Shallow | Center

Thank-You Note

BEFORE I succumb to the commercial orgy of the holidays, I wanted to take a minute to reflect on yesterday's theme of giving thanks. Rather than offer the usual litany of family and friends and such for which to be thankful -- and I am thankful for those things -- I can't help but think of the film version of Tom Wolfe's The Right Stuff. The Mercury astronauts are meeting the media, and answering the reporters' inane questions with the typical pablum of public figures, when the earnest John Glenn is asked to comment. I don't recall the specific question, but Glenn, played to perfection by Ed Harris, eschews the cynical confidence of his colleagues and instead answers with genuine enthusiasm. "I just thank God I live in a country where the best and the finest in a man can be brought out," he says, and as the crowd starts to react with applause, he adds, "I really do." It's not a bad thing to be grateful for.

Piping Up

IS IT because I'm a parent now and more attuned to these things, or is it actually true that there's a glut of animated films on the market these days? With the exception of the annual Pixar feature, most of them are fairly bland, not unpleasant affairs in which talking animals endure some sort of trial and come out the other side having learned the requisite lessons. Flushed Away is not much different, but its cheerfully frenetic pace (even by kids' movie standards) and let-'er-rip vocals raise it a notch. Hugh Jackman's Roddy is a pet mouse accidentally flushed down the toilet of the posh London home where he resides, and what he finds down in the sewer system is a functioning city of rats and toads. Unlike his sterile, lonely existence, this is a community, with family and friends, and when he hooks up with Kate Winslet's Rita, a spunky boat captain (because, with the exception of Finding Nemo's Dory, the females are always spunky), you can pretty much write the ending. Jackman and Winslet have tremendous fun, though, and Ian McKellan and Jean Reno completely relish their supporting roles, and with such infectious performances you can't help but enjoy yourself. Plus, any movie that can work in the Dandy Warhols' "Bohemian Like You" is okay in my book.

Rating: ***1/2 (of 5)

Believe

YES, FINE, his star-making turn was as the bad guy in Shane, and he won a well deserved Oscar for his pitch-perfect portrayal of an acerbic cowpoke in City Slickers, and he put men half his age to shame by celebrating his Academy Award with an effortless set of one-armed push-ups while Billy Crystal wet himself in amazement on stage next to him. What I desperately wanted but failed to see in the wire-service obit that I saw over the weekend was a mention of the late Jack Palance's tenure hosting Ripley's Believe It or Not! in the 1980s. Palance threw himself into those duties, raspingly narrating tales of incredulity and, occasionally, placing himself into the historical scenes he was describing. He was shooting, of course, for creepy -- his face craggy and weathered, his eyes narrowing to emphasize something especially spooky -- but the incessant scenery chewing turned the show into camp, a fun hour to spend on a Sunday night while you dreaded the upcoming school week. About Palance's only misstep on the show was importing his daughter, Holly, as a cohost; she turned out to be less creepy than she was annoying, her singsong voice grating on the viewer in a similar manner as the narrator on Desperate Housewives. No matter -- in all of Jack Palance's long career, those four years of my childhood are what I recall about him most fondly. Believe it ... or not.

Troop Movement

THE PUNDITS of the second decade of the last century took in the unspeakable carnage that shattered Europe from 1914 to 1918 and solemnly declared the conflict that caused it to be "the war to end all wars." Sadly, they hadn't seen anything yet. In the nearly century that has elapsed since then, wars large and small, necessary and unjust, effective and foolish, have culled from the world's population a heartbreaking number of men, women, and children, laid waste to some of our greatest cities, liberated the oppressed, turned aside evil, and given rise to epic tragedy. And so the holiday that came out of the Great War, Armistice Day, marking the day the fighting stopped, had to be renamed. They were other wars to be fought, after all, and so November 11 became known in the United States as Veterans Day, to honor those Americans who fulfilled the highest possible duty to their country.

The More Things Change ...

WHEN THE Inquirer and Daily News changed hands some months ago, Philadelphia pronounced itself poised to celebrate a new era in journalism here. A return to local ownership and freedom from Wall Street's shortsighted focus on quarterly bottom lines would allow the papers to flourish as independent voices in the region. Unfortunately, since then they've been known more for the news they've made than the news they've reported. Philadelphia Media Holdings has already burned through one publisher, with Joe Natoli heading to Florida for a university gig. Labor talks initially positioned as positive and collegial have deteriorated to the point where massive newsroom cuts are being rumored -- again. And yesterday the Inky cashiered its editor, Amanda Bennett. The news of her replacement, Bill Marimow, was greeted with considerable praise among local journalism types, both current and expat, and his resume, which includes a pair of Pulitzers, speaks for itself. Marimow told staffers yesterday that changes were in the air at the Inquirer, with a greater focus on the Philadelphia region, a move I applaud. The Inquirer's recent series of stories on the scandalous failure of the city's Department of Human Services to ensure the health and welfare of the children entrusted to it is a model for both papers to emulate. I sincerely wish Marimow well, and I hope that Brian Tierney can find a way give his charges the resources they need. The city and the region desperately need for the Inky and the DN to be great again.

On Message

THEY WERE calling yesterday's mid-term elections "historic," but that's not why I delayed my trip home to hit the polling place. I voted because I wanted to have a say in who's making some of the decisions that most impact my life, my family, and my world. I don't have nearly enough money to buy access to the decision makers, and my causes are not so noteworthy as to garner attention on their own, but, by God, I have the right, the duty, to walk into a voting booth and exercise that most basic of human needs, self-determination. Some of those for whom I voted won, some lost, but by participating in the very essence of American citizenship yesterday, I helped make this country a better place, regardless of the results. Mr. Smith may no longer go to Washington, but he can still tell the government, the parties, the media, and the world that attention must be paid.