Digging My Southern Roots....Memphis

A high school reunion in Louisville seemed the perfect excuse to expand the celebration with travels south. Destination -- Tennessee, for the music of my childhood. High 90s temperatures were predicted at every stop on the map. But hot, humid summer days go hand in hand with sitting in the back seat of the family Oldsmobile as Patty Page delivers a lilting Tennessee Waltz from my dad's tape player; and on many a warm summer night, my Uncles Eddie and Skippy would prop guitars on their knees after a family picnic, to strum the chords and offer their own versions of Johnny Cash's Walk the Line and Tex Ritter's I Dreamed of a Hillbilly Heaven. It's been a long time coming, but I can't deny it. In the past few years I've had a growing desire to sample more of the blues, bluegrass, and country music that fertilized my southern roots. And why not check out the home of a homeboy who took the blues, gospel, and a touch of country to fashion a new sound called rock 'n' roll? Who knows, maybe I'd discover how the music shaped the person I am today, and maybe there'd be surprises along the way.

First off, a girls trip with high school friends to the Mississippi river town that "gave birth to the blues," and Graceland and the National Civil Rights Museum as well. After my friends collected me at the airport, we gps'ed our way back to town, into the art deco condo that became our trendy dorm for the next three nights. The itinerary was finalized weeks before, so we were off and singing the blues the next day.

Day one in Memphis was the  Mo Jo Extended Tour that revved up at B.B. King's place on Beale Street. With crispy green-fried tomatoes and cheese-smothered nachos warming our plastic carry-out bags, courtesy of B.B., we jumped on the packed tour bus ready to munch and rock.

Where or where can you find a honky tonk tour like this, with an aspiring star on a high stool at the front of the bus, belting the blues and sharing the stories while passengers click, clap, and rattle their instruments (courtesy of our tour leader) in time to the music? Sheer joy. All the hot spots passed like a slideshow across our window frames...Elvis' family home, Johnny Cash's first apartment, the Sun Record building, Lorraine Motel, and Beale Street joints. Memphis is like a lot of smaller towns in the south, with leafy avenues, stately historic homes, and older business districts with abandoned buildings.

http://www.sunrecords.com

For the extended tour, we returned to Sun Records,  the studio that "gave birth to rock 'n' roll." Housed in an aging brick structure with a neon guitar hanging from a corner of the roof, it was, undoubtedly, a more prominent place decades before. Sam Phillips established the studio as a place where anyone could record a song for a small fee. As history would have it, some pretty big names found their way to his front door. Goosebumps rippled my arms as we squeezed into the crowded main room bubbling with tourists, vintage photos, and '50s-'60s memorabilia. Every square inch of wall space was papered with black and whites of famed performers while familiar voices crooned like ghosts from speakers overhead: That's All Right Mama,  Blue Suede Shoes, Folsom Prison Blues, and Great Balls of Fire. This was holy ground, where they first stood to create classics that are as much a part of American musical history as "The Star Spangled Banner."

L to R: Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins,
Elvis, Johnny Cash

The famous photo of the Million Dollar Quartet hangs high above the stage area and glass-fronted recording bay. The story we heard is that Elvis stopped by to say hello during a break in Memphis, and it just so happened that Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, and Johnny Cash were in the studio at the time. The four of them launched into an impromptu jam session and the camera clicked. There were some contractual reasons why Elvis' picture couldn't be used, but the photo landed in the newspaper the next day anyway. Before we said good-bye, we gripped the metal rod of the standing mic, tilted it sideways, and leaned in to pose for iPhone camera shots. Our moment in the spotlight!

Day two at Graceland: As girls of the '60s, my high school friends and I started our tour thinking we knew Elvis' story. What more did we need to know? I had to confess I'd never been a fan until he died. It was then that I started to listen to Elvis' music and appreciated it on a whole new level. And Graceland had never been on my list of places to see before I died, but my Carlsbad neighbors urged me to go. So I pushed it with our group, one of whom passed on it when she visited Memphis years ago.


The house is a mansion of the 50s/60s, which is to say that it's got a log of swag, shag, and the token animal motifs, figures, and patterns. Stepping back in time, the 1950s interior reflects the era, with interesting color combinations (pink and green tile in a bathroom), and rooms to spare.

The entrance to his parents Vernon and Gladys' bedroom on the main floor is a few feet from a youthful Elvis portrait, full of innocence and blondish hair hanging inside the front foyer, at the steps to the second floor.

Outside, the smell of fresh cut grass greeted us along a walkway that weaves through lush grounds bordered by flower beds. In earlier days, horses grazed in the distant pasture, and golf carts roamed the landscape where Elvis, Priscilla, and Lisa Marie played games with family and guests. But it's the buildings beyond the main house -- a former racquetball court, offices, garages, etc. -- that house the treasures and showcase the life and career of the king of rock 'n' roll.

The walls down one narrow room, maybe the length of a football field, are lined with gold records. How could any human accomplish so much over a lifetime, let alone a life cut short? It was impossible to take it all in -- the endless beaded and sequined costumes, vintage posters, a gazillion photographs, paintings and portraits that were gifts from fans and artists worldwide, original videos, and assorted memorabilia. Even the antique cars, in a circular display around a drive-in theater set with a gas station, are fascinating. 

But the final stop on the house tour is the one that weighs heavy on the heart. It's the meditation garden, now turned into a cemetery where Elvis, his parents, twin brother (plaque only), and a grandmother are laid to rest. My Carlsbad friends called their visit a "spiritual experience." I now knew why. What struck me as gauche at first seemed appropriate seconds later. I didn't want to leave the beautifully landscaped area, unlike anything I'd ever seen on the grounds of someone's home. I later read that Elvis and his mother were first buried at Forest Hills Cemetery in Memphis, but someone tried to steal Elvis' remains a few weeks after burial, and he and his mother were moved to the meditation garden. 

Throughout the tour, including stops at shops and restaurants in a Graceland strip mall, I couldn't stop thinking about the sad parts of Elvis' life. They hover in sharp contrast to the legacy displayed. His twin brother died at birth, and his dad landed in prison for three years when he was a baby. As a toddler, he made the three-hour bus ride with his mom to visit dad, who moved the family to Memphis the year Elvis turned thirteen. Gladys died at the age of 46 from a heart attack related to hepatitis. Elvis took leave from Army training in Texas only two days before she died, and some say he never recovered from the loss of his mother. He placed a star of David on her grave to honor her Jewish heritage. It's also been said that the twin brother's death haunted him his entire life. The marriage to Priscilla ended in divorce, with Lisa Marie the gift of that marriage. But in the end, there weren't enough gold records, cars, movies, and not even a daughter to keep him from the demons and drugs that ended his life. Thanks to Priscilla and Lisa Marie, Memphis has an exceptionally well developed landmark that tells the story and documents the career of Elvis Presley.

Each year, during the week of August 16 (the day he died), Elvis is remembered with a ceremony and candlelight vigil at Graceland. A fitting tribute to the music industry legend who sits at the top of the mountain. The 2015 Vigil and Auction at Graceland included Priscilla Presley, Lisa Marie Presley who speaks to the gathering, and her two daughters.

Day three at the National Civil Rights Museum  (NCRM) in Memphis had nothing to do with my quest for music, but everything to do with the civil rights movement in the 50s and 60s, as much a part of my childhood as the songs in my dad's car and at family picnics. Again, my friends and I grew up in the 60s in the South, and some of us marched or volunteered in the battle for civil rights. In high school and college, we witnessed history in our city, in our TV news, and in our classrooms. We knew a lot. At least we thought we did.

Adjacent to the Lorraine Motel where MLK died, the NCRM is a reminder of where we've been and how far we have to go. This is the history of blacks in the United States, from slavery through the Civil War, migration to northern cities, Jim Crow, sit-ins, freedom riders, and the continuing challenges of modern day. Exhibits are informative, provocative, poignant, and disturbing.

The stories and voices that bear witness to history are displayed and recorded in interactive stations with earphones and on room-sized screens. Extensive TV footage of events that shook the country highlight the context, with tension and trauma front and center, reminiscent of popular films, The Butler and Selma. Rosa Parks' bus features a figure of the courageous woman in her seat near the front of the bus. When you step inside, a voice booms, "Move to the back of the bus. You can't sit there. Move back!" In a flash, I'm there, with generations of blacks denied a simple right to choose a seat and so much more.

The original lunch counter for the student sit-in in Montgomery anchors youthful figures and nearby hecklers while a nonviolent training video plays on the wall behind the exhibit. The charred bus of freedom riders in Birmingham stands as a symbol of white supremacy at its worst. We weave through the black power movement that addresses nonviolence, women's rights, war, riots, poverty, and integration. Several hours pass and  exhibits are coming to a close when I look up to see Room 306 of the Lorraine Motel before me. Dirty plates with napkins tossed over them. Drapes pulled aside for a view through the glass sliding doors. Again, I am there. This is powerful, profound, unforgettable. The feeling lingers, well beyond the exit and rest of the trip. The NCRM is among the top three museums I've visited, alongside the World War II Memorial in New Orleans and the Yad Vashem Museum in Jerusalem.

Since the NCRM opened in 1991, the annual Freedom Awards recognize individuals who have made significant contributions in civil rights and who have laid the foundation for present and future leaders in the battle for human rights" in the United States and around the world.


NEXT STOP: Louisville for the Muhammad Ali Center and a High School Reunion

A Time for Sports Heroes

The past few months have given us a string of sports events and winners for the ages. Lots to celebrate, and it's only fitting that I start with a sports hero honored tonight.

The Pro Football Hall of Fame Class of 2015 ceremony in Canton, Ohio was a bittersweet occasion for San Diegans. We will always miss Junior Seau, one of the eight inductees, because he was the hometown hero who gave us so much joy as a San Diego Charger linebacker, the one who propelled his team to the Super Bowl in 1994. Seau was born in Oceanside, spent part of his childhood in American Samoa, and returned to Oceanside High School to letter in football, basketball, and track and field. With a long list of player trophies, and named to another list of championship teams, he went on to a brilliant three years at USC and was later named to the USC Athletic Hall of Fame (2009). In 1990, Seau was drafted by the San Diego Chargers and became a driving force on the team for 12 years, and with the National Football League for 20 years, closing out his career with brief stints as a Miami Dolphin and New England Patriot.  

In 2012, retired only three years, Seau ended his life abruptly, along the coast where he lived in Oceanside. After his passing, studies of his brain tissue by the National Institutes of Health concluded that he suffered from chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE), which sparked a national debate about the harsh effects of the game on a player's health, specifically brain health. For that, we can be grateful. It was past time.

Here's what bleacher report.com had to say about the face of the San Diego Chargers during the 90s:

So we remember the Tiaina Baul Seau Jr. who was selected to 12 Pro Bowls, who was one of the most disruptive defenders of his generation and who was among the most recognizable sports heroes in his city's history. We also remember a football player whose untimely death opened our eyes to the unseen dangers of America's brutal, beautiful obsession.

Seau was the greatest linebacker of the 1990s, perhaps the greatest defender of that era. His gifts, beyond his outstanding athleticism, relentlessness and passion, were versatility and unpredictability. Seau recorded 56.5 sacks, 18 interceptions and over 1,500 tackles. Opponents never knew whether he was rushing the passer, dropping into coverage, staying at home against the run or following a hunch about where the ball was heading. His own coaches sometimes didn't know, either.

  

Photo: bleacherreport.com

Photo: San Diego Union-Tribune

The Junior Seau Foundation was Seau's passion while he played and when he retired, helping countless kids who benefited from the devoted leadership Seau demonstrated at board meetings, raising funds, and engaging partners. He is sorely missed by everyone who supported his efforts and experienced his enthusiasm. Now run by volunteers, the JSF continues to honor its founder's dream.  Here's what the San Diego Union-Tribune had to say about Seau's dedication to the foundation:

The intensity translated to millions of dollars for the cause of San Diego’s at-risk children, a different sort of legacy than the on-field accomplishments that got the late Seau voted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame. Partially in honor of the induction ceremonies Saturday in Canton, the JSF donated $500,000 to support a pediatric urgent-care facility in Oceanside, hereafter to be known as the Junior Seau Foundation center. 

During the Hall of Fame ceremony, Sydney Seau, the oldest of Seau's four children, was interviewed onstage about her father, who had asked her to talk about him when his time came. It was an emotional tribute and the highlight of the entire program. When it was time to uncover his bust, her brothers joined Sydney onstage. The New York Times  posted a video of Sydney giving the speech she prepared. She was not allowed to deliver the speech at the televised ceremony since inductees are the only ones allowed to speak (in past years, a family member or colleague presented first).  

American Pharaoh is a different type of athlete who took to the tracks this year to dazzle the horse racing world and the entire country. His legacy resonates far beyond the racetracks of America into the history books of the sport. The Kentucky Derby win on the first Saturday in May was euphoric, followed by a wet Preakness win with mud flying high two weeks later. But it was the Belmont Stakes on June 6 that raised the bar to the highest standard for three-year-old thoroughbreds and set the third sparkling jewel in the Triple Crown -- for the first time in 37 years. Bells are still ringing throughout the horse community. Credit must be given to an infectious, joyful Victor Espinoza, riding the champion, and legendary trainer Bob Baffert, who has achieved one of the most impressive records in the sport. After the dust settled, then came the curtain call. It was racing royalty on August 2nd when the  handsome thoroughbred with jockey Espinoza on the reins won the 2015 William Hill Haskell Invitational at Monmouth Park in New Jersey -- the latest notch on their leather crop. Personally, I'm hoping for another trophy at Del Mar this month. Maybe the 22nd, since my ticket is purchased and my hat is ready.

Like a glorious thoroughbred, young Jordan Spieth played the rainmaker of American golf when he won  the Master's Tournament in Augusta, Georgia in April, and followed it up with another majors win at the U.S. Open in University Place, Washington in June. Could it be our spring awakening gave us two heroes to revive horse racing and golf? They're hardly comparable, since one will likely retire soon, to sire the next generation of elite thoroughbreds, while the other fine tunes his game to go after a career grand slam and records set by names like Woods, Nicklaus, Hogan, Jones, Palmer, Snead and Watson. Spieth came within a breath of the hole at the British Open a few weeks ago for a chance to collect the third jewel of the 4-jeweled majors crown. It was heartbreaking to see him lose, but he is human, after all. The maturity and wisdom he's displayed since turning pro in college are credited with leading the 23-year-old to a string of wins that have placed him in the number-two-ranked spot worldwide, behind Rory McIlroy, who leads by a little over one full point.

With horse racing fans applauding their hero, golf fans wonder if Spieth could be the one to end their drought, which started when Tiger dropped off the leader boards. Which begs another question. When we speak of sports heroes, we have to ask -- will Tiger make a comeback? The scandal, the injuries, the setbacks...they've all taken their toll. There have been hints that he still has it in him, but  the good starts don't turn into leads like they did in bygone days. Even with his current status in the rankings, some will argue that Tiger Woods is the best golfer of all time. Others will counter, because his record against Nicklaus for majors won is the measuring stick (Tiger 14, Nicklaus 18). The believers point out that he's far beyond Nicklaus and other golfers for the most records overall, this during a time when the competition was at its height. Like most things in life, time will tell.

We love our winners and want to hold onto them. Whether it's a football game, horse race, or golf tournament, a World Series or Olympics, it's exhilarating to witness greatness. We want our heroes to live into old age, to retire to green pastures, to rise to the top, and to make a comeback when there's a setback. When they face disappointment or worse, for whatever reason, we're disappointed too. We want them to continue winning, for them and for us. We don't want to give them up.

Thanks for the memories, Junior.

And for a heartfelt, poignant speech, Sydney.

When the Human Spirit Soars

Who among us will ever forget the devastating events and raw emotional response that 911 generated in our American experience? I wasn't aware how close those memories live beneath the surface of my skin, ready to seep through my pores and grab me, with just the right trigger. Until July 4th weekend.

The opening number in Come From Away, the new musical that closes today at La Jolla Playhouse, blasts with energy and bravado. The ensemble cast portrays a rowdy group of men and women from all walks of life in Newfoundland. Yes, the most forgotten land mass closest to us which we know the least about, except for Annie Proulx's book, "The Shipping News." Next, they belt out a song to announce "You Are Here," and we think: okay, guess we're here. Gander, Newfoundland? After a few words from the mayor,  the next number shouts, "Welcome to Newfoundland." From the mayor to the animal protection lady, to the local bus driver and people who run the bar and local academy, these characters are etched in living color, with voices from a far away place, somewhat reminiscent of "Fargo." After all the introductions, the action shifts like a winter blizzard to a TV screen in the local cafe. Two airplanes have crashed into the World Trade Center buildings in New York City. Urgent phone calls are placed as neighbors alert each other to turn on their TVs and radios. Like the rest of the world, the Newfoundlanders are frozen in time, riveted to the news, until they receive notice from U.S. officials that 38 planes are being diverted to their airspace, to land at the Gander Airport. Why Gander? It houses a large airstrip, which used to serve as a refueling stop for airplanes on long hauls around the globe.

Tension, confusion, excitement, bewilderment, and local politics launch the 9,000 townspeople of the forgotten hamlet into a frenzy of activity as they prepare for the flock of airplanes about to descend with an untold number of passengers who will be hungry, tired, scared, and disappointed that they didn't reach their destinations. They will need diapers for babies, meds for old people, toys and books for  children, and food and care for pets stowed in cargo bins. Anticipation on the ground  matches alarm, fatigue, and confusion inside the planes as actors switch from their town roles to their passenger personas. Jenn Colella delivers a strong, inspired performance as the female pilot from Texas who barely manages to control restless charges, held captive for hours in the grounded airplane while the pilot waits for further instructions. This is a mystery never resolved in the story -- why some aircraft had to wait ten or more hours to release passengers. Dazed and distraught, thousands of people in jumbo jets start to file into Gander. With cell phones in limited use or out of the service area, many travelers had no idea why they were diverted in the first place, adding to the confusion and tension.

From the beginning, this play grips your heart and holds it hostage while the emotional memories of 911 mix with the characters and events on stage. Eyes water, tears ready to trickle, but the nonstop motion of the human spirit alive and well in Gander keeps them on the verge. Endless gestures of kindness, concern, generosity, and selflessness abound, to embrace and overwhelm the foreigners, who don't know how to take it all in. When the weary passengers shed their disheveled clothes for warmer, local garb, old ways of thinking about life and people in remote places are discarded for new ways in this touching tribute to humanity. The young black man who's used to watching his back and worrying about his wallet discovers a place where he can round up backyard grills for the town barbecue without asking the owners' permission. The career woman who gave up on love long ago meets the love of her life, a cautious British man who throws caution to the wind. And the mother who eventually flies home to learn her son died in the towers turns first to her new friend in Gander. The example set by the locals seeps into the hearts of the visitors. When their money is refused time after time, the grateful passengers form a scholarship fund, and later organize a return visit for the ten-year anniversary.

Just when it looks like evil has won the day, the spirit of mankind soars in unlikely ways and places. In this joyful ride about the tiny town of Newfoundland, we are reminded that we're all in this together, and we're not as different as we may think. Maybe that's why everyone jumped to their feet for a standing ovation. The spirit of Gander spilled into the audience. Thunderous applause and gratitude rose to fill the room. Like other gems that have graced the La Jolla Playhouse stage, this one is surely Broadway bound. It's hard to deny the the story's relevance to all Americans, or it's poignant celebration of simple humanity, but it's the emotional juggernaut of "Come From Away" that unexpectedly works its way into your psyche and heart, and hopefully, onto a New York City stage.

At the Movies: "Love & Mercy" Delivers Both

In the feature film Love & Mercy, the Beach Boys' meteoric rise to worldwide popularity unwinds in a disturbing spiral of tragedy and survival for Brian Wilson, heart and soul of the band. So where did it all begin? In his room, as the song goes, where a teenage Brian leads his brothers in lyrical harmonies before the idea of their own band catches fire. There was also the stage father who offered his three sons, and possibly their cousin and a friend who joined the group, regular doses of physical and mental abuse, which gave Brian hearing loss in one ear. After the band is well established, dear old Dad is fired as the self-appointed manager, but still shows up at the occasional studio gig to offer his trademark bite. Brian, the artistic genius behind much of the highly acclaimed California sound, is a favorite target.

Paul Dano plays the young Brian with fervent optimism, devotion, and teddy bear charm that's hard to resist. While his bros dig the surfer-themed performances on the road, Brian starts to exhibit early symptoms of a psychosis that renders him awkward in front of audiences and erratic offstage. He convinces himself and rest of the gang that he needs to quit the tour so he can focus on new material. That's when euphoria blossoms and vines its way through the film to rewrite rock 'n' roll history. Wilson's gifts and technical expertise are awe-inspiring to the seasoned musicians who work tirelessly with him. The xylophones, tambourines, piccolos, and strings Brian introduces in the studio infuse fresh new arrangements and unforgettable hits like "Good Vibrations," and the "Pet Sounds" album, considered by many the crowning achievement of a stunning career. These magical productions lay the floorboard of a musical legacy that still resonates today.

But the euphoria is short-lived. By the 80s, the psychosis has gained an upper hand and Brian's gifts morph into madness, with mind-altering street drugs center stage. John Cusack's portrayal of a restrained yet sincere Brian is on the mark as troubling voices derail his iconic life and music. Taken to his bed for three years, Brian is rescued by a manipulative psychologist, Dr. Eugene Landry, played with guts and vinegar by Paul Giamatti. The performance sizzles as evil incarnate, a worthy villain by anyone's standards.

Just when you're thinking wouldn't it be nice to get rid of him, a knight in shining armor appears. She's a blonde, curvaceous car saleswoman named Melinda Ledbetter, portrayed by Elizabeth Banks with sweet authenticity to balance her starlet, eye candy appeal. Melinda first meets Brian when he steps inside her Cadillac den. Her attentiveness bubbles into quiet, starstruck awe when she learns that he's Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys. But, of course, Landry is never far away. Through the front window of the shiny new Seville where Brian and Melinda sit, he signals his famous prisoner that it's time to run along. As chance would have it, Brian asks Melinda for her number before they part and manages to write three words on the back of her business card, which he leaves on the console: "lonely, scared, frightened." They start dating and before long, Landry threatens Melinda to bug off, or else. But it's too late. Her gentle heart has fallen for Brian's open, innocent heart. She can't abandon him. With steel determination, she digs deep to discover what the evil doctor is up to. When a housekeeper provides the evidence, Melinda tracks down Brian's family and paves the way for his release from the medicated fog and the shrink's shenanigans -- to gain control of his fortune.

Perhaps a weakness of the film is the absence of a finale, with fireworks and wedding bells. But that might have required another feature-length movie. It's the credits that provide closure. Brian returns to what he loves -- writing, producing and performing, and his life today includes wife Melinda and five children. In 2000, Dan and I were fortunate to catch up with him when he staged a solo "Pet Sounds" concert at Atlanta's Chastain Park. We bought three tickets and entertained our niece, Allison, visiting us on a cross-country trek. Unfortunately, a few minutes after the show started, dark clouds burst open and showered us for most of the night. It must've been God's way of saying he approved. As did we and thousands more who hunkered under rain gear and umbrellas until the closing curtain.

You don't want to miss "Love & Mercy." The dark alleyways of Brian Wilson's life are sad and disturbing, but the triumphant boy and man who rise above it all to bless the world with his heart and soul and genius make the movie ride all the more poignant.

Pet Sounds Atlanta 2000

Brian Wilson Website

And the Winner Is....

The clock is ticking. It's the big night for Oscar, so I'm on top of my deadline to register comments about the contenders.  Some truly great movies based on historical stories, current books and people, and fantastical tales, with outstanding performances and risks taken by producers and directors. Hope you'll have as much fun as we do at our house, filling in the ballot for nominees we pick to be the winners.  So here we go...in the Best Picture category:

American Sniper is hard to beat for a true story reminiscent of recent headlines and a timely trial to remind us this movie will wind its way to a tragic finale. Navy Seal Chris Kyle is portrayed by a very husky Bradley Cooper in a role that he literally embodies for a new level of achievement in an already impressive career. As a war story, the on-the-ground perspective of the skilled gunman gave me a chill. He goes for the target regardless if it's a child hugging a grenade or the enemy sharpshooter peering through a rooftop view miles away. I could taste the dry dusty dirt of Iraq, hear the jumbled thoughts inside his steely head, and feel the tug of a thumping heart when images of his family danced between bullets. I was there, with the Navy Seal whose patriotism compelled him to a third and fourth tour of duty in a part of the world that had and has a split personality at best toward American engagement. And I was there, when he returned home unable to adjust to a life he once cherished. And I was there when his wife pleaded with a stranger, not the man she married. Real. Tough. Stuff. But nothing in his military training prepared Chris Kyle or his family for the final chapter on that driving range at the hands of a troubled soldier. The scene doesn't appear in the movie. Instead, his flag-draped coffin travels past endless crowds who line the roads of his Texas hometown. They are there to honor their hero, and to never forget the sacrifice of those who wear the uniform of our armed forces. The movie does the same. In spectacular disturbing detail, it brings front and center the sacrifices and the journeys back home. For that and much more, American Sniper deserves its nomination on the Best Picture list.

Birdman is a robust character study of Riggan Thomson, played by Michael Keaton, who has been there and done that as a Broadway actor, but still tries to do it again with a new play, starring role,  unpredictable co-star, and the sexually charged teen daughter who hangs around like a simmering flame ready to burst into an explosion, which she does in one dramatic scene. Blazing with energy, sensual innuendos and encounters, and crazy complicated relationships that we'd expect from such theatrical characters and director Inarritu, the film is a romp through dressing rooms, closets, and high ledges that flies off in unexpected and believable directions at every turn of the backstage and onstage sets and streets of Broadway.  Keaton has already won Golden Globe and Screen Actors Guild best actor awards and may very well go all the way for the Oscar. I can't deny him the deserved accolades, and loved his speech for the Golden Globes in which he shared his humble roots, heartfelt appreciation, and vulnerability. And who can dismiss his long accomplished career? He may ride this award season all the way to the stage tonight.

Boyhood is a quiet film that slowly tugs at the heart until you catch yourself weeping for no good reason as a family of four evolves through years of marriage, divorce, remarriage, divorce, graduations, fights, adolescence, and so much more. So there are reasons. The universal experience of family life washes over us in waves of nostalgia to which we can relate, at least to substantial chunks. We've lived this story, first as children in a family with parents (one, two, or more), and then as parents raising the kids. Director Richard Linklater took a giant risk when he signed four actors to a shooting schedule once a year for twelve years. But he's done that before, with the Sunrise Sunset films that were ten years apart, gems in their own right. Considering what can occur in all four of the actors' lives during that period of time, and his own as well, Linklater accomplished a monumental task. Luckily for us, he pulled it off, not just to complete the movie, but to infuse a piece of art with a sense of magical realism that feels more like a documentary of these lives than a scripted film. Ethan Hawke and Patricia Arquette are stunning in understated performances, with similar deliveries by the two actors who play the son and daughter, Ellar Coltrane and Loelei Linklater (the director's daughter supposedly wanted to bail on the film at some point but persevered, perhaps with fatherly encouragement).  My daughter who is raising two sons, 20 and 17, said she cried through most of the movie. The poignancy is undeniable, and heart-wrenching at times. I'll be just fine if this is the night's big winner. It touched me softly, deeply, as well.

The Grand Budapest Hotel is a zany showpiece of film, with story, visual, and character elements that lend themselves to imaginative invention more akin to Disneyland characters and capers. Ralph Feinnes has never been quirkier or quicker, on his feet and in his delivery, as the manager of this exotic European resort where well-heeled patrons park themselves to escape from a more practical, sensible world outside the hotel (at times). Tilda Swinton, Owen Wilson, and Bill Murray offer memorable co-starring and cameo appearances, each with their own brand of whimsical, whacky tributes to add to a composite of entertaining puzzle pieces that might tickle a few chuckles from Laurel and Hardy or the Marx brothers. The colorful, playful sets of the hotel and surrounding countryside could be toy creations in which pastel pastries and interiors set the tone against a backdrop of snow-capped mountains in faraway Austrian inspired scenes. All things are possible, and all things can happen, as they do when dead bodies surface, countryside jaunts lead to wild chases, and bellboys take center stage. It's a thoroughly original, exhausting, enjoyable, nearly cartoon slice of moviemaking that is not inconsistent with director Wes Anderson's other work. He specializes in original storytelling that takes us down roads less traveled where characters and stories possess unique qualities and spin we're not used to seeing, i.e. Moonrise Kingdom, the only other movie of his I've seen. Applause for the delightful Grand Budapest Hotel! Will it be the the zany, quirky winner for best picture? Not likely. For best Original Screenplay? Quite possibly, with the Writers Guild of America award in that category already under his belt.

The Imitation Game is accomplished historical storytelling that sealed me to my seat for the entire ride. It doesn't hurt to have an equally accomplished Sherlock Holmes BBC actor in the lead, playing a brainy, geeky guy long before anyone dreamed of Silicon Valley or branded men who tape their eyeglasses and prop pens in their shirt pockets as nerds. Benedict Cumberbatch carries this movie from beginning to end, as Alan Turing, the British genius who unlocks the German Enigma code to give the Allies the advantage they need to turn the war and beat Hitler to the ground. But it wasn't an easy win for Turing, and it didn't lead to a lifetime of happiness.  There were roadblocks that nearly killed the effort along the way, including military superiors who demanded faster results and nearly shut down the enterprise undertaken by Turing and a handful of colleagues who joined the secretive mission. Keira Knightley plays the female co-star, romantic interest on the team who softens the rough edges of Turing's awkwardness with his co-workers on the high-tech project. Cumberbatch is authentic in a pondering role that sears the screen with ferocity. This is a character who refuses failure, pushes the limits, and eventually succeeds, allowing the world to triumph over Nazism. If only the joy could have followed him after the war, but the world wasn't ready. Found out as a homosexual, Turing is ostracized by the social norms of the day and forced to live a reclusive life that ends with a probable suicide at the age of 41 in 1954. The brilliance of Imitation Game is that it takes a highly technical topic and pugnacious character, spins a yarn of intense human interest and historical significance, and delivers an unforgettable movie that the New York Times calls a "tidy and engrossing drama."

Selma,  another historical movie on a broader scale, takes us back to the mid-sixties in Alabama where Martin Luther King leads a 50-mile march from Selma to the state capital in Montgomery, but like Turing, his journey was wrought with challenges and a tragic ending.  In fact, blood was spilled, lives were lost, and the Civil War was alive and well in the old South. State troopers blocked the bridge out of Selma to ensure no one would reach the capital until national publicity and a groundswell of whites and blacks arrived from other parts of the country to join a second march at a later date. While I lived this period of history in high school, I can't say I truly understood or followed the daily dramas except for evening news stories when I caught them. So it was an important movie for me, to fill in the missing pieces, in the same way that The Butler, another Oprah movie, did last year. Performances were exemplary from David Oyelowo and Carmen Ejogo who played King and his wife, Coretta Scott King. Oprah's cameo scenes were emotional and memorable, the most prominent one when she tried to register to vote, but was turned down, even after she gave correct answers to the questions asked. In the end, history triumphs and the Civil Rights Act is passed by President Johnson, whose portrayal in the film has been criticized for diminishing his significant support for King to bring the worst of racial atrocities to the attention of the American press. While it's an important film with a significant contribution, it's unlikely Selma will beat out the competition for the Oscar. But who knows?

The Theory of Everything is utterly remarkable, depicting the life of Stephen Hawking, whose perseverance and virtuosity shine from beginning to end through the performance of Eddie Redmayne. Based on his first wife Jane's book about her life with Stephen, the film opens with a magical fairy tale in the form of a love story in Cambridge between two brainy, charming characters. They capture our hearts only moments before they face a dismal diagnosis that will reverberate throughout their lives and test them at every kiss and turn. This is a triumphant love story that stands up to the challenge of Stephen's debilitating disease, with dedication, loyalty, and determination rarely if ever seen among others with a similar diagnosis. Felicity Jones' portrayal of Jane is honest and earnest, her devotion to her husband nearly angelic, until it isn't. Up to this point, Jane and Stephen put their love and faith in each other first, to raise a family and support Stephen's substantial scientific contributions to the field of physics, including the publication of a bestselling book. But Jane eventually recognizes her own desperate needs in a nearly impossible situation where she has been a moon orbiting around Stephen's earth. Both find love beyond their relationship, which has run its course under the most difficult circumstances imaginable. The film does justice to a heart-wrenching story about a couple who rises above an unforgiving disease, but Eddie Redmayne's portrayal of a twisted, disfigured, slurring invalid is what lingers and aches for months afterwards. It's hard to imagine a more demanding role with such a high bar for physicality and emotional depth, unless it would be Bradley Cooper's portrayal of The Elephant Man on Broadway, which I haven't seen. Redmayne has already collected several awards, and may be giving the acceptance speech for an Oscar tonight. An honor well deserved.


Whiplash is the final nominee in the Best Picture category, but a film I did not see. J.K. Simmons stars in the role of a music teacher and has already picked up some awards for his portrayal.

'Night Mother at Ion Theater a Masterpiece

In 1977, my mother called to tell me that Actors Theater of Louisville announced the winner of its Humana Festival of new plays: Getting Out by Marsha Norman received the top award. The news was exciting since Marsha and I graduated in the same class at Durrett High School in Louisville, and I was delighted about her success. When I moved from Connecticut to California months later, I discovered the Mark Taper Forum in Los Angeles was producing the play, so I rushed to see it. The story of a girl leaving prison after eight years, Getting Out takes its heroine on a jagged journey of re-entry in her hometown of Louisville, a place and time in stark contrast to her recent past. The somber tale unravels with brittle challenges and tangled emotions at every turn. I found it deserving of the award for a debut play.

So it was no surprise when I learned six years later that Marsha's play, 'Night Mother (1983), was the recipient of a Pulitzer Prize and countless other awards. Instead of a re-entry, Jessie decides to say good-bye and spends the next ninety minutes preparing her mother for her pending suicide. Somehow, I missed the play when it was staged over the years, and even the movie, with Anne Bancroft and Cissey Spacek. The stars never aligned, that is, until Saturday afternoon when I caught an opening performance at the Ion Theater in San Diego.

From the moment the two actors deliver first lines, the audience is caught in a web of family dysfunction and despair, like slow-rotting garbage in the kitchen-living room area of the modest  home, set in a poor black, rural neighborhood. Picture frames hang on the wall with no pictures inside, suggesting the vacant relationship Jessie occupies with her mother. The harder Jessie tries to assure Mama the plan is irrevocable and it has nothing to do with her, the more Mama strives to prevent it. In the course of the unwinding Saturday night scene, the pair launch into a game of truth. We learn about the father who died, and the wife who divulges she never really loved him, but knew Jessie did. He said very little, just sat there, except when making pipe cleaner figures for his daughter. We hear about the insensitive brother whose wife gives Jessie the same, wrong-sized slippers every year for Christmas. And there's Cecil, Jessie's ex, who left her high and dry so she's forced to move back with Mama. And her son Ricky, a worthless kid who steals for a drug habit, according to Jessie, but hasn't finished growing up, according to her mom.

In the midst of it all, Jessie organizes her mother's pills and candy, writes reminder notes, and instructs her on various chores, like running the washing machine, calling for groceries, giving the brother Jessie's list of  Christmas gifts for Mama, and notifying the police after the plan is completed. A play that delves into such raw territory could dissolve into a funeral march, but the writing is so poignant and playful, and the actors so immersed in character, that I found myself riveted to them, relating in a way that was both frightening and real. This is family dysfunction that is recognizable, taken to its final chapter when secrets seep out and anger explodes, revealing a tangible tragedy that makes sense of it all, but far too late for Jessie. The blast jars us in our seats.

Yolanda Franklin as Jessie and Sylvia M'Lafi Thompson as Mama are seasoned performers, with Thompson delivering a well-honed portrayal of the desperate but flawed mother whose ignorance, fear, and inaction denied her daughter the chance for a better life. The direction by Glenn Paris renders a powerful production, with threads of universal human experience expertly woven into the fabric of  poor black culture, and effects of societal stigma rendering the final, unexpected blow.

The writing soars, to provide the foundation, structure, and finishing touches which elevate the play to the level of a dramatic masterpiece about the human condition. For that, Pulitzer prizes are awarded.

Bright Star

Steve Martin and Edie Brickell have landed a hit, in my humble opinion. Dan and I caught the matinee of this world premiere show yesterday at the Old Globe, after I spent nearly an hour on the phone the day before with the sales lady from the theater.  She called to sell me a season ticket package. I'd already checked tix for the play, but they were over my budget, and the reviews didn't give me the sense of urgency that I really truly had to see it...other than praise for the bluegrass score, which I hated to miss. So BINGO, the caller put together a custom package with reasonable prices and dates, and alas, we owned four sets of tickets for plays at the Old Globe -- two this fall, and two more in the spring. I'm in a little bit of heaven, since I'd gladly see a play every week if I could. Theater lingers in my blood...leftover from dancing, acting, and performing as a kid, and more of the same in community gigs as an adult.

New York Times: Joan Marcus

"Bright Star" opens with a toy train chugging along a track at the top of the curtain, its shadow crossing the back wall as an omen of what's to come. Before you can say Folsom Prison Blues, the bluegrass score takes center stage, literally, with musicians housed in a see-through, wood-framed shanty that spins around for set and instrument changes. Young Billy Cane enters in full uniform, returning  to his hometown in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina after World War II. We learn that he'll pursue a career in writing, which takes him to the big city for a job at the Asheville Southern Journal where all the famous southern writers are being published. After a few assignments, he's told his writing holds promise, but his editor suggests that Billy write about the people and places he knows best. So home again. With romances to warm the heart and flashbacks to earlier days, Martin and Brickell wind us through the country roads of Billy's journey to reveal an untold story and family secret that turn the play on its side.

"Bright Star" resonates like an old-fashioned tale of family, love, passion, heartbreak, and redemption, but with a fresh twist of original country and bluegrass tunes that elevate this slice of musical theater to a level of charm and poignancy that is hard to resist. Martin wrote the book and confesses to being teary-eyed as his own play unfolds. I confess I felt the same, almost from the beginning. It's no secret that he's a banjo picker from way back, and a big fan of bluegrass. The pairing of his musical genius with Brickell's lovely lyrics renders a magical score and winning choreography. The title song "Bright Star" is a little surprising right from the opening scene, but works nicely.  "My Baby" goes straight to the heart without pause or apology, and "Sun's Gonna Shine" allows us to believe there will be  better days ahead.  At least a couple of ensemble numbers deliver a hee-haw hoedown that makes you want to jump up and join in, which does happen for curtain calls.  Pure joy.

Could the show lose a couple of scenes? Probably. Broadway bound? I'm betting on it.