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Authors Posts by Jeffrey Sanzel

Jeffrey Sanzel

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Hallie Berry and Patrick Wilson in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Lionsgate

By Jeffrey Sanzel

Did you ever stop to think that the “disaster” in “disaster movie” could have two meanings? You’ll have plenty of time to contemplate this during the two-hour running time (one hundred and twenty minutes (twelve thousand seconds)) that Moonfall takes to grind through its machinations.

Roland Emmerich directed, co-wrote, and produced Moonfall. His other science-fiction films include Stargate (1994), Independence Day (1996), Godzilla (1998), The Day After Tomorrow (2004), and Independence Day: Resurgence (2016). So, Emmerich is the guilty party.

On a 2011 Space Shuttle mission, a mysterious black swarm kills an astronaut. A fellow crewmember, Brian Harper (Patrick Wilson), is accused of negligence, blamed for the death, and fired. The other crewmember, Jo Fowler (Halle Berry), was unconscious when the attack occurred. 

Fast forward ten years. Harper, now divorced, is on the verge of eviction from his seedy apartment. Fowler (also divorced) holds the position of NASA’s Deputy Director. Conspiracy theorist K.C. Houseman (John Bradley) discovers that the moon’s orbit has shifted, bringing it closer to the earth. Failing to get Harper to listen, he goes public on social media. “Moon panic” and looting ensue. A failed attempt to investigate the moon situation leads to the exposure of the black swarms that attacked ten years earlier.

A scene from ‘Moonfall.’ Photo courtesy of Lionsgate

An hour into the film, Harper, Fowler, and Houseman venture out on a space shuttle taken from a museum; they are off to save the world. Spoiler Alert. In a convoluted explanation, everything comes back to rogue Artificial Intelligence destroying a civilization that colonized earth. The moon is a megastructure built by the aliens. (A fun drinking game would involve imbibing on this oft-repeated word. If you don’t want to wait for the myriad recurrences, say it to yourself ten times before going to the movie and take a nap instead.)

Meanwhile, on earth, a subplot involves Harper’s semi-delinquent son, Sonny (Charlie Plummer), rescuing his mother (Carolina Bartczak) and her new family, as well as Fowler’s son. They are trying to get to a Colorado bunker where Fowler’s ex-husband (Eme Ikwuakor), an Air Force four-star general, is holed up with the keys to the about-to-be-released nuclear weapons. Sonny outdrives a tsunami in an amazing feat of auto-heroics, possibly the greatest plug in Lexus history. He is also involved with a preposterous rescue involving the moon’s gravity saving the day.

Science fiction movies have been built on less but have triumphed in style, special effects, and an appeal to a sense of wonder. Moonfall manages to tick no boxes. What is not CGI looks like cardboard models. The same is true for most of the performances. 

Academy Award-winner Halle Berry is truly an exceptional actor and rarely disappoints; here, the headline should be “Halle Berry Cashes a Paycheck.” Patrick Wilson usually does not lack charm, but he comes across as a low-rent Captain Kirk meets Hans Solo. 

John Bradley (best known for his role as Samwell Tarly in Game of Thrones)gives the most interesting performance as the backward Houseman (attached to his mother and his cat Fuzz Aldrin). But, today, something is disturbing in the conspiracy theorist as the voice of reason. Donald Sutherland’s minute-and-a-half of screen time is a minute-and-a-half of screen time. (Beneath Berry’s headline should be “So does Donald Sutherland.”) Often, the performances seem one beat away from Airplane. We wait for Wilson to turn to the other two and say, “And don’t call me Shirley.” Alas, he does not.

Movies like this can be entertaining. Unfortunately, Moonfall is not so much fun as unintentionally funny. With lines as painful as “I work for the American people,” “The sand on the hourglass is dropping quickly for all of us,” “I hope the moon holds together at least for a little while,” “I didn’t come this far to fail,” “I hate to tell you this, but we’re running out of time,” and (multiple times) “I’ve got a plan,” the script is cobbled together from The Big Book of Movie Cliches. A personal favorite is “If the earth gets a second chance, I think we deserve one too.” The pseudo-scientific jargon does not help the situation. 

Moonfall makes us yearn for the integrity of Georges Méliès’ A Trip to the Moon (1902), in which a cannon propelled capsule lands in the eye of an annoyed moon. 

No words can truly describe the Moonfall’s final moments. They must be seen to be believed. Or better, not. Among the film’s promotional taglines is “Earth … We have a problem.” Yup. With deep gravitas, Harper says, “Save the moon. Save the earth.” Perhaps it should have been, “Save your money.”

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

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From left, Matt McGorry, Mamoudou Athie and Dina Shihabi star in Archive 81. Photo from Netflix

By Jeffrey Sanzel

One of Netflix’s top ten most popular shows is the first season of the supernatural Archive 81. The twisty thriller runs parallel timelines that eventually entangle. Smart and well-plotted, the eight one-hour episodes deliver intriguing concepts in a literate, engaging storyline.

Based on the podcast of the same name, Archive 81 focuses on Daniel Turner (Mamoudou Athie, understated and riveting), an expert archivist for the Museum of the Moving Image in New York City, who is hired to restore fire-damaged twenty-five-year-old videos. The head of the shadowy LMG corporation, Virgil Davenport (folksy malevolence as played by Martin Donovan), ensconces Daniel in a remote compound to do the work. 

Mamoudou Athie as Daniel Turner in a scene from the series. Photo from Netflix

The found-footage video belonged to documentarian Melody Pendras (Dina Shihabi), who was writing her Ph.D. dissertation about an apartment building, The Visser. However, Melody’s prime goal was locating her birth mother, who had left her in a church as an infant. 

While Melody lived in the building and investigated, The Visser burned down, leaving thirteen people missing. As Daniel watches the tapes, he becomes obsessed with Melody. Additionally, he is suspicious of the coincidence of his own tragic childhood loss of his entire family in a fire. 

The expansive construction of Archive 81 allows for full portraits of the isolated Daniel and the determined Melody. Their pain and struggles are palpable and are a study in contrast. Melody ferociously seeks the truth, even if it puts her in danger. On the other hand, the damaged Daniel spends his life on the sidelines, not as a creator. Asked if he is a filmmaker, he responds, “No, I restore … films, tapes, photographs … things that have been damaged, lost, or forgotten … I bring them back.”

When Melody begins speaking to him in the tapes and then appearing in person, he questions his sanity. But gradually, both realize they are connecting across time and space, with the lines not so much dissolved as tangled. Time is out of joint in both minutes and years, conceptually playing into the commentary of lost spirits who do not know where to go. Ultimately, this poses the question: “Can the present haunt the past?”

Creator Rebecca Sonnenshine (with four other writers and four directors) has crafted inventive mythology, well-developed characters, and clear and differing styles for 1994 and 2019. The driving force is the building and its occupants. 

Harkening to Rosemary’s Baby, the denizens of the Visser are a strange bunch, harboring secrets and holding clandestine meetings in the community room. But this is to be expected in a story that deals with covens, satanic cults, human sacrifices, and a god-demon named Kalego. 

Add to this spirit receivers, lost television tapes, a Hollywood connection, and drug addiction, Archive 81 boasts a complicated but not convoluted plot. The emotional investment is appropriately life-and-death, with the revelations smartly unveiled. 

The acting is solid, with Athie and Shihabi anchoring the narrative. Matt McGorry is excellent as Daniel’s friend and confidant Mark who runs the paranormal podcast Mystery Signals. McGorry mines the role for dimension, raising it above the stereotypical sidekick. Julia Chan just avoids caricature as Melody’s aggressive artist roommate, Anabelle. Ariana Neal’s Jessica is a likable, off-beat teen groomed for darker purposes. Evan Jonigkeit is wholly believable as Samuel, the most welcoming of The Visser’s residents. If Kristin Griffith and Kate Eastman are two of the more over-the-top tenants, Sol Miranda’s fortuneteller/medium makes a difficult scene soar.

There is little gore, and the handful of jump-out scares are well-earned. Unfortunately, the special effects are not as high-end as the series warrants, landing more functional than impressive.

Oddly, in the penultimate episode, Archive 81 loses tension as it is filled predominantly with straightforward flashbacks of the 1924 origin of the cult. The explanations deflate the existential dread, and its linear style is far less interesting than the early, more peripatetic entries. Clarification seems to diffuse the energy. The final moment sets up for at least a future season, if not seasons.

Archive 81 is an enigmatic fast-paced story grounded in riddles and played for high stakes. And what more could you ask for in a binge-watch? The series is now streaming on Netflix.

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Left, the author with her birth mother, Mireille Comtois, in 2011.

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

I’ll Wait for You, subtitled An Adoption Memoir (Red Penguin Books), is Eileen Mary Coyne Resta’s honest and open account of her search for and discovery of her birth mother. Born Marie Monique Comtois, the author presents an account that is both a quest for information and an exploration of the power of family—and families. While many works on the topic focus on “nature vs. nurture,” Resta spotlights her tale’s human aspects and interpersonal events.

Author Eileen Mary Coyne Resta

Resta was born in Montreal on June 6, 1949. She was adopted three months later and brought home to Brooklyn on September 9. The family eventually moved to Long Island, settling in Greenlawn. She grew up in a happy family, along with an adopted brother, Brian. She was surrounded by love and acceptance. However, the siblings were told not to share their origins, as there was often a stigma associated with adoption.

The book traces her childhood through marriage and, eventually, her own children. Her narrative is a well-crafted and informative portrait of life in the 1950s and 60s: bike rides and dancing school, secretarial college, and the Manhattan commute on the 7:07. She describes meeting her husband, Claude, their subsequent courtship, and the life they built together. Resta has lived with an appreciation of every moment, relishing gifts both large and small. At age thirty-seven, she returned to school and embarked on a career as an elementary school teacher and then a reading specialist. 

The matter of her birth family followed her—as it does all children in the same situation. So much comes from a sense of being different: “I think most adoptees miss looking at a family member and seeing a little of themselves looking back.” She is not bitter but ruminative. She found that reflection with the birth of her daughter: “When my daughter was born, it was a new experience.”

But still, questions always lingered:

As I reflect on my life as an adopted child, and its part in my growing up, I remember wondering who my birth parents might have been but then quickly putting it out of my mind. Why dwell on what you cannot know and especially on something that could upset your parents? Adoptees often fantasize about who their birth parents are. I read that most adoptees think they are descended from either royalty or criminals.

It was not until 2010 that she sought her birth mother. By then, both her parents and her brother had passed away. The book thoroughly details her search. Starting with the orphanage where she stayed briefly, she explains each step in the odyssey to being reunited with her birth mother, Mireille Comtois, who had looked for her several times over the years. The fear of rejection is one that haunted Resta. “I think my adoptees may feel as if they didn’t count, knowing the occasion of their birth was not one for celebration.”

‘I’ll Wait for You’

The day of their first meeting was April 14, 2011; Resta was sixty-one, and her birth mother was eighty-one, living in a nursing home, suffering from mild dementia. However, their bond was immediate and beautiful in Resta’s moving description. They were able to share a short but rich relationship. In addition, Resta gained three brothers and their families, developing a lasting connection. 

Family is the overriding theme in I’ll Wait for You. Throughout her life, Resta has put family center. Whether it is the one in which she grew up, her husband’s family, or her newfound Canadian clan, the power of belonging is one that she clearly celebrates with a full heart, finding new pieces of herself. She shares both her idyllic moments as well as her struggles. She does not shy away from doubts. But ultimately, her positivity permeates the entire story. She has lived in gratitude, from the family that chose her to finding the woman who gave her life.

In one of the final chapters, “Reflections,” Resta opens up about many of the more introspective thoughts that arose from her adoption, contrasting her personality with that of her adoptive mother, touching on their “ups and downs.” This led to speculation on the similarities between her and Mireille. Having met Mireille towards the end of her life, many questions remained unanswered. “Reflections” is followed by “Peace,” an appropriate coda and a tribute to a certain amount of acceptance and emotional closure. While she ponders some of the lost opportunities, she embraces her achievement: “The peace I was able to bring to her and the peace she gave to me.”

The book’s dedication best sums up Resta’s goal: “This memoir is dedicated to my two mothers. The one who gave me life and the one who raised me. One from afar and one close and constant. I’m forever grateful to both.”

I’ll Wait For You: An Adoption Memoir is available online at Amazon.com and BarnesandNoble.com.

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Pierce Brosnan and Kaya Scodelario in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Gravitas Ventures
Fan Bingbing and Kaya Scodelario in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Gravitas Ventures
William Hurt in the role of Père La Chaise. Photo courtesy of Gravitas Ventures

By Jeffrey Sanzel

Vonda N. McIntyre’s The Moon and the Sun (1997) blended science fiction and historical romance. The novel won the Nebula Award for Best Novel, besting George R. R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones. Among the book’s other accolades were a Publishers Weekly Best Book Award, Locus Recommended Book, and Intergalactic Award for Best Novel. Set in the seventeenth-century French court of King Louis XIV, the story follows the longest-reigning monarch’s search for immortality by ingesting an endangered sea monster’s flesh.

Talk of a movie version can be traced back to 2002, with Natalie Portman attached as the lead. But the film failed to be greenlit. Eventually, The Moon and the Sun was filmed in 2014, set for a 2015 release date, but the film remained on the shelf for nearly seven years. Various reasons have been proffered, including test audiences’ less than positive reaction to the visual effects and a tax evasion scandal involving the film’s mermaid, Fan Bingbing, China’s highest-paid female star. The film has finally been released under the title The King’s Daughter.

It has taken a quarter of a century for The Moon and the Sun to land on the big screen. But sadly, one suspects that this is not what McIntyre had in mind.

Choosing Julie Andrews as narrator probably seemed like a good idea on paper, but the once-upon-a-time illustrated prologue along with Andrews’ unique warmth and whimsy point towards Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. Unfortunately, the child-friendly prologue presents the wrong signals for what is—or at least should be—a darker tale.

The opening convent scene features Rachel Griffiths as the Mother Abbess channeling The Sound of Music as she disciplines Marie-Josèphe (Kaya Scodelario) for being too … well, too Maria von Trapp. The Abbess’ departing shot to the girl is that she is going “to a lavish, glimmering hell … where you no doubt will thrive.” If only. 

The court seems to be short on courtiers. Outside of a scene of the king (Pierce Brosnan) addressing what looks like the peasants from a road company operetta, the population of Versailles seems to be on holiday. Perhaps they are off buying some of the strangely non-period dresses that occasionally pop up in the oddest places.

Quickly, with very little explanation other than a gift for music, she is whisked away to the court by the king’s personal confessor, Père La Chaise (William Hurt). Louis quickly elevates the feisty lass to court composer. 

Meanwhile, sailor Yves De La Croix (Benjamin Walker) has found the sea creature (Bingbing). The villainous court doctor (Pablo Schreiber) has promised the monster’s heart and life force will grant the king eternal life. The mermaid must be sacrificed during the upcoming solar eclipse. 

Louis shows particular interest in Marie-Josèphe, as she is his illegitimate daughter, spawning some of the most uncomfortable parent-child scenes ever found outside of the plays of Eugene O’Neill. 

The mermaid’s singing draws Marie-Josèphe to the pool in which the creature is imprisoned. The musician uses the siren’s pinging vocalizations to inspire her composition, meeting the king’s immediate approval. In addition, the girl falls for the sailor. However, as the court is in dire financial straits, Louis wants Marie-Josèphe to marry the wealthy merchant-heir Jean-Michel Lintillac (Ben-Lloyd Hughes).

Barry Berman and James Schamus have taken a range of liberties with the source in fashioning their clumsy screenplay. Director Sean McNamara’s lack of nuance does nothing to enhance the performances. Teeth-grinding earnestness fills every line; emotion is replaced by slow motion. Brosnan is always charming and could have excelled in the role, but the writers could not commit to what they wanted their Sun King to be. His relationship with Hurt’s priest seems like lifted from a buddy movie. Scodelario alternates between pleasantly upbeat (though occasionally a bit rom-com) and crying.

Films of this ilk can be saved by style-over-substance. Lady-in-waiting Magali (Crystal Clarke) tells Marie-Josèphe that “color and bravado are the order of the day.” Again, if only. The filmmakers were granted access to shoot at Versailles. Somehow, they made the spectacular palace look cheap—as if shot in the producers’ Hampton’s backyard.

 The royal ball in the Hall of Mirrors is a missed opportunity to showcase excess and opulence, further ruined by an excruciating father-daughter dance. The underground cave where they keep the mermaid is quasi-Pirates of the Caribbean (not the film—the ride). The special effects seem generated on an ancient laptop, with the final sequence particularly appalling. 

After dithering about souls and morality, the final platitude is “only love is immortal.” Yes. But clear storytelling and character development can be nice, too.

Rated PG, The King’s Daughter is now playing in local theaters.

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Jenna Ortega in a scene from 'Scream.' Photo from Paramount Pictures

By Jeffrey Sanzel

The horror and comedy genres have always been an uneasy mixture. Early examples show a clumsy and ultimately juvenile mix, fodder for the preteen matinee crowd. The most obvious examples include the Abbott and Costello/Universal outings where the duo clashed with a rogue’s gallery of baddies from Frankenstein’s monster to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Jenna Ortega with Ghostface
in a scene from ‘Scream.’ Photo by Brownie Harris/Paramount Pictures

Horror films shifted with the aggressively cold Hammer films and then found a reemergence in the late 60s into the 70s. Rosemary’s Baby (1968) ushered in an era of grudging respect for cinematic terror. The genre reached its peak with John Carpenter’s near-perfect Halloween (1978). Any humor found in these works was incidental and subtle. Wes Craven’s A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) introduced elements of dark comedy. (As the series deteriorated, serial killer Freddy Krueger descended to the level of a quippy late-night TV host, rather than the rooted evil in which he was forged.) 

Kevin Williamson’s screenplay for Scream (1996), directed by Craven, successfully blended horror and humor. Scream and its franchise are rooted in a meta-view of the clichés acknowledging the classic tropes. The first Scream movie was clever, brilliantly tense, and genuinely funny; its opening scene (featuring Drew Barrymore) is horrifyingly smart. The characters’ awareness of the rules of the slasher film informed their perceptions.

Three sequels followed with the cleverest element: the introduction of the film-within-a-film, Stab (and its sequels), taking self-awareness to another degree. While not completely deteriorating like most films followed by a number, the quality, insight, and thrills were less.

The newest incarnation, returning to the original title, Scream, continues where Scream 4 ended. Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett have taken the directorial reigns (Craven having passed away in 2015), working from a script by James Vanderbilt and Guy Busick. Though attempting to dodge a numerical appellation, this is Scream 5 and a standard slasher:

Group of teenagers in various generic relationships. Check.

Some connection to past storylines. Check.

Cameos of expendable characters from earlier films. Check.

Excessive violence and blood. Check.

People being brutalized but managing to not be in too much pain. Check.

Legacy characters appearing as Deus ex machina. Check.

At one point, the writers have given the “expert” a speech about “requels.” These are the films that are neither sequels nor reboots but some hybrid. Whether this is clever or justifying the new Scream is hard to say.

The story occurs twenty-five years after the Loomis-Macher murder spree in Woodboro. The first scene shares DNA with the opening of the original. While on the phone with the killer, terrified high school student Tara Carpenter (Jenna Ortega) must answer questions about the Stab franchise, or her friend will be murdered. Ghostface is actually in the Carpenter home and stabs Tara seven times (though the girl survives).

Ghostface
in a scene from ‘Scream.’
Photo from Paramount Pictures

The attack is a ploy to get Tara’s estranged sister, Sam (Melissa Barrera), to return. Joined by her attentive if slightly uniformed boyfriend, Richie (Jack Quaid), Sam quickly reveals her connection to one of the original killers. She and Richie recruit the dissipated former sheriff Dewey Riley (David Arquette). Ghostface continues his attacks, and the teenagers spout quips, referencing the horror movie rules. Running in the background is the release of a much-maligned Stab 8.

The jump scares are plentiful, predictable, and pedestrian, lacking a sense of danger, either on-screen (or in the audience). Even though there is a sadistic killer in their midst, the town strangely takes it as business-as-usual.

Just before the halfway mark, Sydney Prescott (Never Campbell) and Gale Weathers (Courtney Cox) show up to join the hunt for the killer. The old gang is back together. The most painful, excruciating moment has nothing to do with knives: The reunion of the now divorced Dewy and Gale manages to be both under- and over-written simultaneously. 

Throughout, nods to other horror films include the dangerous hospital (Halloween 2) and the shower scene (Psycho). A character named Wes and an Elm Street memorialize Craven. A vague analysis of toxic fandom is important but not fully realized. A lack of texture and a plethora of stiff dialogue keep the film at a distance.

Even with the return of Arquette, Campbell, and Cox, the film fails to ignite. The new cast members do their best, each suspecting the other of being the killer. Even saddled with excessive exposition, Barrera and Ortega make for self-actualized Scream Queens.

There are definite flashes of wit and enormous meta potential. But clichés are sometimes just that: clichés. And, with all the blood, Scream is the hardest to watch when trying to be noble and sincere.

Whether a sequel, a reboot, or a “requel,” Scream is more of a whimper. And just as in the movie’s world where there will be a Stab 9, we can expect a Scream 2. Or 6. Number it as you will.

Rated R, Scream is now playing in local theaters.

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Tanaquil Le Clercq, backstage at City Center, ca. 1954, © Anton Alterman/Harold Roth Photography

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

“Ballet is an ephemeral art, embedded in the mortal human body.”

Author Orel Protopopescu

Principal ballerina Tanaquil Le Clercq (1929-2000) was the fourth and final wife of choreographer and founder of the New York City Ballet, George Balanchine. Tanaquil—known as “Tanny”—was a muse to Balanchine as well as the genre-crossing Jerome Robbins. Both legendary artists created immortal works for Le Clercq. At twenty-seven, she contracted polio, ending her career as a dancer but not her connection to the art of dance. 

Illustrated by 100 photos, Dancing Past the Light (University Press of Florida) is a fascinating account of Le Clercq—her vocation, her challenges, and the underlying strength and humanity that allowed her to triumph in the face of a devastating illness. Author Orel Protopopescu provides almost a dual biography of Le Clercq and Balanchine, two lives that remained inseparable even after their divorce. 

Le Clercq descended from affluent, educated people: “On both sides, Tammy’s immediate ancestors were adventurous, artistic, worldly, and liberal-minded for their times.” However, her parent’s fiscal situation was tenuous. Her St. Louis debutante mother, Edith, was the driving force behind her early dancing, enrolling her at New York City’s King-Coit School. As a scholarship student in theatre and art, she performed for the first time at five years old. By age seven, she was studying at Mikhail Mordkin’s ballet school. She entered Balanchine’s School of American Ballet at age eleven, awarded one of the school’s first full scholarships. 

Her acceptance to the school coincided with the final dissolution of her parent’s marriage, strained by her father’s excessive drinking. The couple separated in 1946. Her father would remarry; her mother would remain single and a constant if sometimes unwanted presence in Le Clercq’s life. “The umbilical cord had stretched a bit further over the years but was never severed.”

The author provides detailed accounts of the demanding training, the rehearsals, and especially the performances. She conveys Le Clercq as an artist-in-motion, and the descriptions are exceptional. Additionally, Protopopescu traces her rise in the company, balancing the personal and professional particulars with dozens of interviews with friends and colleagues. 

Tanaquil Le Clercq, backstage at City Center, ca. 1954, © Anton Alterman/Harold Roth Photography

At the center is her connection with Balanchine whom she saw as “an old fogey” until she began receiving more personal instruction. Balanchine was a demanding director, influencing every area of his dancers’ lives, particularly the female dancers. 

Balanchine preferred “thin, tall female dancers with long necks and limbs.” Le Clercq epitomized this. While there were hints of Balanchine’s interest, by the time she was twenty, he was no longer hiding it. There were strong possibilities that he sabotaged or at least manipulated elements of her personal and romantic life.

The Le Clercq-Balanchine courtship and marriage are explored with great insight, including the complications rooted in the age difference and Balanchine’s need to seek a younger muse. Balanchine proposed Christmas 1952. She was twenty-three to his forty-eight. Without hesitation, she excepted, and they were married on New Year’s Eve. But, true to form, the work came first. They premiered the ballet Concertino the night before.

Le Clercq worked well and often with the mercurial and demanding Jerome Robbins. As with Balanchine, the complicated professional-personal relationship is surveyed with respect and candor and the complex triangle that existed between the three.

Protopopescu provides a visceral report of the European tour of 1956, during which Le Clercq contracted polio. At that time, her marriage to Balanchine was waning, and she had no desire to go. Following her contraction of the disease, Le Clercq faced a long recovery and the harsh reality of knowing that she would never dance again. “I’m not a dancer anymore. Who am I?” This was the question she faced after over two decades of dancing. 

A brutal, vivid picture of a polio victim follows, showing both the physical and psychological pains and the life limitations. But it also shows Le Clercq transforming by fearlessly facing the problems. As her friend Pat McBride explained: “Her wit and strength never left her nor did she indulge in self-pity. It was always a treat to be in her vivacious company.”

Eventually, she coached and taught at Arthur Mitchell’s Dance Theatre of Harlem using hand gestures—“a sort of balletic sign language”—to convey the choreography while seated in her wheelchair. The author touches upon the issue of race in the dance world and the lack of diversity and underrepresentation of African-Americans in Balanchine’s company. While not an activist, Le Clercq’s work with the DTH spoke volumes.

Dancing Past the Light will be of particular interest to ballet fans; it is an extraordinary celebration of a life in dance, with its highs and lows, challenges and rewards. It is an honest study of the people with whom one makes art. It is also a beautiful, authentic portrait of an exceptionally strong individual who faced a cataclysmic shift and rose above it.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: 

A resident of Miller Place, Orel Protopopescu is an award-winning author, poet, and translator. Dancing Past the Light: The Life of Tanaquil Le Clercq is her first biography. Pick up a copy of the book at Amazon.com, or BarnesandNoble.com. For more information on the author, visit www.orelprotopopescu.com.

 

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Matt Hoffman

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Matt Hoffman’s debut album, The Start of Something Big, featured jazz and pop standards including “When You’re Smiling,” “What Are you Doing the Rest of Your Life?,” “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You,” and the title song. He celebrates these favorites with his own terrific take. Hoffman has an effortless tenor that both soars and charms. Dropping in May 2019, it has since garnered over one million cumulative streams on Spotify, YouTube, and Apple Music.

Matt Hoffman

After receiving the Celebration Award from Michael Feinstein’s Songbook Academy Vocal Competition (held at the 3,500-seat Palladium Concert Hall), Hoffman performed with Feinstein at Manhattan’s 54 Below. He has sung at New York City’s Birdland, with The New York Voices’ Lauren Kinhan and Janis Siegel of the Manhattan Transfer. Hoffman made multiple appearances there for Jim Carouso’s “The Cast Party,” where the legendary Billy Stritch accompanied him. Additionally, he has been seen at New York’s Swing 46 as well as The Jazz Loft in Stony Brook.

Hoffman’s voice crosses many categories. His influences range from Harry Connick, Jr., to Frank Sinatra. Both contemporary and a throwback, he has a unique and vibrant sound. His blend of studio and theatre background splendidly colors his presentation, enhancing the beautiful vocals with a resonant emotional connection.

And now, Hoffman’s sophomore outing, Say It Ain’t Snow!, offers his personal flair on popular holiday fare. The seven tracks feature a wonderful range of material and boast a thrilling seventeen-piece Big Band with strings. The arrangements, by Trevor Motycka, are exceptional, perfectly matching Hoffman’s ability to shift from the grand to the witty to the heartfelt. There is the twinkle of holidays past—the spirit of the season of the great singers of television, vinyl, and CDs.

Say It Ain’t Snow! kicks off with an appealing, magnetic “This Christmas.” Hoffman’s knowing “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” winks to so many fireside holiday specials. The Christmas Classics medley—“Here Comes Santa Claus,” “Let It Snow,” “Winter Wonderland,” and “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town”—shows an exceptional variety with seamless segues and a particularly exciting rendition of “Let It Snow.” 

The sense of discovery in “The Christmas Song” is unique and surprisingly introspective. “Silver Bells” readily zings from a pastoral stroll in the snow to the lights of the city, showing off his jazz chops with masterful scatting. The simplicity and honest clarity of “O, Holy Night” is the perfect contrast to his letting loose with the final song, an exuberant, wry, “Run, Rudolph, Run.” In every number, Hoffman doesn’t just sing—he paints a vocal picture that is rich, evocative, and inviting.

Returning as album producer is Jackson Hoffman, who partnered with Hoffman on The Start of Something Big. Jackson Hoffman produced and co-wrote 2020 Voice winner Carter Rubin’s latest single. Here, he has assembled exceptional musicians to create the overall sonic landscape, coupling the Big Band sound with the neo-Swing era music arrangements.

There are not enough accolades for the band, which swings with bold brass playing magically against the lush strings. The ensemble creates the ideal backing for Hoffman. Hopefully, Hoffman and company will continue to offer seasonal treats as well as a wide range of jazz, classical, musical theatre, and standard catalogs.

No holiday season is complete without Christmas music. Whether you are a fan of traditional carols or lean towards the contemporary, music inspires holiday cheer. Hoffman’s Say It Ain’t Snow! has something for everyone, with its warmth, sense of wonder, and real joy. It is a gift for this, next, and all the Christmases to follow.

Say It Isn’t Snow! is available on music streaming platforms including Spotify, Apple Music, iTunes, Amazon Music and SoundCloud.

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A scene from Disney's 'Encanto'. Photo courtesy of Walt Disney Animation Studios

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

The question of “What is a gift?” is the driving force of Disney’s 60th feature film, Encanto. Set in the mountains of Columbia, in an unspecified “once upon a time,” Encanto is one of Disney’s finest and most sophisticated animated musicals. Exquisitely directed by Byron Howard and Jared Bush (with a screenplay by Bush and Charise Castro Smith), this is a memorable story of family and responsibility.

Fleeing from marauding conquerors, Alma Madrigal loses her husband, Pedro, but saves her infant triplets. An “Encanto” is a charm; here, the spell is in a candle. The magical force of the candle creates the “casita”—a magic home for Alma and her children.

A scene from Disney’s ‘Encanto’. Photo courtesy of Walt Disney Animation Studios

The Encanto blesses each member of the Madrigal family with a special power. Together, these “gifts” help maintain the community. But what happens when that gift brings visions no one wants to know? Or, even more challenging, when a child seemingly has no gift at all? The latter is the case with granddaughter Mirabel, the heart of the narrative and, ultimately, the center and savior of family and village.

Mirabel is a quirky, frustrated young woman; smart and articulate but under-appreciated. Her mother, aunt, sister, and cousins outshine her with their showy skills. Julieta, Mirabel’s mother, heals any ailment with food. Gorgeous Isabela, Mirabel’s oldest sister, is considered perfect and makes flowers bloom. Just behind Isabela is Louisa, a girl of Herculean strength. Aunt Carolina’s emotions control the weather; she is often followed by her own cloud hovering over her head. Cousin Adassa has unparalleled hearing. Cousin Rhenzy is a shapeshifter, taking on the appearance of anyone he meets. Cousin Ravi-Cabot communicates with animals. 

While seemingly wonderful, these powers carry burdens as well, shared in often hilarious and telling ways.

The action goes into gear on the day Cousin Ravi-Cabot is to receive his gift. Mirabel, his favorite cousin, gives him the strength to face whatever is to come his way. While everyone is celebrating, Mirabel sees the house beginning to crack and the candle in danger of being snuffed. Her alarm is revealed to be a vision, but most do not—or choose not—to believe her. She embarks on a quest to solve the danger, encountering her Uncle Bruno, who had disappeared after his prognostications were met with resistance. 

With the knowledge gathered from Bruno, Mirabel understands her course and the dangers it includes.

Encanto is emotionally complicated and avoids preciousness. There is humor and plenty of magic, but the lessons it imparts are genuine. 

A scene from Disney’s ‘Encanto’. Photo courtesy of Walt Disney Animation Studios

Encanto is perhaps the least saccharine of any Disney film. Visually, the film is extraordinary, exploding with color and action. The house itself is a dynamic character, with its communicating tiles, floorboards that deliver slippers, and an alarm clock that nudges the householders to move along. 

The characters are charmingly animated, simultaneously broad and subtle. But, in the end, the film’s imparting is the all-important message that gifts do not have to be flashy and that miracles come from belief, perseverance, and love. The film never loses sight of these morals.

The vocal talent is exceptional. Stephanie Beatriz’s Mirabel is tremendous, portraying a struggling soul, imbuing her with perfect comedic timing and profound humanity. John Leguizamo’s Uncle Bruno uses twitchy antics to very slightly mask the character’s underlying sadness. Diane Guerrero’s seemingly vain Isabela finds new shades in her transformation. 

In Luisa, Jessica Darrow shows the drain of never complaining. And Maria Cecilia Botero raises the grandmother above caricature, finding depth and pain in the matriarch who comes to terms with her misplaced iron will. (Many of the actors will be voicing the Spanish language version as well.)

Hamilton/In the Heights’ Lin-Manuel Miranda has fashioned a serviceable and pleasant score, but the film stands on its own. An attempt to introduce the roster in “The Family Madrigal” doesn’t quite succeed but establishes the world in which the tale occurs. The strongest numbers are “Dos Orguitas,” a haunting tune sung in Spanish, and the joyous finale “All of You.” 

Preceding Encanto is Far From the Tree, a wordless short about a raccoon parent protecting its child with tough love. While simple and traditionally animated, the two pieces share how families relate and the deep-rooted desire to protect. They are perfect compliments, sharing overlapping cores, with Far From the Tree delicate and Encanto spark and sparkle.

In the end, Encanto teaches not just acceptance within a family but how family and community come together. These are big concepts, and younger viewers might not get them the first time. But like the best of family features—The Toy Story series, Coco, etc.—Encanto will be one that children will return to as they grow. 

And that said, there is much for everyone to relish in this beautiful and beautifully told tale

Rated PG, Encanto is now playing in local theaters.

 

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From left, reporter Tom Cullen, editor Art Cullen and publisher John Cullen of the Storm Lake Times.

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

“Readers decide our future. Not any branch of government.”

Sixty-five million Americans live in news deserts—counties with only one local newspaper or none at all. In the past fifteen years, one in four newspapers has shuttered in the U.S. Storm Lake, the fascinating documentary by Jerry Risius and Beth Levison, follows The Storm Lake Times, a family-run paper located in Buena Vista County, Iowa. Operating at break-even, The Times, a twice-weekly paper, is one of the last of its kind.

Editor Art Cullen at his desk at the Storm Lake Times

Located in the northwest corner of the state, Storm Lake is home to about 11,000 residents. Originally an almost exclusively Caucasian community, it now contains a large Latino population. Tyson Foods employs over 2,200 workers at its hog slaughterhouse, meatpacking plant, and turkey processing plant.

In ninety well-crafted minutes, Storm Lake offers a portrait of the small-town newspaper industry and a family whose goal is to keep it alive. Founded in 1990 by John Cullen, The Storm Lake Times’ face and voice is Art Cullen, John’s brother. Art, a benign curmudgeon and county’s Democratic voice, presents somewhat like a hippie Mark Twain. At age 59, he received the 2017 Pulitzer Prize for Editorial Writing. He “ask[s] the big questions, speak[s] truth to power, and share[s] the struggles and successes of his unique community.” The paper is a liberal bastion in the predominantly conservative area.

The Times has ten employees, including Art’s son, Tom, who is the main reporter. Founder John explains that he donates his salary because he is on Social Security. Art’s wife, Mary, can be seen taking pictures and writing features. Art’s sister-in-law provides the recipe column. The family dog, Peach, lolls on the office floor or rides along with drop-offs. 

Leisure editor Mary Cullen of the Storm Lake Times

The film smartly divides its focus between the big and small pictures. As a result, the day-to-day life of the paper contrasts with larger events. Advertising is the lifeblood of any paper, and The Storm Lake Times grapples with filling its quota. Most of the revenue derives from mom-and-pop stores, but large corporations have driven many out of business. 

There are many happy stories: births, local celebrities, “Miss Pigtails,” educational advancements, and county fairs. Local government is given the same weight as national politics. For their readers, garbage pickup is more important than a presidential hopeful’s visit. “Local journalism is the heart of telling the local story.” The report on Ice Out Day, when the ice melts, encompasses a reference to climate change. The Times follows a local Tyson plant worker who is moving forward on a Spanish language talent show. 

The paper never shies away from addressing issues of prejudice, extremely important in its growing immigrant community. The story of eight-year-old Julio Barroso, who was deported along with his family, is highlighted; the staff tracked him down in Mexico twenty-two years later. In addition, a partnership is developed with the Spanish paper La Prensa to share content and ads.

The staff listens to its community and responds to their thoughts and criticism. “There are consequences for everything we do, and we feel that feedback immediately,” says John.

Storm Lake Times editor Art Cullen interviews Elizabeth Warren in a scene from the film.

Broader politics included the coverage of The Heartland Presidential Forum, with major Democratic candidates speaking: Art Cullen was the draw. He interviewed Elizabeth Warren, Julio Castro, and Amy Klobuchar, among others. The Iowa Caucus occupies much of the middle and latter half of the film. But even here, there is a discussion about the cutting down of the paper’s TV listings from eighty channels to thirty-one to save space and money. Risius and Levison never lose sight of the myriad challenges.

The end of the film deals with the COVID crisis, and specifically, the Tyson plants. The Storm Lake Times reported on the disproportionate number of immigrants endangered by their work in unsafe conditions. Art states that this is “subtle racism—but racism all the same.” The Tyson operation became the hottest spot in the country for COVID cases. 

The denouement shifts briefly to the paper’s labors to survive the pandemic when “ads fell off a cliff,” and Art and John thought of closing the paper. Fortunately, with a go-fund-me and other support, The Storm Lake Times survived. With its new website, it reaches 1.2 million readers per month.

Storm Lake contains the expected filler of printing and binding papers, along with stacks dropped off in stores and machines. Occasionally, there is something meta about the documentarians shooting the television on which Art appears on a talk show. But there are wonderful extended quotes from many of Art’s insightful and passionate editorials. In addition, the documentarians know when to let the film breathe: a talk about feeding the dog, a discussion of a new shirt, or briefly watching Art pick the cashews out of a can of mixed nuts all add to the humanity.

In a world where people want their news for free, Storm Lake is a powerful and important reminder about local journalism’s responsibility, value, and contribution. The film ends on the hopeful note that good journalism elevates a community by reporting on what is good. 

“You can change the world through journalism. The reporter is the cornerstone in a functioning democracy. And without strong local journalism, the fabric of the place becomes frayed.”

For a free viewing of the film, visit www.pbs.org/independentlens/documentaries/storm-lake/.

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The cover of 'Founders Day'

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

4th grade students from the Three Village School District take a tour of Setauket. Photo from TVHS

The Three Village Historical Society has published an excellent series of short works highlighting the North Shore region. Founders Day: Discovering Setauket, Brookhaven’s Original Settlement is “a walking tour guide for families who love exploring and bringing history to life.” It joins several other excellent offerings from the Society. The slender volumes are colorful and well-researched, with dozens of illustrations and photos. The goal is “to create meaningful experiences for families interested in exploring community.” Previous publications include George Washington’s LI Spy Ring, Down the Ways – The Wooden Ship Era, and Setauket and Brookhaven History (the latter two recently reviewed in TBR News Media). 

Founders Day is written by the Society’s Founders Day Committee: Katherine Downs-Reuter, Barbara M. Russell, Donna Smith, Lindsey Steward-Goldberg, and Beverly C. Tyler. The impetus (Founders Day, created in 2006) was to “enhance [the] Three Village Central School District’s fourth grade students’ understanding of local history […] using the Vance Locke murals displayed in the Setauket Elementary School auditorium.”

The cover of ‘Founders Day’

As in previous guides, there is a well-balanced combination of archival documents, paintings dating back to the eighteenth century, and historical and current photographs. The book gives clear and concise instructions, with the tour beginning in front of the Setauket School, Main Street, Setauket, and concluding at the Emma S. Clark Library. Throughout, there are detailed explanations of building markers (coats of arms, inscriptions, plaques), archaeological points of interest, and architectural details. The writers even point out errors: “The date on the plaque on Patriot’s Rock, August 23, is wrong by two days. Information on historical markers can sometimes be wrong. It is always a good idea to check with a more original source.” This detail presents a valuable and telling lesson in the pursuit of history and historical accuracy. 

Brief family genealogies are provided in appropriate circumstances. Some sites get a thorough background. The Setauket Grist Mill rightfully warrants an entire page, given its importance to the community. A detailed account of Tyler Bros. General Store receives two detailed pages that include quotes from Lucy Hart, born in February 1899. Here, there is a discussion about the lives and fates of African Americans in the Setauket area. The text is clear, concise, and descriptive, ideal for the walking tour and a stimulus for further and deeper investigations of the various locales. 

4th grade students from the Three Village School District take a tour of Setauket. Photo from TVHS

Travel and transportation, farming, fishing, and folklore are all included. In addition, the final page contains a list of vocabulary words and terms used within the book. This inclusion further emphasizes that Founders Day, along with the many works of the Three Village Historical Society, are ideal for classroom use and an opportunity for families to explore the area in which they live.

An important note. All the recent publications carry a version of this message: “We wish to acknowledge that we are sitting on the land of the Setalcott indigenous people in Setauket and we pay respect to the Setalcott people whose land is where we live, work and explore.” This note embraces an important and growing awareness, recognizing the impact of the area’s indigenous people. 

Once again, the Three Village Historical Society has produced a novel and valuable tool for community discovery.

Copies of Founders Day: Discovering Setauket, Brookhaven’s Original Settlement are available at the Three Village Historical Society Gift Shop, 93 North Country Road, Setauket and online at www.tvhs.org.

For more information, call 631-751-3730.

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