And So it Goes

Dear Grant Cramer, Executive Producer,

We get older. We learn and develop. We try, we fail, we try again. Our successes spring from lessons learned. Eventually, we find a very personal equilibrium between risk vs. reward. If one observes and accounts for life’s early attempts to communicate with the wider world, one can trace the path that led to here, now. So when I see that you began your career with works like New Year’s Evil and Killer Klowns from Outer Space, it’s perfectly obvious that…wait, what? Really? This? Comfort food for retirees?

And So It Goes does not belong in that previous life of yours. Written by Mark Andrus*, it documents the attempts of an aged Michael Douglas to find the sort of equilibrium I referred to above. A cantankerous grump, he is forced to reevaluate his life choices and priorities when his ne’er-do-well son appears out of the blue and asks him to take care of a granddaughter he didn’t’ know while he serves his prison sentence. Of course, his sympathetic lady neighbor gets involved. Of course she’s played by Dian Keaton…and so it goes, really. You know the story before you’ve even seen it. Klowns may have packed all its originality into its title, but in this, your latest film, the plot, characters, and jokes are already buried in the brain of anyone over the age of eight (and if you are that young, please close this page, because this is not an appropriate site for you, at all). For the intended audience of 60+, this is all very, very familiar territory.

But just because it’s unoriginal doesn’t mean that it’s bad. It is proven repeatedly that any familiar story is worth doing again if it’s done well. All the necessary pieces are here, and the zeitgeisty marketing strategy of appealing to a swelling** population of late-stage Viagra romantics offers some interesting possibilities. But they don’t really come together. Everyone seems to be playing it way too safe, perhaps because of the risks inherent in producing and distributing with such a small studio. I’m suspicious of Andrus and Reiner, though. There are some nice moments of emotional connections, and some clever—even edgy—dialogue. Frances Sternhagen gets some of the best lines, which makes me think that, for the main cast and the main plotline, the moviemakers were pulling their punches.

So how did you get involved in this saccharine disappointment? Klowns was much more fun and clever and enjoyable than it should have been. You’ve seen people weave cotton candy and potato peels into gold! Have you strayed from your early path? What am I missing…?

…OH MY CHRIST!

Well, perhaps I’m still right. It’s all part of a larger, circular arc. You can’t see the whole picture by looking at one piece. There are myriad different ways to give up and cash in.

Going, going, gone,

Cory

Status: Return to Sender (2 / 5)

*Andrus seems to specialize in multi-monosyllable movie titles that are hard to remember and have almost nothing to do with their movies, like As Good As It Gets and Life As A House. Did they come out of a title generator? How about Good Like It’s Life? Or Go to the Room? In either, a _____ man overcomes a hurtful loss with the help of _____ family member, his_____ ______, and some _____ neighbors. Your options are: old, minority, love interest, artistic, cantankerous, emotional, quirky.

**Yeah, in numbers, thank you very much.

Behind the Candelabra

Dear Greg Fusak, Best Boy,

Liberace was, by all accounts, a fabulous man. Fab-u-lous. A stage diva of the highest order; an incredibly gifted pianist, an absurdly lavish dresser, and a proudly flamboyant performer. For a period, he was also the world’s highest paid entertainer. But like the subjects of all great American tragedies, that wasn’t enough. He was missing something. A lover. A friend. A son. All of which he found in Scott Thornson – a simple Massachusetts’s animal lover who became the “best boy” to the brightest lightshow in the Vegas.

You know what I’m talking about. 

To the outside world, “best boy” is a pretty funny title. Not unlike the “best man” at a wedding, the description of “best” is actually second to one other. In your case, it’s the second-in-command of the lighting department, the person in charge of coordinating people and schedules. A similar relationship, in some ways, that Scott has with Liberace. And for both of you, I imagine it’s sometimes hard never being in the spotlight – especially when you’re always so close to the stage.

Matt Damon, looking more boyish at age 42 than he ever has, plays the doe-eyed Scott who meets Liberace (a fab-u-lous Michael Douglas) backstage at a Vegas show in 1977. From there, an unconventional relationship blossoms outside the prying eyes of a deeply homophobic world. They’re also contending with a major age difference, and a confusing professional relationship – Scott being bisexual and Liberace being sexually demanding. But the actors do a great job of stripping away the extravagance and focusing on the simple, relatable experience of people initially swooning over one another and then growing apart. Just with a lot more drugs and plastic surgery.

This is a film that Hollywood studios believed couldn’t find a theatrical audience and was therefore produced for television by HBO, after premiering at Cannes. Such a grand stage seems befitting of the man who inspired the film, I’m sure you’d agree. Even if Steven Soderberg’s staid direction never indulges in all of the lightshow around the candelabra the way I’m sure you would have liked.  Instead he’s more interested in the shadows and quiet nooks of the story.

Was it the best approach? Maybe not, but then again, that depends on your definition of best. 

Sincerely,

Christopher

Status: Air Mail (3.5/5)