June 2006
Movie Reviews
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Director: Robert Altman
BROADCASTING LIVE FROM Saint Paul, Minnesota, on Saturday evenings, repeating Sunday midday, is Garrison Keillor's highly entertaining radio variety show about a fictional, modest-sized community around a Lake Wobegon. Public Radio stations around the country pick it up; "A Prairie Home Companion" can perk up any drive, shopping trip or workaday slump. Better yet, simply lazing about of an evening, preferably on a hammock in your backyard, makes for the most enjoyable listening. "A Prairie Home Companion" is our country's longest running radio show. Engaging, down-to-earth, clever, direct. Just as we like to think of ourselves, therefore those qualities reinforce the show's popularity. I have been a fan for decades, listening, catching shows on the random weekends when I have the time to listen. Sometimes a show, interrupted by the rest of my Saturday, can be caught on Sunday. 
A minor location, the requisite vintage film noir Diner, played by Mickey's Diner, is apparently on 9th St. in Saint Paul. The Fitzgerald Theatre (Keillor's regular digs since before it's renovation from World Theatre) at 10 Exchange Street, was the set location for the filmic radio show. With the magic of editing, it seems just across a rain-drenched street, which reflects the diner's neon lights. Perfect film noir images. The story began with the typical deadpan narrative by Guy Noir, which is a regular comedy skit character on the radio show. The slightly altered cinematic role has Noir as a down-on-his-luck private investigator that currently works as security manager of the Fitzgerald. Kevin Kline was the man for the job, as narrator, and the dimwit gumshoe detective, comically blending in a dash of Inspector Clouseau slapstick. Mint timing. Elegant.
In this genre, there is always a gorgeous dame. Virginia Madsen played the Dangerous Woman, her entrance, of course, out of the shadows behind the theatre seats. Clad in a clinical-white trench coat cinched at the waist, Noir mentioned, over a 'skirt so tight, you can read the label: wash gently, hang dry.' As the coat never came open, let alone off, Guy Noir must have been guessing. The coat never comes off. Madsen's Woman was amiable but mysterious, vague answers belying her intentions. Madsen must have loved this 'angel' role.
Keillor portrays GK, his tongue-in-cheek nod at himself, as he portrays a film version of an eccentric, self-involved star. The long-running, now doomed radio show, was thought dead, just "no one told the performers." Keillor, usually an unseen real-life, American radio show icon, his voice familiar to millions of public radio fans, was in enough scenes that you will be able to picture him in action every weekend while you listen to his show. Keillor's 'A Prairie Home Companion' radio show has always been about a fictitious hometown of Lake Wobegon. At the beginning of each show, he describes "the little town that time forgot and the decades cannot improve…where the women are strong, the men are good looking, and all the children are above average." The way he speaks is mesmerizing. The news and whimsical, homespun stories about the folks of Lake Wobegon are amusing, delivered with Mid-western dry wit; the variety segments feature skits and musical performances, one of the last retreats of American folk music. 
The movie's radio show characters sang, played music, told jokes easily—and why not? Some of Keillor's co-stars written into the movie were 'seen,' for a lot of us, for the first time. Regulars included Robin and Linda Williams, as themselves. Jearlynn Steele, a singing icon in her own right, was credited as a guest performer, as she is on the Lake Wobegon show. Rich Dworsky played himself, the house bandleader, heading up the regular house band. Tim Russell appeared as the anxious stage manager. Tom Keith, the regular foley artist, was a delight to watch, as he reacted to the sometimes-improvisational storytelling and stage conversations, revealing some of his tricks of the trade, foley artists being intrinsic to any first-rate radio show.
Similar in format to the Lake Wobegon public radio show format, the movie's Saint Paul radio show had fictional characters portrayed by a rather hefty cast of actors. Meryl Streep vamped the empty-headed sister, Yolanda, one of the two remaining Johnson Sisters Family Singing Act, the other being Lily Tomlin's low-voiced, worldly Rhonda. They are priceless together. Woody Harrelson, as 'Dusty,' looking cool in his long, suede duster, renders a version of his hallmark wry persona. Camping it up as his singing partner, 'Lefty', John C. Reilly is clearly enjoying his character. The both of them deftly exchanged sight gags, raunchy jokes and dare-to-be-censored lyrics. Lindsay Lohan makes an attempt at the role of Yolanda's obnoxious daughter, who writes poems about suicide, and then transitioned to shy performer at the end of the show—somewhat weird and forced—possibly some other actor could have made it work better, as the role is thoroughly woven into the story. Her singing number was good.
Tommy Lee Jones skips through a cameo, as the Axe-man from Texas. His best line was an observation that "he felt like an anthropologist" stepping back in time. His comment to Guy Noir "hasn't this show been on the air for 50 years?" Noir mumbled something about the number actually was more like thirty-plus years, which was Keillor poking fun at his show. It has been bouncing out over the airwaves since 1974 (with a six-year hiatus beginning in 1987 and finally back in 1993). 
Robert Altman's fame as a director stems from his knack for 'getting it right,' capturing life the way it usually feels, happening all around us, causing the sensation of missing some of the action, snippets of conversations lost, the relentless necessity to adapt, seeking the context of the experience, not settling for our own unique, and usually inaccurate, perceptions. His inflection on fictional characters sounds a lot like real life, the result being 'real people.' These characters were normal, capable of greatness, or clueless, socially inept—as we often are, barely keeping up, maintaining what we worry is a competency bluff. Altman's skill for directing this type of script, allowing improvisation, brought Keillor's story to life. He builds on the pairings of the sisters, the cowboy singers, the romantic couple, Guy Noir and the Angel and GK with the droll and very pregnant assistant stage manager, Molly (Saturday Night Live's Maya Rudolf).
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June 2006
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