7 Blog

Movies, dining and things to do / Spokane and North Idaho

Spokane arts gets a 50-something boost

If you've noticed some sidewalk arts displays set up around Spokane over the past several months, you may not know what they're about. I'm referring the ones marked as the Spokane 50, an art/photo project, conceived and produced by Marshall Peterson, designed to honor that number of Spokane residents who are arts boosters.

You can find out more about the project by clicking on the above links. Or you can watch the embedded video below, a production by the team behind the Spokane Film Project.

They all deserve a round of applause: the 50, the Spokane Film Project and Marshall himself.

Not so much ‘Magic in the Moonlight’

As a longtime fan of Woody Allen's films, I was particularly disappointed in his latest work, “Magic in the Moonlight.” The following is an edited version of the review that I wrote for Spokane Public Radio:

Once Woody Allen started pursuing film direction with a passion, he commenced making films that – even when uneven in tone, plot or character – always seemed to be made with care. From the stark opening credits, plain white letters against a black backdrop, to the stunning cinematography of such artists as Gordon Willis and Sven Nykvist, Allen’s movies have been, even when all else fails, wonders to watch.

Until “Magic in the Moonlight,” that is. It’s not often that a Woody Allen movie fails on every level. But it happened here.

Take the storyline. Colin Firth plays Stanley, a world-famous magician obsessed with unmasking fake spiritualists. Called in by a friend to debunk a young would-be medium named Sophie (Emma Stone), Stanley accepts with all the alacrity of one who is self-absorbed to a fault. Stanley’s arrogance is so ingrained that he isn’t aware – or perhaps he simply doesn’t care – when he hurts someone’s feelings. We’re never told why he is this way – one of Allen’s plot oversights – and Stanley’s temperament becomes especially annoying when we are introduced to his beloved Aunt Vanessa (Eileen Atkins), a kind sort who shows an abiding fondness for her narcissistic nephew.

A hint to what makes Stanley tick comes when, after failing to prove the spiritualist a fake, he does a sudden turn-around. He admits that his obsession with fake crystal-ball-gazers comes from his insistence, reinforced by fear, that nothing exists beyond death. And since this is the case, life holds no, well, magic for him. (A magician who doesn’t believe in magic; Allen clearly hasn’t lost his ability to portray irony.)

And along with magic, Stanley doesn’t believe in love. Until, when he begins to believe that Sophie is the real thing, he finds himself falling for her. Never mind that he has a fiancé, played ever-so-briefly by Catherine McCormack, who is his perfect egotistical match. And never mind that Sophie, a poor young American, is being courted by a ukelele-playing millionaire (Hamish Linklater) who offers her a life beyond her wildest dreams. And never mind that no hint of a mutual affection passes between Stanley and Sophie ever. As Allen has said, “The heart wants what it wants.” And so, clearly, does his screenplay.

But if all that isn’t bad enough, “Magic in the Moonlight” is technically sloppy. Simon McBurney, who plays Stanley’s friend, has a hairstyle that changes in virtually every frame – and it drew my eye to it every single time. In another scene, Oscar-nominated cinematographer Darius Khondji allows a shadow to fall over an actress’ face. In yet another, the principals go out of focus.

The totality of this – thematic, structural and technical sloppiness – stands in direct contrast to the 78-year-old Allen who, in other recent films such as “Blue Jasmine” and “Midnight in Paris,” had been demonstrating a creative renaissance.

I won’t blame the flaws of “Magic in the Moonlight” on age, though. More likely, Allen — at least here — just stopped caring.

Don’t miss ‘A Hard Day’s Night’

I'm not a big fan of self-promotion, which is ironic considering I've spent a career providing promotion for most everyone I've written about. That said, I want to post a reminder here that Spokane Public Radio is sponsoring a 50th-anniversary screening of “A Hard Day's Night” tonight at the Bing Crosby Theater.

The self-promotional part of this announcement concerns the live taping of “Movies 101,” the show I do with Mary Pat Treuthart and Nathan Weinbender for SPR. We will begin a live taping the show, focusing on “A Hard Day's Night,” at The Bing at 6:40 p.m. Doors to The Bing will open at 6, and the movie itself is scheduled to begin at 7:35.

Tickets are $10 and will be available at the door. My advice: Arrive early. Last I heard more than 550 tickets had already been given out.

Friday’s openings: From sin to the afterlife

From Frank Miller grim to sports-flick inspiration and spiritual exploration, the coming week of movies offers a wide range of themes and styles. Friday's movie openings are as follows:

“Sin City: A Dame to Kill For” (3D and standard): Co-directed by Miller and Robert Rodriguez, this graphic-novel adaptation follows in the tone and style of Rodriguez's 2005 original, blending stark black-and-white imagery with spot color and neo-noir themes of sexuality and violence. In other words, something for everyone.

“When the Game Stands Tall”: Based on the real story of a California high school's 151-game winning streak, how that streak gets broken and what the coach (Jim Caviezel) does to return the team to its winning ways. Inspiration, thy name is sports flick.

“If I Stay”: When a teen's family is involved in serious car accident, she (Chloe Grace Moretz) lapses into a coma and hovers between life and death. Her spirit watches what goes on around her as she debates whether to live or die. Based on a 2009 novel by Gayle Forman. 

“Calvary”: Brendan Gleeson plays a priest whose goodness makes him the perfect target for a man angry at the Catholic Church. I confess, I want to see it.

Also reopening, “Earth to Echo,” the “E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial” variation.

And at the Magic Lantern:

“Alive Inside”: A documentary exploring the work of a man who uses music to treat the effects of memory loss. Considering all the problems associated with contemporary health care, his experience must involve a hard day's night.

“K2: Siren of the Himalayas”: A hit at February's Spokane International Film Festival, winning the Audience Award for Best Documentary, this feature film blends historical coverage of a 1909 attempt to summit the Himalayan peak and another expedition that set out to do the same thing a century later.

So now go. Watch. Enjoy.

HBO’s ‘Cheshire Murders’ a real-life horror story

I saw a number of movies in theaters last week. But nothing affected me more than a movie I just happened to catch on my television. So that movie, titled “The Cheshire Murders,” is what I decided to review for Spokane Public Radio.

Why? Well that is the operative word, in more ways than one. The main reason has to do with just how scary the movie is. It is a documentary that examines a horrible, deranged act committed by two men who victimize an unsuspecting family. In other words, as I try to explain in my review, the movie is a study of something that is the real-life equivalent of the bogeyman.

An edited version of my review follows:

Horror movies thrive on our innate fears. Fears of creatures bearing sharp teeth, of bloodsucking vampires and mindless zombies, of extraterrestrials wielding anal probes, of weapon-wielding sociopaths – anything, in short, that lurks in the dark zones of our imagination and threatens to pounce on us with murderous intent.

Chances of our being confronted by anything other than our fears are actually remote. Reality has no room for vampires or zombies, much less curious beings from other galaxies. And sharp-toothed animals pose no real danger to anyone who stays out of the woods, the ocean or the jungle. Even the threat posed by psychopathic killers is so low as to be virtually nil.

Yet our fears persist. And moviemakers keep playing to them. And we continue to sit in the dark, chewing on our popcorn as blends of these imagined threats haunt us on screens both big and small.

Sometimes, though, sometimes … horror is real. And as the HBO documentary feature “The Cheshire Murders” proves, when such a danger does manifest itself, it can prove senselessly, mercilessly fatal.

Released a year ago, and available both through HBO On Demand and on DVD, “The Cheshire Murders” explores a heinous crime that occurred in July 2007 when two men, Steven Hayes and Josh Komisarjevsky, broke into the suburban home of Cheshire, Connecticut, doctor William Petit. The day before, Hayes and Komisarjevsky had spotted Petit’s wife, Jennifer Hawke-Petit, and their daughter, 11-year-old Michaela, at a local store. When they showed up at the house, the men beat Petit with a baseball bat and left him tied up in the basement. They then restrained Hawke-Petit, Michaela and the couple’s other daughter, 17-year-old Hayley.

Over the next several hours, they mulled their options before, the following morning, deciding to take Hawke-Petit to the bank and force her to withdraw some $15,000. Upon returning to the house, Komisarjevsky sexually assaulted Michaela, Hayes raped and – when it became clear that William Petit had escaped – murdered Hawke-Petit. The two then doused the house with gasoline, set everything on fire and attempted to escape.

They didn’t get far. Notified by bank officials, who had called 9-1-1, police officers were waiting outside. They arrested Hayes and Komisarjevsky but were unable to save either of the daughters, both of whom died from smoke inhalation. Petit alone survived.

The crime made national headlines, as much for its senseless nature as for the ferocity with which it was carried out. And even though co-directors Kate Davis and David Heilbroner do a comprehensive job of exploring the case, that aura of senselessness pervades everything.

We learn of the defendants’ past histories, which involved sexual abuse. We hear from police officers, lawyers, prosecutors and family members. We listen to Hayes’ taped confession. The film questions the actions of Cheshire police, who were sitting outside as the three women were being murdered. It argues the effectiveness, even worth, of the death penalty. We gets lots of theories and opinions and rants both quiet and angry. But “The Cheshire Murders” never satisfactorily answers the most basic question of all: Why?

The sound of that silence is more frightening than even Hollywood could conceive.

Aersomith show is on

Rumors have been roiling the past couple days about this weekend's show at the Gorge Amphitheatre in George by rock legends Aerosmith.

Live Nation, the concert's promoter, has confirmed that the show will go on.

The band was forced to cancel a show in California this week, citing drummer Joey Kramer's illness. TMZ reported that Kramer is suffering from heart problems. That TMZ report, however, also indicated the band's weekend show in Washington was canceled. Turn out that part of their report was incorrect.

The show is Saturday night and will feature Slash and Spokane's own Myles Kennedy. Look for an interview with Kennedy tomorrow in 7. 

For tickets and information, click here.

Some Seattle spots need to be avoided

Seattle is what drew me to the Northwest in the first place. I'd flown up in 1973 to meet my then-girlfriend, Lyn, who was working a summer job as a camp counselor on Orcas Island. I was living in San Diego at the time, and as a Navy brat I had lived all over the country — on the Texas Gulf, Tidewater Virginia, coastal Rhode Island, in two different parts of the Hawaiian island of Oahu. And other than Florida, the tip of New England and Alaska — places I've since experienced as an adult — I'd visited pretty much every other part of the U.S.

Except the Northwest. And if the view of all that green and the feel of that cool Puget Sound air didn't hit me when I first rode in on Greyhound, it certainly did as I flew in a small airplane to Orcas. I vowed that, one day, I would live in Seattle.

That never happened, and I don't regret it. Living in Spokane, which is far more inexpensive and manageable than anything in or around Seattle, is more to my liking. And besides, anytime I want to enjoy what Seattle has to offer, I just have to make the four-and-a-half-hour trek west. Instant gratification, and then I get to return home. And to sanity.

The question is, what does Seattle have to offer? For me, it's the opportunity to see first-run films that might never play a Spokane theater. It's the chance to see major-league baseball and NFL football. And it's the chance to eat at some world-class restaurants.

But it's not as if everything about our state's biggest city is great. A recent posting on Zagat makes this point well enough as it rates the “8 Most Overrated Seattle Food Icons.” If you've spent any time there, you've likely eaten at one or another.

See if you agree. Then think of your own choices and share them.

We'll start our own list of overrated Spokane eateries some other time.

Author Nestor will take you into the ‘Deep’

Assuming you aren't going to see “Book of Mormon” tonight, you might be interested in learning a little something about the ocean. That's what author James Nestor will offer at 7 tonight at Auntie's Bookstore. Nestor will read from, and answer questions about, his book “Deep: Freediving, Renegade Science and What the Ocean Tells Us About Ourselves.”

Nestor's book works as a trek to the depths and back, an experience the New York Times called “a journey well worth taking,” If you have the time, not to mention the interest, you just might agree.

Click here for more information.

Movie openings: Allen’s latest and others

I remember when Woody Allen films never received a first-run release in Spokane. Or, rather, their Spokane first runs occurred long after the rest of the country had screened them. And sometimes they never opened here at all. Let's be thankful that era has passed, since it gives us the opportunity to see “Magic in the Moonlight” when it opens on Friday.

Allen's newest work is only one of eight films that open this week (the comedy “Let's Be Cops” opens Wednesday), which makes the second week of multi-movie premieres.

The week's openings are as follows:  

“Let's Be Cops” (opens Wednesday): The trailers for this offbeat comedy, which has two guys (Jake Johnson, Damon Wayans Jr.) getting off by pretending to be police officers, seem hilarious. But director Luke Greenfield gave us Rob Schneider's 2001 comedy “The Animal.” So muting your expectations met be a safe bet.

“The Giver”: It's taken more than 20 years for Hollywood to bring Lois Lowry's Newbery Award-winning 1993 novel to the big screen. It will be interesting to see whether director Philip Noyce (“Rabbit-proof Fence”) is able to avoid Hollywood's cookie-cutter stylistic tendencies. The trailer, which is full of pretty young faces (including Taylor Swift), would seem to say not.

“The Expendables 3”: Sylvester Stallone, Jason Statham, etc., return. Question: How many times can an “expendable” survive before becoming labeled “intrinsic”?

“Magic in the Moonlight”: Allen's newest has Colin Firth playing a magician charged with unmasking a spiritualist fake (Emma Stone). Reviews are mixed to good for what is a blend of the downbeat with romantic fluff. But beware: Rex Reed gives it a top rating.

“What If”: Daniel Radcliffe and Zoe Kazan play friends who mull over whether it's possible to blend friendship and love. Based on a stage play by T.J. Dawe, so you know there'll be lots of talking.

And at the Magic Lantern:

“Rich Hill”: This hard-hitting documentary focuses on three teen boys who cope with all the trappings of poverty — anger, frustration, want, a lack of good parenting, etc. Stylistic but ever-so depressing.

“Mood Indigo”: Michel Gondry (“Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”) gives us this love story (based on a novel) about a wealthy guy (Romain Duris) who wants to cure his lover (Audrey Tautou) from a curious ailment involving a flower growing in her lungs. Is this death by whimsy?

Enjoy. 

Robin Williams: A mighty talent is gone

Like a lot of kids growing up in the late 1970s, I loved “Mork and Mindy.”

Can't help it. Still do. (Especially since I'm safe in the knowledge that photographic evidence of myself wearing rainbow suspenders and a T-shirt that said “Nanu Nanu” is long gone.)

That I'd gone on to love “Mork” star Robin Williams in so many films (“Moscow on the Hudson,” “The World According to Garp,” “Good Morning, Vietnam,” “Good Will Hunting,” “Dead Again”) I thought was proof that he was supremely talented - and I had good taste.

So when Robin Williams' office called me at the appointed time on Jan. 8, 2013 for a 10-minute interview with the Oscar winner, I was a bit nervous. What do you ask Robin Williams? Especially when you only have 10 minutes? We stuck to the script - he was calling to talk about his tour with fellow comedian David Steinberg, in which the two longtime friends got on stage and just talked. I can only imagine the show at the Martin Woldson Theatre at the Fox was amazing - I couldn't make it. But I hung on to the recording of our brief telephone conversation. Listening to it again today, I'm reminded of what a funny guy he was. His death this morning at age 63 is a real loss.

Below are some excerpts from that 2013 interview. In this first one, he talks about getting back to his standup roots:


In this clip, he talks about traveling around to smaller venues in smaller markets:



Here, he recounts the time he met Marlon Brando. Really:



Finally, I ask the “What can people expect?” question. Craziness, if his answer is any indication.



You can find a link to the story I wrote back then right here. And finally, here's a clip from “Aladdin,” the reason my kids know the name Robin Williams:

Nanu nanu.

Happy birthday, ‘A Hard Day’s Night’

Fifty years ago today, a little movie called “A Hard Day's Night” opened in New York City. It had premiered a month before in London, which is only natural because the movie's stars — as everyone born on Earth and older than middle-school age knows — are four young lads from Liverpool who called themselves The Beatles.

Perhaps you've heard of them. John, Paul, George and Ringo?

Anyway, I'm gonna use that fact as a means of publicizing an upcoming Spokane Public Radio event. A 50th-anniversary screening of “A Hard Day's Night” will be held at 6:30 p.m. Wednesday, Aug. 20, at the Bing Crosby Theater. The event will include a live-taping of “Movies 101,” the show I cohost with Mary Pat Treuthart and Spokesman-Review staff writer Nathan Weinbender; the three of us will be joined by former Inlander writer Leah Sottile.

Tickets to the event, which is a fund-raiser for the station, cost $10 and are available both in advance and at the door.

Oh, and here's some Beatles advice: Don't be a mod or a rocker. Be a mocker.

“Boyhood” lives up to - and transcends - its audacious concept

A lot of great films have used nifty storytelling devices to deal with what it means to grow up.

It's nothing new: Michael Apted's “Up” documentary series, for example, chronicled a group of British schoolchildren through adolescence and into adulthood, catching up with them every seven years. And director François Truffaut documented 20 years in the life of actor Jean-Pierre Léaud, who played Truffaut's alter ego Antoine Doinel in five films, beginning when he was 14 in the 1958 landmark “The 400 Blows.”

But writer-director Richard Linklater (“Dazed and Confused,” “School of Rock”) found a new spin on the formula, taking 12 years to tell the story of a precocious kid and his non-traditional family in a single film. The result is “Boyhood,” which finally reached Spokane's AMC Theatre today following a successful limited release.

There are still a few months left in the movie-going year, but I'm calling it now: This is the best movie of 2014. I doubt I will see anything better. Below is my review of the film, which I recorded for Spokane Public Radio - it could have easily been twice as long:

The first time we see Mason, he’s sprawled on his back on a lawn in his Texas suburb looking up at the sky. He’s five or six years old, that age when you first become aware of and start to question your surroundings, when you begin paying attention to the confusing and seemingly contradictory constraints of the adult world and discover your own way of interpreting the universe. 164 minutes later, Mason is 18, and it’s his first day of college. He’s hiked to a vista near the university with a new group of friends, and he sits on a rock as the sun sets, infinite possibilities stretching out before him.

These moments bookend Richard Linklater’s “Boyhood,” a film of quiet transcendence and aching authenticity, perhaps the best movie I’ve ever seen about what it’s really like to grow up. Any discussion of the film must begin with the way it was made. From the summer of 2002 to the summer of 2013, Linklater assembled his cast for several weeks each year and sculpted scenes with them, resulting in a series of snapshots documenting 12 years in the lives of its characters. The effect is unlike anything we’ve seen in a single film before: We watch the characters age and develop in real time, and the world around them follows suit.

Linklater has always been fascinated by the march of time, from his early day-in-the-life tableaux “Slacker” and “Dazed and Confused” to his superb “Before” series, which has charted a relationship over the course of three films and 18 years. “Boyhood” is his most audacious narrative experiment yet, and it’s tempting to praise the movie simply for that audacity. It’s actually something I’ve been wrestling with since seeing the film: Is my response to the movie founded on its emotional impact, or is it simply knee-jerk amazement at Linklater effortlessly pulling off such a tricky landing?

But the truth is the film’s methods simply can’t be separated from its content. This is a film about age, about the passing of time, about the formative years when our personalities and senses of humor and moral compasses come into focus, how our bodies and minds develop while our fundamental essences remain more or less the same. To see a process so nebulous and complex explored with near-documentary realism is an awe-inspiring experience. The movie works simultaneously on two equally fascinating levels – Mason grows up, but so does Ellar Coltrane, the actor playing him –and at times we catch the film functioning as a record of its own making.

As in life, there’s no clear-cut story in “Boyhood.” It sort of separates itself into chapters, though Linklater avoids the use of title cards or music cues, so that there are instances when we notice Mason has aged in a year from one shot to the next. Mason’s parents are divorced, and he and his older sister (Lorelei Linklater, the director’s daughter) live with their mother (Patricia Arquette), a hardworking woman who goes from one troubled romantic relationship to another. Mason’s father (Ethan Hawke) isn’t always around, but when he does show up (in a black muscle car he’s no doubt been driving since high school), he urges his kids to think for themselves and to take risks, perhaps to prevent them from emulating him.

Most coming-of-age tales hit all the prominent dramatic signposts of adolescence, but “Boyhood” does the opposite. We don’t see Mason’s first kiss, the first time he gets drunk or the moment he loses his virginity, but Linklater takes the time to show him choking down lukewarm beer with his friends in the basement of an unfinished house, watching his parents fight from a closed upstairs window, attending a release party for one of the “Harry Potter” novels. What’s onscreen is as telling as what’s left off, and Linklater has perfectly captured the curious nature of memory, how our minds often favor minor details over seemingly significant ones.

Linklater is one of the best, most fearless American filmmakers working today, and yet he’s rarely mentioned in the same breath as the revered likes of Paul Thomas Anderson or Joel and Ethan Coen (he deserves to be). Perhaps it’s because his movies rarely announce their greatness: Like their creator, they tend toward modesty and contemplation and favor dialogue over action; they’re unassuming portraits of wallflowers, intellectuals and outcasts that are almost romantic in their plainness.

I first saw “Boyhood” in May at a sold-out screening at the Seattle International Film Festival, where it was awarded Best Film, Best Director and Best Actress for Arquette. Crammed in the corner of the very back row of the Harvard Exit Theatre, I knew then that I was witnessing something special. Despite its central conceit, this isn’t the kind of film that sets out to astonish you. It is not an epic. It is, for all the grandeur surrounding its premise and the scope of its production, a small, intimate movie.

And yet its smallness is precisely what makes it so extraordinary. “Boyhood” doesn’t contain many epiphanies. It is about transformation, but it is not particularly interested in transforming us. It shows us life as it really is, which is often shapeless, pointless, meandering, inconsequential. We can, however, find profundity and tremendous beauty in that meandering, and so we do in this film, which rewards us in ways that movies rarely ever do.

The trailer for “Boyhood”:

Can’t get down with ‘Get on Up’

Unlike other musical biopics, such as “Lady Sings the Blues,” “Ray” and “Walk the Line” — which involved the work of singers who either weren't of my generation or of my liking — “Get on Up,” Tate Taylor's look at James Brown, hit me personally. Brown was hitting his prime just as I was graduating from high school, and he had a profound influence on those of my generation.

So, I tried to control my expectations about what a Hollywood filmmaker such as Taylor would do with Brown's story. Even so, I was disappointed, as the review I wrote for Spokane Public Radio demonstrates. A transcript of my review follows:

I used to laugh when my high school friend Billy Wells would pretend to be James Brown, lip-syncing to songs such as “Prisoner of Love” or “Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag.” He would imitate Brown’s stage antics, which involved dancing to apparent exhaustion, collapsing, being led offstage by his bandmates – in those days the Famous Flames – only to break away, return to the spotlight and continue to sing about, mostly, that desperate, elusive emotion called love.

And so I was particularly interested in “Get on Up,” Tate Taylor’s bio-pic of Brown. Billy and I had experienced the real thing, so I wondered how Hollywood would interpret Brown’s rise-from-the-ashes, but always troubled, success story. And, to be fair, “Get on Up” gets much of the basics right. As the movie makes clear, the real James Brown was fortunate to survive his birth, much less become one of the most famous entertainers of the 20th century. The rhythmic gyrations that Brown performed onstage masked a lot of pain, rage and, the source of it all, fear.

Multiple references – including various Brown biographies – were used as source material for what Taylor (writer-director of “The Help”) has put onscreen, though in true Hollywood tradition the movie amends and even invents situations for dramatic purposes. Brown was born dead, but was quickly revived. His father was a neglectful abuser who was absent for long periods. He was abandoned by his mother. He was sent to prison for stealing clothes. He did live for a time in a brothel. He and his friend Bobby Byrd had a mercurial friendship that continued until Brown’s death in 2006. Brown himself was a single-minded, complex individual who was both a focal point of black pride and a serial womanizer known to abuse his wives – he had four in all. And, no, a plane he was traveling in while touring Vietnam wasn’t nearly shot down, but in 1988 he did engage in a wild interstate car chase with police.

Enough occurred in Brown’s life to warrant an entire miniseries. And that’s probably the route that Taylor should have taken, because as it turns out many of the artistic choices he did make to re-create all this in a mere two-hours-and-28-minutes feel as wrong as – in the context of “Get on Up” – Frankie Avalon wearing a dashiki.

Unlike other such musical biopics – “Ray,” say, or “Walk the Line” – Taylor opts for a non-chronological framework that blends far too many contrasting styles: breaking the fourth wall with irritating inconsistency, employing lengthy musical scenes filmed as if he’s Jonathan Demme shooting a Talking Heads concert, introducing characters only to drop them, letting Dan Aykroyd play Brown’s agent with all the subtlety of a bad Saturday Night Live routine. The result is a film that, even anchored by Brown’s marvelous songs lip-synced by the hard-working Chadwick Boseman, isn’t half as profound it pretends to be.

If James Brown isn’t somewhere shaking his head in frustration over “Get on Up,” I can assure you one thing: My friend Billy Wells and I certainly are.

Some actors just can’t do decent accents

Accents are hard. As someone who has embarrassed himself attempting to speak at least three languages other than his native English, I can say this with conviction. And those were attempts at full conversation. Let's not mention the memorized phrases that I've managed to mangle in Polish, Chinese and Albanian.

But then I'm no actor. And I'm not called to take roles where, 1, I have to accept the role of someone from another culture and, 2, speak in that character's native accent. The list of actors who have done so well is long, though any such list would have to start with Meryl Streep. Brits such as Daniel Day Lewis and the Australian Toni Collette aren't too bad either.

But the list of those who do accents poorly is arguably even longer. As the embed below demonstrates — though, I would take issue with Brad Pitt's performance in “Snatch.” It may not have been perfect Irish Gypsy (Pikey), but it certainly fit the role.

(I would add this the list is depressingly contemporary. Go back and check out some of the performances by such classic film actors as Paul Muni, Spencer Tracy and even Michael Caine — and we'll comment about those bad trailers on some future blog post).

Sir Paul rocks Missoula

I headed to Missoula earlier this week to check out Paul McCartney at Washington-Grizzly Stadium. Worth. Every. Penny.

Sir Paul still rocks. Sir Paul still puts on a great show. Sir Paul still impresses.

When your catalog is as deep as his, I can only imagine how difficult it would be to plan a set list that ticks every box with fans. Sure, there were a few tracks from his latest record, “New,” and they sounded pretty good. He hit the highlights of his Wings years with “Band on the Run,” “Listen to What the Man Said,” “Live and Let Die” and “Maybe I’m Amazed.” He touched upon a range of Beatles material, from “I Saw Her Standing There” to “Let It Be.” Things got fun with “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” and “All Together Now,” more subdued with “Blackbird” and yes, he did “Yesterday,” “The Long and Winding Road” and “Hey Jude,” too.

One of the highlights of the evening was a performance of the George Harrison song “Something,” from “Abbey Road,” which McCartney played on a ukulele given to him by his late friend and bandmate. It was a touching and lovely version of a classic song.

With a crowd of 25,000, the show on Tuesday has been called the largest ever held in the state of Montana. And it was clear the assembled masses loved every minute of the nearly three-hour show. The Missoulian newspaper devoted much of its front page to McCartney coverage (see above) and posted a photo gallery of images on its website. If McCartney ever comes this way again, I’d be hard pressed to let the chance to see him pass me by.

Only downside? Having to drive to a different time zone to see the show. Wouldn't it be great if Spokane had a venue large enough to host these big outdoor concerts?

There's already a lot of video clips from the show posted online, much of it not very good. This one's not too bad:

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