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Authors Posts by Jeffrey Sanzel

Jeffrey Sanzel

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Tilda Swinton a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of MGM

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

In description, the plot is simple. A woman finds a bottle and releases a djinn (i.e., genie). The Djinn grants her three wishes; this is a straightforward story told hundreds of times over thousands of years. But suppose the woman is a narratologist, a scholar studying the literary theories of narrative? Suppose she is an academic who understands the interconnective nature of stories? Althea Binnie understands that “wish stories” are cautionary morality tales and “wishing is a hazardous art.” Her knowledge makes her hesitant to ask for her heart’s desire. So, the Djinn shares the story of his incarcerations. The result is Three Thousand Years of Longing, a thoughtful rumination layered in concepts. While rich in emotional complexity, the depth might not be as profound as it hopes. 

Tilda Swinton and Idris Elba in scenes from ‘Three Thousand Years of Longing.’
Photo courtesy of MGM

Director George Miller has smartly co-adapted (with Augusta Gore) A.S. Byatt’s novella The Djinn in the Nightingale’s Eye. Drawing on a wealth of sources, Miller weaves elements nodding to One Thousand and One Nights, Canterbury Tales, The Decameron, Gilgamesh, and others into a meditative film that somehow still manages to maintain a raw intensity. Miller’s eclectic directing career has included the Mad Max series, The Witches of Eastwick, Lorenzo’s Oil, and Happy Feet. With Gore, he has infused the mostly serious screenplay with flashes of dry wit and a unique gallows humor.

Alithea leaves her London home and travels to a conference in Istanbul. Plagued by bizarre demonic hallucinations, the slightly damaged Alithea is withdrawn and almost taciturn. She purchases an innocuous glass bottle from the backroom of a small shop and, from this container, releases the Djinn. Immediately, she suspects the Djinn to be a trickster, the most common and traditional belief about these spirits.

As the Djinn relates his history, the pair open up to each other. His three personal stories, presented as offerings, create a symmetry with the three tendered wishes. The flashbacks are vividly created with the magic more in the telling and humanity than in the effects. 

He begins by relating his relationship with the Queen of Sheba and how Solomon incarcerated him for the first time. The next story jumps ahead to another court centuries later. The last encounter was in the 1800s when he found a love he desired more than his freedom. 

The framing device occurs in the Istanbul hotel room, where Alithea and the Djinn wrangle over conflicts and needs. Miller beautifully stylizes the merging of the past with the present and the present with fantasy. CGI is not overused, and whenever it is employed is effectively presented.

Tilda Swinton delicately assays the hyper-aware but sensitive and withdrawn Alithea with pain and hope. She yearns for more but expects nothing. Idris Elba’s melancholy Djinn matches her yearning but provides a grounding. The Djinn’s ability to adapt and grow earns Alithea’s trust, allowing her to help him escape being caught between realms that would leave him in oblivion. She learns that “we exist only if we are real to others.” Perfectly matched, these two actors embody the dust of humanity and the fire of a djinn. 

The featured cast populates the flashbacks with appropriately heightened, if slightly generic, performances — woodcuts and illustrations brought to life. The exception is Burcu Gölgedar, as Zefir, the object of the Djinn’s 19th-century passion, gives a ferocious portrait of a woman with an unquenchable passion for knowledge that nearly drives her mad. In addition, Melissa Jaffer and Anne Charleston share a hilarious cameo as Alithea’s bigoted London neighbors.

Much of the film focuses on the importance of stories and the art and act of storytelling. This roots in the idea that stories began as a way to explain existence and the unknown. Gradually, mythos gave way to science, the latter being “what we know … so far.” Gods outlived their purpose and were reduced to metaphor. These are heady topics, and occasionally Miller struggles to clarify so many ideas. However, his perfectly cast stars make these exchanges compelling, if not completely accessible. Wrapped in the mythology is the larger question: Can we escape fate? 

Perhaps the movie poses too many questions and fails to answer many of them. Its epic nature often conflicts with its desire to be an intimate romantic fantasy. But with the underlying passion in its lead performances, Three Thousand Years of Longing makes a strangely haunting and ultimately uplifting experience.

Rated R, the film is now playing in local theaters.

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Author Lee Miao and her book at Frank Melville Memorial Park in Setauket. Photo by Heidi Sutton/TBR News Media

By Jeffrey Sanzel

“Stop. Overthinking. Everything. Ellie. Yeah, I wish.” So states the self-proclaimed “overthinker” Ellie, the resourceful protagonist of Lee Y. Miao’s debut young adult novel Wei to Go! (Clear Fork Publishing). “Every once in a while, grown-ups want to protect you and pretend that everything’s fine. Then they’ll worry their heads off while forcing a smile.” 

After “triple moves” since kindergarten, twelve-year-old Ellie leads a well-adjusted California existence, happily living with her parents and little brother, Kipp. She plays softball, delights in language (an admitted “word-enthusiast”), and circles a crush on Russ, a boy from school. 

But a cloud steals into her happy life when her father is in danger of losing his company to a sinister corporation, the Black Turtle Group. Her Hong Kong trip to save his business and career takes her on a six-day quest. Accompanied by her mother and brother, she encounters a cast of characters who both support and foil her in turn. Among those she encounters is Mr. Han, the wise and slightly whimsical gentleman who may or may not be a benevolent figure.

The author has neatly blended a mystery plot with an honest, unstarry tween portrait of a girl with no sense of direction but a true sense of purpose. Miao understands the mind of a junior high student. Ellie struggles with her feelings for Russ:

He’s a guy from my homeroom who’s also in my math class. I’m going to play it cool and grin, and I don’t care if he’ll see a parade of silvery turquoise tinsel on my teeth.

I do not have a crush on him. Period. 

But I wouldn’t mind getting to know him better. 

The first-person narration reflects a clever, insightful mind with a wry self-awareness: “Everyone says I inherited Dad’s nose but got skipped for his blue eyes and drawing skills. But they’re overrated. I’ve got his smile but nothing to smile about now.”

Separating this from many YA adventures is the cultural element. With a mother of Chinese descent, Ellie questions her mixed identity. In afterschool Chinese heritage class, a nasty student refers to her as half-and-half. Ellie’s odyssey serves a dual purpose: to save her father’s business and connect with pieces of herself that she had either distanced or, ultimately, was unaware. 

While trying to navigate Hong Kong, she faces both enculturation and culture shock. Here, the “word nerd” (again self-admitted) embraces the lesson that the same word with a different tone can have a completely different meaning in Chinese. This epiphany goes to the root of her being and spurs intellectual and emotional growth. The complex concept is one that she applies to how she takes in the world.

Ellie recruits nine-year-old Kipp to aid her quest. And while she makes quips about her Little Brothers for Dummies manual, he shows surprising insight, drawing on his seemingly bottomless sports references. Ellie accepts that all sibling relationships are fraught with annoyance but embraces his uncanny and unmatched ability as a human GPS. “… Big sisters have to take the good with the technical.”

The Black Turtle Group, the “corporation that everyone’s heard of but knows nothing about,” makes for a strong antagonist. Miao surrounds the monolithic organization with a sense of power and danger, a business that casts a long shadow with threats of takeovers and stolen industry secrets. 

Ellie is brave and understands the risks, but she is committed to helping her family: “I read once that sometimes people go to dark places to find answers.” Wei to Go! offers plenty of intrigues: Ellie followed throughout a new and overwhelming place, having to solve cryptic verses and signs, and work her way through various shops and restaurants in the rainy and humid city. “When I found out the world is bigger than my family and me, I didn’t know I’d literally be running around in a new place far from home.”

While Wei to Go! is immersed in Chinese and Chinese American culture, the story’s universality complements an enlightening narrative and makes for an entertaining, engaging, and memorable reading experience.

Author Lee Y. Miao lives in the Three Village community with her family and a tireless dog. After working in financial jobs and writing K-12 educational material, she turned to middle-grade fiction. Her stories are about contemporary characters who discover connections to their cultures and families from the past. Sign up for her email newsletter at www.leeymiao.com to follow her writing journey. Wei To Go! is available online at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

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Photo courtesy of MacIntyre Purcell Publishing Inc.

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Looking for an entertaining summer read? A lightweight coffee table book? A terrific celebration of Long Island? Written by Stacy Mandel Kaplan, Kimberly Towers, Scott J. Mandel, and Jordan Kaplan, Hey Long Island … Do U Remember? (MacIntyre Purcell Publishing Inc.) is a fun, informative tome, blending a diverse collection of photos with fascinating anecdotes. The project began in 2008 when the authors started a Facebook group for the sharing of pictures and the history of Long Island. The group has since grown to more than 159,000 members. 

The book opens with a quick Long Island overview — a did you know?: geography, legal status, etc. Following this, the authors present a brief timeline, beginning with Long Island’s formation from a glacier in 19,000 BC and quickly working up to December 14, 2020, when the first vaccine was given in the United States, at Long Island Jewish Medical Center, in New Hyde Park. This thumbnail sketch sites the building of the Long Beach Boardwalk (1914); The Big Duck, off Route 24, in Flanders (1931); Levittown, the first modern American suburb (1947); the invention of the first video game (1958); the Blizzard of 1978; and the founding of the Long Island Ducks baseball team (2000), among other particulars.

On page ten, the book proper begins with Bald Hill in Farmingville. Each one- or two-page spread covers a different place, person, or event. With over 130 black-and-white photos       — many seen here for the first time — Hey Long Island … Do U Remember? is a delightful collective history of the place that over eight million people call home. 

One of the book’s many joys is opening at any point and working in any direction. The book requires no specific course, and the reader can dive in at will. For example, on page 14, one can read about the Bethpage Air Show. On page 75, details are offered on the “Sweet Hollow Creamery and Milk Home Delivery on Long Island.” On page 87 there is the “Riviera Bath Club.” Turn the page to have the author’s take on the Brooklyn Bridge.

Some pieces neatly build on others. “The Fashion Industry on Long Island” segues into “Fashion Trends on Long Island.” The latter starts with a portrait of the patriotic-influenced clothing of the Word War II 1940s. It travels through the media-influenced 1960s, moving onto the bold 1970s and the MTV 1980s. The authors’ crisp prose paints vivid images in a few short strokes.

The creators beautifully shape each entry, knowing when to allow the visuals to take the primary focus. “Charles Lindbergh’s Historic Flight” is dominated by a photo of the Spirit of St. Louis spanning a page and a half. They provide the most basic information (the flight from Roosevelt Field, Garden City, to Paris, the 3,600 mile/thirty-three-hour flight) and let the image carry the power. The prose-centric on “Airfields and Airports” is next, followed naturally by “Cradle of Aviation.” 

Cultural nods range from the band Ninedays, Jones Beach Theater, and the Ray Romano house to Port Washington’s Beacon Theatre and the Long Island Musical Hall of Fame. Oheka Castle warrants three pages with incredible photos, including an aerial view of the castle and another of the gardens and reflecting pool. “Houses of Worship” spans five pages and offers a complete range of religious denominations. There are a plethora of parks and preserves (“Tanner Park,” “Long Island Game Farm Wildlife Park and Children’s Zoo,” “Eisenhower Park,” “Muttontown Preserve,” “Bethpage State Park”) and restaurants (“Nathan’s Famous,” “Wetson’s,” “Pastosa Ravioli,” “Frank’s Steaks” and the “Lincoln Inn”). 

The book celebrates a varied and fascinating cross-section: everything from Grumman, Newsday, Superstorm Sandy, and the LIRR, to the Montauk Lighthouse, Whisper the Smithtown Bull, the Hope Sculpture, and the World’s Fair … Sagamore Hill and Sam Ash … the beaches, the festivals, the parades. And, of course, no book on Long Island is complete without at least a reference to poet Walt Whitman, as writer and icon. 

The authors smartly present enough information to cover each subject and stimulate interest. In addition to casual reading, the book is ideal for the classroom. Students could utilize the book to gain general knowledge on various events, ideas, and themes and then select topics to explore further and in-depth. 

Hey Long Island … Do U Remember? is a wonderful book and terrific addition to the library of works honoring the rich Long Island narrative. Order a copy today  at www.barnesandnoble.com, www.amazon.com, or your favorite online retailer.

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From left, Daniel Kaluuya, Brandon Perea and Keke Palmer in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

If something tries to be too many things, does it risk becoming about nothing?

Such is the case with writer-director-producer Jordan Peele’s Nope, a science fiction-horror-Western-comedy-domestic family drama that comments on everything from race to commerce to capitalism. The brilliant Peele’s previous work included Get Out and Us, highly original and disturbing films that combine his unique visuals with compelling storytelling.

On the surface, Nope is a traditional summer blockbuster, a high-end It Came From Outer Space, or a darker, violent Close Encounters of the Third Kind. 

With nods to matinee features of the past, the setup trades on well-known tropes with an intentionally old-fashioned feel: Something not right is going on out in the dessert … power ceases, winds blow, horses whinny … could it be that strange object glimpsed in the sky? 

Nope centers on the Haywood family, owner of Haywood’s Hollywood Horses. After the sudden and mysterious death of Otis, Sr., his son, Otis, Jr., takes over the business. (A fascinating Daniel Kaluuya is first-rate: His deadpan, comedic timing is flawless, and his dramatic stillness shows brooding depth.) Otis, Jr.—called O.J. (the first of many odd and unrelated commentaries)—struggles to keep the business going. 

His sister, Emerald (a force of nature in the hands of Keke Palmer), interferes, goads, and offers her opinions, hopes, and visions. She is both a support and a thorn, often simultaneously. In the hands of these gifted actors, the sibling relationship deserves an unencumbered film of its own. 

Quickly, the dessert residents become aware of a UAP—Unexplained Aerial Phenomena (what used to be called a UFO). Former child star Ricky “Jupe” Park (Steven Yeun) runs a third-rate western attraction, Jupiter’s Claim, and introduces the Star Lasso Experience, whereby his audience can see the UAP. With shades of King Kong and the like, this does not go well. 

Meanwhile, O.J. and Emerald enlist a Fry’s Electronics employee, Angel Torres (wryly understated Brandon Perea), to help them film the entity. Eventually, they recruit cinematographer Antlers Holst (a delightfully mannered and just over the edge of bizarre Michael Wincott) to help them capture the phenomenon on film. Earlier, Holst had fired O.J. from a commercial shoot when one of the Haywood horses kicked a crew person. (The importance of why surfaces later.)

All this is standard horror movie fare. Peele adds flashbacks of Park’s childhood incident on a sitcom, Gordy’s Home!, where the titular chimp went on a rampage, mauling and possibly murdering cast members. The link to the present is tenuous. Perhaps it is about predators. Maybe it is about exploitation. Or capitalism. Maybe. O.J. says of the extra-terrestrial: “It’s alive, it’s territorial, and it wants to eat us.” Are we meant to draw a connection?

Or is it that Park was on television? So much of Nope focuses on media and capturing the worst events with the goal of fame and profit? Emerald and O.J.’s reflexive discussion of the “money shot”—the “Oprah shot”—drives them forward. How much relates to the Haywood patriarch’s claim that the unnamed man in the first moving picture, The Horse in Motion, was his great-great-grandfather? Is this a commentary on both racial and historical cinematic issues?

And then those inflatable men? Are they meant as symbols? Or, to bastardize a Freudian quote: “Sometimes an inflatable man is just an inflatable man.” (Oh, and the TMZ reporter …)

Peele poses more questions than he chooses to answer. This can make for a fascinating movie or just a frustrating one. The drive in the first part of the film works on many levels. The latter parts tend to bog down, with the occasional scare and a handful of gross-out moments (fortunately few). The tension becomes looser rather than tauter as it moves to the conclusion. With the seemingly myriad layers of “meaning,” nothing fully reaches closure. 

As for the monster itself, the revelation is interesting, but viewers will divide on its actual effectiveness. In short, it needs to be seen to be judged. Some will find it creatively horrifying, but others will see it no different than the hokier creatures of the 1950s.

Peele will always be a good filmmaker and often a great one. With Nope, the film lives somewhere between “hmmm!” and “huh?” He has assembled a strong cast, first-rate imagery, and a unique take on an established genre. Some will delight in its obscurer moments, and others will sigh and wonder. However, we can bet whatever he dreams up next will be something worth experiencing. 

Rated R, the film is now playing in local theaters.

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Daisy Edgar-Jones and Taylor John Smith in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Sony Pictures
Daisy Edgar-Jones in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Sony Pictures
Daisy Edgar-Jones in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Sony Pictures
Daisy Edgar-Jones and David Strathairn in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Sony Pictures

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Released in 2018, Delia Owens’ Where the Crawdad Sings became one of the best-selling books of all time, with over twelve million copies sold. The story of Kya, a North Carolina marsh girl, was selected for Reese Witherspoon’s Hello Sunshine Book Club and Barnes & Noble’s Best Books of 2018. In 2019, it was number one on Amazon.com’s Most Sold Books in fiction, as well as The New York Times Fiction Best Sellers of 2019 and 2020. By February 2022, the novel had achieved 150 weeks on the best seller list. Witherspoon’s production company acquired the rights and has produced the film version. 

The book alternates between two timelines. The first, beginning in 1952, traces Kya’s life as it deteriorates, leaving her alone to fend for herself. The second begins in 1965, with the teenage Kya’s involvement with Chase Andrews, Barkley Cove’s former star quarterback. The relationship builds to Chase’s mysterious death in 1969, for which Kya is arrested and tried.

Lucy Alibar (who co-wrote Beasts of the Southern Wild with Benh Zeitlin) has masterfully fashioned a screenplay that honors Owens’ book but somehow transforms the narrative through judicious editing and small touches connecting past and present. Under Olivia Newman’s seamless direction, the film manages the timeline effortlessly. Cinematographer Polly Morgan has richly shot the film, celebrating the natural world but also giving a dark edge to the town scenes. This triumvirate knows how to call attention to even the subtlest details, weaving the two threads and moving the action perpetually forward.

The film closely follows the book’s dual arcs. Young Kya lives with her loving mother and siblings in a rustic cottage. A child of nature, Kya constantly explores, wondering at flora and fauna. However, her father is short-tempered and abusive. After a particularly brutal beating, her mother leaves, followed quickly by Kya’s older brother and sisters. Left with her often drunk father, Kya navigates his moods and mercurial nature. From him, she embraces the creed that you “can’t trust nobody.” But one day, he abandons the girl. Alone, Kya must learn to survive. 

An African American couple running a small store adjacent to the marsh provides her with the only humanity she knows. Kya grows up an outcast but a survivor. (Her one-day foray to school is particularly painful and poignant.) The only other kindness she receives is from a boy, Tate, who one day guides her home when she is lost.

The young adult Kya becomes involved with Tate, who loves her but goes off to school, never explaining (until later) why he did not reach out to her. Following this, Kya embarks on an unsatisfying and tense relationship with Chase. Although romance and connection are absent, she is still devastated when she discovers Chase’s engagement. 

While there is a good amount of plot, occasional sections sag from a lack of tension. A sense of foregone conclusion hovers over many of the events in Kya’s life. Fortunately, a strong cast holds the film together. 

Daisy Edgar-Jones balances Kya’s acceptance of her outsider status with her desire for a “normal life.” Her fragility contrasts with her self-awareness and a sense of inner core. She brings believability to the transition from uneducated recluse to the gifted artist and published naturalist. (Jojo Regina ably plays the young Kya.) 

Taylor John Smith is sweet and earnest as her true love, Tate. Harris Dickinson’s Chase is a bit too villainous at the outset, presenting no surprise when he turns out to be cruel and manipulative. Sterling Macer Jr. and Michael Hyatt are warm and knowing as the couple who see value in Kya, eschewing the slight caricature of the book’s characters. As Kya’s lawyer Tom Milton, David Strathairn effectively channels Atticus Finch right down the white suit; but his folksy charm balances a low-burn need to see justice. As Kya’s nightmare of a father, Garret Dillahunt brings humanity to the abusive patriarch. 

While the courtroom scenes are almost pedestrian (and fairly predictable), they accomplish what they must do. It is in the more reflective moments where the film succeeds best. Kya learns that “being isolated is one thing; living in fear is another.” Facing her own struggles, she finally understands why her mother had to leave. 

The final sequence is beautiful, honoring the novel’s conclusion but emotionally elevating it, rewarding the viewer with a powerful, honest catharsis. For fans of the book and novices of the story, Where the Crawdad Sings is an engaging, emotional, and effective film.

Rated PG-13, the film is now playing in local theaters.

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The Coast Guard standing over some of the cargo from the Thelma Phoebe. Photo courtesy of the Henry L. Ferguson Museum Collection.

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

“The reality of the rumrunning business is a lot darker than local memory paints it.” In the fascinating book, Rumrunning in Suffolk County: Tales from Liquor Island (The History Press), author Amy Kasuga Folk resists the whimsy and nostalgia often employed when writing about the Prohibition era. Instead, she offers a focused, detailed account, thoroughly researched and rich in detail.

Folk opens with a concise history of nineteenth-century alcohol consumption, the rise of the temperance movement, and how it connected to anti-immigrant sentiment. She points to the bias against immigrants and addresses the “nativist prejudice link[ing] the new arrivals with drunkenness.” Citing this fearmongering tips the book from an exclusively historical perspective to a sociological angle. 

‘Rumrunning in Suffolk County: Tales from Liquor Island’

The creation of the Volstead Act banned the sale of alcohol, with Prohibition coming into force on January 17, 1920. Folk presents an informative overview of the history of drinking and liquor sources during the 1920s. Much of the book focuses on the change in the criminal element. Prohibition transformed street gangs dominating small areas into more dangerous organized crime. The time saw the rise of figures like Arnold Rothstein, Dutch Schultz, Lucky Luciano, Meyer Lansky, and Bugsy Siegel. 

Folk has a strong sense of the business elements of rumrunning:

To give you an idea of how a big of a business this was, the gang on average paid $200 a week to one hundred employees when the average store clerk took home $25 a week, and they paid $100,000 a week in graft to police, federal agents and city and court officials. Despite these expenses, the gang still took in an estimated net profit of $12 million a year from the business.

At a time when a consumer could purchase a dozen oranges for twenty-five cents, the figures are astronomical. 

Cargo ships would anchor just outside the territorial line of United States waters; then, small, fast boats would claim the liquor and take it back to shore. Thus, “rumrunning” was born. Shortwave radios were common—quoting coded messages and describing  inventory, orders, sales, and other details. Messages were even broadcast through commercial radio stations.

The book chronicles year-by-year, from 1921 through 1932. Violence on both sides of the law was commonplace. From fisherman hiding bottles in their catches to potato trucks concealing cases of illicit whiskey, Folk shows the intersection of day-to-day life with the precarious, dangerous business that made “Long Island, which is also termed Liquor Island … the wettest spot in the entire country.” (County Review, February 1, 1924)

Glass and liquid weigh a lot. One way police could spot an inexperienced bootlegger was to look for a car that had sagging suspension. Photo from Library of Congress.

In a detailed exploration, Folk mentions judges, attorneys, law enforcement agents, and a full range of transgressors. She has a complete command of the large cast of characters, the hundreds of boats, and other vehicles, along with the events surrounding them. Anecdotes include raids, trials, missteps, and hundreds of thousands of dollars and millions of gallons of liquor. There are storms and drownings, shootouts, and collateral damage. From Southold to Huntington Harbor, the accounts tell of the clash of lawmen and gunmen. The author  complements the text with a wide range of period photos. 

The book is not without a touch of humor, as in this account of April 1927:

In an effort to move faster by lightening their load, a rumrunner being chased by the Coast Guard had thrown case after case of scotch overboard. The cases riding the waves were estimated to be fifteen to twenty miles out, but they were floating towards the shore. Guardsmen from the Quogue station spotted the first crate floating inland, and by two o’clock in the afternoon, it had become a race—all the locals turned out determined to get a slice of the bounty floating toward their community before the government swept it all up.

“One of the problems of enforcing Prohibition was the revolving door of justice. The rumrunners and bootleggers had the money and the ability to easily make bail and walk away from the charges against them.” Sometimes, they would move their cargo when agents were testifying in court. In addition, the book addresses widespread government corruption as agents were basically “untouchable.” 

Since 1797, Port Jefferson’s harbor had shipbuilding yards. The busy harbor allowed the ship Dragon to blend in for several weeks. Author’s collection

Case-in-point: the head of the industrial alcohol inspection section of the Prohibition office in New York, Major E.C. Schroeder, went to jail for blackmail. But the flip side was that the government agencies, especially the Coast Guard, were woefully understaffed to take on the mammoth problem. Most actions were based on well-grounded evidence and experience.

Great fear existed among civilians. Getting misidentified as a rumrunner or being caught in the crossfire between bootleggers and the Coast Guard was not uncommon. Hijackings of boats, people held prisoner, low-level criminals turned informants winding up with bullets in their foreheads, all composed elements of the time. The events and incidents were so complicated that even the newspapers gave conflicting reports.

For the casual reader or the historian, Rumrunning in Suffolk County provides an excellent introduction and a detailed account of the Prohibition era in the eastern Long Island community

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: 

Author Amy Kasuga Folk is the manager of collections for the Oysterponds Historical Society, as well as the manager of collections for the Southold Historical Society and the town historian for Southold. Folk is also the past president of the Long Island Museum Association and the Region 2 co-chair of the Association of Public Historians. She is the coauthor of several award-winning books focusing on the history of Southold. Pick up a copy of the book at Amazon.com, or BarnesandNoble.com. 

 

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Sope Dirisu and Freida Pinto in a scene from 'Mr. Malcolm's List.'
Oliver Jackson-Cohen and Zawe Ashton in a scene from 'Mr. Malcolm's List.' Photo by Ross Ferguson/Bleeker Street
Sope Dirisu and Oliver Jackson-Cohen in a scene from 'Mr. Malcolm's List.' Photo by Ross Ferguson/ Bleeker Street
Ashley Park in 'Mr. Malcolm's List.' Photo by Ross Ferguson/Bleeker Street
Sope Dirisu and Freida Pinto in a scene from 'Mr. Malcolm's List.' Photo by Ross Ferguson/ Bleeker Street

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

With the success of Bridgerton, Regency has currently eclipsed Victoriana as the go-to for period drama. While Jane Austen’s seminal work, Pride and Prejudice, has never been far from television and cinema, Dickens has more often been the primary source for historical adaptation.

In 2009, Suzanne Allain self-published Mr. Malcolm’s List and adapted it for the screen. After a 2015 podcast reading, Emma Holly Jones acquired the rights along with producer Laura Rister. A short film titled Mr. Malcolm’s List: Overture, directed by Jones, was released online in 2019. Subsequently, the novel was published by Berkley Books in 2020. 

The year is 1818, a time of tea and quills, empire waists, and oversized top hats. Mr. Jeremiah Malcolm (Sope Dirisu), the wealthy second son of an earl, seeks a bride. With “twenty thousand a year,” looks, and charm, he is the season’s catch. Courting and then moving on, none of the prospective ladies match the criteria on the titular list. These items include an amiable disposition and a knowledge of politics, a sense of charity, and a host of other desirable traits.

The lovely but vaguely shallow Julia Thistlewaite (Zawe Ashton) fails to engage him during their time at the opera. Shortly after, a humiliating newspaper caricature featuring Julia’s rejection circulates throughout London. Bent on revenge, the spurned Julia—now out for a crushing four seasons—sends for her friend Selina Dalton (Freida Pinto). Julia grooms Selina as the perfect trap for Malcolm by having her embody all of the things on the list. Daughter of a poor Sussex vicar, Selina—surprise, surprise—is the perfect match for the man. 

While the plot is simplistic, it fits logically into the Regency world. With drawing rooms and drinking clubs, Mr. Malcolm’s List comfortably evokes the environment, if not the works of Jane Austen. The priority of marriage and money swirls around the principals, cloaking them in the power of society and the prevailing poison of gossip. Here, “what people say is what matters,” and often, they are “judged and found wanting.”

The elements for a delightful romp into the intrigue of romance gather at the outset as Julia launches into action.

So why doesn’t it work? The answer is simple: They are all too nice. Everyone is not just charming but, for the most part, kind. Even Julia, at her most vindictive, manages to be likable. The narrator states that Malcolm is a nice person. He is no Mr. Darcy, with his haughtiness and self-absorption. He has the reputation of a “trifler”—but his actions seem to belie this. Selina has no side to her; absent is the delightful edge that Elizabeth Bennet possesses, which gives her character dimension. 

Also, there is a dearth of characters that are “more than.” One looks for the mercenary Mrs. Bennet, the oily Mr. Collins, or the roguish Wickham. Here, only two minor characters—an older gentleman pursuing Selina and Selina’s twice-wed cousin, the flittering Mrs. Covington (a welcome scenery-chewing Ashley Park)—approach anything resembling the appealingly grotesque. The overall blandness of nice people makes for what amounts to a tedious two hours.

Pinto is smart, strong, and always watchable. She never allows Selina to become petulant, even when most frustrated. Dirisu embodies Malcolm with a wryness that peeks throughout. His good looks, rich voice, and ability to make even the smallest shift count create a likable (if too likable) protagonist. Oliver Jackson-Cohen manages to elevate the sidekick caught between opposing factions, mining the humor; sadly, he mostly disappears halfway through the film. Given the character’s inconsistency, Ashton finds some arc in Julia. Divian Ladwa’s servant John is funny but short-changed, as are all the “below stairs” characters.

There are weighty discussions about life and love but little wit. Sparks require friction, and the film lacks discord. Even the gossip appears fangless, and the hurdles seem low. Allain’s screenplay is so by the numbers; there is never doubt, not just about the outcome but what will happen moment to moment. Jones’ direction captures time and place but lacks tone. A vague sitcom quality hovers around the edges, including Selina’s clumsy training montage. The costumes and settings are detailed, lush, and a visual feast. But these are not enough to sustain interest.

Comparisons can easily be made to Bridgerton, especially in the show’s second season, a less-than-subtle take on Pride and Prejudice. Both are style over substance. But where Bridgerton manages to find some surprising choices, the facile and often banal Mr. Malcolm’s List offers no such revelations. 

In the end, one would hope for more Thackeray’s Vanity Fair and less Hallmark Movie of the Week. Nice is nice. But it isn’t fun. 

Rated PG, the film is now playing in local theaters.

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Above, Tom Hanks as Colonel Parker and Austin Butler as Elvis. Photo courtesy ofWarner Bros.
Austin Butler in a scene from the film. Photo from Warner Bros.
Austin Butler in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Warner Bros.
Austin Butler in a scene from the film. Photo from Warner Bros

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Australian auteur Baz Luhrmann has left his kinetic imprint on a range of cinematic works. Known for his bold visual style and thumping soundtracks, William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet (1996), Moulin Rouge! (2001), and The Great Gatsby (2013) are among his most prominent projects. With Elvis, he has turned his sights on one of the most iconic performers of the twentieth century. Working from a screenplay co-written with Sam Bromell, Craig Pearce, and Jeremy Doner, Luhrmann presents an almost hagiographic portrait, smoothing out many of the rougher edges.

Elvis begins with Luhrmann’s usual frenetic assault. Slow-motion, quick cuts, aggressive music, and even a dissolve into a comic book set the tone for an original, if over-the-top, approach. However, within thirty minutes, the film settles into a traditional biography with only occasionally departing from a straight narrative. It becomes surprisingly pedestrian, given Luhrmann’s signature style. Predictable montages with cities superimposed on a map indicating travel seem a throwback to films of a previous century. Perhaps this is to put the action in its time, but it leans more towards creaky than homage.

The film tells the story from the perspective of Elvis’s agent, Colonel Tom Parker (Tom Hanks). He serves as narrator and villain, tracing the singer from his poverty-ridden childhood through Parker’s elevation of the singer and Elvis’s meteoric rise. Much is made of Elvis’s fascination with African-American music of Memphis’s Beale Street. The huckster Parker becomes guide and gatekeeper to the naive young man, with something Faustian about the story: Parker as a corpulent Mephistopheles making dreams come true.

The film covers little new ground. In two and a half hours of playing time, Elvis reveals bits and pieces but never creates a full portrait of any of its characters. Luhrmann pulls his punches, making Elvis an almost benevolent figure, eschewing many darker elements. The drugs and sex are touched upon but then relegated to the background. While Parker states that Elvis was “the taste of forbidden fruit,” these are seen only in sanitized glimpses.

The greatest star of many generations was the victim of bad choices and insidious management. There are harrowing moments—particularly when his father decides to get him on stage when he should be in a hospital. But these moments are too few and far between. Instead, the movie focuses on performances and the push-pull relationship between the manager and the managed. Nods are made to Elvis’s devastation over the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr., and Robert Kennedy and his desire to make bigger statements. But they are skimmed over. 

His career is played in fast-forward, his army service and movies receiving only perfunctory glances, segueing to television, and finally to Vegas. The Steve Allen debacle, with Elvis in tails singing to a hound dog, makes for a decisive moment, and the entire residency at the International Hotel receives more than a cursory treatment. 

Tom Hanks gets points for giving the least “Tom Hanks” performance of his career. His almost freakish Parker is an obese fat suit and distorting prosthetics, calling to mind Jiminy Glick or Danny DeVito as the Penguin. The shadowy “Colonel” was a fraud and a charlatan, not southern but Dutch. For some strange reason, Hanks opted for an untraceable European accent (and sounding nothing like any of the available clips of the real Parker). One expects lines like “He’s the greatest carnival attraction I’d ever seen; he was my destiny” to be followed by a maniacal laugh. He creeps around the film’s periphery, wandering in his purgatory casino.

In theory, the reason for biographical films is to explore historical figures, acknowledge their accomplishments, explore them in the context of their times, or gain insight into what made them unusual, exceptional, and memorable. However, more often, the films become a celebration of the actors’ work: Daniel Day-Lewis in Lincoln; Jennifer Hudson in Respect; Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon in Walk the Line; Rami Malek in Bohemian Rhapsody, etc. Somewhere along the way, the portrayal subsumes the persona.

Austin Butler delivers as Elvis. He captures the King in every look, shift, and shrug. He embodies the roiling doubts and the desire for more. Whether struggling with career choices or trying to care for his dysfunctional parents, he infuses each moment with integrity and star power. His vocals are excellent, and he has found the required nuances. (Butler sings all the earlier songs and then is blended with actual Elvis recordings for the later years.)

By the film’s end, little has been revealed about the man or the myth. There are events and interactions and a bit of trivia but not much depth. Unlike Dexter Fletcher’s Rocketman, the gloriously messy look at Elton John, Elvis chooses not to reflect its subject in style or approach. There is nothing “Elvis” about Elvis. Instead, Baz Luhrmann offers a by-the-numbers biopic with a mesmerizing central performance. It is something, but perhaps not enough.

Rated PG-13, the film is now playing in local theaters.

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One of the most anticipated movies this summer is 'Where the Crawdads Sing.'

By Jeffrey Sanzel

A year ago, studios wondered whether there would be a “return to normal.” The summer of 2021 straddled a mix of theatre attendance and residual streaming. Delays in various releases continued through the fall and into the winter and spring. This summer, the options seem to reflect the pre-pandemic era. 

Elvis

Elvis is one of the most anticipated films. Directed by Baz Luhrman (from a screenplay by Luhrman and others), the biopic focuses on Presley (Austin Butler), from his early career to his iconic rise. Much of the story chronicles his complex relationship with Colonel Tom Parker (Tom Hanks). Lurhman is noted for his non-traditional approaches (as evidenced in his Moulin Rouge, Romeo + Juliet, and The Great Gatsby), so his take will most likely reflect his unique style. Rated PG-13 · Release date June 24

Minions: The Rise of Gru

Minions: The Rise of Gru offers a sequel to a spinoff. Minions (2015) followed Despicable Me (2010) and Despicable Me 2 (2013). The second film is in the wake of Despicable Me 3 (2017). For the franchise fans, the story picks up after the events in Minions, with twelve-year-old Gru (voiced by Steve Carrell) striving to join the supervillains known as the Vicious 6. Rated PG · Release date July 1

Thor: Love and Thunder

For those craving the most traditional summer fare, there is Thor: Love and Thunder (July 8), the sequel to Thor: Ragnarok (2017) and the 29th film in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Thor enlists the help of Valkyrie, Korg and ex-girlfriend Jane Foster to fight Gorr the God Butcher, who intends to make the gods extinct. Taika Waititi directs Chris Hemsworth in the title role. The film also stars Tessa Thompson, Natalie Portman and Christian Bale. Rated PG-13 · Release date July  8

Where the Crawdads Sing

Delia Owens’ bestseller 2018 Where the Crawdads Sing reaches the big screen with Daisy Edgar-Jones as Kya, a self-raised girl from the marshlands of North Carolina who becomes the prime suspect in a murky murder case. One of the most popular novels in the last ten years, this tale of secrets hidden and revealed is one of the more serious offerings. Not Yet Rated  · Release date July 15

The Gray Man

For those looking for action thrillers, The Gray Man offers the CIA’s most skilled mercenary (Ryan Gosling), uncovering dark, incriminating secrets about the organization. Chris Evans plays a psychopathic former colleague assigned to hunt him down. Produced and directed by Anthony Russo and Joe Russo, The Gray Man hopes to be the first of a franchise based on Mark Greaney’s Gray Man novels. Rated PG-13 · Release date July 15 

Nope

One of the more intriguing releases is Nope (July 22). Residents of an isolated town in California, including ranch owners James and Jill Haywood (Daniel Kaluuya and Keke Palmer), witness a mysterious and abnormal event. This science-fiction horror film is written, directed, and produced by Jordan Peele, whose brilliant and distinctive style always informs his work, including the highly effective Get Out and Us. Rated R · Release date July 22

Marcel the Shell with Shoes On

Equally as interesting is Marcel the Shell with Shoes On, a live-action/stop motion-animated mockumentary that trails the titular character (voiced by Jenny Slate) who embarks on a journey to locate his family. Rated PG · Release date July 24

The Black Phone

No summer is complete without the usual dose of horror. The Black Phone (June 24) reunites Ethan Hawke with Scott Derrickson, his director from Sinister (2012). Here, a kidnapped boy trapped in a basement realizes he can communicate with this captor’s previous victims. Rated R · Release date July 24

Bullet Train

Bullet Train is a hybrid action comedy/thriller based on the Japanese novel Maria Beetle. Brad Pitt heads an ensemble cast as trained killer Ladybug (Pitt), who wants to give up the life but is pulled back in by his handler (Sandra Bullock). On a train from Tokyo to Kyoto, competing assassins discover they are after the same briefcase. (There has been some backlash on the film’s casting, with two of the novel’s main characters becoming non-Asian.) Rated R · Release date July 29

DC League of Super-Pets

The family-friendly DC League of Super-Pets is an animated adventure with Superman’s dog, Krypto (voiced by Dwayne Johnson), organizing shelter pets who have special powers to free the Justice League, which mastermind Lex Luthor has captured. Rated PG · Release date July 29

Bodies Bodies Bodies

The satirical slasher Bodies Bodies Bodies (August 5) sees a group of friends gathering for a house party to play a murder mystery game, only to discover an actual murder has taken place, and they must now play the game for real. Rated R · Release date August 5

Samaritan

In Samaritan, a young boy (Javon Walton) realizes that a famed superhero, who was thought to have gone missing, may still be around. The film also stars Sylvester Stallone. Rated  PG-13 · Release date August 26

3000 Years of Longing

There is a surprising dearth of fantasy, with Three Thousand Years of Longing being one of the few. Adapting and directing A.S. Byatt’s short story The Djinn in the Nightingale’s Eye, George Miller returns after a seven-year hiatus. The epic romantic fantasy chronicles a woman (Tilda Swinton) who encounters a djinn (Idris Elba) who offers her three wishes in exchange for his freedom. Rated R · Release date August 31

Clearly, this summer hosts a variety of choices for all filmgoers. 

*This article originally appeared in TBR News Media’s Summer Times supplement.

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A scene from 'Lightyear'. Image courtesy of Disney/Pixar

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

“To infinity and beyond” takes on a different context in Pixar’s excellent Lightyear. Instead of a pithy catchphrase, the words become a heartfelt exchange between Buzz Lightyear and his friend and commanding officer, Alisha Hawthorne. This adjustment encompasses the tonal shift from Buzz’s cinematic origin in the world of Toy Story.

Here, Lightyear is the favorite film of Toy Story’s young Andy Davis, who received a Buzz Lightyear toy in 1995 when the movie was released. Lightyear is a meta-spinoff of the Toy Story series but its own entity. Buzz Lightyear is not the action figure but the source character himself. He is less the stiff, oblivious punchline and more a mildly but easily exasperated military careerist. The Star Command Galactic Ranger and Alisha explore the planet Tikana Prime, which is overrun with attacking vines and insectoid creatures. In trying to evacuate, Buzz damages the vessel, leaving the crew marooned as they conduct repairs. 

What follows is a classic science-fiction story dealing with the variegations and complications of time travel. Each time Buzz attempts to go into hyperspace, a time dilation of the four-minute journey passes as four years on Tikana Prime. Buzz fixates on liberating the stranded team. Meanwhile, the crew continues to live and flourish, developing a community that does not include the alienated (and often alienating) Buzz. 

A scene from ‘Lightyear’. Image courtesy of Disney/Pixar

The societal growth is shown most vividly in Alisha, who marries and raises a son with her wife and eventually passes on her love of being a ranger to her granddaughter, Izzy. While Buzz obsesses on the world left behind, Alisha thrives in the world that is present. (This beautifully integrated LGBT element caused it to become the first children’s animated film to be given an NC16 rating in Singapore, equivalent to an R rating in the US.)

The film is not without laughs, but they are often of a subtler variety. Alisha chides Buzz for his constant self-narration, reminding him that no one ever listens to his logs. Buzz receives a robotic service animal, a feline named Sox, whose running commentary and support function as an emotional connection for the lonesome Buzz. Underneath the “I’m Buzz Lightyear—I’m always sure” is a lost and slightly damaged ranger. 

After sixty-two years of failures, Alisha’s replacement, the insensitively bureaucratic Commander Burnside, shuts down Buzz’s attempts. By now, robots have invaded the planet under the control of the mysterious Emperor Zurg (the only other character from the Toy Story canon). A laser shield has been the sole protection from the machines overrunning the vulnerable community. Bruised but undaunted, Buzz goes rogue to complete the mission. He encounters ragtag members of the colony’s defense force who eventually become his team.

There is nothing strikingly new in Lightyear. In its beautiful, rough cinematic animation, it conjures the Lucas universe. Sly references permeate the canny, straightforward screenplay by Jason Headley and Angus MacLane. The stock characters are written with wit, but more importantly, humanity. The revelation of the antagonist provides a powerful “ah-hah” moment, giving Buzz a personal epiphany. 

Chris Evans provides the voice for Buzz Lightyear in the new Toy Story spinoff.
Image courtesy of Disyey/Pixar

Chris Evans embodies Buzz with the right balance of bombast and guilt, never sacrificing the pain for a laugh. Uzo Aduba’s Alisha is the perfect foil: smart, clever, and fully aware. The trio of under-trained recruits form Buzz’s eventual entourage. Keke Palmer captures Izzy’s mix of eagerness and fear. Taika Waititi’s Mo Morrison possesses the right touch of wide-eyed naïveté. Dale Soules, channeling her Orange Is the New Black persona, ideally assays the elderly paroled convict with a penchant for blowing things up. As Sox, Peter Sohn is simultaneously warm and deadpan—with several references to R2-D2. (There is an amusing bit with Sox providing sleep sounds.)

MacLane has directed Lightyear with a sure hand and a clear vision. He has led his voice actors and animation teams to create a story that echoes the importance of belief in others with striking and often thrilling visuals. Told through a man out of time (landing in a world where the sandwich is rethought), Lightyear finds its head and heart in ideas of life and home. More Star Wars than Toy Story, the film plays on an adult level but offers much for young audiences to enjoy. It is most on the nose (i.e., children’s movie) in the lessons of teamwork. But the ideas are smoothly introduced in action (no catchy theme songs like “You’ve Got a Friend in Me”). Like with Encanto, the layers only enhance the watching experience.

With Lightyear, Pixar has found a fresh, enjoyable, and original concept. The creators adeptly transformed a character from one universe to another. Handling the shift with style, Lightyear celebrates wonder, adventure, and, ultimately, integrity. Rated PG, the film is now playing in local theaters.

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