Movie Review: Crazy Heart

Lots of booze, lots of cigarettes, lots of one-night stands and lots of divorces: What does that all add up to? Nothing; except you can’t take away a God given talent. When given half a chance, that talent will rise again, to the top. How bad does it have to get before a person wakes up and says, “I want to get sober?” Where is rock-bottom? This is Crazy Heart; the story of a washed up, aging, country music singer/songwriter and dangerous alcoholic, on a long downhill spiral. Reduced to playing in bowling alleys and saloons with local teenage pick-up bands, he can’t get through a set without hurling out the back door. Between the alcohol and the chain smoking, you don’t know what will kill him first. Jeff Bridges, as Bad Blake, is so outstanding, so believable; he takes this old story, and turns it into a gripping tale. We all know Bridges can do anything. He was the President of the United States in The Contender, the rightfully paranoid professor in Arlington Road and a murderous husband in Jagged Edge (just to name a few of his exceptional and under-appreciated roles). He outdoes himself with this Oscar worthy performance. Scott Cooper, the director and screenwriter, does a remarkable job bringing the cast together and getting the absolute best performances out of everybody. Maggie Gyllenhaul, as Jane, Bad’s love interest, with her sad eyes, is tender and raw. She does something special with a very traditional role. She plays a single mom who takes a big chance on a beat-up, liquor-drenched, cowboy (very chancy indeed, for her 4 year old son). Colin Farrell, expert at putting his Irish on hold, does a stellar and perfectly understated (and uncredited) job as Tommy Sweet, Bad’s protégé, who has now far surpassed his mentor. Who knew Farrell could sing? I don’t think his agent knew. But he got up in front of 12,000 people at the Journal Pavilion in Albuquerque, New Mexico and did a fantastic job. Fun! Robert Duvall is right at home playing Wayne, Blake's longtime friend, in a movie that is very reminiscent of the one that won him an Academy Award in 1983, the flawless, Tender Mercies. Crazy Heart is an 'upbeat' version of the very very downbeat novel written by Thomas Cobb (co-screenwriter) which does not provide a happy ending. American moviegoers like happy endings. This is a little movie that does not need a big screen but it does lend itself to the intimacy of a dark movie theater. See it for the outstanding performances and the excellent original score by T Bone Burnett - the Producer and award winning songwriter.

Movie Review: A Single Man

Tom Ford, one of the world’s most famous fashion designers, who saved Gucci from the brink of bankruptcy, is in his element directing this highly stylized feature film. We could all guess the movie would 'look' good. But with a masterful screenplay (written by Ford and David Scearce), together with Spanish cinematographer, Eduard Grau and production design by Dan Bishop (Mad Men), the movie is not just good, it is great. A Single Man is a very genuine look at loss and grieving and the loneliness that can permeate a person's life when their heart has been broken. It is one of the few films to treat the subject of grief without manipulating the audience. For anyone, gay or straight, who has lost a great love, the portrayal of anguish in this movie is palpable. George (a never better Colin Firth) is so lost in his grief over the sudden death of Jim (Matthew Goode,) his lover of 16 years, he is oblivious to the fact that the United States is at the height of the Cuban Missile Crisis. It is October 30th, 1962. While George is putting his affairs in order, getting ready to take his life, the news that this country is in the middle of the greatest confrontation of the Cold War and as close to Nuclear War as we have ever been, is blaring over the radio and on the TV. We may all be reduced to a cinder. But rather then diminish his experience; it makes it all the more poignant and all the more painful. The movie takes us through his quiet but eventful day where even breathing for George, appears difficult. As he crosses paths with a beautiful student (Nicholas Hoult), a stunning hustler (Jon Kortajarena - wow) and friend, neighbor and one-time lover Charley (Julianne Moore), we get a seldom seen look into the depths of sensitivity of a tortured soul. Pay close attention to the scene in front of the Hitchcock billboard. It is breathtaking. It goes without say, this movie is not for everyone. It is unapologetically, about a gay relationship. Ford, who is openly gay, does not indulge our societal hang ups. Try not to miss it.

p.s. The movie, based on the novel by the same name, was written by Christopher Isherwwod and is loosely autobiographical. He dedicated the book to Gore Vidal, a devout bisexual.

Movie Review: The Lovely Bones

In order to fairly review the movie, I must first discuss the book. The Lovely Bones, written by Alice Sebold, was no small miracle of a novel because it took subject matter that does not lend itself to beautiful storytelling and it does just that. The book begins with a chilling description of a horrendous crime; the rape and murder of 14 year old, Susie Salmon (“like the fish”). It then takes you on an unbelievable journey of healing, forgiveness, understanding, and moving on. Sebold describes the progression and transformation of grief for Susie's family, friends and the community she lived in. She reveals the odd friendships made and the relationships destroyed: the devastated father who buries his sadness trying to gather evidence, the mother who escapes "her ruined heart, in merciful adultery." She simultaneously brings to life an entire suburban community, from the mortician's son to the handsome biker dropout who quietly helps investigate Susie's murder. The novel is about "the lovely bones" growing around Susie's death as everyone goes on with their life. These are qualities and subjects that simply do not lend themselves to Peter Jackson’s (Lord of the Rings) style of epic commercial movie-making. It is as simple as that. Caught up in the computer generated heaven he creates and the creepy, murderous pedophile, Mr. Harvey (played by an unrecognizable – Stanley Tucci), the whole point of the story is lost, and I mean really lost. And unless I fell asleep during some of the unbearable 135 minutes of running time, most of those poignant issues that are the crux of this story, are absent in the movie. The source material is turned into a serial-killer thriller, that’s not so thrilling, concentrating on Harvey’s next victim. The raw emotions uncovered by the voice of a child who grieves for her survivors, so beautifully told in the book, are no where to be found. Saoirse Ronan is unbelievable as Susie. Do you remember her as Briony Tallis in Atonement? She is something else. As for the rest of the cast: Sarandon, Tucci, Rachel Weisz and Wahlberg, it is simply a case of great actors (Wahlberg – not so much) working with not so great material. Sebold was not involved in the screenplay; a mistake. Skip it but if you have not read the book, read it. You won’t be sorry.

p.s. Alice Sebold’s description of rape was so bitingly clear in the book because she was viciously raped her freshman year of college. Her book, Lucky: A Memoir, is a fascinating and brutally honest recounting of her ordeal and the legal system which seems unfairly geared towards protecting the perpetrator. When interviewed by the police, they told her she was “lucky” because at least she wasn’t murdered and dismembered like the girl before her. Her experience was the inspiration for her writing The Lovely Bones and shaped the rest of her life.

Movie Review: The Book of Eli

Unfortunately, it is impossible for me not to compare The Book of Eli to The Road, a much darker, deeper and emotionally rich movie. In reality, the resemblance is only on the most superficial level. They are both post-apocalyptic with barren landscapes and gangs of thieving rapist, killers and cannibals roaming what’s left of our country. Both have their star making an epic journey to the coast. The Book of Eli will be a bigger commercial success for a few reasons. Denzel Washington (Eli) is, for the moment, enjoying rock-star status and the carnage in The Book of Eli is less horrific, flashier and has a crowd-pleasing, martial art-like quality. Eli can lop your head off with a flick of his wrist. He carries a big machete and a shotgun and he is very proficient with both. And we all know, Denzel makes a great badass (Training Days and American Gangster), even though in this performance he is very subdued. He plays a scarred loner whose main possession is a copy of the Holy Bible. The book is the target of Carnegie (Gary Oldman – a born movie villain), a tyrant and ruthless businessman who runs one of the small “towns” left. Eli is a prophet of sorts, whose only mission is to head West and deliver the book into the right hands. He doesn't know who those hands belong to but he is certain he will know when he finds them. Directors/brothers Albert and Allen Hughes don’t quite seem to know what kind of film they are making. The picture is deadly serious, almost to a fault, until a scene where Eli and his companion-in-action, Solara (Mila Kunis), must seek refuge with an older couple. Then the one-liners and comedy get thrown in. This is a truly remarkable scene featuring Michael Gambon and Frances de la Tour as a very well-armed couple of senior survivors. As the artillery rolls up to blow their house to smithereens, her line about just having put out the best china is priceless. The movie manages to be entertaining in spite of itself. Look for Jennifer Beals (Flashdance), as Claudia, Solaras' mother. She is still beautiful. It is not a must see and even though these post-apocalyptic movies look better on a big screen, this one can wait for cable or DVD.

AWARD SEASON BEGINS

The Critics' Choice Awards, broadcasted last night (1/15), got it right; The Hurt Locker was the movie of the year. It was released before I started "Truly Madly Deeply" but it is, without a doubt, Best Picture. It was originally released in Italy in October, 2008, almost a year before it hit theaters here. It won the Signis Grand Prize at The Venice Film festival. I dragged my husband into the city during the summer to see it. Both of us left the theater speechless. The movie centers around 3 men who work on a highly specialized military team known as Explosive Ordnance Disposal Specialists. Their job description:

"The Army's preeminent tactical and technical explosives experts. They are Warriors who are properly trained, equipped, and integrated to attack, defeat, and exploit unexploded ordnance (UXO), improvised explosive devices (IED), chemical, biological, and nuclear ordnance and Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD). EOD Warriors are the culmination of the best tactical and technical training the Army and civilian academia can provide. They are prepared to perform missions in support of Army units worldwide, across all operational environments. EOD Specialists perform duties locating, identifying, rendering safe and disposing of foreign and domestic conventional, biological, chemical, or nuclear ordnance and IEDs; WMDs and large vehicle bombs".

Sound interesting? How about stressful? It's not for everybody. The movie brings you as close to this experience as humanly possible and although painful to watch, it is an aspect of war we have not seen. The heart of this film centers around Staff Sergeant William James, played by an absolutely brilliant, Jeremy Renner. James is an unrepentant adrenaline junkie who knows what he is and never puts his team in harms way. The obvious question of course; who else is going to do this type of work? With every mission you run the risk of being blown apart. It's playing On Demand and is available on DVD. Don't miss it.

The Winners of The Critics' Choice Awards:
Best Picture: 'The Hurt Locker'
Best Actor: Jeff Bridges, 'Crazy Heart'
Best Actress: (tie) Sandra Bullock, 'The Blind Side,' and Meryl Streep, 'Julia And Julia'
Best Supporting Actor: Christoph Waltz, 'Inglourious Basterds'
Best Supporting Actress: Mo'nique, 'Precious: Based On The Novel Push By Sapphire'
Best Director: Kathryn Bigelow, 'The Hurt Locker'
Best Original Screenplay: Quentin Tarantino, 'Inglourious Basterds'
Best Adapted Screenplay: 'Up In The Air,' Ivan Reitman and Sheldon Turner
Best Acting Ensemble: 'Inglourious Basterds'
Best Animated Feature: 'Up'
Best Young Actor/Actress: Saoirse Ronan, 'The Lovely Bones'
Best Action Movie: 'Avatar'
Best Comedy Movie: 'The Hangover'
Best Foreign Language Film: 'Los Abrazos Rotos'
Best Documentary: 'The Cove'
Best Song: ''The Weary Kind' from 'Crazy Heart'
Best Score: Michael Giacchino, 'Up'
Best Picture Made For Television: 'Grey Gardens'
Best Cinematography: 'Avatar'
Best Editing: 'Avatar'
Best Visual Effects: 'Avatar'
Best Sound: 'Avatar'
Best Costume Design: 'The Young Victoria'
Best Makeup: 'District 9'

Movie Review: The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus

The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus is not a good movie. The only question you need to ask yourself is: “Do I want to see Heath Ledger’s final performance”? Even if you are a Ledger fan, you may still be disappointed. The movie simply doesn’t gel and despite all the amazing visual images, it is impossible to stay engaged in the story. Ledger does a good job as Tony, the ‘Jokeresque’ scam artist but he is not nearly as good as Christopher Plummer in the title role. He is wonderful, as always, and steals the show with his portrayal of a magician/con man, with a fondness for gambling. He travels around an apocalyptic-looking London in a dilapidated vaudeville wagon. His motley crew includes his very beautiful daughter, Valentina (Lily Cole – who looks just like my friends daughter, Ariel), his tiny sidekick, Percy (Verne Troyer -Mini-Me – the most entertaining person in the film) and what do they do? I couldn’t tell. Parnassus is an outcast who has an extraordinary power; he can project people into their own imagination once they step through his magic mirror. The fascinating journey always ends with a choice which can lead to good or bad. Parnassus, the incorrigible gambler that he is, has his own problems. Having won a wager with the Devil, Mr. Nick (the actor/singer/songwriter-Tom Waits) he has made two successive Faustian deals. Granted immortality first and eternal youth next, he agreed to deliver his first-born when she reaches the age of 16. And now that she is only days away from that fateful age, the Devil is already prowling in the vicinity. But the movie always feels disjointed.
Terry Gillian, the writer/director, does one thing extraordinarily well; he is very resourceful in his cover up of the death of Ledger mid filming. He recruits Johnny Depp (who looks remarkably like him), Jude Law and Collin Ferrell to play the alter-ego versions of Ledger. Gilliam turns what could be potentially morbid, into a group tribute that actually works in the context of the film's universe. Once you pass through the Good Doctor's magic mirror, the movie suggests, you could turn into anyone. Gillian’s love for Monty Python is blatantly obvious with his twisted humor, acid inspired landscapes, bizarre creatures, well dressed devil and wisecracking midget. This is a very tough sell for mainstream audiences.
The end-credits dedication calls it "A Film From Heath Ledger and Friends," which reflects Gilliam's clever answer to a director's worst nightmare: the mid-production death of his star. Even Gilliam himself admits the movie is “a store of unused materials and ideas lying around in drawers from unmade films ... with no form as such." But it never lacks for something spectacular to look at: Monique Prudhomme's remarkable costumes, layers upon tattered layers and the gorgeous sets. Rent it or wait for it On Demand if for no other reason then to get another look at the work of the late, Heath Ledger.

Movie Review: Daybreakers

The best thing about the movie Daybreakers is seen in the first ten minutes. It's the set design. George Liddle (always good with 'dark'), does a phenomenal job creating a cold, hard, dark blue-black world. Vampires, as you know, cannot be exposed to sunlight. Skyscrapers are connected with tunnels suspended through the air, the subway system is used to navigate during the day, houses are equipped with artificial light panels instead of windows and automatic shades lower before the sun rises. It’s all surreal but believable. The year is 2019 and a virus started by a single bat bite has mutated most of the planet’s population into vampires. Vampires run the show. Humans are hunted and harvested for their blood. Real blood is the only commodity and Charles Bromley (Sam Neill), is the ‘bloodthirsty’ CEO of Bromley Marks Corporation, the company that has been producing and supplying it since the outbreak. But supplies are dwindling and his company is working tirelessly on a suitable synthetic substitute. Bromley is counting on Dr. Edward Dalton (Ethan Hawke), vampire and chief hematologist who just happens to be a human sympathizer. The good doctor is more interested in finding a cure for vampirism then making fake blood. Either way, these are desperate times because vampires deprived of blood turn into monstrous bat-man like creatures and they are threatening to disrupt the social order. Oh brother! But in all fairness, the potential for a great story is here. It just gets bogged down with heavy political overtones and way too much blood splatter and what should be scary becomes unintentionally funny. This very nifty concept gets lost in an overblown production. The writer/director team of brothers, Michael and Peter Spierig are relatively new to the business and probably should have asked for a little help from Janice Fischer (The Lost Boys) or David Goyer (Blade). Yeah…then the movie would have been great! Daybreakers also stars Willem Dafoe and Claudia Karvan as the warm-blooded and fangless, heads of the resistance. If you are a big fan of vampire movies, and I am, see it but wait for it to come out On Demand.

p.s. There is a lot of smoking in this movie including a scene with kids smoking. Everybody who knows me knows I am vehemently, anti-smoking (read my post "Quitting Smoking" - 10/09). But the idea is, if you are already dead, what difference does it make if you smoke? In many ways the vampire concept is a metaphor for excess and clearly, that is one of the messages of Daybreakers.

Movie Review: Nine

Nine, starring the incredible Daniel Day Lewis as the Italian director, Guido Contino, is really quite the mess. It almost borders on embarrassing. Actually, it is embarrassing. Lewis is amazing but miscast. Even with his perfect thick Italian accent, he cannot save this film. It’s a musical and he cannot sing a note, not one. I hope I’m not the only person who thought he sounded like The Count from Sesame Street. When it comes out On Demand (and believe me, it will be out of the theater and On Demand in a minute), watch it. Tell me he doesn’t sound like The Count? The paper thin plot goes like this: Contino is a great Italian director but his creative well has run dry. His recent projects have been less then successful and his critics are quick to mention it anytime it is announced that he is about to go behind the camera. Contino has just publicized his greatest project ever…a love story to his home country, simply entitled “Italia!” There’s only one thing keeping him from filming his masterpiece…..he hasn’t written it yet. For inspiration he turns his thoughts to the various women who have influenced his life: his wife Luisa (Marion Cotillard), his star, Claudia (Nicole Kidman), his mistress, Carla (Cruz), his costume creator Lilli (Judi Dench), a star struck reporter (Kate Hudson), his late mother, played by the still magnificent at 75, Sophia Loren. Even the town prostitute from his childhood played by Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas shows up and sings a song. She, by the way, has a tremendous set of pipes. Cotillard and Fergie provide the most entertainment in this very lame production. If you take away the songs (most of them are dreadful anyway), you are left with precious little. On the up-side; the Italian seaside setting is spectacular to look at and provides a welocme but only momentary, distraction. Nine is an adaptation of the Broadway musical, which itself was adapted from Federico Fellini’s Oscar winning film, 8 ½. It runs for one hour and fifty minutes. Short by today’s standards but it seemed like an eternity. Skip it. Ugh!

The Phone Call

Chapter 1

In Training
The phone rang only once before I bolted up and slid over my husband’s body to pick it up. It was a little after 2 a.m. and I couldn't remember if he was on call or not. Either way, best if I don’t wake him.

“Is this Cory Kaiser” the voice on the other end asked, somewhat doubtful he would get a positive response? Cory Gould now, but yes, I am Cory Kaiser. “This is doctor…, “ I couldn't hear what he said his name was but I was certain whatever he had to tell me would force me out of bed. "We have a patient here who has your name and number in his wallet. He also has a few drivers' licenses. I doubt any of them are his. He’s unresponsive”. “What are the names on the licenses?” A pause, an audible sigh and he rattled off 4 names. “Listen” he said, “none of the dates of birth match the person lying on this stretcher….you understand?” I understood. “I can be there in an hour”

Who else could it be but my father? The phone call I had waited 35 years for was not what I expected but it was, after all, a phone call. The words were never spoken but I believe the doctor knew I was hoping he could keep him alive until I got there. In any event, he was alive…sort of. I stared down at a man who was unrecognizable as the man I once knew but I knew he was my father.

There was no peace in my house growing up, only fighting, screaming, hitting, crying, dishes flying, and phones being pulled out of walls. There was always ice and amber liquid in a glass, the pervasive sight and smell of cigarette smoke and the distinct smell of the mixture of the two.

Every aspect of life was fought over. The days and nights were filled with a crescendo of fighting followed by time spent cleaning up the mess. My mothers begging and pleading; my father’s incoherent, incomprehensible thundering in his drunken madness. Every night and every day, no breaks from it, at least not until closer to the time my father walked out. I look back now and wonder how any of us survived.

Any time spent alone with my father could end up in disaster. Even going to the supermarket could turn into a surreal nightmare of being left alone with a sea of strangers. The reason for the trip to the market would always be the same. No milk. No eggs, no juice. After the blow up over why there was no milk or whatever, my mother would beg my father not to go because he was too drunk. He would laugh, say something horribly cruel, grab the keys and I would beg him to take me. Only the first few times were terrifying. Eventually, even at a young age, my ability to maneuver myself around and keep safe became very well developed.

But the first time was serious business. No seat belts back then; just his big hand whipping in front of my tiny body to keep me from flying into the dashboard as he would run the stop sign at the bottom of our street. Only once his hand didn't harness me to the seat fast enough and I got a fat lip. Other then that time, considering his condition, he was remarkably good at it. It is a habit I picked up that my kids find quite hilarious because they are always strapped in tight. But thinking back to those times, I still can’t figure out what, exactly, I felt. Was it scary? I do not remember feeling scared. Was it exciting? I am not sure till this day what I felt. Whatever it was became a sensation I would have to reconcile later in life.

The supermarket was moderately busy. As always, I was so excited to be there with my dad and was hoping I would be able to talk him into buying me a coloring book. It was always easier talking him into buying me presents then it was my mom. She was too practical.
I walked close by my dad’s side, always looking up at him and feeling so happy when he would look down at me, smile, pat my head, call me "killer" and mess up my hair. Sometimes he would pick me up and carry me for while. I loved being up there. He got what we needed and a few things we didn’t and headed for the cashier.

I’m not sure when he left the store but in my mind he simply disappeared, like in a magic act. One second he was there, the next second he was gone. Afraid to move too far away from the shopping cart I tried my best to stretch, stand on my tip toes and look for him. A cart pushed in behind me completely blocking my view.

I don’t know if what I experienced was called panic but if it was not actually panic, it was a close relative. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. It was impossible to hear what anyone around me was saying. My legs became very weak and I had to work hard to keep from buckling. I was 5, almost 5 anyway. It was February and I would turn 5 in June. I remember it was February because soon after this incident my mom gave birth to my sister whose birthday is February 28th.

Ultimately, I told someone I could not find my dad. “Oh, don’t you worry sweetie, I’m sure he went to get something he forgot”. It actually never even occurred to me that was the case. I knew he was no longer in the store. I’m not sure how I knew, but I knew.

From my perspective, all I could see were people’s coats and their shoes. Lot’s of movement. Lot’s of muffled noise. The emotions and sensations I was experiencing were so overwhelming. It was hard to speak. I felt like I was being choked. There were plenty of tears.

I’m not sure how long I was standing there before someone knelt down and asked me why I was crying. "I want to go home". I remember saying that, very deliberate, very slowly because it was hard to push the words out, “I want……to…go……home.” A woman was kind and brought me to the store manager. A few questions, a phone call and my mom was there to pick me up. We only lived a half mile away but I had no sense of that.

I learned much later that my dad went to the bar across the street. The store manager got to know me. The supermarket scene played out a few more times before my mom stopped letting me go. I would have kept going. There was an excitement about being with my father that was hard to explain and my ability to manage in ridiculous situations became a tremendous source of pride.

Unfortunately, things got a lot worse before they got better because that is what happens when there is an alcoholic in the house. Initially, there were always apologies after an egregious act, sometimes even a gift. In time, that stopped. Whether it was subtle or not so subtle, my fathers' spiral down hill was uncontrollable. The scenarios of being ditched or being forced to find rescue continued until my father left in the summer of 1967. I was 12 and I was devastated.

Conventional wisdom would lead you to believe that I would have or should have, been grateful and relieved when my father left but that was simply not the case, far from it. I was deeply anguished and lost. So much of my life revolved around him. There was a huge void. And when he left, he really left. We did not hear from him for years, nothing, not even a phone call. But that did not stop me from waiting for one. For many years I waited, staring at the phone; jumping when it rang only to be disappointed when I picked it up and would hear someone else’s voice on the other end. In the beginning, I was so disoriented, I would just hang up or put the phone down without so much as a reply. Just because the major source of trouble left didn't mean our troubles were over. Quite the contrary, in many ways, they were just beginning. With my dad in the house, how could any of us have any problems? He had enough for everyone. We had them of course, but who could tell? Who could possibly even notice?

From that evening in the supermarket until the summer of 1967, there were 6 very eventful years. Years that would hone certain traits; some good, some bad and some ugly. There was no escaping the damage.

Despite all his craziness, my father managed to do some unbelievable things. In the summer of 1962, he bought a boat. Hard to imagine for a million reasons but it was just this type of thing that made our family look so ideal and actually enviable, to the outside world. Over the next five years, he would buy three boats, trading each one in for a bigger model. The last was a 38 foot Chris Craft Commander. After my parents divorced, my mother would spend the next 10 years paying off the debt my father accumulated. We even owed the Good Humor Man $220.00 and in 1967 that was a lot of money. My father was very flashy. He would buy ice cream for all the kids in the neighborhood. It was bedlam on our street when the ice cream truck came around and my dad was home. People still talk about it. The money was the least of it.

There were many occasions my dad simply forgot I was still swimming off the back of the boat. He would lift anchor and start the engine. I’d be flailing my skinny arms around madly trying to get his or my mothers' attention before I’d surely drown from the boats engine churning up the water around me or worse, I’d be chopped to pieces by the propellers spinning below me (those propellers loomed heavy on my mind). My desperate wailing was no match for the battle going on on board but somehow the engine would shut and an arm would reach down and pull my slippery and exhausted little body out of the water. I became quite the swimmer. It was usually the occupants of a neighboring boat that would get my parents attention. I can’t even imagine what those people were thinking after they would get a wave or thumbs-up sign and "thanks - got 'er" shouted across the water. Anyway, I caught on quick – never swim astern.

We kept our boat in Cos Cob, Connecticut. You can see the marina down on the right as you drive by exit 4 heading North on Interstate 95. The marina is situated on the Mianus River, near a draw bridge. There are 7 openings under the bridge. Only one is navigable and can handle a deep draft and keel of a large boat. Amongst local boaters, it’s common knowledge and although not well marked, it's marked. The fact is, my dad knew the right passage. I knew it. In retrospect, that he only missed it once was a miracle. But the day he missed it was not a good day and it would be the last day he would be out on the water with me on board. It was just the two of us that afternoon. It was low tide, overcast and drizzling. “Daddy, you’re heading towards the wrong opening”. We were on our way back in and he was in no condition to be driving the boat; something I could only recognize when I looked back as an adult. There was some sort of conversation between us but whatever was said did not really matter. We ran aground very close to one of the support columns of the bridge and near a set of rocks. I took the boat hook, a long telescoping pole we use to pull into our slip, and tried to push us off the silty bottom. No luck. The radio was broken (it would get the same treatment as our house phone). The solution to this problem was simple. I had to swim to the marina.

I was a very good swimmer, perfectly capable of making it in. My father was aware of that but I did not want to do it. The cold air made the water feel warmer then, in all probability, it was. The only scary part was being in the water so close to the support column. Water around a bridge is disgusting. Green algae, big seaweed, rust, litter and oil are nothing you want to be submerged in. Water around a marina is equally if not more disgusting because you have the added feathers and dead fish that always seem to be floating around. In some spots, I could touch the bottom – ech –awful! The swim to the marina was dedicated to thinking about how I was going to handle getting help. I was 9 and could handle myself in a lot of crazy situations but this seemed challenging. The problem wasn’t asking for help. “We ran aground near the rocks and we need a tow”. How was I going to explain getting to the marina? What do I say? “My dad made me swim here”. I would never say that. I hoisted myself up onto the dock, leaned back over and threw up. I picked little pieces of seaweed out of my hair and off of my very scrawny body and walked toward the marina’s store. I stared at my reflection in the push-letter sign (coke .25, Bait .35) and walked in. I’m sure I was quite the sight. Whatever I said got the job done. I went with one of the young launch workers to our boat. My dad threw him a rope he had tied to one of the fender locks near the bow and we were pulled free. By the way, no one ever asked how I got to the marina – thank God!

Although very few, there were sweet moments with my dad that revolved around the boat. Most of those moments took place on dry land. On occasion, he would take me to the marina and we would get a big bucket of steamers. I knew he was so proud that I loved them and was very proficient at eating them; opening them up, pulling them out of the shell, sliding off the wrinkled black membrane, dipping them in the salty water then into the melted butter and popping them in my mouth. Yummy! He would open the back of the station-wagon, pick me up and sit me on the hanging door, look down at me, smile, call me "killer" and mess up my hair. We would finish the whole bucket. The seagulls would be hovering around us and I remember wanting that moment to last forever. *In a healing process that took more then a decade, this memory would be vital.

The Year of Living with Disulfiram:
Better known as Antabuse, it was the first medication approved by the FDA for the treatment of alcohol dependence. What it is; a cruel joke played on families of alcoholics. It was discovered by accident in 1948 by researchers Erik Jacobsen, Jens Hald, and Keneth Ferguson at the Danish drug company, Medicinalco. The drug was intended to treat parasitic infections but an interesting thing happened when the researchers tested it on themselves and then went home and had a drink; they felt really sick. Fortunately, they all had the same habit of having a drink at night so they quickly came to the right conclusion; disulfiram and alcohol don’t mix. It works by interfering with the way our body metabolizes alcohol. When we consume alcohol, it is metabolized into acetaldehyde, a flammable, organic and very toxic chemical that in large amounts causes what we experience as a hangover. The body continues to metabolize (oxidize) the acetaldehyde into acetic acid which is harmless and your hangover dissipates. When Antabuse is taken, the ‘oxidation into acetic acid’ process doesn’t happen and guess what? A hangover takes on a whole new meaning and it does not go away so fast. In addition, even if the person stops taking it, Antabuse is absorbed through the gut extremely slowly and can last for up to two weeks in the body. If you continue to drink (and all alcoholics do) there will be a build up of acetaldehyde ten times greater then would normally occur and symptoms of a hangover will precipitously, increase. The results are not pretty.

"Antabuse makes drinking unpleasant". That is one of the great understatements. The unpleasant effects include; projectile vomiting, profuse sweating, difficulty breathing, extreme thirst, flushing, severe headache, chest pain, weakness, trembling, dizziness, blurred vision and confusion.Yes, very unpleasant to say the least. The idea (the hope) is that this severe adverse reaction will keep a person from consuming alcohol; a type of aversion therapy. I don’t think the success rate is too impressive and clearly, it had no effect, what-so-ever on my fathers drinking. It did however, have a huge effect on the rest of us. You would be amazed at how much vomiting that tiny little pill can cause; stunning, really. It also creates endless opportunities for embarrassment. The Antabuse period of our lives was short lived but it was memorable. So much time and effort was put into trying to get my father to take something that made our lives so much more difficult than it already was. It was hope against hope that somehow that little white pill was going to solve our problems.

It's hard to imagine how it all happens, how it can get so bad. It was so insidious. One bad night seemed to lead into a bad day and before you knew it, like wildfire, we were consumed. Life became dedicated to dealing with and managing someone who was incapable of managing themselves. To make matters worse, there was the constant manufacturing of stories to explain away what was going on. The amazing thing; we were fairly successful at it. No one knew how bad it was and compounding our problem was this constant covering up created a distorted sense of reality. The question that begs to be asked; "What happens when you grow up in an environment where your sanctuary is chaos?" I'm gonna get to that.

The Good and the Funny:
My dad thought he was Eroll Flynn.
To be continued....


*I consider my healing a life-long journey. I'm referring to getting help and stopping the insanity that was inevitable from growing up in a household like mine.

Wanting....

it's what the mind does. It wants. It wants a better job, a nicer house, that beautiful Armani jacket, a diamond ring, a Mercedes, recognition, to win first prize, happiness, bigger breasts, to be thinner, richer, prettier. It wants him, her. There is no end to the list. It's all a big distraction. The trick is to learn how to observe it without letting it consume you. When we want something, when our mind is filled with desire, it contracts in on itself; there is hardly any room for anything else. All thoughts come back to that "thing" we want and the strategies we might use to get it. The problem is, when we acquire the object of our desire or achieve the goal, satisfaction is only temporary. Our mind starts to lose interest and something else takes its place. Satisfaction is only a release from the pressure of wanting. It's the moment that occurs when we move from wanting to having. We are the space in between the wants. When we are consumed with desire, it's like a dense fog in our mind and we lose sight of who we are. When wants and desires are very strong, we are usually suffering. When we are satisfied with what we have and where we are, when we are free of wants, we are most often content and in the moment. Does this mean we should never want or desire anything? Of course not. It just means we should try to understand that it is the minds nature to want things. Knowing this allows us to become less attached to everything it wants. Think of the mind as a spoiled child. It's better for everybody if you don't give in to it all the time. To be con't.....

Movie Review: The Young Victoria

The Young Victoria is a little slow, suffers from too much voice-over and is overly restrained. But if you are into period movies you might enjoy it anyway. It’s not Elizabeth (Kate Blanchett), not even close but the movie does teeter on the edge of being entertaining. Emily Blunt does an interesting job with the part. You can see her change as the film progresses, becoming more self-assured and 'regal', bringing some credibility to this challenging role. I did however, think about who would have made a better Victoria. I could not come up with anyone. The storyline is a matter of history and the movie does a descent job of giving us just that. Much of the movie involves the conflict surrounding the way the Duchess of Kent (Miranda Richardson), Victoria's mother, closely allies herself with the conniving Sir John Conroy (Mark Strong, also the villain in Sherlock Holmes). Together they conspire to keep Victoria sheltered, unprepared, helpless and completely dependent on them. If only she would sign the regency papers allowing her mother to run the country. In the meantime, they don’t let her walk up or down the stairs without holding the nanny’s hand. King William IV (who had no legitimate children – he had 10 illegitimate ones), Victoria's uncle, cannot stand The Duchess. One of the best scenes is at his birthday party where William (Jim Broadbent), slurring fabulously, lashes out at The Duchess, drenching her with venomous insults in a drunken tirade while the guests look on appalled, horrified and enormously entertained. And then Victoria is crowned. The weight of that crown sits heavy on her head, literally, creating a memorable image. Discussion of a husband begins in earnest. Of course, we know who wins out: Albert (Rupert Friend) of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, Victoria's German-speaking first cousin, a man of honor. Albert's courtship of the queen is a complicated affair. He must gain her trust, thwart the ambitions of rivals, not seem too intrusive and wait for her proposal. Complicating matters more, he seems to really love her. Their relationship is one of the great love stories and their devotion and heated attraction to one another is one of the highlights of the film. Together they have nine children - four sons and five daughters: Victoria, Bertie, Alice, Alfred, Helena, Louise, Arthur, Leopold, and Beatrice. The Young Victoria, like all period movies, is about costumes and behavior. Getting an interesting story and a little bit of history are the perks. You get all of it in this pretty little movie. It is written by actor/writer, Julian Fellowers and directed by Jean-Marc Vallee. It runs for an hour an forty five minutes, a small investment for the reward. You can see it in the theater, wait for it on cable or rent it.