This will not be about the President’s presser. My feelings on the man’s policies are fairly clear. I only mention it here because everyone else is mentioning it and I have to jump on that train. But I’m jumping off now…

When I write, whether here or an article, or whatever, I have the TV on as background, quite literally. The volume is down around 9 and I suppose if you really concentrated, you might hear what some of the people say–about 40 percent of the time. But as I say, I don’t really pay much attention–it’s just there.

Once in a while, something will come on and catch my fancy. I try not to miss Top Gear, even if I can barely hear it, which I know is a shame because that show is the best on the airwaves IMHO. Well, that and The Deadliest Catch. I don’t watch shows–I cannot follow dramas or comedies. Occasionally, I’ll catch an old Seinfeld episode or maybe King of Queens–that’s about it, though.

A lot of the time, I have on the Food Network and tonight is no exception. Here again, I don’t like many of the shows and honestly don’t know them well except two: Diners, Drive-ins and Divesand Good Eats. Both of these shows are fun, funny and interesting. The rest, I can do without.

Yet, as near as I can tell, these two shows aren’t on all that often. The ones that FTV runs most often are the inane “Unwrapped” and she who must not be named.

Alright, I know many of you like her show and truly, I’ve naught against her. Its just that her show doesn’t interest me. In the end, I actually think the food makes things interesting. And her show isn’t really about food at all. It’s about her. This is true for Rachel Ray and it was true for Emeril Lagasse, too.

Food Network seems to have three sort of denominations, if you will. The first one is the food itself is the star of the show and really, the personalities are interesting because of what they know about the food. Alton Brown’s show as well as Guy Fieri’s show are both good-but while each has unique and fun personality traits, their shows are not specifically about those traits.

She who must not be named is nearly all about her personality quirks traits. That’s the second denomination–shows that are a cult of personality, Ray, Lagasse, Flay–all those “A” listers that seem to command attention. Finally, there’s their “reality show” section with “The Next FTV Star,” “Chopped,” and all that other nonsense. Not even linking to them. If you cannot find them by now-well, you need Internet lessons.

But Unwrapped is kind of, well–a mangled bit of all three. Its host, Marc Summers, is a bigwig producer and all, but his personality is rather—mmm….shallow. His show tries to be all about the food, but the food isn’t really interesting. Sometimes it’s fun, but mostly it’s just ghastly concoctions of crap that have been foisted upon the American public for so long that it’s part of our psyche. He did a whole 10 minute segment on Manwich for Gods sake. That’s sad and depressing.

So, I don’t know if I’m a representative watcher or not. After all, I only have the channel on for less than an hour and I don’t have the volume up enough to hear it well. When the commercials come on, I concentrate wholly on my writing task and ignore the box altogether. So, I don’t expect the programming to change on account of me.

But when I first started watching FTV, they had some pretty cool shows and the point of all of all of them was that you learned something. Whether you learned how to cook or how to present, or little nuggets of wisdom to help in all kitchen situations, all the old guard shows were about education and that was actually a fairly powerful thing.

As I write this, Unwrapped is explaining the exciting process of putting a McDonald’s Big Mac together–as though any of us want to. I’m not anti-Big Mac. Heck, I actually ate one not too long ago. I’m just not all that interested in how they make them. In fact, it may actually make me not want to eat them.

Where was I going with this? Oh, right. Nowhere special except to say—if she who must not be named can get famous and her own show—anything can happen. Anything.

Author’s Note: I saw this film a few months ago as Cyrus Nowrasteh is a friend of mine, father to a former student of mine, and a one-time guest speaker in my Composition class. It is why I refer to him by his first name here and so I come at this with intimate knowledge of the making of the film and having written about Cyrus previously. I just finished another interview with him and that piece will appear in the Ventura County Star Thursday or Friday. Link will follow when it appears.

The richness of the images of The Stoning of Soraya M. caught me well off guard. I know the director of the film, Cyrus Nowrasteh and know his work as a screenwriter mostly. I’ve seen his HBO film called The Day Reagan Was Shot starring Richard Dreyfus. It was a fine movie and while I was teaching American Studies, I used it in my class. I saw and helped to promote (not professionally) the film The Path to 9/11 that Cyrus wrote and produced. These docudramas are excellent film-making and extraordinary in their ability to relate complicated and nuanced moments. But “Stoning” is something else entirely.

To begin with, the recent press attraction to the film is because of what is happening in Iran right now. The true story based on the book by journalist Freidoune Sahebjam (played by Jim Caviezel in the film) is one that Cyrus says he knew he wanted to make, but his cynicism told him that it would never sell.

The story is simple. A young woman in a small village in Iran just after the 1979 revolution is accused of marital infidelity and “conduct unbecoming a wife and mother.” None of the accusations are true, but they are forcefully pushed by the young woman’s husband who is looking for a way out of the marriage and knows that if she is convicted, she will be killed by stoning. The rest is inevitable and powerful and so incredibly moving and sad that as I watched it for a second time, I couldn’t hold back tears.

The direction in the film tilts toward nuanced and beautiful patterns that arise not out of the simple social injustice that is taking place, but out of the relationships that each of the main characters have to each other and how they deal with their own obligations and senses of right and wrong. The most conflicted character in the story, the Mayor of the town, is ultimately the arbiter of Soraya’s life and he seems to take the job quite seriously. In the end, however, the absolutes of Sharia law leave him no choice and in a film dominated by boorish, chauvinistic and even murderous males, one cannot help but feel pity for the Mayor.

The musical score, a work of art in its own right, captures the tension, the grace and the tragedy in the story. Cyrus took pains to paint the film with the landscapes of the Middle Eastern desert and though he cannot say for practical and security purposes, it is rumored that the film was made somewhere in Jordan. This combination of landscape and sound, desert and mountain, add to the emptiness one can only feel when faced with the injustice that Soraya faces.

Mozhan Marno plays Soraya and it is her grace and beauty that carry her through a heart-wrenching portrayal. Shoreh Aghdashloo, the Academy Award nominee for her work in House of Sand and Fog, plays Zorha, Soraya’s Aunt who tells her story.

Through memory, reflection, tight scene direction and a sparse and elegant script by both Cyrus and his wife, Betsy, The Stoning of Soraya M. is a film that transcends entertainment and moves into the best of what film, and even television when given a chance, should be – and that is a vehicle for transmitting important and timeless lessons about humanity, the human spirit, justice and ultimately, love.

What’s funny about Night at the Museum: The Battle of the Smithsonian is that it’s a movie that you assume you know from watching the trailers on TV. Even if you didn’t see NATM 1, you can tell from the trailers what it’s about-or so it seems.

But, it’s not really true. In fact, the movie is far funnier than even it appears. The first movie was indeed very funny and Ben Stiller was at his usual best, which I don’t think he is in this movie. Stiller has produced some really fine comedic “everyman” films from Reality Bites to There’s Something About Mary and he deserves his due for this. And while he certainly has some very fine moments in this movie, some that make you laugh pretty hard, he may well reach the “everyman” part just a bit too far. He’s almost too likable and it seems that this is done on purpose as a kind of cinematic fait accompli–”we know what you want from this character, Larry-so, we’re going to give it to you” and they do. In fact, they serve up Stiller’s character on a silver platter.

But that’s really the only strong criticism I have of the movie. It’s funny, though it’s not very original. In fact, its lack of originality is one of the things that makes it funny and allows it to capitalize on the first film. Hank Azaria’s villainous Pharaoh come back to life is an absolute show stealer. Why Azaria has remained on the b-list of Hollywood comedy is beyond me. This guy’s talent is undeniable and his ability to do voices and accents, here he presents a profound lisp and deep, resonating European accent, is beyond remarkable.

Amy Adams turn as Amelia Earhart and later, a young lady who flirts a bit with Larry, is also undeniably delightful. Look, she’s a beautiful young woman and her talent at playing perky is real and even varied. Being the father of an 8 year old girl, I saw Adams in Enchanted and thought her tremendous in that role. Without a doubt, her naivete and energy were downright infectious as they are here. Yes, she’s also very easy on the eyes and the camera makes that altogether clear, following her for long shots as she walks in and out of scenes. It just had to be said.

The story is secondary, a kind of total reconnection to the first film. In many ways, it’s a trick on the audience. If NATM 1 was so good, then NATM 2 can be even better, but only if we do more of the same kind of stuff. There’s nothing terribly new here or any real dramatic range being portrayed. There’s no real change from the first film as far as the plot. The only real difference is the characters are in a new museum, the Smithsonian, and there are a few new characters. And yet, the film is able to pull off this seemingly mundane retread with verve and a kind of lighthearted and yet totally uproarious fun.

NATM 2 is a really fine and silly comedy. It’s totally suitable for the family and the special effects, not to mention the fun bits of history that it briefly brings to life are great fodder for discussions with the young ones. Peanut wanted to know more about Amelia Earhart and I was more than happy to oblige. She laughed as hard as anyone in the theater when General Custer tries to pronounce Sacagewea’s name and fails more than a few times.

So, there it is – it’s a silly, fun comedy that doesn’t take itself or its audience very seriously and it stimulates family discussion. What more do you need?

Reviewing a Pixar movie is rather like reviewing a piece of chocolate cake or a freshly made pizza; you know it’s going to be good, the question is just how good? How rich is it? How fresh are the ingredients?

I stand by my claim that Pixar, for all their mastery of the art and craft of storytelling, is essentially telling the same story over again. John Lasseter and the Emeryville magicians have been reading Ernest Hemingway and they believe that what he said is true: All modern American literature comes from one book by Mark Twain called ‘Huckleberry Finn.’…All American writing comes from that. There was nothing before. There has been nothing as good since.”

Hemingway was right, too. The ultimate American tale is simply a story that never ends and is full of constant potential. It features two unlikely friends from different walks of life who are thrown together for any number of reasons and embark on a journey searching for their freedom–only to discover they were free all along, at least metaphorically. And that’s what Pixar has done. A Bug’s life, Toy Story, Finding Nemo, The Incredibles, Wall-E, Ratatouille, all of them are variations on a theme–and the theme is Mark Twain’s.

And there is nothing, I repeat, nothing wrong with that. So, when the adds for Up, began appearing, I was excited. There hasn’t been a Pixar film I’ve disliked, not one. Often times, I’ve found myself ruminating on whether or not they’re due for a stinker, and they are, of course. After all, Lasseter, Docter and the rest of the crew are only human, entitled to the odd mistake. As long as they “keep moving forward,” then mistakes are infinitely forgivable.

But, if indeed Pixar is due for a mistake, then they still are. Up is as engaging a story as the animators have yet assembled. It’s a different film with a different sensibility and a kind of maturity not seen in other Pixar films. Yet the magic is still there. All of the suspensions of disbelief, placed at just the right point, are in-tact and the result is pure poetry.

Rather than give a full synopsis, I’d prefer you see the movie, I’ll just point out a few things here if I may be so bold. The main character, whose voice is none other than Ed Asner, is Carl Fredericksen, a crotchity old widower who, in the commercials, is just short of mildly sympathetic.

But the first twenty minutes of the film reveal Carl from his childhood, maturing into a young man who becomes a loving husband, even doting, to a woman not unlike himself. Through a series of un-dialogued vignettes, we learn that “Ellie” is unable to have children and so the two spend their lives together, chasing adventures they thought they wanted. It’s also one of the most touching pieces of film-making, animated or not, in recent memory. Handled with deft craft, with shadow and sparseness, with music that isn’t sappy or syrupy and with visuals that are heart-wrenching and gorgeous.

Russel is the Huck to Carl’s Jim. If Jim was a slave in Huck Finn, then Carl is a slave to his own memory, at least and his inability to get beyond the narrow confines of a reality that he has sewed for himself, with just enough thread to allow for one more adventure. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t intend to have it with a young Explorer Scout who gets caught up in his plans.

The comic genius of the film is “Dug,” the dog whose master has fashioned collars for his pack of dogs that allows them to talk. Dug too is an outcast in his own pack, seeking praise and acceptance from those with whom he’d really rather not associate. But in true dog fashion, Dug speaks in literal terms and the geniuses of Pixar have given all of the talking dogs something of a grammar lesson that allows their literal translations to provide comedy. Thus, when Dug is offered a chance to fetch a ball, “wanta play with the ball, boy? Wanta fetch?” His answer is a resounding and unfettered, “OH, YES I DO WANT THE BALL, EVER SO MUCH! PLEASE THROW THE BALL AND I WILL GO GET IT AND BRING IT BACK TO YOU!”

One of the more hilarious things about Pixar films is that, unlike their progenitor Mr. Twain, the funniest moments in the films have to be seen and heard. Just telling the jokes or talking about the gags isn’t enough. The visuals marry with exact precision to the dialogue and the result is symbiosis unlike most other films today.

Up is a well-crafted, engagingly written and poetic story about letting go, trusting yourself, loving and being loved and allowing for mistakes to help guide you. It is, in short, a story all of us are in need of time and again, like Huck Finn. It’s a reminder that the best journeys are the ones on which we learn something not only about ourselves, but about those whom we thought we already knew. It’s a film that I wanted my daughter to see now, at 8 years old, but it’s a film I’ll want her to see when she’s 25, too and 35 and 50 and so on.

There’s nothing quite like Up in film today and yet, the film is indeed a re-hashing of some very old and simple American ideals. That, perhaps, is what Walt Disney meant all along by “keep moving forward…”

I’ve posted before about music and my playing of it, listening to it and my concert going years. No need to rehash that I suppose.

I still have a vivid memory of the day I went down to the Topanga Plaza shopping mall (which isn’t called that anymore) in the San Fernando Valley and bought my own vinyl copy of Rush’s Moving Pictures album. I’d been introduced to the band by my pal, Keith and I became a huge fan.

I remember, some 4 years later, going down on a weekday, with Keith, in 1985 to get tickets to see them play at the L.A. Forum. Those were the days when you showed up at the venue to buy tickets . You were given a wristband that signaled what place you had in line and then you got to go get your tickets. That was the Grace Under Pressure tour and I am hard pressed to believe that it was 24 years ago.

So, here I am recently just listening again to Grace Under Pressure when I had what recovering alcoholics call, “a moment of clarity.”

I’ve listened to every album the band has made and that’s a lot of albums going back to their first in 1973 and finishing recently with 2008’s Snakes and Arrows. The band’s music is so impressive and on such a grand scale much of the time and yet, recently, as I get older, I’ve found I don’t enjoy the music as much.

I chalked this up to my growing older, different interests, moving on, whatever. But then I put Grace Under Pressure on and all the old feelings were there again. I was moved by the music again and felt that same connection with it that I felt when I was a teenager and all the way through my 20’s.

That’s when it occurred to me that I was basically trying to like the newer albums. I’ll admit, there is some wonderful music in the most recent recordings and I think some really delightfully creative moments. However, that music doesn’t speak to me much and it never really did.

I got into Rush in 1981 when I was 15 and 16 years old. When I saw them for the first time in 1985, I was about to turn 20. I’ve seen them 10 times since and all of the concerts have been wonderful.

But, the fact remains, that music identified who I was when I was a youth. My mid-teenage years through my 20’s were a difficult and trying time for me as they are for most adolescents. My parents divorce, my move across the country and then back again, my contracting mononucleosis and because of it, my inability to attend the University of Maryland, Baltimore County where I intended to go after high school, the decline of my application to Cal State Sacramento–all of those negatives fueled a lot of issues through which I fought to maintain perspective.

And, in the end, I did indeed maintain perspective. I came out of it just fine, thank you. But the time is marked by realizing my own strength, my own ability to overcome failure, not to accept it and the soundtrack of that time belongs to three albums: Moving Pictures, Signals and Grace Under Pressure, all of which signify moments that really coincided with who I was.

Now, as I listen to the music in all its rich texture, its youthful fervency and its complex structure, I find myself remembering how I got from there to here–not wallowing in how I felt then, but rather taking joy in the fact that things change and I still get to make choices.

As my friend Edd says, even if the later albums haven’t really thrilled me, they are still good in their own way–and the band has earned deserved praise and they’ve also earned the right to play what they want. That’s beyond question. But, in a way, acknowledging these things is also a way for me to realize that their music, so freeing then, so much a part of who I was, isn’t so for me anymore.

So, I got out the CD’s today and put Grace Under Pressure, Signals and Moving Pictures into the car. I have the others, to be sure. And once in a while, I’ll listen. For now, though, it is a question of reliving the joy of that freedom and the memory that music can indeed change you, so much that it drives you to find your own new expression and your own balance.

For me, that’s worthy of real thanks.