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Jeffrey Sanzel

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A scene from 'Breaking Boundaries'. Photo from Netflix

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Netflix’s Breaking Boundaries: The Science of Our Planet explores the idea that humanity has pushed the planet beyond survival and sustainability. While ably hosted by the ever-reliable Sir David Attenborough, the dominant voice is Swedish Professor Johan Rockström, an informed and articulate scientist with a range of facts and concepts that he introduces over the one hour and fifteen-minute running time.

Swedish Professor Johan Rockström

There are few topics — if any — more important than the future of Earth. And while some make claims against it, climate change, global warming, and other man-driven destructions are real and present dangers, ones that seem to be growing geometrically. This documentary attempts to explain these issues by setting down a theory of boundaries. It then proceeds to explain how they are being crossed.

Breaking Boundaries opens with a discussion of the stability of Earth’s temperature and climate for 10,000 years; this allowed for the development of the modern world. The documentary then proceeds to cite examples of our destructive behaviors and how they have negatively impacted various ecosystems, including the Amazon, the Great Barrier Reef, etc. Rockström’s refrain is, “It is not about the planet. It is about us. About our future.” Perhaps he is trying to appeal to our self-centered nature rather than our desire to correct what we have broken. Unfortunately, his slightly skewed sense of humanity is probably well-founded.

The film starts with a glimmer of hope, but five minutes in, the bad news is announced: over the past fifty years, we have pushed ourselves out of the norm that existed the previous 10,000 years. And there may be no fix for this situation. 

Over the next fifty minutes, a disjointed narrative attempts to explain the nine planetary boundaries — the distance from the safe zone to the danger zone to the high risk/critical zone. Carbon dioxide in the atmosphere has caused droughts, heatwaves, forest fires, and flooding. Ocean acidification, the dangers of aerosols, and novel entities of human pollution are just some of the ideas introduced. Thus, there is an immediate need not just to reduce but to fossil-free within three decades.

‘Breaking Boundaries’. Photo from Netflix

Scientists meditate on the destruction of the icecaps, evaluate the reduction of flora and fauna to the point of extinction, and offer a great number of numbers that sometimes seem like … a great number of numbers. (Overwhelming statistics and an extraordinary list of theories make for a bit of confusion.) Finally, the film circles back to the four boundaries that have been crossed and possibly irrevocably (but maybe not?): climate, forest loss, nutrients, and biodiversity.

Every bit of this is important information. But the problem comes down to this: Breaking Boundaries is a documentary dealing with a life-and-death topic in a clumsy and wrong-headed approach. Director Jonathan Clay has underestimated his audience, deciding that an MTV assault is the only way to connect. As a result, the bells and whistles drown out the material. Yes, they are alarm bells and fire whistles, but this is an onslaught, not an explanation. 

One talking head goes so far as to refer to the “Mad Max future.” A drinking game based on the repetition of “tipping point” and “irreversible” would put the players out in under twenty minutes. There is probably truth in every statement and comment. But judicious editing would have allowed for a variety of tactics, rather than what comes across as a relentless, one-note attack. 

The effects are overwhelming and non-stop, with even the most sedate moments backgrounded with a strange light show. (Was this Mr. Clay’s first time with a green screen?) The graphics seem to be inspired by the 1980s’ Tron. Or perhaps Saturday Night Fever. Everything explodes on screen, making for restless, jittery filmmaking. The result wholly lessens the film’s integrity.

Many moments succeed in capturing the beauty of nature. If a bit generic, they serve as a strong reminder of what is being destroyed. Some disturbing images are not sensational but instead are telling: wild animals who now live close to settled and “civilized” areas are shown in droves on highways and the environs of cities. While we are always warned not to anthropomorphize, there is a palpable fear in their eyes.

‘Breaking Boundaries’. Photo from Netflix

There are two moments of resonating humanity. First, a scientist discussing the bleaching of the Great Barrier Reef becomes choked up, clearly a spontaneous and honest reaction to what he has seen. Second, a conservationist revisits one of the sites where she had studied birds before its incineration. The destruction of fifty million acres of Australian land caused the displacement or death of an estimated three billion animals. While she looks at the bleak landscape, she says, “This is an ecological catastrophe.” But this is also highly personal and, again, powerful in its simplicity. 

If only the director had trusted moments like these. Instead, he chose window dressing that makes the experience a late-night infomercial for the predictions of Nostradamus.

After fifty-nine minutes of apocalyptic prognostication, there are twelve minutes of “but-it-can-all-be-saved.” We need to bend the global curve of emissions, cutting 6 to 7% per year. We can draw down the carbon by planting more trees. Changing our diets to healthy foods will contribute to the saving of the planet. We can eliminate waste by turning the linear cycle into a circular one by recovering raw materials (and benefit the economy). Finally, we must turn towards renewable energy. “The window is still open.” Rockström believes that 2020 to 2030 is the decisive decade: what happens in these ten years will determine what happens over the coming centuries.

Perhaps there is no longer a way to make people listen — and more importantly, take action — without being sensationalist. However, this film will win no converts and will probably not engage the already aware and committed. The call is to act as “earth’s conscience — it’s brain — thinking and acting with one unified purpose — to ensure that our planet forever remains healthy and resilient — the perfect home.” It is not just a noble purpose but an essential one. There have been, and there will be many valuable examinations of this subject matter. Unfortunately, in the end, Breaking Boundaries is not one of them.

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Anthony Ramos and Melissa Barrera in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Warner Bros./A24

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Before there was Hamilton, Lin-Manuel Miranda burst onto the scene with the wholly personal In the Heights. A celebration of a largely Dominican community living in Washington Heights, Miranda provided music and lyrics and starred as Usnavi. The show was an instant hit with only minor carping on the book. The production ran from March 9, 2009, through January 9, 2011, for 1,184 performances. 

The show received thirteen Tony Award nominations and won for Best Musical as well as Best Musical Score (Miranda), Best Choreographer (Andy Blankenbuehler), and Best Orchestrations (Alex Lacamoire and Bill Sherman). The original cast recording received a Grammy for Best Musical Show Album. Dozens of subsequent companies — including multiple productions in Spanish — have been seen in the Philippines, Panama, Japan, Brazil, Australia, Peru, Denmark, and many other places. 

After a false start in November 2008 (with cancellation in 2011), it was announced in May 2016 that Miranda would co-produce the film with Harvey Weinstein. In the wake of Weinstein’s sexual misconduct charges, he was removed as the producer on the film, and Warner Bros. acquired the production.

The history of stage-to-screen musicals is an uneven one. For every Music Man and Sound of Music, there is an Annie or a Rent. Whether it is to one’s taste, Grease proved to be an enduring hit. Disasters have included Camelot, A Little Night Music, and Les Misérables. Genre connoisseurs argue the faults and merits of the cinematic incarnations of A Chorus Line and Into the Woods. Over the last few years, there has been a resurgence with mixed results: the brilliant reimagining of Chicago, the head-scratching Hairspray, the train wreck Cats. Being released this December is Stephen Spielberg’s much-anticipated remake of West Side Story.

It all comes down to whether the musical is making a joyous noise — or just making noise. 

Does In the Heights live up to expectations? Oh, yes. That and much more. While it does not reinvent the genre, the film’s sheer exuberance is a celebration of both “a” community and this particular community.

The basic plot follows two couples. Usnavi, a bodega manager, pines for aspiring fashion designer Vanessa, who works in a local salon. Benny is a dispatcher in love with his boss’s daughter, Nina, who has just returned from Stanford, where she must confess that she dropped out. What follows is three days leading up to a blackout and its aftermath. 

While Vanessa wants to move downtown, Usnavi struggles with a desire to rebuild his father’s restaurant in the Dominican Republic. Nina grapples with her experience in college and the events that led up to her return. In the Heights is equally a portrayal of the neighborhood — the connections, the gossip, the struggle, the pride — as it is the romance. If anything, the personal relationships are less engaging than the exploration of identity.

The film has departed from the Broadway production, adjusting multiple plot points for streamlining purposes. Some of the changes improve the narrative; others are less successful. Small cavils can be launched at the screenplay, which is serviceable but never rises to the level of the music and choreography. New issues — most notably that of the Dreamers — are introduced. Nina also speaks of a horrible racist experience she endured at Stanford. It is brought up and then dropped. If the writers choose to take on such important and complicated topics, the results deserve deeper exploration. 

In addition, some of the scenes go on longer than necessary. (A dinner party meanders, never quite focusing.) “It Won’t Be Long Now”— one of the best numbers — is oddly broken up. The framing device of Usnavi telling the story in flashback seems to undermine the immediacy. But these are minor quibbles on what is pure joy. 

John M. Chu directs the film with an eye for detail and an energetic but never rushed pace; the nearly two and a half hour running times flies. But it is Christopher Scott’s spectacular choreography that dominates. His work is bold, fearless, and epic, often encompassing hundreds of dancers. His dances will enter the annals of movie musical history (the climactic ballet in An American in Paris, the rooftop “America” in West Side Story, the barn-raising in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, the opening to La La Land, just about any moment in Singin’ in the Rain, etc.)

The combination of old-fashioned musical theatre and contemporary style are perfectly blended. The title number sets the tone for the stunning production numbers to follow. Most notably are “No Me Diga” (a wryly hilarious and delightful number in the salon), “96,000” (a swimming pool blockbuster with more than a few shades of Busby Berkley), the haunting and jaw-dropping “Paciencia y Fe” (which will be referred to in perpetuity as “the subway song”), and the finale-like “Carnival del Barrio,” the celebrates rejoices at communities within communities. (Even the “small” numbers are equally impressive, especially Nina’s “Breathe.” Certainly, credit should be given to Chu, who knows when to pull back.)

The cast is uniformly excellent, all exceptionally effortless singers and dancers whose performances are grounded in truth. They make the transition from dialogue to singing seem natural, often something that feels disjointed or, worse, falls flat in the movies. Anthony Ramos delivers a heartfelt Usnavi, both anchor and core to the story. He is matched by Melissa Barrera’s strong but conflicted Vanessa. Corey Hawkins brings warmth and vulnerability to Benny. Leslie Grace’s Nina shows the strength and struggle of someone trying to both go forward in her life but honor her past. Her scenes with the gifted Jimmy Smits as her father are effectively complicated. (Smits shows a pleasant singing voice in his few vocal moments.) 

Daphne Rubin-Vega (Broadway’s Mimi in Rent) finds humor and dimension in Daniela, the salon owner, who aspires for grander things. Olga Merediz, the only major holdover from the Broadway production, embodies matriarch “Abuela” Claudia with love and light. As Usanvi’s clerk Sonny, Gregory Dia IV easily mixes charm and “chutzpah” with a melancholic underpinning. Miranda is terrific as Piragüero, the Piragua Guy (shaved ice). While it is a small turn, his confrontation with the Mr. Softee vendor plays as the film’s cameo/Easter Egg highlight.

Usnavi speaks of sueñito — the idea of “little dreams.” The residents of this world all have them. But what comes through is that ultimately, they are not little. The dreams are big and powerful, honest and revelatory. In the Heights immerses the viewer in these hopes in a film that somehow manages to be both intimate and spectacular. This is the feel-good movie for which we have been waiting. While available on HBO Max, In the Heights is one of the best reasons to leave your couch behind and venture out to enjoy this bright shining jewel. Rated PG-13.

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By Jeffrey Sanzel

There’s no real way to prove this, of course, but the Man of Steel’s image — the muscular body wrapped in skintight primary colors, a cape billowing behind him and a large S splayed across his chest — is universally recognized … From the very young to the very old, from Australia to Algeria to Alaska, it’s a pretty safe bet that almost everyone knows Superman. 

— excerpt from Is Superman Circumcised?

In Is Superman Circumcised? (McFarland Publishing), Roy Schwartz investigates the creators behind the most iconic superhero and his symbolic connection to Judaism and his place in the general cultural pantheon. It is a fascinating work that mines the historical and sociological place of the Man of Steel.

Author Roy Schwartz

Author Schwartz was born and raised in Tel Aviv and began reading comics at age nine. It was through this medium that he learned English. (Comics allowed him to be comfortable with using the word “swell.”) In his freshman year of college, Schwartz wrote an essay entitled “World’s Finest: Superman and Batman as Didactic Utopian and Dystopian Figures.” Throughout his New York college career, he continued to study the power and place of comic lore, building to his senior thesis, which was the launching source of this book.

Part of Schwartz’s connection to Superman was rooted in their mutual connection of being immigrants, sharing Superman’s sense of alienation, loneliness, and sense of mission. As a result, Schwartz continually surveys the concepts in the Superman oeuvre. 

Jewish influence in the comic book industry is easily traced to its roots. The majority of the original writers and artists were children of immigrants. Superman’s creators — writer Jerry Siegel and artist Joe Shuster — are very much part of this. They “freely borrowed elements from their cultural environment, including the extensive Jewish tradition of heroic stories about men and women given special abilities to defend the helpless, from biblical to rabbinical.”

The book explains in detail how Superman’s origins and adventures reflect the Jewish experience, both biblical and historical, as a prophetic figure and modern hero:

Their Man of Tomorrow reimagined a mythology is old as civilization, capturing the imagination of America and the world. From Krypton’s destruction echoing the biblical flood in Genesis, to his origin as a baby rocketed to safety paralleling that of Moses and Exodus, to the Clark Kent persona as a metaphor for Jewish immigrant assimilation, to Kryptonite symbolizing remnants of the Jewish civilization destroyed by the Holocaust, to this role as a modern Golem advocating the New Deal, open immigration and intervention in World War II, Superman’s legend is consistent as Jewish allegory.

Schwartz gives a detailed account of Siegel and Shuster’s upbringing, inspirations, and odyssey. He traces them from their teen years, when they conceived of the hero, their attempts to sell it, their breakthrough and rise, and ultimately, both its loss and legacy. On March 1, 1938, they sold the first Superman story to DC for $10 a page, totaling $130. Unfortunately, the contract cost them millions of dollars as they sold the story and the rights to the character as well. This would haunt them for the rest of their lives. Moreover, the impact of this sale would continue beyond their deaths, entangling issues of ownership that the estates would wage.

The earliest part of the book focuses on the biblical connections. Superman is most closely associated with Moses and Samson, but Schwartz also explores Superman as a Jesus figure. While the early Superman reflects an Old Testament figure, in film, television, and later incarnations, the Christ symbolism became strongest.

In the second section of the book, Schwartz expands to the general world of comic books and the influence of the exodus of Eastern European Jewry to the lower East Side of Manhattan. He traces the history of comic books, noting that it was at the bottom of the artistic industry, but one in which Jews could participate, having been blocked out of legitimate magazines and newspapers. 

He discusses both the religious and secular influences on this particular art and its manifestations in various titles. There is an emphasis on the bridging of the foreign culture integrating into American life. “Whatever his metaphorical foundation, the Man of Tomorrow is, and was always intended to be, a symbol of cultural collaboration, exemplified by his origin story as an alien refugee taken in by loving Americans and his life’s mission of bringing to bear the gifts of his heritage for the benefit of all.”

There is no question that the rise of anti-Semitism at home (the KKK and the Bund) and abroad (the ascent of the Nazis) strongly influenced the comic. Amid this rise in anti-Jewish sentiment, Action Comics #1 debuted Superman in June 1938. A year later, Superman #1 appeared, which coincided with the St. Louis — known as “the Voyage of the Damned” — being refused entry and sent back to Germany. Thus, Superman’s origin of a “refugee from a destroyed home when traveling to safe harbor in a vessel granted asylum by kindly Americans” could not have been more germane.

Schwartz gives both context and perspective. He points out that the idea of Superman was so original, there was no true point of reference. “How utterly ridiculous Superman must have seemed to editors then. A strongman from outer space, dressed in long johns, wellingtons and a cape. What a mashugana idea.”

Schwartz demonstrates extraordinary insight in his overview of the intersection of comics, the history of heroes and heroines, theological knowledge, and pop culture. He easily communicates how time and place and the personal history of the creators manifested in the character’s launch. Schwartz imparts the information with humor, focus, a range of examples, and an uncanny ability to join the concepts in an accessible, entertaining, and enlightening way. He easily debunks esoteric theories and interpretations that are rooted in extreme scholarship but have no factual basis. He draws on a wide range of sources, including Siegel’s unpublished memoir.

Schwartz addresses Superman as the ultimate wish-fulfillment: “He’s neurotic catharsis in a cape.” He spends time dissecting the question of who Superman’s true self: the caped hero or Clark Kent. Schwartz delves into the philosophical and cultural aspects, touching on everything from Nietzsche and religion to the accusation of comic books as a corrupting influence. He discusses the many incarnations and traces the constant reinvention of Superman in print and celluloid. He notes the contradiction both the liberal and conservative claim on Superman.

In all of this, the final takeaway, and perhaps the heart of this exploration, is one of identity. The message is a powerful one and valuable as much now as it was in 1938. “For all their glory and symbolism of American might and rectitude, superheroes were created by a band of Jewish kids from the ghetto, and they reflected their fears, fantasies and faith — if not religious, then in the promise of the nation that took them or their parents in.” Superman, as an immigrant, “showed the refugees weren’t, and some insisted, dangerous strangers from the hinterlands, ungrateful, clannish and treacherous. They were thankful and faithful contributors to the American collective.”

Is Superman Circumcised?: The Complete Jewish History of the World’s Greatest Hero  is available online at www.amazon.com and www.barnesandnoble.com. Visit the author’s website at www.royschwartz.com.

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From left, Paul Walter Hauser, Emma Stone and Joel Fry in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Disney

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Villains are by far more interesting than heroes. The antagonist seems to have the opportunity for greater richness; there is an opportunity for variety and texture that is often absent in the world of the “good.” Snow White and Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella are almost interchangeable. But the difference between the Wicked Queen, Maleficent, and the Stepmother is an entirely different story. Disney’s rogues’ gallery includes the aforementioned three as well as infamous favorites Captain Hook, Jafar, Scar, and Ursula. 

Emma Stone as Cruella in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Disney

Perhaps most unusual in the lot is The 101 Dalmatians’ Cruella de Vil, created by Dodie Smith for her 1956 novel. While her name is a pun/elision of “cruel” and “devil,” there is also the possibility it is a reference to the Rolls-Royce 25/30 Sedanca de Ville motorcar Smith purchased in 1939. In any case, the character’s goal is to make puppy pelts into fur coats. In a world of villains with questionable actions, something about this separates her from general wickedness. 

Following the successful animated film (1961), the story found its way into various television series, before being recreated in a live-action outing (1996) and a sequel (2000), with Glen Close headlining as Cruella, reimagined as a fashion house magnate specializing in fur haute couture.

Now comes Cruella, a prequel to the entire canon, offering the character’s backstory. Directed with great style by Craig Gillespie, it has a screenplay by Dana Fox and Tony McNamara, from a story by Aline Brosh McKenna, Kelly Marcel, and Steve Zissis. McKenna, who penned a screenplay for the project in 2013, is best known for her adaption of The Devil Wears Prada. (Keep this fact in mind.)

The film opens in 1954, with the birth of Estella, crowned with her natural half-black/half-white hair. Raised by a single mother, the action jumps ten years to her entering school, where the rewards for being strong and standing up to bullies are demerits that result in her expulsion. The young Estella (a decidedly spot-on performance by Tipper Seifert-Cleveland, without a whiff of precociousness) shows a knack for extreme fashion, so her mother decides for both their benefits to relocate to London. On their way, they make a stop at a remote manor where a gala is underway. Estella witnesses her mother pleading with the unseen hostess for money before her mother is driven over a cliff by the hostesses’ dalmatians. Estella thinks she caused it and carries this guilt throughout her life.

Estella escapes to London, where she takes up with two scrappy urchins, Horace and Jasper (Ziggy Gardner and Joseph MacDonald, both terrific and a match for Seifert-Cleveland). She joins them and learns the ropes of survival through petty crime. Fast forward ten years to the swinging London of 1974, and the trio have elevated their grifts, but, more importantly, have formed a family built on mutual respect, trust, and love. 

Estella is still obsessed with fashion, so Jasper arranges an entry-level job for her as a cleaner at the high-end Liberty department store. There she is discovered by Baroness von Hellman, the dangerously self-absorbed (and just plain dangerous) haute couture designer. Estella goes to work in von Hellman’s factory-like design house, a place of abuse and terror. What follows is the birth of Cruella, Estella’s alter-ego that her mother had encouraged her to suppress as a child. Cruella becomes a sort of superhero/supervillain/anti-hero/competitive designer. 

This split personality reflects in the screenplay that is part origin story (think The Joker meets Harley Quinn meets dominatrix), part personal awakening, part send-up of the fashion industry, part heist movie, and part Disney caper. You can see the problem. The film never lands on a tone or style for too long before it shifts or twists. The dialogue is full of quips and is delightfully arch, and the first half plays at an engagingly break-neck pace. 

But, the second half slows and repeats. Issues of nature versus nurture, the driving forces of guilt, and the need for revenge (Estella/Cruella refers to this as the sixth stage of grief) swirl around the film, either enriching the experience or confusing the flow, depending on your point of view. Moreover, much of it makes no sense to what has been established about Cruella in the later works. At two hours and fifteen minutes, there is too much material with no real commitment.

However, in the win column is a uniformly phenomenal cast, with not a weak link or false performance.

At that center is Emma Stone, who never fails to delight. As Estella/Cruella, she hits bottom and bounces back; she plots and plans and schemes. And while Cruella is a larger-than-life character, Stone never loses her center. Glen Close (who played Cruella in the Disney live-action movies) was brought on as an executive producer for character continuity. There is little that connects the style and quality of the two actors. Close, who finds her villainy in a brittle soprano, is nothing like Stone’s earthy, growling alto, whose performance is reminiscent of Tallulah Bankhead. (There is an homage to this with a clip from Hitchock’s Lifeboat.) Whether the put-upon Estella passing out drunk in a store window or the leather-clad, crop-wielding Cruella, she is a wicked triumph. (The film’s PG-13 rating could be summed up in that sentence.)

Matching Stone stitch for stitch (forgive the pun) is Emma Thompson as the vicious Baroness von Hellman. Similarities to Meryl Streep’s Miranda Priestly of The Devil Wears Prada are less than subtle. Miranda and the Baroness are cut from the same cloth (forgive the pun). But the similarities do nothing to detract from Thompson’s outrageous, hilarious monster. Every line drips with venom; every look is a poison dart. Whether she is slashing a dress with a straight razor, taking a nine-minute power nap, or ordering a murder, she is both contained and over-the-top, and pure comic danger.

Joel Fry is wonderfully understated as Jasper, the thief who cares for Estella. As a sister and perhaps more, his love for her embodies the power of what we do for the family we make. He pairs perfectly with Paul Walter Hauser’s Horace, a bumbling cross between James Corden and Bob Hoskins. The duo is the perfect double-act, caring and funny, physical and heartfelt.

Kirby Howell-Baptiste brings a wide-eyed wryness to Estella’s sole childhood friend, Anita Darling, now a gossip columnist. Mark Strong (looking like Stanley Tucci) is stoic as John, The Baroness’ trusted henchman. John McCrea finds depth in the flamboyant vintage clothing store owner, Artie. The supporting company is strong, with great timing, and all are playing in the same story.

Award-winning costume designer Jenny Beaven created a visual explosion that perfectly complements Fiona Crombie’s rich and varied production design. 

For those looking to connect the source material to the origin story — or are looking for a great outing for the kids — Cruella isn’t for you. But if you want to revel in sensational performances in a stunning setting, and often laugh-out-loud antics, there are worse ways to spend a couple of hours.

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Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

What happens after “The End?” After the villain is vanquished and order is restored? When the heroes go on to the rest of their lives? The gifted, prolific fantasy author Sarah Beth Durst explores this concept in her enthralling new adult novel, The Bone Maker (published by Harper Voyager).

Twenty-five years before, five extraordinary heroes saved Vos from the destructive forces of the evil Eklor, “a man who dealt death the way a card player dealt cards.” While Eklor was slain and his animated minions destroyed, one of the quintet died in battle. With this, the remaining four went their separate ways.

Author Sarah Beth Durst

The book opens a quarter of a century after the war, with a crime of body snatching. Kreya, the leader of the good forces, has been on a mission to resurrect her husband, Jentt, who was the fallen warrior. Kreya has used Eklor’s notebooks to bring him back, justifying the use of her enemy’s research. “Knowledge itself isn’t evil. It’s how you use it.”  But the decision haunts her.

In this society, the bone makers and their ilk are permitted to use animal bones for their magic. Kreya’s dilapidated tower home is populated by a host of benign creatures. But utilizing human bones is forbidden, adding to Kreya’s moral dilemma. Until now, she had been collecting bones from unlit pyres. Now, she wants to revisit the field of battle to acquire what she needs once and for all. 

All of this is part of the exceptional world-building for which Durst is known and so adept. She creates a detailed, accessible universe and accompanying mythology that are always true onto themselves. At the center are the people who deal in these enchantments:

As far as the guild was concerned, there were only three types of bone workers: bone readers, who used animal bones to reveal the future, understand the present, and glimpse the past; bone wizards, who created talismans out of animal bones that imbued their users with speed, stealth, and other attributes; and bone makers, like Kreya, who used animal bones to animate the inanimate. Ships, weaving machines, cable cars … all the advances of the past few centuries had been fueled by bone makers.

In addition to the human bones, Kreya must offer part of her own life force to bring Jentt back. The resurrection spell is one of inverse power: Every day Jentt lives again, she will have one day fewer. She has revived him for short periods, but the suspense in the first part of the book builds to his complete restoration. 

When she decides that she must visit his death site to acquire the bones from Vos’s fallen soldiers, she recruits Zera, the bone wizard from her team, who now lives in lavish and hedonistic excess. Zera, a master of talisman creation seems shallow and petty, having parlayed her victory into extraordinary wealth and position. She is engagingly sly, quick with a quip, and outwardly narcissistic. “I require pie before I desecrate a mass grave.” Gradually, her depths are revealed, but she never loses her wicked charm and turn of phrase. 

Kreya and Zera venture to the site, returning with the bones and a suspicion that Eklor either never died or has been brought back. Kreya fully restores Jentt to life. Then, along with Zera, gather the two remaining members of their troupe: Marso, the bone reader, whose skill “far exceeded the skills of other bone readers,” and Stran, “a warrior with the experience in using bone talismans to enhance his already prodigious strength.” However, Marso, plagued by doubt and perhaps a touch of madness, sleeps naked on the streets of the least savory of Vos’s cities. Stran has entered a life of contented domesticity, living happily with his wife and three children on a farm. Kreya must reunite this disparate group to bring order once again.

Paramount is that then, and now, Kreya is their leader. As Zera states: “Ahh, but what not everyone knows is this: the legend says that the guild master tasked five, but he did not. He tasked only one. Kreya. She chose the rest of us. All that befell us is her fault. All the glory, and all the pain.” Kreya carried this responsibility during the first war and will do so again.

The Bone Maker refreshingly lacks preciousness. The characters struggle with darkness, inner demons, and attitude. The core team shares common bonds: fear and love, blended with resentments and guilt. The reluctance to take on this new adventure comes from a place of maturity. But once called, they embrace their fates and understand the need — and risk — of sacrifice for the greater good. But even then, they question their actions.

There is no generic nobility. Fallible human beings inhabit this world of fantasy. Kreya is a portrait of loneliness, living like a hermit with her creations, who she calls “my little ones,” monomaniacally focused on raising her husband. Jentt, alive, reflects that “Every time I wake, all I remember is life.” He has lost all the time in between. Stran yearns to return to his fulfilling family life. And Marso, the most fragile and tormented, desires nothing more than peace of mind.

Even with exploring ethical issues, there are plenty of thrills with a host of unusual and dangerous monsters, including venom-laced stonefish and croco-raptors who hunt in deadly packs. There are rousing battles and daring escapes. Eklor’s formally dormant army of the reanimated is poised for invasion. The guild-led government struggles with shadows of self-interest that tip towards corruption. The citizens of Vos do not want to accept the possibility of another war: “There aren’t many who will believe the dangers of the past have anything to do with them and their lives … they want to believe it’s over.” The plot twists and turns, building to a revelation midway through the book, shifting the story’s entire course to a gripping confrontation and satisfying denouement.

Sometimes labeling a book fantasy can be reductive — that it is “good for that genre.” But whether it is confronting issues of sacrifice, delving into a highly original and unique world of magic, or reveling in the banter of old friends facing new quest, The Bone Maker is a rich and complex tapestry — and a great novel on any terms.  

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Award-winning author Sarah Beth Durst lives in Stony Brook with her husband, her children, and her ill-mannered cat. The Bone Maker is her 22nd novel and is available at Book Revue in Huntington, Barnes & Noble and on Amazon. For more information, visit sarahbethdurst.com.

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Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

On January 31, 2011, due to a reduced demand for sheetrock, US Gypsum shut down its plant in Empire, Nevada, after 88 years.

By July, the Empire zip code, 89405, was discontinued.

— Epigraph to Nomadland

It is a cold, bleak landscape that confronts the viewer at the beginning of Nomadland, director Chloé Zhao’s powerful adaptation of journalist Jessica Bruder’s book Nomadland: Surviving America in the Twenty-First Century. The theme of empty expanse returns throughout the careful but compelling hundred-plus minutes. The methodical, introspective film is sparse on dialogue but rich in breadth and breath. The film appropriately takes its time traveling down a specific road.

Fern (a brilliantly understated Frances McDormand) is a widow who, in 2011, lost her job at the US Gypsum plant in Empire, Nevada, when the factory shut down. The factory’s closing resulted in Empire becoming a ghost town. Fern has sold most of her belongings and lives in a van that she has retrofitted herself. She travels the country looking for work. The film opens with her at the Amazon fulfillment center, working a seasonal job.

Invited by a coworker and friend, Linda May (touchingly playing a version of herself, as many in the film do), she visits a group in the Arizona desert, run by Bob Wells (also a version of himself). Wells hosts gatherings for “van-dwellers,” offering advice, support, and above all, community. Here, Fern connects with others who share similar plights — who, by fortune, luck, or choice — live on the road. Fern gains both insights into her own life along with practical survival skills. The rest of the film follows her learning curve as she goes from place to place but returning to this loose tribe who don’t want “to die with a sailboat in their driveway that they never used.” She wants nothing more than to coexist in communal friendship with the like-hearted.

There are glimpses into Fern’s earlier life, most notably a trip later in the film to borrow money from her sister, but, for the most part, the film focuses on the ever-present, day-to-day existence. This is a challenging undertaking for a filmmaker, but Zhao’s deliberate pacing and laser focus create both a pastoral arc and one of great tension. Fern drives, makes dinner on a hotplate, sleeps, then drives some more. She takes a job; she works; she leaves. She drives, humming to herself. She walks in nature, taking in its vastness but also completely at peace. And then she drives.

There are no villains in this film; the conflicts are rooted in the struggles of simple living. The people are kind, hard-working, and open. The impact of the challenges is not small. A blown tire or sub-zero temperatures are truly a matter of survival. But there is a complete absence of self-pity, equaled only in their frankness in discussing any topic — from dealing with waste to the contemplation of suicide. 

Throughout, what becomes most pronounced is their cumulative dignity. When questioned by a girl she had once tutored in Empire, Fern responds that she is “not homeless. I’m houseless. There’s a difference.” She says this with a smile and without apology. Her friend Swankie (another in a version of herself), from whom she learns a great deal, shares that she is dying of cancer but choosing to go on her own terms. Swankie gives away many of her possessions and heads back out to visit places she wants to see once more. 

Eventually, Nomadland shows these travelers do not dwell in emptiness, but instead in lives of peace, away from the trappings and limitations of self-imposed restrictions. Fern meets Dave (kind and open as played by David Strathairn) at the gathering and then again later. There are the slightest of romantic sparks. Eventually, Dave settles at his son’s house, where Fern visits him. He asks her to stay, but she realizes that it is not the life she wants. Fern reveals she has found herself in this wandering existence. The revelation is presented in the simplest of ways, but it is epiphanous in its weight and import.

Nomadland’s strength is an absence of pretension. Its documentary feel is intimate and spontaneous; Zhao creates the illusion of the characters speaking for themselves. (She is responsible for the taught screenplay and crisp editing.) And yet, there is a lyrical — almost poetic — quality to the deeper message. These nomads never say, “Goodbye.” Instead, it is always, “I’ll see you down the road.”

McDormand provides a performance of such reality that it is almost impossible to see her as an actor. In the fewest words, she presents stillness, sadness, humor, loss, hope … it is the subtlest rainbow of human emotions. While he has less screen time, Strathairn does not miss a beat. The supporting cast of predominantly “real” people playing some facet of themselves (characters bearing their first names) match these two gifted professionals. There is nothing of reality television or exploitation in this choice. Instead, their presence gives just another subtle shade in the spectrum that Zhao has created.

Composer Ludovico Einaudi has provided an exquisite score. Beautiful and melancholy, the music evokes the spirit and style of George Winston. It is both haunting and life-affirming, perfectly reflecting the film’s tone.

Nomadland has garnered dozens of awards, all of them deserved. The accolades set a high bar of expectation, but it is easily vaulted in the deceptively simple and truly honest storytelling. In some ways, the tale offers a shattering look at the crushing results of failed capitalism. But simultaneously, it celebrates the inspiring resilience of the human spirit. Nomadland is an exceptional journey “down the road.”

Rated R, Nomadland is playing in local theaters and streaming on demand.

Photos courtesy of Searchlight Pictures

 

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'Captain Sedition'

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Author K.C. Fusaro

K.C. Fusaro offers a compelling work of historical fiction with Captain Sedition: The Death of the Age of Reason. It opens in England, 1774. Joethan Wolfe barely survives a duel due to the duplicity of the woman who caused it. While he recovers, the narrative reveals Wolfe as an American ex-pat, working as a courier throughout Europe. Fourteen years earlier, his father had exiled him to England, resulting in their complete estrangement. Wolfe is a for-hire, with no particular scruples, a lothario, a charmer, and a bit of a profligate. Now, he lives in a house with none other than Benjamin Franklin — referred to with sly affection as “The Doctor.” 

Fusaro establishes his approach in the portrait of Franklin, one of the most famous and beloved Americans. He removes Franklin’s halo: “Benjamin Franklin was concurrently the most selfish and the most generous man Wolfe had ever known.” Franklin is miserly with lighting candles due to his difficult upbringing and a candlemaker father. Franklin is calculating, with a fondness for living that is contagious, but he is also Machiavellian. He is present only in the earliest chapters but the portrait establishes Fusaro’s adeptness with even minor characters’ backgrounds and motivations, heralding the rich, engaging tapestry that follows.

When Wolfe learns of his father’s arrest, he spends his last eight year’s earnings acquiring a royal pardon. He sets off on a harrowing trip from Portsmouth to Nova Scotia to the colonies. He intends to deliver various missives to the Tory government in the states. Included is an important document to be placed directly into Governor-General Thomas Gage’s hands, the highest-ranking British official in North America. But Wolfe’s real motive is to seek out and aid his parent. 

Wolfe is an interesting case. As an American abroad, he has found his sympathies lie with the British. But he is truly a man without a country. His ambivalence is unusual in this genre, which usually leans towards the rebels. His objectivity makes him a reliable and intriguing narrator;  each interaction embroils him in a country amid monumental and violent change.

The adventure takes Wolfe from Canada to Boston and then onto Connecticut and Long Island. As he searches for his father, he encounters the best and the worst of both sides. Wolfe’s goal is to stay neutral. However, by saving a man on the road, he lands in the two-sided conflict. While Wolfe makes choices based on his better instincts, the result is that every action becomes political.

One of the most powerful takeaways is the reminder that the Revolutionary War was the first Civil War. Though perceived as the British versus the Americans, the truth is that it encompassed neighbor against neighbor, citizen against citizen. Many had fought side-by-side with the Redcoats against the French. But in 1775, these allegiances are history. This constant state of unrest manifests in both ferocious loyalty and questionable actions.

The British Government doesn’t respect the Americans: “‘They conceive to govern these colonies from across the ocean with no say from we who actually live here. They could not show us more contempt did they spit on us.” Wolfe accepts the reality that “in his experience, all Englishmen viewed Americans as lesser creatures and the British aristocracy’s disdain for Americans was the worst. By their lights, disturbances in far-flung colonies were to be expected and dealt with, quickly and decisively. The better sort of Britons had no more tolerance for rebellious slaves in the Indies.”

Also revealed is the eagerness to fight. “‘You can’t wait for the fighting to start, can you?’ Wolfe said. Tim did him the honor of not pretending otherwise. He backed his ardor with a concise argument based on the English Constitution and especially the Massachusetts Colony Charter, but in the end, Tim wanted to fight.” The world of 1775 is dangerous and roiling, a powder keg in every sense.

The shadow of slavery pervades. Wolfe regards the ability to own slaves and yet fight for one’s own freedom as a gross stroke of hypocrisy. Says one militia commander, “‘… the people are entitled to life, liberty, and the means of sustenance by the Grace of God and without leave of the King.’ In Wolfe’s estimation, the appearance of a slave immediately after rendered the words hollow.”

The book is peopled with an extraordinary cast of characters, expertly blending the historical with the fictional: All seem real, fallible, and wholly dimensional, enforcing Fusaro’s premise that no side is completely right or wrong. Wolfe plays Devil’s Advocate with “‘… how long can Government suppress a population on the other side of the ocean against its will?’” followed by “‘We live in an age of reason. To not consider both sides would be unreasonable.’”

Fusaro’s research is extraordinary. His knowledge of everything from clothing to customs, from mercantile to mercenaries, is exceptional. Whether describing a ragamuffin tailing Wolfe, a difficult voyage, or a simple meal, he paints vivid and detailed pictures. He breathes life into the story with details that elevate the narrative. He has also found a syntax in language that honors the period but avoids sounding stilted or contrived. He also calls attention to the complicated religious landscape and the intolerance it bred within the communities.

The book’s climax is April 19, 1775: The Battle of Lexington and Concord. He unflinchingly describes the carnage —“the raw savagery.” It is in this clash that Wolfe must choose sides —“to declare.” It is a hard lesson for Wolfe, but he has reached the point of no return. He is torn but accepts the reality. 

It is a powerful ending to the first volume of a proposed three-book series. One year from the beginning of Wolfe’s journey, he has returned to his place of birth, witnessed and experienced the change in his homeland, and accepted his fate. We, like Wolfe, will await what comes next.

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Author K.C. Fusaro grew up in Setauket, and after many years away, recently returned to take up residence in Rocky Point. Best known for plying the rock and roll trade with the band Body Politics, along the way to writing fiction there were excursions into film, theater and television, both in front of the camera and behind the scenes.

Pick up a copy of Captain Sedition at Book Revue in Huntington, barnesandnoble.com or amazon.com. 

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The film follows Belinda Lane and her quest to find her daughter's killer. Photo from Netflix

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

catfish (noun)

cat·fish | \ ˈkat-ˌfish  \

Definition of catfish

1. any of an order (Siluriformes) of chiefly freshwater stout-bodied scaleless bony fishes having long tactile barbels

2. a person who sets up a false personal profile on a social networking site for fraudulent or deceptive purposes

— Merriam-Webster Dictionary

On February 24, 2006, in Riverside, California, twenty-four-year-old Crystal Theobald was fatally shot in the head while riding in a car with her boyfriend, Juan Patlan, and her brother Justin. (Patlan was hit in the abdomen but recovered.) The case would not be fully resolved until January 2020. The investigation revealed that the attack was due to mistaken identity. The shooter, a member of the gang 5150, mistook the car’s occupants for members of MD, a rival gang.

The driving force behind the Netflix documentary is Crystal’s mother, Belinda Lane, and her vow to find her daughter’s killers. Her use of MySpace to collect information is central to Why Did You Kill Me? 

At first, Belinda, who was in the car ahead of her children, identified the shooter from a picture and selects him in a lineup. But it turned out that the boy had a legitimate alibi and was released, making her an unreliable witness. Following this, Lane used MySpace to track down those involved. 

Crystal Theobald was only 24 years old when she was murdered by a 5150 gang member. Photo from Netflix

Lane’s niece, Jamie McIntyre, began with a fake profile — party girl “Rebecca” — selecting a random photo she found on the internet. At that time, MySpace was relatively new as a social media outlet and quite popular, with sixty-six million users. “My typing was acting,” said McIntyre, who spent every day after school until the early hours of the morning on the site.

Through the Rebecca profile, they connected with various 5051 gang members. Lane decided that McIntyre should build another fake MySpace profile for “Angel,” using Crystal’s photo. Eventually, McIntyre became overwhelmed by the experience. “Making someone fall in love with someone who’s dead is not a good feeling inside.” Pretending to be her every day was a double-edged sword. It kept Crystal’s memory alive and close to her; yet it was a constant reminder of what happened. 

When the toll became too much for McIntyre, Lane took over. She created a plan to lure and shoot members of 5150 at “An End of the World Party,” scheduled for June 6, 2006 (6/06/06). “I made a plan to go murder people,” said Lane. But the day before it was to occur, she confronted the driver, William Sotelo, who was infatuated with the non-existent Angel. Lane sent messages beginning with “I know who you are” and “Do you love me?” on to “Then say it,” ending with “then why did you kill me?” Sotelo disappeared and would not resurface for over ten years. Lane gave up the MySpace ruse and released the passwords to the case’s detective, Rick Wheller.

Amid this, the police interrogated William and Manuel Lemus, brothers who had been in the back of Sotelo’s car. They were reluctant to cooperate until members of their gang burned their parents’ home. The pair then turned over the shooter, Julio Heredia. It was not until 2016 that Sotelo, the final perpetrator, was located in Mexico, extradited, tried, and sentenced.

What runs alongside the entire catfishing expedition are revelations about Belinda Lane and her family. Their reluctance to trust Detective Wheeler was rooted in the family’s extensive run-ins with the law. The Lane-Theobold family had “issues back in the day,” including fighting, arrests, and drug issues. Most had been in and out of jail. Belinda admits to being a meth user who became a drug dealer. “I sold a lot. I did a lot of damage out there.”

As she gathered intel through MySpace, Lane did everything she could, including trying to get them deported — calling the FBI and ICE. She contacted members of the Casa Blanca gang, inciting them against 5051. She readily admits that she caused all kinds of violence. As one close friend described her, Belinda was “psycho,” “crazy,” and “insane.” Also, the Lane sons wanted to “handle it their own way.”

Crystal Theobald was only 24 years old when she was murdered by a 5150 gang member. Photo by Netflix

Why Did You Kill Me? feels no different than most shows found on the True Crime Network. Ominous music accompanies quick cuts. Sound effects are heightened — including a heart monitor ceasing its beeping, indicating Crystal’s death. Footage of driving to various areas fleshes out the voiceovers. There is a model of the neighborhood where the killing took place, recreated in miniatures. Throughout, various cast members manipulate the cars in the street. Harrowing footage recovered from the security cameras outside a grocery store shows the wounded and dying Crystal in her brother’s arms. Archival family videos and photos are interspersed.

While we get background about the family, we never know who Crystal was. The facts shared are few: she was married and had won $38,000 on a slot machine. The couple used the winnings to open a heating company. At the time of Crystal’s murder, they were estranged, but no other information on their lives is offered, other than her husband had fallen back into drugs. After being mentioned at the outset, her current boyfriend, Juan Patlan, is conspicuously absent from the film. 

While we know that the family had its plethora of problems, Crystal’s life and challenges are never addressed. 

The gang crises and turf wars are touched upon but also not fully addressed. To give greater depth to the problem and tragic consequences, the creators could have developed this background. No history or explanation is given regarding the origins and presence of the Los Angeles 5150. A nod is given to the investigation into Heredia’s history — revealing drugs, alcohol, and neglect that drove him into gang life. But it does nothing to address the fact that this ruthless, complicated world caused Crystal’s tragic death.

Late in the film, Belinda says, “Justice and revenge. Yes, they are just about the same thing. One means you can stay in the free world, and the other means you can go sit in the defendant’s chair. And that’s a line I almost crossed myself.” Her self-reflection is one of the most powerful moments in the entire documentary. 

Lane’s statement contains the kernel of what the film could have been: something valuable, insightful, and cathartic. As it stands, Why Did You Kill Me? is just one in a long line of sensationalist rubbernecking of today’s violence. Should we marvel at the sleuthing? Delight in the internet as a tool? Find entertainment in Belinda’s eccentricity? There is no call to action, no reflection, and no lesson. Sadly, the result is a simple story of a life senselessly ended.

Why Did You Kill Me? is now streaming on Netflix.

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Volunteers at Theatre Three's food drive. Photo by Heidi Sutton

By Heidi Sutton

Volunteers from Theatre Three in Port Jefferson hosted its ninth food and personal care items drive to benefit Open Cupboard Pantry at Infant Jesus Church last Saturday and the donations poured in. 

“We filled the theater’s van three times floor to ceiling and completely filled the hallway of the Convent building where the food pantry is housed. In addition, we received close to $800 in cash and grocery gift cards,” said board member and facilities manager for Theatre Three Brian Hoerger. 

“Our donors have been so generous, and we get a lot of ‘regulars’ each month who always come with bags full of groceries and supplies. People really want to help and always thank us for organizing these events and ask us when we are doing our next one,” said Hoerger. 

The theater’s next drive will be held on Saturday, June 5 from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m.

“I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention our amazing volunteers who have given up a part of their Saturday each month to help us collect, sort and carry all of the donations to the pantry. Their dedication is truly awesome. They all deserve a standing ovation!” he said. 

Theatre Three is scheduled to reopen on July 9 and 10 with The L.I. Comedy Festival followed by a Mainstage production of The Fantasticks from July 16 to Aug. 15.

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