Billy Elliot on Broadway

As much fun as I'd been having this past week stalking Brandi Carlile, driving around the New York suburbs, taking my grandparents to Costco, and collecting bagels and apple pies from my old stomping grounds, I felt as though something was remiss on this trip. It was something that I couldn't quite put my finger on until I got on a train to Manhattan, got off in midtown, and hit Broadway. Though seeing my favorite rock star do her thing in my hometown was certainly a trip, I was starting to feel like a traitor to Broadway. After all, in my world, usually the entire reason to come to New York is to support theater and feed my showtunes habit. I was already starting to feel the pangs of guilt and longing on Tuesday, the day that my friends in Chicago and I were supposed to go see the national tour of Rent, but I found myself on the outskirts of Manhattan, watching the farthest thing from a Broadway musical imaginable. Yesterday, I felt like I had finally returned to reality when I ended up wandering around Times Square, listening to the strains of showtunes pouring out of storefronts, and deciding which musical to check out that night. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to choose from, since Broadway has taken a huge downturn in these times of economic crisis. I forged on anyway, and ended up with a balcony seat to Billy Elliot. I was wary of this production at first, since I'm not usually a huge fan of non-musical movies being made into Broadway musicals, but the reviews for this from friends and critics alike have been positive, and I love musicals with lots of dancing, so I decided to check it out. Sitting in a Broadway theater, hovering over an orchestra pit, listening to the two old biddies sitting next to me kvetch, and watching a 12 year old ballet prodigy on stage was definitely a welcome change of pace from the rest of the week.

Billy Elliot The Musical is a fairly faithful adaptation of the film, both versions directed by Stephen Daldry. It's a story that's ripe for Broadway – a 12 year old boy with a dead mother is stuck in a dying mining town in Northern England, during the mining strike in the mid-80's. One day, while trying to recover from his usually disastrous boxing lesson, he finds his way into a ballet class and a mentor/surrogate mother named Mrs. Wilkinson. Ballet, it turns out, is his ticket out of working class minutiae, but first he has his striking family to contend with before he can make it to the auditions for the Royal Ballet. With music by Elton John, it turns out to be the perfect theme for the Broadway audience – an audience who can surely appreciate the desire to trade working class ideals for high brow culture in the big city, as well as the running "celebrate your individuality" theme.

There are definitely some changes in the pacing in order to fit Billy Elliot into his new medium – where the film rollicks along gently to a satisfying ending, the stage production hits a few snags along the way. Compared to the film, the stage play looks a bit clunkier, and though the musical numbers are mostly well worth the time it takes to sit through them, they do occasionally seem misplaced or misdirected. In the film version, when Billy accidentally stumbles upon his first ballet class, he does just that. In the stage version, he stumbles upon a hot mess of pre-teen ballerinas doing a silly dance number, an awkward tribute to musicals past that just misses the mark. They're led by the shrewd Mrs. Wilkinson, who becomes an unwitting mentor to Billy, but in this number, resembled an even shriller version of Miss Hanigan. That one number, along with the sound issues in the opening number were enough to make me worry for the rest of the production. Thankfully, though, the cast and the script recover quickly, and it only gets better from there.

As can be expected from a musical about a dancer, the choreography was probably the best part. Dance numbers ranged in style from ballet, to modern, to tap combined with Irish step dance. For a musical about ballet, Billy Elliot sure did have a lot of tap numbers, but they work to the show's advantage, in a rare moment of symbolism through dance that's not seen much on Broadway anymore. While Billy is pliè-ing his heart out in ballet class, his father and brother are facing a violent and chaotic strike at the coal mine they're trying to save. The raucousness of the tap numbers performed by the miners served to symbolize the chaotic nature of life in this mining town, and it provides a good contrast to the soft music and tutus of the ballet world that Billy lives in. Plus, the last time I saw this many tap numbers on Broadway was in 42^nd Street, so it was refreshing to see a more contemporary use of the genre. At the beginning of the show, seeing the tough-guy miners break into a tap number was jarring, but it served its purpose until the very end, when all hell breaks loose in the unnecessary and silly dance-break finale.

Overall, this show does exactly what a dance musical should: furthers the story through dance, making the choreography the most expressive part of the show. Everything culminates in the second act, in a dream ballet no doubt inspired by the ones invented by Agnes DeMille for Oklahoma and Carousel. It's a pas de deux between Billy and his older self, and I will admit that when the stage cleared, revealing a cloud of smoke and the two dancers, I was a little worried. But by the middle of the piece, the strains of Swan Lake start to escalate, the dancing gets more impassioned, and we're amazed that a 12 year old can dance with so much maturity and earnestness. Unlike other musicals starring precocious children, the casting agents over at Billy Elliot managed to find pre-teen boys who can dance, act and sing with a maturity level way beyond their years. What results is a compelling and complex main character, and you forget that you're watching a 6^th grader on stage.

When the show ended, and the silly production number at the end finally dissipated, we were reminded that it is, once again, the time of year for the Broadway Cares fundraiser. I'm only mentioning this because I'm a huge sucker for it – the ending of the show, though emotional, was marred for me by the dance number I disliked; but what really moved me at the end of the show were the Broadway Cares speeches. Broadway Cares is a nonprofit formed by members of Actors' Equity to raise money for people with AIDS. It was originally started in the mid-80's as a call to action for a community of performers who were losing friends right and left, and not getting recognition from the press about it. It's been around ever since I was old enough to attend Broadway shows, so to me, it's always just been a given part of going to the theater. It just moves me because it shows that even in the entertainment industry, where people can be ruthless, competitive, divas, etc., Equity has managed to band together on something and form a community around a tragedy that affects them all personally.

Brandi Carlile, on an acoustic tour around the country, never ceases to amaze

As it happens, I'm visiting family/vacationing in New York City this week, which serendipitously coincides with the East Coast leg of Brandi Carlile's current concert tour. As a result, I've spent many hours this week attending her shows, and have one more coming up this weekend. As usual, I really don't know what to say about the shows I've been to so far, because when I talk about Brandi, I turn into Barney Stinson and insert an "awesome" into every sentence. What follows is about the closest thing you'll get from me to a Brandi Carlile concert review.

She's on an acoustic tour with her band, which is fun because we get to hear new songs, ones she hasn't played in a while, and versions of her old ones which we haven't heard before. Additionally, her repertoire and range of motion has become vast enough to allow her to change up the set list from night to night, always keeping the show fresh and lively. It's really cool to hear some of the newer ones stripped down to just an acoustic guitar, and she's got one new one where Phil plays the ukulele and they all sing into one mic.

In case you've just tuned in to my blog, Brandi Carlile is a singer-songwriter who plays folk/pop/rock/country/etc. Her backup singers and band mates are Tim and Phil Hanseroth, twin brothers extraordinaire. She also has a cellist named Josh, who is almost as dreamy as Brandi. She plays a mean acoustic guitar, and looks really good doing it. Sometimes she plays electric guitar (though not on this tour), and looks even better doing that. She's learning to play piano, but (shh! don't tell her I said this), is adorably not very good at it.

I've always loved rock concerts, and I've always had my favorites of people I like to see play, or musicals I like to see over and over again, that sort of thing. But I have never before been a fan of an artist who gives such a dynamic performance, that there's never a moment during the show where I tune out, or think, "I don't like this song," or get bored. Not that I love every one of her songs, but she has such an interesting voice, that even if I'm not too fond of the melody, I still love to hear her sing it. Case in point: when her opener, Gregory Alan Isakov, took the stage, I was underwhelmed. His songs were fine, but his stage presence needed some work. However, the other night in Tarrytown, when Brandi did a bit with Gregory where she tried to sing some of his songs to see if she could get them right, they sounded awesome. I was engaged in the songs immediately, but only when Brandi herself sang them.

Her voice is ethereal, raw, and sweet all at the same time. She can cover Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline, Elton John, Radiohead and the Beatles, all with the same adept earnestness. I really don't know how to describe it, since I'm mostly tone deaf, but she's got that raspy thing that I love in all of my favorite singers, but can also sing amazingly high notes, and can yodel. Yes, she yodels. It's ridiculous. She has one of those voices where she could sing the phone book and make it compelling. Before I saw her play, her CDs were the ones I fell asleep to, because her voice has such a soothing quality to it. Now, I listen to live bootlegs of hers when I feel stressed or anxious and need to calm down.

These acoustic shows feature all of our favorites from her first 2 albums (the 3rd is due out in the fall), plus some new ones from the upcoming release, and some covers - a few which we already love, and some new ones. So far, the New York contingent of her tour has covered Long Island and Westchester, and this coming weekend she'll play to a sold out crowd in Manhattan. Highlights so far have included a cover of "I've Just Seen a Face," with a cameo appearance by Melissa Ferrick in Long Island; A new song called "Dreams," which she's been playing on the road for a while - it's a raw and passionate song about, well, dreams, and it's more intimate than what she usually plays, so watching it is a rare treat; A resurrected old song called "Over You," which she says "haunts her dreams" because she had buried it years ago and then ended up putting it on the new album, and her mother hates it because it's so angry; A cover of "Let it Be," with Brandi on piano and each of the twins singing a verse; A couple of verses of Johnny Cash's "Jackson" before she launches into her famous cover of "Folsom Prison Blues"; Closing the show with "Hallelujah," which she hasn't done in a while, but I'm glad it's back.

Check out "Let it Be" and "Dreams":





She killed in Long Island, and while I felt the acoustics in the Tarrytown Music Hall were not as good as they should be, and the energy level of both the crowd and Brandi, et al was not as high as it should have been, she amazed us at that show as well. This tour involves playing smaller venues, with a scaled back set and not as much gear, which allows her time to do signings and meet and greets after every show. If we didn't love her enough already, her willingness to meet fans, learn people's names, sign every bit of merch and stolen set lists, and be completely charming while doing it just seals the deal. And honestly, doing the signings is just good business sense - it's a really good way to sell merch.

Since I'm attending three Brandi shows this week, I'm finding myself running into the same people at all of the shows. I've met some of the fan club members before (all frequent participants in the discussion boards at againtoday.com, a fan-run website devoted to all things Brandi Carlile), and really enjoyed hanging out with old acquaintances as well as meeting new ones. Let me tell you, say what you will about internet fandoms and the like, but those people really know what they're doing when it comes to getting autographs and memorabilia, and just making the best out of every performance. During both of the shows I've been to this week, I collected my share of dust-collecting memorabilia, got it all signed, and said my share of really stupid, inappropriately fannish things to Brandi while doing it.

Don't get me wrong, though - the performances are still the best part. To be honest, while I do fall for the glamour of it every time, I find that meeting Brandi, saying inappropriate things, trying to be her buddy or whatever it is I'm doing... it kind of takes away from the experience a little bit. I like my rock stars to be, well, rock stars. They are gods and goddesses (well, in my case, mostly goddesses) of the stage and shiny lights, if you will. They're cowboys, on steel horses they ride. (Sorry, I had to.) I feel like after enough of these meet and greets, it will be like watching your friend at her recital. (It would be a damn good recital at that, but still.) I hate to admit it, but shaking her hand too many times may take away a little bit from the fantasy that is watching her make that face and do that thing with her voice when she plays "Dreams." It's more fun to wonder about what she's like than to actually know what she's like. Not because she's not lovely, but because wondering what she's like is kind of the point of her being a rock star. Besides, aside from overcompensating by saying inappropriate things, the only thing I can ever think to say to her is "you're amazing." Like she doesn't already know that. But, while I later question the wisdom of always being in the autograph line, I do fall for it every time... it simply cannot be helped.

Disclaimer: All of the photos and videos in this post were taken by me. Please excuse their shoddiness.

“I loved you once…”

I know that judging from that one line, one would be tempted to write this week's Grey's Anatomy off as just another of their ill-conceived feats of soap operatic melodrama. However, despite the fact that Izzie has a fatal disease of the "woe is me" variety, which makes her hallucinate sex with her long-dead fiancé; and despite the fact that George never has any lines; and despite the fact that Callie's new love interest is neither loving nor interesting… this episode was actually quite moving. Just in time for the end of sweeps, Grey's was almost back to true form tonight, and this episode served as the payoff for many, many storylines that seemed to be going nowhere this season. The dialogue was (mostly) sharp (we'll get back to that line in the title later), everybody acted in character, and I actually cared about what happened to the gang again.

The best part of this episode was the way that, as contrived as it was, Izzie's debilitating disease served as a jumping off point for emotional explorations and breakthroughs for everybody except Izzie. How ironic and awesome that after all of Katharine Heigl's alleged complaining about not being given juicy material, she finally got some – but it only served to showcase the talents of her frequently underused costars. Izzie's impending brain surgery forced Derek to face his demons and put his medical career back on track, not to mention his long-awaited proposal to Meredith, in the only way befitting of this couple: in the elevator, surrounded by brain scan images. For once, Grey's it couple were able to get past all the phony smarminess disguised as charm, and in result they were, well, charming. It also inspired some much needed soul searching from Callie, who apologized to the universe for wishing Izzie dead.

Perhaps the most moving performances came from Izzie's friends, the original ensemble of this show, which is exactly the way it should be. Meredith, Cristina, George and Alex were all too afraid to go visit Izzie before her surgery, each with their own neurotic hang-ups. This led to some awesome motherly bonding between Izzie and Bailey, reminding the audience who the true adults are at Seattle Grace. Most importantly though, Izzie's condition led to the Karev breakdown we've all been holding our breath for, and fittingly, it was Alex who also provided the weekly "introspective" voice over in this episode.

When the Chief suggested that Karev donate his sperm in order to fertilize Izzie's harvested eggs, we began to see him unravel. After many awkward conversations and fun plays on words with the Chief, it was Meredith who finally got Alex to talk. I've always appreciated the relationship between Meredith and Alex, even though it's usually developed in hardly noticeable subtext. They seem to have an unspoken understanding about the fact that they're both so messed up that they are unwitting kindred spirits. Alex began to break down, tears forming in his eyes, and he uttered one of the best lines of the episode (I'm paraphrasing, because I don't have the advantage of Tivo this week): "She said she was seeing ghosts… I'm so used to all the freaky chicks I date, I didn't even think about it. And I'm a doctor." It was a rare moment of vulnerability for Alex, an inspired performance from Justin Chambers, and a great combination of humor and sadness from the writers. Better yet, the entire incident paid off wonderfully at the end of the episode when Alex finally got over his fear and got into bed with a recovering Izzie, and in true Alex form, said, "I spooged into a cup for you today," to which she replied, "Thanks?"

Meanwhile, over in subplot land, Owen's PTSD finally hit a breaking point for Cristina, when she awoke to Owen's hands around her neck during one of his nightmares. Callie called Meredith in shrieking terror, who dutifully came over and locked herself in the bathroom with Cristina. Imagine Meredith's horror when Cristina let Owen in to the bathroom fortress, and instead of breaking up with him, gave him a hug. Another powerful scene in this episode came when Meredith and Callie spotted Owen approaching Cristina from down the hall, and both of them jumped in front of her as a human shield. We already know that Meredith is Cristina's person, but it's moments like this that shed light on friendships like the one between Callie and Cristina – we know it's there, but thanks to the writers' sly layering, we're not really sure how it happened. Despite the warnings from both Meredith and Callie, Cristina tried her hardest to stay with Owen, until she too hit her breaking point, when she was too afraid to fall asleep with him next to her. And in another serendipitous Grey's moment, Meredith got engaged at the exact same moment as Cristina ended a relationship.

Despite all of the great moments in this episode, the show does still have some ground to cover before it's completely back on track. There were definitely some moments still reminiscent of the mid-season slump this show seemed to have gone through. I loved the fact that Izzie's near death experience provided some closure for Callie and George, but when their conversation devolved into Callie saying things like, "I loved you once…" I started to cringe. I know that was only a small part of a much larger scene, but it's catch phrases like that, the ones that sound like Celine Dion song titles, which make me tune out and wonder what the heck happened to people like Erica Hahn. Speaking of which, how can the writers/network execs/whomever claim that Erica had to go because she was boring, and then replace her with this other chick whose name I can't even remember that's how boring she is. I get that Callie's relationship with Arizona (really, with that name?) is kind of doing that slow burn in the background thing (as is typical/necessary for most TV lesbians), but the scenes with the two of them dancing in the living room and waxing philosophical in the hospital chapel just did not ring true for me. From the little that we know about Arizona, it seems as though she's meant to be the complete opposite of Erica, personality-wise. Yet Callie seems to have exactly the same type of relationship with her. It's frustrating that in a season which started out with Callie exploring the, um, ins and outs of her feelings towards women, what we're left with at the end of it is that she apparently likes blondes. This show has gone through so many extra characters and guest stars this season, without finding ones that stick, that it just adds to the feeling that the stories are going nowhere. (What was the deal with the bitchy oncologist taking care of Izzie, anyway?)

I would expect nothing less than over-the-top from Shonda and co. to cap off the season, but let's hope that the remaining episodes stay within the realm of "quotable", and don't devolve back into "forgettable" again.

In other medical show news, tonight's episode of ER was completely useless. Why waste that hour when you only have 3 left? This show baffles me. I also still don't understand how Ray is walking, since, to the best of my recollection, the last time we saw him, he had no legs.

And yes, I am capable of watching and writing about TV on days other than Thursday. Stay tuned.

Thursday night TV: Old school style.

Previously on ER: Nobody watched it for ten years.

Carter needs a kidney transplant. Some chick needs a heart transplant. She has a cute moppet daughter. Neela and Sam go to Seattle (convenient) to pick up this heart, and whaddayaknow, it resides inside a little boy in Doug Ross's... clinic? hospital? it's unclear (or I'm not paying attention... who knows). Carol Hathaway works there too, but in some kind of admin capacity. She wears suits and a name badge instead of scrubs, that's how we know she's not a doctor. Or at least I don't think she is.

Also conveniently, there's a kidney there too that's also going to, surprise, Chicago, so Neela and Sam pick that up as well. They know it's going to Northwestern in Chicago, but somehow no one figures out that it's going to Carter. The little boy's grandmother is played by Susan Sarandon, but no one knows why. So the kid dies, and Clooney and Hathaway convince Sarandon to donate the heart. She cries, they cry, it's all very boring. This takes about 45 minutes of the episode. Nobody cares.

Meanwhile, Carter is in a hospital bed with skinny legs and no pants, and is inexplicably lying on top of the blanket, but complaining that he's cold. In walks one Peter Benton, who is now on staff at Northwestern, but has somehow just discovered that Carter is there, even though he's been there for what is presumably a few days. Also, Carter has been supposedly tooling around Chicago for a few weeks now, and somehow these two haven't run into each other yet. They chat it up for a while, Carter vaguely tells us that he and Kem are some kind of separated, because apparently Thandie Newton is too good for the er now, even though I'm not really sure what she's actually done since she was on ER. Benton is apparently still married to? dating? the annoying actress with the curly hair, and Reese is 13. (And the Doug/Carol kids have a spelling test. But more on that in a few.)

Back in Seattle, Ross wanders into the waiting area thingy where Neela and Sam are hanging out, and asks them where they work. The three of them have a really boring, awkward exchange that goes something like this:

Ross: I did my residency at County.
Neela: Oh.
Ross: Does Kerry Weaver still work there?
Neela: No, she left a few years ago. (See, now a fun Kerry Weaver anecdote would have been well placed here)
Ross: How about Susan Lewis?
Sam shakes her head.
Ross: how about Peter Benton?
Sam shakes her head.
Neela: Do you know Abby Lockhart?
Clooney shakes his head. (And actually, he would have a connection to Abby because she delivered the twins. But whatever.)

And so on. Seriously, this was the actual dialogue. How could they possibly not have even been able to come up with fun stories to tell about the old doctors? All they could think of was to name people? Moving on. He bumps into Carol in the hallway, where they chat about Sarandon, and then Carol tells him that the kids have a spelling test, and that the casting department was too lazy and cheap to cast 2 ten year old girls, so they are therefore invisible.

Sam and Neela miss their plane (I don't know) and end up on a tour plane with a reggae band. I don't know.

Back at the ranch, some doctors rush into Carter's room and start putting him on a stretcher. They found him a kidney and it's on its way. Benton follows the surgeons into the OR. How come the OR's on this show look nothing like the OR's on Grey's Anatomy? Benton acts obnoxious and dad-like, hovering over the surgery and annoying the surgical team. Carter gets a new kidney, which we get to look at way too many times, and the chick with the cute kid gets a new heart. Both surgeries are directed in such a slow pace that I start to be confused about which show I'm watching. I half expect a Brandi Carlile song to start playing while George Clooney waxes poetic about gooey organs.

Carter's in recovery. He wakes up and is immediately alert enough to push the medication button and have a whole conversation with Benton, who's still hovering. They chat about their wives or some shit. Carter is also alert and lucid enough to call Kem on his cell phone, which he's using in the ICU or wherever he is that has a bunch of monitors that are definitely not, like, affected by cell phone usage or anything.

Carol and Doug are in bed. Her phone rings. She picks it up. I'm not kidding. It's Anthony Edwards. He wants to know why some dude named Denny keeps asking him about his brain tumor, and how to get cheap flights to Hawaii. That time, I was kidding. It's someone from the hospital? clinic? wherever it is they work, telling her that the heart transplant went well. Oh, and the kidney went to... some doctor. They profess their love for each other, and we fade to black.

"Some doctor"? Really, ER? Nowhere in there could you have worked in that Doug and Carol knew that Carter was sick? In all of that name dropping business, his name didn't come up? For serious? Come on. What is the point of bringing back old characters if they're not all going to interact with each other? Yes, I'm looking at you too, L Word. (Hey! Is that Marina I see on that TV screen??) Sorry, got distracted there for a minute.

And what was the point of bringing on a high profile movie star like Sarandon, just to give her a random storyline that no one cares about? Why create new, one off stories for old characters who are just visiting, when we all know full well that the audience cares much more about reminiscing?

Next week, Neela leaves to go... somewhere, it's also unclear. But, hey! That was Maura Tierney in the preview! Now, wouldn't it have been fun if Tierney and Margulies AND Luka were in the SAME episode?? Also, if everybody dies/leaves/disappears/reappears now, what's going to happen in the series finale? Rory Gilmore is going to be the only character left (no, seriously, Alexis Bledel is guest starring), and she's not even supposed to be on this show.

My Life Would Suck Without Kelly Clarkson

As anyone who reads anything I write with any regularity knows, I am usually really anti-pop music. I never listen to the radio, especially not the top 40 stations, I think Ryan Seacrest is a really big tool, and the only reason I know who the Jonas Brothers are is because I watch Chelsea Lately.

Obviously, I read my Entertainment Weekly and watch Chelsea, so I'm not totally out of the loop... but my usual answer when someone tries to get me to listen to anything that's been on the Billboard charts lately is to start singing showtunes at the top of my lungs.

However, I have one pop music confession to make, and I'm sick of feeling ashamed of it: I totally love Kelly Clarkson. Now, I have not watched American Idol for one day of my entire life, but I could never stop singing "A Moment Like This"; "Since U Been Gone" is one of the best songs to sing along to, and is also a really good crowd pick me up at weddings and other occasions, despite its angry conceit; "Breakaway" makes you feel 15 again; and "Never Again," despite what the critics think, was a great angry girl anthem.

Now that she's got a new album about to be released, I find myself listening to the radio again, because "My Life Would Suck Without You" is a really fun song. Say what you want about pop music, American Idol, and the like, but you have to admit that every once in a while, a song with straightforward, slightly grammatically incorrect lyrics is really fun to sing along to. I suspect that with its anthemic, retro-Madonna sound, its probably already a huge hit at both gay bars and bar mitzvahs.

"Cuz we belong together now
Forever united here somehow
You got a piece of me
And honestly
My life would suck without you"

I know its trendy to only like indie bands, and pop music is usually relegated to teenagers. But I gotta admit, I have a lot of respect for the girl. She managed to come out of AI alive, and is now on her fourth? fifth? studio album, with most of them selling astronomically well. Her career isn't going anywhere, and neither are her brain cells - as far as we know, she's not in rehab, in a feud with any family members, pregnant, or missing any essential clothing when she leaves the house. The only time I see her in the news is when the story has something to do with her career (as a singer, not a reality star, homemade porn star, or pretend actress). Plus, she can actually sing.

The album comes out on Tuesday... whether the rest of the songs are as much fun remains to be seen, but perhaps the one will be enough for a while.

On "Grey's Anatomy" and its disappearing characters

According to Michael Ausiello in his EW column, Katherine Heigl and TR Knight are both trying to get out of their contracts at the end of the season.

This made me think about what has gone wrong over there at Grey's, and this is what I've come up with: stop rotating around the cast members! In it's inception, Grey's was an ensemble drama, and without a doubt, the best part (and the entire point) of the first season was the friendship between the five interns. Addison was a welcome addition, and Callie provided a semi interesting foil for George. Otherwise... stop adding cast members! Once they messed with that ensemble is when the show really started to go downhill and veer off its course. And now, two of the original cast members are so disappointed with the fact that they're being ignored, that they want to quit.

Perhaps the solution to their problem of original cast members leaving and new ones not lasting is that they need to stop trying to add new ones, especially "quirky" ones. Give the show back its heart, and then you can give the characters love interests, if you must.

Enterainment Weekly on modern chick flicks

Lisa Schwarzbaum totally says it better than I can, but I thought that since her recent feature in EW was all about my namesake, it was worth a mention here.

I couldn't find a link to it on the website, but in last week's print issue of EW, Lisa Schwarzbaum wrote a feature about the state of modern "chick flicks."

I pretty much agreed with her that women grasped onto these movies in the first place because they featured smart, interesting women who we wanted to be like. They had a professional goal, or were genuinely looking for love and friendship, or had strong ties to their families, or were charmingly clumsy in ways we could relate to. Nowadays, she says, movies like Bride Wars, Shopaholic, He's Just..., etc., are making women shallower than ever, and turning them into creatures that we can't relate to anymore, because no women are actually like that.

I liked her take, and thought it was an interesting assessment.

Bye, network TV lesbians... we'll miss you!

Here's an article from the LA Times which sums up perfectly how I feel about this week's episode of Grey's Anatomy:

http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/la-et-greys8-2008nov08,0,2268544.story

It's so disheartening that on the very same day that California voted to ban gay marriage, a sympathetic, beautiful, and interesting lesbian character was inexplicable written off of a highly rated, beloved network TV show. I'm worried about where our culture is going in terms of pop culture visibility for gays and lesbians, and whether or not we're again going to see the kind of ad-pulling and backlash that happened when Ellen came out.

As the writer of this article says, it seems as though "Will & Grace" had ushered in a new era for television sitcoms and dramas, perhaps opening doors to a television world where gay people actually exist. And though that worked for a while, it only worked in one episode doses, and what we were left with was pay-cable soaps like "Queer as Folk" and "The L Word." I'll venture to say that isn't enough, especially since my idea of a quality television drama doesn't usually involve soft-core porn.

As more and more interviews with Smith herself as well as the producers of the show come in, it seems increasingly clear that this decisions really did come from ABC, and not Rhimes. I was hoping that we'd find out (not that it's really our business, but hey, what the hell) that Smith was indeed fired for forgetting her lines or something, because at least that would give me some hope for the future of TV lesbians, and for the future of Callie on my beloved show.

Rhimes' statement that they still have Callie as the resident lesbian on the show doesn't help, because if ABC won't let them show a realistic sexual relationships between two women, then Callie will just become even more sad than she already is. In further discouraging news, "Ugly Betty"'s resident tranny is gone due to Rebecca Romijn's pregnancy (which isn't really ABC's doing, but we'll see if she comes back), and they also aired an episode of "Brothers and Sisters" with a Prop 8 storyline a week AFTER election day.

I've loved Grey's since the beginning, because I love these characters. I grasped onto it even more this season, because Callie and Erica's relationship not only revived a flailing show, but it also introduced a fun new character, and provided something new for me to relate to. Perhaps Erica wasn't the most popular new character, but for me, she was a refreshing addition to the show, and it was made all the better when she became the woman to bring some honesty to her relationship with Callie.

I'll keep watching Grey's Anatomy, because once I'm loyal to a show, I don't give up so easily. I loved the show before they had lesbian characters, and I will love it after - it doesn't make or break the show, in all honesty. But I may just be a little sadder every time I see Callie the lonely, confused, newly out bisexual.

Abby Lockhart saves the world on her last day in the "ER"!

A few weeks ago, my mom was very graciously helping me get through my wisdom teeth surgery, and I forced her to sit through several episodes of "Grey's Anatomy." About an hour into our marathon, she said, in complete sincerity, "What's the difference between this and ER?"

Somehow, I couldn't really explain why or how they're different. I mean, they're both medical dramas. They both feature young, good looking casts who have inordinate amounts of time for social lives. They both involve lots of sex on hospital beds, and lots of coworkers dating each other. The best answer I could come up with for my mom was, "Well, they just... are." If she couldn't tell by watching both shows, then there was no way to explain it.

This story is related to nothing, really, except that I thought of it tonight when I was watching my Thursday TV block. Usually, I Tivo everything and then watch it... whenever. I hardly ever sit down and watch shows in the order that they come on. But there was actually something thought-provoking about watching those two shows back to back. Perhaps it's the placement of an up and coming, youthful show next to the aging old sage; or perhaps it's the disturbing notion that "ER" is starting to steal from "Grey's", rather than the reverse, thus showing it's age. Either way, I feel appropriately dramatically horrified and satisfied, all at the same time.


First of all, on the "Grey's Anatomy" front, ew, ew, ew, ew. I'm traumatized and horrified by that conversation between Callie and Bailey with all those terrible metaphors and cutesy language. Now, I know all you Callie/Erica shippers think this scene was adorable, and afterellen thinks it's adorable, and I think the IDEA of it is kind of adorable, but... thinly veiled metaphors and cutesy euphemisms for sex, sex acts, and sex organs really, really creep me out, OK? Use the actual words, or don't talk about it at all. Now, I know that Callie is supposed to be all uncomfortable with her newfound sexuality or whatever, and Bailey doesn't like to talk about sex or her personal life (which, total aside, I find adorable because she's so begrudging about it, but you know she secretly loves it when she's regarded as a girlfriend and not just the hardass surgeon), but "va-jay-jay" is creepy, OK? And so was the rest of that metaphor, which I stopped listening to, but I think it included the word "spongy." I'm not sure, but it may have also included the word "moist." Ew, ew, ew. I mean, if you're gonna put it that way, no wonder Callie is freaking out!

I kept wondering if Shonda thought she was being clever and thinking to herself, "It's just like The L Word! Or Sex and the City!" Except, Shonda, those shows are on pay cable, which means they get to use the actual words. Or maybe it's because their characters don't act like children. Whichever it is, it's far less creepy. Also, I know Callie is supposed to have a big mouth and not be able to stop herself from trying to be everyone's BFF and stuff, but who talks like that to someone they work with and don't know that well?

OK, rant over. I like Callie and Erica, I really do. But I like them better when they're together, instead of saying dumb shit about each other to other people. I liked the scene at the restaurant, when they were on the date. I loved when Erica was all, "What the hell are you talking about?" Tell me again why she wasn't just a lesbian right from the beginning?

On to "ER," at the beginning of this episode, I was all, "I don't get it. Why did they let Maura Tierney get away with this? Why has she been on the show for two seasons without Luka? Why did they let her be in two episodes and then skip out on the last season of the show? This is dumb."

But by the end, I was all happy and weepy that she got to ride off into the sunset with Luka. I saw Goran Visnjic's name in the opening credits, so I knew he was going to show up (not quite as dashing as George Clooney at the end of whatever season that was, but still), but I didn't quite believe it until I saw it. I kind of wish we had gotten to see Abby and Luka setting up their new life in the bright daylight, a la Doug and Carol, but whatever. (Also, I thought Luka was in Croatia?)

Ever since the beginning of season... 7? was it? when she and Luka shared that first, angst-ridden kiss (to refresh your memory, they had gone on a date, and some guy was about to mug them and was harrassing Abby, so Luka bludgeoned him. I think he died), all I wanted for this show was for the two of them to ride off into the sunset together. I waited through Sally Field's scenery chewing, Abby and Carter's ill-fated, monkey pox induced romance, Abby's frequent bouts with alcoholism, Luka's penchant for hookers and waitresses, Luka's weird tendency to beat people up in the name of chivalry, Luka's bad chemistry with Sam, and even Abby's drunken transgression with Stanley Tucci. I sat through Mark Greene dying in Hawaii, Carter playing his ipod in Africa, Romano being killed by a falling helicopter, and most recently, Pratt dying for no apparent reason whatsoever. I participated in countless awesome conversations on the old TwoP message boards, the very boards which fueled my addiction to that website. In short, I have paid my dues to this show, and have been a Luka/Abby 'shipper since they had an annoying acronym on the internet, all to finally see that one moment of Abby and Luka's eminent happiness.

Not to mention, of course, how proud we are of our little Abby... she went from occasional OB nurse, to ER nurse, to med school, and now she's an attending who can save teenagers from suicide, old ladies from their pets, and Sam from being fired. All in one day! And I did like that bit with the signs from the lockers on the wall. If there's one thing this show does well, it's acknowledging old characters that they mercilessly murdered.

Now that she's gone though, I simply have no reason for watching this show. I neither recognize or care about any of the residents of County General Hospital anymore, so I think I will say goodbye until the series finale. Which, now that I'm thinking about it, probably doesn't contain either Maura Tierney or Goran Visnjic, and if the press is to be believed, it certainly doesn't contain George Clooney. So perhaps this will, indeed, be my final visit to County General. I hope they fare well over there, and maybe some of those fresh faced med students will graduate the ghetto and find themselves over at Seattle Grace. That's where the real action is these days.

"You're living in America, at the end of the millenium..."

In the five years or so that I've been writing in blogs, this is admittedly something like my 525,600th post about "Rent." (See what I did there?) Somehow, I still can't stop talking about a musical which was conceived about 2 decades ago. Tonight is going to be no exception, I'm afraid.

Last week, I ran across an ad for a filmed version of "Rent" playing in movie theaters. It turned that the last ever Broadway performance of the show was filmed and packaged by Sony into a theatrical release. Given my love-hate relationship with the actual feature film version of this musical, I thought I would give this a try and see how it measures up.

The verdict is that nothing compares to seeing "Rent" on a Broadway stage, even if you're watching it through the lens of a close-up-happy cameraman. Watching the stage version makes you realize just how badly they fucked up the movie, especially when you get to "Halloween," "Goodbye Love," and whatever else Columbus cut out of the second act. I was delighted from the get-go, when the very first credit that flashes on screen reads, "Created and written by Jonathan Larson." Score one for this production already.

Imagine my surprise as well when Tracie Thoms appears on stage as Joanne (I guess I didn't do my Broadway reading this summer - I had no idea she was doing "Rent" on Broadway), and my delight at Eden Espinoza's turn as Maureen. The rest of the cast was solid as well, and it made me wish I had gone to see Rent in NY this past summer when I was there.

But above all of that, "Rent" just knocks me off my feet every single time I see it. It's amazing to me how iconic this musical is, how much it defines the 90s for me. It celebrates community so adamantly that you leave the theater feeling like you've shared something with your fellow audience members that nobody else could possibly understand. Unfortunately, though, the unique moment in history captured by "Rent" is fading farther and farther away in our collective memory, and I can understand why the new generation of theater-obsessed teens are flocking to "Spring Awakening" and "Wicked," leaving "Rent" to be memorialized by the remaining few of us who remember what it was like to be young in the 90s... or at the very least, those of us who remember what pop culture was like when "Rent" was the new big thing.

I could go on, but that term paper was written... about ten years ago, appropriately, so I'll spare you.

Even though the movie theater was only about a quarter full, there were cheers, tears, applause, mooing, and singing. I don't know how it happens, really, since there is so much death, disease, and general malaise in this musical, but it leaves me feeling jubilant and singing every single time. Which I'm pretty sure is exactly what Jonathan Larson wanted when he wrote it.

This film is in very limited release, but it's showing twice more during the weekend - Saturday and Sunday at noon, and there seems to be at least one movie theater in every city showing it. Go see it if you have time, and try to forget you ever saw the feature version.

Here's a NY Times article about it which says it much better than I can:

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/09/21/theater/21ishe.html?_r=3&ref=theater&pagewanted=all&oref=slogin&oref=slogin

The (Mostly) True Tales of a Brandi Carlile Fan, Part 2

Part Two: The Concert

The opening band, The Fighting Machinists, actually consist mostly of members of Brandi’s band. A long time ago, before Brandi met twins Tim and Phil Hanseroth, they were part of a band called The Fighting Machinists. They wrote catchy rock-bordering-on-heavy-metal tunes, and employed a drummer with a zillion tattoos and a spitting problem worse than a camel. When Brandi met them, she was a fan of theirs, and finally just asked them to play in her band. The Fighting Machinists broke up, but were reunited for one night only, at Brandi’s request, to open her show at the Tractor Tavern in Seattle. Are we all caught up now? Good.



The twins and their badass drummer took the stage, opening with a cover of the Bryan Adams classic (if there is such a thing as a Bryan Adams classic) “Heaven.” While covering Bryan Adams seems, on paper, like musical suicide, it actually worked quite well. They rocked out, took a few requests, and played a catchy tune called “Sweet Pea,” which I will soon be trying to figure out how to download. In fact, all of their songs were catchy, including the new one they wrote just so they could sing something new for this show, and I’m finding myself wishing they were still a band. As if they hadn’t won us over enough, they really got us for the last song, when Tim started in with Brandi’s famous line (she later gave him shit about it), “This is a song… by the late, great, Johnny Cash.” They proceeded with a rousing rendition of “Ring of Fire,” only topped by Brandi’s sudden appearance on stage to sing backup.

The Machinists ended their set, but hardly anyone in the bar moved an inch. We were all so riveted and didn’t want to miss one second of Brandi’s show. And we were right in our foresight, because… wow. The girl was on fire, and the audience was too. She played for almost two hours of rousing guitars, searing vocals, hilarious banter, and sweaty brilliance (it was easily 110 degrees in that bar). The boys took the stage and launched into the familiar strains of “Fortunate Son,” a powerful cover of a song that Brandi says has “come back around again.” It’s one of my favorite covers that she does, and opening with that made me shake my head remembering a recent conversation I had with a coworker about politics and music. Brandi was making her statement through music, and the choice to rock out right at the beginning set the tone for the entire show. She played most of her standard fare, but with a few twists – less ballads, more rock, and a few more covers than usual (minus one rather famous one, but I’ll get to that). Right from the beginning, Brandi had this gigantic smile on her face, like she was so pleased with herself for coming up with this whole “singing” idea in the first place. She loved the crowd and we loved her right back. According to the story she told us later on, the Tractor was the first place she ever played with the twins, the first place she ever sold out a gig, and the special place it has in her heart was evident right from the start.

As the song came to an end, Brandi cheered herself on right along with us, reminisced about playing at the Tractor way back when, and introduced the band as “Late Morning Lullaby,” with an ‘I’m so clever’ smirk on her face. They launched into “My Song” with even more gusto than the song before it, with Brandi sporting a surprised smile when we all started singing along, and then acting even more surprised when we didn’t stop for the entire two hours. This was the first Brandi show I’d been to where every single person in that room knew every word to every song, and “What Can I Say” featured an a capella sing along that could put the Indigo Girls and “Closer to Fine” to shame. Brandi was having so much fun with it, and her constant surprise at how well we knew all of her songs – even the ones she herself only wrote a month ago, was adorable.

Her newest addition to the repertoire, “Caroline,” is a song about her one year old niece, whom she calls “a little weirdo.” It’s a rollicking country tune with sweet lyrics, and somehow reminds me of Billy Joel. Forgive my ignorance about music for a second, because to me, there’s something about the rhythm of the many lyrics and the narrative style of the song that’s reminiscent of “Only the Good Die Young,” et al. “Caroline” has become an instant favorite, and we surprised Brandi again by singing along. I think our love for her finally hit home when she launched into “How These Days Grow Long” and called it “new,” and we all scoffed. She wasn’t getting away with anything with this audience. It worked to her advantage, though, when she forgot the lyrics, and we very conveniently sang them for her.

At one point, she stopped and thanked her sister Tiffany for doing her hair, even though “it was all for shit.” This got the audience all riled up, because for whatever reason, curse words make people cheer. That kind of banter was rampant throughout the evening, and it made the night even more intimate. Up next was “Dreams,” another new song which they recorded for their upcoming third album. I’m trying to come up with a way to describe this song, but it’s hard without sounding like a giggly 13 year old at a Jonas Brothers concert. It’s raw, it’s catchy, it’s sexy, and it’s more explicit than any of her other songs. It’s such an intimate song, that we let her sing this one to us, turning us all into the aforementioned 13 year olds. Appropriately enough, this led right into her cover of Radiohead’s “Creep”, with the addition of a dissonant cello. If you’ll excuse my language for a second, this song can only be described as “orgasmic.” Watch it for yourself if you don’t believe me:



The last three songs were standard Carlile fare – “Fall Apart Again" (another new favorite of mine, though the song is old), “Turpentine” (with the requisite 3 part harmony sing along and additional curse words), and “The Story.” For the encore, they hit the stage with “Folsom Prison Blues,” rocking it harder than I’ve ever seen them do it before. Next up was “Pride and Joy,” another new one, and it’s a powerful, poignant song about acceptance. The ending of the song features Brandi and Tim jamming on the electric guitars, an act which the fandom has aptly dubbed “guitar sex” (named for, um, what Brandi looks like she’s doing when she plays the guitar… in case that wasn’t obvious). The band took their bows, and Brandi remained on stage to, um, lighten the mood a bit. By this time of the night, she had our attention so lovingly that she even got away with asking us what she should play… and then not playing any of the requests.

Brandi comes from a family of musicians, so she brought her sister Tiffany on stage with her, and they sang their trademark “Calling All Angels.” But perhaps the highlight of the evening came during the very last song, a parody of classic country called “Same Old You.” The song itself is hilarious and crafty, but it’s the intro to the song which really makes it. Brandi grew up singing classic country tunes, and her random sampling of ridiculous old country songs is always a crowd favorite. She brought her mom up on stage with her to sing “Your Good Girl’s Gonna Go Bad,” and then did her best rendition of “Stand By Your Man,” her voice dripping with irony and sarcasm. She then showed off her yodeling skills (yes, she can yodel too) with “Same Old You,” and took a hasty exit. I didn’t even notice the absence of “Hallelujah” until I inexplicably had to listen to it eight times in a row on the plane coming back to LA.

The (Mostly) True Tales of a Brandi Carlile Fan, Part 1

Part One: The Fandom

I just returned from my trip to Seattle, a trip I admittedly took simply to attend a “secret” Brandi Carlile concert. Yes, I will readily divulge that I spent $300 on a plane ticket, got on a teeny plane which made me nauseous, and flew 1,000 miles just to see a band play. When my mother asked me, “Are you going to follow this young singer around the entire country?”, I told her that if Brandi would just play in LA, I wouldn’t have to. But alas, Brandi lives in Seattle, and only plays “secret” shows in towns she lives in, apparently. How dare she. Besides, I wasn’t actually going to see Brandi. I was seeing “Late Morning Lullaby,” with The Fighting Machinists as their opener.

Upon making my arrangements to attend this show, I already knew there was going to be havoc wreaked by the internet forum members. For weeks before the show, I wondered how I was going to bring two of my real-life friends into that mix, especially given their general aversion to internet fandoms. To people who don’t know the strange and almost cult-like lure of internet fandoms, they can be intimidating. After all, these are the people who get something signed (sometimes it’s a body part) after every show, the people who seem to have intimate conversations with Brandi at every show, the people who all became soul sisters after spending a week together on a cruise featuring Brandi and other folk musicians, and the very same people who told me about this show in the first place. I wanted to meet these notorious folks, and figure out how they manage to socialize with a semi-famous musician so much. However, I had no idea how I was going to make it all come together.

Once the much-awaited day arrived, I had to figure out who I was going to be that day. I had to decide between joining the madness (which I’m never very good at), or being the fly on the wall and just observing (which I’m very good at, but often feel left out of the madness as a result). After watching “Almost Famous” last week, I considered Lester Bangs’ advice: never become friends with ‘em. This seemed like a good rule of thumb – be friendly, but don’t get too involved. Be an observer, but an observer with a little bit of an inside edge, thus making the resulting review knowledgeable, but distant enough to be critical. Now, I’m no Cameron Crowe (not that I consider Crowe to be the genius that he seems to think he is), but every once in a while, I am a writer in my own right, and I thought I should have the proper perspective.

I finally settled on a happy medium: I wore a name tag, stood on line for two hours, introduced myself to all of the people that I’d been exchanging banter with over cyberspace, and finally scored myself a cushy spot in the fourth row, dead center, looking straight at Brandi. I even talked to and flirted a little with the cute girl sitting next to me during the opening act… until her annoying guy friend decided to switch places, and thought that standing in between us was the best place for him. We exchanged a couple more glances after that, but when the show ended, it was just too crowded to deal with any one, and our very short lived romance fizzled faster than a Brandi fan’s fingers fly when dialing ticketmaster for tickets. Anyway, where was I? Oh, right – happy medium. I did not, however, participate in the pre-concert tailgating on a Ballard street outside the bar, sit behind Brandi’s grandmother, videotape the entire concert (I only filmed one song, you see) and stream it on the web, call a friend in Tokyo, Stockholm, or Amsterdam and have her listen to the entire concert on the phone, line up at noon, or stalk Brandi or any of her band mates after the show.

From my perch on a barstool in the fourth row, I was perfectly happy to stare directly at Brandi, even if it meant I couldn’t see Josh (the cellist) at all. The lights dimmed, the opening band took the stage, and suddenly, nothing mattered anymore. It was me, 200 other sweaty fans, my friends, the cute girl, and Brandi and the twins. As soon as The Fighting Machinists took the stage, I remembered why I love live music – it’s the collective high you experience with the rest of the audience, that moment where you know that 200 (or 2000, depending on where you are) other people just felt the exact same thing you did at the exact same time. It’s an experience you share with 200 strangers, and actually, the anonymity of it is part of its appeal – which is why I was wary about becoming too ensconced in the fandom. Once you lose that anonymity, the experience is changed...

When the show ended, reality started creeping in again, and my real life friends and I made a beeline for the merch table so we could buy our T shirts and get the hell away from the crowd. Torn between my exhaustion, my real life friends, and not wanting to feel left out of the fandom, I reluctantly said a hasty goodbye to whoever I could find, and as quickly as it started, the worship service was over. Once outside the bar, lacking what else to do, we headed straight for the car and home, as one usually does after a concert ends – or so I thought.

I later realized that I had indeed failed my initiation into the fandom by going home straight after the concert. I mistakenly thought that attending the secret show would be enough to get me in the door, but apparently, in order to gain the premium membership, there were still some steps to be taken. The correct answer would have been to avoid the mad rush for the door, and instead walk farther into the bar, thus being part of the resulting conversation with Brandi herself. It turns out getting a word in edgewise with the unassuming star is part of the initiation ritual for all new members, and I failed. After all, this is a club whose membership is based on the admiration for one person, and if I can’t manage to get near her, what kind of member am I?

... Please click on over to "The (Mostly) True Tales of a Brandi Carlile Fan (Part Two: The Concert)" for the rest of the review.

10 Ways to Find Your One True Love Instantly, according to chick flicks

1. Work with them. If your boss is flirting with you, that's not sexual harassment, it's a sign you were meant to be together.

2. Go on a cross country road trip, write a novel, work on a newspaper article, write a song, or work on a school project with someone you hate. Eventually, after spending enough time together, you will both realize (probably at the exact same time) that the "hate" you initially felt was really "sexual tension."

3. Move back to your hometown. That guy/girl who annoyed you in high school is the one you've always wanted. This works especially well if you live in the deep south, like Texas or Alabama.

4. Get married. Look around your wedding reception at who might be out there. Your new husband/wife's brother, sister, best friend, cousin, florist, or wedding planner is really the one you want.

5. Hire someone to pretend to be your boyfriend/girlfriend in order to impress some other guy/girl. Pretty soon, the "pretending" will get to be too annoying, and you will both just instantly fall in love.

6. Find something you're good at - dancing, spelling, writing, soccer, football, what have you. Teach it to the kid from the wrong side of the tracks. Your forbidden love affair will provide all the heart necessary to win the dance off, soccer game, or whatever else you're trying to accomplish.

7. Join a team that plays a sport you were never sure if you were good at or not. Your coach will find you so talented, he/she will be instantly smitten. The adrenaline caused by these feelings will make you a better player.

8. Write letters, emails, text messages or cryptic notes to someone you don't know. You will eventually realize that you are soulmates.

9. If you're gay, make sure your parents find out and send you to one of those "straighten you out" facilities. There are lots of other sexually frustrated gay kids there, and you're bound to find the one who truly understands your plight. If you're straight, well, you're shit out of luck on this one.

10. If you're a nerdy high school kid, find a boy/girl willing to take you under their wing and show you how to be popular. This usually involves acquiring some contact lenses and a hair straightener. Once you're made yourself pretty, the boy/girl will realize how special you truly are - now that you can toss your hair like the rest of the pretty girls.

"The Secrets" at Outfest

Outfest, the LA gay and lesbian film festival, opened yesterday. I went tonight to see one of the features, an Israeli drama called "The Secrets."

"The Secrets" is set in some godforsaken religious enclave tiny town in Israel, where bookish Naomi is a student at a women's seminary. Right from the beginning, I made a note to myself to look up whether these seminaries actually exist. It seems like creating a women's seminary is the antithesis of the teachings of Orthodox Judaism, so I wondered whether the entire movie was supposed to be set in this kind of fictional fantasy world. Nevertheless, whether it's based on real life or not, the film does transport you effectively into it's world, with an ethereal, sort of fairy tale quality to it. These girls live in dorm rooms that look like they belong in an old Scottish castle, in a town where the cobblestone streets look too narrow for cars, and hanging laundry blows in the wind everywhere you look.

ETA: The more I think about it, the more I'm remembering that these seminaries do exist - it's where they send girls who made it through high school without getting married, so they can kind of buy time while their parents set them up with husbands. Even so, whether or not it's based on a real thing didn't really matter in the film.

Naomi is a smart, bookish introvert, and her way of mourning her mother's recent death is to convince her rabbi father to send her to seminary so she may spend more time studying before she enters into her arranged marriage. Enter Michelle, Naomi's exotic French roommate, who sweeps in yielding a cigarette and fancy cell phone. Though Naomi is at first put off by Michelle's snobbery, the two become fast friends when they are assigned to take care of a dying French woman named Anouk who supposedly murdered her lover. From there, the film becomes even more fantastical as it delves into healing rituals, Kabbalah, and semi-pornographic French art. A particularly memorable scene occurs when the girls, along with their roommates from the peanut gallery, take Anouk to a mikvah (ritual bath) in order to begin the cleansing ritual that will eventually lead her to heaven. Though the scene was still effective within the world of the film, I couldn't help but think of every tween movie slumber party where the kids go nuts with a Ouija board.

From there, the two girls only fall more in love with each other, all while discovering all kinds of Jewish spiritual guidance and getting more and more frustrated with their limited role in the religious community. Without giving away too much, suffice it to say that given those discoveries in the first two acts, the film looks promising... until the the third act, when it kind of backtracks, leaving the characters in almost the same place they were when the movie began. The girls' romance ends up defined by one eventful sleepover and a few stolen kisses, but ultimately leaves the audience cold. By the end of the film, Naomi's previously guarded heart is sufficiently broken in many ways, but after one good, much needed cry, she doesn't seem to care much at all. The film lives up to it's name in that "The Secrets" remain secrets long after the film ends, which in this case, made me wonder why I had just sat through two hours of it.

Aside from the ending, though, the film was enjoyable, as were all of the performances, even though the directing left much to be desired. To be honest, if this were an American movie, I think it would probably be relegated to Lifetime. However, the fact that it's Israeli, and that it delves into the world of Orthodox Judaism lends it a little more credibility. The soundtrack was beautiful as well, and really fit with the tone of the film.

ETA 2: According to the film's website, the music featured in the film is all liturgical Hebrew prayers. According to Orthodox Jewish law, women are not supposed to sing so they're heard, because it induces sexual desire. The choral arrangements of the Shabbat prayers, wedding songs, etc. featured in the film are all-female choirs, which has apparently never been recorded before. I thought it was beautiful, and am trying to figure out if I can download some of the songs, but no such luck so far.

"Grey's Anatomy" is back... with lesbians!

It seems as though Ms. Rhimes and her cohorts have finally run out of combinations of people who can sleep together on "Grey's Anatomy", leaving themselves with no choice but to resort to – gasp – lesbianism! For those of you out of the loop, or even those of you who prefer to watch Tina Fey over Patrick Dempsey on Thursday nights, I’ll fill you in. It seems our girl Callie, who is recently divorced from George (after he cheated on her with Izzie), has unwittingly fallen for her new colleague – heart surgeon extraordinaire and Cristina’s alias nemesis, Erica Hahn. The two have been seen gal-paling around the hospital, sharing drinks at Joe’s, and polishing off intimate bottles of wine in Cristina's living room. The catch is Callie doesn’t seem to know she’s fallen for Erica, and doesn’t want to know. Addison, in all of her special guest star wisdom, points this out to us by asking Callie about Hahn, which causes her to collapse in a fit of giggles and to continually stammer the word “penis.” Later, Callie attempts to further prove her heterosexuality by going home from Joe’s with Sloane, which unfailingly makes Erica jealous. You got all that? Good, now we can talk about it.

Undoubtedly, this episode will raise many questions among fans, critics, and many others who overanalyze television. If some of the forum posters on Television Without Pity are to be believed, Grey’s does indeed have a political agenda, and is using this storyline as a soapbox to preach about gay rights. Others on the forums are convinced that the writers are turning Hahn into a manipulative bitch, because she is seducing a woman who claims to be heterosexual. Critics for publications such as Entertainment Weekly are a bit disgruntled about the fact that Grey’s is following a trend started by many other TV shows and movies, by using “late on set lesbianism” as a “plot device.”

However, I’m going to go out on a limb here and presume that the crafty folks over in the Grey’s Anatomy writers’ room are doing none of the above. Grey’s has always included its share of gay, lesbian and transgendered characters, mostly in the form of patients at the hospital. It’s perfectly plausible that a character like Callie could find herself falling for a close friend like Erica – especially on a show where romantic entanglements are the name of the game. Remember, this is the same girl who rushed into a shotgun marriage with George, and then fought like hell to keep him around, even though she knew deep down that they weren’t right for each other. She even managed to completely mess up her job as chief resident in the process. She doesn’t strike me as someone who is completely sure what she wants in life OR love. As for Hahn, well, all we know about her is that she does heart surgeries and likes to torture Cristina.

It seems as though this storyline may be just what this show needs to get back to the top of its game. Let’s face it – recent plot developments, as well as all of the rotating cast members have rendered Grey’s downright lame in the past few months. Addison’s departure, the death of Meredith’s mother, Joe’s mysterious disappearance, and the addition of Meredith’s boring sister have certainly not helped things. A new romance between two characters who have never tried to date before (as opposed to Derek and Meredith getting back together for the 47th time) is just what this show needs. It certainly helps, too, that Sara Ramirez and Brooke Smith have more chemistry in one scene together than Patrick Dempsey and Ellen Pompeo have had in four years of scenes together.


Besides all of the giggly, squee-worthiness of a developing lesbian relationship with good chemistry (and hot women), what is most remarkable about this storyline is how unremarkable it is – at least in its own fictional world. In the grand scheme of television, including a happy lesbian couple formed out of two regular, semi-lead characters on a prime time, network, top ten drama is HUGE. Sure, thanks to the legacy of Will & Grace, gay men are popping up in more places than ever before (at least, they are on ABC) - places like Brothers and Sisters, Ugly Betty, and Desperate Housewives. The only place we usually see lesbians are in the form of guest stars during sweeps, and on cable reality shows. However, in the fictional world of Seattle Grace, one more new romance, whatever form it’s going to take, is just a part of everyday life. Nobody even gave it a second thought when Joe introduced us to his boyfriend, and I suspect that if Callie and Erica become an item, the only person who will think it’s extraordinary is Callie herself – which is exactly the way it should be.

I can only hope that I’m right in my predictions, and that the writers actually are leading us to the climax (no pun intended) this developing story arc suggests. Hopefully, this time will be different from all of the other times network television has attempted to realistically portray lesbian characters, and they won’t drop this storyline once all of the sweeps dust settles. Despite my recent apathy towards this show, I’m once again putting my faith in Shonda and co., and I hope they come up with something great.

"We're the members of the All-American League..."

Admit it - we all have our specific movies that make us cry. For some people, it's the obvious ones, like "Terms of Endearment", "Beaches", or "The Way We Were." But aside from those, there are the lesser known ones that make me emotional - the comedies that bring tears to my eyes, or the sentimental, overwrought dramas that make me bawl, even though nobody else finds them engaging.

One of those movies for me is "A League of Their Own." Yes, that one. The baseball movie with Madonna. I don't know how I got attached to this movie in the first place, considering the fact that I hate baseball, but nonetheless, this movie has been making me cry since 1992, when I saw it in theaters.

From the first piano notes of Carole King's "Now and Forever", which plays while an older version of Geena Davis's character gets ready to go to the Baseball Hall of Fame, to the teamwork montages in which Rosie O'Donnell and Madonna throw baseballs at each other, to the scene where Betty Spaghetti's husband dies and she has to be escorted away by Tom Hanks, as well the scene where Dottie's husband come back - all of it gets me emotional.

Despite the fact that no one dies, has a fight with their mother, or falls in love with their best friend, "A League of Their Own" is the ultimate chick flick. There's a sibling rivalry, a love story or two, a dancing scene, a sing along on a bus and in a locker room, and in the end, it's all about the bonds of sisterhood. It even stars Tom Hanks, and was directed by a woman.

Not only is this movie ABOUT sentimentality and reminiscing, but the film, as well as the soundtrack, also holds some personal nostalgia for me. "Now and Forever" was the prom song at my high school, and it was chosen in part by my best friend, who used to sing this song with me as we trudged through the halls. "This Used to Be My Playground" was released as a single on cassette (I know!) the sumer I went to travel camp, and I used to play it on the bus during the last week of camp so we could all lament our return to junior high. "There's no crying in baseball" was a popular catch-phrase among my college roommates. And yes, I do know all of the words to the made-up Girls' Professional Baseball song.

In case that last paragraph didn't tip you off, one of my big weaknesses, both in real life and on film, is learning to let go of the past, and being nostalgic. Needless to say, by the time the ending credits roll and "This Used to Be My Playground" starts up, I'm a pathetic mess of a puddle on the floor. I still remember being the only one left in the theater long after the credits ended, trying to pull myself together and recover from the sadness of all that, uh, baseball.

5 "Lesbian Movies" which aren't really Lesbian Movies

If you're like me and you're suffering from frequent unemployment, an inability to afford premium cable channels, and a general bitterness towards of all the reality shows and reruns we've been subjected to during the strike, here are some craptastic films that can be easily found on basic cable, and usually more than once a day. These are movies that will warm your queer heart, but you won't find them on Logo or at Outfest. Instead, you can find them on USA, TBS or TNT running on a loop for an entire Sunday.

None of these films are actually about lesbians, and they usually don't even mention lesbians at all, but they still manage to appeal to our gay sensibilities. They all feature a barely-there plot, usually about a naive girl who is "saved by" something ridiculous, like surfing, singing, or her math teacher. They mostly include an on again/off again romance with some boy who is inevitably going to help the girl be "saved" by whatever she's going to be saved by. And they all include at least one young, cute movie star... before they were movie stars, drunks, or both.



1. Blue Crush. Girls in bikinis. Michelle Rodriguez. Water. Lots of it. Some kind of surfing contest. Did I mention Michelle Rodriguez in a bikini?



2. Coyote Ugly. Logic and common sense seem to dictate that this should not be a movie lesbians (or women at all, actually) like. Naive girl moves to big city, virtually becomes a stripper, meets a boy, without whom she would not end up with the singing career she ends up with at the end of the movie. All the rules of feminism dictate that we should not like this movie. Yet... it's a craptastic joyride of a movie for lesbians everywhere. There's something about that wide-eyed ingenue (played by Piper Perabo, who later went on to star in that fine lesbian classic, Imagine Me and You) surrounding herself with debauchery and semi-nudity that gets me every time. Oh, and did I mention the scene(s) where the girls all "dance" on the bar to "Pour Some Sugar on Me?" Klassy.



3. Mean Girls. What is it with lesbians and this movie? Is it the idea of Lindsay Lohan as a teenager in a push up bra? (I hope not.) Is it because, as women who were once teenage girls, we unwittingly relate to this movie in ways no one wants to admit? Although it's frequently lumped in with the rest of the high-school-movie genre, I find that this particular flick has slightly more intelligence, depth, and well, hotness. And there's a reason for that: Tina Fey. Her character is a great dorky predecessor to Liz Lemon, and Fey is absolutely charming as the math teacher who saves high school. Forget the boy in this one - Tina Fey is the real heroine in this movie.



4. Bring it On. "I'm sexy, I'm cute, I'm popular to boot. I'm bitchin', great hair. The boys all love to stare. I'm wanted, I'm hot. I'm everything you're not. I'm pretty, I'm cool. I dominate the school." I didn't do that from the top of my head. I swear. Cheerleaders, catfights, bitchy high school wackiness, what more could you ask for? Eliza Dushku as the rebellious, somewhat dykey anti-cheerleader who has frequent sleepovers with Kirsten Dunst? Done.



5. Bend It Like Beckham. Girls playing soccer to the sounds of rollicking chick-pop, female friendship wackiness, and a non supportive family define the appeal of this movie. But when you dig a little deeper, it's the idea that Jess has to learn to be herself and not hide her, uh, soccer playing from her family anymore that makes this movie brilliant - what gay girl can't relate to that? The parallels are not lost on the filmmakers either, who peppered their screenplay with lots of silly "soccer player = lesbian" jokes. The best ones come from Keira Knightley's mother, who says things like, "All I'm saying is, there's a reason why Sporty Spice is the only one without a fella!" Plus, no matter your sexual preference, there's no denying how cute Jonathan Rhys Myers is.

Betrayed by my "Friends"

I love Friends. But last night, when I sat down for my nightly dose of a syndicated pick-me-up, I was severely disappointed. It was like being betrayed by my usually loyal best friend. It was unexpected and a little bit traumatic. In the late-in-the-series 9th season episode that aired in syndication the other day, titled "The One with Phoebe's Rats," my beloved Friends resorted to a joke that not only have they used before, but that they are most definitely above.

Amidst all of the other chaos in the episode, which includes Phoebe keeping rats as pets and Rachel having a birthday party, Ross manages to hire a new nanny for Emma. The girls are immediately threatened when the guys start fawning over how hot she is, and and Joey immediately hits on her. Wackiness involving Joey ensues, and for 23 minutes, we have to listen to Ross whine about what will happen if Joey sleeps with his new nanny. The payoff for that already brilliant setup? The nanny is actually a lesbian! Just in case you don't understand the joke, let me explain. This is funny to sitcom writers because a) now Joey can't hit on her anymore! b) all of that drama between Ross and Joey was unnecessary! and c) lesbians can't be pretty! Are you kidding me with this? The oldest, most boring of lesbian stereotypes and sitcom jokes in the book was just uttered by people who were supposed to be my Friends.

As I looked at the clock, and realized that my beloved TV show had just spent most of the episode setting up that "joke," I couldn't help but shout "seriously?!" in true Meredith Grey fashion. Really, Marta and David? Is that the best you could do? Not only has that joke been done before, but it's been done by you! And the first version was better, too (see video below). The one that had three dimensional characters, an actual developing lesbian relationship, and went on for about five seasons, until Carol and Susan disappeared into some kind of sitcom graveyard. (They're buried next to Paul's sister from Mad About You, Ellen Morgan, and Jessie and Katie from Once and Again).




I find it hard to believe that the show that came up with Carol and Susan is now resorting to the "hot girl is really a lesbian" joke. Perhaps that wise TV sage Emily Gilmore was right when she said "there's nothing funny about being a lesbian," because, well, just being a lesbian isn't particularly funny. The problem with the punchline on this particular Friends episode is that it's the type of joke frequently used in sitcoms and in recent romantic comedies - one that doesn't require the writer the know their character's personality at all. It's the type of joke which singles people out and ostracizes them for being who they are, which is a strange thing coming from the show which usually touts acceptance by welcoming us into it's characters' living rooms every day. Worst of all, though, it's old, it's boring and it's ordinary. And frankly, I expect a lot more than "ordinary" from my Friends.

Ode to "South of Nowhere"

Since I don't write poetry, I guess this isn't really an ode. It's more like an essay, or just me rambling. But ode sounded better.

South of Nowhere returns April 11! I know that's still a month and a half away, but The N is already marathoning the first two seasons and first half of the third season, and I'm already giddy with excitement.

Wait, you've never heard of South of Nowhere? That's probably because it airs on a teeny-tiny digital cable network called The N - an offshoot of Nickelodeon aimed at teenagers. If you have a cable box, you probably get this channel - now is the time to check it out! (Psst - they also have Saved by the Bell reruns. Not that I watch those or anything.)

South of Nowhere tells the story of the Carlin family - a beautiful, blond, Christian Midwestern family who moves to Los Angeles in search of a better career for Paula, the matriarch. Upon arriving in Los Angeles, they find all kinds of things they were never exposed to in the third world country of Ohio: gay people, black people, drugs, sex, West Hollywood, rich kids, children of celebrities, racism, gang violence, and diners owned by guys named Nat. OK, that last part isn't true, but you see where I'm going with this.

The premise was never original in any sense of the word. The brilliance of the show came when the writers took the time honored formula invented by Aaron Spelling and turned it around a bit, by making daughter Spencer's homosexuality the most shocking thing to happen to this family. In the pilot, amidst all of the chaos of her new surroundings, Spencer met Ashley, the school wild child and resident bisexual. It wasn't long before Spencer and Ashley were playing hooky at the beach, debating about the virtues of dating girls instead of boys.

During the first two seasons, when ex-sitcom writer Nancylee Myatt ran the show, South of Nowhere was an honest-to-goodness teen soap opera which, despite it's hyperbolic TV tendencies, dealt with what it's like to be a gay teenager. It was refreshing to watch, if only to marvel at the fact that a show about teenagers exists where the central on again, off again love story revolves around a lesbian relationship. Granted, the other characters were ordinary teen soap archetypes - Glenn, the drug addicted older brother; Clay, the adopted kid searching for his birth mom; Aiden, the confused ex boyfriend. Even so, the show was hugely addictive, and teen soap opera lovers such as myself could revel in all of the debauchery, while still shaking our heads in amazement when Spencer chose Ashley over Aiden.

However, in season three, once Ms. Myatt exited the scene, it seems as though the powers that be over at The N hired some ex-90210 writers to take over and turn the show into... 90210. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing, it's just... ordinary. When watching the current third season compared with the first two, the behind the scenes writing coup is obvious. Gone are Myatt's subtle commentaries on teenage culture, not to mention three dimensional characters and teenagers who actually act like teenagers. The beginning of the third season saw changes that make it look more and more like it's predecessor: Clay is gone (he died in a gang shooting), but his ex girlfriend is now pregnant with his baby while lusting after Glenn. Ashley and her long lost half sister Kyla now have 25 million dollars of inheritance money, and no longer attend school. Aiden has now slept with every single girl on the show, and is in therapy for PTSD following the gang shooting. Madison is a cheerleader and annoys everybody with her scenery chewing.

But surprisingly, despite the insipidities of the rest of the characters, and despite television's usual tendency to only turn characters gay for one episode, the new regime has managed to keep one thing intact: Spencer is, in fact, still gay, and despite her sometimes bad judgment when it comes to dating, she remains a watchable and relatable teenager struggling with her sexuality. A particularly moving and insightful moment came right before the season 3 hiatus, when Spencer, with the help of then ex-girlfriend Ashley, took both of her parents with her to Pride. Including her homophobic mother. Moments and storyline like that are what keep me watching this show.


The first half of season 3 aired during the summer of 2007, and I have no idea what's in store for the second half. Will Ashley finally settle down and stay true to Spencer, despite her lingering feelings for Aidan? Will Spencer finally come to her senses and find a girlfriend who's actually gay? Will Madison get killed in some kind of freak accident (hopefully)? Will Spencer and Ashley actually get to kiss for more than a split second before the scene fades out? I can't wait to find out!

My new strategy for watching South of Nowhere involves Tivo-ing the episode, and then fast forwarding through anything that doesn't involve Spencer or her parents. This usually reduces the episodes to about 10 minutes... but that's OK. It gives me more time to watch The L Word, or Coyote Ugly for the 417th time on basic cable.