PeaceBang

Blessings for 2008

I was going to do a “Best of 2007″ list (books, movies, that sort of thing), but I’ve decided on a hot bath and a snuggle with the cat instead. A friend is coming over at 11:00 after work and if we stay awake long enough to watch the ball drop, it will be a miracle. I had planned to be fast asleep by 10:00, so this is high living indeed.

I think something he said to me tonight will turn out to be my favorite quote of the year: “If you’re a super engine going full throttle 95% of the time, you get to be a total train wreck the other 5%.”

Attend the Tale Of Sweeney Todd

After at least ten years of patient waiting, I finally got to see the cinematic version of “Sweeney Todd.”

Before I discuss the movie, let me say that I think it’s one of the most genius pieces of musical theatre ever written — it is, after all, the musical Leonard Bernstein once admitted he was quite jealous he hadn’t composed himself — and I had the great privilege of playing the female lead, Mrs. Lovett, in a 1994 production (Good Lord, was it that long ago!?). I adore the score note for note, and I thought it would bother me a lot that neither of the film’s leads could sing and that so much of the score would be edited out for (I suppose) reasons of pacing and relevance. After all, a six minute song about baking people into meat pies, so charming and rolicking onstage, would just seem like a pretentious indulgence of Sondheim lyrics on the screen.

But I shouldn’t have worried. It’s a fantastic movie. My nerves have been shaky lately, it’s true, but I thought I know this score inside and out, I know all the dialogue, I know all the business, none of the murders could possibly surprise me, and I’m well-acquainted with Tim Burton’s cinematic style. Wow, though. Even with that level of familiarity I was gasping at times, clutching at my friend’s sleeve, and overwrought by the intensity of the violence and the sadness of it all. I was practicing deep breathing the rest of the day and had to play a soothing lullaby CD before bed (thanks, Chris and Regina and Brian!). This film packs a wallop.

It’s true — Depp doesn’t have the voice for the role but he more than makes up for any vocal deficiencies with his acting, his total willingness to get lost in Benjamin Barker, and Helena Bonham Carter is such an alluringly damaged Goth goddess, you almost don’t care that she has practically no singing ability at all. Those eyes! That ratted hair! I assume that the average audience member lost 75% of her lyrics and dialogue since she near-whispers everything but she’s like a silent film star — who needs dialogue when you’ve got eyes like that? I painted my nails in a deep blue-black in tribute. If I could drag around for the next few days in tatted lace gloves and ratty velvet gowns with deep-cut bodices, I would. No one makes decrepitude fun like HB-C.

The secondary cast is perfect — and I so appreciated that the sailor Anthony was scruffy and raggedy as he should have been; he’s so often done up like that sailor boy on the Cracker Jack box and that’s all wrong. Some little English rosebud plays the locked-up ingenue Joanna, with one of those perfect nymphs-and-shepherds pure British sopranos that totally redeemed the often-insipid “Green Finch and Linnet Bird” aria for me. Let’s not even talk about Alan Rickman as the lecherous creep Judge Turpin! Alan, you will always be my heartthrob from “Sense and Sensibility” and it just hurt me to see you get stabbed in the jugular like that. There’s no respect.

Look also for Sascha Baron Cohen as the arrogant mountebank Pirelli — another wonderful performance for our “Borat” (is there anything this guy can’t do?) that requires him to transition from twinkling, unctuous fathead to cobra-like predator in a split second.

So this is a great triumph for director Tim Burton and another marvelous collaboration with Johnny Depp, who should just get some kind of lifetime achievement award for being the coolest actor in the world already.

And will someone please mount a local production of this show so I can try to play Mrs. Lovett again?

PeaceBang Blog is Three Years Old!

Separated At Birth: A Special Holiday Edition

Yukon Cornelius

…

and Kevin Youkilis…

Her Works Go Before Her

Best reason to take to your bed today.

Just another courageous, feisty broad forever silenced by bullets. Lord have mercy.

Merry Christmas!

PeaceBang is (mostly) on hiatus for the time being and wishes you a beautiful and blessed holiday.

Advent Hiatus

Dear friends,

I will be on blogging hiatus through the rest of Advent. See you soon, and have a wonderful holiday season. If you start to miss me , just think of all those wonderful archives you can peruse — almost three year’s worth now! Wow.

The News Of the Year In Religion

Dear ones,

Every year at the turn of the new year I give a sermon called “The Good News Of the Year In Religion” or just “The News Of The Year In Religion.” And you help me write it!

This year I am thinking about the presidential race and how religion is shaping up (sadly) to be a major factor in the campaigns. Note the sad spectacle of Mitt Romney pandering to the Religious Right earlier this week, doing a little tap dance about how much he loves Jay-zus and pulling out that tired old misrepresentation of the Founding Father’s original intent to “make this a Chreestiyan nashun!”
Aw geez, Mitt. And I had so much respect for… your hair.
He got thrown a few bones by some of the big guys so I hope he’s proud of hisself. I myself hear the soft thumping sounds of Joseph Smith rolling over in his grave.

So gimme some good news! Tell me about something that happened in your community (Milton, I’m looking at you!). Remind me of a little story that didn’t make it to the front pages. Help me explain, in one paragraph, what the hay-ell is going on in the Anglican communion.

A Mouse On A Cat On A Dog

[I wrote this for a church newsletter column in 2000. It’s still one of my favorites. Enjoy - VW]

A Mouse On A Cat On A Dog

After a lunch appointment one day last year in downtown Washington, DC, I walked around a corner and smack into this little street tableau:
A slightly grimy but very kindly man with a handsome black dog.
On top of the black dog sat a brown striped tabby cat, imperious in expression and languorous in repose.
On top of the brown striped tabby cat sat a white mouse, as dignified as a white mouse can manage to be.

All of the critters seemed a tiny bit uncomfortable but mostly gentle and self-respecting. If they minded being the center of attention they certainly didn’t show it, except for a brief moment when the cat leaped off the dog’s back to the pavement, groomed one paw, and then jumped back up to her furry perch (the mouse had to be helped back up).
“What’s going on here?” asked passersby, including a TV cameraman.

“I’m just trying to show that everyone can get along,” said the man. The dog, the cat and the mouse seemed to nod in agreement.
People stopped to stare, suspicious, waiting for the punch line, the gimmick, the appeal for money. Their silence challenged the man, who shifted his feet and bit and said well yes, he would also like to encourage people to adopt animals from their local shelter.

A cranky young businessman appeared on the scene next to me. “What is THIS?” he scowled. “I think it’s something about world peace,” I replied. “What’s the catch?” he asked. “I don’t think there is one,” I answered, surprised by a lump in my throat. He rolled his eyes at me and hurried off.

But I stayed for a long while, just plain happy to be in the company of the three gentle animals and the gentle man. It worked. It worked as a metaphor, it worked as street theatre, it worked as worship, it worked as non-violent protest. A mouse on a cat on a dog. Simple; not at all easy. Just like world peace.

We Had a Dog Party And She Wasn’t Invited: Almost Friday Cat Blogging

My friend just came over with her little dog, Shelby, so I had to shut Miss Princess up in my bedroom because she doesn’t like the dogs.
Now that my pal and Shelby are gone, Ermengarde is sniffing around everywhere and crying in a deeply betrayed manner. I’m acting very innocent like “What? Everything’s normal as pie! You’re not smelling a dog, it’s all in your imagination!”

It’s like when your parents went out of town for the weekend and you had a wild party and they came home and were like, “How did this cigarette burn get on the living room couch cushions, young lady?” and you’d say, “I think one of Dad’s friends did that during the Superbowl.” And then they’d say, “Uh-HUH. How about the beer bottles in the garage?” and you’d go, “It’s part of a recycling project I’m working on at school.”

To be honest with you, there is no way I could have ever gotten away with lying to my parents this way. For one thing, my mom has a fantastic honesty detector and would just call me a lying ingrate to my face and for another, my father would have murdered me. By that I mean that the sheer force of his bellowing could strike a person dead. And it’s not me who had the big illegal party in 1981 when Mom and Dad went to California anyway, KAREN MINNETTE BANG.THAT WAS TOI, WASN’T IT?

But that’s how I feel when I sneak a dog into the house past Ermengarde. That was a cute little dog, too. I love that she “fetched” a rain stick from the parlor and brought it to us.

I’m almost done with my sermon and this is what we call sheer procrastination and not going to the gym. Was that fun for you, too? I could keep going, you know…