Still Alice

Today is Martin Luther King Day. Having seen “Selma,” as well as reading, watching, and listening to numerous other pieces over the past week or so, and having been confined to quarters with the miserable weather yesterday, we snuck out for a little while this afternoon to see the new movie, “Still Alice.”

The story is about a 50-year-old Professor of Linguistics at Columbia University (Julianne Moore), wife of a Professor of Medicine (Alex Baldwin) and mother of three young adult children, who begins to exhibit odd symptoms and, following a battery of tests and evaluations, is diagnosed with a rare form of early-onset Alzheimer’s Disease. To say that this is a particularly devastating diagnosis for someone who has spent her life in pursuit of understanding brain function is an understatement. There are no miracle cures or particularly feel-good endings here. The first part of the movie seemed a bit too perfect, with all but one family member portrayed as clever and charming over-achievers and most of the dialogue in tired clichés. But the second half, as Alice’s condition begins to deteriorate seriously, seems far more realistic and quite painful. Even her husband, who is portrayed as a reasonably nice fellow, finds a way to disentangle himself from the pain of experiencing her final decline.

A.O. Scott wrote “It surrounds Alice and her family with the signifiers of a perfect, privileged life: impressive jobs, well-raised children, a Manhattan brownstone and a lovely beach house, neither one too showy. But all of this feels like a too tidy garden that has been planted for the sole purpose of introducing a blight and observing its ravages. The story is sad and sincerely told, but it is too removed from life to carry the full measure of pain that Alice deserves.”

The first portion of the movie, as she notices the early symptoms, begins the rounds of diagnostic tests, and finally receives the devastating diagnosis felt a bit too close to home for us. It was a bit difficult to watch the neuropsychologist administer some of the same assessment tools that we remember so well. But there is no doubt that I had to feel extremely grateful that the course of my disease was ultimately quite different from hers. However frustrated I may become at the lapses that are pretty much a constant part of my days, I have to remind myself that I have been quite fortunate indeed.

This is not a fun movie, but Julianne Moore’s Oscar nomination is certainly appropriate. For something a bit more upbeat, I am hoping we will have a chance to take the children to see “Paddington.”

Love,

Rebecca

Two movies

As I sat down to write this review of the film, “Mr. Turner,” which we saw last week, I took a look at Rotten Tomatoes to see the ratings. I was a bit taken aback by the rather large difference between the critics’ ratings (97% approval) and the audience’s ratings (60%). I scanned through quite a few films and did not see any with a gap this wide between the two opinions.

To some extent, I can see why. The film is a bit difficult to follow and understand as it portrays an eccentric British painter, J.M.W. Turner (1775-1851). Like many such films, it switches back and forth between incidents at varying times of Mr. Turner’s life. We learn that he was deeply affected by the death of his father and loved by a housekeeper, even though he ignores her except for grunting orders and occasionally forcing himself on her. He is devoted to his art and a member of the Royal Academy of Arts, even going so far as to have himself strapped to the mast of a ship so that he can better see a snowstorm he will eventually paint. But for the most part, is life appears to consist of travelling and spending time with wealthy acquaintances in the country. His one close relationship after the death of his father seems to be with his landlady, with whom he moves incognito to Chelsea, where he eventually dies.

Mike Leigh directed the film, but the cast of this film are not familiar names. We are familiar with some of Mr. Leigh’s work, including “Vera Drake” (2004), “Happy-Go-Lucky” (2008), and “Another Year,” all very good films. We were reminded of “Happy-Go Lucky” during the previews before the screening of “Mr. Turner,” because the lead actress in that film is currently in the new, film, “Paddington,” which we hope to see with the children.

While I cannot say I loved “Mr. Turner,” what was quite interesting was the attention to the details of life in the late 18^th/early 19^th centuries. For all our complaints about modern life, I would not care to return to that “simpler” time. And do not even think about being ill!

We had been hoping to go into the City today, but it is raining very heavily with the temperature hovering just around the freezing point. So we watched something Barry had taped that was broadcast on CNN recently “Life Itself,” a documentary on the career and life of Roger Ebert. He was quite famous as a movie critic, pairing with Gene Siskel on the show “Siskel and Ebert at the Movies” (and various other names) from 1986 until Siskel’s death in 1991.

This documentary is not for the fainthearted. It really is a bit hard to watch at first, so disfiguring were the surgeries that Mr. Ebert was forced to undergo. He is unable to fully close his mouth and looks like he has a permanent awkward smile on his face. That takes some getting used to, but once you get past it, he really was a pretty amazing fellow who managed to continue to be extremely productive and witty through what seems to be unbearable suffering. It really is quite inspiring.

Hopefully by tomorrow this weather will pass. At least it was rain rather than snow!

Love,

Rebecca

Too little too late?

Enigma

“The Imitation Game” tells the story of Alan Turing, a British mathematician who was born in 1912 and played a key role in the Allies winning World War II by deciphering “Enigma,” a communication code used by the German army. Besides being quite brilliant and more than a little eccentric, he was also a homosexual at a time when such behavior could result in criminal charges with harsh consequences.

His eccentricities came as no surprise to this one-time undergraduate mathematics major. One of Barry’s amusing pass times when we were undergraduates together at the University of Rochester was to watch the assortment of students leaving the lecture halls when he came to meet me after classes in theoretical mathematics. With all our quirks, we applied statisticians cannot hold a candle to the theoretical mathematics and physics students in lack of sophistication.

Sadly, unlike the “live and let live” attitude that is prevalent in most western countries today, life for homosexuals in previous centuries could be quite unpleasant. When Turing was convicted of “indecency” in 1952, he was offered the choice between a prison term and chemical treatment, and chose the latter. Two years later he took his own life.

Perhaps things would have been different if he had worked on something for which he could have immediately been recognized. But as he quickly pointed out when the code was finally broken, the accomplishment needed to continue to be kept secret, because as soon as the Germans would have known the Allies were able to intercept their messages, they would have developed a new code. I am certainly no Turing: I did not even see that coming!

There was one line in the film that found me pulling a pen and scrap of paper out of my purse:

“Sometimes it is the people no one imagines anything of who do the things that no one can imagine.”

If you type this line into Google you see that it is a very popular quote from the movie. While the sentiment is quite inspiring, it would have been nice if the writers had steered clear of that phrase ending in a preposition (“the people no one imagines anything of”) and instead written:

“Sometimes it is the people of whom no one imagines anything who do the things that no one can imagine.”

Either way, it was an excellent film, and we thank our friends who recommended it.

The upcoming week is relatively quiet, and I hope to spend a few days working on my 2014 family picture book, always a fun project.

Meanwhile, stay warm!

Love,

Rebecca

Honey and Vinegar: A Play in Three Acts

Act I

In 1980, Barry accepted a position at the University of Texas Health Science Center at Dallas. Two years later, when our daughters were just 5 and 3 years of age, I decided what I wanted to do when I grew up, and I applied and was accepted into the graduate program in statistics at Southern Methodist University.

The adjustment to being a mother and a full-time student after more than six years away from my previous educational pursuits was not an easy one. But with Barry as an unwavering partner, we managed to maintain a good sense of humor and to keep all the balls in the air most of the time.

One notable exception would seem a minor incident if it were not for the fact that our daughters remember this so well and reminisce about it periodically. I had taken the girls to have a portrait done. We had an appointment, but when we arrived the studio was crowded, and after waiting for quite a while it became apparent to me that they were neither honoring appointments nor taking the families in the order in which they arrived. I went up to the front desk a couple of times only to be assured that it would be soon. In retrospect I should have just bailed out and come back another day. Instead, I have to admit that I lost my temper with the woman at the front desk. Isn’t it funny, after so many years and so many (what I thought were) pearls of wisdom shared with our daughters, this is one of the days they seem to remember the best?

Act II

Our family spent the summer of 1991 in a variety of places. We had sold our house in Sharon and took a number of trips, including one to Israel. Our flight went through Paris where we were scheduled to catch a second flight to Tel Aviv. Unfortunately, the flight out of Boston took off late and we, along with hordes of others on the plane, missed the connecting flight. Adding to the stress was the fact that it was already Thursday evening, which meant we either had to obtain a seat on a flight early Friday morning, or spend Sabbath somewhere near Paris to catch a flight Saturday night or Sunday. I am sure there must have been passengers who were travelling to family celebrations and really did need to get there.

Seeing the crowd of passengers trying to squeeze around a desk to speak to one of the two airline representatives, we decided that Barry would go off with the girls, get some drinks, and wait for me. I made my way to one of the counters where a horde of people was yelling at this poor airline employee. For just a moment, she looked up and I caught her eye and said “I sure would not want to be in your position right now.” She smiled, and the next thing I knew we were booked on another flight and given instructions on where to stay for the night. We ended up finding our way to a lovely kosher restaurant and walked up and down the Champs Elysees. Barry and I took the four vouchers they gave us and went back to Paris for a week the following summer.

Act III

My last Sandostatin injection was due over Thanksgiving weekend. Because we were not sure where we would be for Thanksgiving, rather than making an appointment with my doctor, we planned to go over to the urgent care near our house to have the injection done. We went on Friday morning, the day after Thanksgiving. Unfortunately, something went awry, the needle broke off, and the drug was spilled all over the floor. I was fine but the drug needs to be administered every four weeks. Fortunately, I had one dose left at home (the medication comes to me 3 doses at a time), so when we headed back up to Sharon on Sunday I had the injection done at the urgent care center nearby, one we have used quite a few times now.

Once this was done, we had to start figuring out what we would do for my next dose. We quickly discovered that the physician who performed the procedure needed to request a replacement dose from the manufacturer. At this point things became complicated because we were having a hard time getting him to take of this. After repeated calls, we called the clinic and asked to speak to a manager. By that point it had been over a week since the incident, so only a bit more than two weeks until the next dose will be due. We explained the story to him and at first he seemed receptive, but another couple of days went by with a lot of foot-dragging. Finally, Barry called and told the office manager quite firmly that he was going to engage an attorney. After that things went quickly, and I will shortly have the tracking number for the new dose which is scheduled to be delivered tomorrow.

Moral

Remember,

The squeaky wheel always gets the grease.

But,

You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

Sometimes you just need to find a way to get ahold of a bigger honeypot.

Love,

Rebecca

 

Back in New York City so back to the movies

It is time to catch up with our recent movie outings for those of you who enjoy living vicariously, either because you live in places with few theaters that screen independent or small films or because you are busy with children and work and real life that keeps you out of the theaters. I am happy to play this role.

We went first to see “Wild” because it had been playing the longest and we were afraid it might close. The movie centers on a young woman named Cheryl, played by Reese Witherspoon. This serious role was rather different than the movies for which Ms. Witherspoon has become known over the past ten to fifteen years, romantic comedies such as “Legally Blonde” and “Sweet Home Alabama,” which I must admit I have never had much interest in seeing.  

The death of Cheryl’s mother, with whom she was close, sends her into a tailspin of self-destructive behavior, ruining her marriage and threatening her own life with overuse of illicit drugs. To heal herself she decides, with no experience, to hike the 1000+ miles of the challenging and mostly desolate Pacific Coast Trail. She takes off alone with an enormous backpack, and is quickly confronted with obstacles, such as failure to purchase the correct fuel for the small burner on which she intends to cook and shoes that do not fit properly. But she is determined to continue. At times it is a bit difficult to watch, but knowing that it is ultimately a “feel-good” movie was helpful. We were glad we saw it.

Our second selection was “Selma,” which received a 100% approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes! I am not an expert in 20^th century American history but I have the impression that the story told here is a fairly accurate portrayal of the months leading to the passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965, which ensured that all Americans would have the right to vote. I had read that the Director of the movie was not able to gain permission to use the text of Dr. King’s speeches in the film, so it is a bit odd that the words “I have a dream” are not said. But this passes because the actors portraying Dr. King (David Oyelowo) and of President Johnson (Tom Wilkinson) truly inhabited these roles. The movie has a PG-13 rating (a bit of language and quite a bit of violence in reenacting the marches) but is definitely appropriate for older children. Another movie we heartily recommend.   

The third movie is a bit more obscure, another piece based on a true story called “Big Eyes.” Although it did not receive consistently glowing reviews (Rotten Tomatoes only had a 70), A.O. Scott seemed to like it and it sounded interesting. We are big fans of Amy Adams, so this newest effort looked worth a try.

The film is based on the true story, one which is almost unbelievable, of

Walter Keane (Christoph Waltz), who became one of the most successful painters of the 1950s and early 1960s with his collection of children with large, sad eyes. But eventually the art world learned the truth that moviegoers know nearly from the start: the work attributed to Keane was actually not created by him at all, but by his wife, Margaret (Amy Adams). Why and how this occurred and how Margaret finally confronted it is the story the movie tells.

The Keanes, it seemed, had been living a lie that had grown to gigantic proportions. “Big Eyes” centers on Margaret's awakening as an artist, the phenomenal success of her paintings, and her tumultuous relationship with her husband, who was catapulted to international fame while taking credit for her work. The children in Margaret’s paintings had big eyes, but it took a long time for Margaret to see things clearly.

In response to yesterday’s post, two friends have written me about “The Imitation Game.” That is now on the list!

The temperature is dropping throughout much of the United States. Stay warm!

Love,

Rebecca

Just five days in and already falling behind

I trust that everyone else has been as busy as we have and did not miss my rather long absence from writing.

After a few quiet days in New York, we drove up to Sharon where we spent the last week of December having loads of fun with the children, who were all home on vacation from school. One of the afternoons, we watched the 2006 remake of Charlotte’s Web. We were barely aware that this existed, because in 2006 our grandchildren were too young to sit through a movie. Barry and I were just glad we were able to get the four of them to agree on what to watch, and we even tried to use the discussion as an opportunity to understand the concepts of negotiation and compromise. We had stocked up on snacks so everyone had a great time.

The next day was our chance to do something we have been talking about for a few months now: Barry and I took Maya to the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. Back in August I wrote about Maya’s interest in art, and we had been waiting for the opportunity to go with her. We were concerned about how crowded it might be during the vacation week so we arrived just when they opened, and although there were a lot of visitors it did not induce uncomfortable claustrophobia. They had arranged some activities for school-age children that we felt were very well done, amply supplied and with excellent guidance from the folks running the program. There was a large room with impressionist prints spread around the tables where each child was given a palette of water color paints with which to draw their own Monet-inspired scenes. Between the organized activities we roamed around various parts of the museum. We spent a fair amount of time in the galleries with Monet, Renoir, and Van Gogh, but Maya took interest in many other areas, particularly in the period furniture rooms. To say that she was practically floating through the museum barely does it justice, and we stayed much longer than we expected. We then headed to the kosher pizza shop in Brookline, just a few minutes away, and I do not think I have ever seen Maya eat quite that enthusiastically.

Wednesday was New Year’s Eve. Boston played and continues to play a major role in the celebrations of “First Night” in various cities around the country.

The first First Night was in Boston on December 31, 1975. It was organized by a small group of artists who sought an alternative way of celebrating New Year's Eve, where Boston’s young, innovative artists and musicians could perform on both indoor and outdoor stages. They also wanted to avoid the emphasis on alcohol that is common at New Year's Eve parties.^[1] Soon other surrounding communities started their own First Night celebrations. By the 1990s, the First Night Boston event was attracting works by over a thousand artists.^[2] In 2006, more than a million visitors attended First Night events, including free outdoor ice sculptures on Boston Common and in Copley Square, and waterfront fireworks.^[3]

Live coverage of the final part of Boston's First Night, including the countdown to midnight and fireworks over Boston Harbor that begin at the stroke of midnight, is broadcast by WBZ-TV. CBS, the station's parent company, is an official sponsor.

In addition to the New Year's festival, First Night is deeply involved in Boston's art and culture communities via the Neighborhood Network. Started in 1994, the Neighborhood Network partners First Night with 25 community organizations throughout Boston's neighborhoods- including Dorchester, Mattapan, Jamaica Plain andSouth Boston- to engage young people and families in creative workshops with artists and educators. In 2000 First Night launched Summer Beat, a series of summer camp like dance and music workshops spread around the city of Boston.

In 2013, the non-profit First Night Boston organization closed for financial reasons, though Mayor Menino of Boston (in office for only another year) pledged to find private or public funding the January 2014 celebration.^[4]On November 11, 2013, Mayor Menino announced he had acquired the necessary funding and that the 2013 First Night would be a “a bigger, brighter display than ever before.”^[5]

Simmie and family are the troopers and they headed up to Boston on the train early on Wednesday and stayed up there until the early evening. They had a great time and I must admit that I am a little jealous that I am no longer up to such outings. We settled for taking Joshua and Ella to see Big Hero 6. To be honest, it was a bit too violent for my taste and perhaps for Ella’s as well, but Joshua loved it. It really is true that many movies are produced with 10-12 year old boys in mind.

On Thursday the family finally did something else I have long wanted to do: we sat in coordinated clothing for a new family portrait. This was only the second time we have done this, the first being the one we had taken shortly before my diagnosis. That picture served me very well sitting next to my bed on all those nights in the hospital. I think the new picture, with all eleven of us, came out pretty well, and will post one here when we have them. I hope it never goes near a hospital room!

Tomorrow I will write about a few new movies we have managed to see in between all the other fun.

    

Love,

Rebecca