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My Lunch with Uncle Stevie

February 12, 2011 by pinkpigrulz

Picture the classic Jersey diner. Not one of the ones that tries to make an impression but one of the greasy spoon mom and pop joints. You know the menu-every breakfast item comes with hash browns. Lots of open-faced sandwiches smothered in gravy. Homemade soups.  Now imagine the corner booth with the duct tape covering the cracks in the vinyl. That’s where Uncle Stevie and I will be sitting while we discuss various observations from life. My hope is that we’ll start with comparing stories about our children. This will lead to why I can no longer read Pet Sematary. While all of his stories can give one the heebie-jeebies, what happens to the little boy could happen in real life (not being brought back to life in an Indian burial ground gone bad but being run over by an 18 wheeler) which makes it unreadable now that I am the mother of two small boys. Meanwhile, Cujo is fine. I’m not likely to be trapped by a rabid Saint Bernard at my mechanic’s place of business. He doesn’t even have a dog there. One of the mechanics we used to use always left me with an unsettled feeling. It wasn’t until recently that I realized why…it matched the setting in Cujo. They might have had a Saint Bernard.

After we catch up on the kids, I’d have to do the thank you. Thank you for It. “One for the Road.” Cell. The wonderful short stories. Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption.

The scariest book in my opinion is the novella Apt Pupil. This one haunts me and I can only read it every few years. Each time I read it there are new things to be afraid of. Why? The Reader, the Text and the Poem. I bring new life experiences to it and the world keeps adding new experiences of hate, evil incarnate, to bring to this terrifying tale of the all American boy.  Uncle Stevie is wonderfully talented at creating characters the reader cares about and becomes emotionally invested in. He weaves a story with detail that is real enough to see in the mind’s eye. He captures the creepy nature of the human experience so vividly that one can explore the dark underbelly of existence from a safe distance. Apt Pupil shines a bright light on that underbelly.

Most of his stories also contain hope. None so beautifully as Shawshank (“I hope…”) but readers hope things turn out all right for the characters because they grow to care about them.

I remember seeing Misery at a movie theater while living in Philly. After going through the metal detectors, I bought my goodies and found a seat toward the back in the middle section. I settled in, knowing I was safe enough because the security guard who checked my purse said I could keep my pepper spray, and watched in darkness as Kathy Bates worked her creepiness. As the movie was nearing the end, the audience had really become invested and we were all screaming for James Caan to beat her with the pig (sorry, Kathy, but you were just that good at being bad). You won’t shout at the screen unless you care about the characters.

There are two things about my relationship with Uncle Stevie that some folks think are odd. First, when I can’t sleep, I read from one of the short story collections and it calms me so I can fall asleep. People tell me that when they read Uncle Stevie they can’t fall asleep. I think his stories, particularly his short stories, help me to sleep because I have read them so many times they are like old friends. My copies of Night Shift and Skeleton Crew are well worn and bring me comfort, with the newer collections quickly becoming worn as well. “One for the Road,” “That Feeling, You Can Only Say What It Is in French,” “I Know What You Need,” “The Jaunt,”and “The Mangler” bring warmth to me, make me feel cozy all snuggled up in my bed. Clearly my life is going way better than the characters’ lives so I relax and fall asleep. The only thing that has surprised me is that “Quitters, Inc.” never made me quit. You would think that it would have worked…

The second thing some people don’t understand is why there are a select number of his books on the top of my Uncle Stevie shrine. These are the books I’ve banked. One day he will really retire. One day he won’t write another story. One day he won’t write another word for the public. The books on the top of the shelf are for that day. Then I’ll ration them so I will still have about ten years of discovering new stories and new friends. It could be a sickness…we’re not sure yet.

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My Lunch with Tom Hanks

January 31, 2011 by pinkpigrulz

On the first of many lunches with Tom Hanks, I would have to start with the Toy Story series. Ten years ago it would have started with the Meg Ryan trilogy, but since I’ve become a mother, I finally got sucked into the world of Woody and Buzz.

First, how wonderful to have characters named after a stage of arousal and a stage of intoxication to inspire children. Obviously, those are nods to the parents to give them a chuckle. My husband and I look ahead to when our sons are older and will finally get the joke.  “Yes, when you were younger, Daddy and I had to not laugh when you said you were going to sleep with your Woody and a Buzz.” These are future moments of laughter for our family that we can’t wait to experience.

Like most children who have seen these movies, our sons related to Andy’s sense of play and embraced all of the toys. They have a Toy Story bin. They have some of the actual toys (Woody, Buzz, Slinky Dog, and Mr. & Mrs. Potato Head), but as they are 12 pound actors, they improvised the characters they didn’t have. When they were four and two, they added the “Little Green Men” using these alien-like toys from a happy meal. They didn’t have a “Mr. Spell” so they used another toy that was the same shape and played music when the buttons were pressed. For “RC,” they used a remote control police car till they got a real “RC.” “Rex” was originally played by a T-Rex they already had and was eventually joined by an authentic “Rex.” Hours have passed playing Toy Story. They even asked us to get a recliner so they could send Woody into space like Andy did. We told them to improvise.

And like in the movies, toys have come and gone already in their young lives, but the Toy Story bin never leaves our sons’ rooms. One of them always has it tucked somewhere. “Diego” and “Dora” have been packed away, The Backyardigans are now a closely guarded secret, and The Rubbadubbers went away long ago. Toy Story stays.

I cry every time I watch any of the Toy Story movies. Actually, I cry at any Pixar film (damn them…bloody Pixar making me cry at cartoons…not just quietly misting up, but full out bawling).  The boys are especially fond of TS3 at the moment and became a bit worried today as I cried again watching it. They felt a little better when I clarified they were happy tears, but I think my oldest may have started to understand why TS3 gets me going from the opening scenes.

First, I have those videos of my sons. They’ve heard me say “Pretend I’m not here” and then film them as they play.  They know their rooms are bursting at the seams because it’s harder on me than on them to pack away their toys.  Second, I work at a university. I’m one of the people that welcomes “Andy” every September. I watch as the parents say their goodbyes to their babies’ childhoods. And I know only too soon my sons will be “Andy,” all grown up and thanking their toys for being unconditional friends.

Thus, at my lunch with Tom Hanks, I would thank him for helping to reinvigorate the animated film industry.  I would thank him for creating a character that has taught my sons so many good traits. I would thank him for helping my sons stay young a little bit longer and for creating a touchstone they can return to later when they need to reconnect with their childhoods. I would say thank you for a toy, an action figure and a child’s plaything.

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My lunch with Kenneth Branagh

January 15, 2011 by pinkpigrulz

If I could have lunch with Kenneth Branagh, the first topic of conversation would be too difficult to pick. However, I do know that early on, perhaps after ordering drinks, we would need to cover the critics who disliked Love’s Labour’s Lost because they did not believe those four men would break out into song and dance. In my home we do break out into song and dance on quite a regular basis, however that is not the critical problem with these particular reviews. The critical problem is how these critics ever got hired when suspension of disbelief is one of the cornerstones of theatrical devices?

While it is more common for folks to sing and dance during their day than many people realize, I grant you that not everyone does. Still anything that happens in a play, a film, a television show, or a video game requires some suspension of disbelief. One has to give into the world they’ve entered through their entertainment choice and surrender to the world of the director. If Kenneth wants us to believe these four chaps would sing and dance, it is our obligation, our pleasure really, to believe it. I’ll give you that I had reservations about Matthew Lillard (so fabulous as Shaggy) as to whether or not he’d pull it off, but he did. If Kenneth and the choreographer could get Lillard to move as gracefully as he did, the suspension of disbelief becomes even easier to accomplish.

The Kelly/Astaire style dancing of Adrian Lester brings back the glory days of the musical, particularly as he dances around the room in that one scene. The combination of his dancing, the choreography and the directing make that scene such an image of fluidity and beauty. The variety of dancing and music chosen touched upon so many of the glorious musicals that it brought together three of my favorite things: musicals, Shakespeare and Branagh.

Am I biased toward Kenneth’s work? Of course, I find the majority of it wonderful and watch it repeatedly. Those critics need to go to back college and take a refresher course on Theater Appreciation to remember the standard devices employed since the days of Sophocles to entertain the masses. While the film will be remembered as one earning, at best, mixed reviews (and those reviews being the weapon that took the life out of a three picture deal at Miramax), those who love the same three things I do happily suspend our disbelief when entering the world of Love’s Labour’s Lost.

Having covered that topic, Kenneth and I would order appetizers and continue the conversation.

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