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Material for Viewing
Also see
Coming-of-age films: Grow up
'Adventureland' bucks trend of quantity over quality
By Michael Phillips | Tribune Newspapers critic
April 15, 2009
No matter how severe the acne, most of us come of age sooner or later. This is why coming-of-age movies speak to us, often without the aid of such niceties as quality. Nuance, to paraphrase a line from Barry Levinson's "Diner," is not a word this genre favors. Fantasy's the main ingredient, plus a little truth thrown in for atmosphere.
How else to explain the widely beloved John Hughes? The former Glenbrook North High School student is a favorite son, and certainly he enjoyed a hot streak in the 1980s, with "Sixteen Candles," "The Breakfast Club," "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and others. I enjoy parts of "Sixteen Candles," his first film as a director. But when Greg Mottola's excellent "Adventureland" came out last week, accompanied by blurbs touting Mottola as this generation's John Hughes, I thought: Can we aim a little higher? Besides, Mottola would have to exploit his young-adult stereotypes a lot more crassly to deserve that handle.With its lack of stars and uncertain marketing campaign (It's "Superbad"! No, wait! It's not!), "Adventureland" grossed less than one-tenth of what "Fast & Furious" made opening weekend. They are not the same, these two: One is a coming-of-age comedy, bittersweet and wise; the other is a squealing-of-tires picture, loud and louder.
But since "Adventureland" opened, I've heard from a lot of Boomers who have fallen for it. And taking into account the middling box office for many of our better American coming-of-age comedies -- "Diner," "Rushmore," the overrated but worthwhile "Dazed and Confused" -- you realize that audiences prefer their coming-of-age chronicles raunchy and triumphalist in tone, with a reasonably straightforward male-oriented agenda. If there's some wit, as in the best of the Judd Apatow projects, it's a bonus.
The genre has its many moods. Remember "Summer of '42"? I saw it again yesterday. What's amazing about the 1971 pop artifact is how many of its individual vignettes -- nervous teenage boy buying condoms from a druggist; nervous teenage boy sweating out his close proximity to Jennifer O'Neill's thighs as she climbs a ladder -- are played earnestly, even gravely, not for the customary hormonal anxiety gags (customary since the '80s, that is). It's as solemn as "The Reader," which is saying something, and through the sheer infernal persistence of the Michel Legrand love theme, 15-year-old Hermie (Gary Grimes) ends up in the bed of O'Neill's war widow. Legrand's theme became the hit song "The Summer Knows," with lyrics by Marilyn and Alan Bergman: "The summer smiles, the summer knows/And unashamed, she sheds her clothes."
There's a line in "Dazed and Confused," Richard Linklater's 1976-set coming-of-ager, in which a class of female high school seniors discusses various episodes of "Gilligan's Island," specifically the Ginger-vs.-Mary Ann question. "Guys have it all," says one woman. Male fans of that show, she says, had both "the Madonna and the Whore. Women get nothing." Ironically, the women don't have much to do in Linklater's film.
French cinema is particularly rich for coming-of-age dramas, from Truffaut's "The 400 Blows" to Erick Zonca's "The Dreamlife of Angels" (1998). The latter, a piercing tale of female friendship, is the rare screen story with its sights set on how women process the challenges of adult sexuality. American cinema has no lock on R-rated raunch, also known as the "gettin'-some" genre of comedy, but it's where the money has always been, then ("Porky's") and now ("Superbad," in which our graduating high school senior heroes do not, in fact, get some, but try, and learn a couple of things about friendship).
Here's a coming-of-age picture you probably haven't seen: Olivier Assayas' 1994 French drama "Cold Water." It's terrific. Early on, the two main characters exchange small talk that speaks to the genre's eternal appeal:
"You're still a kid, but that's OK," says the teenage hellion played by Virginie Ledoyen, addressing her moony sometime-boyfriend played by Cyprien Fouquet. He smiles. He knows this restless, unhappy character is a little out of his league. "It's true," he says. "I've got my books, my records ... and no experience." Such is young love, however frustrated. Fed by literature and music -- and the movies -- we grow into our adult selves gradually or suddenly, depending on whom we meet along the way.
- - -
Coming of age, through the ages
"Little Women," 1933. The first sound-era adaptation of Louisa May Alcott's classic, directed by George Cukor, starring a radiant Katharine Hepburn.
"Shadow of a Doubt," 1943. Young Charlie (Teresa Wright) learns the truth about her favorite uncle (Joseph Cotten) in one of Alfred Hitchcock's greatest achievements, co-scripted by Thornton Wilder.
"Rebel Without a Cause," 1955. James Dean, Natalie Wood and Sal Mineo offer three indelible portraits in teen angst in this widescreen Nicholas Ray masterwork.
"Splendor in the Grass," 1961. Not having sex can make you clinically insane, as we learn from William Inge's screenplay, filmed by Elia Kazan.
"The Graduate," 1967. Plastics; anomie; sex with a married woman; Simon and Garfunkel.
"The Last Picture Show," 1971. Some towns are smaller, and more sexually roiling, than others.
"American Graffiti," 1973. George Lucas' monster hit rode a wave of '50s-era nostalgia (though the film was set in 1962).
"Risky Business," 1983. Tom Cruise scored with this savvy Reagan-era love letter to free enterprise. The cop-out ending ensured a big audience.
"Wish You Were Here," 1987. Little-seen but flavorsome British coming-of-age comedy, set in the 1950s, starring an audacious and wonderful Emily Lloyd.
"Y Tu Mama Tambien," 2001. Alfonso Cuaron's road trip movie was part fantasy, part reality and all emotional exuberance.
Coming-of-age films: Grow up
'Adventureland' bucks trend of quantity over quality
By Michael Phillips | Tribune Newspapers critic
April 15, 2009
No matter how severe the acne, most of us come of age sooner or later. This is why coming-of-age movies speak to us, often without the aid of such niceties as quality. Nuance, to paraphrase a line from Barry Levinson's "Diner," is not a word this genre favors. Fantasy's the main ingredient, plus a little truth thrown in for atmosphere.
How else to explain the widely beloved John Hughes? The former Glenbrook North High School student is a favorite son, and certainly he enjoyed a hot streak in the 1980s, with "Sixteen Candles," "The Breakfast Club," "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and others. I enjoy parts of "Sixteen Candles," his first film as a director. But when Greg Mottola's excellent "Adventureland" came out last week, accompanied by blurbs touting Mottola as this generation's John Hughes, I thought: Can we aim a little higher? Besides, Mottola would have to exploit his young-adult stereotypes a lot more crassly to deserve that handle.With its lack of stars and uncertain marketing campaign (It's "Superbad"! No, wait! It's not!), "Adventureland" grossed less than one-tenth of what "Fast & Furious" made opening weekend. They are not the same, these two: One is a coming-of-age comedy, bittersweet and wise; the other is a squealing-of-tires picture, loud and louder.
But since "Adventureland" opened, I've heard from a lot of Boomers who have fallen for it. And taking into account the middling box office for many of our better American coming-of-age comedies -- "Diner," "Rushmore," the overrated but worthwhile "Dazed and Confused" -- you realize that audiences prefer their coming-of-age chronicles raunchy and triumphalist in tone, with a reasonably straightforward male-oriented agenda. If there's some wit, as in the best of the Judd Apatow projects, it's a bonus.
The genre has its many moods. Remember "Summer of '42"? I saw it again yesterday. What's amazing about the 1971 pop artifact is how many of its individual vignettes -- nervous teenage boy buying condoms from a druggist; nervous teenage boy sweating out his close proximity to Jennifer O'Neill's thighs as she climbs a ladder -- are played earnestly, even gravely, not for the customary hormonal anxiety gags (customary since the '80s, that is). It's as solemn as "The Reader," which is saying something, and through the sheer infernal persistence of the Michel Legrand love theme, 15-year-old Hermie (Gary Grimes) ends up in the bed of O'Neill's war widow. Legrand's theme became the hit song "The Summer Knows," with lyrics by Marilyn and Alan Bergman: "The summer smiles, the summer knows/And unashamed, she sheds her clothes."
There's a line in "Dazed and Confused," Richard Linklater's 1976-set coming-of-ager, in which a class of female high school seniors discusses various episodes of "Gilligan's Island," specifically the Ginger-vs.-Mary Ann question. "Guys have it all," says one woman. Male fans of that show, she says, had both "the Madonna and the Whore. Women get nothing." Ironically, the women don't have much to do in Linklater's film.
French cinema is particularly rich for coming-of-age dramas, from Truffaut's "The 400 Blows" to Erick Zonca's "The Dreamlife of Angels" (1998). The latter, a piercing tale of female friendship, is the rare screen story with its sights set on how women process the challenges of adult sexuality. American cinema has no lock on R-rated raunch, also known as the "gettin'-some" genre of comedy, but it's where the money has always been, then ("Porky's") and now ("Superbad," in which our graduating high school senior heroes do not, in fact, get some, but try, and learn a couple of things about friendship).
Here's a coming-of-age picture you probably haven't seen: Olivier Assayas' 1994 French drama "Cold Water." It's terrific. Early on, the two main characters exchange small talk that speaks to the genre's eternal appeal:
"You're still a kid, but that's OK," says the teenage hellion played by Virginie Ledoyen, addressing her moony sometime-boyfriend played by Cyprien Fouquet. He smiles. He knows this restless, unhappy character is a little out of his league. "It's true," he says. "I've got my books, my records ... and no experience." Such is young love, however frustrated. Fed by literature and music -- and the movies -- we grow into our adult selves gradually or suddenly, depending on whom we meet along the way.
- - -
Coming of age, through the ages
"Little Women," 1933. The first sound-era adaptation of Louisa May Alcott's classic, directed by George Cukor, starring a radiant Katharine Hepburn.
"Shadow of a Doubt," 1943. Young Charlie (Teresa Wright) learns the truth about her favorite uncle (Joseph Cotten) in one of Alfred Hitchcock's greatest achievements, co-scripted by Thornton Wilder.
"Rebel Without a Cause," 1955. James Dean, Natalie Wood and Sal Mineo offer three indelible portraits in teen angst in this widescreen Nicholas Ray masterwork.
"Splendor in the Grass," 1961. Not having sex can make you clinically insane, as we learn from William Inge's screenplay, filmed by Elia Kazan.
"The Graduate," 1967. Plastics; anomie; sex with a married woman; Simon and Garfunkel.
"The Last Picture Show," 1971. Some towns are smaller, and more sexually roiling, than others.
"American Graffiti," 1973. George Lucas' monster hit rode a wave of '50s-era nostalgia (though the film was set in 1962).
"Risky Business," 1983. Tom Cruise scored with this savvy Reagan-era love letter to free enterprise. The cop-out ending ensured a big audience.
"Wish You Were Here," 1987. Little-seen but flavorsome British coming-of-age comedy, set in the 1950s, starring an audacious and wonderful Emily Lloyd.
"Y Tu Mama Tambien," 2001. Alfonso Cuaron's road trip movie was part fantasy, part reality and all emotional exuberance.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Hanger
Mark Twain is supposed to have said, history may not always repeat itself, but it sure rhymes.
I like the Trivial
Mystery of the missing links
By Joe Dollar
Published: March 28 2009 01:06 | Last updated: March 28 2009 02:50
No one in the office likes Porter. He is socially inept and his intense inward focus has left him tone deaf to clients and the markets. At the same time, he claims to be a leader. I find this sort of vainglorious declaration exasperating. That, and his continuing devotion to cufflinks.
When it comes to work-wear, I think we are all pretty happy that we still have a uniform to wear (that is, we’re still employed). We want to focus on what is important: keeping our business going. Porter is the one guy in our office who doesn’t seem to get this, and his cufflinks and bespoke clothing seem out of tune with the seriousness of the times.
While most of us have our heads down and are desperately trying to raise capital, he is focused on his cufflinks. Few people in the office are wearing them these days. They seem, generally, a banished totem of financial excess. But then ours has never been an office of wardrobe flourishes. Occasionally, the crispness of a colleague’s shirt or the lustre of his suit might get noticed but generally we keep dandyism in check.
The younger associates sometimes get ribbed as they are more likely to dress aspirationally. Early in a career, we each experiment with a work wardrobe before settling into some version of the uniform, losing the desire to use clothes as a means of personal expression along the way.
A few years ago, the younger associates were walking billboards for a thriving economy but now seem to be advertising their frugality.
I float my theory of a new dress-Calvinism in our office to Peter. “I don’t know,” he replies. “I have seen plenty of blue shirts in the office, even some fancy stripy ones.”
“But don’t you think there are fewer cufflinks?” I ask.
“Well, yes, and thank God for that!” It turns out Peter has a particular antipathy to cufflinks as his family has forced a collection of them upon him.
“I don’t even like them,” he announced. “I don’t like them because they prevent me from getting gifts that I might actually like or want. My family has decided that I like to collect cufflinks and now I get them for practically any occasion. It’s not even giving me a gift. It’s giving my shirt a gift.”
I realise that Peter is not the best person to critique my theory so I move on to Graham. “I guess that at a time when bankers are being vilified, cufflinks are an easy target for muckrakers,” he says.
“I think your theory seems a little Jamesian, though: thrifty and honourable barrel cuffs v corrupt ancien régime French cuffs. Credit default swaps don’t wear shirts.”
“But if they did ... ” I try to interject.
“Your theory is too US-centric. I was just in London, and the City is both on suicide watch and in cufflinks.” Graham was right. I felt I had to abandon my thesis.
Days later, economic tribulation came home to roost. At a lunch for department heads, we discussed staff cuts, specifically who we would be letting go.
We all make an effort to defend good people in these meetings – it’s a balance of loyalty, friendship and business. Except for Porter, who is more rigid in his outlook, eyeing only individual revenue generation and return. I want him to protect the people that work for him, to fight for them.
But, sitting next to me in his cufflinks, he has never seemed more villainous.
Vanessa Friedman returns next week
By Joe Dollar
Published: March 28 2009 01:06 | Last updated: March 28 2009 02:50
No one in the office likes Porter. He is socially inept and his intense inward focus has left him tone deaf to clients and the markets. At the same time, he claims to be a leader. I find this sort of vainglorious declaration exasperating. That, and his continuing devotion to cufflinks.
When it comes to work-wear, I think we are all pretty happy that we still have a uniform to wear (that is, we’re still employed). We want to focus on what is important: keeping our business going. Porter is the one guy in our office who doesn’t seem to get this, and his cufflinks and bespoke clothing seem out of tune with the seriousness of the times.
While most of us have our heads down and are desperately trying to raise capital, he is focused on his cufflinks. Few people in the office are wearing them these days. They seem, generally, a banished totem of financial excess. But then ours has never been an office of wardrobe flourishes. Occasionally, the crispness of a colleague’s shirt or the lustre of his suit might get noticed but generally we keep dandyism in check.
The younger associates sometimes get ribbed as they are more likely to dress aspirationally. Early in a career, we each experiment with a work wardrobe before settling into some version of the uniform, losing the desire to use clothes as a means of personal expression along the way.
A few years ago, the younger associates were walking billboards for a thriving economy but now seem to be advertising their frugality.
I float my theory of a new dress-Calvinism in our office to Peter. “I don’t know,” he replies. “I have seen plenty of blue shirts in the office, even some fancy stripy ones.”
“But don’t you think there are fewer cufflinks?” I ask.
“Well, yes, and thank God for that!” It turns out Peter has a particular antipathy to cufflinks as his family has forced a collection of them upon him.
“I don’t even like them,” he announced. “I don’t like them because they prevent me from getting gifts that I might actually like or want. My family has decided that I like to collect cufflinks and now I get them for practically any occasion. It’s not even giving me a gift. It’s giving my shirt a gift.”
I realise that Peter is not the best person to critique my theory so I move on to Graham. “I guess that at a time when bankers are being vilified, cufflinks are an easy target for muckrakers,” he says.
“I think your theory seems a little Jamesian, though: thrifty and honourable barrel cuffs v corrupt ancien régime French cuffs. Credit default swaps don’t wear shirts.”
“But if they did ... ” I try to interject.
“Your theory is too US-centric. I was just in London, and the City is both on suicide watch and in cufflinks.” Graham was right. I felt I had to abandon my thesis.
Days later, economic tribulation came home to roost. At a lunch for department heads, we discussed staff cuts, specifically who we would be letting go.
We all make an effort to defend good people in these meetings – it’s a balance of loyalty, friendship and business. Except for Porter, who is more rigid in his outlook, eyeing only individual revenue generation and return. I want him to protect the people that work for him, to fight for them.
But, sitting next to me in his cufflinks, he has never seemed more villainous.
Vanessa Friedman returns next week
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