: Devon confessed that he didn’t read the Harry Potter books until after he finished filming the movies, explaining that he has dyslexia and wasn’t into reading as a kid. While he still isn’t an avid reader, he credits what interest he has in reading to his costar Matthew Lewis (Neville!), who dragged Devon along to a bookstore and got him started on the same series that Matthew was reading. Introducing someone to reading is one of this greatest kindnesses a person can show, in my opinion.
Most informative session (and best souvenir): My favorite regular session that we attended (a close second would be the live episode of the MuggleNet podcast Alohomora!) featured still frames and script excerpts of scenes that weren’t included in the movies, along with discussion of why they might have been left out. Not only was it a fascinating session, but I also won a bottle of pumpkin juice because I started following the presenter on Twitter.
These were my favorite moments from the convention. As I recall other events and conversations that made an impression on me, I may add them here. If you were there, tell me about your favorite experiences!
This past Saturday, after I watched Skyfall for the second time, I had some clever thoughts that I believe deserve to be turned into a blog post. I realize that it’s a little late to be doing 2012 year-in-review summaries, but in my defense, several of the movies I’ll be referencing are probably still in your local cheap second-run theater. So here it is: The Bad Guy Report.
The year 2012 proved interesting in the villain department. For example, in The Amazing Spiderman, we saw Luna Lovegood’s dad stop trying to recreate the lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw and move to bigger, higher-tech mad scientist projects, which led to his turning himself into a Godzilla-type creature who enjoyed ravaging New York City. (By the way, the actor in question may have roles he’d rather be known for than his ten-minute appearance in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part One, but I persist in calling him Xenophilius Lovegood because it’s a lot easier to pronounce than his real name, Rhys Ifans.)
Speaking of summer supervillains, this year Batman finally met an opponent with an equally incomprehensible voice. It’s a good thing most of the confrontational scenes between the Dark Knight and his nemesis, Bane (I guess I could have just said “his b/Bane”), involved more punching than talking. Despite Bane’s sad backstory, Steelers fans worldwide will hate him forever for destroying Heinz Field just to prove something we already knew: Even a giant fissure opening up in the middle of the field couldn’t stop Hines Ward.
Moving on to movies upon which the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences deigned to bestow their notice, Django Unchained featured Leonardo DiCaprio’s first truly villainous role. Seriously, Leo, you’re 38 years old; it was about time you played something other than a golden boy. Well, to be fair, I suppose Howard Hughes wasn’t, strictly speaking, a golden boy; nor was that guy from Shutter Island. But it’s good (in a troubling way, I guess) to see that DiCaprio can cross nimbly over to the dark side when called upon to do so. From what I understand (I haven’t seen the film yet), he does it convincingly. Oh, speaking of bad guys in Django Unchained, what’s this I hear about Jonah Hill playing a member of the KKK? I didn’t think the Klan allowed Jewish participants, let alone sweet-looking baby-faced Jewish boys. I’ll have to see that to believe it.
2012 was also an important year for bad guy philosophy. Wreck-It Ralph is essentially an extended commentary on the interaction (and sometimes the vast disparity) between the roles we have to play and who we really are at our core. You probably saw the trailer with the bad guy support group a million times, but the words of the hairy wrestler Zangief bear repeating: “You are bad guy. But that doesn’t mean you are bad guy.” (N.B. I never figured out what was so bad about Zangief, other than the fact that he left out his indefinite articles.) And if you’ll indulge me in one more profound quote, this one from an unnamed zombie: “Good…bad…UGHHHH [zombie sound]. You must love you.”
Now it’s time for the bad guy move of the year. You know, villains are just like professionals in any field; they exchange ideas through trade publications, discussion boards, etc. (I was going to say conferences, but they generally don’t like to be in the same room with each other, except in the unusual situation described in the preceding paragraph.) So some years, you might see two movie villains employing the same strategy, both to great effect. The 2012 bad guy move of the year is as follows: Get yourself captured and placed inside a glass case right in the middle of the good guy headquarters. Smile unsettlingly and taunt the good guys. Eventually, when it’s too late for them to do anything about it, allow them to develop the inkling of the idea that you are exactly where you want to be. Then, escape and wreak general havoc.
Does this strategy sound familiar? It should, since it was used by two of the most memorable villains of the year, Loki in The Avengers and Silva in Skyfall. I didn’t notice the resemblance until the second time I saw Skyfall, which is proof that 2012’s bad guy move of the year is fully customizable to a variety of personalities, styles, and situations–although it seems to work best for villains who fall into the category of mischief maker (as opposed to, say, mad scientist or power-hungry politician). And now that I’ve mentioned mischief makers, it is perhaps beginning to dawn on you that a very similar strategy, though without the glass case, was used by the ultimate bad guy of the past decade. Remember? “I want my phone call”? In case you need your memory jogged, I’ll close this report with a video clip. After you’ve marveled at the brilliance of this truly frightening 2008 villain, let me know some of your favorite bad guy moments of 2012.
My recent post titles seem quite revolutionary: first we resisted the Oscars; now we’re–what? Boycotting everyone’s favorite day of the week? Not exactly. I don’t have a problem with the day itself, but with its name. Here’s why: Saturday is the only weekday named after a Roman deity (Saturn). English is a Germanic language, doggone it. We don’t need any of that Latin crap.
As a review, our other days are named after, respectively, the sun, the moon (note that these are good Anglo-Saxon words–we don’t say Solisday or Lunaday), Tyr (Norse god of war), Woden (the German version of the more familiar Norse god Odin All-Father), Thor (sexy god of thunder), and Freya (goddess of love and beauty and also dead people slain in battle). In other words, the English names of the first six days of the week make you want to go read the Elder Edda while listening to Led Zeppelin.
And then we get to Saturday, which is named after…the depressing Roman god of winter and old age and irony? (To prove my point, if you don’t know what the word saturnine means, look it up; it’ll make you want to lie in bed all next Saturday, even if you don’t normally do that.) That’s lame. I think we need to have a good Northern name for the final day of our week. I’m sitting here with a copy of Edith Hamilton’s Mythology. She clearly favors the Greeks and Romans (Norse mythology gets 15 measly pages), but at least her cursory summary will help refresh my memory. Here are some replacement names I would like to propose.
Baldersday. I’m actually surprised there isn’t a day named after Balder. He’s the Christ figure in Norse mythology. Balder was killed with mistletoe, but according to Wikipedia the all-wise, “after Ragnarök [the Norse Armageddon; cf. Led Zeppelin]. . . he and his brother Höðr would be reconciled and rule the new earth together with Thor’s sons” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baldr). Baldersday would be a fitting name to mark the dying of the old week and the imminent rise of the new one, like the phoenix from the ashes. But the phoenix is Greek, so never mind.
Valkyriesday. Cue the Wagner music. You know the Valkyries–they’re the “maidens” (Hamilton’s quaint word) who show up after battles and get to pick which warriors they want to take to Valhalla. On second thought, this might not be a good choice. The day formerly know as Saturday could become very dangerous.
Lokisday. Speaking of dangerous. You saw what Loki tried to do to our planet in The Avengers. He’s also the one who killed Balder with mistletoe.* Loki is a shape-shifter and the closest thing Asgard has to a trickster deity (the Norse were a little too serious for an all-out joker), so at least we could say that the last day of the week would be…er…exciting, and a little more unpredictable than Valkyriesday. On Valkyriesday, you would definitely die and might or might not get to go to Valhalla. On Lokisday, you might die. But you might not.
Heimdallsday. Heimdall is the guy Thor yelled at to “open the Bifrost,” remember? (All I could think of during that scene was “Beam me up, Scottie.”) But his name is way too unwieldy (that’s a good Anglo-Saxon word) for a day of the week, so forget it.
I haven’t suggested Freyrsday or Friggasday because those would be too similar to Friday. (Actually, according to Hamilton, some people think Friday was named after Frigga, Odin’s wife, rather than Freya; either way, it’s named after a goddess. Go women!) I hope it’s apparent that this is all tongue-in-cheek; I’m really not one of those would-be purifiers of the English language. I just watched Thor over the weekend and am getting ready to teach a lesson on words derived from mythology in my Advanced Reading and Vocabulary Development class. But seriously, think about it this coming Saturday.
*Actually, Loki didn’t do the dirty work himself; he got this blind guy named Hoder to throw the mistletoe at Balder. Typical.
As you know if you followed my blog last year around this time, I have a love-hate relationship with the Academy Awards. I love discussing them, watching them with friends in a party-like atmosphere, and competing with my family to see who can predict them the most accurately. This year, I have a new activity to love: watching as many Oscar-nominated movies as possible in one weekend with my friend and fellow blogger Allison (allisonscoles.wordpress.com) and some other friends. Here’s what I hate: the Academy’s narrow and outdated ideas of what a nomination-worthy film looks like. I also bear a pointless hatred toward the practical constraints of an awards show; I wish every good movie that came out in the past year could get a nod. Yes, the ceremony would be really long, but I would watch it!
Over the past week, I have gone to the local second-run theater to see three movies that will not be winning any Oscars this year because they weren’t nominated. Even though I didn’t plan this “Oscar Resistance,” as I’m now calling it because it sounds AWESOME (cue that song by Muse), it will serve as a nice counterpoint to the above-mentioned event, Allison’s “Moviepalooza.” And now I’m going to tell you about the movies I saw.
1. The Perks of Being a Wallflower. I saw this on strong recommendation from my two siblings and my mother, none of whom are teenagers. So I figured it wouldn’t be just a cliched teen angst movie, and I was right. All of the main characters are in high school, but the problems they face–and this is a movie, like most good movies, about people with problems–aren’t unique to teenagers; they’re human problems. As you can probably guess from the title, one of those problems involves finding a few people you can feel comfortable with, so that you can be okay with not “fitting in,” whatever that means. If you’ve never faced this problem, you are one of a very few fortunate people, and you probably won’t get this movie. If you have faced this problem, whatever your age, this movie will probably make you cry. The carefully chosen songs on the soundtrack are a large part of that; so is the excellent acting. Logan Lerman broke my heart (I mean that in a good way). And if, like me, you’re a Harry Potter fan wondering how Emma Watson will fare playing an American Muggle, have no fear; she’s great. But I do have to admit that when her character, Sam, admitted to completely bombing her SATs, my first thought was that Hermione would never do that.
2. Here Comes the Boom. Okay, look. I know this movie doesn’t deserve a single Oscar nomination. But neither was it a complete waste of my time. There is an in-between, you know. Some movies don’t want to win Oscars, and that’s fine. I do have a slight beef with the way Here Comes the Boom was advertised; it was made out to look like a zany comedy, and it was actually more of an inspirational teacher movie plus an inspirational sports movie, with some zany comedy thrown in. As with most films from the above-named genres, I was asked to accept a few improbabilities, but Kevin James as a mixed martial arts fighter was actually not one of them; the guy has muscles. Who knew? The other notable cast member was Henry Winkler as a somewhat pathetic but lovable and very funny baggy sweater-wearing music teacher. Between the teachers in this movie and Paul Rudd’s character in The Perks of Being a Wallflower, I was just full of inspiration for my first week of spring classes.
3. Hitchcock. Now here’s a movie that may have been trying for a few Oscar nominations. In fact, Helen Mirren was deservedly nominated for a Golden Globe for her role as Alfred Hitchcock’s talented and long-suffering wife, Alma Reville. Probably the reason why this film ended up flying under the Academy radar is that it isn’t a DRAMA. There were no tears, no screaming (except when one character was getting stabbed…in a shower)–it was actually a pretty conventional love story between two people who share thirty years of marriage. The context in which the love story takes place, however, is rather unconventional: it’s the making of Psycho, complete with quirky actors, cantankerous censors, and some trippy magical-realist scenes in which Hitchcock (you can call him Hitch; everyone in the movie does) voyeuristically observes and converses with Ed Gein, the real-life, significantly less sympathetic (mainly because he isn’t cute) version of Norman Bates. I believe my own familiarity with Psycho helped my enjoyment of Hitchcock, but my aunt and cousin with whom I saw Hitchcock had never seen Psycho and still had a good time. (Oh, if you’re worried about spoilers, you may want to avert your eyes frequently. But seriously, Psycho has been out for 53 years; you have no excuse.) As the title character, Anthony Hopkins does an excellent job, as always. Even putting his acting aside, he deserves some props for gaining an alarming amount of weight for this role. (I thought the Academy liked that kind of stuff, altering your appearance and all that? But maybe they didn’t want to be seen to condone obesity. Heaven forbid.)
Well, this post isentirely too long. I apologize. I invite you to join the Oscar Resistance by watching some recent films that didn’t get the blessing of the Academy. And remember, you can be part of the resistance and still go see the nominees–I’m going to see Les Miserables next week.
No, this is not a review of The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, although I will take this opportunity to say that I thoroughly enjoyed the movie, enough to see it twice. Look, if the ambivalent hype has made you skittish about seeing it, just remember that you’ll be in the capable hands of Peter Jackson. Has he ever let you down before (at least when it comes to Tolkien material)? And if you start getting cold feet during the lengthy prologue, just stick it out a bit longer, and you’ll spend the rest of the movie in the charming company of the absolutely delightful Martin Freeman. And that’s all I have to say about that.
Actually, the title of this post is a reference to a post called “Returning” that I wrote nearly a year ago. It was mostly about the themes of restoration and homecoming as they appear in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I didn’t know it then, of course, but those themes in general, along with the story of the prodigal son, ended up being prominent in my mental and spiritual landscape throughout 2012.
For example, there was the David Crowder Band’s epic two-disc farewell album, Give Us Rest or (a requiem mass in c [the happiest of all keys]). In a year that saw the release of some great albums, this was one of my favorites, not only because I love a good requiem (Mozart’s is wonderful), but also because so many of the songs are on that theme of returning, which is one way of looking at the death of a saint. In fact, one of the songs is called “A Return,” and it mainly consists of the repeated lyric “the son has come home/we’re rejoicing.” I usually just call it “the prodigal son song.”
Then I read Dickens’ Our Mutual Friend. (FYI: I’ve read all of his novels now except for Barnaby Rudge, which I plan to read soon. Perhaps a Dickens mega-review when I’m finished?) Of the many memorable characters in that novel, the one who haunted me the longest after I finished reading was Charlie Hexam, a prodigal son who never returns. Dickens characters usually get some sort of closure; they may come to a good end or a bad end, but the point is that they come to an end. Charlie doesn’t. After he formally renounces his family, he disappears into the bureaucratic machine of the Victorian educational system, and we never hear from him again. It may be a minor plot line, but I read it as a frightening cautionary tale.
After I had been thinking about these themes for a while, I got the opportunity to teach a month of lessons in the 5th-6th grade girls’ Awana club I was volunteering in at the time. One night, I decided to tell the story of the prodigal son and focus on the older son, who’s just as lost as his little pig-slopping brother. Lo and behold, the issue of Christianity Today that I received that very day included a reflection on that very topic, and I was able to incorporate the author’s thoughts into my lesson.
These things may not seem like a big deal, but they provided something like mental background music for me all year. I even wrote a little poem in October about the different types of prodigal sons. It would be nice if I could provide examples of the way that this theme affected my life in visible ways, but I’m not sure if that happened. Or maybe I won’t be able to see that it happened until I get some distance from 2012.
There’s a Bible verse that keeps popping into my mind because it has the word “returning” in it, but it also has four other major nouns. The verse is Isaiah 30:15, in which God, “the Holy One of Israel,” says to his people, “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and confidence shall be your strength.” It’s too early to say, but maybe one of those other nouns will become my theme for 2013. I know that rest and confidence, in particular, are things I want more of, and nobody’s keeping them from me but me.
This post has been more self-reflective (you might say navel-gazing) than I usually like to be on this blog. So let’s make this a conversation–do you ever choose or discover a theme for a given period of time in your life? I would love to hear some of them (and possibly borrow one from you).
My dear readers–as of yesterday, this blog is one year old! In celebration of this milestone, I invite you to revisit some of our favorite (your favorite and my favorite) posts from the past year.
My most viewed post of all time: A review and listening guide of Mumford and Sons’ first album, Sigh No More. Hmm…maybe I should do one for Babel.
Post that elicited the most interesting comment: After I jokingly suggested that Penelope Clearwater Revival would be a great name for a Southern-inflected wizard rock band, a commenter who’d Googled the phrase wrote to say that she had started recording music under that name!
Several readers’ favorite post: Some of my most loyal readers told me that they enjoyed this zany stream of consciousness about pandas, punctuation, and Coldplay more than any other post.
Facebook fun: My blog made a social network appearance when my mom shared this post about two of the loves of my life, Samwise Gamgee and Neville Longbottom, on her Facebook page. Next time you see something you like on my blog, I’d love it if you shared it with your friends on Facebook, Twitter, or a personal website!
I’d like to thank you all for a wonderful year. I wouldn’t keep this blog going if I didn’t know that you were out there reading it. Please let me know what topics you’d like to see me address in the coming year!
Hi everyone, I’m back. I’ve done many things during my regrettably long blogging hiatus, including looking at some pandas. Last week I was in San Diego for the International Writing Centers Association conference with two of my colleagues, and we went to the famed San Diego Zoo, which has a new baby panda who’s still too young to be on exhibit. So we watched the baby on the zoo’s webcam (you can too: http://www.sandiegozoo.org/pandacam/), and we saw his grown-up friend (not his mother; she’s with the baby) live and in person. The employee working at the panda exhibit told us an interesting fact: Pandas can be very aggressive if provoked. (I know; they’re bears, duh. But they look so genial.)
This fact made me think of Kung Fu Panda, a great movie and the source of my favorite example of the importance of articles (I mean a, an, and the). During the climactic battle scene, the evil snow leopard says, “You’re just a big fat panda.” In response to which, Po, the title character, says, “No. I’m the big fat panda.” Really, that’s a brilliant piece of dialogue. A lot of breath and trees have been wasted in discussing the best way to teach the rules of articles to English language learners whose native languages don’t have articles. And actually, I learned at the conference last week a theory that incorrect article usage may be one of several “untreatable errors” that simply can’t be addressed with rules. But I have the solution for everyone: Just watch Kung Fu Panda.
From my favorite example of article importance, I move to my favorite use of a punctuation metaphor in a song lyric. Earlier tonight I was trying to read Hans Robert Jauss’s Toward an Aesthetic of Reception while listening to my iPod on shuffle. Up came the Coldplay song “Every Teardrop Is a Waterfall.” Which do you think I was paying attention to, the song or the book? I’ll be honest; I was dancing in my bed. The punctuation metaphor occurs in (I think) the second verse of the song: “I’d rather be a comma than a full stop.” Besides the fact that the British term full stop, like ginger and roundabout and a lot of other words, is inherently fabulous, the metaphor is quite apt and well-put.
At this point I was going to embark on a rant about how people should give another listen to the much-maligned Coldplay album Mylo Xyloto. No, it doesn’t follow a neat story arc about the French Revolution like Viva La Vida does, but it still has some great songs. Further ranting will have to wait for another time, however, because I need to go to bed. I’ll leave you with the assurance that my next post will be more coherent, if not profound, and with this holiday wish, which I’m borrowing from a cute tin sign I bought at an antique store recently: “A merry Hallowe’en. Scare up some fun, and have a spooktacular night.”
the Dr. Tess blog 