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Gonerfest 9, Day 1: Golden Boys, Oblivians

Gonerfest 9 kicked off yesterday at the Cooper-Young gazebo with an excellent sunset solo set from Monsieur Jeffery Evans that filled the neighborhood with rockers and confused a lot of joggers. The first night at the Hi-Tone CafĂ© included the French band Jack of Heart, the Brisbane, Australia rockers Slug Guts, and Chicago’s own Heavy Times.

Austin’s Golden Boys went on at midnight, but the start of their set was marred by some keyboard troubles which mandated an onstage soldering session, so, with the assistance of the evening’s master of ceremonies NoBunny, the band kept the crowd occupied by leading a round of jumping jacks.

Once the technical issues were resolved, the Golden Boys got down to business.

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Music Music Features

Chris Milam’s Debut

Since 2004, Chris Milam has lived the life of the itinerant musician, playing more than a hundred dates a year, traveling, in the words of his song “Any Day Now,” “From California/To Carolina/Surfing couches/And chasing gold.” But, right now, Milam’s thoughts aren’t of the road. He is anxious for people to hear his new EP, Young Avenue.

“I’m just chomping at the bit,” Milam says. “I’m very happy with it. I’m really proud of it. And I am thrilled with the job that everybody did on it.”

The five songs, which were written over the course of a year, mark a significant transition for Milam, from solo singer-songwriter to bandleader. “I was doing a lot of stuff solo acoustic, and I guess it was folky. But now, I’m playing with a full band, and things are a little more rock leaning,” he says.

Milam refuses both the folk and rock labels. “I consider myself a pop singer,” he says. “In my mind, pop’s not a dirty word. When I say pop, I’m thinking music from generations past — melody-based music.” His musical imagination is firmly rooted in the music he grew up listening to: Simon & Garfunkel, Motown, Stax, the Beatles, and Bob Dylan.

Young Avenue features an all-star Memphis lineup, including bass ace Mark Stuart, Kevin Cubbins (who also produced) on guitar, Chris Thomasmeyer on drums, vocal support from the Memphis Dawls, and Al Gamble on keys.

“I love coming in with a song thought out and executing it. That’s a great feeling,” Milam says.

“But the best feeling in the studio is when I come in with an idea of how it’s going to be, and we get started, and somebody else has a better idea, and we let the song grow. There’s nothing like getting a really talented group of musicians in a room and just letting them go.”

Chris Milam’s Young Avenue record-release party will be Friday, September 21st, at the Hi-Tone Café. Mark Stuart, Al Gamble, Kait Lawson, and the Near Reaches open. Doors open at 9 p.m. $5.

Introducing the Gloryholes

Punk has always been the music of the outcast, but it has not always had a comfortable relationship with homosexuality. Gays have always had their own subculture and didn’t need or want to wear safety pins and mohawks.

But none of that matters to the Gloryholes, Memphis’ first all-gay punk band.

“We would like to show that the LGBT community can rock with the best of them,” says guitarist Harry Manhole, who, along with bassist Gaycey Slater and drummer Tripod Rod, has set out to change that with ragged, raucous punk.

“I get asked a lot if I like certain acts that are popular with the gay community,” Manhole says. “And when my response is no, I usually get, ‘But why not? You’re gay. You should like it.’ I don’t get why I have to like certain things because I’m gay. Why would anyone want to be a label or stereotype? I just wanna like what I like and do my own thing. I don’t think I should have to be up with what others tell me.”

The Gloryholes’ meat-and-potatoes punk ranges from fast, Memphis-y garage to Bad Religion-inspired hardcore chunk.

“We try to have fun,” Manhole says. “That’s where it all really comes from. We’ve been accepted very well by the LGBT community, which has been awesome. Without their support, we wouldn’t have gotten as far as we have in some aspects. We’re glad we’re an act that can entertain most any audience,” Manhole says.

The Gloryholes play at the Hi-Tone Café on Thursday, September 20th, with Special Victims Unit, singer/actress/tattoo artist Ivy McLemore’s new band, and the Bombay Alleys. Doors open at 9 p.m. Admission is $5.

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Music Music Features

Heritage Fest on Tap

The Memphis calendar is full of festivals large and small, but perhaps none is quite as vibrant as the annual Memphis Music & Heritage Festival, which takes place this weekend on five stages in and around downtown’s Center for Southern Folklore.

“There are a lot of younger acts this year and also a lot of dancers,” says festival organizer Judy Peiser, the executive producer of the Center. “I always want a lot of youth but I also want to respect the local history, and I’m excited about how much so many of the young artists care about that.”

The Music & Heritage Fest is arguably the most diverse music and cultural festival in the city. Nowhere else can you see Beale Street blues stalwarts, rappers, indie rockers, folkies, gospel choirs, and many other types of musicians all sharing the stage and do so alongside dance and theatrical performances, storytellers, cooking demonstrations, and other displays of colorful regional culture.

This year, the festival is dedicated to late Sun rockabilly great and onetime fest regular Billy Lee Riley, with Riley’s former drummer JM Van Eaton and Sun colleague Carl Mann performing a tribute on Sunday afternoon. Sunday night, the festival closer will be regional soul/blues great Denise LaSalle, who will also be interviewed earlier in the day. Other potential Sunday highlights include Cedric Burnside (blues), Sonny Burgess (rockabilly), and Kate Campbell (folk). Potential Saturday highlights include Star & Micey (folk rock), Vending Machine (indie rock), Preston Shannon (blues), and Al Kapone (rap).

The Memphis Music & Heritage Festival runs 10 a.m. to 11 p.m. on Saturday, September 1st, and 11 a.m. to 11 p.m. on Sunday, September 2nd. For a full schedule, see memphismusicandheritagefestival.com.

Ron-a-Thon at Poplar Lounge

Skateboarding and rock-and-roll have gone together since the time of Jan and Dean. But in the 1980s, as both boomed, American punk rock became skateboarding’s official soundtrack. And in Memphis, the two streams came together on Getwell at a place called Cheapskates.

Owner Ron Hale had grown up in the store when it was Memphis Speed Shop, a drag-racing shop owned by his father. In 1985, with only $300 in his pocket, he created Cheapskates. Hale had loved skating since he was a kid, so selling skateboards seemed like a natural career move. The store quickly became the destination for Memphis skaters. Hale worked tirelessly to promote the sport he loved, organizing skating exhibitions at the Fairgrounds and Overton Park Shell. A whole generation of Memphis teens and pre-teens dragged their parents to the little checkered storefront to gawk at boards, buy Vans and T-shirts, and just generally hang out and look cool.

But Cheapskates turned out to be more than just a skate shop. Hale was also a drummer and punk fan, so at a time when the only place you could find American punk and hardcore vinyl and cassettes was in the imports section, Hale started selling records by national and local hardcore and skate-punk bands in his store. Many Memphis rockers who grew up in the ’80s and ’90s, such as guitarist Steve Selvidge of the Hold Steady, the Subteens’ Mark Akin, and Jay Reatard, discovered punk through those cassettes and singles at Cheapskates.

After 27 years, Cheapskates has become a local institution. But after a recent hospitalization, the uninsured Hale found himself with a raft of medical bills. Knowing the esteem in which his customers held him, his wife, Jeri, decided to organize a benefit concert for him. “Ron has gone into this kicking and screaming,” she says. “But once he saw how jazzed everyone was, he’s just letting it play out.”

The three-day event, dubbed the “Ron-a-Thon,” runs throughout Labor Day weekend at the Poplar Lounge and will feature bands such as Joecephus and the George Jonestown Massacre, Whatever Dude, Memphis Killharmonic, Third Base Ninjas, and many more, as well as comedy by Jane Haze, Kate Lucas, and Mike McCarthy.

“Ron is a quiet, gentle, humble man that I love with all my heart,” Jeri Hale says. “He really didn’t know the impact he has had on people.”

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Music Music Features

Randall Holcomb Tribute

Although it does not get as much attention as music, Memphis has its own thriving comedy scene. One fruitful strand of local comedy started about five years ago at the P&H Cafe, when Brandon Sams organized an open mic night. “It was weird, but it was very fun,” he says. “Those were wild times. It attracted a certain sort of person. An enthusiast.”

“The first night, a whole bunch of us went who had never done comedy before but had always wanted to,” Michael Kline says. Among those trying out their comedy chops was Randall Holcomb. “As far as my memory works, Randall was there from the beginning,” Sams says. “He was very, very funny. He had a darker sense of comedy.”

Word soon spread. “We were putting on a good enough show that we were attracting a crowd,” Sams says. “We became close, as friends and co-entertainers,” Sams says of the group of comedians that included Kline, Katrina Coleman, and Andy Fleming. “Memphis is a city that tends to bind people together. That’s something unique to Memphis. A lot of cities don’t have that.”

“I used to live next door to the P&H, and Randall lived across the street,” Kline says. “We both had slacker jobs, so we would both be at the P&H at like 3 in the afternoon drinking beer and writing. He was really into Brian Eno, and I’m really into Brian Wilson, so we would have these big debates on who was the better Brian.”

Holcomb became one of the standout stars of the scene.

“His stuff was very esoteric,” Kline says. “It was very dark, but it had an element of fun attached to it. It was silly but disturbing. He would bomb sometimes, but you still couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He was riveting.”

Sams recalls a typical Holcomb joke: “I put a banana peel in front of my bean bag chair, because I want to slip into something more comfortable.”

Like many in the scene, Holcomb was also a musician, playing with the band Community Bubble as well as on Beale Street and dabbling in noise experiments. Coleman says he was also a friendly, open person who attracted talented and strange people. “He was the kind of guy that you never knew who was going to get out of his car,” Sams says.

But like many good things, the P&H open mic night couldn’t last. “I think we were doing it for so long, week after week, just punching it out, that it couldn’t sustain itself,” Sams says. “The closing show was amazing. It was standing room only. I cried four times.”

For his part, Holcomb struggled with his demons, eventually moving to Nashville and seeking a fresh start. Then, on December 30, 2011, he was found dead of an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound. “Did he do it on purpose? Who knows?” Sams says. “He was alone there. Nashville can be a very isolating city, especially when coming from the camaraderie of Memphis.”

His friends in the comedy scene were crushed. “Losing someone like that, someone so close to you… there’s just no comparison,” Sams says.

With the comedy scene looking for a way to honor their friend, Kline hit upon the idea of throwing a comedy and music show at the New Daisy Theater, where the two friends worked.

“Mike Glenn, the owner, is really supportive of local talent, so I knew I could get the room and have his full support,” Kline says.

The evening will begin with music from Holcomb’s former band Community Bubble, along with Oracle and the Mountain, Hi Electric’s Neal Bartlett, and the Near Reaches’ Jason Pulley and J.D. Reager. Then, for the second half of the show, the comedy scene will be out in force, including performances by Sams, Kline, Josh McLane, Jane Haze, the Running Gag improv group, and many others.

“All of the Memphis comics will be there,” Kline says.

Proceeds from the show will benefit the Church Health Center, an institution close to Holcomb’s heart. Sams says it’s the least they can do. “We are all poor. We don’t have a lot of discretionary income, but we have talent.”

Coleman says it’s a fitting tribute to her friend: “I know he touched a lot of people — more than I realized.”

A Special Tribute to Randall Holcomb, featuring multiple local bands and comedians, is at the New Daisy Theater on Friday, August 24th, 7 p.m., $10.

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Olympic Overdose: One Man’s Attempt to Watch Every Sport

Chris McCoys Olympic checklist: He planned for gold, but hell settle for bronze.

  • Chris McCoy’s Olympic checklist: He planned for gold, but he’ll settle for bronze.

I’m not much of a sports fan, but I love the Olympics. I know, I know —the International Olympic Committee is a bloated, corrupt institution; the amateur athletics label is outdated and hypocritical; it can royally suck to live in a city where the games are being held, and all the cool kids are watching NBA basketball. But I don’t care. The Olympic games are awesome. They are a celebration of humanity at its finest. The Olympic motto Citius, Altius, Fortius—Faster, Higher Stronger—is as pure a distillation of the Enlightenment ideal as has ever been written. And even though the games are rife with nationalism, the gathering of our disparate tribes to compete with each other inevitably leads to the conclusion that humanity is all one big tribe, as the sportsmanship of the athletes surface to show that our commonalities clearly outweigh our differences.

As an Olympic fanboy, I was naturally excited as the 2012 London games approached. I believe it’s important to have goals, so, inspired by the Olympian ideal and given my current state of underemployment, I decided that this time around, I would watch ALL of the games. Of course, that’s pretty much impossible, given that there are 26 sports divided into 39 individual disciplines. So I refined my goal. I would watch at least one game-unit of each sport. Given that NBC was devoting 16 hours a day of their airtime on four different TV stations and streaming the entire games live on the internet, surely this would be possible. And if Michael Phelps could devote most of his life to his attempt to become the greatest Olympic athlete of all time, devoting a couple of weeks of my time on the couch with the iPad and cable TV was the least I could do, right?

I got started a day before the opening ceremonies when I accidentally caught a soccer game while trying to figure out exactly which channels I would be frequenting over the course of the Olympics. Its seems that the soccer tournament has to start early in order to fit a complete tournament in before the closing ceremonies. I filled in my first two entries in my Olympic journal: Men’s and Women’s Soccer. Cool, I thought. I have a head start!

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Music Music Features

Jingle Bell Rock

It’s the holidays, which means it’s also the season for holiday parties. If you’re already worn down by the thought of force-feeding with relatives or office get-togethers that require you to pretend to like your co-workers on your off-hours too, the good news is that there are other, better options for revelry. Memphis musicians — many of whom are on the road for much of the year — have made big shows a Christmas tradition in the last few years, and there is a good slate of them over the next couple of weeks.

Saturday, December 17th: Shangri-La Christmas Party with Magic Kids and Fraysia

“Every year we just try to have some good music and try to pair up different types of bands,” Shangri-La Records’ Jared McStay says. “It’s a big party that we throw for all of our customers and for anyone else who wants to come. We try to make it appeal to as many different people as we can. But it’s mostly just about music.”

McStay is not sure how long this holiday show has been going on, as it was already established when he took over from Shangri-La founder Sherman Willmott. “It’s at least 13 years, probably more like 15,” he says.

This year’s show at the Hi-Tone Café features Magic Kids, the smooth, Bennett Foster-fronted Midtown indie-pop band whose 2010 album Memphis garnered national attention. Also on the bill is Fraysia, featuring McStay, Impala guitarist John Stivers, Tripp Lamkins of the Grifters and Dragoon, and Andy Saunders from Glorie.

“It’s kind of a new thing we’ve been doing,” says McStay, whose band the Simple Ones was a mainstay of the ’90s Memphis alt-rock scene. Between sets, DJ Buck Wilders will keep the party rocking with his blend of vintage soul and contemporary rock. Admission is $5 plus a can of food, which will be donated to the Memphis Food Bank.

Sunday, December 18th: Goner Christmas Party with Peach Kelli Pop, True Sons of Thunder, Sharp Balloons, and Toxie

The next night, Goner Records will take over the Hi-Tone for their annual Christmas shindig. Like McStay, Goner Records owner Eric Friedl is not sure how many years Goner’s been throwing down for the holidays. “I remember the Barbaras played one year,” he says. “We try to keep it underground — keep it street.”

This year, Friedl says the show will be based around a girl group from Canada called Peach Kelli Pop. In addition to the fun, uptempo Nuggets revivalism of the headliners, Friedl’s own noise maestros, True Sons of Thunder, have worked up a set of Christmas tunes that must be heard to be believed. “It’s gonna be pretty different from what we usually do,” Friedl says.

Goner co-owner Zac Ives’ punk band Sharp Balloons will also be playing, along with Toxie, featuring Goner’s own Madison Farmer and Magic Kids’ Will McElroy. “I think we’re saying it starts at 6 p.m.,” Friedl says. “It’s a post-dinner, stretching into the late night kind of thing. It’ll go from a family Christmas kind of party to a big night out.”

Thursday, December 22nd: Lucero with Amy LaVere

Minglewood Hall will host two of Memphis’ biggest road warriors as they return home for this Christmas extravaganza. Lucero needs no introduction to Memphis audiences. The alt-country band has been one of the most successful Memphis acts of the 21st century, both artistically and commercially. Their first annual Christmas show last year was packed, and this promises to be even bigger.

Joining the boys will be Amy LaVere, fresh from touring Europe in support of her acclaimed third album, Stranger Me, which will be at the top of many people’s lists for best Memphis record of 2011. Portions of the proceeds from the show will benefit MusiCares, a Grammy Foundation-run program that assists musicians in need.

Sunday, December 25th: Snowglobe’s 9th Annual Christmas Show with the Pirates

After you’ve finished opening your presents, head to the Hi-Tone for the return of Snowglobe. “It’s totally a tradition,” drummer Jeff Hulett says. “Christmas is not Christmas without the Snowglobe Christmas show.”

It’s something of a reunion and not only for the band members, who, due to distance, other musical obligations, medical school, and new babies, have not played live since last year’s show. “Some people miss it, because they’re out of town, but the great thing is that there are a lot of our friends, family, and fans who have scattered across the country but are back in Memphis and come to the show,” Hulett says. Even though Snowglobe appearances are rare, that doesn’t mean they’re inactive. They have almost completed a new album with local producer Toby Vest.

“I’m pumped about where it is,” Hulett says. “It’ll be a fun record. It’s a lot more electronic and poppy.” Will we get a preview on Christmas night? “I hope so!” he says.

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The Re-Entry of Man Or Astro-Man?

Man Or Astro-Man?

  • Man Or Astro-Man?

The early ’90s were the age of grunge, when the hair metal that had dominated the airwaves of ’80s was pushed aside by scruffy, flannel-clad slackers such as Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and Alice In Chains. But just under the surface there were a group of bands who drew inspiration not from Neil Young and Hüsker Dü, but from the Ventures and Dick Dale. At the head of this surf rock revival were a group of space aliens by way of Auburn, Alabama, known as Man Or Astro-Man?

“We just wanted to do something as completely different as possible,” says astro-guitarist Birdstuff (aka Brian Teasley), who, along with Coco the Electric Monkey Wizard (Robert DelBueno) and Star Crunch (Brian Causey) formed the core of the band. “We had always been from the world of punk rock, and there was an energy to instrumental surf music that we thought was akin to punk.”

The band’s first two full-length releases, 1993’s Is It Man…Or Astro Man? and 1995’s Project Infinity stand beside the classics of the ’60s as blasts of pure, reverb-drenched surf energy. But instead of dreaming of breakers and bikinis, Man Or Astro Man? were using their songs to drop science — or, at least, science fiction. They were geek rock when being a geek was still geeky. Their songs are shot through with samples from golden-age monster and sci-fi movies. They were incredibly prolific, recording 12 full-lengths and dozens of EPs and singles in eight years, mutating beyond the pure surf of their first recordings into a harder-edged hybrid that included vocals and increasingly experimental soundscapes.

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Film Features Film/TV

V for Victory

There are three works that are largely credited with bringing comic books out of the spandex-hero ghetto and into mainstream acceptance as a serious art form: Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns and two works by Alan Moore, The Watchmen and V for Vendetta.

The Dark Knight Returns served as Tim Burton’s inspiration for his Batman movie, which, for better or worse, ushered in the modern comic-book flick. Many have tried to film The Watchmen, only to have the unfilmable project collapse. Now screenwriters Andy and Larry Wachowski, flush with clout after The Matrix trilogy, have succeeded in bringing V for Vendetta to the big screen. But Moore, feeling rightly burned after the debacle that was The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, has prominently and adamantly disassociated himself from the film. The famously willful and aggressively strange writer, considered by many to be the kind of genius that comes along once in a generation, is probably going to wish he had allowed his name in the credits alongside artist David Lloyd, because V for Vendetta has survived the transition to the big screen with its bite intact.

Set in a post-apocalyptic Britain ruled by a fascist government — recognizable for its red and black color scheme and for the fact that the leader appears to his cabinet on the big screen from the Macintosh 1984 commercial — the movie begins with Evey (Natalie Portman) being saved from the clutches of the abusive secret police (“Fingermen”) by a Guy-Fawkes-mask-wearing antihero (Hugo Weaving) who goes by the codename V and proceeds to wreak epic explosive mayhem to the tune of the 1812 Overture.

The character is Batman’s mirror image — an anarchist who lives in an abandoned underground station surrounded by the artifacts of culture banned under the current regime. Naturally, the powers-that-be label him a terrorist and bring the full power of the total surveillance state to bear against him. The film’s excellent second act juggles the efforts of Detective Finch (Stephen Rea) to track down the “terrorist” and V’s plan to eliminate everyone who knows his true identity — who are coincidentally the same people responsible for his transformation into anti-superhero. Moore fans will find many of the original’s gags and digressions intact (the “Valerie” subplot appears practically verbatim; even the rat hole in Evey’s cell has been lovingly reproduced), but the chronology has been scrambled and the ending given major (and not entirely successful) surgery.

But the changes ultimately don’t matter. This is far and away the best film the Wachowskis have made. Matrix fans expecting a CGI “whoa!”-fest will instead get a dark meditation on the Enlightenment question of the state versus the individual. The Wachowskis’ penchant for sermonizing exposition, which overwhelmed the second and third Matrix movies, works much better when they have something relevant to talk about.

A lot of people are going to hate this movie, and most of them will be on the right side of the political spectrum. The Internet brownshirts have already been loosed, and V’s C4 suicide belt will provide ready ammunition. But seeing Natalie Portman waterboarded and a Bill O’Riley lookalike as the mouthpiece of dictatorship should give audiences plenty to talk about as they drive home after their popcorn munch. William Burroughs said, “Success will write apocalypse across the sky,” and as the film’s closing image of exploding fireworks suggests, success is spelled with a V.

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Film Features Film/TV

Desert Morality

Tommy Lee Jones’ feature directorial debut, The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada is about what happens between two groups of people that are in the process of merging. Individuals thrown together by accidents of geography and economics can unite despite classism, racism, or tribalism, because friendship is stronger than those -isms.

Jones plays Pete Perkins, a ranch hand who befriends Melquiades Estrada (Julio Cedillo), an illegal immigrant cowboy who is somewhat naive but unfailingly kind and fair in the way that Americans like to believe cowboys are. When Estrada turns up in a shallow grave in the desert, it is a foregone conclusion among the small-town Texans that no one will ever find out who fired the shot that killed him. Their attitude toward the illegals is summed up when Perkins asks Sheriff Belmont (Dwight Yoakam) to be notified when his friend is buried.

“I don’t have to notify you of a goddamn thing,” Belmont says. “He’s a wetback.”

When Perkins stumbles across the truth — that his friend was accidentally shot by a border-patrol agent named Mike Norton (Barry Pepper) — his demands for justice are ignored, so in true Western fashion, he takes matters into his own hands, kidnapping Norton and setting off to give Melquiades a proper burial in Mexico, “away from all these billboards.”

The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada is firmly grounded in the morality-play tradition of the Western, but writer Guillermo Arriaga, who penned Amores Perros and 21 Grams, takes pains to leave his mark on the story, and both the film’s strengths and weaknesses are similar to the writer’s earlier works. Arriaga breaks up the story’s beginnings into a nonlinear structure before settling into a more conventional second half once the dramatic situation of the two men traveling through the hostile desert has been set in motion. But Arriaga and Jones recognize that the situation is as much Weekend at Bernie’s as it is Treasure of the Sierra Madre, and throw in an occasional wink. Arriaga is interested in the way communities of people are connected, sometimes to the point of forcing connections between characters that are unlikely and distractingly unnecessary to the story.

But Arriaga’s wry fatalism is strangely satisfying, and his screenplay provides the backbone for great performances by the principal cast. Jones channels Unforgiven-era Clint Eastwood, never quite rising to the tortured heights of John Wayne’s Ethan Edwards from The Searchers, but making Perkins’ at times irrational choices seem understandable. Pepper’s TV-and-porn-numbed border-patrol agent epitomizes the banality of evil.

After Men in Black II and Man of the House, it seemed like Tommy Lee Jones was going to be content to coast to payday after payday until the calls from his agent stopped coming, but The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada suggests a more Eastwood-like trajectory, where a tough guy matures into a tough-minded artist. With his first feature, Jones has set the bar pretty high. Here’s hoping he can keep it up.

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Dench’s Oscar bid drowns otherwise pleasant romp.

As anyone who has ever seen stock footage from World War II knows, living in London during the Blitz was very bad. It was not quite as bad as living in Berlin or Tokyo a few years later, but it was still very bad. Most of the population huddled in cellars and underground stations. A lucky few got to huddle in the Windmill Theater, where they could enjoy vaudeville and naked girls as the Nazis demolished their city from the air. It was, apparently, a very important part of the war effort, or so Mrs. Henderson Presents would have us believe.

Judi Dench has been nominated for an Academy Award for her performance as the title character, who, despite being tempted a couple of times, always remains fully clothed. When the movie opens, Mrs. Henderson has just lost her husband, and we soon find out that her only son was killed in the Great War and is buried in a military graveyard in France.

Unimpressed with the options available to proper aristocratic widows of the time, Mrs. Henderson decides to buy a derelict East End theater and hire crusty stage veteran Vivan Van Damn (Bob Hoskins) to run the place. After early success stemming from their decision to run five shows a day instead of the customary two, the theater falls on hard times. Mrs. Henderson rightly surmises that naked dancing girls will help put asses in seats again, an idea she shares with this film’s producers. To get the proper permits, she charms the stodgy Lord Cromer, played by the excellent Christopher Guest, who seems a little relieved to not be directing for a change. The catch is, the girls have to remain still as statues. The reaction of Depression-era Londoners to this new thespian frontier is captured by Henderson’s friend Lady Conway (Thelma Barlow), who exclaims, “Nudity! In England!” It is in this middle section of the picture where the prickly chemistry between Hoskins and Dench gets cooking, and for about a half hour the movie’s charms shine through. But then the war starts, stock footage of burning London rolls, and an episode of Masterpiece Theatre breaks out.

Mrs. Henderson Presents isn’t a bad film, it’s just lazily by-the-numbers. Director Stephen Frears never comes close to the highs of past successes like The Grifters and High Fidelity. At age 75, Dench still has plenty of charisma and a wicked sense of comic timing, but you can’t win an Oscar by just being funny, so the third act gives us serious speechifying and forced pathos, smothering what could have been a pleasant little vaudeville romp. Like the naked girls on stage, Mrs. Henderson Presents is never allowed to dance.

Mrs. Henderson Presents

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