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At various points throughout Super 8 I asked myself, "Is this movie better than E.T.?"
Where E.T. – The Extra-Terrestrial was my childhood world in real-time, Super 8 was still just a recreation of my youth through the clever use of childhood artifacts. That's not to say Super 8 is derivative. An homage? Yes. A love letter to the imprint Spielberg left on our collective childhood? Absolutely. But it stands on its own, rarely trying to be too clever; trading on its 1979 authenticity for a cheap nod-and-wink only once with some brief, non-essential (and unfortunately anachronistic) dialog about the Walkman.
With Super 8, writer-director J.J. Abrams has reclaimed the ’70s. Not as the camp joke it has become in our shared memory through disco, bell-bottoms, and That ’70s Show, but as it really felt when we were living it, unassumingly woven into the fabric of everyday lives.
From start to finish, Super 8 enveloped me. I knew the smell of Joe’s bedroom and the feel of Charles’ family’s kitchen. The familiarity of small town Ohio and the freedom of spending summer on your bike were as tangible here as they were my everyday reality 30 years ago. Abrams somehow captured the wonder of a late ’70s Midwestern childhood, fused it with Spielbergian tropes (like a single-parent household and extra-terrestrial elements), and came up with something so authentic, so genuine, it transcends the sentimental.
So, is Super 8 better than E.T.? I can only seem to answer the question this way: E.T. was the perfect movie for 11 year-old me, just as Super 8 – cut from the same cloth in terms of story, tone, and execution – is the perfect version of E.T. for 40 year-old me.
When the credits began to roll at the end of Super 8, Tracy turned to me and said, "That was awesome." Plastered to my theater seat with a nostalgic lump in my throat, I knew what she meant.
Next to Normal16 June 2011: Palace Theatre at Playhouse Square, Cleveland, Ohio
We were fortunate enough to have my oldest son, Mikee, up to visit with us last week. He is a huge fan of the theatre and all that goes with that world. And his favorite musical not so coincidentally was playing at the Palace Theatre the same week – Next to Normal.
Tracy and I had never seen the production and didn't know what to expect beyond it being a musical dealing with the very serious issue if mental illness. I think it's safe to say we were both blown away.
The show traces the emotional journey of a family trying to deal with a wife and mother who suffers from bipolar disorder (Diana, played by Kent State University grad Alice Ripley). Of the characters, my favorites were the husband/father (Dan) and the daughter (Natalie). The husband because I could relate to him – not because my wife or our family has been touched by this sickness, but because the struggle he endured trying to be that rock and maintain some kind of normal family structure is something with which I could identify.
The daughter was a heartbreaking character, treading delicately between scared girl and complete bitch. This balance was never more exposed than when you realized just how scared Natalie is – selfishly and honestly – at the realization that she could turn out just like her mom.
Among the various “Broadway Buzz” events Playhouse Square offers is Thursday night post-show chats with the cast. Immediately following the performance, we made our way down to the main floor for the dialog with the Emma Hunton (“Natalie”), Caitlin Kinnunen (understudy for “Natalie”), Pearl Sun (standby for “Diana”), Preston Sadleir (“Henry”), Bryan Perri (Musical Director), and Rachel Zack (Stage Manager). It was an interesting half-hour Q&A that theatre major Mikee ate up.
Next to Normal is not "feel good" theatre, having more in common with Spring Awakening and Rent than Mamma Mia! or Chicago. Not every Broadway musical is or needs to be a Mel Brooks or Disney adaptation. There is a place for this kind of serious and deeply sensitive art, and when done right it can hit every emotionally raw nerve while still being entertaining and satisfying.
Midday yesterday I tweeted that it was "Pretty much a perfect day so far."Tracy and I took the day off work to hang out with the kiddo and my oldest son, Mikee, who's been visiting this week.
We went out for a late breakfast at First Watch, and while there Tracy and I ordered tickets to take my father-in-law to go see Tony Bennett this Fall.
Then it was off to the Cuyahoga Valley National Park, where we spent a few hours of the gorgeous day marveling at the Blue Heron rookery and hiking the Ledges, the Octagon, and Brandywine Falls. Refreshingly cool under the canopy of trees and among rock formations that were moved into place by glaciers hundreds of thousands of years ago, we couldn’t have asked for better weather.
Country Maid Ice Cream was all that we needed for lunch – kid’s-sized chocolate peanut butter scoop in a cake cone, thankyouverymuch!
We made a couple of stops on the way back to the house, and I snuck in a quick nap while everyone was getting cleaned up for dinner and the evening.
Then it was fabulous sushi at House of Hunan on the square in Medina that was accidentally but perfectly timed with getting to the theater in time for the 6:40 screening of Super 8.
After the movie, the boys discovered the Star Wars marathon on Spike, while Tracy wrapped some Father's Day gifts, and I began capturing my thoughts on seeing Next to Normal the night before and Super 8 that night.
Yesterday felt like a whole weekend in one day, but never rushed or over-planned. We rolled with each other and the weather and were rewarded with a perfect day. They can't all be, but yesterday was.
The last photo I recently uncovered from the series is the Olde Dixie Fried Chicken restaurant sign. From what I can tell, the restaurant is still around. And from street level, it appears the sign has been fully restored.
5925 South Orlando Avenue, Orlando, Florida
It’s easy to see from a quick Google Maps search that the building that once housed Arnold Paint & Wallpaper still exists, but the sign is gone, the façade’s been painted, and the space looks empty. That’s too bad.
538 North Bumby Avenue, Orlando, Florida
In our basement cleaning, I uncovered more of the vintage Orlando sign pictures I snapped back in 1998. The ones I originally blogged about two years ago (found here, here, here, and here) were the ones I had framed and on display at various times in our homes over the years. These few that I recently found are the cast-offs that didn’t click for me, but I figured they deserve an audience here.First up is the Mills & Nebraska Lumber sign. Originally located at the corner of (you guessed it) Mills Avenue and Nebraska Street, from what I can tell on Google Maps, it looks like the whole place has been razed, but here’s a picture of the sign from 13 years ago.
1602 North Mills Avenue, Orlando, Florida
I’ve had the Limousines’ Get Sharp in heavy rotation since picking it up at the show a week ago. I’m digging on the whole album, but one track in particular, “Flaskaboozendancingshoes”, is unstoppable.I find myself listening to that track more than the others. It’ll finish, and I’ll touch replay before I even realize what I’m doing. So I finally had to sit up and pay attention to the song, listen actively and try to figure out its appeal for me. And I think I finally got to the bottom of it. I don’t know if anyone else would ever join the dots in the same way I did, but the reason I love this song is because there are echoes of the Cure’s “A Few Hour After This...”
In the simplest terms, like that Cure b-side that I hold in the highest regard, “Flaskaboozendancingshoes” is all at once musically sweeping and lyrically playful. Multi-instrumentalist Giovanni Giusti employs lush horns and chiming keyboards giving the song an aural fullness. It’s as if every nook and cranny of the song’s three minutes and 18 seconds is overflowing with a rich beauty that wraps itself around your brain.
Songwriter Eric Victorino’s tongue-in-cheek lyrics counter the music perfectly. The singer allows his imagination to run away from him as he projects where a club hookup might lead years down the road, from moving to the suburbs and giving their future kids “hippie names,” to “shitty sex in separate beds” and restraining orders.
There’s an innocence to the way the story builds and subtly spirals, until our hero realizes what’s happening and overcorrects, eventually finding the perfect balance between the potential of the relationship and the need to be in the moment. Ultimately deciding “I’ll just be me and you be you, two perfect strangers being sneaky with a flask of booze,” he tells her “I’ve got a stack of records, you just bring your dancing shoes.”
“Flaskaboozendancingshoes” is a near-perfect quirky pop song, resonating with my ‘80s nostalgia while bopping along with decidedly new millennial sensibilities.
At various points throughout Super 8 I asked myself, "Is this movie better than E.T.?"
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