Hugo film falls flat

For all the attention to dimension Hugo falls flat
A review by Susan Schaefer

Award winning book: The Invention of Hugo Cabret

I love fantasy and fairy tales – I’m one of those adults who borrows my friends’ children to see the likes of Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter and Disney remakes on the big screen. I write children’s books, poems and stories, and have an abiding respect for the genre.

So the release of Martin Scorsese’s holiday blockbuster, Hugo, found me ready to be transported to the wondrous world of suspended disbelief, magic and three-dimensionality.

Even from the eye-popping opening scene, resplendent with its animated, cinematic sweep through the streets of 1931 Paris and into the heart and mechanics of the train station clone of the magnificent Gare du Nord, I sensed a mental ‘white noise’ – perhaps an overstimulation of the visual cortex that instantly interfered with the essential heart of this story. And it is story that desperately strives to touch our hearts – should touch them.

New Jersey native and author of Hugo, Brian Selznick

Scorsese’s Hugo does not render the true dimensionality evoked by The Invention of Hugo Cabret, the source of this film, written and illustrated by New Jersey native, Brian Selznick. While his five hundred plus page book is impossible to classify, told as it is in words with nearly three hundred pages of illustration, the illuminated epic releases the imagination by slowly and dazzlingly unfolding in true storytelling style. Scorsese kowtows to technology.

Storytelling on film is always a challenge. Who thought that Peter Jackson would be able to take Tolkien’s epic and translate just the right elements to arouse the wonder of Middle Earth? But he did. And even with various directors, the Harry Potter series shares the same critical accolades. Storytelling hinges on character development and identification. For Hugo to succeed at its most elemental level – engaging our hearts – we need all of our senses working in tandem. Although each of the film’s disparate parts are fascinating, even excellent, the film story just never gels. Wiz bang 3D effects, stunning camera work, great story line, and excellent acting simply don’t combine as one cohesive, charmed movie confection. Our hearts are never fully engaged.

As is proper for a fable released at a season known for productions of redemption, such as A Christmas Carol, Miracle on 34th Street, or the ever popular, It’s a Wonderful Life, Hugo simply doesn’t evoke the requisite passion. Instead of magic Hugo verges on maudlin.

It is hard to pinpoint what renders the film so flat – filled as it is with such revolutionary visual effects, and themes of love and friendship between individuals and across generations, redemption, purpose, and a tantalizing fascination with the history of film. But Hugo remains a clever special effects film populated by “A” list actors and interesting historical references.

In another childhood classic tale, Pinocchio, the little woodenheaded puppet is touched by Blue Fairy’s star-tipped wand and turned into a real boy. In Hugo, the “real” boy is touched by Martin Scorsese’s wand and rendered as much an automaton as his mechanical movie friend. Ironically, a key to this tale is a heart shaped key and the connections it unlocks. Scorsese needed a better locksmith for Hugo.

Bob Ingram’s Visit: A former husband is an enduring friend

Suze and Bob rejoin on Pompano Beach at Light House Cove, 11/28/11

Bob takes in the sea breezes and salt air with Light House Point in distance

I guess we’re making a winter visit a tradition as my dear ex-husband, Bob Ingram, and I now mark his second annual visit to my Pompano Beach home. We planned this one to include a long, four-night trip to Bob’s old haunt in Key West. Bob stayed there off and on for a few years and a long time ago, during our time as a couple, we had a stay there as well. This trip, though, Bob had hoped to find his friends, Suzie and Martha DePoo of the famous Key West DePoos, but no such luck. Suzie, well into her 90s had recently passed, and Martha no longer made the Keys her home. They are both part of a famous art family. Martha’s work is really lovely.

Bob gives a thumb’s up to the great Mile Marker 88 Restaurant, a fantastic recommendation from my neighbor Allan.

We left for Key West on Tuesday, the 29th, with perfect, albeit breezy weather and great traffic. I drove. This is a big deal. Since Martijn died I developed a sort of phobia, along with my grief and depression, about driving. This is the longest drive I’ve ever made, and with Bob’s boisterous but welcome banter I found the trip effortless.

We had a great mid-way destination, Marker 88 Islamorada’s gourmet restaurant with it’s killer views and friendly wait staff. We made it from my door - exactly 200.5 miles on the nose - to the Herron House, booked through Expedia, in about 5 hours.

Poolside, Heron House B & B

Poolside looked great but it was the old bait and switch for us! The first room they offered, I guess the Expedia penalty room, was dark, dank and dismal. My heart sank. Eventually we got the little hovel room in the back, one click up from a motel room and with a horrible odor! We made the most of our situation, but I knew there was no way I would last there for four nights.

That first afternoon we walked everywhere, searching for the Bob’s old haunts. After a pretty ambitious loop, we discovered The Gardens Hotel, literally one street away from our B & B, and across the street from one of Bob’s treasured haunts, his friend Chris’ old house where Bob used to stay. Now this is THE SPOT. We tried to change but knew we were unable to get out of our reservation. Alas. As a consolation, we were invited to wander the brilliant gardens, ergo the name, and as our tour guide had a rather affable drunk who claimed to be JRR Tolkein’s cousin. Never mind. We loved this place and if I go back, it’s the spot for me. We happened to find, quite by accident a remarkable Italian restaurant for dinner, La Trattoria, and we were transported from our ‘housing’ misery by an exquisite dinner worthy of Italy herself. Thereafter, accidental tourists that we were, we came upon the newly refurbished Tropic Cinema, an extraordinary homage to real theaters, where we saw the creepy film, "martha marcy may marlene,” which I could have done without.

The next day we jam packed with walking, more great eating, and a ride on the cute Conch [pronounced konk, as in konk on the head] bus which gave us a great hour-an-a-half downtown to the Southern Most Point tour. We were drawn back to The Gardens Hotel where by chance we had drinks with Kate Miano, the wonderful owner. She referred us to a local eatery where we had yet another fabulous meal.

Bob and I had agreed that two nights were reasonable for this trip, so we pulled out of Key West on Thursday, hoping that Herron House management would let Expedia know they agreed to let us out of the contract. We’ll see... fingers crossed.

Spidey Man on Sitar, Duval Street, Key West

Conch Republic Headquarters, Simonton Street, Key West

Errick Johnson at Blue Jean Blues

Our trip back was quick, with good weather, some nice pit stops, and we went for an early dinner and show at my favorite local watering hole here, Blue Jean Blues, where the young and extremely talented Errick Johnson counted as Bob and my favorite part of our week together. Check our Errick’s website and if you can, catch him.

Friday found us at the Boca Art Museum and an exhibit of Federico Uribe. Wild creativity. For this exhibition, Uribe constructed most of his works from shoe laces, and various Puma sneaker parts, from insoles to soles to grommets.

Puma Palm

Sneaker Gazelle

Book Tree

Saturday we had a grand tour of Miami’s Lincoln Road and South Beach courtesy of our next door neighbors, Sharon and Allan Schatten with yet another fabulous dinner at YUCA, Young Urban Cuban American right on Lincoln Road.

Sunday I was busy preparing for my first official party, hosting a bevy of my neighbors for a backyard evening. Everyone brought a dish to share, the weather was perfect and the party was a success.

L to R: Cindy, Barbara, Allan, Sharon and Bob

The week drew to too soon a close with Monday evening bringing us to the Hard Rock Cafe and a concert by Philadelphia’s own, Hall & Oats. Bob is now en route back to his Wildwood by the Sea home, and I’m headed off to a Holiday Party from my Master Gardener Group.

Remembering Mickey Specter Farley

Susan, Bobby Rydell, Mickey Specter

Scioli’s Nightclub, November 1964

Mickey’s 15th birthday

Remembering Mickey Specter Farley

(on her birthday)

by Susan Schaefer

Pint sized pal

First friend

You scooped me up

into your heart

While movers heaved

Daddy’s Jacobean dining room set

Up concrete steps

Into my new life -

Strawberry Mansion to

7726 Gilbert Street, Mt. Airy

Philadelphia Gothic to marvelously modern.

You stood only to my chin

Even at age seven,

But you ‘played’ like a giant

Your stature reflecting

The size of your heart.

Yup, we called you Mickey Mouse

And you spelled your name

M-I-C-K-E-Y, not the Miki

You adopted post-Japan.

And that sultry summer day in 1957

You took me into

Your Mighty Mickey giant heart

And never let me go.

First best friend

Magical Mickey

Your steadfast love

Transformed me from

Only child to sister.

I remember you

and rejoice.

November 19, 2011

Hilary Hahn: A feast for the senses

Hilary Hahn

I don’t often get to sit front row center at a concert. But to see Hilary Hahn perform for the second time in my life there was no other choice. Not only was I able to witness her delicate yet powerful hands with those wrists of rope-like quality, but I was equally entranced to observe the shadows of her eye lashes skate upon her cheeks, keeping time with her sublime strokes and powerful plucks.

And oh, her spectacular gown. A shimmery pumpkin color silk resplendent with huge bursts of appliqué maroon/magenta chrysanthemums interlaced with vine twines fashioned of shimmering crystals. The magnificent flow of this strapless gown regally silhouetted the still waif-like Hahn, who at 31 could pass for 13. With her translucent alabaster skin, regal posture and chignon, Hahn seemed like she stepped from an 18th century Dutch Masters' painting.

Directly prior to the concert, my friend Richard and I attended a lecture by Wine News senior editor, Lyn Farmer, entitled Engaging the Senses: How our senses shape our perception of the world. Farmer is a masterful speaker who reminded us, the audience, to use all of our senses to enhance the experience of the music. From my front row perch this task was easy.

Hilary Hahn herself was as much a feast for the eye as was her music an aural banquet.

Most poignant for me, however, was that I first saw Hilary Hahn 20 years ago at her debut at the age of 12 with the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. My dear life long friends, David Meyers and Roberta Strickler, took me to this performance where I was transported with the virtuosity of this then child prodigy. So Sunday evening’s concert was not only a banquet for my senses, but a bouquet for my soul as I reflected with gratitude my long-term friendship with David and Roberta.

For a more musical commentary of this excellent albeit challenging (for audience and performer) concert, please click on David Fleshler's review in the South Florida Classical Review. By chance, I had the opportunity to chat with Mr. Fleshler during intermission, and his review captures in delightful detail the nuances of this difficult performance. There was an otherworldly quality to several of the pieces that Hahn commissioned for her ‘Encore’ series, and Flesher agreed with me that the ghostly quality of some seemed an almost ‘sad’ reflection of our unsettled contemporary climate.

Returning to Dutch Masters, I strongly encourage my Dutch friends to make an effort to see Hahn's upcoming concert this Saturday, November 12th, at Amsterdam’s Concertgebouw for the Higdon Concerto: Netherlands Radio Philharmonic Orchestra with Jaap van Zweden. She is sure to please and enrapture all your senses.

Maastricht Revisited4:Visiting vs. vacation

Visiting friends implies being present with them – having intent to connect, converse and hopefully deepen relations. My relationships are oxygen – my lifeblood, my center.

Moving into my third and fourth weeks here the theme for me is truly about connecting and deepening.

A few things have become apparent to me during this return trip. Surely they may have already been apparent to my many friends and family earlier. Martijn’s illness caused a major disruption in the very fabric of my soul that shattered everything and left me only enough presence to dedicate myself to him during his final months.

My European relationships were so critical to my day-to-day healing. I cocooned here in Maastricht. My family and friends here allowed stark authenticity in my grief. I now see how comfortable and valuable these relationships are.

And the place itself – Maastricht. Magical, medieval Maastricht. Where the bones of Martijn’s body lie peacefully under a verdant, Zen-like, even whimsical grave. My name and photo are linked on that reverent site. I am linked to this place as much, or more than to my other homes. And this trip has sealed that consciousness.

Trip to Amsterdam/Rotterdam

One reason for timing of my trip to the Netherlands was to catch the ninth annual free Sporenburg performance of my dear friend, Herman Rouw. Each year Herman and Ton finance this outdoor concert at the tip of the Sporenburg ‘island’ 10 minutes east of central Amsterdam as a gift to the neighborhood. This year Herman selected a number of Dutch composers for his piano recital. I asked Ingrid Regout to accompany me to Amsterdam for the performance and we made a nice weekend tour.

Ingrid and I hop a train from Maastricht to Amsterdam Central

Murder at the Lloyd! We book a room at the Lloyd Hotel located in the “eastern Docklands” where Herman will be performing on Saturday evening, September 3rd. The Hotel is tauted as incredibly forward design, but we found our room a bit over-priced and oppressive. Here’s the designer rug serving as a murder scene!

Happily we took Saturday’s summery weather and made an extensive walking tour of Amsterdam Centrum. This is Bloemengracht, where my dear friends the Soeters have moved.

Merle and Sjoerd Soeters new pad! Note the whimsical whale details at the top!

Later that evening we arrive early for Herman’s concert. Around 300+ people attended!

Herman Rouw, post concert party!

Where’s my bike? The congestion of bike parking at Amsterdam’s Central station bespeaks the dominance of the ‘fiets’ over the auto!!!

Sunday we visit the famous central library designed by my dear friend, architect Jo Coenen.

Ingrid: youth section - that way<<

Rotterdam: A visit with the Frank Family

There was yet another reason for the timing of my trip to Holland - to see Martijn’s long time, best friends from university days, Rob and Therese Frank and their family. However, the visit was bittersweet. In a terrible irony Therese has the precise cancer, anal, as Martijn had. I had spoken and corresponded often with Rob about Therese’s condition. After undergoing the same chemotherapy and radiation treatment as Martijn had, doctors recommend the same serious surgery. Rob asked if I would come visit. They were the friends Martijn asked to see just prior to his surgery, and both came often during his recovery, then decline. I spent a most wonderful day with the Frank family, catching up on our own 16-year history, and learning news from the children. The surgery has gone well and Therese is now recovering.

The Frank family in Rotterdam

Back in Maastricht

More reconnecting and deepening

My sweet Swee

Nadia at Cut Above

Jacques & Pia at Cafe Zondag

Marcel & Geri at OLV Plein

Cheers!

Friday night films outside. Oh Brother where art thou? by the Coen Brothers.

Yet another EPA reunion: Domink, me, Lyse, Lorna and Damian visit from Brussels.

My Maastricht gang: L: Bonnie, Jacques, Ursula, Bob; R: Piet, Pia, me!

Corner games at gelato shop

911: Mississippi River Remembrance

This article origianlly appeared in the Op-Ed section of the Minneapolis Star Tribune on September 16, 2001. I wrote it on 9/11/01, directly after Martijn and I returned from a most unusual yet reassuring afternoon and evening of sharing our friendship, astonishment and grief with our dear friends, Mame Osteen, Tony Moses and Claudia Chaves.

We boarded Tony’s small boat in St. Paul to drift down the mighty Mississippi River on the mint blue day our country was attacked by terrorists in New York and Washington, D.C. Half a continent away, we tried to restore a sense of normalcy while we reflected upon what had happened and what was to come.

Old Man River: the mighty Mississippi rolls through the Twin Cities

Commentary: Old Man River knows the truth: Terrorists won't win Susan T. Schaefer

Published Sep 16 2001

After watching details of the World Trade Center and Pentagon tragedy for hours, someone in our group suggested we unglue from the television. He offered a boat ride down the Mississippi. Not in disrespect, but in honor.

Four Seward neighbors and St. Louis Park friend headed out an a righteous old Sea Ray from the Highland Park marina. The day was as beautiful as it was sad. Neither God nor nature could have gifted a more perfect pre-autumn day.

Here we were, cruising straight down the middle of America. Down the Mississippi on the day America was attacked. If they thought they’d end life as we know it in this magnificent country, they wouldn’t succeed. Won’t succeed. We rode the waterway that defines America’s fourth coast – old man river, Mark Twain’s immortal icon.

No sooner had we eased out of the slip, a blue heron alighted on the nearby shore. Relative of the crane, a symbol of peace for many cultures, the heron became a symbol for this ride, our freedom ride. We needed a sign to assure us that this gesture, this freedom ride, was appropriate.

We passed the barges, flanking the north shore like giant tombs. We passed the infamous old house boats, which this night seemed to glow eerily with the blue haze flickers of television images.

At times we twittered endlessly, making nervous jokes as human tend to do when overwhelmed by uncharacteristic emotions.

At times no one spoke a word. Each gazing out at this rare and untamed urban landscape, lost in private reverie.

We seemed to be the only traffic anywhere – land, air or water – excepting the tugs whose lumbering procession appeared to mimic the dirges that are soon to roll down the streets of America.

The silence itself was shattering. Not a ripple of sound above as the sky pushed out her stars. And then, a sound we’d never heard – Americans accustomed to cluttered airways, unaccustomed to a breach in our way of life. High above. Military jets. On a mission. To protect the Mississippi. The sandstone cliffs. The wild-flowered shores.

At this time we should each take a personal freedom ride to honor the lives of those who cherished this majestic land, to defy those who think they’ve defiled it.

Susan T. Schaefer, a communications consultant, is an adjunct faculty member University of St. Thomas Graduate School of Business, a member of Seward Neighborhood Group’s executive board and past president the Minnesota Chapter of the Public Relations Society of America.

Maastricht Revisited3

Around the City

My second week begins by tending to administration. I must see to my old health care policy, renew my NS (Nederlandse Spoorwegen) national train card (now also good on the buses), see about my Dutch status and telephone contract! Still, a nice walking tour of my old city.

Ubiquitous fiets (bikes) at the Central Station Maastricht.

Onze Lieve Vrouw (our beloved lady), the goddess of Maastricht. She shed a light of light in the dark days of Martijn’s illness.

Here I am with my dear friend, Ingrid Regout, who was the administrator in charge of our Master’s Program back in my ‘student’ days in 2004-2005.

Jens, my knight in shining armor. Dear friend and fellow student from my EPA Masters, now living in Aachen, Germany took me to a favorite tapas bar for great food and conversation.

As Jens walked me back to Ursula’s we got a great laugh: the butcher across the street places these cute penguins for an evening display! Brrrr! Cold meat inside.

Tuesday night I take a night walk, remembering the cozy terraces - here at Onze Lieve Vrouw Plein, lit for the evening.

Also on OLV Plein is my old academy for staying European Public Affairs and Administration, EIPA!

I worked for a year at ECDPM, the European Centre for Development Policy Management, working on their strategic communications plan and writing their Annual Report.

Behind OLV Cathedral springs what? A gelateria with a very red interior!!!

Ice Cream Catacombs anyone?

The old wall with battlements.

An interesting view of the pedestrian bridge arch.

A Late Summer Day at Pia’s

Pia lives in a small village just above Maastricht on the way to Valkenburg, Berg en Terblijt, is hilly and comfortable. We enjoy a sunny, warm day, good food, great conversation, a trip to the vet with the bunnies, and nice time with her sons Sebastian and Pieter.

The sun bath. Soft and welcoming we fall upon the pink and laze the day away!

Uh oh, bunny shots!

Pia prepares a Jamie Oliver crispy chicken feast.

Pia and Pieter

Off to the school the Dutch way

Pia comes to my aid helping uproot an Red Maple that didn’t survive. In its place we plant Salix caprea (Goat Willow, also known as the Pussy Willow or Great Sallow), a common species of willow native to Europeand western and central Asia , Martijn would love the fuzzy pussy willow buds.

Frogs forever frolicking.