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Jeffrey Sanzel

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Richard Jenkins, Debra Winger and Evan Rachel Wood in a scene from the film.

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Currently streaming on demand, Kajillionaire is either a very bleak comedy or a humorously edgy drama. Both disturbing and honest, it is a measured film, taking its time, but it never loses the tension that is introduced from its very first moments. Credit for this goes to the clear vision and masterful creativity of writer-director Miranda July who is working with a company of perfectly cast actors.

Kajillionaire is the story of a family of con artists living a hand-to-mouth existence in California. Robert and Theresa Dyne (Richard Jenkins and Debra Winger) and their twenty-six-year-old daughter, Old Dolio (Evan Rachel Wood), are petty criminals with an emphasis on petty.

Richard Jenkins, Debra Winger and Evan Rachel Wood in a scene from the film.

Robert states flatly that he doesn’t want to be a “kajillionaire” — he’s very happy to just “skim.” Their crimes are predominantly minor, such as stealing from post office boxes or returning stolen goods. They perk-up at the possibility of the daughter earning $20 for covering a girl’s court-ordered attendance at a child-rearing class. They are minimalists in every sense of the word. Currently, they are three months behind on their rent — a $500 a-month office space connected to a soap factory that leaks bubbles into the living space at least once a day.

They are a codependent trio but are completely disconnected. Old Dolio is treated as an equal partner — she gets one third of the take — but strangely not as family. There is no sense of there ever having been parental guidance, interpersonal relationships, or love. Compared to the Dynes, the Kim family of Parasite are the Cleavers.

Everything changes when Old Dolio comes up with a scam that involves lost luggage, insurance, and a trip to New York.  On the return flight, the parents are seated with a gregarious young woman, Melanie (Gina Rodriguez), who they befriend and then enlist to aid them. Robert and Theresa take to her and begin treating Melanie as a daughter. The true dysfunction of this turns much darker as the film progresses, building up to a particularly uncomfortable encounter centered around a hot tub.    

Melanie, an optician’s assistant, is drawn to the family’s off-beat existence and proposes a job that involves finagling antiques out of her elderly clients. In one of the most powerful scenes in the film, a bedridden, dying man (Michael Twaine) asks them to make the sounds of a family. In a hideous lampoon of normalcy, they create idle chatter, underscored with the rattling of silverware and the playing of the piano.

In the meantime, Old Dolio becomes both intrigued by and jealous of Melanie. What starts off adversarial shifts to something almost undefinable, all hinging on a single word: “Hon.” What ensues is both uplifting and devastating as Old Dolio becomes aware of her family’s emotional bankruptcy. The climax is both surprising and inevitable.

Gina Rodriguez and Evan Rachel Wood in a scene from the film.

To be sure, the Dynes are not the colorful cons of Hollywood movies. These are cheaters of the lowest sort, alternating between a sort of manic assuredness and twitchy doubt, second guessing their choices in a life that is a perpetual scrabble. There are also bursts of paranoia that derail them, resulting in flashes of anger. In addition to the minor rip-offs, they are entering contests under various names, winning things that they can never use. They are the definition of survival at its meanest, dragging through their days. This near-deadness is most pronounced in the neglected and, ultimately, emotionally starved and abused daughter.

Jenkins is an odd mixture of alpha and bumbler, a destructive father from hell. And yet seemingly, he is unaware that he is being anything other than kind. He wears so many masks, it is impossible to tell which is the true Robert. It is a detailed performance that bears re-watching.

Winger, practically unrecognizable as Theresa, is the almost fanatically committed wife whose child is nothing more than an appendage. She sees Old Dolio as utilitarian — someone who works with the family. She believes that her daughter is incapable of feeling so invests not even the slightest warmth into their dealings. It is a chilling, understated performance.

Rodriguez brings both charm and reality to Melanie. She makes Melanie incredibly present, a wonderful contrast with the others’ absence. She manages to imbue every moment as an opportunity for growth. While easily engaged, she is not a fool. The light of kindness radiates in Rodriguez’s Melanie. “Most happiness comes from like, dumb things,” she says, while making Old Dolio pancakes, part of a strange agreement that drives the latter part of the film. She understands the joy in even the smallest kindnesses.

But, if it is anyone’s film, it belongs to Evan Rachel Wood. Her ability to portray the pain of the emotionally stunted Old Dolio permeates every moment. She is both incredibly graceful and agonizingly awkward. Her face during the faux family scene for the dying man is a study in heartbreak. Even in her complete stillness, she projects a lifetime of confusion and disappointment. The film is her journey to the awareness of her dangerous addiction to her family.

Kajillionaire is not an easy film to watch. Its edge is as sharp as a scalpel. It is a portrait of an incomplete family at its ugliest. And yet, underneath it all, July finds light and hope in a dark and disturbing world.

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Painting by Vance Locke

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

History Close at Hand has published the noteworthy and informative Setauket and Brookhaven History, a book that relates its story through the murals of Old Field artist Vance Locke (1913-1977). Commissioned by philanthropists Ward and Dorothy Melville as a gift to the community, the murals, completed in 1952, adorn the walls of the Setauket School’s Woodhull Auditorium.

Author Beverly C. Tyler

Beverly C. Tyler’s prose is crisp and his materials are well-chosen, clearly explaining the content of the murals. Throughout, he posits questions to the reader which will prompt further exploration. He often indicates where the reader can see the referenced locations and offers additional resources. He has selected quotes from the late historian William B. Minuse to further develop the narrative. Tyler touches on Locke’s process of conceptualizing and painting as well as his revising to get the correct representations.

One of the first ideas in the book — and a powerful one — is an explanation of Indigenous Culture. Tyler’s recognition bears repeating:

We call the native people who were the first humans to live here Native Americans or American Indians. A more accurate description might be Indigenous People. Everyone else who came, beginning with the English settlers are immigrants. It is important for me (personally) to say, “I wish to acknowledge that I am sitting on the land of the Setalcott Indigenous People in Setauket and I pay respect to the Setalcott people whose land is where I live.”

The murals, along with archaeological studies, have helped piece together the evolution of the changing lives on Long Island. Tyler presents how and when the facts were discovered. The murals progress through time, highlighting farming and millwork, the blacksmith and the shipwright. There is the cutting of ice and the mercantile and the purchase of land. The last is appropriately followed by an explanation that the Setalcotts did not share the same view of land ownership proffered by the English settlers.

The book is about craft and skills, commerce and community. Short anecdotes woven into the chronicle’s fabric augment the comprehensive facts and general text. For example, there is a quick account of the Daisy that sunk from a leak created by beans swelled by seawater, bursting the ship’s hull.

Often, there is the intersection of work and communal gatherings, represented by the uniquely American general store. With each section of the mural, Tyler gives background on the various aspects of day-to-day existence as well its historical relevance. The aspects of general life are enhanced with specific sketches and personal histories that surround a particular topic. Many of the names will be familiar to Long Island denizens. 

The most extended section deals with Setauket’s place in the Revolutionary War — especially George Washington’s Culper Spy Ring which was based in Setauket. In many ways, the first half of the book is building to this, allowing for context of the events.

Tyler uses both primary and secondary sources to enrich his telling of the story, shedding light on the challenges and sacrifices, the humanity and the intrigue. It is appropriately thorough but equally succinct.     

In addition to reprinting the murals in vivid color, there are photos of artifacts as well as the current sites and artifacts, reprints of period maps and documents, and stills of historical recreations. The plethora of illustrations are well-chosen for their interest and variety, and they effectively supplement the text.

Setauket and Brookhaven History is a slender book that is rich in detail and will hold the interest of readers of all ages. The ease of Tyler’s writing belies the hundreds of research hours that undoubtedly went into its creation. This edifying work is ideal to be read aloud and discussed. It will certainly stimulate thought and conversation both in the family and the classroom.

“Murals tell a story, sometimes more than one. Could there be more than one story in this mural?” Tyler gives us a good deal to observe, a great deal to read, and even more to think about it.

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Author Beverly C. Tyler is the historian for the Three Village Historical Society and conducts walking tours and field trips as Revolutionary War farmer and spy Abraham Woodhull. He has appeared on the History Channel’s Histories Mysteries production Spies of the Revolutionary War and writes a local history column for TBR News Media’s Village Times Herald.

Pick up a signed copy of Setauket and Brookhaven History and meet the author at the upcoming outdoor Holiday Market at the Three Village Historical Society, 93 North Country Road, Setauket on Nov. 28, Dec. 5, 12 and 19 from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. The book will also be available at the Three Village Historical Society’s online gift shop at www.TVHS.org in January 2021.

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Emma Roberts and Luke Bracey star in 'Holidate'. Photo courtesy of Netflix

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

“Boy, I hope there’s a really unfunny rom-com to kick-off the holiday season,” said no one ever. But that’s what the Netflix offering Holidate delivers. In place of wit, there is … not wit. Holidate is not even worthy of a deprecatingly clever simile.

The premise is simple and has probably been seen dozens of times. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing. There are many plots that have been revisited over the years. The goal, of course, is to find something fresh, unusual, or intriguing in the situation. Unfortunately, Tiffany Paulsen’s terribly clunky, crass script is further exposed by John Whitesell’s clumsy and pedestrian direction.

Emma Roberts and Luke Bracey in a scene from ‘Holidate’
Photo courtesy of Netflix

Holidate opens with Sloane (Emma Roberts) still reeling from her break-up six months prior. She is having a Christmas from hell in which she is plagued by her family’s constant harping on her singlehood. Sloane is offered advice from her man-chasing Aunt Susan (Kristin Chenoweth) to always have someone to date for the holiday. In Susan’s case, she has brought home a mall Santa.

Across town, Jackson (Luke Bracey) is having a nightmare of his own, spending the holiday with the family of a girl whom he has only dated three times. It is apparent that the young woman thinks that they are in a much more serious relationship, one that she has shared with her eager family.

The next day Sloane and Jackson meet on a department store return line. What comes of this chance encounter is an agreement to be “holidates” for New Year’s Eve. There is not a great deal of background given to either characters. He is a golf pro; she works remotely. She eats junk food; he does not. He’s Australian; she isn’t. And they’re off.

Freed of expectations, this “mismatched” couple has a good time on New Year’s Eve. There is a cute send-up of Dirty Dancing, evoking a smile if not a full-on laugh.   The evening ends awkwardly with Sloane deciding it isn’t worth pursuing.

On Valentine’s Day, Sloane runs into her ex with his new, younger girlfriend.  Jackson (who just happens to be walking by the store) rescues her from complete embarrassment by swooping in, pretending to be her significant other. Realizing that the situation will work for them, they agree to be friends without benefits, committing to all calendar celebrations for the foreseeable future.

The film now begins to traverse a year’s worth of holidays: St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Cinco de Mayo, Mother’s Day, etc. Each seems to be centered around drinking and almost — but not quite — having sex. While their friendship grows, Sloane’s mother (Frances Fisher) is desperately trying to set her up with the new neighbor, nice guy doctor Faarooq (Manish Dayal).

Fourth of July is particularly eventful with Jackson having a finger blown off as the men launch M-80’s. Sloane takes him to the hospital (where the Faarooq happens to be on-call). His finger is re-attached. There are the stirring of sparks between Sloane and Jackson. Will they? Won’t they? Do we care?

Since this is a rom-com, they get their wires crossed, resulting in a crisis with a Labor Day wedding where they choose to bring other dates. Sloane takes the doctor; Jackson brings Aunt Susan. (The resulting aunt-doctor hookup at the wedding becomes a subplot that can be kindly described as cringeworthy.)

Halloween sees them taking their relationship to the next step. But not before a disgusting laxative encounter. Thanksgiving shows their divide, with a dramatic confrontation that aims for soul-searching but winds up to be just being embarrassing. And guess what happens at Christmas?

Emma Roberts and Kristin Chenoweth in a scene from ‘Holidate’

None of this would be a problem if the film showed a single spark of originality, charm, or warmth. Holidate instead is consistently tasteless — what is less than single entendre? Basically, it’s watered-down Hallmark with an R rating. A raunchy, crude comedy attempting to make a bigger, heartfelt statement. It achieves being the worst of both worlds. Occasionally, they seem to be sending up the genre but this just confuses and contradicts the majority of the film when they are “being real.” You can’t have it both ways. Or at least they can’t.

The problem is further acerbated by performances that lack subtlety and dimension. Emma Roberts is better than this. Of the cast, she comes across the strongest, but she was given a lot of action but little to play. Luke Bracey is handsome but stiff. Kristin Chenoweth, a truly wonderful performer, is painfully miscast as the vamp; every moment feels excruciatingly forced. If she took the role on to expand her range, she didn’t succeed. If she needed the paycheck, a Go Fund Me would have had more dignity.

The rest of the characters (mostly trope cooky family members) come and go but the director’s complete lack of vision gave no consistent style in which the actors could invest. As a bonus, there are the requisite precocious children who make adult observations and occasionally inappropriate comments.

In the final scene, there was one of maybe three genuinely funny moments in the movie. It involves a Christmas choir at the mall. But one bright note does not a symphony make just as ten clever seconds don’t erase and hour and forty minutes of vulgarity.

Spoiler Alert: Sloane and Jackson end up together. Now you don’t have to watch the movie. You’re welcome.

Holidate is now streaming on Netflix.

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Just in time for the holidays: Ina Garten’s new cookbook is soul-satisfying

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Ina Garten is best known as the host of the television cooking show Barefoot Contessa. On the air since 2002, it is the Food Network’s longest-running show and features Garten preparing multicourse meals, making them accessible for her viewers to recreate at home.

Modern Comfort Food (Penguin Random House/Clarkson Potter) marks her twelfth cookbook, a series of bestsellers that began in 1999 with The Barefoot Contessa Cookbook. Subsequent entries included Barefoot Contessa Foolproof, Barefoot Contessa How Easy Is That?, Barefoot Contessa in Paris, among other successful and popular titles.

Now Garten has turned her focus to comfort food. In these times, it is a welcome entry.  “I often say,” she writes, “that you can be miserable before eating a cookie and you can be miserable after eating a cookie, but you can never miserable while you’re eating a cookie.” This tongue-and-cheek remark sets up this collection of 85 all-new soul-satisfying ensuing recipes divided into six sections:  Cocktails (which is actually dominated by hors d’oeuvres); Lunch; Dinner: Vegetables & Sides; Dessert; and Breakfast.

Tomato & Goat Cheese Crostata

Her take is that food can both celebrate and soothe — whether a birthday cake or a gift to someone who is struggling. “Food can be so much more than simple sustenance.”

Garten acknowledges that comfort food is a very individual taste, often rooted in our earliest memories. To this end, she offers new takes on classic favorites. Her chicken soup (often considered physical and emotional nourishment) is a Chicken Pot Pie Soup. She remembers her mother’s canned split pea soup with cut-up hot dogs; she has taken this idea and created a Split Pea Soup with Crispy Kielbasa. She doesn’t ignore the beloved tuna fish sandwich and offers Ultimate Tuna Melts.

There is the Creamy Tomato Bisque, complimented by the Cheddar and Chutney Grilled Cheese, as the response to the often-sought tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwich, the go-to of so many childhoods. Other options include a Lobster BLT and Truffled Mac & Cheese.

The “modern” in the book comes from Garten’s research into the roots of the traditional dish and then re-envisioning and often lightening the recipe, facilitating the cooking, and adding new or different flavors. Ultimately, her goal is “true home cooking but with a twist or update that makes it special enough to serve to company.” The cookbook has some international flavors as she notes that immigrants brought many of their tastes of home with them.

Her “good ingredients” list suggests items that are ideal for the recipes as well as brands to which she has an affinity. “I started calling for specific ingredients because they do make a difference … They don’t have to be expensive but they have to be chosen thoughtfully …”  Salt, in particular, is considered the most important.

No recipe is longer than a single page, with many of them shorter. The list of components rarely goes above a dozen and often contains half of that number. Each recipe is proceeded by a short introduction that personalizes what follows. There is something here for everyone’s tastes — sweet and savory, light and hearty, vegetarian and non. From the simple to the more complicated, the book is carefully presented, with clear and straightforward instructions.

In addition, there are informative interludes between sections. “Staying Engaged” advocates for the power of interaction and socializing over meals; eschewing cellphones and enriching your life by “enjoying one-another’s company face-to-face.” “Evolution of a recipe” shares Garten’s odyssey of creating her version of Boston Cream Pie. She writes with warmth and honesty, citing her challenges and successes. She connects to the readers by dispelling the mystery of cooking and the fear that often accompanies it.

Boston Creme Pie

She also suggests alternate ways to approach more difficult tasks. Hollandaise sauce usually demands a double boiler, a blender, and a good deal of focused time; instead, she presents a simpler take with a bowl, a whisk, and the microwave.

Of course, no cookbook is complete without visual support and there are dozens of vivid color photographs by Quentin Bacon, along with party pictures by Jean-Pierre Uys. These delightful illustrations ably function as a guide to the finished products.

Modern Comfort Food is a welcome addition to an already prolific author’s works. As Garten states:  “Whether you’re a beginning or an experienced cook, these recipes will help you feel confident that you can cook wonderful food for you family and friends and that will bring everyone to your table. And if you end up being happier — and healthier! — because of it, so much the better!”

Modern Comfort Food is available at Book Revue in Huntington, penguinrandomhouse.com, amazon.com and barnesand noble.com.

Photos by Quentin Bacon

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Natalia Dyer and Donna Lynne Champlin in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Vertical Entertainment

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

It is the fall of 2000. It is a world of chunky cellphones, dial-up modems, AOL Instant Messaging, and VHS tapes. Alice (a mesmerizingly authentic Natalia Dyer) is a high school junior in a strict mid-western Catholic school. Written and directed with insight and an incredibly skilled hand, Karen Maine has created an engaging coming-of-age story, Yes, God, Yes. It is both laugh-out-loud funny and brutally honest.

The film opens with a teacher (the wonderfully dour Donna Lynne Champlin) passing out detentions and monitoring the hall like an avenging meter maid. This sets the tone for the emotionally claustrophobic  atmosphere in the school, where abstinence is taught and (seemingly) embraced by the student body. 

What comes to light very quickly is that Alice is the subject of an unsavory rumor about an occurrence at a recent party. The scandal spreads as Alice tries to quell the accusation that she doesn’t fully understand. She is both buoyed up and beaten down by her BFF, Laura (Francesca Reale, bringing just the right amount of acid to this borderline mean girl). Alice is also struggling with her burgeoning awareness of her own sexuality and desires, which further complicate the already challenging situation.

Natalia Dyer in a scene from the film.

The majority of the film takes place on a four-day Kirkos retreat, where the students go to connect with themselves and with their connection to God and their religion. It is here that Alice comes face-to-face with both the caring and sensitivity of some of the students as well as the hypocrisy that often comes with repression.

Guilt and gossip flower along with misinformation. There are some extreme moments and some jaw-dropping revelations. There is also terrific humor. After Alice is punished for holding onto her cellphone, one of the girls gives her a s’more from the campfire she missed: “We pretended each marshmallow was a mortal sin before burning it.”

Maine pulls no punches. She presents these people in all of their flaws. And that is the heart of the film. She creates people and therefore legitimate tension. These are not the cyphers and stereotypes found in many teen movies. Instead, there is an inherent truth in her reflection of this particular corner of the universe.

Not all is played as satirical attack; there are instances of genuine compassion. One of the students leading the retreat, Nina (a warmly present Alisha Boe), tells how she has always felt absent in her large family. It is a touching moment and her sharing is met with sympathy and understanding. Letters from their parents are read out loud. Again, they are not greeted with smirks and eye rolls but appreciated with less embarrassment than would be expected. These are sweet and kind flashes of welcomed contrast.

But even in the midst of this idyllic retreat of finding self, the vicious buzz continues to haunt and chase Alice, leading her to several less than generous choices. Ultimately, she takes some if not all the responsibility one would hope.

Timothy Simons (Veep), as Father Murphy, the spiritual leader of both school and retreat, dodges complete caricature. He has some very questionable actions but there is a sense that, more often than not, he is attempting to do the right thing for these children in his care. He is eventually confronted with his own contradictions but it is not presented as a revenge opportunity but more a look at his personal fallibility.

Alice receives the best and most honest answers when she escapes into a lesbian bar. It is owner Gina (Susan Blackwell, grounded and kind) who gives Alice the best advice she gets the entire film — before bringing her back safely to the retreat.

The entire cast is excellent and the young actors manage to come across as “kids,” even in some of the more excessive sections. But it is Natalia Dyer’s Alice who is the heart and heartbeat of the film. In her life, she is both heroine and her own worst enemy. And Dyer makes every moment work. 

Yes, God, Yes is not for everyone. It is crass in the way that young people are not always careful. It tells some unsavory truths. It is boundary-pushing and often cringe-inducing. But it is a beautiful, dimensional portrait of a genuine young person struggling in a real world.

Rated R, Yes, God, Yes is currently streaming on Netflix.

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Tyler Posey and Donald Sutherland find themselves in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. Photo courtesy of Lionsgate

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Last week, I reviewed the movie Alone, a cat-and-mouse/abduction film. This week, we turn to Alone, a zombie apocalypse movie. This is not the Indian horror film Alone, which follows the angry spirit of a murdered conjoined twin. And it’s highly unlikely that it would be confused with the reality series Alone, that has been running since 2015.

So … this Alone (the zombie one) … is similar to the Korean film #Alive. This would make sense as #Alive’s screenplay was co-written by Matt Naylor, who provided the screenplay for Alone. Both seem to have been cribbed from the 2018 French film The Night Eats the World.

Which brings us back to Alone—the zombie apocalypse one. Director Johnny Martin and writer Matt Naylor have attempted to do something different, with mixed results. They get an A for effort and a B+ for creativity. The visual effects are okay if not spectacular; let’s say a B. Character development is weak even in its best moments — maybe a D+.

The film begins on day 42 of the apocalypse. Aidan (Tyler Posey, who appears in just about every frame of the film) has been video logging during this time, as he announces this to the camera. The next moment, he is seen trying hang himself. Then it flashes back to 42 days earlier, Aidan, sans beard, in bed with … someone. She sneaks out and is never heard from again. Clearly, she is not going to be a major player.

Donald Sutherland in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Lionsgate

He turns on the television to be greeted by the chilling Emergency Broadcast System.  Then all hell breaks loose. There are sounds of yelling and breaking glass; a helicopter crashes; people are running in the streets. A little girl is set upon by shrieking zombies.  His neighbor, Brandon (Robert Ri’chard), who he has never met, stumbles into his apartment; he was just attacked by his roommate. Thus, the set-up.

It is strange that it all happens at once — that there was no warning, no build-up. Especially as the talking heads on the television share that the virus is transmitted through the blood — scratches and bites.  You’d think there would have been some kind of change that led to total destruction … and not insta-zombies. But, these are the cards that we’re dealt.

Aidan realizes Brandon is infected and forces Brandon out as he transforms. He watches the destruction in his hall through the peephole and then just listens to the cries for help and the murderous attacks.

The next stretch involves the disintegration of the world as reflected in the one apartment building. Phone circuits go from busy to dead. Sirens. More yelling and screaming. The infected wander the halls, banging on doors. Aidan counts the days by marking his mirror with a pen. The last advice he gets from his parents before they are murdered (he hears this on a message) is to “Stay Alive.” He puts this on a post-it.

More information is eked out about the virus. The infected only eat living flesh that is uninfected. But, and most interestingly, the zombies are aware of their state. They alternate between attacking and begging for death. It is a struggle between the disease’s power and the victim’s residual humanity. At any given point, they could be demanding “Come here” or warning “Stay way” or begging “Kill me.” This is unique in zombie myth and lore and separates it from the shuffling, brain-eating corpses that have been more prevalent in past outings. There is also something about mob mentality that enters into it but it’s not really clarified.

The power goes out and food is low. Aidan kills a zombie and stuffs it in his bathroom crawlspace, wedging it shut with a surfboard. (Later, the same surfboard will be seen in two other places before he returns to the bathroom where it somehow had remained.)

Eventually, the timeline catches up to where we started. Just as he is about to kill himself, he spots a woman (Summer Spiro) — clearly alive and healthy — in the building across from his. What follows is probably the sole meet-cute in any zombie movie. And, as a bonus, she is surprisingly well-groomed given the whole end-of-the-world thing going on. (Well, maybe a few split-ends but what can you expect?) They begin to communicate with hand-written signs. She is Eva. Aidan and Eva. He holds up: “U R the 1st person I’ve seen.” The Aidan-Eva/Adam-Eve thing is not exactly subtle.

What ensues is their desire to connect and to be together, and it leads him to explore various ways of getting to her. It is during this foray that he meets Edward (the always intriguing Donald Sutherland). Is he good, bad, or just peculiar? The theme of “You take care of the people you love” comes out in an unusual way. Again, the creators’ approach is different and enriches both the encounter and the narrative.

There is mid-range gore which is not excessive but certainly present. (With this amount of ongoing and unchecked carnage and scattered corpses, there would probably be a lot more rot.) There are relatively few jump-out scares, which speaks well to the filmmakers’ restraint, and a handful of well-staged and tense mini-battles.

Where Alone stumbles the most is on actually understanding who these people are. Aidan offers a few pieces of himself that seem to be counter-indicated by everything around him. Eva is barely given a chance to show any range or depth. Both Posey and Spiro do the best they can, but we only invest in them as they are pretty much the last people on earth.

Alone is not the allegory of the low-budget but ground-breaking Night of the Living Dead. It doesn’t strive for the simultaneously introspective and epic nature of the adaptions of Richard Matheson’s I Am Legend (adapted three times). And it lacks the style and kinetic energy of 28 Days Later. But it does try to do something different. For effort and novelty, let’s give it a B- which is not the worst entry in the genre.

Rated R, Alone is streaming on demand.

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Jerry Seinfeld revisits his best work across five decades of comedy in new book

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

“Is this anything?” is what every comedian says to every other comedian about any new bit. Ideas that come from nowhere and mean nothing. But in the world of stand-up comedy, literal bars of gold. You see that same comedian later and you will be asked, “Did it get anything?” All comedians are slightly amazed when anything works.

— Jerry Seinfeld

Jerry Seinfeld. Photo by Mark Seliger

Is This Anything? (Simon & Schuster) is a wonderful window into the brilliant mind of one of the most successful comedians of the last thirty years. Jerry Seinfeld started out as a stand-up comic, playing clubs on both coasts, before launching to stardom in his eponymous sitcom, Seinfeld, which ran for nine seasons (1989 to 1998). The 180 episodes have been a syndication mainstay, and it is a rare day when you can’t settle down to an episode or three. It was awarded Emmy’s, Golden Globes, and Screen Actors Guild Awards; in 2002, TV Guide named it the greatest television show of all time.

The driving force behind the show was the wit and insight of its star, Jerry Seinfeld. The plot was simple: It followed the mostly minor trials and tribulations of a New York stand-up comic named Jerry and his oddball friends. It became known as the “show about nothing.” But it really was a mirror of Seinfeld’s take on the world; a point of view he had been developing since he entered the comedy scene in the 1970’s.

Seinfeld’s new book is an assemblage of all his material created over the years, broken down by decades. Each section is preceded by a short introduction, and, while they are amusing, they are also introspective. Here, he will use a joke to illustrate a point but mostly he’s giving an intimate access to his process as well as reflecting on that period of his life.

At the outset, he shares his earliest influences: Phil Berger’s book The Last Laugh, about the world of stand-up comedy, and Dustin Hoffman in Lenny, the film based on the stage play about the life of Lenny Bruce. Even at a young age, he marveled: “Comedians seem to hurtle through space and time untethered to anything but the sound of a laugh.”

Even in exploring his own work,Seinfeld  remains unsure. “I still don’t know exactly for sure where jokes come from. I think it’s from some emotional cocktail of boredom, aggression, intense visual acuity and a kind of Silly Putty of the mind that enables you to re-form what you see into what you want it to be.” He also zeroes in on the main challenge. “The real problem of stand-up, of course, is that you must constantly justify why you are the only one talking while a room full of people sit quietly.”

The book records the dozens of jokes that have been part of a four-decade career. It is like visiting old friends, full of ah-hah moments of remembering a particular line or seeing the source for an episode of Seinfeld. (A perfect example is “Dry Cleaning” where he imagines bumping into his dry cleaner wearing his clothes.) It is fortunate that he has kept all his material from the beginning of his career, every idea, every scrap of paper. Even some of his earliest jokes remained in his repertoire twenty and thirty years later. It is a pleasure to read the book and, of course, hear his flawless timing in your mind’s ear.

Seinfeld is unique in his domination of the world of observational humor. (Perhaps the only challenger would be the late George Carlin.) All of the wonderful pieces are here:  dogs and pockets, ruining an appetite, musings on laundry, etc. Some topics are just in passing and others get the epic treatment: milk, coffee, cereal, cars, driving. There are moments of tirade — friends we could do without, other people’s children, the post office. These are contrasted with more existential thoughts, such as in “Northeast Guy.” “TV Flip,” with its refrains, sings almost as a tone poem.  Seinfeld’s ability to anthropomorphize reaches true heights with “Cookies”: “You can almost feel their little chocolate chip eyes on you.”

In “Halloween/Candy,” he traces a child’s whole history of Halloween from costume to trick-or-treating to aging out of it. He also shows that everything with children is “up” — wait up, hold up, shut up, clean up, stay up — while everything with parents is the opposite — calm down, slow down, come down here, sit down, put that down, you are GROUNDED. They’re wry observations but underneath is something much more profound.

It’s not just that his observations are funny; they are also reflections of the truth. His perception of relationships is dead-on. He bridges his dating years into his marriage at 45 and subsequent fatherhood. As he grew, so did the depth of his understanding.

The stories in the sections titled “2000’s” and “The Teens” focus a great deal on marriage and weddings. Seinfeld skillfully compares marriage to “a bit of a chess game … except the board is flowing water, and all the chess pieces are made of … smoke.” He easily shifts to a comparison of marriage as a game show and “you’re always in the lightning round.”

Throughout, the book briefly touches on the milestones: his debut on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson, his television show, and his HBO special, I’m Telling You for the Last Time, in which he retired his material to date. When he decided to return to the stand-up world two years later, it meant that he had to embark on a whole new leg of his career, starting in small clubs, night after night, month after month, to develop new material.

Is This Anything? could simply be looked at as a compendium of Seinfeld’s jokes. But it is more than that. It’s a peek into a brilliant and insightful performer’s inner thoughts, someone who is able to dissect and articulate a unique view of the world. We both get inside his mind as he gets inside ours. The simplicity of a statement like “it’s not hard to not go to the gym” speaks volumes to the listener. He manages to be every man and yet no one is quite like him.

In the end, Seinfeld says he has returned to where he began — like a horse in a race who ends up back at the start. But, unlike the horse, he is where he wants to be.

Is This Anything? offers select but deeper insight into one of the great comedic minds of our time. It presents his fears and his doubts. It shows that success is a combination of perseverance, hard work, and more than a touch of genius. But, ultimately, the book is just very funny. Really, really funny.

Is This Anything? is available in hardcover, ebook, and audio formats at Book Revue in Huntington, Amazon.com and BarnesandNoble.com.

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Parallel Perspective cover

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

‘It was uncanny how we discovered that similar subject matter had attracted our attention, as did our affinity for color and light.  When Ward explained that he changed color, moved things around and added and replaced shapes according to his inner vision, I laughed and replied that that was exactly how I created my images!  Parallels between his painting and my photography continued to reveal themselves as our relationship developed. Pure serendipity … or were we destined to meet?’ — Holly Gordon

The word “celebration” echoes within Parallel Perspectives (City Point Press), and that word — “celebration” — perfectly reflects the work of Holly Gordon and Ward Hooper. The book celebrates the extraordinary joining of an aesthetic. It shows the work of these exceptional artists, but, like in all great art, it is impossible to fully define. The fusion of these talents is alchemical. Striking, beautiful, mesmerizing on their own … but together, something that is harmoniously “more than.”

In her preface to the book, Denise Bibro uses words like “combustible” and “urgency” contrasted with “companionship.”  How these disparate concepts came together is what the Gordon-Hooper connection is about.

Authors Ward Hooper and Holly Gordon

As Peter Pitzele sites in his foreword:  “Far from wishing to mark how different brush is from lens, I think Holly Gordon and Ward Hooper say something about how the two can relate to one another as dancers rather than adversaries.” The idea of unification rather than the conflict is what creates the synergy in their works. He takes this further:  “If one thinks of color metaphorically as having, say, a musical quality, then part of what you ‘hear’ in their work is their harmonies, the color duets, their riffs …”

As a rule, the visual arts — as opposed to the performing arts — are a solo venture. It is an isolating endeavor, even after creation. Here, the creative impulse has found a complementary existence for two exceptional and exceptionally bold artists, and Parallel Perspectives gives insight into its root and growth.

On a personal level, art — and this collaboration — was a lifesaver. Their work brought them together when they were both dealing with challenging life-events. A brief sketch is offered on their individual histories before focusing on their joint ventures.

Hooper, who lives in Northport, was a package designer and design director in New York City. Sketches made on the LIRR grew to bold watercolors, influenced by the “West Coast School” (Brandt, Wood, Kingman, etc.). He painted for many years, winning awards and having his work published. When his wife became ill, he stopped painting to care for her. “My wounds were still open from my wife’s death when Holly walked into my life.”

Gordon was first given a camera at 5 years old, and the photographic passion has stayed with her ever since. The Bay Shore resident studied and created art throughout her entire life. But it was her husband’s sudden death that brought her back more intensely to photography.  “Traveling at every opportunity, I photographed my way throughout the world with no preconceived notions it would lead anywhere except to keep me afloat during this turbulent time.”  In 2001, she began working with a digital camera and this expanded her range of styles.

Gordon and Hooper were brought together by a journalist who had written about them independently but was unaware of their personal struggles. Gordon first saw Hooper’s work — his painting Long Island City — on Facebook and immediately thought of her own Night Lights. She reached out to him to see if he saw a correlation. Thus began dialogue that led to a meeting. “Here were two strangers,” says Hooper “serendipitously brought together who found that within our own individuality and mediums of expression, we had been living, working, and creating in parallel lives.”

Throughout the book, they share artistic as well as personal anecdotes. These include frustrations born of health issues. The mutual support in this unique and intimate relationship is honestly disclosed.

Parallel Perspectives cover

The book offers not just the finished works but the preliminary sketches and photos that would metamorphize into fully realized pieces. This glimpse behind the curtain further enhances the richness of the book’s offerings. Noted is the similarity with the collaborative work of artists Arthur Dove and Helen Torr. Much of this is neatly clarified by Bree Shirvell, who also provides excellent perspective on the mediums and their historical significance. Gordon’s photo-liminalism (creating layers by adding and removing shapes and adjusting opacities) is also explained, along with much of her process.

The pleasure of the book is also in the ability to flip back and forward, tracing certain visual themes. And while seeing art in the context of a show is always satisfying, the tome allows for a more extended perusal that grows with each viewing. As much of the work is of Long Island, there is the additional pleasure of recognizing many of the subjects and seeing the breath-taking transformations. (On a personal note, over the days of reading the book, I found myself returning to about a half a dozen studies that I found particularly moving and inspirational. To know that I can revisit these pictures at will is a further reminder of the power of a book of art.)

One can only hope that their work becomes the subject of a documentary. The added layer of seeing the works as well as the artists in process would be an additional record of this unusual and fascinating story.

Through his or her work, an artist gives a glimpse into thought and soul. There is power in a single image that often hundreds of words cannot match. Here, we are treated to nearly two hundred of them, exquisite in their vivid colors and intriguing invention. Their work is a mutual reflection of life, heart, and mind and Parallel Perspectives celebrates that art.

Distributed by Simon & Schuster, Parallel Perspectives is available at Book Revue in Huntington, Amazon.com and BarnesandNoble.com.

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Jules Willcox in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Magnet Releasing

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Alone could only be a labeled a “new” thriller in that it was just released. Nothing else could be considered new in this predictable and ultimately unsatisfying game of hunter and hunted. John Hyams has directed Mattias Olsson’s by-the-numbers screenplay with standard tropes and cliches.

From the beginning, everything is made to seem ominous. Even the packing of a U-Haul — dresser, chair, bicycle — is made to seem dark. When the protagonist, Jessica Swanson, is unable to take her potted plant, we know we are in dangerous territory. Her first word is “Sorry” — a response to honking horns as she sits at a changed light. “Sorry” doesn’t begin to describe what is ahead for her.

After five minutes of driving, the screen goes black and a spindly “The Road” appears.  This is the first of multiple titles that have been added for apparently no reason other than to give a certain pretension to an otherwise standard horror film.

On “The Road,” she is nearly driven off by a car that slows down, then speeds up, causing a near miss with an oncoming truck. Shortly after, a call to her father reveals that she left her apartment for “a reason.” In the motel, she scrolls through photos on her tablet, showing her with her late husband. Later, in a phone call with her mother, the “reason” is revealed to be six months in the past.

The next morning, the man who tried to run her off the road, introduces himself and apologizes. Everything is done to make him look both benign and frightening. Sandy hair, huge moustache, aviator frames. Chatty and pleasant with his arm in a sling, he’s just asking too many questions. 

Either one of two directions are inevitable.  It will be a game of cat-and-mouse on the highway or she will be abducted. A flat tire is the catalyst for the latter course. He attacks and drugs her. 

Marc Menchaca plays a creepy serial killer in ‘Alone.’ Photo courtesy of Magnet Releasing

When she wakes up, she is locked in an empty basement with morning light streaming through the single, barred window. When he finally enters the room, she begs for her life. She promises if he lets her go; she won’t say anything. His response is an off-hand “Do you think you’re the first one to say that?,” one of the few genuinely chilling moments. 

It is in captivity that we find out her late husband’s fate. The imprisonment doesn’t last long. She escapes and the rest of the movie is spent with the man in pursuit of Jessica.

What is revealed, in a cleverly pedestrian call from home, is that he is not a backwoods recluse but a husband and father with a deadly and perverse secret life. However, his attempts at psychological torture are clumsy and almost laughable. Just past the halfway mark, he is given a great big mess of a monologue that borders on parody.  Better he should have stayed the strong silent type. Well, weird silent type anyway. 

What works is Jessica doesn’t make the classic scream queen decisions. She does everything she can to keep herself safe, including calling 911. She is as resourceful as she can be, brave, and pretty smart.

Jules Willcox is strong as Jessica. Both in action and in stillness, she seems completely connected to her surroundings. She brings both grounding and believability to her performance.

Marc Menchaca is less successful as the man. At first, the “aww, shucks” quality works but his shift into villain is mechanical and uninspired. For a man leading a dual life, one would expect him to be have a intriguing persona.

The film is basically a two-hander.  Anthony Heald, a fine actor in all he does, makes the most of a minor role as a friendly hunter. While it’s just a bit longer than a cameo, it does lend a bit of texture to the extended chase.

So much is played in the dark that it’s shadow and shift and voices. In addition, every sound is amplified, including the placing of a gasoline hose into the tank, the rattle of the car, the creaking of the trees in the wind. The soundtrack provides every emphasis and sting that could possibly be squeezed in.

The movie is not without tension and, overall, it is decently shot. The problem is that it seems interminable. Since there is little character development, it is hard to invest and, in the long run, feels laborious. There is a great deal of filler with wandering through forest and hills, all darkly verdant and overgrown. 

The final confrontation has an interesting twist with a cell phone — but it’s all just too late in coming. Alone is probably better left … alone.

Rated R, Alone is streaming on demand.

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Photo courtesy of Vertical Entertainment

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Robin Williams was a true artistic genius. A comedian and actor unlike any other, his persona graced film, television, and the stage, both stand-up and legitimate. His range of comedic and dramatic roles as well as his voiceover work made him unique even amongst the most versatile performers. Bursting onto the scene with the sitcom Mork & Mindy, he went on to memorable roles in The World According to Garp, Good Morning, Vietnam, Dead Poets Society, Aladdin, Mrs. Doubtfire; and many others.

Now a new documentary by Tylor Norwood, Robin’s Wish, explores the performer’s final days.

On August 11, 2014, the world was shocked by the 63-year-old’s death by suicide. Immediately following this heartbreaking event, speculation as to the cause was rampant. Among the explanations that were discussed included depression hearkening to his long struggle with drug addiction, frustration with what he perceived as the onset of Parkinson’s, and the “sad clown syndrome” often associated with comedians and comedic actors.

Robin Williams

None of these turned out to be correct.  It was revealed that Williams had been suffering from undiagnosed Lewy body dementia.  According to the Mayo Clinic, Lewy body dementia is “… the second most common type of progressive dementia after Alzheimer’s disease dementia. Protein deposits, called Lewy bodies, develop in nerve cells in the brain regions involved in thinking, memory and movement (motor control). Lewy body dementia causes a progressive decline in mental abilities. People with Lewy body dementia may experience visual hallucinations and changes in alertness and attention. Other effects include Parkinson’s disease-like signs and symptoms such as rigid muscles, slow movement and tremors.”

The tragic fact is that Williams had all of these symptoms. He was aware that something was wrong but could not articulate what he was going through, gradually manifesting increasingly odd and startling behaviors. 

Those looking for a documentary that delves into Williams’ life will be disappointed. Little is explored in his earlier career, his meteoric rise to stardom, and his incredible body of work, as well as the darker moments in his journey. There is only the smallest nod towards his addictions  and eventually sobriety. It does share accounts from his time overseas, entertaining the troops and visiting hospitals. This gives a small glimpse into what is most likely a much larger and richer story.

Robin Williams and his third wife Susan Schneider. Photo courtesy of Vertical Entertainment

The film focuses mainly on the last two years of his life, only reaching back to about 2011 and his marriage to his third wife, Susan Schneider, who is the driving force and main storyteller of the film. How they met and the growth of their relationship is offered but little else in his personal or public life prior to this is touched upon.

Much of the emphasis is placed on two of his last projects: the film Night at the Museum: Secret of the Tomb and the television show The Crazy Ones. His colleagues talk with great respect for his work and love for him a person. In retrospect, they all had varying degrees of awareness that something was off, including his bouts of insecurity as well as a new found challenge in learning and retaining lines. It is a tribute to their feelings for Williams that none of this came out during these two processes.

The balance of the film is taken up with alternating between doctors and scientists explaining the nature of the disease and Schneider’s mix of guilt and sadness as she relates his gradual disintegration. Her love for Williams comes through and the importance of telling his story is clearly present. 

The goal of the film is a noble one: It is bringing awareness to a terrible and deadly disease. However, much of it feels padded out. The interviews are repetitive, with people covering the same ground. The individual accounts are broken up as an attempt to make them look more varied and expansive but it doesn’t quite land.   In particular, interviews with Williams’ neighbors have a strange “we knew there was something wrong in the house” quality that seems out of step with the film’s objective. 

In addition to some archival clips, there is an overly generous use of recreative footage that gives the whole piece the look of an exploitive crime recreation or a behind-the-autopsy show. This unnecessary stuffing cheapens the film, which would have benefited from either cutting its already short running time of an hour and a quarter or expanding it to a fuller exploration of the life of an American artist.

Robin’s Wish, while strong in purpose, only makes us yearn for a larger and more complete portrait of a complex and exceptional man.

Not rated, Robin’s Wish is streaming on demand.

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