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It Might Get Wiggy
Every year, I review dozens and dozens of music doc- umentar- ies. Most focus on a particular artist or genre, but every once in awhile a film arrives to focus on a specific instrument.
Davis Guggenheim's upcoming It Might Get Loud, for instance, celebrates the electric guitar from the perspective of Jimmy Page (Led Zeppelin), The Edge (U2), and Jack White (the White Stripes).
In honor of Guggenheim's follow-up to the Oscar-winning An Inconven- ient Truth, this seems like the ideal time to post a review of the follow- ing, one of the better music documentaries to play the Seattle Interna- tional Film Festival—and SIFF screens a lot of music documentaries. It Might Get Loud opens at Seattle's Egyptian Theater on 8/28.
THEREMIN: AN ELECTRONIC ODYSSEY[***1/2] (Steven M. Martin, US, 1994, 83 minutes)
"As long as we're doing something eerie today, why not get real eerie and put a theremin on it?" -- Brian Wilson on "Good Vibrations"
Although it could've been tightened up more in the editing room and the sound isn't always as clear as it could be, Ther- emin: An Electronic Odyssey offers a fascinating look at the world's first electronic instrument and its multi-faceted creator, Leon Theremin, KGB captive-turned-inventor.
Fortunately, the occasion- al sonic deficiencies don't detract from the fantastic music—of vital importance in a film about an instrument— but some of the interview segments with various for- eign-born individuals pre- sent interpretive challenges, particularly the legendary Clara Rockmore, theremin virtuoso and inventor's muse, whose segments would've benefited from a few subtitles.
Among the many highlights: film clips featuring Theremin soundtracks from such anxiety-fueled classics as Alfred Hitchcock's Spellbound, Billy Wilder's The Lost Weekend, and Robert Wise's The Day the Earth Stood Still, possibly composer Bernard Herrmann's most celebrated score.
The funniest scene features Brian Wilson talking about his use of the instrument on the Beach Boys' "Good Vibrations." Director Steven M. Martin must've conducted this interview during one of Wilson's infamous lost years, because he goes on and on a- bout "children of God," has great difficulty getting to the point at hand, and clearly wasn't trying to be funny. (Wilson is consider- ably more coherent in I Just Wasn't Made for These Times.)
By contrast, Robert Moog, in- ventor of the instrument which bears his sci-fi-sounding name, provides illuminating commen- tary about the history and de- velopment of the Theremin and electronic music in general.
Now that demand is on the rise a- gain, as evidenced by the popularity of Stereolab, Combustible Edison, and other retro-futurist acts, he's been manufacturing them through his Big Briar company. Alas, Martin doesn't pro- vide him any time to discuss the equally illustrious Moog.
Professor Theremin died not long after Martin finished film- ing (and Rockmore followed suit a few years later). He had been living in his native Russia at the time and was in his mid-90s.
Martin came to town for the Seattle International Film Festival premiere accompanied by music coordinator Hal Willner. To add further interest, they brought along one of Moog's hand-crafted Theremins so audience members could check out the bizarre contraption for themselves (players don't actually touch the instrument; instead, manipulating the air around the box).
The theatrical trailer
Unlike most music documentaries, Theremin: An Electronic Odyssey might appeal even to those who don't normally gravi- tate towards the form. Watch in amazement as experimental mu- sic meets political intrigue, kitsch meets class, and a mysterious Russian pries open the sounds of Heaven for the citizens of Earth.
Click here for Part Two: I Just Wasn't Made for These Times
Endnote: It's fortunate that Martin made his film when he did, since Moog passed away in 2005. Theremin would still prove valuable without all the great interviews, but it certainly would- n't be as good. Images from Dan Blogs, Synthtopia, and MrMule.
One of my favorite actors in the 1970s (The Godfather, Dog Day Afternoon), Al Pacino started to slip in the '80s (Author! Author!, Revolution), but then regained his footing in the '90s (Glengarry Glen Ross, Heat), only to lose it again in the '00s (88 Minut- es, Righteous Kill). Here's a look back at two of his fin- est '90s performances, one widely celebrated, the oth- er unjustly maligned. This review has been slightly revised from the original 1997 text and was never previously published.
THE DEVIL'S ADVOCATE[***] (Taylor Hackford, US, 1997, 144 mins.)
Vanity is definitely my favorite sin. -- John Milton (Al Pacino)
Al Pacino, enjoying a career high after his bravura performance in Donnie Brasco earlier this year, is perfectly cast as John Milton, the head of a rather devilish law firm in New York City.
His performance is larger than life, but in a good way, unlike Michael Mann's still-spectacular Heat, where he put his theatric- al training to such bad use, making Robert De Niro look like more of a genius than he already is (when he applies himself, that is).
Pacino never sprouts horns or a tail or any of the other usual de- vil accoutrements, but the audience knows from the start who he is and what he wants from Keanu Reeves: his soul, of course. The reason why, however, isn't made clear until the end of the picture.
Reeves plays Kevin Lomax, a hotshot Gainsville, FL de- fense attorney. After win- ning his latest seemingly unwinnable case, a mem- ber of Milton's firm (Ruben Santiago-Hudson) approach- es him about joining their particularly well paid team.
Though Reeves looks the part of a slick young lawyer, Charlize Theron, as his supportive spouse Mary Ann, easily upstages him. She's the Mia Farrow to his John Cassavetes, soliciting more sym- pathy than her husband, her neighbors, or anyone else in the film.
Theron's Florida accent is fairly believable, too, but Reeves' atro- cious attempt mars what might otherwise have been a pretty de- cent performance. Taylor Hackford (An Officer and a Gentleman) should've made him drop it altogether—the same goes for Francis Ford Coppola, who cast him as a Brit in Bram Stoker's Dracula.
The credits list two dialect coaches, but they appear to have split their time between Reeves, Judith Ivey (Kevin's scripture-quot- ing mother), and Theron—a native South African—when they should've focused exclusively on their accent-challenged lead.
As for Rick Baker, he concentrates his make-up magic on members of the firm and their designer-clad wives, recalling his effects for Jacob's Ladder. The thunderous score and baroque set design, particularly Milton's office, are exceptional, as well.
I enjoyed the overall story, but it's certainly not for all tastes. Reeves' Adventures in Law Hell are about as preposterous as you'd expect and more sadistic than necessary in regards to the fate that befalls his wife, but things never get as preachy as they could have,* and the supporting cast, namely Craig T. Nelson and Delroy Lindo, plays it straight, which adds to the drama.
* So I wrote at the time. In revisting the clip below, I beg to differ.
The twists at the end contribute to the evil fun. First you get one, and then another. Though this indi- cates that some things nev- er actually happened, the ambiguously circuitous structure still satisfies more than the cop-out ending that conclud- es the otherwise intriguing Jacob's Ladderin which Tim Rob- bins' vet can't tell if demons are after him or if he's going crazy.
The kind of risky, go-for-broke enterprise that falls into the dread- ed "neither fish nor fowl" category, i.e it isn't strictly a legal thriller or a horror movie, The Devil's Advocate will probably appeal most to those who've absorbed a few John Grisham adaptations in their time and are looking for something that starts off like The Firm before taking a sharp detour into Anne Rice-by- way-of-Roman Polanski territory and stays there.
Major spoiler alert
Postscript: Where I saw risk, others saw a craven attempt to court two audiences for the price of one. Fair enough. It's hard- ly a critical darling, but if you're in the mood for some A-list camp, you could do far worse. And if you've always wanted to see Pacino as the Devil singing Sinatra while executing some soft-shoe moves—and believe me, you do—look no further.
Endnote:Now famed for Michael Clayton and the Bourne series, writer/director Tony Gilroy assisted withThe Devil's Advocatescript. Inthe years since, Taylor Hackford would go on to marry Helen Mirren and to direct Ray. Mirren, meanwhile, would go on to win the Academy Award, for Stephen Frears' The Queen, and tocollect a DBE from Elizabeth's son, Prince Charles, making Hackford a Royal by proxy. Nice work if you can get it. Images from Velvet Peach, All Movie Guide, and UGO.com.
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Pacino in the '90s: Part One
One of my favorite actors in the 1970s (The God- father, Dog Day After- noon), Al Pacino started to slip in the '80s (Author! Author!, Revolution), but then regained his footing in the '90s (Glengarry Glen Ross, Heat), only to lose it again in the '00s (88 Minutes, Righteous Kill). Here's a look back at two of his finest '90s performances, one widely celebrated, the oth- er unjustly maligned. This review has been slightly revised from the original 1997 text and was never previously published.
After directing one of the most successful British films of all time, Four Weddings and a Funeral, Mike Newell could've coasted on his success with another rom-com set in the English countryside. Instead he entered the seemingly alien terrain of the New York- based Italian-American Mob with this gritty, yet heartfelt drama.
Comparisons to Martin Scorsese's Goodfellas are inevitable, and original UK helmer Stephen Frears (The Grifters) was well aware of that fact when he showed the script, written by Paul Attanasio in 1989, to Newell. Although Scorsese saw more differences than similarities ("Mine's about the life, and yours is about relation- ships" he said, according to the 2/97 issue of Sight & Sound), the team decided to wait awhile before putting their project together.
In the meantime, the prolific Mr. Newell directed five pic- tures, including Four Weddings, and stepped in when Frears stepped out (voluntarily, I would presume). Attanasio went on to create Homicide: Life on the Streets with producer Barry Levinson, received an Oscar nomination for Quiz Show, and scripted Levinson's Disclosure, but the relationship doesn't end there since Levinson also produced Donnie Brasco.
The burnished look of the film even resembles Sleepers, his lat- est directorial effort (lensed by Goodfellas cinematographer Mi- chael Ballhaus), although it's set in a different era. Peter Sova, who worked on Levinson's Diner, served asBrasco's cinematographer.
Further connections to Levinson can be evidenced through the casting of Bruno Kirby, Shakes' abusive father in Sleepers, in the "Joe Pesci role"—a mobster with a funny haircut—and Homi- cide's Zeljko Ivanek (attorney Ed Danvers) as an FBI agent.
In terms of the disco music and wide lapels, the 1978- set Brasco more closely re- sembles Brian De Palma's Carlito's Way, whichalso takes place in the '70s and stars Al Pacino.
Like Goodfellas, Donnie Brasco draws inspiration from the experiences of a Mob in- former, but although it taps into the same milieu, it doesn't feel like a Scorsese film. It's more economical and less flashy in terms of camera angles and editing, and plays more like a cross between Sidney Lumet's taut Serpico (also based on a true story and top- lined by Pacino) and Quentin Tarantino's stylish Reservoir Dogs.
Once the hulking Michael Madsen, Dogs' sadistic Mr. Blonde, hits the scene as Lefty's boss, Sonny Black, it's hard to suppress a brief flashback to Tarantino's first feature. Further, Johnny Depp's part as Joe Pistone, AKA Donnie Brasco, has more in common with Tim Roth's police informant Freddy, AKA Mr. Orange, than Ray Liotta's mobster-turned-informer Henry Hill.
These comparisons to previous crime films aren't meant to suggest that Newell has manufactured a mere pastiche, but to place it in its proper context. The movie stands on its own mer- its, but serves inescapably as part of a well defined tradition.
Maybe I'm naïve, or maybe I've seen too many crime films— more likely a combination of the two—but it's impossible to craft a completely original crime film, particularly a Mob film, in 1997. Donnie Brasco is hardly sui generis, but it does have a heart; more than those that get the details right about "the life", but neglect to invest the scenario with any genuine emotion.
As usual, Depp is very good, but Pacino, an increasingly mer- curial talent, steals the show. This isn't Depp's fault; there's a coldness to his character and a warmth to Pacino's. As the ten- sion increases, and events hurtle towards their inevitable con- clusion, Brasco grows chillier towards his neglected wife (Ann Heche), while Lefty grows more vulnerable and sympathetic.
To some extent, Depp has the more difficult task since he's essentially playing two parts. As the lead, he also puts in great- er screen time, but Pacino makes you care more deeply about the fates of this two-faced son and his surrogate father as their personal lives become dangerously entwined and the line be- tween their two seemingly opposing career paths blurs.
Chances are, you already know what happens. While watching Quiz Show, which also drew from actual events, I knew how it was going to end, but got sucked in anyway. Donnie Brasco is similar in that the foreshadowing begins immediately and, even if you can predict what's about to transpire, you may not know how; consequently, you're compelled to stick around to find out.
On first viewing, the film's biggest fault is that it builds and builds in tension, but never fully releases it. This curious momentum also re- calls Attanasio's script for and, by extension, Robert Redford's direction of Quiz Show, which never took off at the box office the way I thought it would. I suspect that Donnie Brasco may disappoint some viewers for the same reason.
Although I respect Attanasio and Newell for taking the higher ground, as it were, I left the theater feeling slightly unsatisfied, while still convinced that they had produced a mostly-terrific picture. Basically, Newell turns away from a crucial, fate-seal- ing act of violence. Had he handled the scene ineffectively or melodramatically, it would've marred the movie in a big way.
By not showing the act at all, though—just alluding to it—it felt as if Newell were chickening out. The sense of closure is insufficiently complete. Still, the thoughtful, yet cynical way he ends the film caused me to think about it more afterwards than I would have otherwise, so I've made my peace with it.
Paul Giamatti alert!
Sensitive ears should be forewarned that there's as much pro- fanity in Donnie Brasco as in Lumet's Network, Scorsese's Raging Bull, and any film with the Tarantino imprimatur.
Further, the violence—two scenes in particular—is brutal in the extreme, but doesn't last as long as in the average Scorsese Mob movie. And it's in no way played for laughs, as is sometimes the case in Tarantino's work, particularly Pulp Fiction. There's also just enough humor to prevent the atmosphere from growing un- bearably heavy or depressing, but Donnie Brasco is still one of the more straightforward crime films I've seen in some time.
And lest it seem too straightforward, Newell isn't afraid to be as tacky as he wants to be. Unlike the hip, tasteful soundtracks of Scorsese, Tarantino, De Palma, et al, there's some pretty exec- rable stuff here, notably Neil Diamond's schmaltzy "Love on the Rocks," but then, these aren't slick mobsters like the young Pa- cino's Michael Corleone. These guys are low-rent—just wait till you get a gander at Lefty's velour tracksuit and gold chains.
The Academy is notorious for ignoring films released from January through March come Oscar time, but they should make an exception for Pacino's Lefty Ruggiero. Depp is likely to be overlooked regardless, because he gives the kind of low-key performance that allows his co-stars to shine even while he carries the film, as was the case with Leonardo Di Caprio in What's Eating Gilbert Grape? and Martin Landau in Ed Wood. But Pacino's tendency towards exaggerated gestures and verbal ejaculations is not in evidence here: Donnie Brasco shows he's back on track.
At the very least, Mike Newell deserves a best director nod for defying expectations in a truly admirable way. Just as Taiwanese director Ang Lee segued so surprisingly successfully from films like The Wedding Banquet to Jane Austen's England in Sense and Sensibility, Newell has segued from a series of films that felt like the height of Englishness—Enchanted April, An Awfully Big Ad- venture, etc.—to a truly American one. For better or for worse. Which is to say that the Mob is far from the best America has to offer the world, but it continues to afford talented filmmakers some of the most dramatically compelling material around.
Endnote: Now available on DVD, the extended cut clocks in at 147 minutes; this review refers to the theatrical version. Also, though Attanasio received Academy Award consideration for his screenplay, Pacino went home nomination-less. Images from Ain- ulindale, Screaming Blue Reviews, and Twenty One and Quiz Show.
From time to time, I'll be excavat- ing reviews that aren't otherwise available online. Before I started freelancing for Amazon, I us- ed to contribute customer reviews. In 2000, I reviewedJesus' Son. Since then, the DVD has gone in and out of print. On the off-chance it disappears from the site altogether, this review also lives here.
JESUS' SON (Alison Maclean, US, 1999, 107 mins.)
It's hard to believe Drugstore Cowboy first made its debut 20 years ago. Just as 1996's Trainspotting has sometimes been de- scribed as a "Drugstore Cowboy for the '90s," it's tempting to describe Jesus' Son as a "Drugstore Cowboy for the '00s."
Like Gus Van Sant's now-clas- sic film—I consider Danny Boyle's a classic, too—the story revolves around two heroin addicts (Billy Crud- up and Samantha Morton, both excellent), it takes place in the not-so-distant past (the 1970s instead of the '60s), and it draws from a pre- existing literary source, in this case, Denis Johnson's 1992 short story collection of the same name.
Despite everything—mostly bad—that Crudup's Fuckhead experiences throughout the film, Jesus' Son is more of a character study (FH, as he's known, also serves as narrator).
Like Portland's Gus Van Sant, Ottowa-born director Alison Maclean refrains from judging FH, but she isn't as concerned with his drug use as much as his character, his nature—his very essence, if you will. And if you can't find anything to like about the hapless FH, you'll probably feel the same way about her darkly comic adaptation (after the well received, but little-seen Crush).
As in High Fidelity, Jack Black provides much of the humor, although Crudup, anticipating his work in Almost Famous—"I am a Golden God!"—proves equally adept at comedy during some choice moments. Dennis Hopper, Denis Leary, and Holly Hunter (in a well acted, but not particularly convincing part) also star.
Fans of Jeffrey Schatzberg's jittery The Panic in Needle Park (featuring Al Pacino in his first leading role), Vincent Gallo's loopy Buffalo 66, and especially DrugstoreCowboy should find much to enjoy.
Joe Henry's fine soundtrack only serves to sweetens the deal, the highlight of which must surely be Tommy Roe's funky "Sweet Pea," to which Morton's Michelle does quite the dance, drawing FH into her dangerously druggy world without saying a word.
The theatrical trailer
Incidentally, the Velvet Underground's "Heroin", in which Lou Reed feels "just like Jesus' Son" when he's "rushing on [his] run," is conspicuous by its absence, but then again: why be so obvious?
Endnote: Slightly revised from the original posting. Since the release of this film, Maclean has concentrated on premium cable, directing episodes of The L Word and The Tudors. Images from All Movie Guide, Internet Movie Poster Awards, and Joe Bow- man's Fin de cinema. At his site, Bowman notes, "Lionsgate will release Jesus' Sonon 23 June. Universal previously released the film on DVD in 2001." He also names the cast members I didn't: "Michael Shannon, Mark Webber, Ben Shenkman and Will Patton, as well as author Johnson and Miranda July."
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Movie of the Month: Part Nine
I recently reviewed the follow- ing film for Video Lib- rarian, and thought the results were worth sharing.
GLOBAL METAL[***] (Sam Dunn & Scot McFadyen, Canada, 2008, 93 mins.)
In their follow-up to Metal - A Headbanger's Journey, co- directors Sam Dunn and Scot McFadyen explore the effects of globalization on heavy metal. Simply put: why is a genre with roots in the working-class West so popular around the world? They find that it has a lot to do with the newfound freedom to express oneself and to live a life unencumbered by tradition.
The duo starts in Brazil, where Dunn visits a metal mall, looks back at the Rock in Rio Festival and speaks with Sepultura's Max Cavalera, who was so broke in the band's early days that he used batteries to duplicate a bullet belt (in their commentary, Dunn notes that this interview actually took place in Arizona where Cavalera now lives with his family, including son Igor).
In Japan, Slayer's Tom Ar- aya and Kerry King recall unhinged shows in the East, though fans tend to live di- vided lives: rowdy at concerts and in Karaoke bars (where Deep Purple rules); quiet at work. Journalist Yoshiyuri Ohno even compares KISS to Kabuki Theater, which explains, in part, why their outlandish look met with such little resistance.
In India, Dunn chats with metal heads in Mumbai who feel al- ienated by the pervasiveness of Bollywood ("It's nothing") be- fore moving on to China, Israel, and Indonesia, which has, sur- prisingly, welcomed a number of major metal bands (the film- makers include footage of Sepultura and Metallica in concert).
Though Iran authorities deny his visa application, Dunn still manages to talk to a number of outspoken Iranian, Saudi Ara- bian, and Egyptian musicians at Dubai's Desert Rock Festival.
If Global Metal seems like a case of cashing in on a successful predecessor, it stands alone as a music documentary with abun- dant appeal for metal lovers and cultural anthropologists alike. Special features include commentary, extended interviews, and outtakes. In 5.1 Dolby Surround and Stereo 2.0. Recommended.
Note: Slightly revised from the original text.
And here's a short version of my Metal review (click here for the long version).
METAL - A HEADBANGER'S JOURNEY[***1/2] (Sam Dunn, Jessica Joy Wise, & Scot McFadyen, Canada, 2006, 96 mins.)
While The Decline of Western Civilization, Part II: The Metal Years looked at the platinum likes of Aerosmith and Poison and while Some Kind of Monster looked exclusively at the monolithic Metallica, Dunn, Wise, and McFadyen take a different tack in Met- al - A Headbanger's Journey. Narrator Dunn and his compat- riots paint what may be the most comprehensive portrait yet.
From the outset, Dunn explains that his background is in an- thropology, so he breaks heavy metal down into its constituent parts by starting at the beginning and moving up to the present, using interviews, timelines, and archival footage.
During the course of the trip, he travels from his Victoria, BC hometown to the UK to interview Black Sabbath's Tony Iom- mi, Germany to attend the annual Wacken Metal Fest and to con- verse with Ronny James Dio, LA for Mötley Crüe's Vince Neil, and Norway for the current crop of Norwegian black metallists.
Other subjects include Geddy Lee, Bruce Dickinson, Dee Snider, and rocker-turned-director Rob Zombie, along with members of Girlschool, Voivod, and the leather-faced Slipknot, while top- ics include class, gender, sexual orientation, and censorship.
By seeking out well-spoken individuals like Dickinson and Snider, it may seem as if Dunn is attempting to defend metal from its detractors. He is. For- tunately, his tone isn't defen- sive, and he gets an assist from such non-stuffy aca- demics and scribes as Deena Weinstein and Chuck Klosterman.
Dunn also speaks with fans to bring their perspective into play, but there's no way he can cover everything in 96 minutes. While he does an admirable job, for instance, in looking at women in metal, sexual orientation gets short shrift and race isn't mention- ed at all. (It should be.) Nonetheless, Dunn has helped to craft a film that treats the object of his affection with dignity and respect.
Click here for Movie of the Month, Part Eight: Scott Walker - 30 Century Man
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Transcendence in Mind
"Possibly the greatest Brit-pop band to ever come out of Seattle." -- Devil in the Woods
The Purrs, Amused, Confused, & More Bad News, Big Damn Deal Music
Formed in Seattle in 2000, the Purrs sound more like British shoegazers from the 1980s or '90s, such as House of Love or the Verve. Then again, paisley-patterned rock once ruled the Emerald City, too, as embodied by Pure Joy, Room Nine, and Ron Nine's Sub Pop spin-off Love Battery, but the Northwest variant never broke as big as the UK or West Coast models, i.e. Rain Parade, the Three O'Clock, and the Plimsouls (Jason Milne's guitar-playing on "Baby I Want You Back" recalls "A Million Miles Away").
This quartet keeps those traditions alive on their fourth, reverb- drenched full-length, which means you can probably predict what Amused, Confused & More Bad News sounds like, but there's nothing wrong with a little predictability, especially when it's ex- ecuted with this degree of finesse. Plus, they throw a few small surprises into the mix, such as the Beatles-esque "Mostly" and minor-chord "Good Times to Come," which veers into bad-trip psychedelia, as opposed to the happy-go-lucky Tommy James model—or maybe I should say sad-trip, since the Purrs never plunge into the same sort of abyss where the Black Angels dwell.
Next to Curious Mystery's Rotting Slowly, Amused is the strongest psych-pop record to emerge from Seattle so far this year. To quote the band's own "Feeling Fine," "The beat is pure."
Round Mountain, Windward, Red Shield Music[10/20/09]
Maybe the trouble that surges through our lives is built into us with its own transcendence in mind. We just need to survive the burning, like the water that must un- dergo evaporation to become rain. -- Char Rothschild
Soothing, but not somnabulant, this Santa Fe duo has been around for awhile and shares sonic similarities with higher-profile outfits like Andrew Bird and Devotchka who work gyspy and klezmer in- fluences into their alt-pop, so they're not bandwagon jumpers as much as zeitgeist jumpers, to coin a (rather awkward) phrase.
Further, Windward hues closer to the falsetto-fueled folk end of the spectrum. On "I'm Gonna Dig," they come on like Canned Heat without the blues or Will Oldham with some of the rough edges sanded away, while "I'm Gone" brings images of the Incredible String Band to mind—if that twosome had emerged from Scotland rather than Britain (wavery vocals plus highland pipes will do that). Recommended to aficionados of any of the aforementioned.
Video Librarian:Second Skin, Made in U.S.A.(click here for my Siffblog review), Global Metal, River of Waste - The Haz- ardous Truth About Factory Farms, 2 Turntables and a Micro- phone - The Life and Death of Jam Master Jay, Little River Band - Live Exposure, Audience of One, James Dean - The Fast Lane, The Lola Falana Show, These Old Broads, Hurt, Hot Flash - The Docu- mentary, Blitzed by Menopause, Good Days, Bad Days, Sea Kind- ly - Windjammer Wisdom for Everyone,and A Sense of Wonder.
Endnote:Jim Rockford image from The Salt Lake Tribune. For Amazon, I've reviewed three seasons of The Rockford Files: Two, Three, and Six.
It Might 
Fortunately, the occasion-
By contrast, Robert Moog, in-
