Winter's Bone: Chilling and Satisfying

At first glance, Winter's Bone seems to be one of those gritty movies that are so popular at film festivals on the coasts about people with hard lives who live in the middle of the country. Like Frozen River, that other movie about a family trying to make ends meet when Father disappears, Winter's Bone takes place in the winter, casting darkness over the entire film, and shows the dark, cramped homes of non-coastal elites. Like Frozen River, Winter's Bone reveals a hidden society to the protagonist and to the audience. But unlike Frozen River, where a middle-aged protagonist purposefully enters the world of people-smuggling, Winter's Bone tracks one girl's coming of age with her unwitting discovery of an underground network of methamphetamine producers.

Ree Dolly (Jennifer Lawrence) is a seventeen year old Missourian who goes on a quest to find her father as his court date approaches when she learns that he put their entire property as collateral for his bond. Unfortunately for Ree, she's also responsible for two younger siblings, Sonny and Ashley, as well as their mentally ill mother. Despite Ree's youth, the audience doesn't expect this to be a coming of age movie, since Ree already seems quite competent and hard-nosed at the beginning of the film. We see her cooking breakfast, teaching her siblings aphorisms "Never ask for what should be offered," and shooting and skinning squirrels.

After learning about her father, though, Ree's hard, yet routine, days are broken. She goes on a quest to speak with everyone known acquaintance of her father's. We soon realize that many of these folks are fellow meth addicts or dealers. Ree soon learns that many of these folks have secrets to hide. Her father's older brother, Teardrop (John Hawkes), aggressively holds her neck to caution her about talking to people. It's hard to know early on if he's protecting himself, or protecting Ree. Ree's next door neighbor tries to convince her that her dad died in a meth lab explosion.

As Ree's search continues, she unravels a network of hidden rules and hierarchies that govern this underground society. Two rules are ultimately important: loyalty, and the ability to forget what one's seen. But in contrast to a typical fish out of water story, the world that Ree uncovers has been right in front of her all along. She is a product of it all along without knowing it. As she is put through a series of trials to test her loyalty, we wonder if being born into a society of underground drug pushers will be enough to save her from them.

The Passage Reveals the Limitations of Thrillers

The Passage by Justin Cronin has a lot to teach about thriller writing. Clocking in at 766 pages, it meets the definition of "summer blockbuster" in every sense. It was hugely hyped, sold for a $3.75 million advance, bears a shiny cover, and promises to be the first in a trilogy. Most tellingly, it is about a society's self-destruction brought on by the military's invention of "virals," a bloodthirsty, long-living kind beast akin to vampires. In other words, Twilight meets The Road. How could I resist?

And so, after haranguing Fawn into getting The Passage on her Kindle as well, I dove into the book. After the first two hundred pages or so, it became clear that The Passage is not just a typical thriller, and that it deserved the praise it has garnered from The AV Club and The New York Times.

The main difference between The Passage and every other thriller out there is that it is relatively well-written, and relatively well-plotted, emphasis on the relatively. Though Justin Cronin is known for his literary chops in such novels as The Summer Guest, he didn't use many elegant sentences in The Passage. But this actually makes it more readable, as the eyes don't linger too long on any one sentence. Instead, in true beach read fashion, The Passage allows you to skim the pages and know precisely what's going on. Just be sure to catch the cliffhanging/revelatory last sentence of each section to get the plot developments.

The plot developments are as follows: It's the near future. There's an orphan named Amy. There's also a military plot to make people who can heal really quickly/be fearless to use as potential secret weapons. But wait, something goes awry. Flash forward 100 years. There's a colony of survivors from the vampire outbreak. Most of North American civilization as we know it has ended. The colonists need to find an energy source to sustain their settlement. The girl named Amy comes back. What does she have to do with the vampires? Will the settlement survive? These are the questions.

Though easily summed up, the plot impressively spans many bio-medical and existential themes that make novel thought provoking at times. Most obviously, it asks about the ethics of human medical experimentation, and condemns the military-industrial complex for bringing the end of the world upon us. More profoundly, it asks about the significance of souls to the human experience. In the world overrun with vampires that Cronin has created, lost souls seem to pervade people's dreams, making them uneasy all the time. Cronin seems to suggest that a sense of self-identity, of soul, separates humans from the vampires.

At the same time, The Passage's many shortcomings reflect the inherent difficulties of thriller writing. First, it is massive. You wonder why it takes Cronin hundreds of pages to say that a bunch of people traveled a few hundred miles. But you realize that the novel has to move along slowly in order to build tension. It's more believable for Cronin to spell out the characters' plodding moves than to say "the vampires have now taken over the hut." There's more tension when you see characters freaking out about what's around the corner than just having a narrator flat out give you thefacts.

Second, The Passage is kind of predictable. After reading several hundred pages of people slogging through desert, we can kind of guess when the vampires are going to show up. But this predictability stems from the way surprises are revealed. Again, Cronin can't just have an omniscient narrator give everything away. It's more believable if you have a baffled character uncover things with the reader. Hence, the surprises at the end of each section, like "He felt a bump. The radio must have been embedded inside."

Overall, The Passage makes for a flexible summer read. It can be simultaneously thought provoking and entertaining. At the same time, it has also satisfied my blockbuster/thriller craving for the season.

New Pornographers' Second Night in DC

How meta: I am writing about the New Pornographers concert that I attended last night while listening to a recording of it via NPR. (Being in attendance at an NPR recorded show is a big source of pride for me). Listening to the stream, I am reminded of both the perks and disappointments of last night's performance.

The New Pornographers is a large band that depends on the intricate coordination of eight individuals for a coherent sound. They have three vocalists (Neko Case, AC Newman who also plays guitar, Dan Bejar), a drummer (Kurt Dahle), two keyboarders (Kathryn Calder, Blaine Thurier), a bassist (John Collins), and a cellist (Todd Fancey). They spread out on 9:30 Club's stage in an elegant formation, with five members in front, and the bassist, cellist, and drummer in back. Unfortunately, this smooth formation did not lead to a smooth sound.

Though the New Pornographers is known for its music more than its lyrics, they are also known for the idiosyncratic voices of Neko Case and Dan Bejar. Last night's performance failed to highlight their vocals, as they were kind of drowned out by the drums and guitars. At times, Neko also sounded awkwardly straining. I spent the evening chiming in with the chorus of songs I knew but distracted by songs I didn't. However, the recording captures everyone's voices beautifully. I wonder if the mix for the live performance was purposely configured in a certain way to play down the voices live since they are miked for the recording.

At the same time, NPR's stream also captures the band's banter, that is much better experienced live. Having seen Neko Case on her solo tour last year, I was eager to see how far she's take a joke this time. It all started when AC Newman said "Did you know DC's our favorite city? I said it on Pitchfork...Pitchfork Media. Have you heard of it?"

Neko Case quipped, "Oh you mean those people who hate music?"

"I remember on the Mass Romantic tour when I got an interview with Pitchfork and it was like this seventeen year old kid who we had to sneak in to our show," Newman continued.

"I breastfed him for two years. Yeah we dated a bit. I breastfed him from 17 to 19. That's why he's so strong. He looks like a minotaur." The crowd went wild. "My milk's strong shit. But I'm dried up now."

On the contrary, Neko's actually as voluptuous as ever, even in pajama-type attire last night.

The band gamely tried an old song from Mass Romantic, which they hadn't played in a while. Though they were poorly rehearsed, the audience clearly appreciate this peek into NP rehearsals. Finally, the encore saw the New Pornographers go out with a flourish as they played "Electric Version" with the Guitar Hero version of it projected in the background.

Epic Weekend of DC Food

This was an epic weekend of food, hence the above title. Though the bf and I have a longstanding argument about the value of eating out, this weekend was rife with opportunities to see people that contributed to my unfrugality.

Eating began on Friday night. As Chen and I had a Kennedy Center performance to catch, we ate quickly in Georgetown. But due to unfortunate timing, we actually ate at different places. I got the bacon, turkey, and cheese filled sandwich, the Patty Hearst at Booey Monger's per usual. Then, after meeting up with Chen at the foot of Georgetown, we decided to venture to George's, a small middle-eastern take out place on M Street. She got a Philly cheesesteak that looked perfectly chopped, with onions and peppers mixed in as opposed to simply topped.

Saturday afternoon saw my first trip to Taqueria Distrito Federale, to see the lovely Molly and Maria. I was pleasantly surprised by TDF's outdoor seating and prompt service, though disappointed by its lack of a liquor license. In my eagerness to try tacos, I got a three taco combo, one each with chorizo, chivo (goat), and tripa (tripe). Both DCist and City Paper had good things to say about the chorizo and chivo, and they weren't wrong. Both meats were juicy. The tripe, however, was so oddly fried and flavorless, I could only tell which of the three it was by process of elimination. All of TDF's tacos come with two shells and a slice of avocado, which definitely made them very filling. Too filling perhaps, leaving me uncomfortably full for the next hour or so.

Four hours later, Mike and I went to Central (courtesy of his parents) for an early dinner reservation. We decided to try something new and each got a raw fish appetizer as opposed to the famed cheese puffs. I had the ceviche, while Mike had tuna tartar. Though Central leans towards the French, our apps were respectively Mexican and Asian flavored, yet not overwhelming. The fish still maintained its integrity. Next, Mike got a strip steak and I got the lamb shank for our entrees. His medium-rare steak was just the right amount of crisp on the outside with bright pink in the middle. My shank was off the bone, so I ate it without a knife. Central does a good job of serving meat in a way that brings out the meat, and not the sauce. My lamb was tender and juicy, achieving an almost melt in your mouth softness. The waitress recommended a lovely red that cast a nice, warm feeling over the entire meal.

Since it was still early and bright out, Mike and I headed to Busboys to meet up with friends. I tried the new Schlafly brewery's American IPA, which tasted pretty much like Dogfish 60 minute. Maria got the Southampton Double White, which was pretty much a knock-off--albeit it a delicious one--of Allagash white. I ended my night, sans Mike, at Local 16, where another friend's law school friends were having a birthday party. Annoyingly yuppie, Local 16 is at least a good venue since it's big enough for one to avoid the toolish types.

While still kind of dehydrated the next morning, Mike and I had brunch with his work friends at The Heights in Columbia Heights. Part of the Commissary chain, The Heights has a similar menu at similarly reasonable prices. I had a boring, surprisingly filling bacon and swiss omelet. They must have used eight ounces of swiss in there, in addition to two crispy pieces of bacon. The home fries were appropriately salty and soft. Like Commissary, The Heights also has a dark interior, which provided some shade from the 90 degree weather.

Finally, the weekend ended with a trip into Georgetown for dinner. I had been meaning to try Tacklebox, the cheap Hook, for a while. Mike was reluctant to eat take-out style food, but dutifully finished his bluefish. My trout with tartar sauce was appropriately seared on the outside, juicy on the inside. Slight overcooking made it less tasty than ideal though. The sides were mixed. Their mac and cheese and mashed potatoes clearly come out of a box, rendering the mac and cheese tasteless. On the other hand, the grilled asparagus was ample and generously doused with butter. The sweet potato fries, though a little soft, were nice and salty.

Since Tacklebox doesn't serve alcohol, we went to Birreria Paradiso for a Sunday night drink. I tried a bottled Hofbrau Original, which is a German lager. And a refreshing one at that. Golden in color, it had a crisp taste (tiny bit of malts, hops, spices) that provided the perfect ending to a hot summer weekend.

Fabulousness at The Studio Theatre

Since it was pay-what-you-can day at The Studio Theatre today, Maria and I decided to take a chance on Legends!, Studio's latest production. We weren't sure what to expect, given that the website promises "Epic catfights," "Unparalleled style," but not much plot summary. Contextualization was not a problem. The play opens with an agent making a call to "Brad Pitt." Through their brief conversation, we glean that the producer is trying to get two divas who hate each other on the same stage for a show called Legends! In this production, the two legends are Leatrice Monsee (John Epperson, aka Lypsinka) and Sylvia Glenn (James Lecesne), each played by a man in drag.

After the producer calls Sylvia pretending to be Brad Pitt, she comes around and arranges a meeting with Leatrice. Of course, Sylvia--as befits her has been status--doesn't actually have a nice apartment, so she borrows her friend's. The apartment comes with a maid, Aretha (the first reference of many), who gets compelled to participate in Sylvia's scheme.

This set-up pretty much says it all about the play's farcical approach. The next 75 minutes or so are filled with campy moments and catty banter between Leatrice and Sylvia. Over the top fanfare and spotlights mark each lady's entrance. Once on stage, they accuse one another of devilish conniving. Leatrice jabs at Sylvia's seven husbands, and Sylvia fights back by threatening to reveal Leatrice's food stamp status. The source of their grudge is their jealousy of each other's roles. Sylvia is consistently typecast as the bitch, while Leatrice is consistently typecast as the heroine who endures and endures. Naturally, the two women have more in common than they'd like to admit. We learn that both women are near-destitute because of former boyfriends/husbands. They are both Oscar winners who refuse to do less glamorous work.

But whether or not Leatrice and Sylvia can come together over these similarities is besides the point of this production. Legends! is pure entertainment. Halfway through the show, a male stripper named Boom-Boom shows up. Originally hired to do a bachelorette party in the apartment for Aretha's niece, he didn't get the message that the party was off. The audience is then treated to a full strip number where Boom-Boom takes everything off, leaving only a top hat to save the audience from male frontal nudity. Lypsinka treats us to a lip-syncing number towards the end as well. The finale, featuring a fun song and dance duet with the two divas, appropriately closes the lighthearted romp.